This month's theme, it seems, is busyness. I'm going to be extremely busy on every front, and things don't look like they're going to let up any time before the 1st of November. At which time they'll probably still be quite busy, but maybe not as busy as my current busy state. Work's busy, the band is busy, my life is busy... busy, busy, busy.
As I said, it's something of a theme.
As per usual, I'm not going to talk about why work is busy, or any of the marvellous plans I have to complete the assigned tasks on time. Let me just say: it's very busy, and I'm planning. Oh, I have such lovely, grand plans...
The band are playing at events in Falkirk on both Friday and Saturday, both this week and next. Saturday of this week is particularly notable as I'm going to be the guy in charge. A chance to flex my PHENOMENAL COSMIC POWER, I think. Additionally, this may well be an opportunity to shmooze some local dignitaries, and perhaps arrange some fundraising gigs over the winter. While all this is going on, we also have our first committee meeting of the year on Tuesday, at which I once again will have to make use of PHENOMENAL COSMIC POWER in the chairing of the meeting. It will be important that what I said about "not just talking about all the fundraising we could do, but actually getting on and doing it" actually gets put into action. And we're also learning lots of new tunes for next year, both for regular use and for competition purposes.
It's quite busy.
As a consequence of the band being in action over the next two weekends, my weekly RPG has had to be cancelled. This is somewhat unfortunate. However, when we do get back, we should be shortly finishing the Warhammer campaign that has been running these past months, whereupon we will start a test game of D&D 4th Edition. This should be interesting - I have deep misgivings about the new system, but am determined to at least give it a fair assessment.
And then there are my so-called leisure activities. See, in order to fit everything in to my absurdly packed schedule, I have to schedule such things as reading books and watching TV with the same rigour as everything else. So...
In fiction, I have just finished "Krondor: the Betrayal", which was a decent book but definately not the author's best work. The next book on my list is "The Pale Horseman" by Bernard Cornwell, which is a good read thus far (but then, I'm only 14 pages in!). I should get that mostly read by the end of the month, I think, after which it's "Twenty Years After" by Dumas (because I do sometimes read actual literature).
In RPGs, I'm currently reading "Barony of the Damned" for Warhammer, which will be followed by the third book in the "Castle Whiterock" set, followed by the "Pathfinder Chronicles Campaign Setting", and then the fourth book in the "Castle Whiterock" set. This probably doesn't mean much to many people, but this might: that's about 550 pages of reading, of which I'm hoping to complete at least 300 by the end of this month.
In TV, I'm all caught up on "Prison Break" and "Bones", and am only two episodes of "Heroes" behind (the BBC - I believe American TV is slightly further ahead). "South Park" starts this week, and I've decided also to give "Fringe" a go, despite hearing some bad things. So, that fills up a good five hours a week, which is rather more than I can really spare. Additionally, I have five movies on my Sky+ box that are waiting to be cleared (something I really want to get done - I've been too far behind for too long). The plan there is to watch all those movies by the end of the weekend, and then move into a maintenance mode.
The diet proceeds apace. Last week, it looked like I might have hit a plateau, but now it appears that I may have broken through it. The diet has now passed it's 30-day trial, and will proceed onwards. I'm now a little over a quarter of the way towards my target, which is pretty good going, I think.
And not-quite-finally, there is THE BIG ONE. As we know, the last remaining undone item on my (public) annual to-do list is the purchase of a house followed by a move into said house. About six months ago, I decided to wait-and-see what house prices would do in Falkirk over the following six months, which proved to be a wise move. House prices in Falkirk seem to have dropped rather sharply this year, meaning that a property that was sitting right at the limits of what I thought I could afford a year ago has dropped about a third of its value. (It's still right on the edge of what I can afford, but that's due to the credit crunch - previously, I was constrained by the amount I could borrow as a multiple of my income; now I'm constrained by the deposit I could afford to put down.) Add to that today's significant drop in interest rates, and things are really starting to come together nicely.
And that's where things stand at present. Naturally, with everything this tightly organised and scheduled, something is bound to happen any moment to throw my schedule out of alignment. I dread to think what that might be.
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Thursday, October 02, 2008
You can have my Frosties when you take them from my cold, dead hands!
Apparently, Which? have declared the likes of Tony the Tiger, Coco Monkey, and similar characters to be 'cartoon villains', and called for them to be banned. They feel that these characters never advocate a healthy option, and blame them for contributing to childhood obesity. Quite what their objection to Snap, Crackle and Pop, and their Rice Krispies is, I do not know.
While I would normally be in favour of anything that would discomfort Captain Ric on principle, I really feel I must object to this. Indeed, the mere notion that it might be done makes me extremely angry.
Firstly, there is history to consider. Tony the Tiger is over fifty years old, the Honey Monster thirty, and Coco Monkey twenty. These characters were fixtures at my breakfast table growing up. I remember with dread the horror of having to eat 1,000,000 boxes of Sugar Puffs in order to get a special stuffed Honey Monster (which turned out to be rubbish!). They are every bit as significant as Fred Flintstone, He-Man, or even Optimus Prime himself. Unless you're Michael Bay, you don't get to mess around with such things lightly.
And what's more, in an age of tarnished celebrities and edgy anti-heroes, these are characters that have never lied to us. You see Tony the Tiger on a box, and you know the contents will be a sweet taste of childhood. Coco Pops really do make the milk turn chocolatey.
Besides, I doubt this is actually going to change anything; it would just make the world that bit less bright and enjoyable. What are kids going to eat for breakfast instead?
Weetabix? Shredded Wheat? 'cos I remember being a child, and when we had these we would heap spoonfuls of sugar on top, just to make them palatable. At which point any dubious benefit of the switch has been undone.
Perhaps instead they'll go for Fruit & Fibre, Special K, or All Bran? No, I didn't think so.
Perhaps they'll just have nothing? Yep, that's an improvement.
Okay then, obviously parents will step into the breach, and cook a hearty and healthy breakfast for their children? Actually, I was barely able to type that, as the effort of suppressing my laughter caused my whole body to shake.
No, what will actually happen is that most of the kids who currently eat Frosties, Coco Pops, Sugar Puffs, Ricicles (or, horrors, Rice Krispies) will continue to eat those cereals because those are the nicest ones. It isn't the characters that have made the cereals popular; it is the cereals that made the characters popular.
Perhaps I'm over-reacting. Being stuck in the midst of the diet, each morning I eat my Shredded Wheat. And each morning, I think to myself, "I'd rather have a bowl of Coco Pops!"
While I would normally be in favour of anything that would discomfort Captain Ric on principle, I really feel I must object to this. Indeed, the mere notion that it might be done makes me extremely angry.
Firstly, there is history to consider. Tony the Tiger is over fifty years old, the Honey Monster thirty, and Coco Monkey twenty. These characters were fixtures at my breakfast table growing up. I remember with dread the horror of having to eat 1,000,000 boxes of Sugar Puffs in order to get a special stuffed Honey Monster (which turned out to be rubbish!). They are every bit as significant as Fred Flintstone, He-Man, or even Optimus Prime himself. Unless you're Michael Bay, you don't get to mess around with such things lightly.
And what's more, in an age of tarnished celebrities and edgy anti-heroes, these are characters that have never lied to us. You see Tony the Tiger on a box, and you know the contents will be a sweet taste of childhood. Coco Pops really do make the milk turn chocolatey.
Besides, I doubt this is actually going to change anything; it would just make the world that bit less bright and enjoyable. What are kids going to eat for breakfast instead?
Weetabix? Shredded Wheat? 'cos I remember being a child, and when we had these we would heap spoonfuls of sugar on top, just to make them palatable. At which point any dubious benefit of the switch has been undone.
Perhaps instead they'll go for Fruit & Fibre, Special K, or All Bran? No, I didn't think so.
Perhaps they'll just have nothing? Yep, that's an improvement.
Okay then, obviously parents will step into the breach, and cook a hearty and healthy breakfast for their children? Actually, I was barely able to type that, as the effort of suppressing my laughter caused my whole body to shake.
No, what will actually happen is that most of the kids who currently eat Frosties, Coco Pops, Sugar Puffs, Ricicles (or, horrors, Rice Krispies) will continue to eat those cereals because those are the nicest ones. It isn't the characters that have made the cereals popular; it is the cereals that made the characters popular.
Perhaps I'm over-reacting. Being stuck in the midst of the diet, each morning I eat my Shredded Wheat. And each morning, I think to myself, "I'd rather have a bowl of Coco Pops!"
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Concerned about the church
Sunday's service at the local church was okay. The people there were generally quite nice, the focus seemed to be in the right place, and it was all handled quite well.
But...
Once again, I found myself in a church consisting of a very small number of children, then a big gap, and then a whole load of older people. As far as I could tell, with the exception of the minister, there was no-one within ten years of my age, on either side.
This isn't some new revelation, and shouldn't come as a shock to anyone. However, it really doesn't bode well for the church in Scotland at all. Indeed, it suggests that within 20 years, the church is likely to lose 80% of its membership, simply as they die off (perhaps not, since people are living longer than they once did. However, add twenty years to the average age in most congregations, and the church is likely to become really quite moribund).
I don't know what the answer to this is. I'm not sure there even is an answer. But it seems rather unfortunate that there seems to be a new generation of younger and very capable ministers just coming into their own, but it looks like they might find themselves preaching to empty pews.
(Actually, I tell a lie; I do know the answer to this. The way to attract more younger people is to attract more younger people. In youth groups, and indeed groups in general, there's such a thing as 'critical mass'. If you get enough people together, the group will naturally expand as they pull in others. If you don't have enough people, the group will gradually shrink, as people naturally drift away to do other things. But going from the current one or two to the requisite twenty or twenty-five... that's the real trick.)
But...
Once again, I found myself in a church consisting of a very small number of children, then a big gap, and then a whole load of older people. As far as I could tell, with the exception of the minister, there was no-one within ten years of my age, on either side.
This isn't some new revelation, and shouldn't come as a shock to anyone. However, it really doesn't bode well for the church in Scotland at all. Indeed, it suggests that within 20 years, the church is likely to lose 80% of its membership, simply as they die off (perhaps not, since people are living longer than they once did. However, add twenty years to the average age in most congregations, and the church is likely to become really quite moribund).
I don't know what the answer to this is. I'm not sure there even is an answer. But it seems rather unfortunate that there seems to be a new generation of younger and very capable ministers just coming into their own, but it looks like they might find themselves preaching to empty pews.
(Actually, I tell a lie; I do know the answer to this. The way to attract more younger people is to attract more younger people. In youth groups, and indeed groups in general, there's such a thing as 'critical mass'. If you get enough people together, the group will naturally expand as they pull in others. If you don't have enough people, the group will gradually shrink, as people naturally drift away to do other things. But going from the current one or two to the requisite twenty or twenty-five... that's the real trick.)
When twenty hours becomes two...
As we know, "Firefly" was cancelled after 11 episodes, performed extremely well on DVD, and so was revived in the form of the "Serenity" movie, which finished off the plot lines for the rest of the season in a severely abbreviated form. However, the movie suffers badly for this, as a whole lot of gaps necessarily exist and, perhaps most crucially, the film makes almost no sense to people who haven't seen the series.
For the past year or more, I have been watching my way through a friend's DVDs of "Stargate SG-1", which ran for 10 years, accumulating some 200+ episodes. Having finally reached the end of the 10th season, I find that this, too, was cancelled without being able to resolve the hanging plot threads. Still, not to worry, because they, too, had a TV movie, "Ark of Truth", which is designed to resolve things. And, fortunately, I happened to have recorded this on Sky when it was on in March.
I watched it last night, and it suffers from exactly the same problems as "Serenity". Firstly, it will make little or no sense to those who haven't seen the show, but that's a forgivable feature. However, it also compresses what should have been a story told over 20 hours of TV into around 2 hours of movie. And so, we have characters changing sides at the drop of a hat (the change was hinted at in the series, but really needed longer to play out), we have people making massively stupid mistakes (where, again, they could have arrived at that as a measure of last resort over the course of a year, but to just jump straight to it was jarring). And I'm pretty sure the climax isn't how they would have done things had they had a full season to work with.
On the other hand, it's an awful lot better than all but one of the "Babylon 5" TV movies, not that that's saying much. It's probably on a par with "Battlestar Galactica: Razor".
Anyway, next up is "Stargate: Continuum", which is their next TV movie. And I'm sure that at some point I'll be compelled to watch "Stargate: Atlantis", but I'm hoping to put that off until next year. I still have quite a lot to do this year, and only 92 days (after today) in which to do it.
For the past year or more, I have been watching my way through a friend's DVDs of "Stargate SG-1", which ran for 10 years, accumulating some 200+ episodes. Having finally reached the end of the 10th season, I find that this, too, was cancelled without being able to resolve the hanging plot threads. Still, not to worry, because they, too, had a TV movie, "Ark of Truth", which is designed to resolve things. And, fortunately, I happened to have recorded this on Sky when it was on in March.
I watched it last night, and it suffers from exactly the same problems as "Serenity". Firstly, it will make little or no sense to those who haven't seen the show, but that's a forgivable feature. However, it also compresses what should have been a story told over 20 hours of TV into around 2 hours of movie. And so, we have characters changing sides at the drop of a hat (the change was hinted at in the series, but really needed longer to play out), we have people making massively stupid mistakes (where, again, they could have arrived at that as a measure of last resort over the course of a year, but to just jump straight to it was jarring). And I'm pretty sure the climax isn't how they would have done things had they had a full season to work with.
On the other hand, it's an awful lot better than all but one of the "Babylon 5" TV movies, not that that's saying much. It's probably on a par with "Battlestar Galactica: Razor".
Anyway, next up is "Stargate: Continuum", which is their next TV movie. And I'm sure that at some point I'll be compelled to watch "Stargate: Atlantis", but I'm hoping to put that off until next year. I still have quite a lot to do this year, and only 92 days (after today) in which to do it.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Social Etiquette
You know, I'm pretty sure that when someone excuses themselves from eating the buffet at a party on the grounds that they're on a diet, the socially correct response is something along the lines of "oh, how's it going?" I'm reasonably certain that the best thing to do is not to spend the next few minutes until you get distracted trying to persuade that person that they should eat the buffet anyway on the grounds that diets don't apply on days ending in a 'Y'.
In any case, the diet remains intact. The party itself was fine, although I left early. There was karaoke, and I decided not to give the other band members the opportunity to force me to sing again. You'd think they'd have learned their lesson after last time, but no.
The diet itself is proceeding apace. I finished the Sugar Puffs this week, and have brought the Shedded Wheat into play. This makes for a far less pleasant breakfast experience than was enjoyed before, but is also rather effective.
As of this morning, I have hit my second mini-goal, having lost 12 pounds to date. Also, the Korean Style Pepper Steak stir-fry I cooked yesterday was something of a success, although it was a little too sweet, and not quit savoury enough, for my taste.
This morning, I'm going to attend my local church, instead of travelling 20 minutes to my 'home' church, on the grounds that most of the people from my home church are away for the weekend, affording an ideal opportunity. Of course, if things there work out too well, this could create a controversy going forward...
In any case, the diet remains intact. The party itself was fine, although I left early. There was karaoke, and I decided not to give the other band members the opportunity to force me to sing again. You'd think they'd have learned their lesson after last time, but no.
The diet itself is proceeding apace. I finished the Sugar Puffs this week, and have brought the Shedded Wheat into play. This makes for a far less pleasant breakfast experience than was enjoyed before, but is also rather effective.
As of this morning, I have hit my second mini-goal, having lost 12 pounds to date. Also, the Korean Style Pepper Steak stir-fry I cooked yesterday was something of a success, although it was a little too sweet, and not quit savoury enough, for my taste.
This morning, I'm going to attend my local church, instead of travelling 20 minutes to my 'home' church, on the grounds that most of the people from my home church are away for the weekend, affording an ideal opportunity. Of course, if things there work out too well, this could create a controversy going forward...
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Another coup foiled...
Tonight was the band's AGM, where I had planned on launching my stealthy takeover bid, throwing out all the troublemakers (mostly, me), and starting over in a new golden age.
Not really. Actually, I had maintained the slight but fading hope that I might manage to get voted off the committee (unlikely), but the more realistic expectation that I might be asked to take over as Treasurer, due to the other guy wanting to stand down coupled with my facility with numbers.
Neither of these came to pass. Instead, when the voting came up for the very first position, that of Chairperson, my name was nominated, and no opposition was proferred. Apparently, they seem to think I'm "a sensible lad", and someone suited to taking the role. And since no-one else seemed willing, I accepted.
Frankly, though, I'm annoyed. I mean, where's the fun of building the empire if you don't even get to stab someone in the back?
Not really. Actually, I had maintained the slight but fading hope that I might manage to get voted off the committee (unlikely), but the more realistic expectation that I might be asked to take over as Treasurer, due to the other guy wanting to stand down coupled with my facility with numbers.
Neither of these came to pass. Instead, when the voting came up for the very first position, that of Chairperson, my name was nominated, and no opposition was proferred. Apparently, they seem to think I'm "a sensible lad", and someone suited to taking the role. And since no-one else seemed willing, I accepted.
Frankly, though, I'm annoyed. I mean, where's the fun of building the empire if you don't even get to stab someone in the back?
You go six months without seeing a dentist...
Having found the details of the dentist I actually went to in March, I proceeded to phone and make an appointment. Said appointment occurred this morning, where it was found that my teeth remain basically okay, but that one of the fillings has sprung a leak, and must be replaced.
So, I'm back off to the dentist next week to have this done.
It's not terribly exciting, I know, but then I feel this blog sometimes gives a false impression: my life really isn't a continuous whirl of mad parties and other associated debauchery. At least, not all the time.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
It has been too long since we had a pun...
Under the influence of the dijon mustard I purchased a couple of weeks ago, my tomato ketchup, mayonnaisse, and similar relishes have formed an advisory council, whose purpose it is to guide me on all culinary matters.
According to my sauces, it is deemed acceptable to switch out the mustard in favour of mayo in my turkey sandwiches, but replacing it instead with chocolate spread would be going too far.
Monday, September 22, 2008
In which I am too cool
On Saturday, Grangemouth Sports Stadium was host to the "Relay for Life", a very worthy event which saw teams of people walking around the stadium in relay teams over a continuous 24-hour period. The band were asked to go and play to mark the start of this event, which we agreed to do so. It was a non-paying gig, but plays into our 'community focus' agenda, and also raises the profile of the band. And, as I noted above, it was a very worthy event in aid of cancer research. Jackie Bird was there.
Anyway, while this was being done, I arranged with my drinking buddies (see, I have drinking buddies now!) to meet with them in the evening for a quick drink. And so, that evening, on returning from my game, I made the final ever use of my old phone to find out the details of where and when we were meeting. Then I walked the two miles to said pub, and met up with the lads. Apparently, it is now our band's local, by virtue of them displaying the trophy we won in Callendar this season. And they have promised, when we do better next year, to put up a special shelf to display all our prizes.
Later in the evening, we went to a Falkirk nightclub (I think it's the only one, but there may be another), which these days is called "Storm". This is the same club I visited once before.
Yeah. It's rubbish.
For all that Saturday night is supposed to be their busiest night of the week, the place seemed really quite devoid of people. Perhaps most of Falkirk actually travel to Glasgow of a Saturday night, and the club is therefore busier on Thursdays and Sundays.
The other issue was that I rapidly came to the conclusion that I was just too cool for the place. And that's a fairly damning verdict right there: I've rarely been too cool for anything in my life. But there it is, and I don't think that was an inaccurate assessment.
Anyway, I eventually got to bed at 3:15 in the morning, and got up at 9:30. One of the advantages of 'nightclub measures' is that, while they cheat you horribly, there's so little actual alcohol in anything they serve that you wake up quite clear-headed. That said, with only six hours of sleep, I was always going to be suffering.
Still, I manfully made the effort to get up, eat breakfast, dress, shower, get changed into dry clothes, and head to church. Only to find them in the midst of a PC meltdown, with the resident expert nowhere in sight, and therefore to be called into immediate service. It seems God really can be quite mischievous at times.
Oh, and I'm never partying again. At least, not until Saturday, when I'm off to an eighteenth birthday party.
New phone
My phone died at the weekend. One minute it was happily charging away, making ready for renewed use, and then it just stopped charging. Given that a fully-charged battery lasts about three minutes these days, the time had come to retire it.
My new phone isn't the newest of phones, isn't the most full-featured of phones, but since I use my phone for occasional texting and even more occasional telephone calls, it will do. (Oh, the other feature I absolutely have to have is international roaming to America and France, but every phone has that now.)
Of course, since the controls on the new phone are just ever-so-slightly different from those on the phone I've been using for the last four years, I'm going to spend the next six months complaining about how I hate it and everything it stands for. You have been warned.
My new phone isn't the newest of phones, isn't the most full-featured of phones, but since I use my phone for occasional texting and even more occasional telephone calls, it will do. (Oh, the other feature I absolutely have to have is international roaming to America and France, but every phone has that now.)
Of course, since the controls on the new phone are just ever-so-slightly different from those on the phone I've been using for the last four years, I'm going to spend the next six months complaining about how I hate it and everything it stands for. You have been warned.
What I did on my holidays
I had a marvellous jape planned for my tales of Lisbon, but alas I have decided that it's just too much work, and that if I wait any longer then even fewer people would still care about the trip than is already the case. So, that's that.
Anyway, the trip to Lisbon was pretty cool, although I did find I enjoyed it a bit less than I thought I would, a little less than Barcelona, and certainly quite a lot less than Rome. I'm not sure why this was; perhaps I am just that bit more stressed this year and so less able to relax. Perhaps I'm just bored with my holiday scheme of "fly into a city and spend a few days getting lost therein". I'm certainly thinking of doing something different next year: possibly riding in Corsica, or perhaps a cookery course in Italy.
The flights to Lisbon itself were mostly fine. My initial fears of losing my bagage in Heathrow's new Terminal Five proved to be unfounded, as it survived the trip both ways! Somewhat surprisingly, the tacky souvenir shops in Terminal Five hadn't cottoned on to the commercial opportunities offered by this; they weren't selling "I Survived Terminal 5" t-shirts.
Terminal Five itself is a big, new shiny building that was quite obviously designed by an architect with thoughts more for winning awards than building a functional building. When we left the plane from Edinburgh, we were ushered down a corridor to a big board showing where all connections were, then to get to the connections we had to walk back down this corridor and onto shuttle buses. However, due to the crowds, they only allowed one-way traffic along the corridor at a time, so we had to wait while the entire plane (and any other planes that arrived near the same time) disembarked, and gathered in this small area, before we could move on. There was a certain amount of sarcastic commentary offered at this point.
The flight from Heathrow to Lisbon was notable for three things. On arrival, we were treated to piped in music that included a version of "Wonderwall" even cheesier than the infamous Mike Flowers version. Then, during the flight, we were offered some top-quality in-flight TV... but no sound. Apparently, that is reserved for first class passengers. They did show "The Office" (US version) with subtites, but they were in Portugese. Finally, the flight allowed the use of cell phones on board. Somehow, we managed not to crash into the ocean and wind up on a semi-mobile deserted island on American TV. I considered availing myself of the opportunity to text from the clouds, but couldn't be bothered.
On arrival, having endured the brief terror of wondering if my luggage would actually arrive, I enjoyed a long (and correspondingly expensive) taxi ride along the coast to Carcavelos, and to my hotel. I marvelled at the weather being bright and sunny, enjoying a heat provided by a glowing yellow ball in the sky that is quite unfamiliar to we Scots.
The hotel, sad to say, was a little underwhelming. Although, that said, it was not quite as good as the five-star hotel in Barcelona, but was a bit better than the three-star hotel in Rome, which suggests that its four-star rating might be about right. On arrival, I sought to set up internet access, this being a matter of great import. However, the book of hotel services that I expected to find (you know, the one giving restaurant and bar details, useful telephone numbers, and the internet access details) was slightly less useful than is normally the case, mostly by virtue of it not existing.
So, I went and asked at the front desk, where after some problems with language barriers (uh oh...) I was informed that there was free internet available from "those PCs over there". Said PCs proved to be busy for the entire duration of my stay, except for two occasions when I found them not in use... because the network was down. Huzzah! Oh, and worse still, I found that "those PCs" were connected to the network wirelessly, so if they'd just have given me the WEP key and password, I could have used the internet in my room at my leisure. Huzzah again!
Still, my room was bright and comfortable, and generally nice. The advice to request a room with a sea view was good, and I spent quite some time on the balcony just chilling (in the heat... hmm, maybe I didn't quite think that one through). However, one thing that is increasingly annoying me about hotel rooms: there was no big central light. This made reading at night extremely difficult - in fact, the best place to read was in the bathroom, which was hardly ideal.
After unpacking, I went out for a walk, and also in search of food. I found much evidence of the existence of a local McDonalds and Pizza Hut, but not the actual restaurants themselves, and neither did I find the fajitas bar that I had had recommended to me by my guide book. At length, after picking up a few items from a local supermarket (not an easy task without any knowledge of the language), I returned to the hotel and availed myself of the restaurant there. This proved to be a mistake, as the food wasn't terribly nice, and proved doubly so on the Friday when I got the bill (let me just say: ouch!).
Tuesday saw me leaving the hotel and hopping on a train into Lisbon proper. I then proceeded to wander around the town aimlessly. It's a lovely town, full of narrow winding streets, and lots of steep hills. Oh boy, are the hills steep! On the plus side, once you've climbed these hills, there are some wonderful places to find a good view of the city.
Somehow, despite not having any particular destination in mind, nor any fixed agenda, I managed to get completely lost. This proved a tad worrisome, until I found myself within five minutes walk of the zoo. This being one of the places I most wanted to see, I dashed inside and looked at the animals. They had lions and tigers and bears (oh my!), rhinos and elephants, and even such imaginary creatures as the triceratops and giraffe. The tour was finished off with a viewing of the sea lion and dolphin show, which was quite impressive.
Then I hopped onto the subway by the zoo, and travelled back into the centre of town. Lisbon's subway system is roughly on a par with that in Barcelona, and therefore more elaborate than that in both Rome and Glasgow, and less elaborate but considerably more pleasant than the London equivalent.
I spent a couple more hours in the centre of Lisbon before finding a local outdoors eatery to have dinner (that well known local favourite: pizza), where I also pretended to be a hobbit by ordering one of their giant beers, which comes in litres. (The local beer, Super Bock, was quite nice, but poses no threat to Estrella Damm.)
By this time, it was rapidly going dark. After a time, I returned to the hotel, to my book, and then to my bed.
On Wednesday I woke up unreasonably angry. I therefore climbed the Eiffel Tower and menaced Paris for a while. Biplanes were sent to shoot me down. It was all rather exciting.
Meanwhile, in reality, I instead decided to venture down to the beach to work on my tan. Sadly, the weather chose this day to be somewhat overcast, which amused me to no end, I can assure you. However, the army of English tourists I had been advised I would find seemed to by mythical, which was nice (not because of an anti-English sentiment, but rather a pro-empty-beach one). After a while, book finished, I made my way to a local cafe for lunch where I had another genuine local speciality: a burger.
In the afternoon, the clouds cleared and the day warmed, and so I returned to the beach. Somehow, in all the excitement, I forgot to take my sunglasses with me, which was a bit less ideal (I must have swapped them out when I returned to the hotel to collect another book). And the afternoon passed in much the same vein. Oddly, by the end of the day I was completely untanned, despite having applied subblock in the morning but not thereafter. Since a tan is actually a sign of skin damage, though, I'm not too dismayed.
In the evening, being determined to find it, I sought out the local Pizza Hut. There, I fumbled my way through the Portugese menu, and was thus left with a feeling of some accomplishment (the Portugese for chicken is 'frango'. The Portugese for bacon is 'bacon'). As my meal was being delivered, I noticed that the second menu on my table was, in fact, written entirely in English (the English for chicken is 'chicken'. The English for bacon is 'bacon').
And that was Wednesday.
On Thursday, I set about finishing off the trip in style. I therefore set out to see some of the key museums in Lisbon. However, I decided to eschew art on this trip (having done art in Paris, Rome and Barcelona; frankly, once you've seen one painting...). I therefore hopped on a train to Belem, where I visited the Museu da Electricidade, which is a converted coal-burning power plant. It's very much a museum for engineers, and I rather enjoyed it. By the time I left, I had a fair idea of how the whole thing had once worked.
Then I went in to Lisbon proper, where I went to the Museu Militar, where they had lots of cannon and other relics of the Peninsula War (of Sharpe fame). On arrival, I was handed a leaflet about the museum, written entirely in German. When I asked for an English version, I was told they had run out: I had to make do with German. Useful, that. (I mean, really. If it had been French, I would have been doing great. Italian or Spanish, I could probably have managed. Heck, even Portugese isn't too dissimilar. But instead, I had to carry around an utterly useless leaflet in a language I can't read at all. Fantastic!) Still, useless leaflet notwithstanding, the museum was quite interesting, as far as such things go.
And then, it was on to the third and final museum of the day, the Museu da Agua, which was a water-lifting plant back in days of yore. This had also been recommended as a museum for engineers, but alas was somewhat underwhelming, especially after the Museu da Electricidade. Still, a good excuse for a few miles walk, I guess.
Lunch on Thursday was in an open-air Italian restaurant, where I had a very nice, but very expensive, lasagne. Oh, and a giant beer. And coffee - actually, the coffee in Lisbon was a thus-far unmentioned highlight of my week. (One more thing about the expensive restaurant: before I left, I withdrew my holiday cash from my bank account. I then considered that money 'already spent', such that as long as I was paying cash for everything, I could have no concerns about how much things were costing. There was very definately something quite liberating about doing that.)
A bit more wandering took me to one of the city's Irish pubs, where I had a quick beer, noted that the had live music later that night, and then left. I returned to the hotel but, determined not to end the trip without sampling some of Lisbon's nightlife, I changed, deposited most of my stuff, and then returned to Lisbon.
Initially, my plan had been to return to the Irish pub to hear a little of the live music, before moving on to Lux, which is allegedly Lisbon's best nightclub. However, things took a slight detour when the live music was delayed a great deal. When it did begin, it was actually surprisingly good. I therefore remained there for some time, at which point I decided I couldn't be bothered clubbing, so I just went home. (And yet, somehow, this proved to be an altogether more satisfying venture than my foray into Barcelona's nightlife.)
Friday was the day of returning home. So, I packed, bade farewell to my hotel, and headed back to the airport. However, this time I decided to avoid the long and expensive taxi, and instead hopped on the train to Lisbon centre, and then a much shorter taxi trip to the airport. This meant that the total cost of the trip was less than a third of what I'd paid the first day, and due to some fortunate timing it didn't take any longer.
Then I waited in Lisbon airport (which is definately preferable to Barcelona airport), hopped a plane to Heathrow (where the in-flight TV started off as a horror movie, and then turned out not to be "Parade of the Skeletons", but rather a retrospective on the dubious talents of serial-torturer Donatella Versace), then a long wait in Terminal Five (where, I noted, there is neither a McDonalds or a Burger King - I thought they were everywhere), then a flight back to Edinburgh, and then home.
And that is what I did on my holidays.
Anyway, the trip to Lisbon was pretty cool, although I did find I enjoyed it a bit less than I thought I would, a little less than Barcelona, and certainly quite a lot less than Rome. I'm not sure why this was; perhaps I am just that bit more stressed this year and so less able to relax. Perhaps I'm just bored with my holiday scheme of "fly into a city and spend a few days getting lost therein". I'm certainly thinking of doing something different next year: possibly riding in Corsica, or perhaps a cookery course in Italy.
The flights to Lisbon itself were mostly fine. My initial fears of losing my bagage in Heathrow's new Terminal Five proved to be unfounded, as it survived the trip both ways! Somewhat surprisingly, the tacky souvenir shops in Terminal Five hadn't cottoned on to the commercial opportunities offered by this; they weren't selling "I Survived Terminal 5" t-shirts.
Terminal Five itself is a big, new shiny building that was quite obviously designed by an architect with thoughts more for winning awards than building a functional building. When we left the plane from Edinburgh, we were ushered down a corridor to a big board showing where all connections were, then to get to the connections we had to walk back down this corridor and onto shuttle buses. However, due to the crowds, they only allowed one-way traffic along the corridor at a time, so we had to wait while the entire plane (and any other planes that arrived near the same time) disembarked, and gathered in this small area, before we could move on. There was a certain amount of sarcastic commentary offered at this point.
The flight from Heathrow to Lisbon was notable for three things. On arrival, we were treated to piped in music that included a version of "Wonderwall" even cheesier than the infamous Mike Flowers version. Then, during the flight, we were offered some top-quality in-flight TV... but no sound. Apparently, that is reserved for first class passengers. They did show "The Office" (US version) with subtites, but they were in Portugese. Finally, the flight allowed the use of cell phones on board. Somehow, we managed not to crash into the ocean and wind up on a semi-mobile deserted island on American TV. I considered availing myself of the opportunity to text from the clouds, but couldn't be bothered.
On arrival, having endured the brief terror of wondering if my luggage would actually arrive, I enjoyed a long (and correspondingly expensive) taxi ride along the coast to Carcavelos, and to my hotel. I marvelled at the weather being bright and sunny, enjoying a heat provided by a glowing yellow ball in the sky that is quite unfamiliar to we Scots.
The hotel, sad to say, was a little underwhelming. Although, that said, it was not quite as good as the five-star hotel in Barcelona, but was a bit better than the three-star hotel in Rome, which suggests that its four-star rating might be about right. On arrival, I sought to set up internet access, this being a matter of great import. However, the book of hotel services that I expected to find (you know, the one giving restaurant and bar details, useful telephone numbers, and the internet access details) was slightly less useful than is normally the case, mostly by virtue of it not existing.
So, I went and asked at the front desk, where after some problems with language barriers (uh oh...) I was informed that there was free internet available from "those PCs over there". Said PCs proved to be busy for the entire duration of my stay, except for two occasions when I found them not in use... because the network was down. Huzzah! Oh, and worse still, I found that "those PCs" were connected to the network wirelessly, so if they'd just have given me the WEP key and password, I could have used the internet in my room at my leisure. Huzzah again!
Still, my room was bright and comfortable, and generally nice. The advice to request a room with a sea view was good, and I spent quite some time on the balcony just chilling (in the heat... hmm, maybe I didn't quite think that one through). However, one thing that is increasingly annoying me about hotel rooms: there was no big central light. This made reading at night extremely difficult - in fact, the best place to read was in the bathroom, which was hardly ideal.
After unpacking, I went out for a walk, and also in search of food. I found much evidence of the existence of a local McDonalds and Pizza Hut, but not the actual restaurants themselves, and neither did I find the fajitas bar that I had had recommended to me by my guide book. At length, after picking up a few items from a local supermarket (not an easy task without any knowledge of the language), I returned to the hotel and availed myself of the restaurant there. This proved to be a mistake, as the food wasn't terribly nice, and proved doubly so on the Friday when I got the bill (let me just say: ouch!).
Tuesday saw me leaving the hotel and hopping on a train into Lisbon proper. I then proceeded to wander around the town aimlessly. It's a lovely town, full of narrow winding streets, and lots of steep hills. Oh boy, are the hills steep! On the plus side, once you've climbed these hills, there are some wonderful places to find a good view of the city.
Somehow, despite not having any particular destination in mind, nor any fixed agenda, I managed to get completely lost. This proved a tad worrisome, until I found myself within five minutes walk of the zoo. This being one of the places I most wanted to see, I dashed inside and looked at the animals. They had lions and tigers and bears (oh my!), rhinos and elephants, and even such imaginary creatures as the triceratops and giraffe. The tour was finished off with a viewing of the sea lion and dolphin show, which was quite impressive.
Then I hopped onto the subway by the zoo, and travelled back into the centre of town. Lisbon's subway system is roughly on a par with that in Barcelona, and therefore more elaborate than that in both Rome and Glasgow, and less elaborate but considerably more pleasant than the London equivalent.
I spent a couple more hours in the centre of Lisbon before finding a local outdoors eatery to have dinner (that well known local favourite: pizza), where I also pretended to be a hobbit by ordering one of their giant beers, which comes in litres. (The local beer, Super Bock, was quite nice, but poses no threat to Estrella Damm.)
By this time, it was rapidly going dark. After a time, I returned to the hotel, to my book, and then to my bed.
On Wednesday I woke up unreasonably angry. I therefore climbed the Eiffel Tower and menaced Paris for a while. Biplanes were sent to shoot me down. It was all rather exciting.
Meanwhile, in reality, I instead decided to venture down to the beach to work on my tan. Sadly, the weather chose this day to be somewhat overcast, which amused me to no end, I can assure you. However, the army of English tourists I had been advised I would find seemed to by mythical, which was nice (not because of an anti-English sentiment, but rather a pro-empty-beach one). After a while, book finished, I made my way to a local cafe for lunch where I had another genuine local speciality: a burger.
In the afternoon, the clouds cleared and the day warmed, and so I returned to the beach. Somehow, in all the excitement, I forgot to take my sunglasses with me, which was a bit less ideal (I must have swapped them out when I returned to the hotel to collect another book). And the afternoon passed in much the same vein. Oddly, by the end of the day I was completely untanned, despite having applied subblock in the morning but not thereafter. Since a tan is actually a sign of skin damage, though, I'm not too dismayed.
In the evening, being determined to find it, I sought out the local Pizza Hut. There, I fumbled my way through the Portugese menu, and was thus left with a feeling of some accomplishment (the Portugese for chicken is 'frango'. The Portugese for bacon is 'bacon'). As my meal was being delivered, I noticed that the second menu on my table was, in fact, written entirely in English (the English for chicken is 'chicken'. The English for bacon is 'bacon').
And that was Wednesday.
On Thursday, I set about finishing off the trip in style. I therefore set out to see some of the key museums in Lisbon. However, I decided to eschew art on this trip (having done art in Paris, Rome and Barcelona; frankly, once you've seen one painting...). I therefore hopped on a train to Belem, where I visited the Museu da Electricidade, which is a converted coal-burning power plant. It's very much a museum for engineers, and I rather enjoyed it. By the time I left, I had a fair idea of how the whole thing had once worked.
Then I went in to Lisbon proper, where I went to the Museu Militar, where they had lots of cannon and other relics of the Peninsula War (of Sharpe fame). On arrival, I was handed a leaflet about the museum, written entirely in German. When I asked for an English version, I was told they had run out: I had to make do with German. Useful, that. (I mean, really. If it had been French, I would have been doing great. Italian or Spanish, I could probably have managed. Heck, even Portugese isn't too dissimilar. But instead, I had to carry around an utterly useless leaflet in a language I can't read at all. Fantastic!) Still, useless leaflet notwithstanding, the museum was quite interesting, as far as such things go.
And then, it was on to the third and final museum of the day, the Museu da Agua, which was a water-lifting plant back in days of yore. This had also been recommended as a museum for engineers, but alas was somewhat underwhelming, especially after the Museu da Electricidade. Still, a good excuse for a few miles walk, I guess.
Lunch on Thursday was in an open-air Italian restaurant, where I had a very nice, but very expensive, lasagne. Oh, and a giant beer. And coffee - actually, the coffee in Lisbon was a thus-far unmentioned highlight of my week. (One more thing about the expensive restaurant: before I left, I withdrew my holiday cash from my bank account. I then considered that money 'already spent', such that as long as I was paying cash for everything, I could have no concerns about how much things were costing. There was very definately something quite liberating about doing that.)
A bit more wandering took me to one of the city's Irish pubs, where I had a quick beer, noted that the had live music later that night, and then left. I returned to the hotel but, determined not to end the trip without sampling some of Lisbon's nightlife, I changed, deposited most of my stuff, and then returned to Lisbon.
Initially, my plan had been to return to the Irish pub to hear a little of the live music, before moving on to Lux, which is allegedly Lisbon's best nightclub. However, things took a slight detour when the live music was delayed a great deal. When it did begin, it was actually surprisingly good. I therefore remained there for some time, at which point I decided I couldn't be bothered clubbing, so I just went home. (And yet, somehow, this proved to be an altogether more satisfying venture than my foray into Barcelona's nightlife.)
Friday was the day of returning home. So, I packed, bade farewell to my hotel, and headed back to the airport. However, this time I decided to avoid the long and expensive taxi, and instead hopped on the train to Lisbon centre, and then a much shorter taxi trip to the airport. This meant that the total cost of the trip was less than a third of what I'd paid the first day, and due to some fortunate timing it didn't take any longer.
Then I waited in Lisbon airport (which is definately preferable to Barcelona airport), hopped a plane to Heathrow (where the in-flight TV started off as a horror movie, and then turned out not to be "Parade of the Skeletons", but rather a retrospective on the dubious talents of serial-torturer Donatella Versace), then a long wait in Terminal Five (where, I noted, there is neither a McDonalds or a Burger King - I thought they were everywhere), then a flight back to Edinburgh, and then home.
And that is what I did on my holidays.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Like "I could care less" and "I couldn't care less", I guess
I happened across this article as I went though my day.
While I generally agree with the sentiments expressed in the article, there were two things that provoked my Bemused Face Syndrome.
The first was this lovely paragraph:
"Ofsted, which based its findings on a study of 192 schools, said 11 percent of maths lessons were outstanding, 44 percent good and 40 percent satisfactory, a level which commentators said implied they were not up to scratch."
Now, my understanding was that "not up to scratch" meant "not meeting an acceptable standard". Another word for this, if we were aiming to express the concept succinctly, might be 'unsatisfactory'.
So, apparently, the thinking is that schools that meet the 'satisfactory' level are, in fact, unsatisfactory. Got it.
But there's more. The gist of the article is that schools are teaching too much 'to the test'. This makes sense, and is something I've complained about before. The article therefore ends with this message of hope:
"Earlier this year the government announced a 140 million pound strategy to increase the number of maths and science teachers, make lessons more exciting and improve exam results."
Good to know that rational thinking is still at work in education.
While I generally agree with the sentiments expressed in the article, there were two things that provoked my Bemused Face Syndrome.
The first was this lovely paragraph:
"Ofsted, which based its findings on a study of 192 schools, said 11 percent of maths lessons were outstanding, 44 percent good and 40 percent satisfactory, a level which commentators said implied they were not up to scratch."
Now, my understanding was that "not up to scratch" meant "not meeting an acceptable standard". Another word for this, if we were aiming to express the concept succinctly, might be 'unsatisfactory'.
So, apparently, the thinking is that schools that meet the 'satisfactory' level are, in fact, unsatisfactory. Got it.
But there's more. The gist of the article is that schools are teaching too much 'to the test'. This makes sense, and is something I've complained about before. The article therefore ends with this message of hope:
"Earlier this year the government announced a 140 million pound strategy to increase the number of maths and science teachers, make lessons more exciting and improve exam results."
Good to know that rational thinking is still at work in education.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Details of the Diet
Since Molly asked for it, here are the details of the diet.
At the start of the diet (last Monday), my weight was a whopping 236 pounds. My target weight is 184 pounds, representing a reduction of 52 pounds. My initial hope had been to drop about a pound a week over the course of the year, and thus reach the target. However, as of ten minutes ago, my current weight is 229 pounds, representing a drop of 7 pounds in ten days.
The plan itself is a modification of the Belly Off! plan found here. Specifically:
Breakfast:
At the start of the diet (last Monday), my weight was a whopping 236 pounds. My target weight is 184 pounds, representing a reduction of 52 pounds. My initial hope had been to drop about a pound a week over the course of the year, and thus reach the target. However, as of ten minutes ago, my current weight is 229 pounds, representing a drop of 7 pounds in ten days.
The plan itself is a modification of the Belly Off! plan found here. Specifically:
Breakfast:
- 2 Shredded Wheat with semi-skimmed milk (actually, at the moment, I'm still on the Sugar Puffs)
- 1 small (150 ml) glass fruit juice - was apple until this morning, will be orange from tomorrow
Snacks (10:30 and 3:00):
- 1 pot fat free yoghurt (Muller Light fruit yoghurts to be precise - I prefer the layered ones, but am trying various options at around 100 calories)
Lunch:
- 1 sandwich. Options are meat (3 slices of sandwich meat (was turkey, currently chicken, may try others) on 2 slices of Medium brown bread, thinly spread with about 1 teaspoon's worth of Dijon mustard (might try low fat mayo instead), with lettuce and tomato), tuna (unlikely, since I'm suspicious of all things fishy), or peanut butter (bit of a surprise this one - anyway, it's peanut butter on 2 slices of Medium brown bread). I have the sandwiches triangle-cut so they look bigger; unfortunately, and ironically, this also makes them quicker to eat.
- 26 almonds. Yes, that is an awfully exact number.
- 1 apple, currently Braeburn. Might try bananas instead next week.
Dinner:
- 1 main course, of whatever takes my fancy. Monday was a pizza, Tuesday fajitas, today was Waffle Wednesday, tomorrow is fajitas again, Friday may be chilli.
- 1 can Irn Bru, chilled and transferred into a glass before drinking.
At any time when a drink is not listed, I'm allowed water only. However, I also take one bottle of beer on alternate days (Estrella Damm comes in 4-packs, which makes this the most natural frequency). Additionally, if I'm really hungry of an evening, I may grudgingly be allowed a snack of a further 12 almonds.
Weekends are a little odd, since apples, tomatoes, yoghurts and other things seem to most naturally come in packs of six. At the moment, my thinking is to treat Sunday as any other day, but to adjust Saturday, removing the snacks, but instead having a slightly larger and more variable lunch (though I may go for one of Subway's lightest sandwiches instead), and a takeaway in the evening.
The only major extravagance in all of this is the Irn Bru, but I steadfastly refuse to give it up (and, as we know, Diet Irn Bru is pure evil in a can). It might also be worth noting that virtually nothing on the list is deliberately low fat, low carb, or a diet version (except the mayo, which I'm currently not having anyway, and the yoghurts, where the fat-free ones come in bigger pots, so I can eat more). However, the whole thing pretty much is a low-fat low-carb diet.
This diet works for me, mostly for three reasons: 1) It's showing results - how it fares when the going gets a bit tougher remains to be seen, 2) I thrive on routine, which means I don't really mind eating essentially the same lunch every day (besides, dinner remains varied), and 3) I've always been good at having the discipline to set patterns and stick to them (hence the very specific snack times listed).
And that's it. The thing that's missing at the moment is a formalised exercise routine, but I'm working on that.
A matter of trust...
Behold, I have finally escaped the Post Office!
Actually, it went reasonably well, except when I tried to explain what I wanted to do:
Me: "I would like to use one of these 'Moneygram' transfers, please."
Assistant: "Okay."
Me: "The recipient should get $3,000, whatever that works out to. And if there are any fees, I want to pay them at this end."
Assistant: *blinks* "So, how much do you want to send in money... er, pounds?"
At this point, I explained the concept of exchange rates, and how different places sometimes apply different rates, so they would have to work that out for me.
It was slightly amusing when she asked how I intended to pay the eventual bill (of just over £1,800), to which I replied, "cash".
To be honest, I was more than a little relieved to complete this task - it has not been fun carrying around that sort of money. On the other hand, it was quite cool walking around with that sort of money. And also, I hadn't actually handled a £100 note in the flesh before. That was quite cool.
I'm also not sure whether to be flattered or intimidated by the notion that my friend was willing to trust me with that sort of money.
Actually, it went reasonably well, except when I tried to explain what I wanted to do:
Me: "I would like to use one of these 'Moneygram' transfers, please."
Assistant: "Okay."
Me: "The recipient should get $3,000, whatever that works out to. And if there are any fees, I want to pay them at this end."
Assistant: *blinks* "So, how much do you want to send in money... er, pounds?"
At this point, I explained the concept of exchange rates, and how different places sometimes apply different rates, so they would have to work that out for me.
It was slightly amusing when she asked how I intended to pay the eventual bill (of just over £1,800), to which I replied, "cash".
To be honest, I was more than a little relieved to complete this task - it has not been fun carrying around that sort of money. On the other hand, it was quite cool walking around with that sort of money. And also, I hadn't actually handled a £100 note in the flesh before. That was quite cool.
I'm also not sure whether to be flattered or intimidated by the notion that my friend was willing to trust me with that sort of money.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Where's Postman Pat when you need him?
(Technically, I suppose it should be Mrs Goggins, but I thought that reference might be too subtle.)
Every so often, the news have a feature on the Royal Mail closing some number of Post Offices. This is invariably presented as a bad thing: how can they take our post office away from us? Oh, the humanity!
Here's the thing: the post office is rubbish.
Until the DVLA went online, I had to visit the post office once a year, in order to get a new tax disc for my car. And every year it was the same: they were only open a certain times, which they advertised poorly, many branches didn't have the service I actually wanted (and tax discs are hardly an unusual request, are they?), there were long queues moving very slowly, and the assistants were bored, uninterested, and moved very slowly themselves.
Fortunately, the DVLA went online, and I now get my tax disc without venturing to the post office.
A couple of years ago, I also had to go to the post office to get a new passport. In this case, the process was actually pretty good (credit where it's due, and all that). I knew I had to go to a major branch, so I did, I wasn't currently working, so I was able to go at a time I was sure they'd be open, and the queue actually moved! Plus, they actually did manage to deal with my request in under an eon, and on the first visit. (I can only assume that bad service is the penalty you pay for having the temerity to actually work for a living - I've found that many things in this country just work much better if you don't.)
Anyway, this week I find myself having to go to the post office to run a rather important errand for a friend. One I am uniquely suited to running by virtue of actually having photo ID (he doesn't, as he doesn't drive, and didn't want to risk dying of old age in the attempt to get a passport).
So, first, I went to the local post office yesterday, between the opening and closing times listed on the web-site... and found that it was closed due to an unannounced holiday. Good, that.
So, today, I went back, between the opening and closing times listed on the web-site... and found that that branch doesn't actually offer the service I wanted to use, despite this service being available "at any post office". Apparently, I have to go to one of the main branches.
And so, for my next trick I'm going to cut short my lunch, and go mid-afternoon to this alleged main branch. I'm wondering what outrageous circumstance will lead to my downfall this time?
Every so often, the news have a feature on the Royal Mail closing some number of Post Offices. This is invariably presented as a bad thing: how can they take our post office away from us? Oh, the humanity!
Here's the thing: the post office is rubbish.
Until the DVLA went online, I had to visit the post office once a year, in order to get a new tax disc for my car. And every year it was the same: they were only open a certain times, which they advertised poorly, many branches didn't have the service I actually wanted (and tax discs are hardly an unusual request, are they?), there were long queues moving very slowly, and the assistants were bored, uninterested, and moved very slowly themselves.
Fortunately, the DVLA went online, and I now get my tax disc without venturing to the post office.
A couple of years ago, I also had to go to the post office to get a new passport. In this case, the process was actually pretty good (credit where it's due, and all that). I knew I had to go to a major branch, so I did, I wasn't currently working, so I was able to go at a time I was sure they'd be open, and the queue actually moved! Plus, they actually did manage to deal with my request in under an eon, and on the first visit. (I can only assume that bad service is the penalty you pay for having the temerity to actually work for a living - I've found that many things in this country just work much better if you don't.)
Anyway, this week I find myself having to go to the post office to run a rather important errand for a friend. One I am uniquely suited to running by virtue of actually having photo ID (he doesn't, as he doesn't drive, and didn't want to risk dying of old age in the attempt to get a passport).
So, first, I went to the local post office yesterday, between the opening and closing times listed on the web-site... and found that it was closed due to an unannounced holiday. Good, that.
So, today, I went back, between the opening and closing times listed on the web-site... and found that that branch doesn't actually offer the service I wanted to use, despite this service being available "at any post office". Apparently, I have to go to one of the main branches.
And so, for my next trick I'm going to cut short my lunch, and go mid-afternoon to this alleged main branch. I'm wondering what outrageous circumstance will lead to my downfall this time?
Monday, September 15, 2008
Sandwich Disaster!
After church last night, several of the youth contingent were complaining that there was nothing set up for them to do. I suggested that they could retire to my abode, where they could, em, watch me put together my turkey sandwich for tomorrow (actually, today). They respectfully declined.
This proved to be the wrong decision, as the sandwich making process took a sudden turn for the unexpected, when I found that the turkey had gone off, and become inedible!
This led to a conundrum: what to do? Do I head out to Tesco (at 10 o'clock - nearly bed time) to get new turkey? Do I make a substitute sandwich? Or do I forget the whole thing and just buy lunch (which turned out to be haggis, neeps and tatties)?
Well, I didn't go to Tesco until this evening. And the substitute sandwich I am allowed is peanut butter, of which I had none. Plus, I'd already applied the mustard to my only two slices of bread, so that option was right out.
In the end, I cut three very thin slices of cheese, and had those in place of the turkey, leading to a cheese, lettuce and tomato sandwich, with hint of mustard. It proved to be a triumph, even if a slight cheat. I have since invested in some emergency peanut butter.
The diet itself is going rather well. In fact, I'm a little concerned that it might be going a bit too well, given that it's a bad idea to lose weight too quickly. For the moment, I'm going to assume that I was 'naturally' quite close to the balance point, and that the weight loss is just a consequence of shifting things around quite a bit. However, I'm going to have to keep an eye on it, just in case.
And I've not even brought the Shredded Wheat into play yet.
This proved to be the wrong decision, as the sandwich making process took a sudden turn for the unexpected, when I found that the turkey had gone off, and become inedible!
This led to a conundrum: what to do? Do I head out to Tesco (at 10 o'clock - nearly bed time) to get new turkey? Do I make a substitute sandwich? Or do I forget the whole thing and just buy lunch (which turned out to be haggis, neeps and tatties)?
Well, I didn't go to Tesco until this evening. And the substitute sandwich I am allowed is peanut butter, of which I had none. Plus, I'd already applied the mustard to my only two slices of bread, so that option was right out.
In the end, I cut three very thin slices of cheese, and had those in place of the turkey, leading to a cheese, lettuce and tomato sandwich, with hint of mustard. It proved to be a triumph, even if a slight cheat. I have since invested in some emergency peanut butter.
The diet itself is going rather well. In fact, I'm a little concerned that it might be going a bit too well, given that it's a bad idea to lose weight too quickly. For the moment, I'm going to assume that I was 'naturally' quite close to the balance point, and that the weight loss is just a consequence of shifting things around quite a bit. However, I'm going to have to keep an eye on it, just in case.
And I've not even brought the Shredded Wheat into play yet.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Get out and vote!
And while I'm at it, what's with the whole, "get out and vote" thing?
If people are so apathetic that they weren't going to vote, then they're clearly not interested enough to do any real research into the options available. This means they'll either select a candidate because they've always voted that way, because of the lies they've most recently heard on a biased media, or simply at random. In short, they're not going to be making an actual informed choice, after sober reflection on the issues of the day and the qualities of the various candidates.
Of course, the effect of large numbers of such uninformed voters is to swamp the ballto box, effectively drowing out the votes of those people who have gone to the effort of informing themselves, and so are actually in a position to be making a sane and rational choice.
Frankly, if there were any way to actually enforce it fairly, I would suggest that a minimum requirement for voting should be that one would be required to articulate just why you were voting for your candidate of choice.
Alternately, they should just appoint public representatives randomly. Either that, or just go to a true plutocrat scheme, where public positions go to the highest bidder - to a large extent campaign finance means things are going that way anyway, so why not cut out the middle man, and instead divert the wasted funds into the public coffers, where they might actually do some good?
And in case you're wondering, no, I'm not entirely serious.
If people are so apathetic that they weren't going to vote, then they're clearly not interested enough to do any real research into the options available. This means they'll either select a candidate because they've always voted that way, because of the lies they've most recently heard on a biased media, or simply at random. In short, they're not going to be making an actual informed choice, after sober reflection on the issues of the day and the qualities of the various candidates.
Of course, the effect of large numbers of such uninformed voters is to swamp the ballto box, effectively drowing out the votes of those people who have gone to the effort of informing themselves, and so are actually in a position to be making a sane and rational choice.
Frankly, if there were any way to actually enforce it fairly, I would suggest that a minimum requirement for voting should be that one would be required to articulate just why you were voting for your candidate of choice.
Alternately, they should just appoint public representatives randomly. Either that, or just go to a true plutocrat scheme, where public positions go to the highest bidder - to a large extent campaign finance means things are going that way anyway, so why not cut out the middle man, and instead divert the wasted funds into the public coffers, where they might actually do some good?
And in case you're wondering, no, I'm not entirely serious.
... will say in a speech...
More and more often, I find myself reading news stories about what some politician, businessman, police chief, or other public figure will say in a speech to be given later in the day, the next day, or even in the next week in extreme cases.
This raises the question: if they've already published the speech, and made it available to the media, why not just put it up on the internet for everyone to see, and not bother saying it at all?
After all, most of the ideas put forward in these speeches are really bad ones, and they're far easier to pick apart when delivered in written rather than verbal form, which means that by the time you actually get around to delivering the speech, it has already been picked apart, ridiculed, and discarded anyway, so why bother?
This raises the question: if they've already published the speech, and made it available to the media, why not just put it up on the internet for everyone to see, and not bother saying it at all?
After all, most of the ideas put forward in these speeches are really bad ones, and they're far easier to pick apart when delivered in written rather than verbal form, which means that by the time you actually get around to delivering the speech, it has already been picked apart, ridiculed, and discarded anyway, so why bother?
Thursday, September 11, 2008
The report card
Following the disappointment that was Cowal, our Pipe Major has elected to enter us into one more minor competition to finish off the season. That competition occurs this Sunday. However, ultimately, that competition will have relatively little bearing on our overall success, or lack thereof, over the course of the year.
Being a very goals-focussed person, late last year I outlined to the band what I thought our goals for the coming season should have been: I felt that we should be aiming to win one of the minor competitions that we entered in the year, and also that we should be aiming to at least qualify for the contest proper at all the major competitions in the year (of which there are five).
Things took something of a blow in Janurary, when four of our pipers, including two of the best, suddenly quit. They took a second blow a couple of months ago when the then Pipe Major stepped aside. As a consequence of these upheavals, we moved first from entering all five majors down to three, then to two, and then to only one, being the Cowal Gathering.
And, as we know, at the Cowal Gathering we failed to qualify for the contest proper. So, out of the majors we attended, not only did we fail to qualify at all of them, we failed to qualify at any of them.
On the other hand, although we only won one prize at any of the minor competitions, that was a first place at Callendar. So, that goal was achieved.
There is, perhaps, one other consideration. At our second contest of the year, and the last one before our Pipe Major stepped down, the band actually embarrassed ourselves. We were really bad. That hasn't been repeated. Indeed, the band is now significantly better than it was at the start of the season, and probably even than we were at the end of last season.
So, the final verdict? I think it has to go down as: must do better. However, I also think there are genuine signs of improvement, and reasons for optimism for next year.
Being a very goals-focussed person, late last year I outlined to the band what I thought our goals for the coming season should have been: I felt that we should be aiming to win one of the minor competitions that we entered in the year, and also that we should be aiming to at least qualify for the contest proper at all the major competitions in the year (of which there are five).
Things took something of a blow in Janurary, when four of our pipers, including two of the best, suddenly quit. They took a second blow a couple of months ago when the then Pipe Major stepped aside. As a consequence of these upheavals, we moved first from entering all five majors down to three, then to two, and then to only one, being the Cowal Gathering.
And, as we know, at the Cowal Gathering we failed to qualify for the contest proper. So, out of the majors we attended, not only did we fail to qualify at all of them, we failed to qualify at any of them.
On the other hand, although we only won one prize at any of the minor competitions, that was a first place at Callendar. So, that goal was achieved.
There is, perhaps, one other consideration. At our second contest of the year, and the last one before our Pipe Major stepped down, the band actually embarrassed ourselves. We were really bad. That hasn't been repeated. Indeed, the band is now significantly better than it was at the start of the season, and probably even than we were at the end of last season.
So, the final verdict? I think it has to go down as: must do better. However, I also think there are genuine signs of improvement, and reasons for optimism for next year.
Tick
There really is a report on my holiday coming, I promise. However, it may be a few more days before I get around to writing it.
However, I will note that this trip to Portugal marks the completion of the fifth of the six items on the to-do list I posted in January. All that remains is to move house, and I will have completed all of the tasks on my public list of things to do this year. There is, of course, a second secret list, but I can't tell you how many items are on it, how many are complete, nor what they are - it's a secret, see.
However, I will note that this trip to Portugal marks the completion of the fifth of the six items on the to-do list I posted in January. All that remains is to move house, and I will have completed all of the tasks on my public list of things to do this year. There is, of course, a second secret list, but I can't tell you how many items are on it, how many are complete, nor what they are - it's a secret, see.
Oops...
So, the time has come for me to once again visit the dentist. Consequently, I accessed the number stored in my mobile phone, to make a repeat appointment. Simple, no?
Well, no.
It turns out that I didn't take a note of the phone number, and consequently don't have it. And, of course, I would never do something so obvious as remember which dentist I actually visited.
As I said, "Oops."
Well, no.
It turns out that I didn't take a note of the phone number, and consequently don't have it. And, of course, I would never do something so obvious as remember which dentist I actually visited.
As I said, "Oops."
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
TomatoQuest
No, it's not the name of a new game show I'm hosting, nor even some divinely-appointed task to renew hope in the land. Instead, the title refers to my epic task while returning home on Sunday evening, the purpose of which will shortly become clear.
It is with some regret, and a deep sense of shame, that for the second time ever I have elected to go on a diet (the irony of this, given my previous anti-diet rants, is not lost on me). A key part of this diet has involved re-arranging my day, so that 10:30 is no longer apple time, but rather a time for sober reflection, and the consumption of yoghurt, a further yoghurt has been added at 3:00, and lunch has been downsized to a turkey sandwich (plus dozens of almonds and an apple - let's not go crazy here).
Anyway, last weekend, having returned from Lisbon, I went to Tesco and purchased the turkey required for the sandwich (I already had the bread). I also purchased a jar of dijon mustard, a step that was inherently risky - I've had disputes with the checkout assistants over the manliness of purchases before, and am on thin ice following the low fat mayonnaisse incident (my defence, then as now, was that it comes in jars, and is therefore inherently manly). Frankly, if I ever have recourse to a recipe involving feta cheese, I have no idea what I'm going to do.
So, having purchased the required components, I downloaded the recipe for the turkey sandwich (my sandwiches have never quite seemed right before - it turns out the bread is supposed to go on the outside. Who knew?), only to find that it required also lettuce and tomato. Naturally, neither of these were available to hand.
And so was born TomatoQuest.
Anyway, I'm now three days into the process of phasing in the diet. It's not an instantaneous step, you see - I have a box of Sugar Puffs to finish before I can switch to Shredded Wheat for breakfast (it's not as much fun, but has the advantage of taking longer to digest), and I have some ice cream and crisps that need eaten up (not together, you understand). That should be done by the end of tomorrow, and then it's on with a month's trial of the scheme.
It is with some regret, and a deep sense of shame, that for the second time ever I have elected to go on a diet (the irony of this, given my previous anti-diet rants, is not lost on me). A key part of this diet has involved re-arranging my day, so that 10:30 is no longer apple time, but rather a time for sober reflection, and the consumption of yoghurt, a further yoghurt has been added at 3:00, and lunch has been downsized to a turkey sandwich (plus dozens of almonds and an apple - let's not go crazy here).
Anyway, last weekend, having returned from Lisbon, I went to Tesco and purchased the turkey required for the sandwich (I already had the bread). I also purchased a jar of dijon mustard, a step that was inherently risky - I've had disputes with the checkout assistants over the manliness of purchases before, and am on thin ice following the low fat mayonnaisse incident (my defence, then as now, was that it comes in jars, and is therefore inherently manly). Frankly, if I ever have recourse to a recipe involving feta cheese, I have no idea what I'm going to do.
So, having purchased the required components, I downloaded the recipe for the turkey sandwich (my sandwiches have never quite seemed right before - it turns out the bread is supposed to go on the outside. Who knew?), only to find that it required also lettuce and tomato. Naturally, neither of these were available to hand.
And so was born TomatoQuest.
Anyway, I'm now three days into the process of phasing in the diet. It's not an instantaneous step, you see - I have a box of Sugar Puffs to finish before I can switch to Shredded Wheat for breakfast (it's not as much fun, but has the advantage of taking longer to digest), and I have some ice cream and crisps that need eaten up (not together, you understand). That should be done by the end of tomorrow, and then it's on with a month's trial of the scheme.
Three
In all the excitement of being back at work, and what with the universe not ending, I completely forgot that Monday was the third birthday of this blog.
I have decided to celebrate by providing links to all of the best bits of the blog over these past three years:
...
...
...
Did you enjoy them? I know I did.
I have decided to celebrate by providing links to all of the best bits of the blog over these past three years:
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...
...
Did you enjoy them? I know I did.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
Shallow
I have decided not to bother posting my thoughts on Sarah Palin. Frankly, I can't be bothered.
However, here's a question to ponder: if she wasn't a former beauty queen, but rather was a much more average mother of five (but otherwise had exactly the same views, qualifications and experience), would she still have been selected as McCain's running mate?
For that matter, if Obama had a nasty (and obvious) scar from a childhood accident, would he be in serious contention for the position of President? If McCain were in a wheelchair (but otherwise in as good health as he currently enjoys), would he be in serious contention?
Indeed, in the UK, if Gordon Brown had lost one eye, rather than losing the sight in the eye, would he have any chance of being elected as Prime Minister? Indeed, does he stand are real chance of being re-elected, when faced off against the more attractive, smiling Mister Cameron?
I suspect that in all cases the answer is "no".
However, here's a question to ponder: if she wasn't a former beauty queen, but rather was a much more average mother of five (but otherwise had exactly the same views, qualifications and experience), would she still have been selected as McCain's running mate?
For that matter, if Obama had a nasty (and obvious) scar from a childhood accident, would he be in serious contention for the position of President? If McCain were in a wheelchair (but otherwise in as good health as he currently enjoys), would he be in serious contention?
Indeed, in the UK, if Gordon Brown had lost one eye, rather than losing the sight in the eye, would he have any chance of being elected as Prime Minister? Indeed, does he stand are real chance of being re-elected, when faced off against the more attractive, smiling Mister Cameron?
I suspect that in all cases the answer is "no".
Saturday, September 06, 2008
How are Americans supposed to vote?
(Since I'm about to rant about biases in American politics, I suppose I should show my hand early: given the choice, I would vote Democrat in the upcoming election. However, it is worth noting, I think, that I find even the most left-leaning of mainstream US politicians far too right-wing for my tastes. Anyway...)
With no internet access in Lisbon (despite the claims of the hotel), and only BBC World and CNN available as English language TV, I found myself watching the Nadal/Murray tennis match on Eurosport. After all, that doesn't require knowing the language.
I also spent a fair amount of time in the evenings watching the coverage of the Republican Convention on CNN, which was quite interesting. I was horrified, however, by the blatant bias of the channel, in their presenters, their choice of pundits and commentators, and the relative time they allowed to each.
This leads to the following sequence: the candidates make some claims about their record, their aspirations, or those of their opponents. Naturally, them being politicians, you can't believe a word that they say. The media then 'fact-check' these. However, since they have such obvious biases (with some channels leaning one way, and others the other), you can't believe a word that they say. Then the opposite side hits back, and so on and so forth.
So, since you can't believe anyone, and since they don't have to "show their working" by citing references and sources, you're left with not a single source you can actually rely on. And, since it's too much work to actually dig deep enough to get to the truth about these things (seriously, it is), this means you have no valid basis on which to base a vote.
No wonder it all comes down to a question of which candidate is taller, and which has the better hair.
Thank goodness the UK at least have the BBC, who are (mostly) independent and (mostly) reputable. Doesn't help Americans, but it does mean that our own elections are a little less degraded.
With no internet access in Lisbon (despite the claims of the hotel), and only BBC World and CNN available as English language TV, I found myself watching the Nadal/Murray tennis match on Eurosport. After all, that doesn't require knowing the language.
I also spent a fair amount of time in the evenings watching the coverage of the Republican Convention on CNN, which was quite interesting. I was horrified, however, by the blatant bias of the channel, in their presenters, their choice of pundits and commentators, and the relative time they allowed to each.
This leads to the following sequence: the candidates make some claims about their record, their aspirations, or those of their opponents. Naturally, them being politicians, you can't believe a word that they say. The media then 'fact-check' these. However, since they have such obvious biases (with some channels leaning one way, and others the other), you can't believe a word that they say. Then the opposite side hits back, and so on and so forth.
So, since you can't believe anyone, and since they don't have to "show their working" by citing references and sources, you're left with not a single source you can actually rely on. And, since it's too much work to actually dig deep enough to get to the truth about these things (seriously, it is), this means you have no valid basis on which to base a vote.
No wonder it all comes down to a question of which candidate is taller, and which has the better hair.
Thank goodness the UK at least have the BBC, who are (mostly) independent and (mostly) reputable. Doesn't help Americans, but it does mean that our own elections are a little less degraded.
400th Post
So, this blog is 400 posts old as of now!
Naturally, this means I must find a suitable celebrity to comment about, before moving on to more meaningful fare. And so, I'm going to nominate... John Collins.
He was on my flight from Heathrow to Edinburgh last night.
Good, eh?
Naturally, this means I must find a suitable celebrity to comment about, before moving on to more meaningful fare. And so, I'm going to nominate... John Collins.
He was on my flight from Heathrow to Edinburgh last night.
Good, eh?
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Maybe Taking a Break
As noted in an earlier post, I'm off to Lisbon tomorrow. I may or may not take my laptop with me, may or may not have internet access in my room (officially, it's available, but it might not work, or there might be a surcharge that I won't want to pay), and may or may not be bothered to write entries. So, if you don't hear from me in the meantime, feel free to hijack the blog via the 'comments' mechanism.
When I get back, I promise not to post any holiday snaps, as I still don't own a camera. Oh, and in case anyone was wondering, I haven't assigned a guest blogger - if you really need a blogging fix over the next week, may I suggest Molly's blog, which updates regularly, even if she occasionally spells 'pique' incorrectly. (Molly, I have no alternate blog to recommend to you. You'll just have to channel the extra time available into inventing new and exciting martini recipes. Hopefully, that will dull the pain a little.)
When I get back, I promise not to post any holiday snaps, as I still don't own a camera. Oh, and in case anyone was wondering, I haven't assigned a guest blogger - if you really need a blogging fix over the next week, may I suggest Molly's blog, which updates regularly, even if she occasionally spells 'pique' incorrectly. (Molly, I have no alternate blog to recommend to you. You'll just have to channel the extra time available into inventing new and exciting martini recipes. Hopefully, that will dull the pain a little.)
My achievements of the week
By contrast with last week, with its endless whirl of parties and events, this week was a study in not doing anything much. Other than the Cowal Gathering yesterday, my biggest achievement was mowing the lawn. This probably wasn't the best of ideas, what with the grass being damp, and my having a cough to fight off, but it was also my last opportunity of 2008, so I wanted to get it done.
The only other thing of note was that on Monday I actually went into the office. There was something left in my car that I felt had to be returned promptly, so in I went. Conveniently, I arrived just as everyone was going to lunch, and thus was able to justify the trip as my being too lazy to cook.
The only other thing of note was that on Monday I actually went into the office. There was something left in my car that I felt had to be returned promptly, so in I went. Conveniently, I arrived just as everyone was going to lunch, and thus was able to justify the trip as my being too lazy to cook.
The Cowal Gathering
The band didn't qualify for the competition proper. Worse, it was my fault.
As it has been the each of the past two years, the rest of the day was pretty much a bust. That 5am wake-up call is a real monster (made worse by not actually sleeping before it). Then lots of sitting around waiting, first to go on, then to find we haven't qualified, then for the chip shops in town to open so we can get something to eat that is actually edible (and not priced at 400% what might be considered reasonable), then the long wait for the parade down the street (the parade itself is actually quite good), and then a wait for the bus to get on the ferry, so we can actually go home.
At least the weather, while not actually being pleasant, wasn't actively hostile.
And so ends another competition season for the band. Oddly, the Pipe Major was actually fairly upbeat about it all. I suppose he takes heart from the fact that the band is once again moving in the right direction, the numbers are going up (with all the benefits that go with that), some of the dead weight that's been holding us back has been shed, and if things continue along the same trajectory, then we should actually have a good year next year. I'm not an optimist by nature, so will wait and see.
On the plus side, I did get ten solid hours of sleep last night, which is more than for a very long time. And I'm off to Lisbon tomorrow, which should be... well, a change at least.
As it has been the each of the past two years, the rest of the day was pretty much a bust. That 5am wake-up call is a real monster (made worse by not actually sleeping before it). Then lots of sitting around waiting, first to go on, then to find we haven't qualified, then for the chip shops in town to open so we can get something to eat that is actually edible (and not priced at 400% what might be considered reasonable), then the long wait for the parade down the street (the parade itself is actually quite good), and then a wait for the bus to get on the ferry, so we can actually go home.
At least the weather, while not actually being pleasant, wasn't actively hostile.
And so ends another competition season for the band. Oddly, the Pipe Major was actually fairly upbeat about it all. I suppose he takes heart from the fact that the band is once again moving in the right direction, the numbers are going up (with all the benefits that go with that), some of the dead weight that's been holding us back has been shed, and if things continue along the same trajectory, then we should actually have a good year next year. I'm not an optimist by nature, so will wait and see.
On the plus side, I did get ten solid hours of sleep last night, which is more than for a very long time. And I'm off to Lisbon tomorrow, which should be... well, a change at least.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Wish Me Luck
Tomorrow is the Cowal Gathering, our biggest and last competition of the season. Tomorrow we find out if all the hard work we've been putting in for the past couple of months, and all the improvement we have made over that time, was in any way worth it.
Tomorrow is a Big Day. (Although it must be admitted, not as big for me as for some others.)
Tomorrow is a Big Day. (Although it must be admitted, not as big for me as for some others.)
Yes Chris, I do know the Macarena
Of course, amongst the festivities at the weekend there was inevitably the need to dance at least a couple of dances. Such is the rule.
And so it was that I found myself on the dancefloor, dancing first to S-Club 7's "Reach for the Stars", and then to "The Macarena". After which, Chris expressed his surprise at my knowledge of such a thing.
Here's the thing: of course I know the Macarena. More to the point, however, I admit to no shame in dancing it. See, normally at the disco I face the conundrum of what to do with my hands. I have never found a suitable answer to this. (And, in all honesty, it's even a problem in the rest of life. Fortunately, when simply standing there is the option of clasping them behind the back in an at-ease posture... but this doesn't work when dancing.)
Anyway, when the dancing is of the disco breed, this has been known to lead to a certain amount of confused and undignified flailing about. The overall effect can best be described as disco of the Thunderbirds school, and that is not a good thing.
And so, I feel that all discos should really be limited to only playing tracks like "The Macarena", "Saturday Night", "Reach for the Stars", "Timewarp", or anything by Steps. Either that, or they should just go for the "Thunderbirds March" for best comic effect.
And so it was that I found myself on the dancefloor, dancing first to S-Club 7's "Reach for the Stars", and then to "The Macarena". After which, Chris expressed his surprise at my knowledge of such a thing.
Here's the thing: of course I know the Macarena. More to the point, however, I admit to no shame in dancing it. See, normally at the disco I face the conundrum of what to do with my hands. I have never found a suitable answer to this. (And, in all honesty, it's even a problem in the rest of life. Fortunately, when simply standing there is the option of clasping them behind the back in an at-ease posture... but this doesn't work when dancing.)
Anyway, when the dancing is of the disco breed, this has been known to lead to a certain amount of confused and undignified flailing about. The overall effect can best be described as disco of the Thunderbirds school, and that is not a good thing.
And so, I feel that all discos should really be limited to only playing tracks like "The Macarena", "Saturday Night", "Reach for the Stars", "Timewarp", or anything by Steps. Either that, or they should just go for the "Thunderbirds March" for best comic effect.
The Wall
So, Saturday...
Woke up early, hastily made ready, walked the dog, and piled into the car for a long journey down South. We made good time, as is to be expected at that time in the morning.
Stopped at Burger King for lunch. We later discovered that the rest of our party, having been lazy in the morning, actually passed us while we ate. Oh yes, we had made up a three-hour time difference in the morning.
About 3, shortly before we arrived, I hit The Wall. Suddenly, I was extremely tired. This is not the best of conditions to be in when driving. Fortunately, there was a variety of music to keep me going, first "Team America" (America... America...), then the dulcet tones of Black Lace (apparently, dancing to Agadoo is something best left to the passangers. Who knew?), and finally "Silly Songs With Larry" (the "Pirates Who Don't Do Anything" trio didn't quite work - Bonnie had to sing Mister Lunt's part, and she's a dog).
Anyway, we arrived, checked into the Bed & Breakfast, unpacked, and then headed over to the family gathering. Shortly thereafter, we departed the family gathering, returned to the Bed & Breakfast, had dinner, and made ready for the party.
By this point, I was rallying somewhat. I had reached the point where my psyche had fractured into two, the part that was becoming increasingly impatient as the wait for the food to arrive went on (and on, and on), and the more rational part that tried to calm the other by pointing out that getting annoyed wouldn't actually make things go any faster.
And then, to the party!
The party mostly consisted of talking to a variety of cousins, significant others, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and various other family members.
Of particular note:
Woke up early, hastily made ready, walked the dog, and piled into the car for a long journey down South. We made good time, as is to be expected at that time in the morning.
Stopped at Burger King for lunch. We later discovered that the rest of our party, having been lazy in the morning, actually passed us while we ate. Oh yes, we had made up a three-hour time difference in the morning.
About 3, shortly before we arrived, I hit The Wall. Suddenly, I was extremely tired. This is not the best of conditions to be in when driving. Fortunately, there was a variety of music to keep me going, first "Team America" (America... America...), then the dulcet tones of Black Lace (apparently, dancing to Agadoo is something best left to the passangers. Who knew?), and finally "Silly Songs With Larry" (the "Pirates Who Don't Do Anything" trio didn't quite work - Bonnie had to sing Mister Lunt's part, and she's a dog).
Anyway, we arrived, checked into the Bed & Breakfast, unpacked, and then headed over to the family gathering. Shortly thereafter, we departed the family gathering, returned to the Bed & Breakfast, had dinner, and made ready for the party.
By this point, I was rallying somewhat. I had reached the point where my psyche had fractured into two, the part that was becoming increasingly impatient as the wait for the food to arrive went on (and on, and on), and the more rational part that tried to calm the other by pointing out that getting annoyed wouldn't actually make things go any faster.
And then, to the party!
The party mostly consisted of talking to a variety of cousins, significant others, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and various other family members.
Of particular note:
- Fame at last! During my uncle's speech thanking everyone for coming, he referenced my blog post about ironing. Huzzah! Of course, I have now referenced his speech, referencing my blog in my blog, which is all starting to get a bit mind-bending. All we will need is for him to reference this blog post in another speech, ideally mentioning that it referenced his speech referencing a previous post, and heads may explode. Something to look forward to, there.
- The DJ elected to fill the evening with a variety of interpretive dances, firstly to Abba, and then to Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody". Truly, it was a wonder to behold. Indeed, so silly was it, that I thought perhaps I might be hallucinating. However, Chris was on hand to inform me that it was, in fact, real. (But then, if you think you might be hallucinating, how can you trust the word of someone who might themselves be an hallucination? Luckily, Albert Einstein was also there to inform me that this was not the case.) I was going to take a picture, or even a video, of this for your enjoyment, but I don't actually own a camera. Instead, I considered doing a series of stick-figure drawings (which you could print out and then riffle to create a poor-man's animation effect), but I have since decided I can't draw.
- Chris and Cousin RJ have asked me to pipe at their wedding (I wasn't actually going to mention this, but Chris has alluded to it in an earlier comment, so it seems it is now fair game). I had half expected that this might occur, and so had prepared a response in advance. Although, to be honest, I'm not sure, "yes" required too much preparation.
And then, at about 9, I hit The Wall again. I had thought there was only one, but no! It turns out that there is an ever-expanding corridor just full of walls for people to hit. Still, I manfully carried on until it was beyond midnight, and my lift back to the B&B was giving up for the night. Because, you know, it is important that it wasn't me who had to leave.
One final incident: As I returned to the B&B, there were a trio of folk standing outside having a smoke (England having ripped off Scotland's smoking ban, having decided it was a good idea). There were two men, one slightly older than the other, and a somewhat attractive blonde woman.
Anyway, as I approached, the younger of the two men decided that it would be hilarious to mock the Scotsman by loudly enquiring, "Why would anyone wear a kilt?" Naturally, such a cruel and unwarranted attack would have devastated me, save for one thing.
While he was talking, I caught the eye of the somewhat attractive blonde woman (who might potentially have been with the younger guy, or might not). She proceeded to flash me a rather suggestive smile.
I believe that's one-nil to me.
And that was Saturday.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Day Five
Yes, it's the long-awaited first post in my epic recap of the weekend.
Thursday night saw sleep once again prove elusive. I woke up feeling half-dead, but consoled myself with the knowledge that I had only 192 minutes of work to do that day, followed by a game of badminton, and then it would be the weekend.
However, three tasks remianed for me at work. Individually, these were quick, but when operating under a deadline, and in the knowledge that they all had to be finished before I could go on holiday, it proved tense.
In the end, I finished two, but not quite the third, before badminton. I therefore had to return to the office in the afternoon to retest my fixes for the last problem. Still, it was a matter of some twenty minutes, so not a disaster.
I remain on a losing streak in badminton. The issue here is that we have a new player, who is a keen triple-jumper, and therefore absurdly fit. He's also just slightly better at badminton than I. This means that for the first couple of games, I narrowly fail to beat him, but run myself ragged. After that, there's no chance of recovery, or victory or, well, anything really.
The afternoon was spent running around getting presents, and cards, and packing, and eating, and generally running around. And then on to party three.
Party three proved interesting, as it was the first to require moving around, there being a disco and all. So, I duly danced some dances and then, my obligation fulfilled, spent the rest of the evening talking to people.
Somewhat disappointingly, I noted that there was a mass exodus of people around eleven. Apparently, this is a very common activity amongst that particular group, but this was the first time I recall having encountered it.
Tsk, tsk.
Still, I suppose not everyone has the same boundless reserves of energy as me, which must explain why they just couldn't carry on. Lightweights. :)
The evening ended with a slightly awkward conversation with my friend's fiance about payment for piping services (basically, she wants to pay me, and I'm rather less keen on the idea). Given my policy of not arguing with women when they are emotional, I tactically withdrew. Another conversation for another time, I feel.
Then there was a quick walk home, the discovery of a rather nasty hole in my ankle, a quick walk of the dog, and then nice time for seven whole hours of sleep. Naturally, I got about four.
Thursday night saw sleep once again prove elusive. I woke up feeling half-dead, but consoled myself with the knowledge that I had only 192 minutes of work to do that day, followed by a game of badminton, and then it would be the weekend.
However, three tasks remianed for me at work. Individually, these were quick, but when operating under a deadline, and in the knowledge that they all had to be finished before I could go on holiday, it proved tense.
In the end, I finished two, but not quite the third, before badminton. I therefore had to return to the office in the afternoon to retest my fixes for the last problem. Still, it was a matter of some twenty minutes, so not a disaster.
I remain on a losing streak in badminton. The issue here is that we have a new player, who is a keen triple-jumper, and therefore absurdly fit. He's also just slightly better at badminton than I. This means that for the first couple of games, I narrowly fail to beat him, but run myself ragged. After that, there's no chance of recovery, or victory or, well, anything really.
The afternoon was spent running around getting presents, and cards, and packing, and eating, and generally running around. And then on to party three.
Party three proved interesting, as it was the first to require moving around, there being a disco and all. So, I duly danced some dances and then, my obligation fulfilled, spent the rest of the evening talking to people.
Somewhat disappointingly, I noted that there was a mass exodus of people around eleven. Apparently, this is a very common activity amongst that particular group, but this was the first time I recall having encountered it.
Tsk, tsk.
Still, I suppose not everyone has the same boundless reserves of energy as me, which must explain why they just couldn't carry on. Lightweights. :)
The evening ended with a slightly awkward conversation with my friend's fiance about payment for piping services (basically, she wants to pay me, and I'm rather less keen on the idea). Given my policy of not arguing with women when they are emotional, I tactically withdrew. Another conversation for another time, I feel.
Then there was a quick walk home, the discovery of a rather nasty hole in my ankle, a quick walk of the dog, and then nice time for seven whole hours of sleep. Naturally, I got about four.
More bad science from MPs
This time, it comes from the Tory party. Apparently, they believe that there is no excuse for obesity.
Apparently, our Shadow Health Secretary is due to say, "Tell people that biology and the environment causes obesity and they are offered the one thing we have to avoid: an excuse."
This is all well and good, except for one small thing: we don't know what causes obesity. It is entirely possible that genetic, hormonal or even viral factors cause it. Indeed, it is exceedingly likely that one or all of these is a factor.
The novel "Fat" actually goes into this at great length. It points out that virtually no-one actually chooses to become obese. It points out that at any given time, huge numbers of people (mostly women) are on some diet or other. It also points out that the overwhelming evidence is that diets are actually counter-productive except as a short-term step - most people put the weight back on, plus bit, pretty quickly.
And it points out that most food guidance on this matter is predicated on a simple sum: if calories in < calories out, weight will be lost. Yet this great and simple sum fails to account for the complexities of the situation: if it were that simple then it wouldn't matter if we ate six tiny meals or one huge one in the day, since the calories in would be the same... but this is patently nonsense since the frequency with which we eat (and also what we eat) also affects the 'calories out' part of the equation.
And then there are the idiotic recommendations in other areas. About a year ago, I saw a so-called expert on TV extolling some new finding, effectively saying that anyone who dares ever eat red meat, drink so much as a drop of alcohol, or even dare look at ice cream, then that person would definately get cancer and immediately drop dead.
This wonderful expert then went on to say that not only should we seek to drop our weights until we get to the recommended BMI (despite them being crap - statistically, most of our Olympic medallists are obese according to their BMIs), but that we should in fact seek to be as far under the recommended BMI as we can manage. Fortunately, no-one paid any attention, since being underweight is really, really bad for you. But I wouldn't expect an expert in nutrition to know that.
Another problem with Andrew Lansley's great vision for a fit and healthy Britain is this: when people are feeling happy and confident, they will naturally find it easier to drop weight and keep it off. They will feel more motivated to exercise, less driven to comfort eating, and will generally do better. Stigmatising fat people, as he suggests, will just make them more fat, especially since many of them have probably already tried a bunch of diets, and failed to lose weight each time.
At this point, I considered adding a scheme for dealing with the obesity problem, but I actually did that some ages ago. Therefore, I won't bother (it wasn't exactly revolutionary, anyway). Perhaps I should instead run for office?
Wednesday, August 27th, 12:50 pm
Mark this moment in your calendars. I just heard my first Christmas song of the year.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Comparitive Fast Food
On my return from the US, the question I was asked most often was, "is fast food very different in the States than it is in the UK?" (No, really.)
The answer I gave was that, yes, it was in fact really quite different. But I could never quite think of a good example to illustrate this difference, until now.
On returning from England, Graeme and I stopped at one of the service stations for dinner, where we ate at Burger King. There was one group in front of us at the queue, while at the tills there were two girls. However, rather than us getting served immediately, one of the two girls steadfastly ignored us while tallying receipts or something, while the other girl busily took orders, then ran around assembling orders, and generally running the front end of the restaurant.
That simply would not have been tolerated in the States. There, if it is at all possible for a customer to be served quickly, then they must be.
The reason for this is really quite simple: competition. Usually, US restaurants will not sit in isolation, but will be close to one another. And, the psychology of the American fast food customer is such that they don't go out to McDonalds (or Burger King, Arby's or wherever), but rather they go out for fast food, and will therefore join whichever queue is the shortest.
In the US the emphasis is very much on the 'fast' part of 'fast food'. Which is probably as it should be - people generally don't go to these places for the quality of the dining experience or the taste of the food.
Bleurgh
Sorry about the delay in my blogging schedule. I am officially Not Well.
Technically speaking, it's just a cough, but it's one of those coughs that just nicely knocks everything else out of alignment enough to make you feel generally miserable.
The most likely cause is extreme tiredness, coupled with the not eating right that comes from travelling long distances.
With luck, things will be back to normal in a day or two.
Technically speaking, it's just a cough, but it's one of those coughs that just nicely knocks everything else out of alignment enough to make you feel generally miserable.
The most likely cause is extreme tiredness, coupled with the not eating right that comes from travelling long distances.
With luck, things will be back to normal in a day or two.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
A report on recent events will follow
For now though, I'm just going to say, "Thank goodness I don't have to go to work tomorrow."
Thank goodness I don't have to go to work tomorrow.
Thank goodness I don't have to go to work tomorrow.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Day Four
Sleep continues to elude me. I have now started hallucinating, which is probably a bad thing. At least, my new friend Albert Einstein seems to think so.
Made something of a breakthrough at work, but there remains much to do. Given that I'm only doing 192 minutes of work tomorrow, and have three large tasks to do in that time, things are looking a little tense. But then, I'm on holiday!
The moat at work had gone down slightly, reducing the risk of crocodile attack. Similarly, the recurrence of sandwiches for lunch reduced distraction to a minimum.
Graeme's party was somewhat successful, despite it not being his birthday until tomorrow. He seemed to have some difficulty with the candles, a clear sign of the infirmity that comes with age.
And then, on returning home I was confronted by the biggest spider in the world. So, I calmly explained my no-killing policy regarding arachnids, and suggested we could co-exist. The spider had other ideas, and promptly siezed control of my bed. I now write this from my new web, tucked away in one corner of the living room.
It's fair to say that life hasn't turned out quite as I had imagined.
Made something of a breakthrough at work, but there remains much to do. Given that I'm only doing 192 minutes of work tomorrow, and have three large tasks to do in that time, things are looking a little tense. But then, I'm on holiday!
The moat at work had gone down slightly, reducing the risk of crocodile attack. Similarly, the recurrence of sandwiches for lunch reduced distraction to a minimum.
Graeme's party was somewhat successful, despite it not being his birthday until tomorrow. He seemed to have some difficulty with the candles, a clear sign of the infirmity that comes with age.
And then, on returning home I was confronted by the biggest spider in the world. So, I calmly explained my no-killing policy regarding arachnids, and suggested we could co-exist. The spider had other ideas, and promptly siezed control of my bed. I now write this from my new web, tucked away in one corner of the living room.
It's fair to say that life hasn't turned out quite as I had imagined.
The BBFC versus "The Dark Knight"
I happened to be on Jen's blog earlier, and noted her comments on "The Dark Knight", which I saw some weeks ago and thoroughly enjoyed. The comment attached to that post questioned why the BBFC considered the film suitable to be seen by children.
The truth is, I hadn't given a moment's thought to the rating assigned to the film. Since I'm 32, and don't have children, I really don't care. In fact, my only interest in the ratings of most films is whether they've been cut to get them. I would much rather see a film uncut than cut, and so don't want to see my films cut down to get a more box-office-friendly rating, thank you so much.
So, I had been completely unaware of the storm that had been brewing over this film. Apparently, the BBFC has rated it 12A, and a whole lot of parents have been complaining that this was unacceptable, since it made it possible for children of any age to see the film, provided they were accompanied by an adult.
(At this point, I'll just note that the 12A certificate came about because most of those same parents wanted to take their children to see "Spiderman", but couldn't because of the 12 certificate. It is ironic that the certificate was changed due to massive complaints, and now there are massive complaints because the change is being applied.)
However, the BBFC got it wrong. This Batman film is a dark, violent and disturbing vision. It may well be a 'comic book movie', but it's no more for kids than the latest "Rambo" film.
Indeed, I sometimes question whether the people at the BBFC even watch films before they slap a certificate on them. Did the "South Park" movie get a lower certificate because, well, "it's just a cartoon"? Did "The Dark Knight" get a pass because "it's just a comic book"?
To say I'm unhappy about this would not be inaccurate, much as saying it rains quite often in Scotland is not inaccurate.
I'm now going to outline how I think film classifications should work. Before, I do that, though, I'll quickly outline the UK and US systems.
In the US, films are rated by the MPAA. Strictly speaking, this process is optional, but none of the big cinema chains will show unrated films, so it is effectively required. You do, however, quite often see unrated versions of films later being made available on DVD, which is quite nice.
In the US, there are five (?) different ratings: G rated films are especially suited for family viewing. PG rated films are slightly more mature, but generally suited for everyone. PG-13 films are the next step up, and typically include "teen comedies". Children aged 12 or under can see these films, but only if accompanied by an adult. Then there are R rated films, which you have to be 18 to see unaccompanied, but which parents can still take children of any age to see. Finally, there is the little-used NC-17 rating. To see such a film you have to be at least 18; parents cannot overrule this certificate for their children. However, the NC-17 rating has become associated with porn, and so is rarely used. Indeed, most cinema chains simply won't show such films, so film companies might as well go unrated.
In the UK, films are rated by the BBFC. Film classifications are mandatory. Furthermore, companies are not allowed to publish different versions of the film at different ratings on DVD, so there is no equivalent of the "unrated" version of the film on DVD. (Where you see "Unseen at the Cinema" DVD versions, these either will exist to the exclusion of the cinema version, or will share the same certificate. And, in any case, you're better off getting the US unrated version if you want to see the 'uncut' film - assuming you have a multi-region DVD player of course.)
In the UK there are also five different ratings: U rated films are suitable for all (equivalent to G). PG rated films are slightly more mature, but generally suited for everyone (PG). 12A films are the next step up, and typically include "teen comedies". Children aged 12 or under can see these films, but only if accompanied by an adult (PG-13).
The system diverges with the next category, the 15. Here, no-one under the age of 15 is allowed to see the film. Parents are not allowed to overrule this classification. Most R-rated films receive a 15 certificate in the UK.
Finally there are the 18s, which catch the rest of the R rated films. As with the 15, no-one under the age of 18 is allowed to see the film, and parents aren't allowed to overrule the classification. It is likely that some films that would receive an NC-17 in the States would get an 18 over here, but most such films get cut down to an R anyway.
I believe there is also an 18A rating, used for porn films. These films are never seen in a mainstream cinema, and can only be sold in speciality stores. I'm discounting them, as I'm only interested in mainstream films here. (Plus, see my note above about US unrated versions.)
Oh, and finally, the BBFC have the ability to ban a film (or, more commonly, a video game) outright, by refusing to grant any certificate.
So, here's my thoughts. Firstly, I think mandatory classification is a good thing. Secondly, I think the role of the BBFC should be to classify films, not to censor them, and not to ban them. Thirdly and finally, I think the US policy, where parents can overrule the classifications for their children is a good thing. (Yes, that does mean that parents could, in theory, take their five-year-olds to see "Saw". I don't believe it is the job of the state to stop them from doing something so obviously stupid.)
So, I would leave the classifications as they currently are, except that I'd rename the '12A' back to '12'. I would change the rules for the 15 and 18 so that parents can overrule the classification. And I would expand the 18 certificate to include 'anything else'.
I would also change the role of the BBFC. Firstly, they seem to have been taking the view lately that standards in society have changed, and so film classifications should change to match. And so, "The Dark Knight" gets a 12A where "Robocop" got an 18, and yet the former is much more violent and disturbing than the latter. (And no-one has reclassified "Robocop", so a 12-year old will be able to buy one DVD but not the other in a few months, which is... odd, to say the least.) I disagree with this emphatically. Rating standards should remain consistent, so that people can actually trust the ratings that are given to films.
Secondly, I would remove their ability to order cuts from films. In fact, I would go one step further: I would forbid them from offering advice to studios on how to cut films for lesser certificates. The finished film should be presented to them, a certificate applied, and that should be the end of the matter. (I really don't like watching cut films.)
Thirdly, I would remove their ability to ban a film. Their job is to classify, not to censor. If someone is stupid enough to go see a "Saw", "Hostel" or "Captivity" film, then they really should be complaining about all the horrific violence - they should have known going in that the films have an 18 certificate, that that actually means something... and they should know what these films are about and what they entail.
Back to "The Dark Knight". It is a fantastic film. I thoroughly enjoyed it. But it should be at least a 15, and perhaps even an 18.
The truth is, I hadn't given a moment's thought to the rating assigned to the film. Since I'm 32, and don't have children, I really don't care. In fact, my only interest in the ratings of most films is whether they've been cut to get them. I would much rather see a film uncut than cut, and so don't want to see my films cut down to get a more box-office-friendly rating, thank you so much.
So, I had been completely unaware of the storm that had been brewing over this film. Apparently, the BBFC has rated it 12A, and a whole lot of parents have been complaining that this was unacceptable, since it made it possible for children of any age to see the film, provided they were accompanied by an adult.
(At this point, I'll just note that the 12A certificate came about because most of those same parents wanted to take their children to see "Spiderman", but couldn't because of the 12 certificate. It is ironic that the certificate was changed due to massive complaints, and now there are massive complaints because the change is being applied.)
However, the BBFC got it wrong. This Batman film is a dark, violent and disturbing vision. It may well be a 'comic book movie', but it's no more for kids than the latest "Rambo" film.
Indeed, I sometimes question whether the people at the BBFC even watch films before they slap a certificate on them. Did the "South Park" movie get a lower certificate because, well, "it's just a cartoon"? Did "The Dark Knight" get a pass because "it's just a comic book"?
To say I'm unhappy about this would not be inaccurate, much as saying it rains quite often in Scotland is not inaccurate.
I'm now going to outline how I think film classifications should work. Before, I do that, though, I'll quickly outline the UK and US systems.
In the US, films are rated by the MPAA. Strictly speaking, this process is optional, but none of the big cinema chains will show unrated films, so it is effectively required. You do, however, quite often see unrated versions of films later being made available on DVD, which is quite nice.
In the US, there are five (?) different ratings: G rated films are especially suited for family viewing. PG rated films are slightly more mature, but generally suited for everyone. PG-13 films are the next step up, and typically include "teen comedies". Children aged 12 or under can see these films, but only if accompanied by an adult. Then there are R rated films, which you have to be 18 to see unaccompanied, but which parents can still take children of any age to see. Finally, there is the little-used NC-17 rating. To see such a film you have to be at least 18; parents cannot overrule this certificate for their children. However, the NC-17 rating has become associated with porn, and so is rarely used. Indeed, most cinema chains simply won't show such films, so film companies might as well go unrated.
In the UK, films are rated by the BBFC. Film classifications are mandatory. Furthermore, companies are not allowed to publish different versions of the film at different ratings on DVD, so there is no equivalent of the "unrated" version of the film on DVD. (Where you see "Unseen at the Cinema" DVD versions, these either will exist to the exclusion of the cinema version, or will share the same certificate. And, in any case, you're better off getting the US unrated version if you want to see the 'uncut' film - assuming you have a multi-region DVD player of course.)
In the UK there are also five different ratings: U rated films are suitable for all (equivalent to G). PG rated films are slightly more mature, but generally suited for everyone (PG). 12A films are the next step up, and typically include "teen comedies". Children aged 12 or under can see these films, but only if accompanied by an adult (PG-13).
The system diverges with the next category, the 15. Here, no-one under the age of 15 is allowed to see the film. Parents are not allowed to overrule this classification. Most R-rated films receive a 15 certificate in the UK.
Finally there are the 18s, which catch the rest of the R rated films. As with the 15, no-one under the age of 18 is allowed to see the film, and parents aren't allowed to overrule the classification. It is likely that some films that would receive an NC-17 in the States would get an 18 over here, but most such films get cut down to an R anyway.
I believe there is also an 18A rating, used for porn films. These films are never seen in a mainstream cinema, and can only be sold in speciality stores. I'm discounting them, as I'm only interested in mainstream films here. (Plus, see my note above about US unrated versions.)
Oh, and finally, the BBFC have the ability to ban a film (or, more commonly, a video game) outright, by refusing to grant any certificate.
So, here's my thoughts. Firstly, I think mandatory classification is a good thing. Secondly, I think the role of the BBFC should be to classify films, not to censor them, and not to ban them. Thirdly and finally, I think the US policy, where parents can overrule the classifications for their children is a good thing. (Yes, that does mean that parents could, in theory, take their five-year-olds to see "Saw". I don't believe it is the job of the state to stop them from doing something so obviously stupid.)
So, I would leave the classifications as they currently are, except that I'd rename the '12A' back to '12'. I would change the rules for the 15 and 18 so that parents can overrule the classification. And I would expand the 18 certificate to include 'anything else'.
I would also change the role of the BBFC. Firstly, they seem to have been taking the view lately that standards in society have changed, and so film classifications should change to match. And so, "The Dark Knight" gets a 12A where "Robocop" got an 18, and yet the former is much more violent and disturbing than the latter. (And no-one has reclassified "Robocop", so a 12-year old will be able to buy one DVD but not the other in a few months, which is... odd, to say the least.) I disagree with this emphatically. Rating standards should remain consistent, so that people can actually trust the ratings that are given to films.
Secondly, I would remove their ability to order cuts from films. In fact, I would go one step further: I would forbid them from offering advice to studios on how to cut films for lesser certificates. The finished film should be presented to them, a certificate applied, and that should be the end of the matter. (I really don't like watching cut films.)
Thirdly, I would remove their ability to ban a film. Their job is to classify, not to censor. If someone is stupid enough to go see a "Saw", "Hostel" or "Captivity" film, then they really should be complaining about all the horrific violence - they should have known going in that the films have an 18 certificate, that that actually means something... and they should know what these films are about and what they entail.
Back to "The Dark Knight". It is a fantastic film. I thoroughly enjoyed it. But it should be at least a 15, and perhaps even an 18.
Fab
So, England scrape a draw against the Czech Republic, and now the papers are full of every pundit slating the team. The lustre is clearly off the 'new dawn' of the Fabio Capello era, and he'll be on his way soon enough.
Um, what?
Here's the thing: friendlies don't count. Occasionally, maybe, you'll get a friendy played in a truly competitive spirit, just before a major tournament where one manager needs to keep his team in fighting trim. But just after a major tournament, at the start of a new season, where no-one much cares beyond avoiding injury? Yeah, not so much.
The time to start thinking about judging Capello's performance so far is after the Andorra match. And, probably more tellingly, after the Croatia match. If he gets four points from those, he's doing very well indeed. (Croatia are a very good team - it wasn't a fluke that they beat England home and away last time out.)
Oh, and as for Scotland's performance against Northern Ireland? Um, yeah, friendlies don't count. I hope.
Um, what?
Here's the thing: friendlies don't count. Occasionally, maybe, you'll get a friendy played in a truly competitive spirit, just before a major tournament where one manager needs to keep his team in fighting trim. But just after a major tournament, at the start of a new season, where no-one much cares beyond avoiding injury? Yeah, not so much.
The time to start thinking about judging Capello's performance so far is after the Andorra match. And, probably more tellingly, after the Croatia match. If he gets four points from those, he's doing very well indeed. (Croatia are a very good team - it wasn't a fluke that they beat England home and away last time out.)
Oh, and as for Scotland's performance against Northern Ireland? Um, yeah, friendlies don't count. I hope.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Day Three
Still not getting enough sleep.
Noted this morning that I only have one more day on the Shredded Wheat to go, and then I'm on to the Sugar Puffs. It's only a small thing to look forward to, but it's something at least.
Noted also that I have lost two pounds since the weekend. I dread to contemplate the obvious connection there.
Went to work, and found the moat flooded (in the UK, we not only all live in castles, but we work in them too). Managed somehow to avoid being eaten by the vicious crocodiles in the moat.
Finished the easy-but-tedious task! Huzzah! Now I only have the absurdly difficult task to complete by the weekend, and I'm golden.
Lunch was sandwiches, without distraction. I think the meat may have been slightly off, and the bread was definately slightly stale. Still, I think I made my point.
And then the first party of the week, as mentioned in my previous post. Very exciting. No more invitations received. Tomorrow is Graeme's 22nd, which should be... quiet, I think. Although he's not actually 22 until Friday, so it's all a bit of a cheat.
Didn't feel terribly well this evening. At one point, I actually thought my heart had stopped, but then I realised that I've actually been dead for the past year anyway, so it wasn't that. Turned out to be indigestion. Still, it was a little worrying, even though I shouldn't have anything to worry about on that score (playing the bagpipes is excellent cardio-vascular exercise, so although my blood pressure is somewhat high, there shouldn't be a problem there).
And now, the mystery: will I sleep tonight?
Noted this morning that I only have one more day on the Shredded Wheat to go, and then I'm on to the Sugar Puffs. It's only a small thing to look forward to, but it's something at least.
Noted also that I have lost two pounds since the weekend. I dread to contemplate the obvious connection there.
Went to work, and found the moat flooded (in the UK, we not only all live in castles, but we work in them too). Managed somehow to avoid being eaten by the vicious crocodiles in the moat.
Finished the easy-but-tedious task! Huzzah! Now I only have the absurdly difficult task to complete by the weekend, and I'm golden.
Lunch was sandwiches, without distraction. I think the meat may have been slightly off, and the bread was definately slightly stale. Still, I think I made my point.
And then the first party of the week, as mentioned in my previous post. Very exciting. No more invitations received. Tomorrow is Graeme's 22nd, which should be... quiet, I think. Although he's not actually 22 until Friday, so it's all a bit of a cheat.
Didn't feel terribly well this evening. At one point, I actually thought my heart had stopped, but then I realised that I've actually been dead for the past year anyway, so it wasn't that. Turned out to be indigestion. Still, it was a little worrying, even though I shouldn't have anything to worry about on that score (playing the bagpipes is excellent cardio-vascular exercise, so although my blood pressure is somewhat high, there shouldn't be a problem there).
And now, the mystery: will I sleep tonight?
No wonder they're called the terrible twos...
It was my nephew's second birthday today (which is frankly absurd, but that's another rant for another time - what little time I have left, that is). With a gaggle of aunts and uncles, that boy is quickly acquiring a fearsome array of toys, fit for any child to put away in a closet and rarely if ever play with.
Actually, I think there may perhaps be a need to have a couple of conversations about gift values - certain aunts seem to be rather more extravagant in their giving than certain uncles, which isn't actually terribly fair. Especially when dealing with a child, who by virtue of age might not grasp that just because a person doesn't give as much doesn't mean that they don't love as much.
However, that's not really what I want to talk about. Instead, a reflection on just why that difficult third year is sometimes referred to as the "terrible twos":
When a child is new-born, everything is being encountered for the first time. The crushing banality of life hasn't really had a time to set in, and things are really quite exciting.
Then, when the child turns one, there follows the most productive year of his life. He learns to walk, and to talk, and it's all very exciting. Extremely significant events, there.
But once the child is two, what is there left to do? Well, I'll tell you: potty training. Certainly important, but it lacks the glamour of walking, and talking. Let's face it, you're never going to get quite the same buzz from, "behold, I am no longer waddling in my own poo!" as you do even from merely being able to say, "behold" in the first place.
And then there's the toys. Go to a toy store, and you'll find plenty of toys for children at 3+ months. Likewise, 6+ and 9+ months are both solidly represented. As is 12+ months, and so too 18+ months.
Then it jumps to 3+ years. All the really good toys are for children of 3 and over. But for the two-year-old? Nothing.
So, one has the choice: does one purchase a toy suitable for a child of 18+ months (which, frankly, seems rather young even for a child of 18 months, never mind 2 years), or does one ignore the guidelines, and go for a 3+ years toy?
Well, the answer, actually, is that you can't do the latter. While the parents can elect to ignore the guidelines, knowing the capabilities of their child (and, perhaps more importantly, the risks they are willing to expose their child to), the well-meaning uncle can't really make that call.
And so, not only does the two-year-old only have a rather mediocre year of intermittent non-poofulness to look forward to, but they also get a haul of fairly lame toys as gifts.
No wonder they're tetchy!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Day Two
Another day, another lack of proper sleep. At this rate, I'll be collapsing in a heap come Sunday afternoon. Fortunately, I'm on holiday next week, but not jetting off to Lisbon until the week after.
Reached work, and threw myself into the easy-but-tedious task with gusto. The morning therefore passed uneventfully, apart from extensive apple contemplations.
Expanded the lunchtime diversion to a full dialogue, although I'm not entirely certain that three words really deserves that lofty title. ("Salad?"/"Yes. Please.") End result: I'm on sandwiches tomorrow.
No progress on the party front, either in invitations or attendance.
Have found that cold beer tastes better out of a glass than directly out of the bottle. Not entirely sure this is relevant. It's also not much of a revelation - I kinda knew that already.
And that's more or less it. I'm marshalling my resources for the parties ahead, so won't be doing anything more this evening. At least, nothing of any significance.
Reached work, and threw myself into the easy-but-tedious task with gusto. The morning therefore passed uneventfully, apart from extensive apple contemplations.
Expanded the lunchtime diversion to a full dialogue, although I'm not entirely certain that three words really deserves that lofty title. ("Salad?"/"Yes. Please.") End result: I'm on sandwiches tomorrow.
No progress on the party front, either in invitations or attendance.
Have found that cold beer tastes better out of a glass than directly out of the bottle. Not entirely sure this is relevant. It's also not much of a revelation - I kinda knew that already.
And that's more or less it. I'm marshalling my resources for the parties ahead, so won't be doing anything more this evening. At least, nothing of any significance.
The tension is quite unbearable...
As I sat contemplating my apple (more on this later), the rain started battering down on the metal roof of the office. Relaxing as this is, I do find myself cursing the unfairness of the weather. See, kids in Scotland have gone back to school this week, which should be an absolute indicator that we're due for a couple of weeks of really nice sunshine. Instead, we get lashings of cool, copious rain.
So, apples, and the contemplation thereof. Each day, I have a piece of fruit at 10:30 as one of my five a day. Sometimes it is a banana, sometimes an orange. This week, it's apples, currently enjoying a revival of the gala variety.
Except that today 10:30 came and went, and I was not hungry. And so, the apple remained. 11:30 arrived, and the debate began: shall I eat the apple now, or shall I wait until mid-afternoon? Certainly, at this point I am quite hungry, but would eating now impact on lunch? And I might also be quite hungry in mid-afternoon, so perhaps better to wait.
The life of a software engineer is a never-ending stream of extremely complex decisions. Shall I wear this clean white shirt, or shall I wear that clean white shirt? Shall I wear the blue tie with coloured spots, or perhaps the black tie with entirely different coloured spots? Or perhaps a tie with frogs on? Should I continue this list of trivial decisions, or have I made my point? Shall I eat the apple now, or save it for later.
So, I ate the apple. It was nice. I then wrote a lengthy blog post about eating the apple, and all the complexities inherent in this action. Exciting, isn't it?
So, apples, and the contemplation thereof. Each day, I have a piece of fruit at 10:30 as one of my five a day. Sometimes it is a banana, sometimes an orange. This week, it's apples, currently enjoying a revival of the gala variety.
Except that today 10:30 came and went, and I was not hungry. And so, the apple remained. 11:30 arrived, and the debate began: shall I eat the apple now, or shall I wait until mid-afternoon? Certainly, at this point I am quite hungry, but would eating now impact on lunch? And I might also be quite hungry in mid-afternoon, so perhaps better to wait.
The life of a software engineer is a never-ending stream of extremely complex decisions. Shall I wear this clean white shirt, or shall I wear that clean white shirt? Shall I wear the blue tie with coloured spots, or perhaps the black tie with entirely different coloured spots? Or perhaps a tie with frogs on? Should I continue this list of trivial decisions, or have I made my point? Shall I eat the apple now, or save it for later.
So, I ate the apple. It was nice. I then wrote a lengthy blog post about eating the apple, and all the complexities inherent in this action. Exciting, isn't it?
Monday, August 18, 2008
Day One
Last night, after posting my rant about my weekend (and I'm not sure the film reference actually works, by the way), I gave myself a metaphorical shake, and decided to really seize the week. Then I went to bed.
Naturally, I failed to sleep. Consequently, I finally woke up with my alarm (which I have successfully shifted from 7:02 to 6:58), and immediately regretted it. Still, up we get, and off to work.
This week at work I have two tasks, one of which is immensely difficult, and one of which is very easy but extremely tedious. Technically, the easy task has priority. However, fifteen minutes into it, I decided I just couldn't face it at this point, so instead elected to make no progress whatsoever on the difficult task.
There was one minor diversion, which has led to me not making sandwiches for tomorrow. However, my rakish new haircut met and failed its first test. Not a good sign.
Then home, and to band, which was fine.
I have now been invited to two more parties. This takes the total to five, plus two weddings (although the reception might be considered a party, it would be inappropriate to refer to the day as such, so I will not). One of the new parties is fancy dress, where I shall once again make use of my classic "man in hat" costume.
The other is an eighteenth birthday party. It has been a while since I was invited to an eighteenth. Indeed, it may be that the last I attended was Cousin A's, and since she's thirty next year, that was quite some time ago. I think for this one I shall forgo my zimmer, and make do with a single walking stick, the better to fit in with the young crowd.
Naturally, I failed to sleep. Consequently, I finally woke up with my alarm (which I have successfully shifted from 7:02 to 6:58), and immediately regretted it. Still, up we get, and off to work.
This week at work I have two tasks, one of which is immensely difficult, and one of which is very easy but extremely tedious. Technically, the easy task has priority. However, fifteen minutes into it, I decided I just couldn't face it at this point, so instead elected to make no progress whatsoever on the difficult task.
There was one minor diversion, which has led to me not making sandwiches for tomorrow. However, my rakish new haircut met and failed its first test. Not a good sign.
Then home, and to band, which was fine.
I have now been invited to two more parties. This takes the total to five, plus two weddings (although the reception might be considered a party, it would be inappropriate to refer to the day as such, so I will not). One of the new parties is fancy dress, where I shall once again make use of my classic "man in hat" costume.
The other is an eighteenth birthday party. It has been a while since I was invited to an eighteenth. Indeed, it may be that the last I attended was Cousin A's, and since she's thirty next year, that was quite some time ago. I think for this one I shall forgo my zimmer, and make do with a single walking stick, the better to fit in with the young crowd.
So, if there are twenty people in my office, and only one is openly female...
During my surfing for the day, I encountered this particular article, that really annoyed me. In particular, I really disliked the line, "Outsports said this must be way short of the real figure and argued that a more accurate estimate could even reach 1,000."
I'm sorry, but why exactly must it be way short? Firstly, estimates of the incidence of homosexuality in the general population have ranged from 0.1% to 10%, with the most recent surveys coming back somewhere between 2% and 7%. This places the figure of 10 in 10,000 right at the low edge of the range of estimates.
Secondly, and more tellingly, the assumption that seems to be being made is that the incidence of homosexuality in Olympic athletes must be the same as that in the general populace, which simply doesn't follow. (Indeed, the article itself points out that being an athlete at this level requires a uniquely singleminded focus, something that is unlikely to be achieved by a child being bullied for being gay. That isn't how things should be, but if we're realistic, we have to concede that it is all too often how things are.)
But the misinterpretation of statistics wasn't really what bothered me, if I'm being honest. Frankly, I've gotten used to it, and anyway I'm much more annoyed by the "women are better drivers" and "women earn 80% what a man earns for the same job" lies.
What really bothered me about this article was the line, "It is just easier to hide and deal with one's sexuality later."
Here's my question for Outsports: what business is it of yours? Whether one is a gay-advocacy group, or just a random person on the street, what right do you have to know the orientation of an athlete, or anyone else for that matter? And isn't the whole point of achieving true social equality that we will one day come to the point where we finally realise that, actually, it doesn't matter, that being at the very top in one's field has nothing to do with whom one finds attractive? Why the need to call it 'hiding', when one hasn't happened to mention something that, frankly, has all the relevance of the athlete's favourite colour?
Or am I crazy?
I'm sorry, but why exactly must it be way short? Firstly, estimates of the incidence of homosexuality in the general population have ranged from 0.1% to 10%, with the most recent surveys coming back somewhere between 2% and 7%. This places the figure of 10 in 10,000 right at the low edge of the range of estimates.
Secondly, and more tellingly, the assumption that seems to be being made is that the incidence of homosexuality in Olympic athletes must be the same as that in the general populace, which simply doesn't follow. (Indeed, the article itself points out that being an athlete at this level requires a uniquely singleminded focus, something that is unlikely to be achieved by a child being bullied for being gay. That isn't how things should be, but if we're realistic, we have to concede that it is all too often how things are.)
But the misinterpretation of statistics wasn't really what bothered me, if I'm being honest. Frankly, I've gotten used to it, and anyway I'm much more annoyed by the "women are better drivers" and "women earn 80% what a man earns for the same job" lies.
What really bothered me about this article was the line, "It is just easier to hide and deal with one's sexuality later."
Here's my question for Outsports: what business is it of yours? Whether one is a gay-advocacy group, or just a random person on the street, what right do you have to know the orientation of an athlete, or anyone else for that matter? And isn't the whole point of achieving true social equality that we will one day come to the point where we finally realise that, actually, it doesn't matter, that being at the very top in one's field has nothing to do with whom one finds attractive? Why the need to call it 'hiding', when one hasn't happened to mention something that, frankly, has all the relevance of the athlete's favourite colour?
Or am I crazy?
Sunday, August 17, 2008
It's all a bit "Dead Poets' Society"
The week ended with such promise. Work was done, the "Clone Wars" beckoned, then a band engagement, and then perhaps a night on the town.
Oh, what a fool I was to believe such things.
Actually, I rather enjoyed "Clone Wars". For a change, the absurd adverts and trailers at the cinema worked in my favour, because we arrived slightly late, found there was a queue, watched the single assistant work more slowly than I previously thought possible, and so got into the theatre just in perfect time for the Lucasfilm logo to appear. Huzzah!
It wasn't the best film ever, nor even the best of the year or month (that honour belongs to "The Dark Knight"). But it was fairly enjoyable as far as it goes. Bubblegum for the eyes - a sweet taste for a while, but absolutely no lasting impression.
Saturday was spent buying presents and watching "Stargate". My game was cancelled, as the wedding at which the band was playing required my presence at 7:15, which was just too early for the game to occur. Given an extra hour, or better two, and we would have been good to go.
So, I got ready, and went to the hotel, arriving at 7:05 ("five minutes before five minutes before", as someone once told me). At 7:12 the phone rang - the Pipe Major apologised for forgetting to let me know of a time change. We weren't needed until 9.
I returned to the hotel at 9, and we played. Naturally, during the performance I learned that a key change had been made to one particular piece on Thursday (the one practice I have missed in the past month), leading to me making a key, and very noticable, mistake. Damn.
And then, because we had started late, we finished late, which meant the night on the town was cancelled. Probably just as well, since someone had thought it would be hilarious to say, "Stephen ruined the wedding" in an annoying sing-song, just loud enough for the whole band to hear.
So, I returned home, and watched the concluding episodes of the eighth series of "Stargate". Then I retired for the night.
Today has been totally uneventful, thus rendering the weekend something of a catastrophe.
I really don't want to go back to work tomorrow. It's going to be yet another hard week. Not only is work going to be tough, but from Wednesday my evenings are going to be a never-ending party, the likes of which the world has never known. And I really don't feel like making merry.
Sometimes, I just want to shout my frustration to the heavens, to scream a barbaric yawp to the world. But such things are just not done, you understand, and so we persevere.
Plus, I seem to have completely lost the taste for alcohol. I can't even drown my sorrows. Gah!
Oh, what a fool I was to believe such things.
Actually, I rather enjoyed "Clone Wars". For a change, the absurd adverts and trailers at the cinema worked in my favour, because we arrived slightly late, found there was a queue, watched the single assistant work more slowly than I previously thought possible, and so got into the theatre just in perfect time for the Lucasfilm logo to appear. Huzzah!
It wasn't the best film ever, nor even the best of the year or month (that honour belongs to "The Dark Knight"). But it was fairly enjoyable as far as it goes. Bubblegum for the eyes - a sweet taste for a while, but absolutely no lasting impression.
Saturday was spent buying presents and watching "Stargate". My game was cancelled, as the wedding at which the band was playing required my presence at 7:15, which was just too early for the game to occur. Given an extra hour, or better two, and we would have been good to go.
So, I got ready, and went to the hotel, arriving at 7:05 ("five minutes before five minutes before", as someone once told me). At 7:12 the phone rang - the Pipe Major apologised for forgetting to let me know of a time change. We weren't needed until 9.
I returned to the hotel at 9, and we played. Naturally, during the performance I learned that a key change had been made to one particular piece on Thursday (the one practice I have missed in the past month), leading to me making a key, and very noticable, mistake. Damn.
And then, because we had started late, we finished late, which meant the night on the town was cancelled. Probably just as well, since someone had thought it would be hilarious to say, "Stephen ruined the wedding" in an annoying sing-song, just loud enough for the whole band to hear.
So, I returned home, and watched the concluding episodes of the eighth series of "Stargate". Then I retired for the night.
Today has been totally uneventful, thus rendering the weekend something of a catastrophe.
I really don't want to go back to work tomorrow. It's going to be yet another hard week. Not only is work going to be tough, but from Wednesday my evenings are going to be a never-ending party, the likes of which the world has never known. And I really don't feel like making merry.
Sometimes, I just want to shout my frustration to the heavens, to scream a barbaric yawp to the world. But such things are just not done, you understand, and so we persevere.
Plus, I seem to have completely lost the taste for alcohol. I can't even drown my sorrows. Gah!
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Yes, I'm a little annoyed...
Periodically, we get a bout of articles online making the extremely clever assertion that the modern man isn't any longer manly, because some absurd percentage of modern men are now more comfortable ironing than maintaining a car.
Bloody idiotic, it is.
Here's the thing: ironing has not changed appreciably in the last forty years - take a hot flat plate, and run it over slightly damp fabrics that are placed on another flat surface. The flat surfaces press the clothes flat, while the combination of the heat and the dampness cause the fabrics to 'set' in their new uncreased configuration.
By contrast, car maintenance has changed significantly. Once upon a time, the internal combustion engine was a marvel of engineering, but was fundamentally something that could be taken apart, understood, and put back together. Nowadays, the modern car engine has a hundred different functions controlled by an onboard computer that is sensitive to its environment. Messing around with it without knowing exactly what you're doing is a sure way to run into trouble. Beyond fairly simple maintenance, there's actually not that much the layman can really do.
That said, there's very little excuse for anyone (man or woman) not being able to either iron a shirt or change a tyre.
Bloody idiotic, it is.
Here's the thing: ironing has not changed appreciably in the last forty years - take a hot flat plate, and run it over slightly damp fabrics that are placed on another flat surface. The flat surfaces press the clothes flat, while the combination of the heat and the dampness cause the fabrics to 'set' in their new uncreased configuration.
By contrast, car maintenance has changed significantly. Once upon a time, the internal combustion engine was a marvel of engineering, but was fundamentally something that could be taken apart, understood, and put back together. Nowadays, the modern car engine has a hundred different functions controlled by an onboard computer that is sensitive to its environment. Messing around with it without knowing exactly what you're doing is a sure way to run into trouble. Beyond fairly simple maintenance, there's actually not that much the layman can really do.
That said, there's very little excuse for anyone (man or woman) not being able to either iron a shirt or change a tyre.
Monday, August 11, 2008
"How old are you, really?"
One of the people at band took exception to my superb new "Adult Mutant Ninja Turtles" t-shirt. I feel this was a little unfair, for two reasons:
1) I wear a shirt and tie to work every day (except Fridays). I feel, therefore, that I am allowed to wear a silly t-shirt during my leisure time.
2) Everyone knows that the Turtles hit the peak of their popularity right at the end of the 80's. This means that they are now newly retro, making me cutting-edge, and therefore achingly hip. In fact, I even have groupies.
(Okay, in point of fact, this last statement isn't entirely true. But I did get a smile from the cute girl in Tesco who rammed my with her shopping cart. I might even have opened dialogue, using my excellent "swapping insurance details" line, except that the force of the blow had left me in an inverted spread-eagle atop a fallen pyramid of Diet Irn Bru cans. The whole experience was therefore only slightly more pleasant than actually drinking said Diet Irn Bru. And there wasn't even an Olympic Judge on hand to assess my form in the Can-Splatting event in the Supermarket Olympics.)
My biggest concern, though, is that in a couple of years the "Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers" will be due their revival. Around about the time S Club 7 reform and are hailed as a "classic act from yesteryear".
1) I wear a shirt and tie to work every day (except Fridays). I feel, therefore, that I am allowed to wear a silly t-shirt during my leisure time.
2) Everyone knows that the Turtles hit the peak of their popularity right at the end of the 80's. This means that they are now newly retro, making me cutting-edge, and therefore achingly hip. In fact, I even have groupies.
(Okay, in point of fact, this last statement isn't entirely true. But I did get a smile from the cute girl in Tesco who rammed my with her shopping cart. I might even have opened dialogue, using my excellent "swapping insurance details" line, except that the force of the blow had left me in an inverted spread-eagle atop a fallen pyramid of Diet Irn Bru cans. The whole experience was therefore only slightly more pleasant than actually drinking said Diet Irn Bru. And there wasn't even an Olympic Judge on hand to assess my form in the Can-Splatting event in the Supermarket Olympics.)
My biggest concern, though, is that in a couple of years the "Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers" will be due their revival. Around about the time S Club 7 reform and are hailed as a "classic act from yesteryear".
Very annoyed
The second series of "The Tudors" started the week before last. Now, I'm not a massive fan of the series, but enough of one to actually want to watch it. And, furthermore, I would much rather see all the episodes, rather than have to fill in the gaps.
Naturally, I managed to miss the first episode by all of four days... just long enough to miss the repeat. And, what's worse, unlike virtually every other show on modern TV, there is only one repeat. Eastenders gets six repeats before the next episode airs two days later, but "The Tudors"? No, one repeat is your lot, mate.
Fortunately, the BBC have invested a huge amount of money in their delightful iPlayer, a tool that allows people to watch TV on demand. And mighty fine it is, too, although I have never actually had cause to want to watch a whole episode on it (only a Children In Need Doctor Who special).
So, I figured I would use this wonderful tool to watch the first episode, and then I'd be caught up and ready to watch the second episode. And what do I find? "The episode is not available online."
Fantastic.
Naturally, I managed to miss the first episode by all of four days... just long enough to miss the repeat. And, what's worse, unlike virtually every other show on modern TV, there is only one repeat. Eastenders gets six repeats before the next episode airs two days later, but "The Tudors"? No, one repeat is your lot, mate.
Fortunately, the BBC have invested a huge amount of money in their delightful iPlayer, a tool that allows people to watch TV on demand. And mighty fine it is, too, although I have never actually had cause to want to watch a whole episode on it (only a Children In Need Doctor Who special).
So, I figured I would use this wonderful tool to watch the first episode, and then I'd be caught up and ready to watch the second episode. And what do I find? "The episode is not available online."
Fantastic.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
It's a comedy, and a good one at that, so why am I not laughing?
While waiting for my watch to be adjusted, I wandered (lonely as a cloud) through the pedestrianised area in Falkirk. My interest was piqued, briefly, by the sounds of a lone piper, but when I sought the busker I instead found that it was a weeding in progress. There were many gawkers, but having seen many a weeding in my time I elected not to join them.
Instead, I made my way to Waterstones, where I purchased the second James Bond novel, "Live and Let Die" (the order of the novels is completely different from the order of the films), and Rob Grant's novel, "Fat". This latter I started reading yesterday, and have finished this evening.
(Note: spoilers follow. If you don't want to know, stop reading.)
Now, Rob Grant is one half of the team that created Red Dwarf. Perhaps tellingly, he is also the half that departed the show before the disasterous seventh and eighth series. He has written several novels, all of which I have now read. And, I have found them all extremely funny, until now. (In fact, "Incompetnece", which I consider his best work to date, had my laughing so hard I actually lost my voice.)
I did not find "Fat" funny. It really should have been: the characters were well-drawn, the plots were amusing (all but one), the observational humour was spot-on, and the style was the same as in his other books.
So what was wrong?
Well, fundamentally, the problem was the plot surrounding Hayley Griffin, one of his three main characters. Who, being a teenage girl in a world obsessed with weight, does what too many teenage girls in our weight-obsessed world do... which, frankly, just isn't funny. It's awful. And it's especially awful when the chapters are written from her point of view... and she speaks with a 'voice' that reads eerily like Cousin RJ's now-defunct blog.
Now, I'm not suggesting that the book shouldn't have tackled the subject. I'm not even saying that it is a bad book - on the contrary, it is a very good book, and I strongly recommend it. It's just not a funny subject, and as a consequence, it's just not a funny book.
Having now become thoroughly depressed with this all-too-real of a near-future world where being overweight is a crime, I shall retire for the night. I have work tomorrow, which I'm sure will lighten my spirits.
Instead, I made my way to Waterstones, where I purchased the second James Bond novel, "Live and Let Die" (the order of the novels is completely different from the order of the films), and Rob Grant's novel, "Fat". This latter I started reading yesterday, and have finished this evening.
(Note: spoilers follow. If you don't want to know, stop reading.)
Now, Rob Grant is one half of the team that created Red Dwarf. Perhaps tellingly, he is also the half that departed the show before the disasterous seventh and eighth series. He has written several novels, all of which I have now read. And, I have found them all extremely funny, until now. (In fact, "Incompetnece", which I consider his best work to date, had my laughing so hard I actually lost my voice.)
I did not find "Fat" funny. It really should have been: the characters were well-drawn, the plots were amusing (all but one), the observational humour was spot-on, and the style was the same as in his other books.
So what was wrong?
Well, fundamentally, the problem was the plot surrounding Hayley Griffin, one of his three main characters. Who, being a teenage girl in a world obsessed with weight, does what too many teenage girls in our weight-obsessed world do... which, frankly, just isn't funny. It's awful. And it's especially awful when the chapters are written from her point of view... and she speaks with a 'voice' that reads eerily like Cousin RJ's now-defunct blog.
Now, I'm not suggesting that the book shouldn't have tackled the subject. I'm not even saying that it is a bad book - on the contrary, it is a very good book, and I strongly recommend it. It's just not a funny subject, and as a consequence, it's just not a funny book.
Having now become thoroughly depressed with this all-too-real of a near-future world where being overweight is a crime, I shall retire for the night. I have work tomorrow, which I'm sure will lighten my spirits.
Friday, August 08, 2008
Bling
At work on Monday, it was a matter of some concern when a package arrived for me that was heard to be quietly ticking. However, this turned out not to be Graeme's long-awaited revenge for my use of the Squirrel Ballet joke, but rather a rather spiffy new watch that I had ordered last week.
Truly, it is a thing of beauty.
However, because nothing quite works out perfectly, there was a small wrinkle in the tale, for the braclet of the watch was too loose for my wrist, such that wearing the watch would be an exercise in fear that it might drop to the ground and be stolen by a passing squirrel (or other creature of nefarious intent).
And so, I elected not to wear the watch to the ceilidh I didn't attend on Wednesday (don't ask, for it is a terrible and tragic tale, of love, loss, and closed roads).
So, instead, I waited until today, before taking the watch to my favourite jeweller (and by 'favourite', of course, I mean "the first one in the list when I Googled for jewellers in Falkirk"). There, I explained the whole wrist/squirrel conundrum, and arranged to have some links removed from the bracelet in order to confound my nemeses.
I was told to leave the watch to be done, and come back in half an hour. Which raises the question: if I've left my watch, how am I to know when half an hour has passed? Surely, a mystery for the ages.
31.2 minutes later, I returned to the shop to collect my watch, which had been suitably modified. I then made my way back to my car, ever-alert in case there was a need to mock a passing squirrel for his inability to tell the time.
--
Of course, what remains now is the question: given that I had not one, but two perfectly good watches in my possession (and had, in fact, recently replaced one watch with a suspiciously identical cheap black watch), why did I feel the need to purchase a third watch? Was stereo time no longer adequate, such that I felt the need for a surround-time system?
The answer lies in the title of this post. See, when it comes to bling, I take the somewhat old-fashioned view that less is more, especially where men are concerned. Not for me a fistful of golden rings, or a plethora of fool-pitying medallions. And absolutely no piercings. Instead, I will confine myself to a suitably characterful tie, a smart set of cufflinks (and then only when wearing a dress shirt), and a dress watch.
Which of course necessitates the purchase of a suitable dress watch, as has now been done. Did I mention that it is a thing of beauty?
Truly, it is a thing of beauty.
However, because nothing quite works out perfectly, there was a small wrinkle in the tale, for the braclet of the watch was too loose for my wrist, such that wearing the watch would be an exercise in fear that it might drop to the ground and be stolen by a passing squirrel (or other creature of nefarious intent).
And so, I elected not to wear the watch to the ceilidh I didn't attend on Wednesday (don't ask, for it is a terrible and tragic tale, of love, loss, and closed roads).
So, instead, I waited until today, before taking the watch to my favourite jeweller (and by 'favourite', of course, I mean "the first one in the list when I Googled for jewellers in Falkirk"). There, I explained the whole wrist/squirrel conundrum, and arranged to have some links removed from the bracelet in order to confound my nemeses.
I was told to leave the watch to be done, and come back in half an hour. Which raises the question: if I've left my watch, how am I to know when half an hour has passed? Surely, a mystery for the ages.
31.2 minutes later, I returned to the shop to collect my watch, which had been suitably modified. I then made my way back to my car, ever-alert in case there was a need to mock a passing squirrel for his inability to tell the time.
--
Of course, what remains now is the question: given that I had not one, but two perfectly good watches in my possession (and had, in fact, recently replaced one watch with a suspiciously identical cheap black watch), why did I feel the need to purchase a third watch? Was stereo time no longer adequate, such that I felt the need for a surround-time system?
The answer lies in the title of this post. See, when it comes to bling, I take the somewhat old-fashioned view that less is more, especially where men are concerned. Not for me a fistful of golden rings, or a plethora of fool-pitying medallions. And absolutely no piercings. Instead, I will confine myself to a suitably characterful tie, a smart set of cufflinks (and then only when wearing a dress shirt), and a dress watch.
Which of course necessitates the purchase of a suitable dress watch, as has now been done. Did I mention that it is a thing of beauty?
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