July 31, 2006
Quiz
We came second with 27. Rob (whose team is pictured) won. This is what the quiz looks like, by the way. At least, this is what it looks like if you're in Rob's team: the whole team disagrees with him and then he writes down what he thinks anyway. Annoyingly, he is usually correct.
1) Is Berlin 320, 580 or 720 miles from London?
2) Which company made the B29 Bomber, the first aircraft to drop an atomic bomb?
3) What does the abbreviation 'NTW' mean in a lonely hearts ad?
4) My generation won't get fooled again, according to who?
5) What nationality was golfer Ernie Ells?
1) Is Berlin 320, 580 or 720 miles from London?
2) Which company made the B29 Bomber, the first aircraft to drop an atomic bomb?
3) What does the abbreviation 'NTW' mean in a lonely hearts ad?
4) My generation won't get fooled again, according to who?
5) What nationality was golfer Ernie Ells?
July 29, 2006
Loopy
I just updated my flickr account with all the photos that have been stashed in my phone for the last couple of months. One was of Loopy who got married back in May. I didn't record it here - so I'll do it now.
They had a civil partnership up in winchester registry office. I think it was the nicest ceremony I've ever been to. It was perfectly pitched. Just the right number of friends. Just the right length of service. Just the right tone - funny in places, really quite touching in others. A fantastic afternoon. The reception was great too - over the road in a pub called the albion; which we essentially took over for a few hours.
Michaela played guitar - I think it was 'wish you were here' as we all came in. Lenny was clearly nervous and excited. They both looked great. More or less everyone had ignored the invitation's instructions not to wear pink.
To make it even better, Benny and I popped out to look at a flat halfway through the reception and ended up renting it.
That evening we shambled back to the bowman - at that point refurbishment had only just started - and drank as much as we humanly could. We ordered chinese food. Duncan made the mistake of lying down and ended up having beer and sauce poured down his throat. It's what they would have wanted.
They had a civil partnership up in winchester registry office. I think it was the nicest ceremony I've ever been to. It was perfectly pitched. Just the right number of friends. Just the right length of service. Just the right tone - funny in places, really quite touching in others. A fantastic afternoon. The reception was great too - over the road in a pub called the albion; which we essentially took over for a few hours.
Michaela played guitar - I think it was 'wish you were here' as we all came in. Lenny was clearly nervous and excited. They both looked great. More or less everyone had ignored the invitation's instructions not to wear pink.
To make it even better, Benny and I popped out to look at a flat halfway through the reception and ended up renting it.
That evening we shambled back to the bowman - at that point refurbishment had only just started - and drank as much as we humanly could. We ordered chinese food. Duncan made the mistake of lying down and ended up having beer and sauce poured down his throat. It's what they would have wanted.
My Inner Timelord
Now I'm no gayer, but I can totally appreciate the aesthetic qualities of my fellow men. Last night, I checked out the west wing quiz I'd recorded on More4. He was on there! He's a west wing geek too! As well as being a timelord!
I think I'm in love. In a totally hetro way, naturalment.
I think I'm in love. In a totally hetro way, naturalment.
A date
Well, a few dates actually. Sometimes I think I should blog about them, sometimes I think I shouldn't. Today I think I should.
I met up with a girl called in London about 6 weeks ago. Had a great night. We trawled the bars of charlotte street and soho. At some point, I stopped trying to work out whether I liked her or not and just kissed her. This was incredibly stupid, but very enjoyable. I woke up [alone, thank you] in some hotel by waterloo the next morning and went home. Something felt wrong right after I woke up. I couldn't work out what. I was a coward over the next few days and didn't reply to her texts. I still felt odd about it. I still didn't know what. So I sent her this lame message saying I couldn't see anything working out because of the distance and never heard from her again.
A couple of weeks ago I met up with a girl who lives pretty locally. We had a great few emails, really enjoyed speaking to her on the phone. There's no nice way of saying this - no way of saying this without seeming incredibly shallow - but jesus, I've got to be honest - she was, well, significantly bigger than she looked in the photo. So I went to the toilet and escaped through the window.
Of course I didn't. We got on really well. She was really interesting. I had a really good evening. I couldn't work out whether I found her attractive or not. Generally, I think if you can't work out whether you find someone attractive or not then you almost certainly don't. We had a great night. Wide ranging interesting conversations. She was smart. She was funny. However, I drunk too much and ended up kissing her too.
This time I was more direct and let her know fairly rapidly that it wasn't going anywhere. So, showing some improvment.
Last friday I went out with this girl and had an evening that was good, but good in an unusual way. She was very attractive. And very funny. We had a real connection in terms of humour and attitude and outlook. She was quite dry though - which isn't a problem, I'm pretty dry myself. I've never met a girl who I thought was really similar to me before. And now I don't know what to do about it. There was no kissing. Probably because there was no excessive drinking. But I'd like to see her again so I can try and get my feelings together. Maybe in a couple of weeks.
So, it's all fun and games. Macleod's been very quiet on this topic of late. Perhaps he's hiding things from me since the last one, when I called him gay because he couldn't steel himself to kiss her.
I met up with a girl called in London about 6 weeks ago. Had a great night. We trawled the bars of charlotte street and soho. At some point, I stopped trying to work out whether I liked her or not and just kissed her. This was incredibly stupid, but very enjoyable. I woke up [alone, thank you] in some hotel by waterloo the next morning and went home. Something felt wrong right after I woke up. I couldn't work out what. I was a coward over the next few days and didn't reply to her texts. I still felt odd about it. I still didn't know what. So I sent her this lame message saying I couldn't see anything working out because of the distance and never heard from her again.
A couple of weeks ago I met up with a girl who lives pretty locally. We had a great few emails, really enjoyed speaking to her on the phone. There's no nice way of saying this - no way of saying this without seeming incredibly shallow - but jesus, I've got to be honest - she was, well, significantly bigger than she looked in the photo. So I went to the toilet and escaped through the window.
Of course I didn't. We got on really well. She was really interesting. I had a really good evening. I couldn't work out whether I found her attractive or not. Generally, I think if you can't work out whether you find someone attractive or not then you almost certainly don't. We had a great night. Wide ranging interesting conversations. She was smart. She was funny. However, I drunk too much and ended up kissing her too.
This time I was more direct and let her know fairly rapidly that it wasn't going anywhere. So, showing some improvment.
Last friday I went out with this girl and had an evening that was good, but good in an unusual way. She was very attractive. And very funny. We had a real connection in terms of humour and attitude and outlook. She was quite dry though - which isn't a problem, I'm pretty dry myself. I've never met a girl who I thought was really similar to me before. And now I don't know what to do about it. There was no kissing. Probably because there was no excessive drinking. But I'd like to see her again so I can try and get my feelings together. Maybe in a couple of weeks.
So, it's all fun and games. Macleod's been very quiet on this topic of late. Perhaps he's hiding things from me since the last one, when I called him gay because he couldn't steel himself to kiss her.
Cultjar
James and Angela's birthday celebrations last night. Up to London. Met at the american bar in the Savoy. Smaller than I thought it would be. Walked right past the Maitre D. Apparently this is quite a feat. I have developed an air, I guess, from practicing with receptionists at clients over the last few years. It's a common mistake not to acknowledge them when trying to blag your way past - this offends. The key is in pace - for pace infers that you know where you're going and feel entitled to go there - and also in the duration of the acknowledgement. Too long and it feels like you're asking for consent (big mistake) too short and you'll come across as arrogant and you'll be stopped.
Anyway, lovely drinks. Mojitos. Basically adult slush puppies. Very cooling. Great to see everyone. Sarah was looking well after her holiday. Ewan still wheeling and dealing. J&A brimming with news of babies (not theirs [yet - apparently anderson is brooding]), wedding plans, honeymoon plans, holidays north of the border etc. In short, all good news.
We went to see Guys and Dolls. I enjoyed the spectacle. Especially: there was a really good smash 'cut' from New York to Havana which was very well executed. The performances - patrick swayze and clare sweeeny in the leads - were a bit of a mixed bag. Swayze is recovering from an illness and didn't appear to have hit form yet. One of the male guys - I forget who - was very impressive. The show seemed to rely on heart rather than spine if that makes any sense - energy rather than plot. Overall I did enjoy it - but the cramped conditions and rising temperatures (with no air con) - made this difficult. One of these days, I swear, someone's going to get DVT in one of those seats. It's fucking appalling, contorting yourself into a space that a 10 year old would find constricting.
Shocking moment: Sweeny plays a pseudo stripper. During one section, she's covering her modesty with a towel. Something must have gone wrong because we saw her tits, for like a brief second. I didn't believe my eyes. Ewan and I looked at each other and laughed. Clare Sweeny's nipple. Christ. It's like seeing Tony Blair's knob - on an anatomical level you know it's here. But actually seeing it seems impossible. The brain can't quite process it.
So, a brief stroll and dinner at Chez Gerard in covent garden. Can't beat a good steak. Great talking to everyone. Then home: packed last train at 1:05. Bus from Basingstoke. Home at 2:45. Benny passed out on sofa. Woke him up, berated him for using my lovely new sofa as a bed and then passed out on it myself. Splendid.
Anyway, lovely drinks. Mojitos. Basically adult slush puppies. Very cooling. Great to see everyone. Sarah was looking well after her holiday. Ewan still wheeling and dealing. J&A brimming with news of babies (not theirs [yet - apparently anderson is brooding]), wedding plans, honeymoon plans, holidays north of the border etc. In short, all good news.
We went to see Guys and Dolls. I enjoyed the spectacle. Especially: there was a really good smash 'cut' from New York to Havana which was very well executed. The performances - patrick swayze and clare sweeeny in the leads - were a bit of a mixed bag. Swayze is recovering from an illness and didn't appear to have hit form yet. One of the male guys - I forget who - was very impressive. The show seemed to rely on heart rather than spine if that makes any sense - energy rather than plot. Overall I did enjoy it - but the cramped conditions and rising temperatures (with no air con) - made this difficult. One of these days, I swear, someone's going to get DVT in one of those seats. It's fucking appalling, contorting yourself into a space that a 10 year old would find constricting.
Shocking moment: Sweeny plays a pseudo stripper. During one section, she's covering her modesty with a towel. Something must have gone wrong because we saw her tits, for like a brief second. I didn't believe my eyes. Ewan and I looked at each other and laughed. Clare Sweeny's nipple. Christ. It's like seeing Tony Blair's knob - on an anatomical level you know it's here. But actually seeing it seems impossible. The brain can't quite process it.
So, a brief stroll and dinner at Chez Gerard in covent garden. Can't beat a good steak. Great talking to everyone. Then home: packed last train at 1:05. Bus from Basingstoke. Home at 2:45. Benny passed out on sofa. Woke him up, berated him for using my lovely new sofa as a bed and then passed out on it myself. Splendid.
Quiz
This is from last monday....
1) Which fictional character has appeared in over 200 different films?
2) What title is granted to the heir to the throne when they assume some or all royal duties from an ill or otherwise ineligible reigning monarch?
3) What is the fastest biped?
1) Which fictional character has appeared in over 200 different films?
2) What title is granted to the heir to the throne when they assume some or all royal duties from an ill or otherwise ineligible reigning monarch?
3) What is the fastest biped?
Return to Work
The project came through and we started friday before last. It's a review, which means we're trying to identify the scale of improvements that we then pitch for.
The environment's very interesting. Our client is a national communications provider. The area we're in is where they run their network from. There's a big control room with lots of monitors and workstations. Lots of stuff to learn very quickly. I love stuff like this.
It's totally confirmed my reasons for leaving though. After a few days I was pretty bored with the process again. I'm finding it very hard to motivate myself already. I've got loads of stuff to write up, I'm finding it impossible to get excited about the work.
Still, pays the bills.
The environment's very interesting. Our client is a national communications provider. The area we're in is where they run their network from. There's a big control room with lots of monitors and workstations. Lots of stuff to learn very quickly. I love stuff like this.
It's totally confirmed my reasons for leaving though. After a few days I was pretty bored with the process again. I'm finding it very hard to motivate myself already. I've got loads of stuff to write up, I'm finding it impossible to get excited about the work.
Still, pays the bills.
What a tosser
Woke up on the floor over at Rob's on Sunday morning feeling surprisingly rested. Cold roast beef sandwiches for breakfast. Splendid.
A cricket match had been arranged at short notice with a team who had suffered a last minute cancellation. We met them over at the university's pitches near the airport. There were 9 of us on our team all told. To bolster my batting experience, Ian (skipper) suggested that I went in as 2nd bat. This would mean that I'd get two batting slots - because after running out of players we'd go round again.
Now, I was a little scared - but mostly I was quite confident. My batting has been improving pretty steadily. I've faced some hard bowlers and slowly I'm working my way down our batting order (from last). I've got a long, fucking long way to go - don't get me wrong. But I've definitely improved.
For some inexplicable reason, I decided not to wear my helmet. Fucking stupid. I had a theory that wearing the helmet just made bowlers throw less safe balls at you, that it just makes you a target. Anyway, going out there without protection beyond the usual gloves / pads / box when I knew nothing about the opposition was fucking dumb and in retrospect I got off lightly.
The first over went fairly quickly. I remember thinking the bowler was pretty fast. I think I face a couple of balls and acquitted myself. The second over was better. The bowler at the other end was a spin bowler which I find much easier to face. At some point, Adam, who was on first, was out. He was very angry at himself - he's a really good cricketer. Niall came in to join me. The over finished and the fast guy came on again.
I'm not sure what had changed, but the fast guy came back on a mission. I faced the first few balls. He took a really long run up and charged towards me. It was really intimidating.
It's difficult to describe in a way that'll be meaningful to people who've never been there - but basically you're standing there in an unnatural pose, worrying about where the fielders are, what your team mate's doing, checking whether your bat's guarding the stumps and trying to work out whether to go forwards or backwards, side to side to meet the ball. Importantly, you're doing this surrounded by 10 people who want you (no matter how convivial the game) to fail. Your main job is to keep your eyes on a small ball coming towards you and get your bat up to hit it - and hit it safely away from fielders.
At a minimum, the ball has to travel around 17.5 metres between the bowler and you. A 'slow' ball is generally considered to be 50mph or so. Which means time elapsed between ball release and bat strike is in the region of 0.70s. This guy was bowling much faster. I first one whizzed past me. The second one bounced up and hit me in the shoulder. One of my team mates who was fielding for them to make up the numbers asked if I wanted a helmet. It must have been obvious that I was in trouble. I said I'd wait to the end of the over. The bowler took his run up and - I didn't see this - slipped just has he got to the wicket at the other end just as the ball was being released. It curved up in the air - this is known as a full toss. I couldn't see it. Then I heard a crack and realised it had hit my arm.
The next bit was awful. I looked down at my left wrist and it had swollen up, instantly, by between a third and a half in diameter. My immediate thought was that I'd broken it - that the new shape of my arm was due to a bone pushing up from inside my skin. I couldn't think what could have caused it. I must have stared at it for a few seconds - some people came running over. The pain was really quite something. I walked off the pitch, testing the movement in my hand. It all seemed okay.
In the end, after some ice and some elevation I was ok enough to field. I stopped a few balls and, in the end, we won. Adam came back in for a second go and belted some runs. Niall was in there forever. Yay us! The bowler who got me was pretty embarrassed - but not embarrassed enough to stop bowling like a fucking madman. We got him out twice when he batted. That was pretty sweet. For christ's sake - he was taking it way too seriously.
The bruise is now pretty impressive. Almost a week on, the photo above doesn't do it justice. The underside of my wrist (the opposite side from where the ball hit) is a deep, speckled black and purple. It looks like newspaper ink. There's a green / yellow outline and there's still some tender swelling. It covers about two thirds of my arm from the elbow to the hand. Really looking forward to the game tomorrow - it's great fun playing. I want to get back into it to make sure I don't flinch the next time a ball's coming towards me :)
A cricket match had been arranged at short notice with a team who had suffered a last minute cancellation. We met them over at the university's pitches near the airport. There were 9 of us on our team all told. To bolster my batting experience, Ian (skipper) suggested that I went in as 2nd bat. This would mean that I'd get two batting slots - because after running out of players we'd go round again.
Now, I was a little scared - but mostly I was quite confident. My batting has been improving pretty steadily. I've faced some hard bowlers and slowly I'm working my way down our batting order (from last). I've got a long, fucking long way to go - don't get me wrong. But I've definitely improved.
For some inexplicable reason, I decided not to wear my helmet. Fucking stupid. I had a theory that wearing the helmet just made bowlers throw less safe balls at you, that it just makes you a target. Anyway, going out there without protection beyond the usual gloves / pads / box when I knew nothing about the opposition was fucking dumb and in retrospect I got off lightly.
The first over went fairly quickly. I remember thinking the bowler was pretty fast. I think I face a couple of balls and acquitted myself. The second over was better. The bowler at the other end was a spin bowler which I find much easier to face. At some point, Adam, who was on first, was out. He was very angry at himself - he's a really good cricketer. Niall came in to join me. The over finished and the fast guy came on again.
I'm not sure what had changed, but the fast guy came back on a mission. I faced the first few balls. He took a really long run up and charged towards me. It was really intimidating.
It's difficult to describe in a way that'll be meaningful to people who've never been there - but basically you're standing there in an unnatural pose, worrying about where the fielders are, what your team mate's doing, checking whether your bat's guarding the stumps and trying to work out whether to go forwards or backwards, side to side to meet the ball. Importantly, you're doing this surrounded by 10 people who want you (no matter how convivial the game) to fail. Your main job is to keep your eyes on a small ball coming towards you and get your bat up to hit it - and hit it safely away from fielders.
At a minimum, the ball has to travel around 17.5 metres between the bowler and you. A 'slow' ball is generally considered to be 50mph or so. Which means time elapsed between ball release and bat strike is in the region of 0.70s. This guy was bowling much faster. I first one whizzed past me. The second one bounced up and hit me in the shoulder. One of my team mates who was fielding for them to make up the numbers asked if I wanted a helmet. It must have been obvious that I was in trouble. I said I'd wait to the end of the over. The bowler took his run up and - I didn't see this - slipped just has he got to the wicket at the other end just as the ball was being released. It curved up in the air - this is known as a full toss. I couldn't see it. Then I heard a crack and realised it had hit my arm.
The next bit was awful. I looked down at my left wrist and it had swollen up, instantly, by between a third and a half in diameter. My immediate thought was that I'd broken it - that the new shape of my arm was due to a bone pushing up from inside my skin. I couldn't think what could have caused it. I must have stared at it for a few seconds - some people came running over. The pain was really quite something. I walked off the pitch, testing the movement in my hand. It all seemed okay.
In the end, after some ice and some elevation I was ok enough to field. I stopped a few balls and, in the end, we won. Adam came back in for a second go and belted some runs. Niall was in there forever. Yay us! The bowler who got me was pretty embarrassed - but not embarrassed enough to stop bowling like a fucking madman. We got him out twice when he batted. That was pretty sweet. For christ's sake - he was taking it way too seriously.
The bruise is now pretty impressive. Almost a week on, the photo above doesn't do it justice. The underside of my wrist (the opposite side from where the ball hit) is a deep, speckled black and purple. It looks like newspaper ink. There's a green / yellow outline and there's still some tender swelling. It covers about two thirds of my arm from the elbow to the hand. Really looking forward to the game tomorrow - it's great fun playing. I want to get back into it to make sure I don't flinch the next time a ball's coming towards me :)
Not getting married
Dom, who is more a friend of Benny's than mine but who I get on with quite well, was going to be getting married to her fiancee Ant last weekend. Then a couple of months ago they called it off. For whatever reason, they simply weren't comfortable getting married. So, rather than ride out the pressure they decided to can the idea. To which, I say, well done. They seem so happy now, it was surely for the best.
Anyway, rather than mope around on her planned wedding day, the family decided to throw a party. So Benny and I spent last saturday night at the barbecue and had an awesome time. Much more fun than any conventional wedding I've ever been to. Everyone was very relaxed.
Aside from Benny's dancing which is a matter of such import that it has its own post, two stand out moments:
1) At approximately 1am some old old friend of the family (must have been mid sixties) decides to head home having drunk a skinful. Mrs Az and I find him attempting to reverse his car out of the drive. The car is 2 seconds away from crashing into the wall when we stop him. The windscreen wipers are on full whack (in spite of it being bone dry). Very amusing.
2) An hour later someone finds some chalk and those remaining conscious people decide to draw on the road outside. We're not so drunk that we write 'cunt' repeatedly, but Rob is bemused to wake up the next morning to find various semi-cheeky words scrawled outside his drive. He later spends some time subtly removing the word 'BUMHOLE' from outside his neighbour's house.
Great fun.
Anyway, rather than mope around on her planned wedding day, the family decided to throw a party. So Benny and I spent last saturday night at the barbecue and had an awesome time. Much more fun than any conventional wedding I've ever been to. Everyone was very relaxed.
Aside from Benny's dancing which is a matter of such import that it has its own post, two stand out moments:
1) At approximately 1am some old old friend of the family (must have been mid sixties) decides to head home having drunk a skinful. Mrs Az and I find him attempting to reverse his car out of the drive. The car is 2 seconds away from crashing into the wall when we stop him. The windscreen wipers are on full whack (in spite of it being bone dry). Very amusing.
2) An hour later someone finds some chalk and those remaining conscious people decide to draw on the road outside. We're not so drunk that we write 'cunt' repeatedly, but Rob is bemused to wake up the next morning to find various semi-cheeky words scrawled outside his drive. He later spends some time subtly removing the word 'BUMHOLE' from outside his neighbour's house.
Great fun.
More Dancing Monkey
Long time readers will recall that once he's had enough booze, Benny is prone to throwing some shapes. And, it's not inaccurate to say, that his dancing style has a feminine quality.
Last saturday we went to the bbq and sometime around midnight the good women of the family az were doing a dance to that song 'Reach Out'. Whatever. Guess who crashed the party?
More to the point, guess whose camera phone was close to hand:
Last saturday we went to the bbq and sometime around midnight the good women of the family az were doing a dance to that song 'Reach Out'. Whatever. Guess who crashed the party?
More to the point, guess whose camera phone was close to hand:
July 18, 2006
Erk
A south african lady has invented something for women who are worried that they may be raped. Effectively, it's a condom with hooks on the inside.
http://www.rapestop.net/faq/index.asp
You can argue back and forth about how much of a good idea this is and whether it's correct to shift defence responsibility onto women... I'm just worried that sooner or later some dippy girl somewhere's going to forget that they have one in and the poor woman's boyfriend or husband is going to end up skewered. Ouch!
http://www.rapestop.net/faq/index.asp
You can argue back and forth about how much of a good idea this is and whether it's correct to shift defence responsibility onto women... I'm just worried that sooner or later some dippy girl somewhere's going to forget that they have one in and the poor woman's boyfriend or husband is going to end up skewered. Ouch!
Quiz
Another al fresco quiz last night. We came 4th of 5 teams but should have come 3rd. Benny ignored Widge and I when he thought he knew the answer to question 1 below, and it turned out that he was wrong and we both knew the right answer. IDIOT!
Questions we got wrong:
1) What must you be able to hear at birth in order to be considered a 'true' cockney?
2) How many feet are there in a mile?
3) Which children's novel ends "I am still in the orchard at Birwick, standing with my old friends under the apple trees"
Questions we got right:
1) What is the last country the Rhine travels through before reaching the sea?
2) What is a family of kittens called?
Questions we got wrong:
1) What must you be able to hear at birth in order to be considered a 'true' cockney?
2) How many feet are there in a mile?
3) Which children's novel ends "I am still in the orchard at Birwick, standing with my old friends under the apple trees"
Questions we got right:
1) What is the last country the Rhine travels through before reaching the sea?
2) What is a family of kittens called?
The strange case of the missing Drewery
Lost:
One carrot-topped, wafer-thin rudeboy. Answers to name of "Chris" or "Cock-knocker".
Last seen in the Winchester area (rather frequently). Now believed to be firmly rooted in Oxford.
Maybe there's a woman involved?
...hah!
One carrot-topped, wafer-thin rudeboy. Answers to name of "Chris" or "Cock-knocker".
Last seen in the Winchester area (rather frequently). Now believed to be firmly rooted in Oxford.
Maybe there's a woman involved?
...hah!
July 17, 2006
Black Boy
Still loving it over the road. Mum and Fred came round for dinner on Friday - great to see them - and a trip to the pub ensued. Couldn't really ask for more in a local. The only associated problems are good ones to have. I.e. because it's so good, we don't tend to go very far for a drink or explore new places.
Red Balls
Cricket on Sunday. I was really looking forward to it, but we had too many people so skipper asked me to sit it out. This is tricky. It's one of those things that you have to do graciously whilst inwardly fuming. Also, it's the second time I've had to do it, though I don't think records are kept of this kind of thing.
Anyway, we (they - not me!) lost. A friendly game against the people who own our ground. Obviously I didn't have any experience of it, but people were grumbling about the quality of the wicket. Balls bouncing all over the place and thus very difficult to get a bat to the ball.
My work as treasurer is ticking along nicely. We're still in the black and I've just worked out how we can spread payments for our new public liability insurance between this year and 2007, thus reducing the hike required for match fees.
Anyway, we (they - not me!) lost. A friendly game against the people who own our ground. Obviously I didn't have any experience of it, but people were grumbling about the quality of the wicket. Balls bouncing all over the place and thus very difficult to get a bat to the ball.
My work as treasurer is ticking along nicely. We're still in the black and I've just worked out how we can spread payments for our new public liability insurance between this year and 2007, thus reducing the hike required for match fees.
White Noise
Office monkey lady was kind enough to invite us to her brother's gig in southampton on Saturday night. Due to a great piece of BennyPlanning (tm) we arrived at the venue two hours early but didn't know this. So we milled around for a bit wondering why the place was empty and why we hadn't had to pay and then put a call in.
I hadn't seen office monkey senior in some years and it was good to catch up. He still seems to have enormous energy and enthusiasm for music, which is excellent stuff. They were supported by a mad band. You certainly couldn't accuse the lead singer of malaise. He variously threw lots of drink around, gyrated against the audience, danced on the bar (amusingling displacing a ceiling tile) and stubbed a cigarette out on his chest. Not my type of music, but you had to respect the band's energy and how tight they were.
Simon's band (here) was very enjoyable. The web page doesn't do their live performance justice. Really very glad to have been there.
But jesus was the music loud. Benny had a ringing in his ear for 24 hours afterwards. It wound up after midnight and there's something great about driving fast down empty motorways.
I hadn't seen office monkey senior in some years and it was good to catch up. He still seems to have enormous energy and enthusiasm for music, which is excellent stuff. They were supported by a mad band. You certainly couldn't accuse the lead singer of malaise. He variously threw lots of drink around, gyrated against the audience, danced on the bar (amusingling displacing a ceiling tile) and stubbed a cigarette out on his chest. Not my type of music, but you had to respect the band's energy and how tight they were.
Simon's band (here) was very enjoyable. The web page doesn't do their live performance justice. Really very glad to have been there.
But jesus was the music loud. Benny had a ringing in his ear for 24 hours afterwards. It wound up after midnight and there's something great about driving fast down empty motorways.
July 15, 2006
July 10, 2006
Ouch but Yay!
I thought we were going to lose, but we won! The host team (who are a Proper Cricket Club and everything) wanted us to play a timed game. We'd never done that before. All our fun-cricket friendly rules (e.g. you can't get out on your first ball so nervous people can relax into it, batsmen have to retire after 25 runs so they don't hog the action) were null and void. I was convinced that they were going to tear us a new hole.
We won by something like 15 runs. Which, over the course of 5 hours of cricket, is quite a small margin. Everyone's contribution counted. It was brilliant to be a part of it. I scored 4 runs, which is an all time personal best performance. Pseudo step brother Tom (who only plays with us because I press ganged him a month ago when Benny crow-barred his leg minutes before a game) was outstanding at fielding. He runs so fast that he seems to be everywhere and his throwing is frightening. We were practicing before the game and he threw a ball from the boundary, over the wicket which then rolled far and fast enough to go over the opposite boundary. I know that kind of thing's beyond me.
Damage report: big green bruise on my upper thigh from poor batting technique. Two aching ankles (one bruised from novel ball stopping method) and aching aching shins and lower back. At five hours, this was also the longest game we've played and christ, can I feel it today.
We won by something like 15 runs. Which, over the course of 5 hours of cricket, is quite a small margin. Everyone's contribution counted. It was brilliant to be a part of it. I scored 4 runs, which is an all time personal best performance. Pseudo step brother Tom (who only plays with us because I press ganged him a month ago when Benny crow-barred his leg minutes before a game) was outstanding at fielding. He runs so fast that he seems to be everywhere and his throwing is frightening. We were practicing before the game and he threw a ball from the boundary, over the wicket which then rolled far and fast enough to go over the opposite boundary. I know that kind of thing's beyond me.
Damage report: big green bruise on my upper thigh from poor batting technique. Two aching ankles (one bruised from novel ball stopping method) and aching aching shins and lower back. At five hours, this was also the longest game we've played and christ, can I feel it today.
July 09, 2006
To do update
Sofa: Ordered
Broadband: Complete
Light fittings: Purchased and half installed
Damage to hall: Building coming to have a butchers next week
Almost there. I called the broadband people to have a whinge about not getting a callback. The green light was still flashing, you see. And while I was on the phone to them, they fixed it. The green light stopped flashing mid-conversation. Why couldn't they have done that when I called them on Wednesday?
Cunningly, I have opened up the ports that Rise of Nations requires on the wireless router's firewall. This means I can play astor from the table rather than squatting on the floor and using the modem. We have a game tonight. Hopefully it will go some way to making up for the stunning loss I'm about to endure at cricket. Byeeee.
Broadband: Complete
Light fittings: Purchased and half installed
Damage to hall: Building coming to have a butchers next week
Almost there. I called the broadband people to have a whinge about not getting a callback. The green light was still flashing, you see. And while I was on the phone to them, they fixed it. The green light stopped flashing mid-conversation. Why couldn't they have done that when I called them on Wednesday?
Cunningly, I have opened up the ports that Rise of Nations requires on the wireless router's firewall. This means I can play astor from the table rather than squatting on the floor and using the modem. We have a game tonight. Hopefully it will go some way to making up for the stunning loss I'm about to endure at cricket. Byeeee.
Recriminations in the lobby
I will look in no direction nor cast personal aspursions here. However, I would like to make a simple observation:
Fucking someone who lives in the same building as you can only ever end in tears.
Especially if your first observation the next morning is "She has way too many stuffed animals in her room".
Fucking someone who lives in the same building as you can only ever end in tears.
Especially if your first observation the next morning is "She has way too many stuffed animals in her room".
July 07, 2006
Sofa, So good (Ho Ho Ho)
Excuse the poor pun, couldn't resist it.
Sofa problem almost solved. Looked round various places this afternoon in Winchester, Hedge End and Southampton. Settled on this one from John Lewis. It will be delivered on Friday.
It. Will. Fit. Down. The. Fecking. Stairs. If. It. Knows. What's. Good. For. It.
After that I was in sore need of a beer. I thought about giving Al a ring. Al lives quite close to us with his girlfriend debbie. They are more Benny's mates than mine. So, I thought I'd give him a call to see if he was up to anything and then I decided it was too late notice. Literally 2 seconds later, he called and we're off out to the blackie in an hour or so. Merriment will ensue. I feel the need to get a bit merry.
So, the to-do list currently looks like this:
Sort Broadband
Sort damage to wall
Define meaning of own existence
I'm off to cook some salmon and make sond yummy holandaise. Byeee.
Sofa problem almost solved. Looked round various places this afternoon in Winchester, Hedge End and Southampton. Settled on this one from John Lewis. It will be delivered on Friday.
It. Will. Fit. Down. The. Fecking. Stairs. If. It. Knows. What's. Good. For. It.
After that I was in sore need of a beer. I thought about giving Al a ring. Al lives quite close to us with his girlfriend debbie. They are more Benny's mates than mine. So, I thought I'd give him a call to see if he was up to anything and then I decided it was too late notice. Literally 2 seconds later, he called and we're off out to the blackie in an hour or so. Merriment will ensue. I feel the need to get a bit merry.
So, the to-do list currently looks like this:
Sort Broadband
Sort damage to wall
Define meaning of own existence
I'm off to cook some salmon and make sond yummy holandaise. Byeee.
July 06, 2006
Incompetence (III)
During The Great Ikea Raid of June 2006, Benny and I picked out a sofa and ordered it. Well, that's not exactly true. I said "Let's get this one" indicating a nice leather 2 seater. Benny said "No, let's get this one" indicating the much larger brother of the leather sofa family. So I went up to order it, they asked how I'd be paying, I looked round and Benny had gone off to hide somewhere. So that first sentence should read "Benny bounced me into spending much more money than I had budgeted on something I wasn't 100% sure that I wanted". However, I was weak enough to submit to that, so I share some blame for all that follows.
Unlike other Ikea favourites - collapsable chairs, wonky wardrobes, sacks full of tealights you'll never use etc. - the sofas are, in the main, not self assembly. They arrive at your house in a big truck some weeks after ordering. Our date was fixed for July 1st. Then someone from Ikea called me up one day and asked whether it was possible to park their van outside my flat while they delivered. So I asked them how big their van was. They told me it was as big as a fire truck. I asked them how big a fire truck was. And so we went merrily back and forth until we established that a midweek delivery would be better (on the not unreasonable grounds that a weekend delivery would actually be impossible; parking-wise).
We fixed on Wednesday (yesterday). This is another one of those deals where you have to be in all day to wait for delivery and they give you a call half an hour before they arrive. So no gym, no shopping, no doing anything useful.
This is one of those things where the story can be long or short, so let's cut to the chase. I still have no sofa. What I *do* have, however, is a redecorated stairway. Mr Fuckwit and Mr Cunty Twat-Face from my favourite swedish furniture store have fucked three walls and one ceiling trying to get the sofa to end all sofas through our hall. There's all sorts of damage: loads of bumps and scratches all over the place and for a grand fucking finale: a substantial hole in the plaster the size of a few stacked DVD cases. What a pair of fucking twats.
Now, I know it's not all their fault. For a start, the sofa was ridiculously large and we shouldn't have ordered it. And, in my pathetic naivety, I went to help them get it down the stairs and into the flat rather than leaving them to it. But fucking hell. I asked them afterwards if they were covered for the damage and one of them, the one I really had come to despise, said "Well basically mate, you said to try to get it in so it's your problem".
I considered my response to this for a little while, then I took out my gun, took aim at his miniscule penis and blasted it across the street where it was immediately feasted upon by some stray rottweilers who then proceed to eat him alive, bleeding groin-stump first.
Aaanyway. Sometime today they're supposed to call me to tell me what happens next. You know the really pathetic thing? I just want a fucking sofa. I want to sit on my sofa, wirelessly surfing the web whilst listening to the contented hum of a fully functioning dishwasher working away in the background. As wishes go, this is surely a very small one. Why am I encountering so much fucking resistance to it?
I'm inclined to go for the path of least resistance. If they start fucking me around about delivery fees and liability and shit like that then I'm far more likely just to shut up, accept it, and do whatever it takes to get a sofa of workable dimensions in here pronto. I find myself wondering if this is how they win. Perhaps people just get ground down by the myriad things that fuck up and the in-built inconvenience it all causes you and then we just balefully accept the abuse we get afterwards because by that point in the process it's all we're used to.
Good service?
Yesterday after this whole debacle and a cricket practice session at which I was so fucked off about the day that I was pisspoor by even my own low standards, I treated myself to a pizza. I rang pizza express and ordered one for collection. Right at the end of the call I thought "Isn't it a shame that they don't do desserts to take away? I think I deserve some banoffee pie".
And you know what, I asked them. And it turned out that they did. I very nearly wept with joy.
Unlike other Ikea favourites - collapsable chairs, wonky wardrobes, sacks full of tealights you'll never use etc. - the sofas are, in the main, not self assembly. They arrive at your house in a big truck some weeks after ordering. Our date was fixed for July 1st. Then someone from Ikea called me up one day and asked whether it was possible to park their van outside my flat while they delivered. So I asked them how big their van was. They told me it was as big as a fire truck. I asked them how big a fire truck was. And so we went merrily back and forth until we established that a midweek delivery would be better (on the not unreasonable grounds that a weekend delivery would actually be impossible; parking-wise).
We fixed on Wednesday (yesterday). This is another one of those deals where you have to be in all day to wait for delivery and they give you a call half an hour before they arrive. So no gym, no shopping, no doing anything useful.
This is one of those things where the story can be long or short, so let's cut to the chase. I still have no sofa. What I *do* have, however, is a redecorated stairway. Mr Fuckwit and Mr Cunty Twat-Face from my favourite swedish furniture store have fucked three walls and one ceiling trying to get the sofa to end all sofas through our hall. There's all sorts of damage: loads of bumps and scratches all over the place and for a grand fucking finale: a substantial hole in the plaster the size of a few stacked DVD cases. What a pair of fucking twats.
Now, I know it's not all their fault. For a start, the sofa was ridiculously large and we shouldn't have ordered it. And, in my pathetic naivety, I went to help them get it down the stairs and into the flat rather than leaving them to it. But fucking hell. I asked them afterwards if they were covered for the damage and one of them, the one I really had come to despise, said "Well basically mate, you said to try to get it in so it's your problem".
I considered my response to this for a little while, then I took out my gun, took aim at his miniscule penis and blasted it across the street where it was immediately feasted upon by some stray rottweilers who then proceed to eat him alive, bleeding groin-stump first.
Aaanyway. Sometime today they're supposed to call me to tell me what happens next. You know the really pathetic thing? I just want a fucking sofa. I want to sit on my sofa, wirelessly surfing the web whilst listening to the contented hum of a fully functioning dishwasher working away in the background. As wishes go, this is surely a very small one. Why am I encountering so much fucking resistance to it?
I'm inclined to go for the path of least resistance. If they start fucking me around about delivery fees and liability and shit like that then I'm far more likely just to shut up, accept it, and do whatever it takes to get a sofa of workable dimensions in here pronto. I find myself wondering if this is how they win. Perhaps people just get ground down by the myriad things that fuck up and the in-built inconvenience it all causes you and then we just balefully accept the abuse we get afterwards because by that point in the process it's all we're used to.
Good service?
Yesterday after this whole debacle and a cricket practice session at which I was so fucked off about the day that I was pisspoor by even my own low standards, I treated myself to a pizza. I rang pizza express and ordered one for collection. Right at the end of the call I thought "Isn't it a shame that they don't do desserts to take away? I think I deserve some banoffee pie".
And you know what, I asked them. And it turned out that they did. I very nearly wept with joy.
Incompetence (II)
Shortly after we moved in I made the mistake of trying to open the dishwasher. The builders hadn't cut a notch in the kickboard under the dishwasher. This meant that the dishwasher door butted against the kickboard and refused to open further. The ever resourceful Drewery removed the kickboard. Hooray! We could now wash some dishes.
Sadly not. The dishwasher would not work. I tried everything I could think of. I filled it with salt. I filled it with rinse aid. I washed its filters. I turned the power off and on. I checked the spigot. I unplugged the hose and turned the tap back on to make sure water was getting through. In desperation, I broke my pact with gender stereotypes everywhere and actually read and re-read the manual.
Nothing changed. I turned the dishwasher on, it groaned for about 20 seconds and then beeped until I opened the door. I called the letting agent. The agent called the builder. The builder came round and blamed the plumber. The plumber came round and blamed the manufacturer. I called the manufacturer. The letting agent called the manufacturer. The letting agent said she'd sort it out.
The engineer turned up earlier in the week. The engineer was told to pick up keys from the agent. Engineers aren't allowed to be in properties without the owner present. This is to protect them from being accused of nicking or breaking things. The letting agent couldn't leave the office. So the engineer went home.
Yesterday I got a call from them trying to book an appointment. They said they could do Friday. I said that was great and asked them what time the engineer would be round. They said "Any time between 8am and 6pm."
"That's fine" I said, "I don't have anything else I need to do all day, I'll just wait around for you."
"Good, we'll book you in then"
The sarcasm had clearly missed its target and was off to cause collateral damage at the next workstation along in the call centre. I was in no mood for this, due to the sofa incident. So, apoplectic, I lapsed into Basil Fawlty. I started asking stupid rhetorical questions. I asked if there was anything they could do to give me more notice of when the engineer would come. In short, I got a bit ranty. There was an awkward pause. It was stupid, of course, to rail at some hapless phonemonkey about a system they have essentially no control over. So they booked me in. Today I got a call saying the engineer could come a day early so I waited around for an hour or so after lunch and now, one cup of tea and a discussion about shite builders later, the thing's fixed. The problem was that the builder had installed the dishwasher with too much hose, which caused a kink, which caused an absence of water. The engineer - a really nice chap in my not inconsiderable experience of field engineers - was kind enough to write down some bollocks about the cause of the problem so that I didn't have to go through the rigamarole of paying him and billing the landlord who would then have to get the money back off the builder.
If they'd only fucking tested it after installing it they would have known that (a) you couldn't open the fucker and (b) it didn't fucking work anyway.
Sadly not. The dishwasher would not work. I tried everything I could think of. I filled it with salt. I filled it with rinse aid. I washed its filters. I turned the power off and on. I checked the spigot. I unplugged the hose and turned the tap back on to make sure water was getting through. In desperation, I broke my pact with gender stereotypes everywhere and actually read and re-read the manual.
Nothing changed. I turned the dishwasher on, it groaned for about 20 seconds and then beeped until I opened the door. I called the letting agent. The agent called the builder. The builder came round and blamed the plumber. The plumber came round and blamed the manufacturer. I called the manufacturer. The letting agent called the manufacturer. The letting agent said she'd sort it out.
The engineer turned up earlier in the week. The engineer was told to pick up keys from the agent. Engineers aren't allowed to be in properties without the owner present. This is to protect them from being accused of nicking or breaking things. The letting agent couldn't leave the office. So the engineer went home.
Yesterday I got a call from them trying to book an appointment. They said they could do Friday. I said that was great and asked them what time the engineer would be round. They said "Any time between 8am and 6pm."
"That's fine" I said, "I don't have anything else I need to do all day, I'll just wait around for you."
"Good, we'll book you in then"
The sarcasm had clearly missed its target and was off to cause collateral damage at the next workstation along in the call centre. I was in no mood for this, due to the sofa incident. So, apoplectic, I lapsed into Basil Fawlty. I started asking stupid rhetorical questions. I asked if there was anything they could do to give me more notice of when the engineer would come. In short, I got a bit ranty. There was an awkward pause. It was stupid, of course, to rail at some hapless phonemonkey about a system they have essentially no control over. So they booked me in. Today I got a call saying the engineer could come a day early so I waited around for an hour or so after lunch and now, one cup of tea and a discussion about shite builders later, the thing's fixed. The problem was that the builder had installed the dishwasher with too much hose, which caused a kink, which caused an absence of water. The engineer - a really nice chap in my not inconsiderable experience of field engineers - was kind enough to write down some bollocks about the cause of the problem so that I didn't have to go through the rigamarole of paying him and billing the landlord who would then have to get the money back off the builder.
If they'd only fucking tested it after installing it they would have known that (a) you couldn't open the fucker and (b) it didn't fucking work anyway.
Incompetence (I)
We moved in on June 3rd. On June 5th, I ordered broadband from Bulldog. Bulldog offered a £1 connection fee. I should mention that the flat didn't have a phone line. The building, in fact, didn't have a phone line because it was brand new. £1 seemed like a good deal. Compared to BT's £120, anyway.
A week and a half passed with a few phone calls to Bulldog. Then, on closer inspection of their website, it emerged that the £1 referred to connecting ADSL via an existing BT line. Not connecting a new line. So I binned the order and got BT in. This process has been documented elsewhere on this blog.
Lo, the phone line didst arrive. And for a time (2 minutes) the people were content with dialup.
After the bulldog debacle (none of the operators I spoke to could determine what the delay was) I was loathe to order through them again now I had a line in. I was tempted to use BT - they're expensive but they generally get the job done. But £7 extra a month = £84 a year. And that's a lot of beer. So, applying my patented beer reasoning process, I ordered through tiscali. This was on June 24th. In fairness, at the time, their predicted connection date was July 8th.
I got an email on Monday saying the line had been connected. Woohoo! I connected an old ADSL modem we had lying around the place and.....the light kept blinking. It's still blinking today. This indicates that the line isn't connected. I've phoned tiscali, went through the mickey mouse diagnostic process and was told that I'd be called back (this time by someone who might have a clue what they're talking about) within 48 hours.
Two fucking days. Ridiculous. As the artist formerly known as Astor is fond of pointing out, in New Yoik you can get broadband connected in under 24hrs. Here in the old capital of the UK it takes double that length of time for some monkey to call you to explain why you're going to have to wait even longer. Fucking ridiculous.
A week and a half passed with a few phone calls to Bulldog. Then, on closer inspection of their website, it emerged that the £1 referred to connecting ADSL via an existing BT line. Not connecting a new line. So I binned the order and got BT in. This process has been documented elsewhere on this blog.
Lo, the phone line didst arrive. And for a time (2 minutes) the people were content with dialup.
After the bulldog debacle (none of the operators I spoke to could determine what the delay was) I was loathe to order through them again now I had a line in. I was tempted to use BT - they're expensive but they generally get the job done. But £7 extra a month = £84 a year. And that's a lot of beer. So, applying my patented beer reasoning process, I ordered through tiscali. This was on June 24th. In fairness, at the time, their predicted connection date was July 8th.
I got an email on Monday saying the line had been connected. Woohoo! I connected an old ADSL modem we had lying around the place and.....the light kept blinking. It's still blinking today. This indicates that the line isn't connected. I've phoned tiscali, went through the mickey mouse diagnostic process and was told that I'd be called back (this time by someone who might have a clue what they're talking about) within 48 hours.
Two fucking days. Ridiculous. As the artist formerly known as Astor is fond of pointing out, in New Yoik you can get broadband connected in under 24hrs. Here in the old capital of the UK it takes double that length of time for some monkey to call you to explain why you're going to have to wait even longer. Fucking ridiculous.
July 04, 2006
Da Quiz
Yesterday I woke at 7, drove to Bristol, worked for 10 hours and drove back again. On my return I picked up some food and cooked Benny and I dinner. After that, I felt like I was owed something so I treated myself to the pub quiz for the first time since the pub reopened. We had it al fresco, Loopy read the questions out because Heather was hoarse.
Teaming up with Ian, Tim, Widge and Rick we did very well indeed - winning with ease, in fact. Here are the two questions we got wrong:
Admiral Nelson lost various bits of his body while fighting for england. Which bit did he lose first?
Who was the only US president to be elected 3 times?
And here are some bonus ones we got right, which I thought were rather good:
Name the two Cluedo weapons missing from this list: Knife, Candlestick holder, Lead Pipe, Revolver
Which South American country is named after an Italian city?
What is the second fastest swimming stroke?
How many Catherines was Henry VIII married to?
Teaming up with Ian, Tim, Widge and Rick we did very well indeed - winning with ease, in fact. Here are the two questions we got wrong:
Admiral Nelson lost various bits of his body while fighting for england. Which bit did he lose first?
Who was the only US president to be elected 3 times?
And here are some bonus ones we got right, which I thought were rather good:
Name the two Cluedo weapons missing from this list: Knife, Candlestick holder, Lead Pipe, Revolver
Which South American country is named after an Italian city?
What is the second fastest swimming stroke?
How many Catherines was Henry VIII married to?
July 01, 2006
Pinch Punch
Not been writing much, have I? No excuses - have simply drifted into a semi retired malaise.
Found this blog though, by some chap who writes for the london review of books. It's all about the world cup.
http://lrblog.typepad.com/world_cup_2006/
Found this blog though, by some chap who writes for the london review of books. It's all about the world cup.
http://lrblog.typepad.com/world_cup_2006/
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