I was walking past the JJB tent on Sunday on the way to get a mug of mint tea or something from the fit women up in the organic bit when I heard a radiohead song coming out of the tent. I decided to head in and listen. There were about 100 people bunched up by the stage. I reckon the tent had a couple of thousand people in it for Gomez. So basically, the tent was empty. The song stopped playing and I started to walk out. Then the lights went down and a band came on stage. The crowd by the stage - teenagers all, boys and girls split fairly evenly - started screaming. I mean really screaming. I mean, like footage of girls screaming at The Beatles in the sixties. The band began to play - quite tight, a bit punky - and as they reached their crescendo on comes this guy. The crowd crank up the screaming decibels. I look at the laminated timetable thing hanging round my neck. It turns out that I'm looking at Matt fucking Willis.
As in, formerly of Busted.
Now, I'm not a fan. But I can totally understand why you would be. He has good songs and performs like Robbie Williams. Over the course of his slot - maybe 40 minutes long, and yes, I did stay to the end - the tent went from 5% full to 50% full. And here's how it happened: lots of people came in to look at what all the screaming was about and, critically, hardly anyone left. Just like those street performers in covent garden. First they attract a small crowd. Then they make the crowd scream. A small noisy crowd attracts a bigger crowd. It was very impressive to watch. He had so much energy. And so many good, high energy songs that had an instant appeal. It was a thoroughly random but very enjoyable festival moment.
A great many of my friends are musical snobs. They allow me some indulgences, but ruthlessly punish me for others. Here is a selected list of bands and musicians that I have been shot down violently for complimenting: The Darkness, Robbie Williams, Norah Jones, The Streets, FC Kahuna, Hundred Reasons, N.W.A., Jack Johnson... Now, I know that there's some toss in there. I know there's some shallow ear candy in there. But I can't help myself. If I hear something and I like the way it has been written, recorded or performed then I'll say so. And so it is with Matt Willis. You may not like what he's about, but you have to acknowledge that he does what he does better than most if not all of his competitors.
August 23, 2006
Revelations
- Faithless, for me, redefine what a live act should be like. Never seen them before. Hope I see them again. Somewhere at night.
- Bloc Party are so together it's a privilege to watch
- You need to watch out for The Feeling. They have momentum, talent and enthusiasm. If they fail, it will only be because they're a bit saccharine
- Gomez are stunning to watch. Seven people working as one. Glorious.
- Delays were rubbash
- I can't remember The Rifles
- Starsailor are, actually, brilliant. I think they got fucked by the press, basically. They've got everything going for them. I'm going to buy their first album right now.
- Razorlight didn't justify the hype. Their singer, especially, looked like he would have been shitting himself were it not for the fact that he'd gone for the refugee look and not eaten for a few days. When he spoke, it sounded like someone had been coaching him to talk like a rockstar. His voice was under control, but his face looked terrified. Excluding the singles, their songs were terrible. I really, honestly, can't understand what people see in them.
- Never seen The Cooper Temple Clause before. Enjoyed them a lot. Half their equipment failed, they totally fucked with their setlist (causing several on-stage arguments) and still rocked, still sounded professional. Thank you Mr Drewery for taking me along.
- Matt Willis will be the subject of a separate post.
August 22, 2006
Drugs are good
After learning of my recent illness, Natasha advocated the purchase of vitamins called Pharmaton. I picked some up in Tescos. The tablets are huge. I'm pretty sure they're actually suppositories. I guess that tells us quite a bit about Natasha.
Manflu
On Friday night we got to the festival at about midnight. We towed a trolley full of stuff through deep mud in rain that wasn't hard but was fairly constant to the campsite. We put our tents up in the rain. We drank in the rain. We went to bed late.
Saturday lunch: I note a slight tingling in my throat. Saturday night: I start to hear a slight background noise in my ears. My glands start to feel tender. Sunday morning: I wake up, find it hard to breathe and impossible to swallow without wincing in pain. I'm leaking snot. My chest is tight. My sinsuses feel congested. I find something on the site map marked 'pharmacy', slog it over there through the mud, past the snaking toilet queues and the smell - now quite inescapable wherever you are in the park - of fermenting piss and festering shit. I relieve them of stepsils, lempsip capsules and tissues then I sit on a hill with a cup of tea (£1.50) and take double the recommended dose to little effect.
The drive home was fun and fast. My appetite disappeared for 24 hours. Yesterday (Monday) I did nothing. I really can't remember how I spent the day. Today, I have recovered a bit. I've created a list of things to do and cleaned my room and the dining room up. Benny is now sick with what I had (makes sense - he spent three hours with me in a car when I was at my worst).
When I got sick during my first job the FD would always advocate 18 pints of guinness and a vindaloo. He may have had a point. Clearly he believed in it - he was a chubby bastard ('gutty fucker' in our local parlance). However, tonight I made french onion soup. I use the recipe from delia smith's website when I make it. It takes two hours. If I have flu or a cold, it has never failed to make me feel better. If there's a cure for manflu, this is it.
Saturday lunch: I note a slight tingling in my throat. Saturday night: I start to hear a slight background noise in my ears. My glands start to feel tender. Sunday morning: I wake up, find it hard to breathe and impossible to swallow without wincing in pain. I'm leaking snot. My chest is tight. My sinsuses feel congested. I find something on the site map marked 'pharmacy', slog it over there through the mud, past the snaking toilet queues and the smell - now quite inescapable wherever you are in the park - of fermenting piss and festering shit. I relieve them of stepsils, lempsip capsules and tissues then I sit on a hill with a cup of tea (£1.50) and take double the recommended dose to little effect.
The drive home was fun and fast. My appetite disappeared for 24 hours. Yesterday (Monday) I did nothing. I really can't remember how I spent the day. Today, I have recovered a bit. I've created a list of things to do and cleaned my room and the dining room up. Benny is now sick with what I had (makes sense - he spent three hours with me in a car when I was at my worst).
When I got sick during my first job the FD would always advocate 18 pints of guinness and a vindaloo. He may have had a point. Clearly he believed in it - he was a chubby bastard ('gutty fucker' in our local parlance). However, tonight I made french onion soup. I use the recipe from delia smith's website when I make it. It takes two hours. If I have flu or a cold, it has never failed to make me feel better. If there's a cure for manflu, this is it.
Bullet Dodging
After driving back from V at speeds that were never less than illegal with a head full of cold and a suitably addled brain I parked my car with both windows open in a dark, un-CCTV'd public car park 5 minutes walk from the closest main road.
I only realise this when I returned to the car this evening, 40 hours later.
Car totally untouched.
Welcome to Winchester.
I only realise this when I returned to the car this evening, 40 hours later.
Car totally untouched.
Welcome to Winchester.
The Sun makes me laugh
Glanced at the sun's website and had to laugh. They report that the boymangirl from Keane has been admitted to the priory with some form of addiction and that Pete Doherty and Justin Hawkins of The Darkness are already patients there. They then speculate that the three of them would make an excellent supergroup.
Can you fucking imagine! Jeezus.
Can you fucking imagine! Jeezus.
August 15, 2006
Quiz
My team won last night! I was with Tim and Ian. They normally win, so I can't claim too much credit. Or indeed, any.
So:
1) Whose body was brought back to the UK in a barrel of rum?
2) What old song contains the lyrics "Tomorrow, just you wait and see"
3) In what year did President Cinton take office?
Can't remember any others. So here's a bonus logic question:
You are on one side of a river with a wolf, a goat and a plant. You must transport all three and yourself to the other side of the river. The only means of transport across the river is a small boat, which has room for you and only one other item per trip.
If you leave the wolf and goat alone, the wolf will eat the goat
If you leave the goat and plant alone, the goat will eat the plant
How do you get everything to the other side?
So:
1) Whose body was brought back to the UK in a barrel of rum?
2) What old song contains the lyrics "Tomorrow, just you wait and see"
3) In what year did President Cinton take office?
Can't remember any others. So here's a bonus logic question:
You are on one side of a river with a wolf, a goat and a plant. You must transport all three and yourself to the other side of the river. The only means of transport across the river is a small boat, which has room for you and only one other item per trip.
If you leave the wolf and goat alone, the wolf will eat the goat
If you leave the goat and plant alone, the goat will eat the plant
How do you get everything to the other side?
August 14, 2006
Learning Points From The Weekend
- The farmer's market is full of lovely food
- The food is, however, sold by a bunch of barbour-sporting charlatans who think 18 quid is a reasonable price for a kilo joint of beef (including bone)
- Drinking homemade elderflower wine ('Firefly' - created by Mr Luff down the pub) is a sure way to go blind
- Mixing homemade elderflower with beer is, however, an excellent way of making the going blind process taste better
- Lucky number Slevin is quite a good film
- After our camping expedition, Benny has revealed himself as a tick-magnet. So far, he has dug two of the blighters out of his skin
- I still enjoy cooking sunday lunch
- Drewery still exists, and he can't half put his food away. This suggests that they weren't feeding him wherever they hid him all these weeks
- Benny will stop at nothing to remove us from the pub when he thinks it's time to leave - including pinching chris' car keys and driving up the lane with a panicked-looking duncan lying across the bonnet
- The gym is largely unchanged since my last visit, which was a couple of weeks ago. Shame on me. I am especially enjoying the cross trainer.
- Meg (Mash's other half) cooks awesome cakes and compulsively washes up after dinner. Put another way: she is more than likely to be invited to dinner again.
- If the black boy were a lady, I would be sending her little notes, buying her flowers, bumping into her accidentally and, ultimately, would be the subject of a restraining order.
- I really rather miss playing Astor-Moore-Ashton-Whatever at Rise of Nations. Scheduling conflicts have prevented us from having a game recently. However, when she returns from her naturist holiday upstate we will hopefully kick things off again.
- Ooh - and at the market there's a pig on a spit. You can buy a bap full of 75% roast pork 25% cracking + 1 x stuffing wedge + apple sauce + an array of mustards for the ridiculous sum of £3. Of course I bought one! Having burnt off x hundred calories in the gym, I immediately rid myself of any resulting virtue in a couple of minutes on the stroll home. Pig in bread. Awesome.
August 13, 2006
Value adding activity
My project in Winchester has finished. I was working with Paul (who I worked with over in Cork and, more recently, in Leeds and Newcastle). I think Paul is my favourite project manager because he's very sharp, very amusing company and shares my view on exactly what our job means (very little). In fact, we went out for a convivial meal last week and agreed that were it not for a few mitigating factors, our profession would be indistinguishable from that of a confidence trickster.
I'm not proud of this, you understand. I'm actually a little annoyed to have charged into the industry under the illusion that it meant anything. The real shame is - and the reason I still do the job from time to time - is that I'm really rather good at it. In fact, that I can be good at it with relatively little effort and be handsomely rewarded for it.
Note to self: must resume search for more fulfilling vocation.
Paul is pictured, incidentally, having just spilt coffee on his laptop. Because I'm a caring kind of person I reacted with sympathy and laughed at him before getting my phone out and taking a picture of his horror.
I enjoyed working in Winchester, and it's certainly been a bit of a boost financially, but I didn't enjoy the mechanics of the job itself. It's natural, of course, but one of the reasons our profession is so vacuous is because of what client expectations force us into being. If we tell them anything they don't want to hear then they assume we're wrong. If a garage mechanic tells you that your car's running like a dog because you're driving it like a retard then you'll go to another garage for a second opinion. This is human behaviour at its most predictable. If a consultant tells you that the reason your business is failing is because you and the managers you appointed are retards, you'll get other consultants in to tell you something different. After all, you're a retard, right?
So right from the get-go our options for telling the truth (whatever the truth might turn out to be) are restricted by our need to remain commercially viable. And our options only ever become more restricted over the course of a project as a result of politics, interdependencies and so on.
So we draw lots of pretty graphs, put them in powerpoint and then try to fix things. And normally, it has to be said, we do a really good job of fixing things. Often we'll sustainably save clients 15%-25% of their costs in the areas we work in. But the way we do that is much more nebulous than the powerpoint charts would employ. Too often, we save the money by helping people enjoy their jobs. But that's not a saleable prospect to the guys paying the bills. So we call it something else.
I'm not proud of this, you understand. I'm actually a little annoyed to have charged into the industry under the illusion that it meant anything. The real shame is - and the reason I still do the job from time to time - is that I'm really rather good at it. In fact, that I can be good at it with relatively little effort and be handsomely rewarded for it.
Note to self: must resume search for more fulfilling vocation.
Paul is pictured, incidentally, having just spilt coffee on his laptop. Because I'm a caring kind of person I reacted with sympathy and laughed at him before getting my phone out and taking a picture of his horror.
I enjoyed working in Winchester, and it's certainly been a bit of a boost financially, but I didn't enjoy the mechanics of the job itself. It's natural, of course, but one of the reasons our profession is so vacuous is because of what client expectations force us into being. If we tell them anything they don't want to hear then they assume we're wrong. If a garage mechanic tells you that your car's running like a dog because you're driving it like a retard then you'll go to another garage for a second opinion. This is human behaviour at its most predictable. If a consultant tells you that the reason your business is failing is because you and the managers you appointed are retards, you'll get other consultants in to tell you something different. After all, you're a retard, right?
So right from the get-go our options for telling the truth (whatever the truth might turn out to be) are restricted by our need to remain commercially viable. And our options only ever become more restricted over the course of a project as a result of politics, interdependencies and so on.
So we draw lots of pretty graphs, put them in powerpoint and then try to fix things. And normally, it has to be said, we do a really good job of fixing things. Often we'll sustainably save clients 15%-25% of their costs in the areas we work in. But the way we do that is much more nebulous than the powerpoint charts would employ. Too often, we save the money by helping people enjoy their jobs. But that's not a saleable prospect to the guys paying the bills. So we call it something else.
Bonnie
Phyl and Ian have a dog called Bonnie. She's allowed to go camping with them, but only if she carries her own kit (as pictured).
Bonnie is a clever dog. But she hasn't worked out that when she has her bags on she is wider than she normally is. This is humourous, especially when she tries to get under fences, run past people and walk between trees.
Bonnie is a clever dog. But she hasn't worked out that when she has her bags on she is wider than she normally is. This is humourous, especially when she tries to get under fences, run past people and walk between trees.
If you go down to the woods
Like that shitty ad on TV, a while back I decided to be more open minded about saying yes to doing things. Friends of ours - Ian and Phyl, who are, respectively, the captain of the cricket team and his wife, are well into something called bushcraft. I hadn't appreciated this, but bushcraft is basically that stuff advocated by Ray Mears. Essentially, we're talking about survival stuff here. How to build a shelter. How to start a fire. How to make things out of wood. Etc.
Of course, this isn't normally my bag. I much prefer sitting on my sofa doing something more mentally diverting. However, never having done something before is not a good reason for not trying it. So on Friday, Benny and I hooked up with Ian and Phyl down by Whitely Woods near Botley and headed into the forest for the night. We walked for about 2 miles through the woods and found a clearing. Ian and Phyl set up their tarps and hammocks while Benny and I set up the tent and Benny's camp bed. We ate stew. We whittled things. We drank some nice Corbieres that I had smuggled into camp. I slept like a log. We ate some incredible breakfast rolls. Benny took things to the next level and had a dump behind a tree. I elected to exercise bowel control.
There were three really striking activities:
1) Starting a fire. Ian brought a sparking stick with him. That was all we had in the way of fire stuff - we brought no fuel or anything with us. He showed us all how to start fires. Basically you peel bark off flammable trees - we used silver birches which are apparently amongst the best because of their oil - until you've got a handful of it then spark off the stick with your knife until it catches. Then you build this into a small fire using bundles of birch twigs. After that's got going you can use progressively larger logs.
2) Cooking. In the evening we had a stew - an really tasty, filling chicken / mushroom / onion / garlic / potato affair. It really was fucking outstanding, prepared from raw ingredients and water. To cook it, we built something to suspend it out of three bits of wood. First, Ian found a piece of wood - hazel - with a fork in it and stuck it in the ground next to the fire so that the fork was pointing into the air. Then he found a long bit of the same wood and whittled one end down to a wedge. The blunt end of this was stuck into the ground well away from the fire, the middle was stuck between the fork of the first piece of wood. Finally, a third piece of wood with a hook at the end was used to suspend the pan above the fire, with notches cut out of the side of it matching up with the wedge cut out of the second piece of wood. Difficult to imagine and difficult to describe - but it was actually very simple and very effective.
3) Restoration. When we left you wouldn't have been able to tell we were there. The fire was extinguished and the underneath it was cooled with water from a stream. Moss was recovered. Wood was scattered. The care they showed for the environment was incredible.
I think Benny - who is a card-carrying Ray Mears fanboy - really loved it for the learning side of things. I was just there for the craic. Had a great time though - really very grateful to them for sharing it all with us.
Of course, this isn't normally my bag. I much prefer sitting on my sofa doing something more mentally diverting. However, never having done something before is not a good reason for not trying it. So on Friday, Benny and I hooked up with Ian and Phyl down by Whitely Woods near Botley and headed into the forest for the night. We walked for about 2 miles through the woods and found a clearing. Ian and Phyl set up their tarps and hammocks while Benny and I set up the tent and Benny's camp bed. We ate stew. We whittled things. We drank some nice Corbieres that I had smuggled into camp. I slept like a log. We ate some incredible breakfast rolls. Benny took things to the next level and had a dump behind a tree. I elected to exercise bowel control.
There were three really striking activities:
1) Starting a fire. Ian brought a sparking stick with him. That was all we had in the way of fire stuff - we brought no fuel or anything with us. He showed us all how to start fires. Basically you peel bark off flammable trees - we used silver birches which are apparently amongst the best because of their oil - until you've got a handful of it then spark off the stick with your knife until it catches. Then you build this into a small fire using bundles of birch twigs. After that's got going you can use progressively larger logs.
2) Cooking. In the evening we had a stew - an really tasty, filling chicken / mushroom / onion / garlic / potato affair. It really was fucking outstanding, prepared from raw ingredients and water. To cook it, we built something to suspend it out of three bits of wood. First, Ian found a piece of wood - hazel - with a fork in it and stuck it in the ground next to the fire so that the fork was pointing into the air. Then he found a long bit of the same wood and whittled one end down to a wedge. The blunt end of this was stuck into the ground well away from the fire, the middle was stuck between the fork of the first piece of wood. Finally, a third piece of wood with a hook at the end was used to suspend the pan above the fire, with notches cut out of the side of it matching up with the wedge cut out of the second piece of wood. Difficult to imagine and difficult to describe - but it was actually very simple and very effective.
3) Restoration. When we left you wouldn't have been able to tell we were there. The fire was extinguished and the underneath it was cooled with water from a stream. Moss was recovered. Wood was scattered. The care they showed for the environment was incredible.
I think Benny - who is a card-carrying Ray Mears fanboy - really loved it for the learning side of things. I was just there for the craic. Had a great time though - really very grateful to them for sharing it all with us.
Birds at Work
When I was working in Bristol on the fourth floor there was a seagull who strutted proprietorially up and down the window ledge, peering in at us through the glass to make sure we weren't slacking. Seagulls are such fucking awful birds aren't they? They drip gooey white shit and bad attitude in equal measure. Not as awful as magpies, but don't get me started on them. Anyhow.
Here in Winchester we do things slightly differently. The huge office is set in the grounds of a (now demolished) country house. There are football pitches, tennis courts, a small lake and lots of trees on the campus. And a peacock.
Now, I've worked in more offices over the last few years than I can count. Over the last 3 weeks I've had 4 different desks in 3 different buildings, for instance. But I've never worked in an office with its own peacock before.
I did take a photo, but it was rubbash.
Here in Winchester we do things slightly differently. The huge office is set in the grounds of a (now demolished) country house. There are football pitches, tennis courts, a small lake and lots of trees on the campus. And a peacock.
Now, I've worked in more offices over the last few years than I can count. Over the last 3 weeks I've had 4 different desks in 3 different buildings, for instance. But I've never worked in an office with its own peacock before.
I did take a photo, but it was rubbash.
Great Questions of Our Age
~An occasional philiosophical series~
Today: Does Benny shit in the woods?
Answer: Yes.
==========
Next week: Is the Benny a catholic?
Today: Does Benny shit in the woods?
Answer: Yes.
==========
Next week: Is the Benny a catholic?
Cricket on Thursday
We played the priory, away, on thursday evening. Because it was a late game and the days are getting shorter we played 16 overs (an over is 6 balls) each way. We lost. But it was close. We batted first and scored 79 runs off our 16 overs. Benny batted third, was told to run by our other bat when he shouldn't have and was stumped. Widge had a really good time - scored 12 runs which doubles his average. It was a fast game. Not everyone got a go (including me).
They batted second and beat our score by the end of the 15th over, meaning they beat us with only 6 balls to spare. Which isn't exactly an inglorious defeat.
They batted second and beat our score by the end of the 15th over, meaning they beat us with only 6 balls to spare. Which isn't exactly an inglorious defeat.
August 07, 2006
Quiz Answers
In a comment.
Did you know that the longest distance ever travelled non stop by a scalectrix car was over 1000 miles? Fascinating. That's further than I reckon my car will go non stop :)
Did you know that the longest distance ever travelled non stop by a scalectrix car was over 1000 miles? Fascinating. That's further than I reckon my car will go non stop :)
Quiz
Teamed with Rob, Rick and Ursula. Got 25 out of 30. Came second. Here are a few we got wrong:
1) What is the largest british private sector company, employing over 250,000 people?
2) What was the name of the england manager played by Ricky Tomlinson?
3) A squab is a name for the young of which animal?
And some ones we got right:
1) Eccles is to cakes as Yorkshire is to Puddings as Melton Mowbray is to ..... ?
2) Which famous green veined cheese is named for the small town outside milan where it was first made?
3) According to a recent survey, how many people agree that the UK government always tell the truth: 1%, 10% or 50%?
1) What is the largest british private sector company, employing over 250,000 people?
2) What was the name of the england manager played by Ricky Tomlinson?
3) A squab is a name for the young of which animal?
And some ones we got right:
1) Eccles is to cakes as Yorkshire is to Puddings as Melton Mowbray is to ..... ?
2) Which famous green veined cheese is named for the small town outside milan where it was first made?
3) According to a recent survey, how many people agree that the UK government always tell the truth: 1%, 10% or 50%?
Not firing on all cylinders
On Friday night Benny, Al and I met at the pub for multiple games of shithead. For the uninitiated, Shithead is a card game popular amongst travellers of the variety where the winner is the person with no cards left. This developed into a drinking frenzy. In turn, this was motivated largely by me having a shit day and working through till 6pm, which is as late as I've worked on a Friday in 4 years. Consultants go home early on Fridays, see.
So, via the gay pub (which stays open longer) and a bottle of wine and some brandy back at my place, Saturday was written off with a hangover. A proper hangover, that meant I stayed in bed until it started to get dark again. My phone refused to turn on and refused to charge. Saturday night featured dinner which I recovered enough to cook. We had toad in the hole with gravy. It was a brilliant night. Everyone cleared their plates - always a good sign that you've either cooked well or kept them waiting for too long. Anyway.
On Sunday we got up to go to the cricket, got to the car and it juddered and shook when I started it. I thought it might clear itself but I was wrong. A strange orange light started flashing on the dash. We were no more than 50m down the road and with the image of one of our favourite entrepreneurs standing by a smoking land rover after ignoring a warning light quite prominent in my mind, I turned the car around, parked it, and tried to work out what to do next. I tried to find a garage and failed. I tried to open the bonnet and failed at that too. So I went home and called the AA. Benny, committed as ever, managed to blag a lift to the pub solo. How very considerate of him.
Then the AA man turned up and I went out to meet him. We drove to where the car was parked. Then I realised I couldn't find my keys. A panicky search of my person ensued. My keys are all bunched together - car keys + house keys. So the AA man (who was surprisingly cheerful given that I'd just wasted his time) said his farewells and I made off for the pub. The pub was - with my luck, quite obviously - shut. Benny was going to be at work with the only accessible pair of keys for at least the next 4 hours. I retraced my steps to and from the flat several times but couldn't find them. I felt sure that I'd left them in the house. Surely I'd have noticed them coming out of my pocket? I was furious with myself for forgetting them. So, I went to the park and sat reading the newspaper under a tree. Oh, I might have missed out the bit where I was fucking fuming with myself for being an inexcusable retard and called myself all manner of names.
At this point, things started to slowly improve. I replied to a text I'd received from Duncan, one of our friends and mentioned my predicament. Duncan insisted on driving over to winchester, picking me up and depositing me at the pub where Benny was working. This was enormously generous. We had a large number of drinks, commiserated with the cricket team who had just lost the game, and then Mary (who lives in Winchester and was working the same shift as Benny) gave us a lift home. We thanked her with drinks down the pub (which was now open).
Sadly, my keys were not to be found in the house. This meant they were lost either on the 2 minute walk to the AA van from my flat or were lost in the van itself. Fortunately I have spares. This morning I summoned the AA again and a charming man turned up in a big yellow van. At first, he thought it was the coils. The coils, apparently, are the things that charge the sparkplugs. If one of these fail, then the corresponding sparkplug doesn't ignite the petrol properly, so one of the cylinders stops working and the engine, as a consequence, misfires. He had a fiddle with some of the wires then the problem corrected itself. So I'm going to leave it and if it happens again, take it to a garage. It turned out there was something wrong with the bonnet release thing too. He fixed that with some WD40, so I feel slightly less retarded about that.
Hampshire has a new number for the police - 101 - which you use for reporting non-serious stuff. I called them this morning and it turns out they get so many keys handed in that they have a special tin for them all on the front desk. So I'll bugger off down there this evening and see if my luck's in. You never know. Winchester's a very honest town. That didn't stop me waking up this morning in a panic about being burgled though.
What I was really angry about yesterday was my own stupidity. I couldn't get the car open. I couldn't work out what the problem was. I couldn't find a garage. I couldn't bring myself to try to break into my house for fear of looking like an idiot. I couldn't find my keys. I felt dumb. And in my mind, I had linked this to other problems - forgetting things, trying to open the front door with my car keys, the all too recent ikea sofa disaster and the attendant hole in the wall which I'm too thick to fix myself. So I got quite down about it, really. Which was stupid. These things happen - and they just happened to happen to me in quick succession. So today I'm feeling a bit better.
So, via the gay pub (which stays open longer) and a bottle of wine and some brandy back at my place, Saturday was written off with a hangover. A proper hangover, that meant I stayed in bed until it started to get dark again. My phone refused to turn on and refused to charge. Saturday night featured dinner which I recovered enough to cook. We had toad in the hole with gravy. It was a brilliant night. Everyone cleared their plates - always a good sign that you've either cooked well or kept them waiting for too long. Anyway.
On Sunday we got up to go to the cricket, got to the car and it juddered and shook when I started it. I thought it might clear itself but I was wrong. A strange orange light started flashing on the dash. We were no more than 50m down the road and with the image of one of our favourite entrepreneurs standing by a smoking land rover after ignoring a warning light quite prominent in my mind, I turned the car around, parked it, and tried to work out what to do next. I tried to find a garage and failed. I tried to open the bonnet and failed at that too. So I went home and called the AA. Benny, committed as ever, managed to blag a lift to the pub solo. How very considerate of him.
Then the AA man turned up and I went out to meet him. We drove to where the car was parked. Then I realised I couldn't find my keys. A panicky search of my person ensued. My keys are all bunched together - car keys + house keys. So the AA man (who was surprisingly cheerful given that I'd just wasted his time) said his farewells and I made off for the pub. The pub was - with my luck, quite obviously - shut. Benny was going to be at work with the only accessible pair of keys for at least the next 4 hours. I retraced my steps to and from the flat several times but couldn't find them. I felt sure that I'd left them in the house. Surely I'd have noticed them coming out of my pocket? I was furious with myself for forgetting them. So, I went to the park and sat reading the newspaper under a tree. Oh, I might have missed out the bit where I was fucking fuming with myself for being an inexcusable retard and called myself all manner of names.
At this point, things started to slowly improve. I replied to a text I'd received from Duncan, one of our friends and mentioned my predicament. Duncan insisted on driving over to winchester, picking me up and depositing me at the pub where Benny was working. This was enormously generous. We had a large number of drinks, commiserated with the cricket team who had just lost the game, and then Mary (who lives in Winchester and was working the same shift as Benny) gave us a lift home. We thanked her with drinks down the pub (which was now open).
Sadly, my keys were not to be found in the house. This meant they were lost either on the 2 minute walk to the AA van from my flat or were lost in the van itself. Fortunately I have spares. This morning I summoned the AA again and a charming man turned up in a big yellow van. At first, he thought it was the coils. The coils, apparently, are the things that charge the sparkplugs. If one of these fail, then the corresponding sparkplug doesn't ignite the petrol properly, so one of the cylinders stops working and the engine, as a consequence, misfires. He had a fiddle with some of the wires then the problem corrected itself. So I'm going to leave it and if it happens again, take it to a garage. It turned out there was something wrong with the bonnet release thing too. He fixed that with some WD40, so I feel slightly less retarded about that.
Hampshire has a new number for the police - 101 - which you use for reporting non-serious stuff. I called them this morning and it turns out they get so many keys handed in that they have a special tin for them all on the front desk. So I'll bugger off down there this evening and see if my luck's in. You never know. Winchester's a very honest town. That didn't stop me waking up this morning in a panic about being burgled though.
What I was really angry about yesterday was my own stupidity. I couldn't get the car open. I couldn't work out what the problem was. I couldn't find a garage. I couldn't bring myself to try to break into my house for fear of looking like an idiot. I couldn't find my keys. I felt dumb. And in my mind, I had linked this to other problems - forgetting things, trying to open the front door with my car keys, the all too recent ikea sofa disaster and the attendant hole in the wall which I'm too thick to fix myself. So I got quite down about it, really. Which was stupid. These things happen - and they just happened to happen to me in quick succession. So today I'm feeling a bit better.
August 04, 2006
Dead Cat Bounce
While the ladyboys arse around with celebdaq like the hairdressers they are, some of us are still playing with propergrownup markets and making money.
Back in March I invested in Land Securities, Apple Computer, BSkyB and a FTSE tracker. For a couple of months everything was fine. Then three things happened in rapid succession:
1) The US treasury released growth data that looked ugly
2) All my shares turned red in about 5 picoseconds
3) My trousers turned brown. This took slightly longer.
However, showing the kind of inaction in a crisis for which my family is well famed, I have hung in there. And we're now back in the green across the board to the tune of something like 3% net. Not great. But not bad. Lovely.
Recent upset - FTSE down generally, land sec particularly, since the rate rise yesterday. Apple have just said they're restating 15 consecutive quarters because of some option 'confusion'.
BskyB's SkyHD has taken off. Apple's WWDC conference on Monday should see the release of some great new products with a new generation of (proper video?) ipods hitting the market in time for christmas. I still like land sec - REITs are going to be big. And the FTSE still looks pretty solid - lots of room to grow into.
Eat that, celebdaq batty boys!
Back in March I invested in Land Securities, Apple Computer, BSkyB and a FTSE tracker. For a couple of months everything was fine. Then three things happened in rapid succession:
1) The US treasury released growth data that looked ugly
2) All my shares turned red in about 5 picoseconds
3) My trousers turned brown. This took slightly longer.
However, showing the kind of inaction in a crisis for which my family is well famed, I have hung in there. And we're now back in the green across the board to the tune of something like 3% net. Not great. But not bad. Lovely.
Recent upset - FTSE down generally, land sec particularly, since the rate rise yesterday. Apple have just said they're restating 15 consecutive quarters because of some option 'confusion'.
BskyB's SkyHD has taken off. Apple's WWDC conference on Monday should see the release of some great new products with a new generation of (proper video?) ipods hitting the market in time for christmas. I still like land sec - REITs are going to be big. And the FTSE still looks pretty solid - lots of room to grow into.
Eat that, celebdaq batty boys!
August 02, 2006
Happy is the man
Who willingly blags his project manager into buying him dinner at his local pub on expenses.
Paulo had goats cheese salad followed by ribeye with bearnaise butter.
Bearnaise butter, according to me, incidentally = a lazy man's bearnaise sauce
I had the fishcake and the lamb. The fishcake was a mashy kind of fish - not my fave. The lamb was great. But there wasn't enough.
Overall though, not bad. I've certainly had worse.
Best thing, definitely, to make the company pay for it :)
Paulo had goats cheese salad followed by ribeye with bearnaise butter.
Bearnaise butter, according to me, incidentally = a lazy man's bearnaise sauce
I had the fishcake and the lamb. The fishcake was a mashy kind of fish - not my fave. The lamb was great. But there wasn't enough.
Overall though, not bad. I've certainly had worse.
Best thing, definitely, to make the company pay for it :)
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