Being is Bewildering

The story of The Hat. Part 2: Foundations

2008-12-27T01:12:00.005Z

With my tree purchased, I skipped home and proceeded to decorate it. Two and a half feet in height, it looked splendid wrapped in lights with baubles tied to it. Unfortunately that was the easy part. I now had to attach it to my head. On the upside, it would bring my total height to just over eight feet. But how to mount it on my head? I had a plan. Inside a hard hat is a pliable , adjustable piece that fits around the head and allows construction workers to wear a one-size-fits-all helmet all day in comfort. A trip to a toolshop in King's Cross and £3.70 later, I had a shiny red hard hat to gut.

Two problems remained. Firstly, attaching the tree to the helmet inner. Second, covering up the inner so that it didn't look like I was wearing some bizarre medical device. The solution led to me uttering the following in Homebase two days before the party:

Excuse me, I'm looking for some very strong glue and a flowerpot

Quite what the nice young woman who answered my query thought I was up to I will never know. Particularly if she reviewed the store's security tapes. You see, I had very specific requirements for my flowerpot. It had to be big enough to comfortably fit my head in, I was also short on time, so couldn't risk having to return it if it was unsatisfactory.

There now exists, somewhere on Homebase Watford's CCTV system, footage of me approaching the shelf of plastic flowerpots, working my way along until spotting one that I fancy, taking it off the shelf, furtively looking around, ducking down behind a shelf of garden ornaments, and placing a flowerpot on my head.

If you were to continue watching the tape, you would then see me remove the pot from my head, shake my head sadly and replace the pot on the shelf before taking the next size up to the till. I have a very large head.

Finally, glue. I decided I needed something special. A two-part epoxy, which said it was suited to 'rough handling' seemed like the ideal choice. I'd never used it before, but I was sure it'd be quite easy. I headed to the till, pausing only to make an impulse purchase of cactus.

The story of The Hat. Part 1: Tree.

2008-12-26T00:44:00.002Z

Our office Christmas party had a theme this year.

Come wearing hats or wigs!
Best headgear wins a prize.

it said on the poster. Last year I went to the 'masks' theme party with a phantom of the opera mask, cape and snazzy hat. I won third prize to a homemade combination of paper elastic and glitter. I wouldn't be defeated again.

After much consideration, I decided a Christmas hat was the way forward to ensure the maximum likelihood of success. A Christmas tree hat. An impressive hat. Despite not having consumed any alcohol that particular evening, a few weeks before the party a plan formulated in my head. I was going to turn up wearing a fully-decorated Christmas tree on my head. Simple.

Firstly, some shopping was in order. I'd need a Christmas tree and decorations. I headed to Poundland, where I found the following:

A Christmas tree
20 baubles
A flashing set of battery powered fairy lights
A non-flashing set of battery-powered fairy lights
Batteries for aforementioned fairy lights

A decorated Christmas tree. Sorted. For a fiver. Things were looking up.

Lifes lessons: Electricity (Special Christmas edition)

2008-12-24T16:00:00.002Z

Before buying an emergency replacement set of fairy lights on Christmas Eve, take a moment to check that the set of lights already festooned around your tree are actually plugged in.

What's in a name?

2008-10-22T19:00:00.001+01:00

Domain names are a tricky business. Picking an address for your business' website that is short, descriptive, and that nobody else has taken is difficult.
Let's imagine for a moment that you're running a business selling computers in the far west of the UK, in Wales in fact. You're very proud of the fact that your company originates in Wales.

What might we call our website?

computershopinwales.com doesn't really trip off the tongue
pcsfromwales.biz is a bit ungainly
thewelshcomputercompany.co.uk whilst descriptive is far too long

Got it!
welshit.co.uk
I can't see any problems with that. Can you?

Incompetence

2008-10-21T23:23:00.004+01:00

I stayed a bit late at work this evening to get some database work done in peace and quiet., No ringing phones, no colleagues, just me, an import file and Raiser's Edge. And Annie Mac's special drum and bass edition of The Mash Up on the BBC iplayer.

Imports done, I headed off home. Just outside work skirting round the edge of the now-closed square I pass a phonebox. There was a little group of three men nearby, and one approached me. With my earphones in, I didn't hear what he said, and so stopped to uncork an ear.

I'm really sorry to trouble you like this, but I was just wondering do you have any change for the phone? I've got a pound, but I need 40p.

I'm sure the phone would have accepted his pound coin. I assumed this was the usual scam where you get asked for a small amount of money for the penniless person who needs "just 10p" to get the bus/train/aardvark home, and then when you get your wallet out, you're either asked for much more, or the previously exhausted individual suddenly perks up and runs away very quickly with your wallet. Usually though it's one weedy-looking girl, and not three scruffy Irishmen with a slight whiff of booze about one of them.

Sorry, I've got no change.
Just 40p? That's all I'm asking
I've got nothing, I'm really sorry.

At which point I started to move away

We need your help. We've been in a car accident and I need to call my lawyer.

Top marks for originality, but I was struggling to believe that this man had a legal adviser who would be contactable at gone twenty past eight in the evening. And if you've been in a road traffic collision, I always thought it more usual to contact the police and ambulance service in the first instance. They didn't look like car crash survivors either.
At this point it all got a little less friendly. Beery-smelling mate joined in.

Come on, don't lie to me, you must have something.
Sorry mate, I've nothing on me. I'm really sorry.
Don't lie! You shouldn't lie.

At which point my efforts to walk off were met with a firm hand in the chest. Not a punch, but I definitely wasn't going anywhere without his say-so. My pulse quickened.

I've told you, I've no cash on me. I'm sorry I can't help you.

I don't know whether he'd been taken in by my repeated protestations of living a cashless existence, but my original inquisitor stopped him and moved him out of the way.

You don't have anything?
No, sorry

By this point, I was walking away, to better-lit area, as fast as I could calmly and unhurriedly do so.

And that is how I may have been very nearly mugged. If I had gone to my pocket, would I have been relieved of my wallet? Punched over the head and had everything of value removed from my person? Or was I genuinely refusing to help three people who needed the help of a stranger to get legal counsel and get home safely?Given the number of heroin addicts who frequent the area, probably not.

What got me though was the sheer ineptitude of it all. If they were trying a confidence scam by appealing to my inner good samaritan, they failed on their plausibility. If they were really trying to rob me, they gave up far too easily - I was shorter and lighter than all of them, and they could quite easily have caused my face to resemble a plate of minced beef with about twenty seconds' work.

With this in mind, I present David's top tips for conducting a mugging

Select your target carefully. Go for someone you can overpower easily. A 5'6" man with slightly floppy hair and a rucksack is probably a good bet
Hone your powers of observation. If your chosen subject has to take something out of his ear to hear you call him, he's probably got an MP3 player somewhere about his person, which could pay for your next hit.
Be credible. If you're going to try out a confidence trick, have a clear story, and ask yourself "Is anyone ever going to believe this?"
Go for high-value targets. A young man with smart shoes who you've just seen walk out of an office will probably have a mobile phone on him that is less than 12 months old.
Safety in numbers. Two muggers to every one potential victim is good; 3:1 is even better

If you follow three or more of these tips, and still walk away empty-handed, then you're probably very thick. Maybe you should consider regular employment - many jobs today require minimal training and next to no intelligence, and yet the rewards can be massive. Have you considered a career in the City?

A Photographic Faux-pas

2008-10-05T23:58:00.005+01:00

A fundraising event was being held last week for our charity. A gala, black-tie, £125-a-ticket event. At some point two days before said event, someone in the office wondered aloud "Should we get some pictures of this event?" to which someone else said, half-jokingly, "David could do them"

Thursday evening, and I'm lugging a camera, five lenses, a flashgun and three sets of flashgun batteries up Embankment to the pier where the boat on which this fancy event will set off from. I must admit, I was both terrified and excited. I'm still finding my feet with my camera having made the jump to digital, and I'm normally more of a still-life and architecture specialist than event photographer. Not that anyone on the boat would know this. They'd just see a guy in a smart black shirt slung about with professional-looking camera gear.

My first mistake was to apply a little lipsalve to combat the biting Thames wind. At some point since I last needed to use it, my lipsalve had metamorphosed from greasy tea tree-based saviour of cracked lips to something resembling Pritt Stick, and my lips got stuck together. Wiping it off only served to gove me sticky fingers and sticky lips, moments before I was expecting to shake hands with the event manager.

Fortunately I didn't need to worry about sticky hands when handshaking, as I didn't get a particularly friendly reception. I wasn't expected, and was left on the pier while a printout of the email from my manager telling me who to ask for was passed around on board and they decided whether I would be allowed to set foot on the vessel.

Finally granted permission to step on board, I got to work. Some people were very enthusiastic to have their pictures taken, others grudgingly agreed to it, and some point-blank refused. The key thing was speed - while I was taking pictures, I was interrupting valuable chatting and champagne-quaffing time. I just decided to take at least four pictures of every group, the odds being that there would be at least one where everyone wasn't noticeably grimacing, looking the other way or had their eyes closed. It seemed to work, and I'd definitely do it again.

Some people were keen to see their pictures, and on the 40D's glorious 3" screen, I was happy to oblige. Now, to scroll through images, one spins the big dial on the rear of the camera to quickly move through dozens of images. when you reach the last file on the memory card and try to go forward, you are taken to the first file on the card. And thus it was that I learnt the importance of clearing memory cards between photographic 'jobs'.

You see, the week before, I'd spotted some bananas in the family fruit basket and had spotted their photographic potential. Said images had been transferred to my PC, but were also still in my camera. So whilst showing the smartly-dressed guests the 3 or 4 images I'd just taken, suddenly an image of a downward-pointing curved yellow banana appeared on the screen. The main reaction was surprise on the guests' part, and a red face on my part. "I'm not going to ask what that's about" said one glamorously-dressed lady

It wouldn't have been so bad, but I managed to do it more than nce before having the presence of mind to delete every fruit-based image from my camera before I got myself thrown overboard.

Given the chance to do it again though, I definitley would. But only after formatting my memory cards. Twice.

Topical Humour

2008-09-29T22:30:00.000+01:00

This morning, Great Ormond Street Hospital in London had a fire. Fortunately, all the kids got out fine, and there were no serious injuries. I work near GOSH, and wandered in that direction on my lunch break. The fire was well out by 2pm, with just 3 appliances and a couple of London Fire Brigade vans giving any indication that it wasn't business as usual.

Coming up Great Ormond Street I saw a fire engine parked outside the main entrance. Above the entrance, there is a canopy, which the NHS trust for GOSH has attached a banner to, proudly declaring

This is a Smoke Free hospital

I'm sorry to say, I sniggered. I am a bad, bad person.

Life Lessons: Salad

2008-07-12T01:08:00.002+01:00

When ordering a salad, don't be surprised if it's got leaves in it. They're usually quite a big component of most salads.
"But I don't like leaves!"
"Then why did you order a salad?!"
"Because it said cous cous salad"
"It also said salad, which normally means leaves with something"
"The menu said nothing about leaves!"

Whilst it was very funny watching C dig her way through a massive pile of foliage in order to round up the last few grains of cous cous, I don't think we'll see her ordering salad off the menu again anytime soon. Lesson learnt.

The Accidental Tour Guide

2008-07-11T21:06:00.004+01:00

Way back in December, one of my colleagues put an appointment in the team's diaries:

We've been asked to do a historic walk tour in July. Someone from the team will need to do a quick talk for a bunch of tourists. The organiser will contact the team nearer the time.

And there it stayed. Lurking in the diary. Waiting...
Monday at the weekly team planning meeting, I piped up:

"Um, guys? do we know anything about this talk thing i've got in my diary for Friday?
"Oh no, wouldn't worry about it. Haven't heard anything."

Wednesday, the phone rings and I pick up:

"Hi there, this is the tour organiser. Who's going to be meeting us on Friday?"
"Um, can I call you back?"
"Who's going to do this talk?"
"Let's worry about it tomorrow"

Thursday, an email from da boss:

That talk.... why don't you do it? It'll be good experience for you of talking to people about our work etc.

Friday dawns. Two hours before I'm due to meet my audience and while I'm trying to compile a very long and complex history into two pages of notes to fill a 10-minute slot, the organiser calls again.

"Hi there, just checking who'll be meeting us"
"That would be... me. Just putting the finishing touches to my talk now."
"Brilliant. See you then."
"Before you go, er, how many people are you expecting?"
"Last time it was about 30. There's been more publicity this year, but a lot of the interested people would have come last year, so probably about the same or fewer."

The hour of reckoning comes. I stand nervously at the meeting spot. Then I spot them, a group heading in a very determined fashion towards me.
And they keep coming.
And coming.
All in all, there's around fifty of them. What's more, I don't know if it's because their advanced years have taken a toll on their hearing, or because of an insatiable thirst for history, but the group's concept of personal space seems to be markedly different to mine. Instead of the nice horseshoe of listeners around me I was expecting, I am completely surrounded by the group, and I'm nose-to-nose with the front row.

Despite shouting in several people's faces to ensure I can be heard at the back, I somehow got through it, even dealing with the preposterously detailed questions with aplomb. My dozen leaflets were practically ripped from my hand at the end.

Monday afternoon, and an email lands in my inbox:

Thanks very much for your help providing the guided tours. It went very well, and I hope you will be able to help us with a similar tour next summer.

Eeep!

Life lessons: Medical experiments

2008-06-13T22:00:00.000+01:00

When running an experiment with two drug conditions, it's always advisable to check which drug you're supposed to be administering for each session. Preferably before you start the session, and ideally before your subject has swallowed the wrong pill.

I still got a free sandwich and £20 for my time, but I'll have to go back again next week. The worst part? Doing an experiment in the evening means a whole day without caffeine, whilst working in an office bound together by the ritual making of tea and coffee. Still, another £20...

A Packaging Paradox

2008-05-28T00:46:00.006+01:00

Today an iSlice came into our house. This little gizmo uses a ceramic blade to cut stuff safely, but due to some kind of witchcraft, it can't cut your fingers, or so the makers claim.

Amazingly that last bit is true, even I, well known for my ability to injure myself on anything sharp, can't get the iSlice to draw blood. (I spent a December evening in A&E bleeding profusely a couple of years ago after a friend ill-advisedly gave me a multitool for Christmas. I even cut myself on a tape dispenser at work today. Twice.)

One of the selling points is how it can be used to open those troublesome welded clamshell packages, that so many electronic items come into these days. Retailers and manufacturers love them because they show off the product, protect it and make life difficult for shoplifters. Consumers like you and me hate them because they're impossible to get into without a lot of brute force, swearing, and turning the plastic into a series of transparent finger-shredding blades.

So how has the iSlice been prepared for its journey to the shops?
Yup, you guessed it. How am I supposed to open this without cutting my fingers?**Obviously, I asked an adult to help me with the scissors. It's for the best.

Taking Flight

2008-04-18T21:04:00.001+01:00

Having an excess of annual leave owing to me, I decided I would do something a bit different with my Friday off work. Kite landboarding seemed like the obvious choice, as I'm sure you'll agree.

I'd booked 3 hours of one-to-one tuition with kitevibe, on the recommendation of a Guardian 'adventure' supplement from a couple of months ago, and set off for Richmond Park. Which, incidentally, has appalling signage. I got off the bus early, walked through Robin Hood Gate and didn't realise it was Robin Hood Gate, tried to board another bus, before the driver pointed me back to where I had come from. Considering I was 20 minutes late, my instructor was remarkably good about the whole thing.

Mark looked every part the extreme sports instructor. Pony tail, snowboarding jacket in polar camouflage, goatee, and a grin that comes from knowing someone is paying you to watch them fall over repeatedly.
I did as I was told, and put on the helmet, elbow pads and knee pads provided, then filled out the form Mark handed to me:

Name...
Address...
Emergency Contact number...
Allergies...
Blood type...
Preferred Hospital... ?

Those last two only worried me a little bit. I left them blank - I don't know my blood type, and if I need a hospital, I'm not the picky type.

"Let's see you fly a kite then."

Carefully, I got my kite out of the bag and laid out the lines. I'd been caught out before, and wasn't going to let it happen again. Everything set, lines staked out, I got ready to launch. The wind was pretty strong. Actually, it was very strong, and I was having second thoughts, as the kite bounced angrily on the ground ahead of me. I turned sheepishly to Mark.
"Um, I wouldn't normally fly it in winds this strong. I don't think it's very safe."
"Go up to the kite and hang onto it. I'm going to make an adjustment."
I followed instructions and clung onto the still-inflated kite until Mark called me back.
"What I've done is tighten up your brake lines. You see how it's not bouncing around any more?"
"Mm-hm"
"Try it now"

I gingerly pulled on the lines, until the kite took flight. It soared upwards, did a few turns in the sky, then a gust of wind caught it, pulled me forward, and then launched me skyward, causing me to activate the kite killers. Unfortunately I was already airborne.

I'm no sure of my trajectory, I had my eyes shut. What I do know is that I landed on my helmet-clad head, and that when I sat up I saw stars.

Mark tried out the kite, and agreed that the wind, at over 20mph wasn't really safe for someone as unskilled and lightweight as me.
So, we moved onto board theory. We went over bearing types, board materials, wheel spokes and all sorts of other details I now can't remember.
How do you practice kiteboarding without a kite? First you practice getting on and off the board whilst not looking at it. Stepping on... jumping off... stepping on... jumping off. All whilst wearing my helmet, elbow pads and knee pads. Ridiculous doesn't begin to describe it, but it got worse. I also needed to practice steering the board whilst in motion.

Remember, I wasn't flying the kite. So how to learn? Thus it was that I found myself holding onto the ends of a kite bar, with my instructor holding onto the middle, playing the role of 'kite', and then was dragged up and down a path at a leisurely pace, still wearing my helmet, knee pads and elbow pads. The dog walkers were bemused to say the least.

The wind was gusting up to 25mph once I'd finished making a fool of myself, so we decided to call it a day. I've still got two hours left, so maybe next time I'll be able to combine the kite and the board.

Life lessons: Optics

2008-04-06T00:00:00.003+01:00

If you've been finding the view through your camera's viewfinder a little blurry recently, and started to wonder whether your vision was failing you, take a moment to check whether the diopter correction dial on the eyepiece has slipped.
You might find that instead of needing to book an appointment for an eye exam at the opticians, you just need to turn the dial from the positive end towards the negative.

No glasses for me, at least not for a while

An apt title

2008-03-29T23:44:00.008Z

For reasons which I, as a man, am unable to understand, a number of young girls fixate on all things four-legged and in possession of fetlocks, usually just as they board the hormonal rollercoaster to adolescence. This is so prolific that there's quite an industry around their unhealthy obsession.Horse And Pony Magazine provides juvenile equestrian addicts with a monthly fix, and at £2.30 is substantially cheaper than either horse or a pony. WHSmith have it as one of their featured magazines this week, and have put it in its own holder hanging off the front of the other magazine racks. I couldn't help but notice it in this prominent position.

Their cheerful pink logo has been carefully designed to appeal to their target market: girls who still think boys are yukky.

Unfortunately the April 2008 cover overlays a fine chestnut equine over part of the logo, obliterating the Y and making the top of the N look like an O.

Given the fact that many adolescent girls choose to spend their weekends mucking out stables, I think the new title is pretty accurate.

Things you never think you'll say. #1

2008-03-29T14:58:00.002Z

I just fixed my hard drive. With a matchstick.

Property Advice

2008-03-27T23:11:00.002Z

If you're looking for a new flatmate, an easy way to find one in this 21st century age of technology is to advertise on a site like moveflat.com There, prospective housemates can email you to arrange a viewing. You can then suggest a time. All this counts for nothing though, if you fail to give them an address. Your postcode is ahred with no less than 23 other properties on your road. Your entire road fits the description of "large 3-storey victorian house"

So, "London Archway Flatshare," that's why I didn't come round to see the room this evening. Sorry, your fault. I did email you twice to ask for the address.

On getting acquainted with the local sense of humour

2008-03-06T19:30:00.002Z

Following a daytrip round the highlands, I decided the ideal way to round off my day when I got back to Edinburgh would be a relaxing pint of Guinness in a pub. Well, that and I was desperate for a wee.
I stepped into The Scotsman's Lounge just off the Royal Mile. The patrons were crowded round the bar, and all seemed to a) know each other and b) hail from Scotland. With a rucksack, a large camera bag and a very English accent, I looked every part the tourist. I ordered my drink and headed to the loo while it settled.
Feeling much more relaxed, I picked up my drink and found a barrel to sit at. One of the other customers peeled away from the bar and went to the jukebox. I noticed the men round the bar had started glancing in my direction, with a slight grin passing across their faces.
And then it happened. Greatest Bagpipe Hits filled the air. Not my favourite music by quite some way. Why was I being subjected to this?
I fired off a text to a Scottish friend explaining my situation

Can't tell if they're taking the piss or like it.

The reply came back in minutes:

Scottish:taking the piss,
Tourist:like it

The bastards had spent a quid on 101 pipe classics. It went on forever.

Piped music

2008-03-02T19:00:00.001Z

A casual visitor to Edinburgh, wandering through the city on a Sunday morning, might come to the conclusion that every citizen of Edinburgh had a civic duty to stand on a street corner wearing tartan and playing the bagpipes. Fortunately, by the afternoon the constant serenading had stopped and the city was once again allowed to hear its thoughts.

Bagpipes do have a place. It's on the battlefield, at a military tattoo, or, if they're being practiced, a remote corner of the Scottish Highlands. and absolutely nowhere else.

Heading North

2008-03-01T18:57:00.004Z

An overdue holiday to Edinburgh - and the fun starts on the train.
Somewhere north of London, an older lady sat down next to me and started reading her magazine. Being an inquisitive type, I glanced across, and found that the reading material du jour was Chat magazine.

Featuring

Spaghetti hoops - we test to find the best!
Ruth the Truth - Psychic agony aunt
And coming up next week: True stories - "I'm 74 years old and a stripper!"

I have never encountered Chat before, but after that I'm considering a subscription

On a side note, if you're passing through York, it appears to be some kind of Mecca for trainspotters. I could probably have been a trainspotter if my dad had shared his interest in trains with me. My mind is of the type that gets hung up on little details, and I believe it is only thanks to my dad's reluctance to share his railway magazines that I'm not spending my Saturdays at the end of a platform with a video camera and notebook. I do wonder though what happens to all these videos....

Stupid question

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ON99DpvIrF4

Harsh criticism

2008-02-23T22:32:00.003Z

Lily Allen has got herself a chat show on BBC Three. It's had... mixed reviews. Actually, they're pretty bad. There were even reports that the studio audience walked out of the recording due to boredom.

Now I don't mind Lily Allen, she's got some good songs, but the fact is, her venture into TV presenting simply isn't very good.

I did think the verdict of the electronic prgramme guide on my freeview box was unnecessarily harsh though:

Still here!

2008-02-20T01:04:00.004Z

It's all been a bit quiet here recently. Probably because out in the 'real world' that we hear so much about, it's been anything but. Busy busy busy, both work & play. But mostly work. A series of incredibly fiddly tasks have conspired against me to occur at the same time, and coincide with the absence of several colleagues. That said, I've written a new specification for a helper, so I get to play at being a manager again with a volunteer. Volunteers in charity offices are a lot like temps, except that you get to work with them for longer, they're more motivated and rather a lot cheaper [I say this as someone who has been one, so don't tell me off]

We've an event on Thursday night which I am not looking forward to in the slightest as my job is to tick people off on a list. Going on past experience, a certain number of these people will hold the belief that because they have purchased a ticket for £90, they can look down on us mere support staff and generally behave as if we were vastly inferior to them. Not all of them, but a few will see me there in my new regulation black trousers, white shirt and bow tie (purchased this evening at the princely sum of £63), and immediatelt consider me to be a bit dim & unskilled. The feeling is mutual.
Onto happier thoughts, beoko365+1 has reached day 50, and so it looks like I may be able to rattle off an image a day as I did in 2007. People keep saying "I thought you'd finished that?", and well, I did... but then I started again. It's still a challenge though.

I'm off to Edinburgh in a couple of weeks, and paying an arm and a leg for the privilege, so hopefully there's a blogpost in there.

Until next time, Ciao!

Worrying developments

2008-02-04T00:08:00.000Z

I use a little thing called sitemeter to find out whether anyone's actualy viewing my blog (Believe it or not, they do, I've got charts and everything) But I digress
One of the things sitemeter tells me is site referrals. Whenever you click a link, your computer sends information about the page you were on to the page you are going to. It's a handy little feature of the internet if a little disconcerting, and many businesses on the net are based completely on functioning referral links.

One of the things referrals tell me is what people are searching for. Recently there's been a new and worrying search term which has led people here. It seems to be the product of a humorous European mispronunciation which means that surfers looking for a certain thing instead find themselves at this post here This is very different from what they were looking for. What a difference one letter can make.

I however find it a little difficult to explain exactly what these people were searching for. It's an item of foreign cinema with a niche interest, although it's not exactly arthouse.
The protagonists are a number of young women who number more than one but less than three. This number of not-very-old women are in posession of a single drinking vessel, and this is the focus of their attentions throughout the short cinematic oeuvre.
Such is the simplicity of the composition, containing as it does only a pair of female persons and a lone hand-held tankard, that these elements have been used to title this miniature celluloid opus, and this title has subsequently gained a certain notoriety because the actions depicted in the video are somewhat alarming to those faint of heart or weak of stomach.If you know what I'm talking about, hopefully you've had a snigger by now at the expense of the users of google.de and google.ch. If you have no idea, I beg you not to investigate any further if you truly value your retinas.

TV is sh*t

2008-01-06T13:39:00.000Z

Whilst packing away our Christmas fairy lights again, I idly switched on the television to have something to distract me from the tedious task of fitting a hundred tiny lamps into a plastic frame.
There it was, in the top right corner. I was watching

The nation's favourite number two's"

While we're here, I'd like to draw your attention to the following, jut in case they've escaped your notice up to this point

RateMyPoo
Everything comes down to poo
The Poo and Wee Song
The Bristol Stool Scale
Pee&Poo (you can buy soft toys in the shop too!)

Liar, Liar...

2008-01-02T12:48:00.000Z

This story of kitchen firefighting is currently one of the top stories on the BBC News website - up there with violence in Kenya and the moving of Pakistan's election.

I do feel a bit sorry for the lady whose pants are now being described as "Giant knickers", but couldn't help laughing at the link to the video report:Clicking the link reveals no actual footage of flaming undergarments

A New Year's resolution kept!

2007-12-31T23:59:00.000Z

At the end of 2006, I decided to start a photo blog on beoko.com/blog.
The idea was to take a photo every day for a year, and I did, I've just finished my last post of 2007. Go and have a look, if you're starting 2008 with a hangover, it might be a nice soothing thing to do...

Who knows what 2008 will bring?
Happy New Year!

Major[ette] issues

2007-12-26T14:40:00.000Z

Doing St John duties takes you to all kinds of interesting places and lets you see all kinds of amazing performances. Getting backstage at V festival in Staffordshire, hanging around in the Golden Circle at Live 8, wandering through the royal enclosure at Royal Ascot when it came to York, and supporting the London Marathon.

Amazing spectacles. Sometimes though, you see something that takes your breath away for all the wrong reasons.

There's a small, low-risk duty we've been doing for several years at a Christmas market in the vicinity of Watford. It's outside, in December and thus thermal underwear is essential wear. This year we got rained on too for good measure. The market consists of a few food stalls, a couple of kids' fairground rides, and some entertainments, including a local team of majorettes.
In case you're not familiar with majorettes, the general principles are well-executed moves, synchronisation, and the twirling and throwing of batons, all performed to music with a beat.

The squad lined up, and the music began. The squad didn't move, but instead adopted a rather confused expression. and nervously glanced towards the hospital radio DJ who was providing the musical accompaniment.
"Sorry folks, that seems to have been the wrong track. Lets try that again shall we?"

The rousing opening to Sash's Ecuador boomed out of the small PA system, and as soon as the beat kicked in, they were off! Sort of. It quickly became apparent that not everyone was completely familiar with the routine, and they were in fact all copying the moves of one girl at the front, resulting in an interesting ripple effect across the group as each majorette copied the girl in front of them.
After marching around a bit and almost executing the manoeuvre where two marching lines cross each other smoothly without breaking step, it was time to start the baton-twirling. Just to reiterate, the whole point of the exercise is to twirl said baton around whilst hanging onto it, and then repeatedly chuck it skywards and catch it. A task which, without exception, every member of the team failed at repeatedly. This led to much running after wayward batons, as the little knobs on each end mean that once dropped, they can roll quite a long way.

Just when we thought it couldn't get any worse, the CD started skipping, and they spent a good ten seconds desperately trying to march to the beat of the stuttering record before the DJ put them out of their misery.

Time to move onto something different. Time to bring out the elite baton twirlers. You could tell they were the elite, because they were twirling bigger batons, and had sashes with medals on. The assembled spectators soon became aware of the key difference between a standard baton and a big baton. A bigger baton makes a bigger sound if dropped. Which they did. Repeatedly.

As if this spectacle wasn't enough, the music accompanying this segment was a euro-dance remix of Celine Dion's 1998 worldwide smash-hit, 'My Heart Will Go On' Already one of the most objectionable and overplayed recordings of the last ten years, made infinitely worse by the addition of a pounding techno beat. The particular version in use on this fateful day appeared to have been recorded from a radio broadcast. On longwave. Underwater. From a country which hadn't quite invented the radio yet. Dire doesn't begin to describe it.
After a while the team decided to call it a day and the performance was concluded.
Their instructor then had an angina attack*, which was fortunately the last item in this catalogue of misfortunes.

Now you may think I'm being a little harsh. The performers were all children, girls with an average age of perhaps nine years old. Normally I'd not comment on their mistakes on account of their youth. Unfortunately, I saw their display last year. Same team, most of the same individuals, and in twelve months they'd made no improvement at all.

Practice makes perfect, but there has to be a point when you take a step back, and realise that your talents lie elsewhere. Sorry girls.

*I should add that we didn't treat the instructor, and were not asked to.

Life lessons: Nutrition

2007-12-22T15:12:00.000Z

If you skip breakfast then snack on the plentiful supply of chocolate biscuits to be found in the office just before Christmas because you don't have time to go for lunch, you will find around twenty past three in the afternoon that you are somewhat delirious, on a sugar high and exceedingly hungry. A period of hysteria will then follow until you have eaten a sandwich.

Lesson learnt: no matter how busy you are at work, eat proper food, chocolate alone cannot sustain you

Life lessons: Information Technology

2007-12-06T00:42:00.000Z

When a colleague has asked you to scan something for them, one would be well advised to check that the USB cable is actually plugged into the back of said scanner.

Even better would be to check this before spending almost 25 minutes of your seven-hour work day attempting to run the scanner software a couple of times, ctrl-alt-deleting Windows to see whether the scan software has died, turning the scanner off and on again half a dozen times, unplugging and re-plugging the USB connector into the PC several times and finally restarting your PC to absolutely no effect.

Life lessons: Snackfoods

2007-12-01T00:54:00.000Z

It is important to note that a prawn cracker and a prawn cocktail flavour snack are two very different things. One contains prawn. The other does not. One is a traditional Chinese food, the other is, well, a bit artificial.

If you make this mistake, someone will have to go out again to buy the correct crispy item.

I should probably point out at this point, that I do know the difference between prawn crackers and Skips. My dad however, at the age of 58, had somehow never encountered a prawn cocktail flavour snack in his entire life, and thus when presented with two bags with the word 'prawn' on, went for the lower-fat option. Sensible. But wrong.
You learn something new every day, eh?

Life Lessons: Foreign Cinema

2007-11-27T01:02:00.000Z

A new series on lessons learnt by trial and error. Mostly by error.

When watching a biopic of a Czech director, it's always useful to check whether subtitles are turned on before you start watching. Instead of, say, waiting 10 minutes in the vain hope that someone will start speaking in English.
Then having to sheepishly go back and switch the subtitles on.

What's in the Box?

2007-11-05T22:24:00.000Z

I love online shopping, I do.
Stuff you can't get anywhere else, and stuff which you can't find cheaper anywhere else. Stuff when you simply can't be bothered to walk to the shops. Make your selection, fill in the boxes, click the confirm button and sooner or later a jiffy bag or box will arrive at a destination of your choosing. So far this year I have purchased online

CD's
Financial products
An MP3 player
Photographic stuff
Computer bits
A bank account
An alarm clock
DVD rental
Online dating
Train tickets
A website
A camera lens

I told you, I do like online shopping. A lot.

Earlier this year I made an online purchase which wouldn't fit through my letterbox. But what was in the purple box?

Let's open the flaps
A lot of packing material, it must be under here. Obviously it's very fragile.
Not under this layer...
Maybe if I shift it to one side, is there something there?
Definitely something hiding in that corner...
Yes! A tube map!

The complete package

A credit card size map in a box the size of a small dog (it actually bore the legend "chihuahua" on one side)
Let's have a comparison, thanks to Sizeasy

Nope, that's definitely ridiculous. I have no idea why they chose to pack it this way. A solid metal tube map, less than a millimetre thick, in a box big enough for a child's shoes. Why oh why? These people would have a fit. Someone at iwantoneofthose in dispatch needs their head examining. On the plus side, the tube map is damn cool. Everyone without exception oohs and aahs over it. But be warned you'll probably need to make a trip to the sorting office before you can get your hands on it.

Anyone else got an example of ridiculous packaging they'd like to share?

Examining the Evidence

2007-10-28T22:51:00.000Z

It had been a while since I'd last been to the under 18's discotheque, and yet I was inexorably drawn back to the noise, late night, swearing, drunk-fest, and so once again found myself sitting in the club's sweaty little first aid room with the cardboard wall backing onto the ladies' toilets.
It wasn't long before we had our first customer.

Found in the queue outside looking distinctly unwell & unsteady, the bouncers' verdict was brief: 'drunk'. We thought this was a distinct possibility, and asked our patient about whether she had been drinking. She insisted she hadn't, but unfortunately this is exactly what underage drinkers tell you when they have been drinking. Repeated questioning is usually the only way to get them to admit it, and then start to tell you how much they have drunk, when , and whether they may have put anything else into their body which might cause them to be disorientated, shouty, tearful and unable to stand up. By the time her mother turned up, we were fairly sure [and her mother was insistent] that she hadn't been drinking alcohol but was quite unwell, and needing being tucked up in bed. All this is a rather dull anecdote about not assuming the obvious explanation is the correct one, apart from the contents of her handbag.

Club security like searches at these events, at the request of the licensing authority there was even a police search team at the club entrance with metal detectors. As soon as our first casualty had been sat down, her large handbag was subject to close scrutiny:

"There's something in this bag!" said one of the club's staff
"What is it?"
"Don't know, it's... wet. Eurgh."
"I, um... felt a bit, er... sick in the queue," piped up a little voice from behind them
"Eurgh! Yuk! No! Eurgh!"

Oh how we laughed. Well, we laughed, the club staff developed an obsession with alcohol hand gel for the rest of the night.

Next up was a very tipsy fifteen year-old, who went through the usual routine of denying having drunk alcohol, progressing to 'a little bit' to alternating between 'half a glass of wine' and 'half a bottle of wine' Obviously she was sick, fortunately in a bag we'd thoughtfully provided her with. What I want to know though is on what planet did it recently become acceptable for fifteen year old girls to go out dressed in a 'sexy nurse' outfit consisting of a short striped dress, apron, and white fishnet stockings with white high heels. An accompanying friend was a 'sexy police officer' with suspenders, furry handcuffs and a top which bore the number 69 on each of the epaulets. I may be old-fashioned and not fully up to speed on the latest thinking on letting people express their sexuality in whatever way they choose, regardless of their age, it must be a generational thing. What I could see in front of me though was an unwell, scared child dressed as an adult man's sexual fantasy. It was actually quite unsettling, and is now putting me in mind of London to Brighton, an excellent film which I recommend , although it does contain some very unpleasant subject matter.A girl found unconscious in the toilets in a pool of vomit with a large bump to her temple was confused, drowsy, and sent to hospital in an ambulance without delay. Too many symptoms with too many possible causes meant we weren't going to wait to see whether she improved.

And so to the final attraction of the evening. Injuries consistent with blows to the head, an allegation of assault and parents wanting to press charges. But who had been assaulted?

Was it my first casualty?

Stated she had been punched twice on the cheek and twice on the temple
Had large angry bruises to the temple and cheek
Was in floods of tears and very upset
Had two friends who backed up her story

Or my second?

Stated she had been punched once in the back of the head
Had no swelling or visible injuries, [the injury site was under her hair]
Was complaining of a headache
Was checked over at the request of the police after her mother's insistence, some forty minutes after coming into the security search area adjacent to the first aid room
Was calm throughout
Was arrested and bailed, revealing that she had a record on the police national computer and 'restrictions'

I'll leave you to make your own mind up about who is most likely to be the victim. My challenge was to put my suspicions and opinions to one side and examine the injuries of both in exactly the same way, and complete a fastidiously accurate PRF using only what I was told, and what I could see.
If I'm very unlucky and the assault case goes to court, either side may want to see my records. Hopefully they'll be detailed enough to not require my presence to explain them. That would Not Be Fun.

Click, click, click, click-BOOM!

2007-10-27T01:13:00.000+01:00

My job's definitely getting weirder.
As if washing coins of small denomination wasn't enough, my employment today involved scrutinising pictures of autographed photos of movie stars to help determine whether the cheque with the big florid signature was indeed that of who we thought it was. (It was.)
Then this afternoon I was taking the details of a very nice man who wanted me to send some information:

"And my email address is derek dot..."
POP!
"...excuse me, can you stop there? My pen's just exploded and I need to change it. Won't be two seconds"
"?"

The promotional pen I had grabbed from my desk to scribble with had decided to end it all and leave this cruel world in a spectacular fashion. The lid was somewhere over my right shoulder, the spring was in front of me, and I only found the refill when I stood up and found it had landed in my lap. Surprising for me, but distinctly unnerving to the caller.This is the offending writing instrument, the 'Alpine' pen which is apparently a "very popular choice" according to all the merchandise suppliers I've been speaking to recently. I'm telling you now, it looks tacky, and falls apart spontaneously and explosively.

A post featuring a sexy nurse outfit, a fight and a handbag hiding a surprise will follow shortly...

Small Change

2007-10-24T01:02:00.000+01:00

We had a presence at a local festival last weekend, raising our profile and [hopefully] a bit of cash. This meant collecting tins a-plenty, including two at Starbucks, soliciting donations with a tasting of some coffee-based milky sweet concoction, possibly a white chocolate mocha. Unlike last time, no-one stole the tin.Fast forward two days to Monday afternoon, and I had collected the two tins ready to count. Not very full, but not bad for one day.

Open tin one... pop! open tin two... pop... hmmm

Hey, you can tell this one's been in Starbucks... it smells of coffee!"

And indeed it did. On tipping out the fragrant tin we found a muddy, sticky, not-quite-coffee-colour liquid over most of the coins, and now on the desk. a mix of milk, 2-day-old coffee, syrup and whatever dirt had been coating the coins. Quite how it got there I don't know. Maybe someone had mistaken the tin for a slop bucket. As you do.

It wasn't nice, and was almost impossible to remove from a hundred or so coins by just blotting them. I ended up washing the coins in the kitchen, much to the confusion of others, and resulting in a lamentable joke about money laundering for which I should be shot. Still, I'm chalking it up as #132 on the list of things I didn't ever imagine myself doing when I took this job.

One further point: When helping your colleague to count the contents of a tin, it's plain not nice to speculate on 'which orifices these coins might have been in' or to mutter something about the amount of 'faecal matter' found on the average coin.

Now wash your hands.

Following Instructions

2007-10-15T23:43:00.000+01:00

I spend far too much time on trains. But I need to get this off my chest. Sorry.

In order to faciliatate "Revenue Protection" aka, the 'no free rides on our railways' policy, busy stations have automated ticket barriers. Their operation is simple, one might even go so far as to use the term 'idiot-proof', if you were particularly naïve. [Experience tells us that nothing is idiot proof] An experienced half-asleep traveller such as myself can accomplish the whole process in a shade under two seconds.
The procedure is as follows

Ticket goes in slot
Machine reads ticket
Ticket comes out of slot, and machine displays the phrase
Take ticket
Passenger removes ticket, and the gates open.

Simple? I like to think so. So simple that thousands, nay millions of commuters manage it several times every day.
Now occasionally the ticket's torn, damaged, the wrong way round, no longer valid or not valid for that station. At stage three therefore the machine instead tells people to

Take ticket and seek assistance

The passenger is supposed to take their ticket, and , get this, go and talk to one of the people positioned anywhere between two and twenty metres away from them. Still with me? Good, because for some people, this is quite a big mental leap.
Apparently "Take ticket and seek assistance" could mean several things, none of which involve seeking assistance. It could mean:

Take ticket and survey barrier with a look of bewilderment equivalent to that seen when unexpectedly having a vision of a minor deity at chest height.
Take ticket and walk into the still-closed gate and then express surprise that you can't get through. You are permitted to make an 'oof' noise as you hit the barrier at speed.
Leave ticket in the machine and hope the gate opens before you and your luggage hit it, and then look surprised when you collide with the barrier. I suggest you use the blank, dazed expression of a puppy who has walked into a lamp post.
Remove ticket from the machine and examine it closely, to check that you have indeed put a train ticket in the machine, and not an unusually large, thin cornflake with writing on. Take your time, you must be absolutely certain of this before attempting any further action, and you should do so whilst blocking the gate completely.
If the barrier didn't open the first time you collided with it, maybe you could try bumping into it a few more times rugby-player style just to make sure - it's not as if they're built to stop people getting through.
Re-insert the ticket into the machine to see if it works a second time around [it never, ever does] Repeat as many times as you like, with the same degree of success. Every. Single. Time. It's OK, the growing queue of people behind you are quite happy to wait, we're not really trying to get anywhere.
Try putting the ticket in again, but this time, upside down, you know, in case the machine was having 'one of those days' when it just fancies doing things differently.
Get angry at the ticket machine, and re-insert your ticket, but this time with more aggression to intimidate the equipment into speeding your passage through the gate. That'll learn 'em.

After any of the above steps, or if you're in a hurry, as your first option, you may wish to try another barrier. Though it worked fine for the ten people in front of you, it might be a glitch just for you, just with that barrier. Feel free to try every damn barrier available, why the hell not? There's a dozen to choose from! And you can employ all the techniques that didn't work before on your first choice of gate on all the other identical gates which will proceed to exhibit identical responses and issue the same advice - "seek assistance"

I cannot understand why people do this every bloody morning. It slows down not only everyone behind them, but Mr or Miss non-valid-ticket too. They get more and more frustrated and annoyed, and we, everyone behind them, has to put up with them blocking one gate after another.

If English isn't your first language, if you are a tourist, if you don't often travel by train, or are just of below average intelligence, you are excused. You really do not know any better. That's fine. You've been confused by a very impersonal automatic piece of machinery, which is a quite normal reaction. Allow me to smile gently at you and indicate the railway staff to you.

But during rush hour, there are very few tourists on the train. And the people who spend the most time barging into closed gates dress in a manner which suggest full-time employment requiring great brain power and daily commuting by train. They also swear at the machines and express their dissatisfaction with the pleasant station staff in a manner that indicates they are in fact native English speakers, and have probably been this annoying and oblivious to the world beyond the end of their nose for a great deal of their lives.

I have lost count of the number of times I have seen this happen. The holder of the duff ticket and everybody in the vicinity gets thoroughly annoyed, and then proceeds to their workplace in a foul mood. The first ten minutes of these peoples' days are completely unproductive, and this is repeated in offices cross London and up and down the country. It must be costing the economy millions each year.

Rant over.

Strangers On A Train

2007-09-26T00:11:00.000+01:00

Public transport, we're often told is the 'green' option. Admittedly it does rely on fossil fuels, but unless you're a spokesperson for the motor industry, the general consensus is that if you can't walk it or cycle, you should take the train. And what a variety of characters you get to see.!Why this morning I shared a carriage with a gentleman who had taken it upon himself to decorate his bicycle handlebars with an assortment of elastic bands!

So, public transport - the realm of the poor, the carless, the psychologically dubious and the eco-friendly.

A little while, around the time of the Camp For Climate Change, I spotted a couple who I suspected were climate change protesters. Their environmentally-friendly credentials and their status as eco-warriors was somethign these people wore on their sleeve.
Aged around 20, they were wearing his-n-hers foliage green vegetable dye woollen tops. She had gone for a cardigan with large wooden buttons over a natural-dye cotton dress, whilst Mr Climate Change was sporting dreadlocks and a biodegradable hoodie - the toggles on the hood were knitted and thus crude oil free. In the fullness of time the whole ensemble would biodegrade.

Presumably on their way to a long day telling BAA they disapproved of their corporate strategy, or possibly intending to superglue themselves to a van, they'd popped into Sainsbury's to get foodbefore getting on the train. Like their clothing, their provisions were carefully chosen. Carried in a Bag For Life, our intrepid eco-warriors had selected Buxton mineral water (from a British source, so a smaller carbon footprint) Taste The Difference seeded bread (premium products pay the farmers better, it may have even been organic) lettuce (organic and from the UK, natch) and camembert, which they were combining into hearty sandwiches.

Now I have no problem with environmental protesters. I try to do my bit for the planet - I recycle, don't litter, use rechargeable batteries, switch things off, etc. I have a lot of respect for people with strongly-held beliefs, and if it wasn't for the fact that they would disapprove of my leather shoes and the no conversations on British public transport rule, I could have happily had a chat with them.

However.

The special ingredient in their sandwiches was garlic. Raw, fresh, carefully chopped up with a Swiss Army knife, sprinkled delicately over the camembert, garlic. Garlic is quite a powerful odour. My sense of smell is a bit sensitive before 9am. On a chilly morning with the windows closed, there isn't a great deal of air circulating in your average commuter train. Organic or not the stench was overpowering.

Since when did food preparation on the 08:34 to London Euston become socially acceptable? It didn't. Eating Burger King on the train home is a bit antisocial, but the smell passes fairly quickly. Garlic to start the day is a no-no.
Maybe they were going to disable Heathrow by breathing over the check-in desks, or upset the police sniffer dogs.

I think I would have been in a worse mood had it not been for the entertainment offered by the inscrutable expression of the commuter sat immediately opposite the garlic chopper. Plugged into his ipod, refusing to acknowledge the culinary masterpiece being produced in front of him, and staring straight ahead as if being surrounded by a cloud of parfum du Allium sativum was perfectly normal.
Although he was seated in the corner furthest from the doors, when we pulled into London he was one of the first to jump off, swiftly followed by yours truly.

Rant over.

It's been a while...

2007-09-25T00:30:00.000+01:00

...since I last posted. People have noticed. There are a number of reasons for this, one of these being a quite catastrophic computer failure, that took me two weeks to recover from before I had a booting system, and another week after that before I could get the hard drive with all my data on to reveal its secrets.

Without getting too geeky, the drive was telling the rest of the computer that it was 33GB big, although I knew it was 160GB, with 130GB of my 'stuff' on it, mostly scanned photos, which take around 10 minutes to scan. Each. That's around 145 hours of scanning, not to mention two years of digital pictures of university nights out, and an entire ripped CD collection.
I found software that could see the files, but even after I bought a licence from the Canadians who made it and spent several days sending trans-atlantic emails to try to solve the Mystery of the Megabytes*, the software couldn't restore them because well, you can't fit 130GB of stuff into a 33GB space, can you? Fair point.
*This will not be being made into an Indiana Jones movie any time soon. Trust me.
My salvation came in the shape a small, free program called HDD Capacity Restore, which did exactly what it was supposed to do. After swapping a few cables inside my PC, it took just a couple of clicks, and I was back among the data 'haves' instead of the data 'have-nots'
People! I implore you! Start a backup regime, and stick to it You will save yourself countless hours, and much wailing and gnashing of teeth. For information, data recovery costs upwards of £275 on a 160GB drive, and the bigger the drive, the more expensive it gets. External hard drives cost a lot less - worth considering. Start at Lifehacker for tips.

Right, geekery over, I will soon resume blogging more often. It's good to let a blog go 'fallow' I think and then come back to it refreshed and enthused. I've got a few blog posts I've been wanting to put up, and will do over the next week or so. Unfortunately, annoying people and public transport do feature, to the extent that a new category label of 'rants' will need to be specially created.

In the meantime, I recommend that you
Get your backup procedure sorted out
Replace your installed software RSS aggregator with Google Reader [Sharpreader's OK, but just too resource-intensive and unstable]
Get a personalised homepage with iGoogle
Go look at some lolcats But not if you're at work. You'll find one that causes you to burst out laughing, and it'll be very difficult to explain to your manager.
Stare in wonderment at Blogger Play and see what's being uploaded to Blogger [not guaranteed 100% worksafe, just 99.9%]
Revisit beoko365 - I'm on the last 100 days, 73% complete
I cannot say this enough times - get everything you hold most dear on your computer backed up. Otherwise it will disappear without warning, and I can assure you that is nofunwhatsoever.

Don't Try This At Home

2007-08-16T01:15:00.000+01:00

Gmail's spam filter is pretty good, and probably less than 1 in 100 messages in my spam folder are real messages that have generated false positives. Occasionally though, it gets over-excited and decides that my paperless credit card statement or Glastonbury tickets are unwanted junk. It is therefore necessary to quickly scan the folder every so often.
This subject line jumped out at me:

"Pack an Anaconda in your pants"

To me, that seems

inadvisable
uncomfortable
dangerous
extremely difficult
a possible infringement of animal cruelty laws...

Lowest of the Low

2007-08-11T02:56:00.000+01:00

I had to make a shopping trip from the office on Friday. Just round the corner. But I didn't come back with doughnuts as I did on Thursday. Nor did I return with a selection of ice-creams as I did a couple of times last summer.

I came back to the office with a number of short lengths of chain and little padlocks.
Before you get any ideas, the chains were not for my personal use or any of my colleagues. No, I had been sent out to purchase the chains and padlocks because last week we gave the local Starbucks a couple of collecting tins. This week, they wanted more. And a replacement one as after less than a week in situ, someone had snipped the cord handle that had been looped round the till and scarpered with our charity's tin and money.

To put it in context, the last time I emptied and counted a tin from a counter, the contents totalled £39.16 if my memory serves me correctly, and this was after two years sat on the bar of a central London Italian restaurant. After five or six days on a Starbucks counter, there was probably around three quid in it, made up principally of 5p pieces.

I really don't understand the thought-process of stealing a charity collecting tin. Maybe I should just accept it as part of central London life, and start asking retailers who request a collecting tin what the approximate distance is between their till and counter so I can get the chain length correct. But taking a tin whose cost to replace is greater than the contents? And which won't even cover the cost of one hit of almost any street drug?

It's just quite sad really, and not the first time I've encountered people attempting to steal cash from a charity. The other incident was a little more sophisticated, and fortunately I spotted it. After enquiring about making a donation and being directed to our website, the fraudsters sent the following email to us, offering a sizable
donation:

-----Original Message-----
From: Ashley Blair [mailto:ashley_blair_007@yahoo.co.uk]
Sent: 13 March 2007 12:59
To: David
Subject: Re: Donating to XXX
Hello David,
Thanks for your e-mail, I will like to bring it to your notice that my company actually reach a profit measure it has never reached in the past years and in this case, our board of directors decide to make donations to charity organisation and your organisation happens to be one of the organisations we voted for to donate to ok.

Moreover, we are willing to make this donations via cahier's cheque ok.So get back to me asap with the name in attention and address in which the cheque will be forwarded to so that our accounting department will issue your check out asap.
I shall await your swift response.

Kind Regards,
Ashley Blair.

Sounds great. Unfortunately a quick search brought up the following pages about cashier cheque fraud:

http://www.snopes.com/crime/fraud/cashier.asp

http://banking.about.com/od/securityandsafety/a/cashierscheckfd.htm

It's a well-known eBay scam in which large sums of money are dangled in front of victims who then have to make payments elsewhere after an apparent 'overpayment' which never existed.

Sure enough, after a bit of toing and froing over addresses and who to make the cheque payable to, we received the following:

From: Ashley Blair [mailto:ashley_blair_007@yahoo.co.uk]
Sent: 15 March 2007 13:32
To: David
Subject: CHEQUE NOTIFICATION!!!

Hello David,
How are you doing today, I will like to bring it to your notice that the cheque has been issued out in your name to arrive your location at least next week ok. But there was a little mix up in the amount issued out to you. Actually, Our company is donating to 2 organisations like i said in my first e-mail and the budget is to spend 2,500GBP ok. Mistakingly our Account Manager issued out the whole amount of 2,500GBP in your name to your organisation which is suppose to be 1,000GBP to you.

In this case, I will like you make refunds of 1,500GBP via Western Union Money Transfer to the other charity orgarnisation in West Africa as soon as you receive the cheque and have it cleared ok. You will have to deduct Western Union charges from the 1,500GBP and send the rest to the name and address I will be providing in the meantime.

I shall await your swift response confirming that you got this e-mail and that you are ok with the terms ok.

Sorry for any inconvinience.

Thanks for your anticipated co-operation.

Kind Regards,
Ashley Blair.

I didn't send any more emails to 'Ashley'

So the question is: Is it a more serious to steal from the beneficiaries of a charity by mugging them or by stealing a collecting tin? Is it more despicable to try to defraud an individual of limited means or a charity with an annual turnover in the millions of pounds per annum? Discuss.

You what now?

2007-08-08T18:25:00.000+01:00

My database just spat out the following error:

---------------------------
The Raiser's Edge
---------------------------
The starting on date cannot be before the day after the date of the last transaction for the recurring gift (10/02/2029)
---------------------------
OK
---------------------------

I have no idea what it means. I'm going home.

False Advertising

2007-08-07T00:25:00.000+01:00

Take a look at this advert.
It strikes me as a little odd.
Because I'd always thought that the nature of life insurance
Was that in the event of the insurer paying out
You, the policyholder
Would not really be in a position to regret not taking out insurance.

Threatening behaviour

2007-07-30T22:43:00.000+01:00

Mother to small child in Norfolk:

"... in a minute I'm going to smack you so hard Social Services will come for you."

Eh?

2007-07-18T12:00:00.000+01:00

No word of a lie, I have been forwarded the following paragraph of an email by a colleague, sent by our CEO:

She then said – don’t wait if we are ready. And they are indeed interested in what it will take to bottle the learning and codify the product (for replication and scaleability) for XXXX. She asked what outcomes I would be looking for in three years time and I said (a) sustainability achieved by (i) having consolidated some delivery hubs and (ii) demonstrated outcomes more clearly so that YOTs and Youth teams will commission more resiliently and (b) codifiying the product for use by others as a franchise with quality assurance and training provided by XXXX and thereby (c) increasing the capacity/resilience and delivery footprint of smaller community based organizations

I haven't the foggiest what she's talking about.

XXXX's inserted for a veneer of anonymity

Yarr!

2007-07-05T17:14:00.000+01:00

Once again, a charity fundraising office, somewhere in central London

"David, if you were a posh toff going to a charity fundraising event on a boat, what would you like to see? It's been suggested we have a fantasy maritime theme..."
"Pirates."
"No, seriously."
"I think pirates fulfil the fantasy maritime theme quite well. Maybe with some mermaids too."
"I was thinking more along the lines of Handel's Water Music. How would pirates work anyway? Would they come to the event dress up as pirates?"
"Stuffed parrot on the shoulder, eyepatches. It'd be brilliant."

Sadly, I have been informed that the pirates have not made it to the shortlist. Scurvy landlubbers!

Mud. Mud. Glorious Mud

2007-07-04T00:41:00.000+01:00

OK. So it's been a little while since the Glastonbury Festival of Contemporary Performing Arts took place. However, at £150 a ticket, I think the least I can do is extract a blog post from my five days away from civilization and sanitation.

So lets get one thing straight. Yes, the mud is quite bad. Actually it's terrible. What the pictures you see in the Sunday newspapers as you chew on your toast don't show is just how extensive, deep and varied the mud is. It doesn't take an awful lot of rain to turn Worthy Farm into one enormous puddle with a few ice cream vans gently bobbing up an down in it either, not once 175,000 people have been tramping round it for 12 hours. We had heavy rain every night.
The ground was a little soft on Thursday evening, distinctly mushy Friday morning, and impassable without the use of a pair of Dunlops by about 3pm Friday.

The mud gets everywhere - inside tents, on your clothes, in your sleeping bag, on cameras, bags. It splatters onto everything. You can be as careful as you like to avoid falling over and rising disguised as the creature of the Black Lagoon, but you will still get covered in mud to a height of five feet, due to inconsiderate bastards joyfully splish-splashing their way to the Other Stage.
I spent several hours when I got home removing mud from firstly myself and then my possessions - everything went through the washing machine, turning the water an interesting shade of beige.

The mud was actually a bit of a downer for me at first, but after the first 24 hours, it became second nature to adopt this odd walk on my toes which meant my wellies stayed on my feet and not in the mud. With a bit of effort you can almost forget what the mud is made up of. Almost.

One of the things they don't mention when reporting how many inches of rain have fallen in Pilton, how many people have been taken to hospital with mud-related injuries, and how many millions of gallons of sewage are produced by the revellers, is the sheer variety of mud on offer at Glastonbury. You can actually pinpoint your location when you've lost your map and/or your ability to read it by the colour and consistency of the ground beneath your feet.
Thus I present David's Glastonbury Mud Guide:

Light brown, creamy consistency, approx 1" deep - Other Stage
Dark brown, almost black, sinking to a depth of 6-7" and deeply rutted - Pyramid Stage
Wet and splashy, unable to hold a footprint, 2-3" deep - Dance Village
Vast light brown puddle mostly 8" deep with surprise hidden depths up to 10" deep, extremely slippery underfoot - John Peel Tent
Cadbury's Bournville brown, and making a concerted effort to suck your boots off - Lost Vagueness
Localised puddle 5-8" deep, extremely fluid with hidden submerged objects - Most likely in the vicinity of the urinals.

As well as the mud there were quite a few people doing some performing at the festival. And not just music either. I took in quite a lot of cabaret and circus acts over the Glasto weekend (the big top was strangely alluring in the face of yet another rainstorm) which surprised me. Incredible trapeze artists, fantastic jugglers and the odd sub-standard magician all featured. I did see some music though, so here follows my complete list, in no particular order, including one-line reviews of each performance and an attempt for the world record of most bullet points used in a single blog posting

Klaxons (In the Dance Village) - Distinctly OK, and performing in a tent full of drug dealers
CSS - foul-mouthed Brazilian electro-rock fronted by a pocket rocket in spandex
Shirley Bassey - an absolute trooper who's definitely still got it
Chemical Brothers - amazing visuals to distract us from the two boring blokes on stage and some stunning new material
El Presidente - sadly underrated singalong stuff being enjoyed by Keira Knightley
Mark Ronson (DJ set) - Party music
Ralph Myerz & the Jack Herren Band - Norwegian electronica dance-rock comin' atcha
Mark Ronson (Live) - Proper live band stuff with loads of horns
Mr Scruff (DJ set) - maybe a little too much bass and not enough whales...
Kenji Williams - weird taiko drumming electronica with a beautiful dancer, had me transfixed.
Kava Kava - Better live than they sound online
Subgiant - Bassy dub
Pendulum (Live) Utterly insane, the whole tent was jumping for the whole set.
Seasick Steve - Blues to start the day on the Pyramid stage
Hot Chip - At the end of the day, some guys behind Casio keyboards, tuneful but a little bit uninspiring visually
Mahala Rai Banda - Electric Gypsyland - Toe-tapping balkan stuff that I woud have danced to had it not been peeing it down at the time.
Ben Westbeech - great vocals over drum n bass with a live band, love it
Bill Bailey - Long-haired comedy freak lacking in amplification

And this is a tiny part of what was on - I've just looked at the full listing, and realised how many stages there were whose existence I wasn't even aware of. It's a massive site, and you can discover a new corner every day if you so wish. We went up to the Stone Circle Field on the first night, and realised we could only see the perimeter because the super-fence was reflecting the campfires, forming a thin silvery ribbon across the horizon.

Of course it's not all mud. Glastonbury is infamous for its mud, music, mellow hippies and mind-altering substances. Whilst I didn't partake in any of said substances, as I suspect they were even more expensive than the beer, I have never seen or been offered so many drugs in my entire life to date.
But it quickly gets quite boring to have two guys skinning up in industrial quantities whilst you're watching cabaret, or have topless men with saucer-eyes tripping over their own feet and careering through the crowds whilst gibbering, or be asked anxiously if you can supply 'pills' or know where to get some. Drug dealing and taking is rife at Glastonbury, and don't let anyone tell you different. The Dance East tent performances were blighted by men squeezing through the crowd calling out "Pills! Pills! Pills!" or "Pills, Acid, Charlie!"
Between us we decided that bearing in mind how slack security searches are (we didn't have our bags searched at all), for next year we'll be buying up several hundred little resealable bags
and a wholesale box of Tic Tacs. We reckon we could cover the cost of our festival tickets and have a sizable amount of spending money after just over an hour's 'work' on the Friday night...

Getting home was no fun at all. Over 2 hours standing in the rain, unable to put bags down in the mud, just queuing to get to a bus to take us to a queue for the train [see pic above]. The train looked like a refugee evacuation, full of dirty tired people in tattered clothing carrying all the possessions to maintain something resembling normal day-to-day living that they could carry.
When we got to Paddington, I spotted two members of the BTP's dog unit and their handlers. I'm guessing they must have been explosives dogs rather than drug detectors, as everyone on the train had at some point during the weekend either used cannabis or walked through a cloud of it, not to mention those who'd been using slightly stronger brain chemicals. If they'd sent drug sniffer dogs, the poor things would probably have gone insane at the range of substances floating up their nostrils. Happy days.

The Law Is An Ass

2007-06-27T00:21:00.000+01:00

As you may be aware, England will shortly be following Scotland, Wales and Ireland (among others) in banning smoking in enclosed public spaces.
There is a helpful little diagram the government have provided to explain what this means:
So any public space with three or more walls must be smoke-free. It must also display signs telling people that this is the case, and they must be of a specified size

Got that?

So this is why we have the following situation:A phonebox [a substantially enclosed public space, and indeed a workplace] must display a no smoking sign. This must be at least A5 in size. The only space BT can find to put a sign of this size in its 63,000 phoneboxes is at knee-level. So there you have it. Total compliance with the law, and a sign which most people won't even notice once they're in the phonebox. I actually thought this was a joke or a Banksy prank when I first saw it, and then realised every other phonebox I passed had been kitted out in the same way. The same rules apply to bus shelters...

NB: I have never smoked, except passively. I don't intend to start. I'm afraid I'm not going to defend smokers' 'rights' to damage those around them. I'm really looking forward to going to a smoke-free pub. But I do think the new laws are a little odd and excessively prescriptive.

You do not have to say anything... It's probably best if you don't

2007-06-06T22:55:00.000+01:00

Another eventful night at the kiddie disco last week.
There's definitely fewer child drunks these days. Fine by me, vomit-dodging loses its appeal surprisingly quickly. Sadly they've graduated to just repeatedly beating the sh*t out of each other and then getting into trouble with the police. Oh to be young.

Actually, I had a lot of fluorescent-stab-vest-wearing officers of the law traipsing through my first aid room, leaving their helmets in corners and then having to be reminded where they put them. Three of my patients had dealings with the local constabulary:

A 12-year-old boy was brought in by security. Their verdict: pissed. Our suspicions: possible excessive alcohol consumption resulting in an unsteadiness on the feet, disorientation and a glazed expression. Oh, and also causing him to repeatedly shout "This is BULLSHIT man! Why'm I in here?

Club staff did what they always do in these situations, and try to contact a parent. Unable to do so, they decided to rope in two of the friendly policemen outside the club (they pay for a presence outside the club). They did this immediately rather than having it as a last resort, as there was a bit of a zero-tolerance attitude, e.g. "You smell of weed. You're not coming in" to someone who was carrying no drugs and wasn't in the slightest bit high.

The police managed to get hold of Mum, and agreed that the little guy would be picked up from their van outside - just as well as he was seriously disrupting the rest of the room. Oh, and he'd just decided to fall rather suddenly sideways off his stool, only avoiding the floor due to some swift thinking on my part ["Nice catch"] We were still fairly sure it was just alcohol, but we weren't certain it was alcohol as he was denying it, although I had thought I'd smelt it on his breath. He was walked/dragged to the police van with one of us following.
Then I had a sudden training flashback. Aggressive... mood swings... sweaty... appearing to be intoxicated despite not having drunk alcohol... an odour on the breath... Could I be seeing hypoglycaemia and failing to recognise it?
I dashed after the policemen and their small charge:

"Do you have diabetes?"
"Uh..."
Policeman: "This is really important. Answer the man."
"Do you have diabetes?"
"Yes! Um... I mean, no! I'm allergic to crabs!"

Gave us all a laugh, but we were a bit worried. When the police had run a check on him, his record had an 'ailment' mark on him. The nature of the ailment couldn't be shared with the officers out in the field, but we did wonder whether it could be causing his erratic behaviour. Because the police are not in the habit of 'hoping everything's OK' when they have a 12-year-old boy in their care who appears to be slipping in and out of consciousness [except for retaining some muscle tone in his grip on his phone], they decided to request an 'ambo'.

Whilst waiting for the crew, our patient decided to carry on with the 'unconscious' act. Quite convincingly, as he pitched face-first onto the pavement from his seat on the side door step of the police van. He then failed to respond to pain, giving my colleague a bit of a scare. Fortunately at that point the NHS crew arrived, administered a sternal rub, and established he was, quite simply, inebriated [probably Jack Daniels by the smell of his breath, they thought]

I wasn't there, but I heard his mother didn't seem that bothered that her son was lying on the pavement between a police van and an ambulance with assorted emergency services and voluntary ambulance service personnel surrounding him.

Meanwhile back upstairs someone had injured their hand. How? Punched someone. Two icepacks later, and the police came round for a 'chat' They were still interviewing the assaulted person when we left over an hour later. So that was the second casualty placed under the supervision of the boys in blue.

Two very tearful girls were brough to us, with blood on their clothes. Smeared mascara was everywhere. On further examination and after clearing the mascara, we were dealing with one cut lip and one wonky nose which was bleeding profusely. Two girls had taken offence at the request not to dance so close, and in pulling them off her friend [cut lip] one of them had got quite a few punches for her trouble. As well as the misplaced nose, once she'd turned to walk away, the attacker had grabbed her hair and punched her a couple of times in the back of the head. Charming.

The police took details, but as after a dozen walks round the club with security the less-injured girl couldn' t spot her attackers, they were honest:
"They're probably long gone. If they've any sense, they'll have walked out the doors before security had any idea they'd done it. They'd have to be very silly to hang around. However, children don't always think logically..."

Just in case their attackers were still in the club, the two victims were placed behind the desk in the ticket office to watch the people streaming out. I was out of the first aid room doing something else towards packing up, and as I walked past, there was a shout of "that's them!" and both assaulted girls burst into tears. Evidently the two suspects were particularly dim. Very dim it would appear from what happened next.

The two girls who matched the earlier description, but had proved elusive on the dancefloor were apprehended and guided into a side room. Which happened to be the first aid room.

Police officer: "Do you know why you're here?"
"Yes"
"Why's that then?"
"Bit of a scuffle on the dancefloor"
"Well, there's been an accusation made of Actual Bodily Harm. I'm arresting you both on suspicion of actual bodily harm. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not say when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be taken down in evidence against you. Do you understand?"
"Yes." "Yes."
"How old are you?"
"15." "15."
Ever been arrested before?
"No." "No."

What was startling was the calmness and nonchalance of the two girls being arrested. They'd basically admitted the crime to a police officer, had probably been caught on CCTV, and had two victims who were wanting to press charges.
Sadly it would appear they were probably too young to realise the impact of their actions on the rest of their lives.

Twelve Go Slowly Insane In Devon

2007-05-27T17:53:00.000+01:00

[Title apologies to The Comic Strip]
In need of a holiday and with a load of carried-over annual leave burning a hole in my back pocket, I made my way last week down to Devon to spend a week relaxing by doing hard physical labour.
For the princely sum of £75, the National Trust will give you a bed [but no bedding] and food for a week, to fuel you while you do various heavy maintenance tasks with 11 other people.
Now the scenery is quite spectacular - compare this to the view outside your office window, and you can see why I was a little bit jealous of the warden working in these woods every day:
The real interest for me though was the variety of people. This is no 18-30 break, though the numbers of beers consumed by some members of the group mean you might get confused. Actually it was a 23-75 holiday, with a 50/50 gender split, and a mix of people including a retiree, a freelance journalist, an energy consultant, a beater for the hunt and writer of shooting articles, a nurse, a white van man, a warden for a sheltered housing development plus assorted office workers including myself.

During the week,

I cut down several trees to make a riverbank,
Dug out a section of ditch
Befriended a Jack Russell (I normally can't stand dogs)
Met someone who went to my secondary school at the same time as me (we didn't recognise each other)
Took part in half a dozen in-jokes which developed during the week
Woke up one morning to find a tick attached to me
Was kept awake by chainsaw style snoring
Saw rather more of one group member than I wished to due to an inexpert beach changing routine
Had my patience repeatedly tested by certain group members
Exercised muscles I didn't know I had
Spent several hours squeezed into a minibus.

All in all rather a good week, I think I'll do it again, in fact I liked it so much I'm going to plug the holidays, and recommend you book yourself on one: National Trust Working Holidays

Communicating over great distances

2007-05-12T01:24:00.000+01:00

I got a slightly later train home yesterday than the one I usually get. It's quieter. Fewer people. Everyone has a seat, and most people have a double seat to themselves. An air of calm in a quite new train. Lovely.

"HIYA! YES I'M ON THE TRAIN!"

This woman then launched into a very loud and very extensive conversation. There was a risk she might be cut off when we went through a tunnel. No such luck. She finished her conversation. And then started another. A very in depth conversation with her mother about how she'd got that Gucci perfume for Tina, the one she likes, Envy, and so on.

Sat opposite me was an older gentleman. When our fellow passenger started talking we did the eye-rolling thing. Then something odd happened. We actually engaged in conversation. Yes, two strangers on a train, coming out of London, talking to each other in a clear infringement of the Unwritten Rules of commuter travel.

We agreed the woman was awful. We hoped she'd shut up. I suggested that ticket inspectors should be able to issue penalty fares for loud mobile use. We both thought letting people know you're on the train is OK, but conducting an extensive loud conversation isn't. I openly wondered whether she was talking to someone a long way away, and toyed with the idea of asking her if that was the reason she needed to shout. After 10 minutes of shared grumbling ("No need" "Why can't she wait til she gets home?" "I'm trying to solve bridge problems"), my travelling companion snapped. He stood up, leaned over, excused his interruption and then asked her to stop disturbing everybody else.

"YEAH MUM, I'VE GOT TO GO. YES APPARENTLY I'M DISTRACTING PEOPLE. YES. OK, SPEAK TO YOU SOON"

And thus the remaining half of my journey was nice and quiet. Thank you anonymous older gentleman, in London for business. I wish there were more like you, and I hope that some day I too will have the courage to tell people when they really ought to shut up.

World class athletes

2007-05-08T00:45:00.000+01:00

There have been complaints. Apparently I haven't been updating this enough. Stop the complaints! Behold! Blogging! With words! Pictures! Video!

Spent most of this weekend in an ambulance. So nothing unusual there. Saturday was a very civilized athletics tournament, seemingly made up entirely of private schools, each casualty giving their GP's address thus: "Oh, at the college" "Which college?" "Eton". We were booked to arrive an hour and a half before it kicked off, and then because the competitors were all at posh schools, they were all fully-prepared for their events, so we had very little in the way of injuries. An excellent opportunity to re-stock the vehicle.

We had one enquiry at the back of the ambulance:
"What's the worst athletics injury you've had?" My colleague didn't hear the first part of the question...
"The worst injury?"
"Yes"
"Death's the worst injury"
"In athletics!?"
"No."
"I dealt with a broken leg at this venue once," I helpfully chimed in
"What, on the hurdles?"
"No, he was rolling down that hill over there..."

Monday I was back in the ambulance with this beautiful view in front of me:

Runners in the rain, viewed from a stationary ambulance cab, where I was stuck as radio control operator for the 10k. Not my idea of fun, and with a possibly faulty radio/no radio traffic to speak of, very dull. It can't be seen on that shot, but as well as SJA2, I'm tuned into Radio1 to beat the boredom. This marvellous array of buttons, was, sadly off-limits

Sunday however, was not in an ambulance. Huzzah! Instead I met some friends to sit in parks, drink beer and generally catch up. I took the kite along and as per usual scared myself and then decided that it simply wasn't safe with people wandering around aimlessly, and stepping gingerly over the lines whilst carrying their newborn offspring. I started laying out the lines to pack up. A cherub-faced 5-year-old with golden ringlets, who'd caused me to pack up by sitting under the flight path and looking upwards in wonderment approached.

"I like this kite"
"Thank you"
"What do you do with this?" [indicating the ground stake]
"Stick it in the ground" She started trying to stab the turf.
"How do you do that?"
"By being as heavy as me"
"What are you doing now?"
"Packing this away"
"Why are you doing that?"
"Because there's lots of people around, and if I hit you with the kite, your mummy and daddy would be rather angry with me."
"Oh"

Kite-based shenanigans over, and time for a game of frisbee. We're actually rather good at frisbee, honest, but it was windy. Yes, windy. That's the only possible explanation for this performance:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AQA_7uFID6o

We're hoping to get up to Olympic standard in time for London 2012

Silly

2007-04-28T11:05:00.000+01:00

This morning:
9.05 Out of bed
9.10 In the bath
9.20 Out of the bath
9.22 Shaved
9.33 In uniform
9.34 Eating breakfast
9.43 Finished breakfast
9.46 Waiting at the end of my road to be picked up
10.15 Make a phonecall.

Hello?
This rugby duty?
Yes?
When is it?
The 29th. Tomorrow. I'll see you at 9.45.
Right. See you then

10.16 Walk back through my front door
Not the first time either

Extreme Measures

2007-04-25T12:48:00.000+01:00

Rubbish. Collection of rubbish. It's a hot political topic apparently. People are up in arms about rubbish hanging around for two weeks as councils try to be eco-friendly. There's a national campaign being mounted by one tabloid, such is the strength of feeling.

All very dull, until you get to this line in the BBC story:

"I've also heard horror stories about what happens. One man had to use a blow torch to get the maggots off his driveway.

Had to use a blowtorch? Really? Or did he just fancy taking out his pyromaniac urges on his pest problem?

Top marks for ingenuity though.

Of Children and Ambulances

2007-04-21T23:28:00.000+01:00

Unusually for a Johnner in the South East, I'm not getting up at some ridiculous time tomorrow morning to get in a minibus and spend my day standing on a street corner in London rubbing strangers with petroleum jelly. Instead I'll be spending the London Marathon in the function room of a pub telling people how great they are for running 26 miles to pay for my salary. Oh, and also for the children of course.

Last weekend however, I was up to my usual tricks and messing about in an ambulance. Technically it was a first aid unit for the day, but it was still a good opportunity to do a full stock-take in time for the marathon and to get me familiarised with the vehicle.
We were covering a rugby tag tournament, which is like rugby but with streamers hanging from your belt, and is a game as far as I can make out designed so that rugby-loving dads can get their sons into the game without their 7-year-olds going into school looking like they've been in a fight.
Dealing with the few injuries we did have [tiny cuts and a suspected broken thumb] I noted two things when filling out the form. Firstly, in response to the question "What happened?" [Box 4 - Problem], each of the little boys started their description of their clearly life-threatening injuries with "I was playing and I got tripped over..." no, they hadn't fallen, without exception they'd been tripped up or pushed over, and this was something they wanted to get across.
Secondly, when filling in the date of birth I discovered they were all born in 1998 or 1999. I can remember what I was doing in 1999, so I suddenly felt incredibly old - when they were newborn I was already shaving.

When I wasn't hearing graphic accounts of injustices on the field or advising mothers that really there was nothing we could do for stinging nettle rashes except maybe advise the child not to run into nettlebeds with no shoes, I was discovering just what we carry on the vehicles. No bodybags, but I did find the paediatrics case. In there were some very scary items
This is an infant size bag and mask resuscitator or BVM. We don't see them on the standard courses, but they're very scary - because if you're using one of these miniature squeezy bags you're dealing with a very small and very sick baby. That bag's about the size of my fist, whilst the regular ones are about the same girth as a 2 litre fizzy drinks bottle. Same story with a #00 OP airway - so small that it's probably deemed unsuitable for children as it would pose an ironic choking hazard. It just suddenly hit me whilst counting oxygen masks that working on vehicles there is a very small chance, but a higher chance than there is with regular first aiding, that I will be put in some quite scary situations with people who may not get better, despite my best efforts. Sobering stuff. Oh, and we're out of Bob the Builder/Disney Princess plasters by the way - standard kit.

On a lighter note, I discovered what the spare fluorescent jacket and ambulance helmet are for. When a small child wants to see inside the ambulance (it happens occasionally, we're not as popular as a fire engine or police car, but in the absence of a 'cool' emergency service, we'll do), they will leave as a very happy customer if you put a ridiculous helmet on their head and an XXL hi-vis jacket on them. I'm definitely using that trick again.

Unfortunate

2007-04-21T14:35:00.000+01:00

Maybe it means something else across the pond, but I found this pant-wettingly unintentionally funny. I refer you to http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=mimsy
In other news, last night at Inspiral I used the chat-up line:
"Excuse me, all my friends have f***ed off, so I need someone to laugh at my dancing. Would you oblige?"
Unsurpisingly, I was drunk, and also unsurprisingly my offer was declined.

The One Hundred club

2007-04-13T15:29:00.000+01:00

A quick bit of shameless self cross-promotion. My photo-a-day blog, described by one person recently as 'a typically David challenge' has reached one hundred posts. Huzzah!
More accurately, it's a 'take-a-photo-every-day-and-then-upload-it-when-I-get-round-to-it' blog, but at this precise point in time it's up to date, so go have a look. Well, were you going to do something better with your Friday afternoon? Thought not.

beoko.com/blog

Out of shape

2007-04-11T00:41:00.000+01:00

There's no denying it, I've put on weight. At least a stone. I put this down to several factors

I stopped running, and instead spent my weekends indoors online [though I now have very muscular 'keyboard fingers']
I started drinking milkshakes with my lunch as a side to cheese sandwiches
I've developed a bit of a cappuccino-and-muffin/pastry habit on my way home from work

This increase in weight means that I now weigh a bit over... 9 stone. Which is actually a bit of an improvement as it shifts me from 'borderline underweight' to 'fairly normal albeit slim' I still have a ridiculously thin waist which makes trouser-buying an ongoing chore and will be a relief to the beltmakers out there.

However having gained this weight I wonder whether I should take care in not taking it further. So, with the sun shining beautifully, I decided to go for a run on the bank holiday Monday. It turns out one loses fitness very quickly, and I could barely sustain a 3-minute jog. With my jaffacake shoes, I really should be able to do better than that, so with the weather more appealing than it has been for quite a few months, I think I should resume running.jaffacake shoes - with smashing orangey bits

Actually, the whole weekend reminded me how much I've fallen off the fitness wagon. After a Friday spent indoors because the weather wasn't quite as nice as I might like, I went out Saturday morning for my first PTA job. An elderly gentleman of limited mobility being moved from his accommodation to a relative's home for Easter. He wasn't a small chap. My crewmates [both of whom were at least as heavy as the patient, and possibly moreso] told me that he'd lost weight since the last move at Christmas. Well, he was still heavy, and we spent a lot of time huffing and puffing as we dragged the carry chair up a very steep and narrow set of stairs a step at a time. Despite all the safe lifting training, my back still ached, just from the exertion of lifting a large weight.

With our client safely in his chair (I'm not going back for the return trip thankfully), and after a quick change of attire, I headed into London to meet a friend. The following day I realised just walking over Hampstead Heath [it's rather hilly but no mountain] and a little gentle kiting had given me pain in my legs as if I'd attempted Snowdon in a hurry. Twice.

So I think I should get back into the running. However I was told that as a calorie-burning exercise it will result in weight loss. So I need a 'resistance exercise' like weightlifting to build muscle. When's 'Jade's celebrity kite workout' video coming out? Because I'm definitely not paying for a gym membership like some people. Goes against my principles - I will not pay to suffer!
Anyone got any better ideas than building massive biceps with the kite?

Overheard

2007-04-02T00:34:00.000+01:00

Whilst standing outside Tesco for five hours with my collecting tin, I saw every size, shape, colour and age of person you can imagine, and some you probably can't. We're talking bikers, triplets, newborn babies, pregnant mums, the old & infirm, rich, penniless, emo kids, skaters, the police riot squad [buying sandwiches, not quelling riots], Paris Hilton wannabes, the perilously thin, the morbidly obese... Everyone. I do love people-watching.
Out of the couple of thousand who walked past me, one woman's words to her son stuck out.

You may have been five yesterday, but you're certainly not making it to six, the way you're carrying on

Classic.
Something I forgot to include in the last post, yet meriting of its own post rather than being an addendum...

Tickety Success!

2007-04-01T10:31:00.000+01:00

Reasons to be cheerful:

I have secured 4 Glastonbury tickets to ~~sell to the highest bidder~~, take myself & 3 friends to possibly the most over-hyped music festival in the world. Only took getting up before 9 on a Sunday and an hour & ten minutes to get to the buying page of the website. This had better be good
I spent 5 hours outside Tesco doing a collection for St John, and I reckon I collected a fair amount. It's sealed so I don't know how much is in it, but the tin's too heavy for my digital kitchen scales to cope with, and a sizeable portion of the weight is £1 and £2 coins, so that could be an awful lot of plasters and bandages for the division. Or maybe a tiny bit of a potential new HQ
Another brief encounter of the cafe kind with a lady off the internet, which added further weight to the argument that for better or worse, no-one looks like their online photos. Ever. So far the tendency has been to buck the cliche of looking far less attractive in reality than in a carefully selected photo.
Finally, at work, we're about to re-structure, but in a good way - expanding the department, which might mean a new role for me [possibly with less dull bits, and more moolah. Possibly.]

I have never...

2007-03-29T01:39:00.000+01:00

You all know the game. Someone says "I Have Never..." and then an activity, and then assuming you're all of drinking age, all those who have are to take a sip form their drinks, thus revealing that they have done the [usually quite rude] activity in question.
Today I did two very different things that I have never done before.

I got myself an ISA. Dull, expensive, will make a big dent on my bank account, but it does make me feel terribly sensible and grown up. Saving tax-efficiently and all that. How very mature of me. I am now a Proper Adult, making Financial Plans for The Future
I walked into a record store, went up to the counter, pointed upwards, and uttered the words to the assistant: "What's this?" Fortunately he didn't respond with "A ceiling. It keeps the floor above from falling into the shop", and instead directed me to the CD that was playing. I then bought said CD. How impulsive, reckless and generally irresponsible of me. Surely I should have carefully examined it to assess the other tracks, maybe listened to it, and then considered making a purchase only after making a careful budgeting assessment with my new-found responsible attitude to personal finance.

Certified, possibly insane

2007-03-27T01:00:00.000+01:00

I passed! By some miracle I passed both the written paper and the practical assessment for my PTA course and I'm now allowed to sew those sexy little namestrips on my uniform. Word to the wise though, if you're doing your PTA/ETA assessment and they ask for a student to volunteer for the role of 'casualty' go for it, as it'll gve you a good feel for the style of scenario [obviously yours will be different], and you can pick up on the mistakes everyone makes [and then try to avoid them yourself].
You may want to reconsider volunteering though if your assessment takes place in inclement weather...
Three times I was strapped to a stretcher trolley.
Three times I was rolled outside and into the back of the vehicle.
Three times I found myself strapped down and facing upwards into the rain, with no umbrella.
The back of the vehicle had been opened so many times [and the engine wasn't running, so no heating] that it was really rather chilly in there. And not everyone was 'thorough' in their blanketing of the 'casualty' Brrr!
Now I've got that under my rather wide black-and-white-striped belt, I'm expected to go and use those skills on a moderately regular basis to keep up the qualification, so that's even more weekends spent in silly uniforms. Joy.

So the date went fairly well, but I don't think anything more, even a friendship is likely to come of it, which is a pity - text message contact's basically tailed off. Still, I might be meeting someone else this weekend, so that's a thumbs up for advertising yourself as single and desperate online. Well I've already met more women than I ever did hanging about in bars...

I've had a marvellous couple of days off work, buning off excess annual leave with a 4-day weekend, and having another 3-day week this week. My brother's back up from university, so there's fun japes, and crude humour to be had there. Today we went into London, and saw a video in a cafe promoting the latest 'coffee product' from Lavazza. They call it 'Tandem' and it's a weird bisected glass cup with espresso in one side and mousse in the other ['Spumina' - which sounds a little too close to 'sputum' for my liking]
It gets worse:
Now is it just me, or does that squirt of mousse look a little, well, faecal in appearance? Just me then? Oh well. Put you off trying it though, didn't it?

I think I owe you all an apology. So here's a small yellow snowman-shaped one. This is Keepon, a little robot built to study human interactions. But we like him because he's a funk funky dancer. If this does not bring an enormous grin to your face, then you have no soul:

[thanks to inquus for pointing this my way. See more here, and more details of the project here and his inner workings here]

Switch it off!

2007-03-23T23:38:00.000Z

I haven't blogged here for a while, partly because I've been pretty busy, partly because I haven't had any brilliant tales of misadventure.
In the past week though...

I met someone off the website, my first one, very nice, no fireworks, but we have at least been in touch since last Friday. So not a disaster.
I have been continuing my running battle with our IT dept. It turns out a powercut results in every server being shut down despite the UPS. It also means that in our office, where we normally have a network rack, 4 PC's and 2 printers humming away, there is sudden silence and me shouting very clearly into the silence: "SHIT!" and then spending the rest of afternoon apologising for shouting rude words.
The mice are back, despite the ultrasonic deterrents. Coincidentally this came a day after I read this
I have nearly completed my PTA course - if I remember everything I've learnt, by the end of tomorrow I should be qualified and will then need to start maintaining a portfolio of my work. This is rather different to a photographer's portfolio apparently
beoko365 continues - I've now reached day 80, without repetition, deviation, hesitation... wait, that's something else

Now, we're just a few minutes from Shutdown Day. So I commend you all to hit that power button and go without for the next 24 hours. Go on, try it.

The right nostril is usually larger

2007-03-11T13:03:00.000Z

Ater over 10 hours of travelling (ferries & trains may be green but they're rather slow) I made it home from my trip to Dublin.
As is the style in modern business I shall now summarise my sojourn[love that word] in bullet point form and with the use of irrelevant statistics:

Hours spent travelling to and from Dublin: 20+
Songs listened to whilst travelling: over 300
Photos taken: plenty, 5 films' worth, but rather fewer than I was expecting, the reason being...
Number of times I was rained on: countless
Pints of Guinness consumed: just the one, but the view was fantastic
Aggressive drunks who intimidated me and then proceeded to beat up another alcoholic: 6
Drunks who tried to kick their way into a Hare Krishna restaurant I was eating in before the Garda stopped them: one
Number of meals I ate in the hotel before vowing to never eat dinner there again: one - anyone for Yorkshire pudding-style vegetable spring rolls?
Times I reached the conclusion that Dubliners are rather better at graffiti than Londoners: several

Dublin's quite a nice place, a compact city which allowed me to walk everywhere. But I didn't find it that different to Britain which is a bit of a disappointment, and probably a grave insult to all Dubliners and the Irish in general. Saturday night in Dublin looks the same as Saturday night in Watford, just with a higher consumption of Guinness than Stella. It's probably the same louts, one of Great Britain's principal exports. There's a homogeneity of shops too, with M&S, Tesco and Debenhams all doing a roaring trade, and only the lack of a Starbucks monopoly and the statues of Irish writers & musicians littering the pavements providing a clue that this isn't an English high street. But in the defence of the Irish, until 1922 they were part of the UK, which explains why some areas of the city look a lot like Georgian Bath.
Now if you'll excuse me I need to study the ambulance service basic training manual. So far I have gleaned that in the event of needing to insert a tube up someone's nose you should usually use the right nostril as this is larger.

Instructive

2007-03-02T23:49:00.000Z

Tomorrow I'm off on holiday, so today I've been packing. I hate packing. I always do it at the very last minute and I always forget something crucial. Always. Even those few occasions when I didn't pack in a rush, something wasn't in my bag that should have been.
However, I've got an early start tomorrow (another thing I detest), a train & ferry to catch, and so I can't pull my usual stunt of not packing anything until the morning of departure.
This will, unbelievably at the age of 23, be my first holiday sans famille (School trips and staying with friends doesn't count) To be perfectly honest, I'm quite scared.

But never mind that. Today manufacturers' instructions taught me the following:

Calpol... "may occasionally cause headaches"

Jaffa Cakes... "are recommended by sports nutritionists"

The Comic Relief Nose... "is not washable. In the unlikely event of discomfort, please remove foam nose. Wash skin with warm soapy water and do not re-use nose.

So, the medicine you give children to relieve a headache may cause one, we should be pinning our medal hopes for the 2012 Olympics on little chocolate ~~biscuits~~ cakes and if your nose hurts, remove it and do not attempt use your nose again.

A Night at the Opera

2007-02-25T23:15:00.000Z

My job is varied. Customer service, logistics, database maintenance, photography, data entry, creative writing... all or none of these might happen on a typical day.
Last Friday I found myself down at the Coliseum for an event we were holding.

Free ticket right at the back and a special badge to stop me having to argue with Security.

I had to stand in the foyer looking pretty with a sign on a table next to me from when the house opened to about 10 minutes after curtain up. I spent most of this time productively directing people to the toilets and cloakroom [I didn't actually know where either of these were, but I took a guess, pointed left or right and hoped for the best. No-one complained.]
This accomplished I clutched my ticket with its magic £0.00 price, and went up the stairs to my seat. And up. And up. And up, right to the balcony. My ticket was actually on the end of the very back row. To be any further from the stage you would have to step out of the auditorium and hang off the front of the Coliseum.
Now, I'm not what you might call an opera 'fan' In fact I'd never been to the opera before last Friday. However, from my vantage point of being to see most of the forestage stage right, some of the midstage, and absolutely nothing of downstage left, I would like to share, with you, my impressions of this highly regarded company's critically acclaimed production in this fine historical venue.

I'd missed the first bit, so had no idea who anyone was. Someone was someone else's lover, and this had upset someone else because the object of somebody's affections was to be made emperor for saving the emperor's life. So a plan was hatched to stop him becoming emperor, by someone tricking someone else into rejecting their lover and accusing the emperor-to-be of being a traitor. Or something. [written entirely without reference to this]

Now I quite like theatre. I've spent a lot of time messing about in and around theatres and occasionally go to see a play. Opera however I'm not so sure about. If you're going to say something, say it clearly. The singing may be very nice, but if you need the words in letters 6 inches high above the stage, then you're clearly doing something wrong. Secondly, once you've said something, there's very little need to repeat it and definitely not six times. Even if you do sing it higher with each repetition.

The staging of this particular production was quite interesting. There were some wall things, and a big set of yellow steps with a throne at the top which moved around by themselves. The wardrobe styling was, I think, somewhere in the mid 20th century. Military uniforms were a bit WW1/2, and big shades were in fashion, whilst mobile phones were being sung into left right and centre. (I'm assuming left, but couldn't actually see that part of the stage)

My favourite part was probably when the surtitles above the stage in this internationally famed and venerable temple to the fine art of opera relayed the following line from the libretto to the assembled great and good who had come to worship at this altar of culture:

Fuck Fuckety Fuck Fuck Fuck

I never said I was sophisticated.
As well as this, there was the Jake Shears-esque stylist who was hamming it up as if his life depended on it, and a couple of soldiers doing a music hall-style dance number with poker faces whilst the hero proclaimed his future greatness. Oh and the emperor being spurned ny his lover and demanding to know when he could come. Went over the heads of most of the audience I think, but I tittered.

How did it end? No idea, I spent the second half packing little cakes into bags. Not in my original role description, but quite typical of my job.

Date Update

2007-02-22T21:11:00.000Z

A little while ago I 'outed' myself as trying out online dating. Progress has slowed somewhat. Current statistics:

I have 17 favourites
I have 13 fans
I have sent 23 messages and received 14.
My profile has been viewed 293 times since I joined the site.

So that's a few more. Unfortunately, while I've made a friend who isn't looking for a date [spoken for], the person who I had been emailing and was replying to my messages within a day or two has gone silent on me after my last message over a week ago, so I'm guessing that I've buggered things up for myself with a badly-worded email (I've done it before, and I'm sure I'll do it again) I've been informed this is not the case, she was just rather busy, and like me is beginning to lose patience with online dating in general. A slight improvement.
It seems on the whole that the women I'm most attracted to are those least likely to have a subscription, and thus are unable to reply. At least that's what I'm telling myself. Someone suggested the subscription was a way of keeping the riff raff out, which I can kind of understand, but isn't really helping me.

So, nothing to report. The local rag has a frontpage story about lucky vegetables - that's how exciting things are in my corner of the world.

Nothing for it, if I've got no news of misadventures, I'll share someone else's!

An acquaintance posted the following ad:

Hi girls,
I don't wanna be alone on Valentines Day. I doubt you do either. So if you're about my age, and are fun, intelligent, sweet and caring and want to spend Valentines on a friendly laid-back date then get emailing. A photo would be great, I'll send one back to you. ****** xXx :)

Awww, how sweet. Surely he can't fail!
The replies started to come in...

ello, i just read your add on gumtree, i just wanna say i do hope you find some one, which im sure you will. good luck. harry xxx

Ah. A bloke. Not quite what he had in mind, more harriet, less harry. Still, it'd been noticed...

hi boy, i read your ad and will love to make it up with you.i think i am confidential of myself .but there it just one thing. you pay my transport one way and i carter for the other.so if thats ok with you ,rply soonest

I don't think English is this correspondent's first language. And travel costs? Is a £1.50 bus ticket really beyond her means? Guess they won't be going Dutch on the meal...

Congratulations the My dear Friend!!!How in you business?My name Tanya.I have seen your structure on a site on the Internet and you have liked me, you became interesting to me.I live in Russia. I with the big impatience with impatience shall wait to receive news from you. I have photos and If you will write to me, that I necessarily I shall send you it. I as wait your photos!I feel, which you the good person and I should be It is enough to have such friend as you. I think, that you - fair, the clever and cheerful person, that which I searched.I hope, it has found real, pure love.I have found your structure, it is interesting to me, Also I want to know about you more!Write to me if you have interest of interest percent!Write to me, and ask any questions which are interesting to you about me.I hope to have pleasant acquaintance.I with the big impatience with impatience shall wait to receive news from you. Write to me. I wait your answer to mine e-mail.

Um, yeah. Again, a slightly shaky grip on English, but at least she's not asking him to pay for her train fare. Just as well as she's in Russia. Actually, that's a really long way to go for a date. Do you think she might have ulterior motives? She does like his structure though, which is odd as he doesn't work in construction. Unless she meant another word related to raising buildings. Can't think of the word right now, it'll come back to me.
Finally:

HELLO,
MY NAME IS SANDRA IN SEARCH OF A MAN WHO UNDERSTANDS THE MEANING OF LOVE AS TRUST AND FAITH IN EACH OTHER RATHER THAN ONE WHO SEES LOVE AS ONLY A WAY OF FUN BUT A MATURE MAN WITH NICE VISSION OF WHAT THE WORLD IS ALL ABOUT AND AFTER READING YOUR PROFILEin (******.******.com I TOOK INTEREST IN YOU SO REPLY TO ME WITH THE BOX. ( sandra***@yahoo.com)kissssssss

He's decided she may be the one, he's replied AND OFFERED TO FIX HER CAPS LOCK KEY FOR HER.

All names obscured to protect the innocent*
*Innocent until proven guilty
**Unless of course he reveals himself in the comments, but that's his own silly fault.

Documentation

2007-02-20T16:31:00.000Z

Finance: "Why don't you have the correct paperwork to go with this purchase order? You know the rules - no delivery note, no payment"

David: "Delivery note for paper delivered to [our mailing house] in Kent is not attached due to delivery note being delivered, with paper, to [our mailing house]. In Kent.

Appropriate

2007-02-18T21:41:00.000Z

I went to London today to see the Chinese New Year celebrations. As with any event of this size, there were loads of police and a number of sponsors, among which was MoD Careers.
Now I understand why they were there and using their recruitment tools, but I do wonder:

How appropriate it really is to hand out red balloons with the Met Police careers logo and a picture of a pig on
Whether it's really a good idea to place a tank in a large public square at a chinese celebration

Nevermind.

Gung hei fat choi!

Suspicious Character

2007-02-16T23:28:00.002Z

Last night [Thursday] I headed down to the 'Pool of London' to take a look at the 'Switched On London' festival. This is supposed to be a festival of lighting, and should in theory be a great opportunity for photography. As others have pointed out though, it's a bit underwhelming. I suspect the designers hadn't taken into account just how much other lighting is around in central London, and also the fact that theatrical haze is a bit scarce outside of theatres. Ho hum. As I'd dragged a tripod and full camera kit firstly into work and secondly down to Tower Hill during rush hour, I was going to take some photographs.

Firstly, I spotted the guerrilla lighting team at work. Part of the festival, they were lighting up a hoarding around Potters Fields, generally having a great time and taking pictures.
Someone obviously hadn't told security.
A man in a fluorescent vest turned up, faced the group of 50 lighting guerrillas, and half a dozen photographers:
"What are you doing here? You can't do this! You can't take pictures!"
Instantly, he found himself the subject of a dozen portraits. Time to try a different tack:
"Who is in charge here?" He bellowed at the torch-wielding horde
"Everybody!" someone gleefully shouted back
Defeated, Mr Fluorescent Vest slunk off to mutter into a walkie talkie.

Which would have been the end of it, had I not started to take some photos of my own shortly after.
Tripod up, large lens in place, I started happily snapping away across the river.
Another security guard approached me
"You can't take photos here," he informed me.
"What will you do to stop me?"
"You cannot take pictures"
"Why?"
"It's not allowed."
"What about those people over there?" [gesturing to tourists taking snaps with digital cameras, their flashes lighting up the riverbank]
"That's different."
"Why?"
"You have this camera, you need permit."
"What camera?"
"It's a professional camera. You're a professional."
"I'm not a professional."
"Yes you are."
"No, a professional photographer is someone who makes their living from photography. I've never profited from my photography. Therefore, I'm not a professional."
I must admit, I was enjoying myself now
"Sure? Not a professional?"
"Yup"
"With, with all this?"
"Yes. This is not a professional camera"
"Just a hobby?"
"Yes"

His argument defeated, he wandered off to do whatever it is that security guards do. I don't know what, but removing incontinent drunks shouting at City Hall ["You think you f***ing own the place! I've got the bullet wounds!"] doesn't appear to feature.
Now at this point, you're probably thinking, 'David, well done, you're a smart alec, you proved your point, and caused a man trying to do his job unnecessary hassle. Piss off.' But wait gentle reader, there's more.

I moved from the river bank to The Scoop, a concrete amphitheatre thing next to City Hall, and part of the More London development. Put the tripod down, started taking pictures again. This time, as well as the big lens, I fancied a portrait orientation and a flashgun for the foreground.
My friend had other ideas, and was back for a second go. He crept up behind me.

"You are sure you are not professional?"
"Yes!"
"You can get permit from office..."
"But I'm not professional, I don't need one."
"You are not professional?"
"No!"
"But you have that, thing, on the side there."
"I'm not a professional."
"You are student?"
"No, I'm not a student."
"You are not student? Not professional?"
"No!"

Hmm, not student... not professional... taking pictures of City Hall at night with a tripod and a chunky camera. There was one logical conclusion.

"You are a secret agent!" I kid you not, those were his words
"Um, no?"
"You could be secret agent. If you are not student..."
"Look, if I was a secret agent, I wouldn't tell you, and I'd be a pretty crap secret agent. I'm fairly obvious."

We left it at that.

Power\Control

2007-02-13T23:43:00.001Z

A wise man once said: "Quit while you're ahead"
To which I'd like to add: "When you're being dragged up a muddy hillside face-first, take time to reconsider your options"

As mentioned before I loves me kite. Some say too much for a load of nylon, but what do they know. It fills me with joy, gives me an adrenalin rush, makes me scream, gives me bruises and leaves me aching for days after an al fresco session. (Admittedly there are some things it doesn't do for me, but I'm addressing its inadequacies by looking elsewhere)

Went up to Dunstable Downs last Sunday, good wind, good weather, lots of people. Discovered my lines were twisted. "No problem," I thought, "Just fly the twists out." Oh how wrong I was.

For those not in the know, a 4-line kite has, surprise surprise four lines.

Pull the 2 on the right - make it go right
Pull the 2 on the left - make it go left
Pull the top 2 lines - increase power
Pull the bottom 2 - decrease power

Simple. However. If the lines are severely twisted they behave as one line. No left. No right. No power/control. Just pull. What I was holding onto was a 2.4 square-metre sail. I realised this at the point where I had been pulled onto my front and was being pulled up a hillside screaming "Sit On It! SIT ON IIIIT!!"
Came very close to mortally wounding my sister, and risked killing a dog and/or small child. Didn't, obviously, but there were a few concerned looks. No offers of help though - charming.

Happy days. Only took four hours to get the tangles out.

WLTM

2007-02-11T11:30:00.000Z

So, I finally gave in. After pussyfooting round the periphery, mocking people's screennames giving photographic technique advice and seeing some truly horrific sights I have taken the plunge and started actively engaging in online dating. Well, public transport wasn't doing it for me. On telling people, the reactions were... mixed

"I'd be cautious about doing it myself. Not that I'm saying you should be cautious..."
"Keep me posted"
"You're only 23! You can't be that desperate surely! Go meet some people in the real world!"

Oddly the peals of laughter and mass ridicule have not been forthcoming. So lets have a few stats:

I have 13 favourites
I have 12 fans
I have sent 12 messages and received 6.
My profile has been viewed 226 times since I joined the site.

['Favourites' = 'people I like the look of', 'Fans' = 'people who like the look of me']

So it's not going too badly, I've engaged in conversation with 1 or 2 women, one in particular who seems very nice, and I haven't lied on my profile... much. OK, so I did list my height as 5'8"-5'10", but the category below was 5'4"-5'7" - and most people seem to exclude men of 5'4" from their preferences.

It's a weird world though.
Some people have gone for humour in order to attract attention to themselves, some more successfully than others - sample quote "I hate chinchillas and lettuce." Sadly she didn't reply to my message. Others are very specific in what they're looking for. Occasionally you get a tale of woe, or a series of stipulations on what their perfect match will definitely not be like - you get the impression there's a messy breakup story there. Steer clear.

The photos however remain the biggest source of entertainment. Myspace-style webcam moments, professionally taken portraits, cropped-out exes and groups shots in which the profile owner is a small drunken face abound. What goes through their heads I simply don't know.

What's really weird is the process of contacting people. Firstly, to send messages there is a subscription fee, which feels kind of odd. Probably easiest if it's compared to buying drinks in a bar for someone, but still, feels odd to be paying for something which normally would be 'free' Then there's the oddity of contacting lots of different people. To maximise the value of your subscription, there's a tendency to contact lots of people, which in the 'real' world would be something I'd never do, concentrating on one person at a time. But in the context of online dating it's positively encouraged, as a search for tips reveals [Not the site I'm using incidentally, so don't go looking for me there]

I think Scaryduck, as per usual has the last word

Anyone else got tales to relate? No subscription required to comment...

At the English National Opera.

2007-02-01T16:46:00.000Z

...the hold music is fantastic

Notoriety

2007-01-28T23:55:00.000Z

Finally! Recognition! This blog, or if you're reading the feed, the blog at beingisbewildering.blogspot.com is now banned on my company network as being unsuitable for workplace consumption. I feel like I've arrived. Actually, it's probably just anything on blogspot.com - visits for last week totalled, um, 5.
Meanwhile, Garlik, a service the BBC reported on a while back for finding out how vulenrable you were to ID theft, claims to have found me on the net, with "relationships with 1710 people." and "connected to 232 companies or organisations" Oh how widespread knowledge of me must be!
But none of them are actually me. After much effort, Garlik has found two pages of my photo gallery, a site which has been up for 6 months, and hasn't found me on facebook, MySpace, this blog or anywhere else where I have a public profile with my name on. Not very impressive - and at some point they'll be charging for this. So as a review - 3 stars - the credit check's handy.

Isn't she lovely

2007-01-24T22:34:00.000Z

As I've mentioned before, one of the nice bits about public transport is the wide range of people who use it.
My usual mode of travelling is squeezed between two overweight men in suits or opposite a basketball player who is unable to bend their legs. However this evening, a vision of beauty sat down opposite me. The kind of woman who turns heads in the street. One who walks past you and causes you to stop your conversation mid-sentence, unable to regain your train of thought. Someone who causes everyone in the carriage to sneek admiring glances at. And someone who knows that they look a million dollars, and spends time each morning ensuring that this remains the case.

Yup, I'm still single. Don't think I got caught looking though.

Classification

2007-01-21T00:33:00.000Z

Whilst scouring local bookshops for books on kiting (I can get it up, but lack control, and could do with improving my technique. Stop sniggering.), I discovered that according to Waterstones, Football Hooliganism is a sport.
Couldn't find any kite books, closest I got was a kitesurfing magazine. Now as I can't surf and can barely fly my kite safely, I thought this was unwise. Did discover magazines for everything else. 'Which Mountain?' magazine for climbers, 'Popular Deep Sea Angling', that sort of thing, as well as other titles where you can't really see the activity featured and magazine reading being compatible.

Best use of magic marker pen in a video:

[there's a 4:30 version, but that's just excessive]

Roundabout route

2007-01-18T12:13:00.000Z

Checking the service updates for my journey home (it took me ages to get in this morning, every other train was cancelled) I found the following info:

Line problem in the North Pole area.

Train services between Willesden Jn. High Level and Clapham Junction are being disrupted due to a points problem in the North Pole area.

Engineers are working as fast as possible to restore services to normal. Short notice alterations can be expected.

Tickets are being accepted on south west trains between Clapham Jcn and Richmond

Message Received: 09:59:18 18/01/2007

Isn't the North Pole a bit off the beaten track? Is there not a more direct way?

Headline grabbing

2007-01-10T00:36:00.000Z

Evening Standard board headline:

MAYOR LAUNCHES OYSTER ATTACK ON TRAIN FIRMS

In David's head: Ken running towards fat cat train bosses, a bivalve held aloft in each hand screaming "AIIIEEEEEE!!"

I did a tour of gyms this evening. Five visits, and the most exercise I got was climbing up the stairs to one on the 3rd floor - whilst gym members, supposedly 'getting fit' took the lift... But I'll shift these damn marathon places if it's the last thing I do.

Shiny... new... broken?

2007-01-04T00:49:00.000Z

Righto, the new thing is... another blog
*Yawn*
But wait, it's got photos
*Yawn*
And I've set myself a ridiculous challenge
?
A photo a day, every day, for a year

It's proving more difficult than It hought already... and I've broken WordPress [the software running said blog]. Twice.

Oh, a link. It's here - beoko.com/blog

Season's Greetings

2006-12-31T00:44:00.000Z

Nearly a whole month away. Sadly I haven't been actually been away; just spending a month leaving work late and working my a$$ off. The season of cheer and all that. However, I am now off my probationary period at work, so feel a bit more loyalty and commitment to the organisation [not that I didn't before, but when someone can in theory dismiss you with not a great deal of notice...]
I have been uploading many, many photos to the gallery organised distribution of over 500 christmas presents to kids across London, got through the staff Christmas party without any notable [mis]adventures, had a very pleasant Christmas at home, though being fairly housebound due to inclement weather, and spent the last few days battling to keep my PC running.

Two things I'd like to share.
Firstly, another evening spent with minors at the local discotheque One semi-comatose vomiter, but unusually he was male, in fact I didn't see a single drunk girl for the whole evening, but as if to make up for it, the little boys attending seemed to have decided that Wednesday night's alright for fighting:
"What's this? Cut lip? I'll clean that up" *wipe* wipe* "Now I'd just like to find the source of the bleeding, so I'll lift up your upper lip... Yes, you've bitten... Oh. Oh dear. You need to go to hospital. Yes, right after you've given your statement to the police."
The poor lad had had one of his front teeth ripped from its socket, and it was now hanging at a jaunty angle around a centimetre back from where you might expect it to be. The only reason he wasn't screaming, we reckoned, was complete severance of the nerve. Yuk.
And he wasn't the only one who got a smack in the face from someone's little darling.

One of the club security staff did a remarkably convincing impression of a violent pint-size customer:
imagine a 5-foot-nothing teenager and a 6'1 club bouncer built like a prop forward

"What you gonna do? You can't do nuffin" *swipe*
"Sit down! And stop trying to hit members of staff"
"Let me go!" *swipe* "You can't do anything to me!"
"SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP! Or we'll have you arrested by the police!"
"Police can't do nuffink, I'm under 18, see, 15, they can't touch me"
"We'll call your mum"
"No! Not that!"
[smirking]"Who's the hard man now?"

Elsewhere, I gratefully received the Snow Patrol album "Eyes Open" for Christmas.Now don't get me wrong, I like Snow Patrol, their music is good, songs catchy, and at the time of writing they haven't had a widely publicised drugs problem to the best of my knowledge. However based on listening to several albums, I feel they're just a little unlucky in love. Song after song about the breakdown/end/aftermath of a relationship. Even when singin about how wonderful someone is, it's always in the past tense. What woman in her right mind would want to be Gary Lightbody's girlfriend?

New project in development... launch is imminent... Stay tuned

Discovery #30224

2006-12-06T00:51:00.000Z

Microsoft Word* provides no way to invert text.

If you want text to be produced upside down, you're going to have to get out the scissors and glue. Thus it proves itself incompetent once again as a dtp package.

An important lesson learnt I'm sure you'll agree

Word 2000 makes it impossible, there's a workaround for 2003/2003.

Surgery

2006-12-02T13:39:00.000Z

The following came through the door yesterday:
This detail seems a little worrying. Maybe the NHS tendering of contracts to the cheapest private contractor has been taken too far...
Limb removal by chainsaw? Efficient, yes, and affordable, but can't we stick with expensive operating theatres?

Elsewhere, this is an odd little page: http://www.google.com/jobs/britney.html

I defy you...

2006-12-01T00:35:00.000Z

... to watch this and not bounce around with a grin on your face. Or at least raise a smile.

The tune's not that amazing, but the video assures it of some success

Voicemail

2006-11-29T00:04:00.000Z

I get a lot of dross on my voicemail. Quite often old people don't like talking to a machine, so I get the following:

"You have ... two... new messages. First message"
"Hurrrrr. Sigh"
"Next message"
"HHurrrr"
"End of messages"

They usually call back.

Then there's the people flummoxed by technology:

"You have ... one ... new message. First message"
"Oh. Um."
[voice in background] "Well, what do they say?"
"Um, I, Er"
[background voice] "Well are you going to leave a message?"
"I, er, um" *click*
"End of messages"

Then there's the two minutes of background noise, which have to be sat through just in case there's a message on the end. Even better, a minute of heavy brething, again usually an old person who is waiting for someone to pick up the phone. Or the foreign voice who whilst they're doing their very best, is completely incomprehensible on voicemail, and has about a 50/50 chance of you being able to call them back based on the number they leave.

Anyone with a published phone number will be used to all this. The reason I'm posting is because I've had somethgin out of the ordinary today. Recorded American voices tellign me I've won a prize, yes, but an entire Radiohead track? The instrumental section?
Not sure which track it was, but I'll have another listen tomorrow

An Overdue update

2006-11-25T23:04:00.000Z

Last time Iwas here I spoke of going to Southampton. That was over a week ago, and yet no updates.

Full gig reviews would be a bit excessive, and rather self-important & arrogant. Maybe an account of my night out would be more in keeping with the blog.

Mr Scruff's promise on his visuals of 'a prize-winning marrow of a bassline' were fulfilled - the bass was of a level where it threatened to make one's eyes bleed. Thank goodness for earplugs. Much dancing took place, and I may have been perilously close to a dance-off at one point

The CSS gig was fairly lively, and since they appear as default content on the Zune, I'm sure htey're destined for Very Big Things in the coming months - it'll be interesting to see how far up the the line-up they'll be for next summer's festivals. Support came from the Rodgers Sisters who I found a bit underwhelming, and the very pleasant 1990s who can be summarised thusly:

Singer: bad teeth
Bassist: incredibly tall
Drummer: responsible for 'la-la-la's ' [and according to the bassist, equipped with the best voice in the band]

With the gig over, there was supposed to be a club night until 3am... but with only a half a dozen of us in the club, including the 1990s having a post-gig dance-and-poppers session. I asked the bassist about the prevalence of la-la-la's in his music and the drummer's involvement [look, it was after midnight and I'd had quite a few drinks]. But shortly after this, the club decided to call it a night.

But I wasn't ready to stop. Oh no.

I wanted another drink! Where can alcohol be found on a Thursday night after midnight? To the local chain bar! Now in York, Flares is a nice place when you're a student to stop off on your way to a club. I am reliably informed however that it's a no-go-zone for students in Southampton. I purchased whatever alcopop was on offer and started sipping. We wouldn't stay here long, we were definitely bringing the average customer age down by about 2 years.

A gentleman in a checked shirt approached us
"If anyone tries to fuck with you, I'll sort them out, alright?"
"Oh, um, thanks"
...
Down drinks, about turn, out of door, up street, brisk walk, don't turn round!

And thus concluded my night out in Southampton.

On my way home the following afternoon, it was raining buckets, and the train driver/guard/manager/whatever warned us to be careful because of "moisture in the vestibules brought on by alighting passengers" Why can't we just be told to look out for slippery puddles around the doors?
In a similar vein, Tesco very kindly label their carrots as 'Suitable for Vegetarians' Thanks for clearing that up.

2.4m2 of fun

2006-11-14T00:01:00.000Z

A thoroughly enjoyable weekend all in all. No St. Johnning for a change, went down to Brighton on Saturday which was verging on the bleak at this time of year, took a few pictures on the beach [have you seen my photographs by the way?], and was most amused to see some young 'lovers' (I say lovers' but as I'd guess they were some age 'tween 14 & 17, maybe 'snoggers' would be more accurate) on the beach. They were doing that thing couples do on summer days in London parks, lying down very close to each other whispering sweet nothings to each other. The effect is lost somewhat though, I feel, when wrapped in a puffa jacket and the couple are taking it in turns to act as 'windbreak' against the gales bowing down a rather pebbly and damp beach.

Talk of wind though brings me back to my main reason for visting Brighton. There's a small kiteshop down there, going by the name of Air Born Kites. Nice people, who actually fly kites and can give you advice. [cf Argos, who are now sellign some really rather large flying machines]
I'd gone down in the hope of returning triumphant with a 1.7m² Flexifoil Sting. I hadn't reckoned on being lured by the prospect of the 2.4m² version. "Only £15 more, and you won't regret it"
Well, it isn't much more... and that is quite a bit more kite...
"Can I see how it looks out of the bag?"
The kite is duly laid out on the floor of the shop... Nah, doesn't look too scary - I'll take it.
Back in the safety of my own living room it had magically expanded - maybe it was too big...

Only one way to find out.
Headed out to Dunstable Downs on Sunday afternoon, and after taking great care laying out my lines [thankfully it had performed a shrinking trick - Paul Daniels eat your heart out], I was almost disappointed to find I didn't struggle. Within 10 minutes my sister who had been filming events and kites unfolding in the hope of capturing footage of me disappearing into the next county for YouTube posterity was hankering to have a go.
So, maybe not as big on danger as I'd been hoping, but I think things could get more 'interesting' in higher winds.

I think it's fair to say the Sting's fairly foolproof, as long as you have the gumption to figure out a lark's head knot, flying & re-launching is tres easy. Having said that, my shoulders, arms and ribs ached this morning after what was not a particularly long flight (I was rained off), and my shoulders are still feeling the effects now, so there must be a fair amount of 'pull' there. 'Power with control' as they say.
I'm off to Southampton for a few days this week, going gigging and drinking, but may blog if I get bored, or have an amusing experience to relate...

Morning humour

2006-11-09T13:29:00.000Z

Sometimes you receive a reply to a text and cannot help but laugh. Unfortunately this usually happens when you're sat on a commuter train and people will look at you like a madman if you laugh out loud, so you restrict yourself to a big stupid grin.

I do wonder, what exactly is the purpose of the security guard pacing up and down the platforms @ watford? Is he there to ensure people don't steal the trains?

...

It's ok, the trains move too fast for that. He's making sure nobody moves the lines on the platform. An important task, i'm sure you'll agree.

In other news, I've just had a mince pie put on my desk. How nice. How festive.

Sticking with it

2006-11-07T21:59:00.000Z

Last night I tried [unsuccessfully] to step down from my role organising training for my St. John division. The organisation is old venerable, and at times has the turning circle of an oil tanker, which is highly irritating when you're trying to do new things or are a new person doing something slightly differently. In the event, I was talked down and wasn't allowed to jump, and to be honest I'm kind of glad.
For all its faults, the organisation does do some excellent work, and there are the occasional moments which cause amusement. The last under-18's night I went to included a form with the following information:

Disposal: Other [Police van]
Handling/Immobilisation: Other [Handcuffs]

They really did produce the forms for every eventuality.

Coming up I have an amateur comedy revue to cover, which is most notable for being unfunny and having a very low risk of anything untoward happening. And I've signed up to ~~watch~~ sit through it twice.

Puerile

2006-11-04T16:45:00.000Z

Considering getting a new coat (I've had my current one a good few years and though warm it has a certain 'dress' quality that isn't entirely flattering).
So in anticipation of a shopping trip which as we now know, I detest, I decided to browse some online ranges.
Styles available include

"Melton Funnel" Sounds rude. Snigger.
"Distressed Biker" Visions of a big hairy man in leathers bawling his eyes out after someone ran over his cat ensue
"4 Pocket Moleskin" I didn't know moles had pockets
"Wool Check" Is it made of sheep? Yes. Cheers, just wanted to check
"Waxy Sport Bomber" Someone's got something against surfboards

I need to get out more.

Marketing

2006-11-01T00:22:00.000Z

Advertising is a source of fascination for me. A part of my job is supporting the marketing of the organisation I work for, so I'm always on the look-out for interesting ways people are promoting stuff.
I'm currently trying to find a suitable room in a house to move into. Or at least get a good idea of what's available. This involves scanning through adverts placed by individuals summoning all their marketing prowess to make their room sound attractive and be snapped up by a lovely new housemate.
Many sites offer the option to upload photos as part of the advert.
The idea is to give people an idea of what the room is like.
Make it appear attractive
Welcoming.
Enticing.

Oh. Oh dear.

There certainly aren't going to be any accusations of over-selling this room, in West London. No siree.
The picture highlights all the exciting features of the room:

Pitched ceiling
2 beds, [one used, one not],
Bedside unit
Table lamp with pink shade at a jaunty angle [not plugged in]
One picture.

"House Amenities: Furnished, Share bath, Carpet, Closet"

In other news, it appears that the room I turned down a while back and was then quite relieved when it later became the scene of a shooting (or at least the road did) is once again available. From the description it sounds like it's the same room, so I'm wondering whether whichever person who took it two months ago is now high-tailing it out of there having seen London's gun-crime epidemic first-hand... unless they were the one "gunned down in a hail of bullets". Hmmm.

I've been away

2006-10-30T23:28:00.000Z

Updates have been slow recently. Why Dave why? We miss reading about the inconsequential goings on in your life. What have you been up to?
It's great to have a vivid imagination and the occasional little voice in your head telling you that someone other than your mum reads your blog.

Well... I've been paying rather more attention to my proper website and uploading oodles of pictures to the gallery. They've been generally well-received, but I have some very nice friends who would be too polite to say different

I've been out on duty at the under 18's night again. One vomiter, one arrest for a breach of the peace, and assorted other maladies and attention-seekers, possibly resulting in a post later.

I became horribly drunk at the Big Chill House, which put me off alcohol for several days, but was a great chance to catch up with a friend and make some contacts - I wonder if I can declare my rounds as a business expense? I want to like the Big Chill House, but my two nights out there have been OK rather than stellar. Maybe it improves on repetition.

We're still trying to rid the house of mice, and now have plug-in devices which click periodically, and say they're emitting ultrasonic waves. It's ever-so-slightly Emperor's new clothes, but we've haven't heard the pitter-patter of tiny rodent feet, and there have been no more screaming incidents.

Went out to see Mr Fatboy Slim, who played a storming 1-hour set of oldskool big beat, which was very well received indeed by the 100 assembled people. Disappointingly not everyone there was dancing, and it was a predoinantly male crowd, but hey-ho, I danced like a camp man on hot in roof and thoroughly enjoyed myself, even if I did spend rather too much time with a view dominated by a tall bloke in an orange Palookaville T-shirt.

I've been depressed by my ongoing failure to find clothes that fit. Even Uni-Qlo, who you one might have thought, catering as they do to the Japanese market, not known for being a nation of basket ball players might have some smaller sizes, but no joy "No, it only comes with a 34-inch leg" Once again, the apologetic sales assistant was a woman of perhaps 5 feet and 3 inches.

I am up to my neck in Christmas card orders, which is a bit of a one-man show at work - design selection & ordering, leaflet commisioning, mailing arrangements, payment processing and despatch are all not only my responsibility, but my job - the only thing I've not had to do is design the cards and colour them in (though it came close at one point)
If I can last to the end of the week though, by my reckoning I'm off my probationary period - woo-hoo!

So that's a birds-eye view of my life as it stands. A month or two back I was told that during Christmas 7am-7pm days become the norm, and I now see why. Not something I'm relishing. Anyway, go look at the gallery it's nice!

Looks like... Smells like...

2006-10-24T17:41:00.000+01:00

Most people are familiar with cat food. Pungent, and in a wides range of flavours, usually brown and glistening.

So if you were working in the marketing department of a major cat food manufacturer, why would you choose the following tagline:

As Good As It Looks

Really? That good? Because I'd rather not say what it looks like, and I definitely don't want to think about what it smells like.
And such odd flavours: Tuna. Chicken. Cod. Turkey. Salmon Have you ever seen a cat eating a chicken or swimming in the mediterranean fishing for a nice yellowfin? Maybe in the North Atlantic catching a cod, or diving into a Scottish loch.?

Funny how they never have 'Small squeaking mangled creature' flavour, or 'Frog rappé'? How about 'Day-old fledgling' or 'Disembowelled mouse'? Pack design would be interesting, but I suppose you could put it in 'gravy' or 'jelly' - but have you ever seen a cat with a gravy boat or tucking into a trifle?

Posting's been slow because I've been working on my new site. Head over to photo.beoko.com, and have a browse - and then come back here to give me feedback.

Vermin

2006-10-15T19:19:00.000+01:00

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGHHHH!!"
"?"
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgghhhhh!!"
"What?"
"AAAAAaaaaarrrggghhhhh!"
"What is it?!"
"A, M, m, mmmouse! Aaaaarrrgh!"

And so it was that my mother suggested to the rest of the family that we might have a rodent problem.
Now clearly this is a situation that can't be allowed to continue, as mice defecate everywhere they go and are highly efficient in the production of more mice. Swift and decisive action is required if we are to avoid the destruction of our posessions and home.
But...
When it comes to pest control, we're a family of pacifists. We'd rather not actually kill the furry little buggers.
We have a mouse trap, but it's a "humane" trap - it gently captures the offending creature, leaving you with the small matter of deciding what to do next. Usually, the mouse has been deposited up the road and left to fend for itself (and possibly finding its way back home)

We're now considering an ultrasonic deterrent to make life in our house generally unpleasant for creatures with better hearing than us. I remain to be convinced of the effectiveness, but only time will tell.
We never used to have mice - but since we stopped having neighbours with cats, we do spot the occasional furry intruder who has to be removed.

Well chuffed

2006-10-14T01:24:00.000+01:00

Dipped into Annie Mac's show, knew they were giving away tickets to Fatboy Slim as part of the BBC Electric proms.
She said text in your name
I did.
They called me back and I'm only blimmin' going to this 'intimate' gig at a pub in Camden in 2 week's time.

For reference 'intimate' probably means small sweaty room. Still brilliant though.

A post on mice will follow shortly.

Ad break

2006-10-12T00:34:00.000+01:00

The scene: An ad agency somewhere in central London. A number of "creatives" with spiky hair and T-shirts with exciting designs sit round a large oddly shaped table. Outside the office secretarial staff are trying to look busy and effortlessly cool whilst using brilliant white Apple computers (because everyone knows Apple computers are cool)
THE MANAGER walks in wearing a grey suit and slightly less spiky hair He likes shouting and is slightly deaf...

Manager: OK, here's the brief. It's a new housing development in Essex, and the fact that it's in Essex is it's unique selling point, the raison d'etre. We're trying to sell it to London workers. Give me ideas people. DAN!?
Dan: We could angle it to people from Essex?
Manager: BRILLIANT! Dan, Dan the ideas man. CRAIG!?
Craig: Yeah, uh, the Essex disapora. They want to get back to their roots, y' know
Manager: So they're proud of being from Essex?
Dan: Yes...
Manager: So... MIKE!? The name, the name, what's the name of the game?
Mike: We could call it... The Pride of Essex
Manager: [thumping table] FAN-BLOODY-TASTIC! Loving your work!
Craig: These people are Essex
Manager: YES! DAN! Hit me with a headline!
Dan: So our headline is...
[pause, hushed silence]
Dan: Are You Essex?
Manager: YESSSSS! Oh wow. This is so good I've just soiled myself. BUT IT DOESN'T MATTER! Now the image. They're booking a full-page ad, so this had better be top-notch stuff. We need an image which epitomises Essex, AGREED!?
Mike: Sure
Manager: The new Essex
Dan: Right
Manager: The fresh, modern Essex which has cast off all the old hackneyed sterotype baggage
Craig: I've got an idea... it's fresh, new, and reduces Essex to one single image.
Manager: I knew you'd come through Craig, you're always my image guy I can count on. Anyone can do concepts and headlines like these two idiots, but you're special. Just go for it. I'm going to go change my underwear.

So there you have it. The essence of Essex is a blue-eyed [bottle] blonde on a sofa with a predilection for lip-gloss

Ad spotted in thelondonpaper

Jellyjellyjelly

2006-10-10T11:55:00.000+01:00

Just in case this important news item passed you by, I thought I'd draw attention to it. It amused me greatly.

In other so-called news, I filled in my MySpace profile. I can't see what all the fuss is about. It's just like Fortunecity all over again, but with better code.

Reading matter

2006-10-05T11:43:00.000+01:00

Seeing what other people are reading on the train is on of my favourite commuting pastimes, I'm a nosy bugger and sometimes even read over peoples' shoulders. Look, if it's a free paper, no harm done, and if it happens to be an analysis of the terror threats to UK ports... well, I looked away pretty sharpish (what I did glean though was a) we're fairly scrwed and b) people who work in these departments are pretty bad at shielding their laptop screens. So no surprises there.

This morning, I had:
On my left, a gentleman reading a book in a curly script that went from right to left (deja vu, anyone?)
On my right, a guy reading 'QX' magazine, a gay clubbers' publication, with a picture I could quite frankly have done without at 9.35 in the morning. (I'm not homophobic, graphic depictions of heterosexual activity are a bit much at that time in the morning too)
I did wonder what might happen if the two men noticed each others' reading matter, and how I'd cope with being in the middle.

The man reading the non-English book was probably reading a gujarati/hindi/urdu novel judging by the cover rather than a Qu'ran - they tend not to have pictures of ladies on the front. And for all I know he might have been gearing up for G-A-Y at the weekend. Stereotyping is a terrible thing, and I'm guilty as charged. Who'll throw the first stone though?

The downfall of Gizmondo

2006-10-04T22:56:00.000+01:00

Wired has a fascinating story about the now-defunct Gizmondo portable gaming company. I say company, but there's so much more to it than that. Behind the scenes, there was a lot going on, and the story's got robbery, fast cars, beautiful women, yachts, fast cars, a Swedish mafia, rap stars, extortion, and more fast cars.
The story finishes with this:
One of the world's most expensive cars, sheared in two.
The stories on Wired and it's a real page turner, if that's the right word. Stick with it and feel your jaw drop further and further with each paragraph.
[via Gizmodo]

UPDATE, FEB '07: This post seems to be bringing loads of people onto the blog as the image above was formerly on wreckedexotics.com, but has now disappeared
If you sailed in from Google Images - hi, please take a look around and feel free to comment.
If you're really obsessed, there's a news report here It's just a car for goodness' sake!

Office chat

2006-10-03T11:39:00.000+01:00

At a charity fundraising office comewhere in central London, Monday afternoon.

A: Krispy Kreme are doing a charity donut for Leonard Cheshire!
B: Not the British Heart Foundation then?
C: Or Diabetes UK?

B: Maybe they should link up with a charity supporting anorexics.

*I was B

Men with small balls

2006-10-01T15:28:00.000+01:00

17:30, Friday: I set off for the pub to see off my manager after she completed her maternity cover contract
05:30, Saturday: My alarm goes off and I start to drag myself out of bed for a day covering the World Golf Championships at the local posh golf course.

One of these days I'll learn not to go out the night before I have an early morning.

Anyway, a very long day, with a not a lot to do. Saw Tiger Woods tee off, my impression was of a man with a huge grin and lots of very white teeth. But if I was being paid what he's being paid, I think I'd walk around smiling too. Can't remember who his opponent was, but he seemed to have a very large nose.

I say I saw Tiger tee off, buto tbe honest I didn't see anything. I was at the back of the crowd, and als the balls are too small. Golf isn't a sport, it's a game, and it definitely shouldn't be considered a spectator sport. Open air, nice scenery... and you choose to share it with a shuffling crowd of people, watching men with dodgy fashion sense whilst being told to be silent. Give me a walk down the towpath any day (and as the canal runs through the course I get the same scenery. For free.)
I'm afraid I have to agree with Mark Twain's definition of the game:
"A good walk spoiled"

And I didn't even get a golf buggy to play with!

Close

2006-09-28T00:06:00.000+01:00

A few weeks ago I went in search of a new home. I found one which seemed nice - nice people, OK area, great transport links. But for some reason I decided not to go for it. Not sure why, kicked myself for it.

Then on the train home I noticed a story tucked in a 'news in brief' column of one of the free evening papers.
It's not on their website but this, essentially, is the text [from here]:

"A man was fighting for his life today after being repeatedly shot in north London.

Police say a man in his twenties was gunned down in a hail of bullets in Woodberry Grove, Finsbury Park, at around 8.45pm."

Er... that was exactly the road I was looking at which felt safe. Just shows you never can tell...
At the moment it's not hit any other news outlets, but I'm definitely going to think carefully before considering that area again.

I can't believe it

2006-09-27T18:45:00.000+01:00

I knew 'data entry monkey' was a key part of my job, but I didn't realise I would be expected to be the database expert
On the plus side this means my employer is investing in appropraite training. On the downside I'm expected to know all this stuff to export data for tomorrow morning. Erk!

On reflection, I am being paid for my sins - payday at the end of the week!
Here's an example of a genre of music which can only be described as 'bigstupid dance' It's shouty. And dire.

Sent from my desk, working late