It is now officially acceptable to be Christmas-sy

It now being the first of December, it is officially okay to start thinking about Christmas. And, indeed, since my band are out on the 13th and the 20th, the time has come to make haste with the requisite preparations. To that end (and in list form):

• My Christmas decoration is now up. This actually went up yesterday, being the first Sunday in Advent. It is a piece of green tinsel on top of the TV.
  
• I have now ordered all but one Christmas present. The final gift requires a trip to the Early Learning Centre, but should be finished this weekend.
  
• My mutlitude of Christmas-themed socks have once again been added into rotation. This effectively doubles my sock collection, thanks to the efforts of the Sock Conspiracy.
  
• I'm still debating whether to go for a festive beard this year. On the one hand, it's Christmas, but on the other the festive beard lasted until March, so perhaps I should have a year off to compensate.
  
• I had a quick sing of "Jingle Bells" on my way to work this morning, when no-one was looking. This fulfils my obligatory quota of festive cheer for this year.
  

So, that's Christmas well in hand. Huzzah!

(Also, this is the 450th post on this blog. Huzzah again!)

Twelve Weeks

On Monday, the diet will be twelve weeks old. Other than the inevitable slip that occurred when I went to France, it has stood solid over that time, largely because it is founded upon the principle of eating more often, rather than less.

As of this morning, I have lost twenty-five pounds, just under half of my target (52 pounds).

So, it's going quite well.

Experimental Cookery Tuesday #6: Asian Chicken Noodle Broth

I don't have a food-y anecdote with which to set the scene this week.

Today marked the introduction of not one but two new vegetables to the diet, those being the mighty asparagus and the dread spinach. Both were green, but while one was spear-like and fierce the other promised cartoonish strength. Or something. In any event, they were both nice enough, I suppose, but somewhat unremarkable.

This recipe also proved somewhat tricky in the gathering of ingredients. In the end, I had to substitute powdered ginger for fresh, and the limes proved to have let fame go to their hea, having completely sold out. Therefore, I used an orange. I mean, how different can they be?

Other than that, the recipe went on in a fairly standard manner. Jamie had warned that it involved some multitasking, and so I had read the whole thing before I started - this proved to be a wise move. In any event, it went mostly without a hitch, although everything was constantly on the edge of burning, and you should see the mess I made of my hob!

So, how did it taste?

Well, I don't know quite where I went wrong, but I definately overdid something, because it was like eating molten lava. In a good way, of course, but still... burny hot. Ouch.

Other than that it was great.

Will I have it again?

I think here again the answer is "yes and no". I think in future I'll probably turn it into a stir fry, or perhaps cook it as I did but get rid of most of the broth before serving. That didn't really add much to the whole experience. Still, I'm giving Jamie the mark for that one, so that would be 5-1.

Next week is "Chicken Fajitas", which I actually have quite frequently, but usually make from a box. However, the book has me making the coating and the salsa from scratch; will it convert me? Next week also marks the end of the "Twenty-minute meals" chapter, after which I shall be moving into "Quick Pasta". In addition, I think I shall also start tackling the "Kick-start Breakfasts" chapter on Saturday mornings. So, it's all go here.

Woah, that was an epic post!

In other news, on Thursday I went looking for an apartment and, contrary to all expectations I found one.

Actually finding one that was up for sale was slightly more difficult, since I had to leave the apartment to achieve that goal, but that was also successful.

And then finding an apartment that was up for sale and that I actually liked was another challenge, but I duly rose to that challenge, and succeeded! Indeed, I succeeded so well that I did it twice.

Now all I need to do is figure out which of the two I actually want to bid for (if, indeed, either), and proceed with that. And then I will be able to tick the last box for this year, and call it a success.

The Return of Kilt/Man

On Saturday I attended the wedding of two friends of mine, Graham and Shona. It was a good day. (For those who were there, Graham was Andrew's best man when he got married two years ago.)

The day began much as it went on, being very cold. However, despite the hanging clouds, there was an absence of rain. Apparently, a very small amount of snow fell during the day, but I missed it. All in all, this was about as good weather as can reasonably be hoped for in November.

Naturally, I arrived at the hall early, resplendent in my kilt and other assorted finery, not least of which were some rather spiffy Dalek cuff-links that were presented to me as a gift from the couple. As an added bonus, my kilt and jacket now fit rather better than they did a few months ago, as my weight has now returned to close to where it was when I was measured for these things (actually, I may now be just under where I was back then).

Now, if I'm being honest, I have played better. To a very large extent, this can be blamed on the cold, which not only numbed the fingers quite badly (not a terribly good thing when playing a demanding instrument), but also caused the chanter to become rather shrill. However, there was a rather high incidence of errors.

That said, there was only one that was serious, and it came in the first set, before many people had arrived: as the set was coming to the end, so buoyed was I with the early success that I decided to segue straight into another set entirely. This would have been a great idea, except that I segued into the wrong set, and specifically a set that I hadn't played the second tune of for some months. So, suddenly I found myself playing... I don't know what exactly. It was not good.

(See, you'd think that a person could just play whatever tunes in any order and at any time. After all, a tune is a tune, right? But, actually, this isn't the case at all; the brain gets used to one thing following on from another, and simply shifting gears doesn't work terribly well.)

Still, I cut that short, and retreated to more familiar ground. The rest of the piping was okay, if not brilliant. (I will, however, need to do something about that. In the next months there may again be call for my services...)

Anyway, I played, and the appointed hour came. At this point, I wondered how much longer I had to play - the piper plays until the bride arrives, and it is her prerogative to be late. And, with only one exception, every bride I can recall has been late, to one extent or another. Still, it was a nice day, so there would be no harm in carrying on for a bit...

But no! Shona arrived almost exactly at the appointed time. So, that would be two brides in the history of the world. Surely there could never be a third...?

(For those who want to know: it was a classic white dress with a short train. Mostly, I remember the veil.)

At this point, then, I offered my standard salutation, congratulation, and compliment. (These three elements are standard; the form of the three varies. In general, I've found that 'lovely' and 'radiant' are good compliments to use; 'magnificent' is overblown, 'splendid' disingenuous, and 'spectaclar' mis-spelled.) Then I ventured into the church, my work done for the time being.
There then followed the service, which was nice. Weddings generally are. This time, the couple took what I considered the risky step of inviting people to come up and offer a blessing and/or prayer. This is a fine idea in principle, but I say risky because one never knows what a person is going to say. Still, it went fine.

And then it was back outside, a couple of quick pieces of piping (on the emergence of the couple, and then playing them to the car), and then the wedding party departed to the Botanic Gardens for their photos. And so, I had some time to kill.

Some time later, the wedding party returned from what was, by all accounts, a rather chilly time. There was then a short period of mingling, and then a gathering of powers for a group photo, and finally people took their seats for the meal. Then I piped in the top table, the happy couple, and so I was done for the day. Huzzah!

Then came the speeches. Placing these before the meal is, in my opinion, quite wise. Public speaking is apparently the #1 fear of people in general, and at an event like a wedding this must be even more true. Of course, it has the down-side that the bride (in particular) hasn't eaten since the hairdresser arrived, and so is probably starving by this point. (And, besides, many brides don't eat for some weeks before the wedding in order to fit in their dresses. Frankly, it's a miracle more brides don't go on crazed cannibalistic rampages. Perhaps I've just been lucky that I've only seen this happen a few times.)

The meal was provided in a multiple choice format. With the invitations, we had been asked to express a preference for food, and had duly done so, and had duly forgotten entirely what options we selected. The starter was prawns with melon or a tomato and coriander soup (so, soup for me); the main course either chicken or beef, either way with potatoes and seasonal vegetables (chicken); the dessert was an alcohol-free trifle or a fruit salad (trifle). It was very nice indeed. No chips, though.

Over dinner we discussed saving the planet, fast food, and John Sergeant. Sadly, these were separate topics, and not the proposal for a new show in which John Sergeant will don the golden arches as the symbol of his new superhero guise.

After the meal, while they rearranged the hall for ceilidh purposes, we retired to other rooms within the community centre. Indeed, we found ourselves in a meeting room, where we took advantage of the opportunity to discuss the Africa Situation. There was a significant amount of thinking outside the box, the better to leverage our potentials. Or something like that.

And then, that silliness completed, we returned to the hall for the first dance, and then for the ceilidh itself. There are too few ceilidhs, I feel.

Anyway, as I hold the title of Knig, hail from a place that sounds a bit like Camelot, and an considered to be the lord of the dance-floor (despite that pretender to my throne, Captain Ric), I felt the need for a quest. As I already have a grail, though (it's verrrry nice), my quest would be to dance every dance at the ceilidh. Except the first dance, of course, but that doesn't really count.

Of course, dancing every dance is no easy challenge, on several counts. The first is the sheet exhaustion that this will inflict. People laughed when I revealed that I had come prepared with my very own towel. They laughed slightly less when they realised the genius of this move, for indeed it was genius.

The second challenge is that one inevitably requires a partner if one is to dance. And around half of my usual card were absent from the festivities, while several others were laid low by myriad non-ceilidh-related injuries and illnesses. And, as the state of my love life will attest, boundless confidence is not something I can call upon when dealing with women. (Nor did it really help that I had to drive home, and so must needs had to remain sober. Then again, maybe that did help - alcohol tends to make me really quiet.)

Fortunately, I am never caught without a backup plan, and it was this: for the first ceilidh dance, I partnered with one of my friends. While traversing the room, then, I kept an eye peeled for all those girls who were watching from the sidelines with a "oh, how I wish someone would ask me to dance" look about them. See, it's quite crafty.

And so, as the evening progressed, I made my way about the room, inviting one poor girl after another onto the floor. Indeed, it was noted that I did not dance with the same girl twice (except right at the end, when most people had left, when I again danced with one of two partners from a Dashing White Sergeant, but that doesn't count). Mostly, I just didn't want to get tied down.
And so, willows were stripped, Swede masqueraded (possibly as turnips; I wasn't quite sure), and two-steps were stepped twice. Even the dreaded helicopter dance was a triumph unheard of, as Gordon and I were paired with two fairly slight girls, allowing for a far greater degree of lift than is frequently the case.

And so, the quest was reckoned a success. And there was much rejoicing. Huzzah!

Of course, the ultimate challenge remains. I have heard it said that there may be a barn dance in the offing in months to come, and so the question: will the lord of the dance-floor continue his reign? Truly, this is a mystery of great depth, especially as I have been forbidden to study the dances ahead of time. As if I would be stopped by so minor a thing as not having a clue what I'm doing...

Water water everywhere...

I'm defrosting the smaller of my two fridges. I do this in the knowledge that it is not a good idea, but also that it is a task that simply has to be done. Over the past several months, the freezer compartment of this fridge (which is too small of be of any actual use) has gradually filled completely with ice. I'd been ignoring this, as I don't actually use that compartment, but I'm also aware that should I move, as I hope to do quite soon, I would have to put the power off, which would create quite a mess.

I am therefore making quite a mess while still present in the apartment. I'm not sure just why that is considered an improvement.

Anyway, the task is now almost complete. The block of ice became sufficiently loosened to remove from the freezer to the sink, where it was broken up with some hot water. Now all that remains is several hours of dripping and drying.

Once this is done, I think I'll leave the power off on this fridge. I'll work solely from my own, larger fridge, and accept that my ability to chill has therefore been reduced.

Not sure I've mastered the whole 'NED' thing

After my efforts in the kitchen, I was left with an empty bottle of wine (I used some cooking, and drank one glass separately. Lacking any means to properly store an open bottle of wine, I then poured the rest away). Conveniently, this evening took me on a wander through Camelon, going past the glass recycling bins, so I took the empty bottle with me for disposal.

Naturally, as I walked through the streets, bottle in hand, I elicited a number of disapproving stares from people out and about. Apparently, care for the environment is frowned upon. Or, more likely, they mistook me for a NED (non-educated delinquient, for those not up on the local parlance).

Still, I'm not entirely sure I got it right. I was under the impression that the NED's tipple of choice was Buckfast, as opposed to a rather pleasant Sauvignon Blanc. I'll try to get it right next time.

Experimental Cookery Tuesday #5: Chicken & Leek Stroganoff

I tried a beef stroganoff once before, back in "Part Two". It is fair to say it was not a resounding success. In fact, it would be more accurate to say it was a total disaster, that more of it ended up in the bin than in me, and that I determined at that time never to try it again.

Still, the next thing in the book was a stroganoff, so who am I to argue. Off I went to the supermarket, there to pick up some butter, some leeks, but not the wine that was called for as I got that from my parents (one of the joys of having tee-total parents working in education is the free alcohol that comes with the end of term).

Now, before I proceed, a word about butter, which I described as one of my culinary nemeses. In truth, it's not really butter I object to, but rather margarine, and even then, it's mostly in sandwiches. The reason for this aversion is that many moons ago, back when I were a lad, those who would prepare sandwiches were somewhat over-generous when applying the margarine to the bread. And so, instead of having a cheese sandwich, or a chicken sandwich, or such thing, one would have a margarine sandwich with hint of cheese. It wasn't entirely pleasant. However, rather then try to explain this, it was simply easier to drop the margarine from the sandwiches entirely.

Anyway, while making dinner today, the first thing I made was a real mess. There were bits of food flying everywhere - the walls, the floor (none on the ceiling, though). I'm not entirely sure what went wrong there, but never mind.

Eventually, the meal was complete, and the moment of truth.

4-1 to Jamie. It was good.

Will I have it again? Well...

The problem with this one is that it's not going to be easy to cut down for one person, and I'm also extremely dubious as to the prospects for reheating. Perhaps one day, when I have someone to impress. Like that's ever going to happen.

Next up is "Asian Chicken Noodle Broth", which to me says 'starter', but I guess we'll see next week. Tomorrow, I'm having lasagne.

No joy

I looked at an apartment yesterday. From my internet research, it looked like the most likely candidate.

And it was almost perfect. The living area, in particular, was very impressive.

But, alas, that almost would have been quite painful, for two reasons, one fairly minor and other quite major.

The relatively minor issue was that the ceilings were quite low, and whoever had done the interior design had then had the bright idea of using low-hanging light fittings. So, all the lights were five and a half feet from the floor. As I'm six feet tall, this would have left me constantly walking into them. (After all, it's not like lights are easy to see - especially when they're switched off.)

Incidentally, this just proves that interior design is an art, not an engineering discipline. None of the people I work with would have made that mistake. Also, it seems quite apparent that the designer was either a very small person or, more likely, never actually visited the flat before doing the design.

Still, that would have been surmountable, as it would merely require replacing all the fittings in short order.

The bigger problem, though, was the kitchen, which seemed to be of a decent size, but actually wasn't. It would be fine for a person to whom 'cooking' meant 'heating things up', but as soon as you have to prepare food it becomes an issue. There was a lack of cat-swinging space.

Actually, I think what happened there is that the people who built the block have tried to split it into slightly too many flats. Or perhaps they have tried to split each flat into one too many rooms. Either way, the kitchen was not a room I could have used, and so proved a deal-breaker.

Rather unfortunate, that. Still, it was probably too much to hope for to nail it on the first time out.

Democracy in action

On the street next to mine, they have installed a variety of traffic calming measures. These are widely hated, and so the council have decided to perform a public consultation on whether to keep them or not.

Only they haven't. The letter we've been issued offers two possibilities:

1) Keep the traffic calming measures as-is.
2) Remove the traffic calming measures and instead spend money on a scheme that will be utterly ineffectual, and which no-one in their right mind would be willing to support.

Apparently, the sane option 3 (remove the offending part of the scheme, but leave the parts that are actually effective in place) isn't an option. Because....? Well, they don't say.

And people wonder why I'm cynical about democracy.

Experimental Cookery Tuesday #4: Prawns and Avocado with a Marie Rose sauce

Or: Steph/ven's Trilogy of Fish, Part Three

I'm aware that it's only Monday. However, as I am on holiday this week, and as I missed a week when I was in France, I elected to use today playing catch-up, and also knocking off the last of the three fish dishes.

This week was prawns.

Now, I first had prawns almost exactly ten years ago, when they were served as part of a hibachi platter at the hotel restaurant I was visiting while on a business trip. Since I had ordered the platter, since the company was paying, and since there wasn't really any alternative, I ate them. (The main meat of the platter was chicken; the prawns, like the salad, were extras.) But the thing is that prawns, like calamari, are actually on my list of acceptable seafood. I tend not to seek them out (since that would be insane), but I won't object to them. So, when Jamie said I was to have prawns this week, I wasn't too dismayed, despite my aversion to fish.

Anyway, you know the deal by now. The recipe this week was quite cheap (fish - cheaper than meat; avocado - fruit, so not too expensive; and a bunch of common items, most of which I already had). Only the whisky part of the equation was expensive, but here I plumped for a cheap and nasty blended whisky (Grants, if you're interested). Our VP (who knows this stuff) would call this sacrilege, and I'd agree with him, since it's not very nice, but since it's for cooking, the good stuff would just be a waste.

This recipe was actually not terribly fiddly - I started my preparations at 5, cooked, ate, and cleaned things away (didn't do the washing up), and then started this post at 5:30, which is pretty good going.

And the taste? Well, mid-way through the recipe it says to test the sauce, and when I did it was just foul. Awful stuff. I thought this would be a huge rant about the evil lurking in marie rose sauce.

But something changed when the whole thing was put together. Perhaps it's that the sauce was diluted by everything else. Perhaps it just needed to sit for a few minutes. Or perhaps it just wasn't as bad as I expected. Because the meal I ate was very nice indeed. A bit on the light side (and no carbs that I could discern), but very nice.

Would I have this again? Absolutely. It needs some sort of light pudding or dessert to go with it, but the meal itself is absolutely fine.

So, that's 3-1 to Jamie. And, what's more, he might actually manage to change my mind about fish during this experiment! So, I have to hand it to him: he clearly knows his stuff. (And, since I'm now a convert, here's a link to the book in question, which Amazon seem to have at 60% off.)

Next up is "Chicken and Leek Stroganoff", which I will be trying tomorrow. I'm actually looking forward to it, despite the recipe requiring me to go and buy another of my culinary nemeses: butter.

WAGs

During the World Cup 2006 (or was it the preceding European Championships? I forget), the term 'WAG' was introduced to refer to the Wives And Girlfriends of the England players. It has since been expanded to describe any wife or girlfriend of any person who plays any sport at almost any level (witness: Nicola McLean).

Now, at the time it was first introduced, the term was not unreasonable: the ladies in question were, at the time, playing a distinctly supporting role to their husbands and boyfriends, while the spotlight shone on their efforts.

What I don't understand, though, is why, absent that initial context, the term WAG is not considered horrifically offensive.

Here's the thing, a person cannot be a WAG in isolation. To be a Wife or Girlfriend, one necessarily must have a Husband or Boyfriend out there somewhere. Get divorced or dumped, and you lose the status.

In effect, therefore, to be a WAG is to be defined by the man in your life.

Contrast this with Cheryl Cole, probably the alpha WAG at present. Now, I'm certainly no fan of "Pop Stars: the Rivals", of Girls Aloud, "The X-Factor", or Cheryl herself, but the simple fact is that Girls Aloud have been extremely successful where virtually every other spawn of these talent shows have not, largely through some very hard work, and Cheryl herself has clearly been very canny in taking advantage of her opportunities.

And yet, label her a WAG, and she becomes nothing more than Ashley's wife.

Why is this considered acceptable? Why do so many girls aspire to this vaunted status? And why exactly are feminists not up in arms about it?

That's it!

As of fifteen minutes ago, I am now on holiday for a week. (And yet, somehow, I haven't left the office yet.)

Huzzah!

I think I shall spend my time in finding somewhere to live, and perhaps in reading some books. I might even consider doing all my Christmas shopping, despite being morally opposed to the Christmas season expanding before the start of December.

Qapla' !

As of this morning, I have gotten rid of the weight I gained while in France. I have also (re-)attained the third mini-goal for the diet. I find this to be good news. (Although, I'm not entirely trusting of my scales. They're mostly good for ensuring that the trend remains downwards, but not necessarily an exact figure, while both the mini-goals and the final goal are exact figures. Still, they're probably good enough for government work.)

In case you're wondering, the title of this post is, indeed, Klingon. It means, "Success!" Yes, I know that the use of Klingon is both bogus and sad. I don't care.

Oh, and to the person who complained about a lack of updates when we spoke at the weekend: this makes five for this week. Does that meet your expectations?

Sicko

I've just watched Michael Moore's film, "Sicko", which made for an interesting experience. Now, Michael Moore is a giant socialist weasel, as "Team America" says, which makes his evidence more than a little suspect. And certainly, when he was comparing the lives of English people, French people, and American people, he wasn't being entirely fair - he typically compared very well-to-do folk from other countries with very poor Americans.

Still, he is right: health insurance, at least as the sole means of getting healthcare, is fundamentally flawed.

The problem is that those who will most likely need health insurance, being the poor and those with pre-existing health conditions, are also the ones who will face the harshest health premiums (not unreasonably, since they're the ones most likely to need a pay-out), and are also the ones least likely to be able to afford coverage, assuming that they can get it at all.

Still, maybe you think that's okay - it works, as long as you're willing to turn people away (possibly to die) when they can't pay their bills. Personally, I think that's monstrous, but it would let the system work.

Of course, Americans, not being monsters, aren't willing to stomach that. And so, instead of turning people away when they can't pay, instead treat them at the ER. Where, of course, treatments are more extreme ("a stitch in time...") and more expensive. And someone has to pick up the bill, even if the recipient of care can't pay for it.

And so, the US spends more on healthcare per person than most other nations, which pays for substandard care for those who can't afford insurance.

I know Americans have a pathological fear of socialism, but in this case I think it really is the best solution to this question.

Recent TV - the good and the bad

When "Fringe" started, I heard some negative reviews, but determined to watch it for myself and make up my own mind. Sadly, those negative reviews were pretty much accurate.

On the one hand, "Fringe" is somewhat like "X-Files", only less good. On the other hand, it purports to be about the fringes of science. What this actually means is "stuff we make up, but pretend sounds good".

But what really bugs me about "Fringe" is not so much that the 'science' is utter tosh, but rather that every single week Pacey explains that the science is utter tosh, and then gets harrangued by Denethor for his lack of imagination. That really doesn't help with the show's credibility.

Typical "Fringe" script excert:

Blonde FBI Agent: Oh no, we've hit a dead end in our investigation. Whatever shall we do?
Denethor: Not to worry, I'll just technobabble a bit. If my hypothesis is right, we might just be saved.
Pacey: You do realise that that it utter tosh, right?
Denethor: When did you lose your imagination? Was it when Joey married Tom Cruise instead of you?
Blonde FBI Agent: Can we just focus on the technobabble, please? I want to go home and try to work out whether I'm upset because my boyfriend died, or because he turned out to be eeeevil.
Denethor: It worked!
Blonde FBI Agent: Huzzah, we're saved! We get to use some entirely different technobabble next week!
Pacey: Huzzah!
Denethor: Huzzah! Ice cream for everyone!

Or something like that.

Meanwhile, also in TV land, Heroes is well into its third season, and unfortunately really really sucks. Too many characters, too many plots going in too many directions, not enough focus, and no clear idea where the story is going. A lot of people said that the second season was where it all went wrong, but I actually liked the second season (although it was too slow at the start, and too rushed at the end due to the strike). Season three, though, isn't even worth watching at the present time.

Fortunately, not all is doom and gloom, for Terminator is back for its second season, and it is excellent. They've really managed to capture the menace of the terminators, and actually do seem to have a plot arc that they're unfolding. Nice. (Naturally, it's apparently set to be cancelled.)

And then there is Clone Wars, which I am enjoying a great deal. Episode 4 was on this weekend, and for the first time it really felt like they'd captured the spirit of Star Wars. I presume that the episode number was just a coincidence. Regardless, this is a fun show.

Finally, there's Merlin from the BBC, a sort-of retelling of the Arthur story. This is the show that has succeeded Robin Hood in the "Doctor Who" slot on Saturdays, and it's thankfully much much better than Robin Hood (not that that's terribly difficult). Although it's strange trying to work out which bits of the Arthur story they've kept, and which they've discarded, and I'm not sure why they chose to make Gwen the blacksmith's daughter, when they could have used a different name for that character and done better. However, of particular note is Anthony Head's Uther Pendragon, who is a marvellously nasty piece of work, and yet probably a good king.

So, TV just now isn't bad. Still, I'm eagerly awaiting the return of 24, and the last half-season of Battlestar Galactica.

Oh, also, although it's not TV: "Saw IV" is rubbish. Truly, truly bad.

Bills, bills, bills

The good news is that the nonsense surrounding my latest gas bill has now been cleared up. They've issued me with a revised bill, and although it is considerably higher than the amount they were first charging, that was something I was expecting. There still remains the oddity that each time they give me a discount for paying by monthly direct debit, and yet each month they fail to take the money from my account by direct debit.

Anyway, with a bit of luck I won't be paying a gas bill for much longer - one of the things I'm looking for in an appartment is electric heating (although gas isn't an absolute deal-breaker).

I also received my electricity bill this month, which was somewhat lower than I'd expected. Having paid this off, I then got in touch with them, and arranged a monthly direct debit so that I don't need to worry about this again. I wonder if they will actually manage to take the money we agreed.

Of course, a consequence of all this bill-paying is that I'm now broke. Guess I'll have to lay off on buying any silly hats for a while.

Experimental Cookery Tuesday #3: Salmon Tikka with Cucumber Yoghurt

I do not like fish. Jamie knows this, and has therefore arranged his book to suit: a meat dish to lure me in, then three fish dishes in sequence, to test my resolve. Will I be able to maintain my arbitrary, self-imposed rule that I have to cook everything in order?

Some people have asked me: why, if I don't like fish, do I not skip these recipes? Or, perhaps, cook them out of order to break up the ordeal? Well, there are three reasons:

1. If we go breaking rules just because they're inconvenient, even (especially) self-imposed rules, how are we to have the discipline to achieve anything? Truly, that way lies madness! Madness, and hippydom!
   
2. If I were to take the meals out of order, the reality is that I'd cook up all the things I would think I'd like, and somehow end up leaving all the boaky fish dishes to the end. Which really wouldn't be at all pleasant. No, better to cook everything in order, and thus break up the pain a little.
   
3. And besides, fish is really good for you. Except that we're not supposed to eat it, because of all the mercury. So, the addition of a couple of fish dishes really is no bad thing, unless it actually is.

So, in many ways, this was part two of the great fish trilogy. But, would it be an "Empire Strikes Back", or would it be a "Mission: Impossible 2"? Let's find out.

My first impression of the recipe was that it was a tad fiddly. There were a couple of odd things on the list this week, which wasn't a great problem, but meant poring through the shelves at Tesco at some length. In the end, I don't think I got quite the right curry paste (I got Tikka Masala paste, instead of the specified Tandoori paste), but I don't think that particularly affected the outcome.

I also made sure to get a very high quality piece of fish from Tesco. I suspect that did have a great bearing on the outcome; it also boosted the price somewhat, although it remained cheaper than the Steak of week 1.

It's also worth noting that the instructions miss out two steps: they don't mention that you should actually stir the yoghurt mix, which I assume is required, and they don't say how long you should warm the naan bread. (In fact, the naan bread was a complete disaster. I should have followed my usual policy of just sticking it in the toaster, instead of using the over. In the even, I discarded the resulting naan biscuit, and instead toasted the spare one from the packet. Which was an excellent move.)

I also ended up discarding the instruction to use the back of a spoon to apply the curry paste to the fish, and just rubbed it in by hand. This worked much better.

And for the taste?

Yeah, it's a winner. Once again, Jamie got the cook time for the meat (fish) part of the meal exactly right, leaving the fish soft and juicy, but also ideally cooked to crumble under the fork. Also, much to my surprise, the fish taste mixed extremely well with the tikka taste.

I will definately be having this one again. In fact, I'll have this again more readily than the Butterflied Steak Sarnie, as this seemed rather less fiddly to prepare, and was definately cheaper.

So, that's 2-1 to Jamie. I think he might be on a winner here.

Next week is the third fish dish in the trilogy, Prawns and Avocado with an Old-School Marie Rose sauce. Despite it being fish again, I may find I don't care - the recipe calls for the use of whiskey.

Suddenly, it all makes much more sense

This week, I discovered that there are two sets of numbering on my street. Consequently, there is another appartment that shares the same number, street name, and postcode as my own. The only difference is that the other is within a particular appartment block, and is properly addressed "Insert Name Here Buildings, Steph/ven's Street..."

I found this out when I received a package "FAO: Name" that seemed to be correctly addressed. I had assumed that this person was a previous tenant at this address, but this turned out to be incorrect. Unfortunately, I have been unable to redeliver this mail, which means getting in touch with the couriers, who expect me to be available on Monday morning for them to deign to pick up the item!

The other annoying consequence of this was that for the past year I had been receiving mail from Scottish Gas addressed to this person, but bearing the legend "Important information for the current occupant of Steph/ven's address". So, naturally, I opened the letters, to be informed that my gas meter needed replaced.

I finally got this done last time I was on vacation, and was told by the engineer that my new meter would be logged into their system, and all would be well. Naturally, this proved to be screwed up when my gas bill arrived. (I assumed this was just another case of general incompetence, an impression compounded when I was forced to spend an hour on the phone to them, having to shout to make myself heard and understood, and eventually just about managing to explain what had happened.)

So, that mystery has been resolved. Of course, it still leaves the more telling question: just what exactly where they thinking when the numbered my street thus?

Assessing the Damage

Whenever I leave the country, some nasty people break into my house and recalibrate my scales, adding six pounds to my weight. For reasons unknown, they even manage to do this when I hide the scales in inaccessible places, or even if I throw out my existing scales and buy new ones. It's really quite annoying.

Seriously, though, travelling is always a major diet-breaker. Not only is the routine shattered, leading to eating odd amounts at odd times (in restaurants that tend to use rich oils and fats to improve taste at the cost of high calories), and not only is one expected to take a drink when others do (oh, the horrors!), but there's also the problem that you never quite get to sleep as much as you should, which further knocks things out of alignment.

This particular trip was also expected to be really bad: on Monday we were taken to an expensive French restaurant and treated to a five-course feast. Oh, and unlike previous 'five course' meals I've had, this one didn't include coffee as one of the courses. Oh no, this was a proper five course meal, consisting of a pre-starter (salmon), then a starter (foie gras on couscous), main course (beef steak with more foie gras and potatoes), cheese course (a goats' cheese and apple pasty - which seemed quite odd, but was rather nice), and a desert (chocolate cake with caramel sauce and ice cream). Plus copious amounts of red wine, and coffee.

So, it was with a measure of some trepidation that I stepped onto the scales this morning. By Sunday, I had managed to shed 20 pounds, but how far had this set me back?


The answer was 4 pounds, which is less than I had feared. Still, a setback. The diet has resumed this morning. Hopefully, the new weight should be removed almost as easily as it was put on.


Oh, one other related fact: on Tuesday Kilt/Man was in action at the photo shoot. My kilt was purchased almost three years ago, and was made for me as I was then. It had become a little snug in the interim (one of the reasons for the diet starting), but is now back to fitting as it should. I'm told it created quite a stir.

Lost a tooth

This morning, my comb lost a tooth, effectively rendering it useless.

I'm gutted, not least because I have had that comb quite a long time. Indeed, I'm pretty sure it predates brother G.

Woe!

Experimental Cookery Tuesday #2: Spicy Moroccan Stewed Fish with Couscous

I do not like fish. This is a universal law, much like "every action has an equal and opposite reaction", "energy cannot be created or destroyed", or "in Scotland, it rains". But Jamie said today's meal was fish, and who was I to argue with Jamie?

So, yesterday I spoke with Tesco's fishmonger, yesterday I bought some fish, today I cooked the fish, and then, at great risk to life and limb, I ate the fish.

So, how was it?

Well, as with last week, it was rather fiddly to put together. Lots and lots of steps, that were individually simple, but had a cumulative weight to them. However, it was significantly cheaper than last week - fish is much less expensive than good quality steak.

And in terms of taste?

Well, I'm not a fan. It was okay, and amongst the nicer fish meals I've had (better than sushi, not as good as calamari). But, still, very far from being the best thing ever.

I don't think I'll be having this one again.

Sadly, next week is another fish dish: Quick Salmon Tikka with Cucumber Yoghurt.

Steph/ven Goes Continental

The clocks went back yesterday. However, due to having an early flight next Monday (actually, a very early flight), I have elected not to change, but have instead shifted to Central European Time.

This has the key advantage that the traffic is noticably lighter at 7:10 in the morning than it is at 8:10, and therefore has the advantage that I've already done three-and-a-half hours out of my week.

It has the key disadvantages that I had to get up at 6 this morning, and also that I'm completely out-of-sync with the whole of the rest of the universe. Except France.

Experimental Cookery Tuesday #1: Butterflied Steak Sarnie

A few weeks ago, on a whim, I purchased Jamie's latest book, "Jamie's Ministry of Food", the companion piece to his latest TV venture.

Now, as we all know, the rule with cookery books is that you're supposed to flick through them, rule out all the things you just know you won't like, all the things that look like being too much hassle, and anything with a vowel in the name, until you're left with a handful of things that you probably cook anyway. Whereupon you put the book on a shelf, never to be referenced again. (It's a well-known fact that cookery books don't work. I know people who have dozens of them, and their cooking isn't any better...)

Based on this, and with a reputation as a maverick to uphold (in case I ever want to run for President), I decided that I would buck the trend, and would instead try my hand at every single one of Jamie's recipes, one per week, until I hit something that I just couldn't do, got food poisoning, or got bored.

And, as an added bonus, you get to read about it. Don't blame me; Captain Ric was complaining at the weekend that I hadn't blogged in too long, and so I have had to adopt the first subject to spring to mind. Can't let him go get bored, now can we?

Anyway, the very first offering in the book is "Butterflied Steak Sarnie", made with fillet steaks coated in herbs (note to any crazy American readers: that's pronounced 'herbs'), and cooked on a high heat for a short period of time. Then served with ciabatta bread and a shifty mushroom. (Never trust a mushroom.)

So, how was it?

Well, the first answer to that question is: pricy. Good quality beef is expensive, and anything less than good quality beef isn't worth the money. Then there's all the various bits and pieces, which added up something fierce, and some of which were simply wasted, because I don't generally have a use for half a packet of rosemary.

The second answer to that is: fiddly. Although this took about fifteen minutes to prepare, which is far from unreasonable, it did involve sawing steaks in half, chopping rosemary 'finely', and a bunch of other steps. Frankly, about the time I was ready to actually cook the steak, I was getting sick of the whole process. Oh, and I burnt the ciabatta, but that's probably my fault rather than Jamie's.

But the third answer is: delicious. Oh yes, it was very nice indeed. The instructions he gave for cooking the beef, in particular, were absolutely spot on. That was a winner.

Would I have it again? Well, I kind of have to, since I now have half a ciabatta that needs eaten up. But the real answer is, "yes, but..." When I have it again, I think I'm going to ditch the fresh rosemary in favour of some from a jar, and ditch the cress altogether - it was just much more hassle than it was worth.

Otherwise, that was a bit of a winner.

Next week is "Spicy Moroccan Stewed Fish with Couscous". Not one I'm really looking forward to, since I hate fish, but rules are rules. Next time, though, I think I'll check that the book doesn't have three fish dishes in a row before I set up the rules. Silly Steph/ven!

Busy, busy, busy

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.

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!"

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.)

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.

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...

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

• 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.

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?

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.

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.

... 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?

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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".

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.

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?