It's all in the timing

Oh dear, I've evidently titled a blog post 'It's all in the timing' before. I only know because Blogger told me. I wonder what it was about? Fortunately I read in the paper that they've developed a pill to stop you forgetting things. I may need an over-dose.

Apologies to Tara...I can't do your Photogallery this week...I simply can't think of a favourite photo...there are just too many for me to choose. Inspite of the politicians' claims, choice is not always a good thing!

The carpet shop rang today. "Mr Nota Bene, the bank has returned your cheque" They said. I turned a very tomato red colour, assuming that my flakiness meant that I'd paid with the wrong account. Or may be just didn't have the money in the first place. "They say your signature has changed so won't accept it". On the one hand, much relief. On the other instant annoyance. I'm not thirteen. My signature hasn't changed in thirty years. I apologised to the shop and transfered the money by internet banking. Then rang the bank. No apology from them. Merely a "You probably were rushing when you wrote the cheque". I assured her that when writing a cheque for several thousand pounds I NEVER rush. They suggested I go into the bank and re-signed the banking mandate. I suggested that if there had been a query they should have rung me as they hold a work number, a mobile number and a home number. And from there the conversation spiralled downwards. At some stage the supervisor came on the phone because I'd reduced the Customer Advisor at the UK's most complained about bank to tears. I may have been a little more conciliatory if I'd waited half an hour by which time I would have seen on the BBC that the bank is making 4,500 people redundant...most probably including the person I was speaking with. It's all in the timing.

And talking of timing. The Cat's Mother and I are off abroad next week. We fly on Sunday first to see Grandma in Cyprus and from there onto Beirut. That'll be the place that Sky News says, "Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad has begun a visit to Lebanon that heightens already mounting tensions in the country." He'll be in Beirut. Hopefully staying at his embassy and not the same hotel as us.

I hope we get an armed guard.

We think Big Ears has moved in....

We got up one morning this week to find this in the garden. The Cat's Mother says that it belongs to Big Ears, and that we will have Noddy driving his car past any time now....

Dinner time

The fabulously named Misty Weaver has sent me a press release about baby sign language. Better than that she has offered to write a blog post for me on the subject.

And best of all, she says, "Alternatively, if you prefer another topic just let me know and I can write anything of your choice. I look forward to hearing from you soon. Have a wonderful day!!!"

Suggestions on a postcard please

Nobody has ever accused me of being organised. Quite the contrary in fact. Indeed my desk is a testament to that saying...the one about tidy desk, tidy mind...in fact my life has been shambolic enough that last year I actually had to pay someone to open my post. I don't mean a few letters for the week before...I mean two or three or four years worth of envelopes which had carefully been stuffed in cardboard boxes. There was half a dozen of them, and I'd just never quite got round to doing it. actually truth be told I'd just been terrified of opening them in case I found anything untoward. Naturally, by not opening them I assumed any problems would go away. And if I ever get to be a celebrity, you can rest assured I won't be one of those Z listers who would go to the opening of an envelope...

...so I guess it was hardly surprising then that The Cat's Mother's jaw dropped to the ground when several months ago I volunteered (was volunteered) to organise this year's Old Boys (and Girls) Dinner. mmm I knew it was a risk (my failure will lead to the abject humiliation of The Boy as he gets ribbed by his friends) but I have been known to be quite adventurous.

The Cat's Mother is the most organised person in the wrold. She keeps every receipt. She goes through every bank statement every month. She goes through every credit card bill every month. Everything has its place. It's admirable. She even had an accountancy session when we were on holiday in Iceland. I have photo evidence to prove it.



I was very glad/pleased/relieved when she offered to help me sort out the ticket invitations which had variously arrived by e-mail, website booking, Facebook, by letter, on a post it note, on the booking form, and on a card. There were 146 of them. I've booked 135 with the caterer. I have some of the names in full, some just a surname, some a christian name, some just initials, one "I'll bring my sister", some who aren't on the database at all, and the odd reverend and cannon. We've even got Michael Jackson and Gordon Brown.

We've got to put them all into tables of ten; some have booked as groups of 12. Or 14.

Saturday, literally all of Saturday was taken up sorting this out...oh and I must order the wine yet. It's on Friday so I've got ages to go....I hope I don't get my just deserts.

He ain't heavy...

All my life I've lived a lie.

Last night I discovered something that came as quite a shock...on a par with discovering the world is round and not flat, being told that Santa isn't real and discovering that you can't touch your nose with your elbow.

I'm reeling, and am not sure when I'll be the same again....if ever.

Some counselling may well be necessary.

All my life I have been telling anyone who cares to ask that My Brother is fifteen months older than me. I'm sure this is what Grandma in Cyprus said all those many years ago and I have held that information dear to my heart, unquestioned all this very long time.

Yesterday it was My Brother's birthday. And for the first time in about 40 years we celebrated together. We met for a meal with His Better Half and The Cat's Mother - her first meeting with them. We chatted away pretty merrily for a couple of hours before the age subject came up. It was only then that clever clogs The Cats Mother pointed out that the difference in our ages was not fifteen months but a whopping 21 months. Somehow a whole half year had been gained. Or lost. I'm not sure which.

She thinks we're both daft. And has laughed at us mercilessly...as indeed did His Better Half. But if you're told something by your mum (who wasn't there to defend herself) why would you question it?

Anyway, I'm thrown, in a state of abject confusion and in need of support. I'm not the same person I was yesterday.

Well it's not been a great week...

...for screen icons. Ironically, as I post this, The Stranglers are on the radio singing No More Heroes

First Tony Curtis. I'm avoiding the obvious, as I remember him best from The Persuaders with Roger Moore. They don't make them like this any more:



And then Norman Wisdom - many happy childhood memories were created by this clown; again I'm avoiding the obvious:



Let's hope Michael Douglas is a real fighter...my favourite being Romancing The Stone

No Prime Minister!

The trials and tribulations of shared accommodation include the traumas of food in the fridge...you know you put some food items get pushed to the back and remain there for several months, gradually gathering mould that the science department would like to experiment on. Alternatively mysteriously your stuff goes in there one evening and the next day it's disappeared...and no one will own up to it. It's good to see that The Boy has begun the move towards shared living early....



Saturday night we went to see a comedy play.

It was about foreign paedophiles.

Yes, I thought so, it's not funny.

Especially when that play is Yes Prime Minister...based on the classic TV series that made great humour out of the complex relationship between politicians and civil servants. Generally the humour revolved around minutiae of policies and events that were not of any great significance. Immeasurably amusing.

So its a real shame that this play is way off the mark, and dwells on a topic that couldn't be described as amusing in any circumstances. How do the critics get it so wrong sometimes?

First Friday Photos

Well disaster. Firstly, I didn't realise that the first Friday might also be the first day of the month...I thought I still had a week to go. And secondly, you may be surprised to know that most of my pictures get taken on my phone (I also take some on a point and shoot, and some on a proper camera, but love the challenge of mobile phone photography)...it was a terrible phone, but actually took some quite good pictures. This month it got sent back and replaced by another one...this time an HTC which is a great phone, but a terrible camera...so I'm a bit short on the picture taking front.



Shard of Glass...well concrete and steel at the moment. Like a stalker it's hard to avoid



After photoshop



As the camera took it :-(



Fab local pub in Bermondsey



Top Gun returns to our screens



Who does this belong to I wonder?



Would have been an epic picture if I could have got the camera to focus

And erm that's all for now folks!

She's got to go

There's a time in every relationship when you know its over. And so it is. She came into my life all sparkly-eyed and enthusiastic. But those little things that are funny at the start of the relationship begin to aggravate and irritate. And at some point you realise that she won't change. So that's it, you know you have to finish it.

The sort of things I mean are moving those ornaments that you've spent weeks organising so they're just perfect...and instead of being artistically arranged, they're lined up like a row of soldiers. My deodorant and aftershave gets shoved in the back of the bathroom cupboard meaning I can't find them when I need them. One day I'll leave for work all smelly. Photoframes carefully placed on the side unit are al mixed up and muddled. Candlesticks, glasses, little 'things' just get moved from place to place. Strange little groupings of china and bronze ornaments suddenly appear. Clothes that are carefully put in one place, mysteriously end up somewhere else.

She can't leave alone.

She has to change things.

The final straw was being woken in the morning by the incessant buzzing of the alarm clock. I always have it set to radio. A buzz is not a great way to start the day and it made me grumpy until I went to bed.

The Boy gets driven to distraction...even The Cat thinks she's a pain. The Cat's Mum doesn't get it.

I'm talking about 'The Woman That Does'. The problem is she does too much. She comes from the east. I don't mean Tilbury or Southend. I mean further, but not as far as Moscow. I suspect she's been sent to grind us down and it'll all end up like Dirk Bogarde in The Servant.

The Cat's Mum says that if I ever meet her (yes I have to confess I never have) I'd see she's delightful and well meaning. I know I didn't employ her. I know that I don't pay her. I know she's not my responsibility. BUT. I live in fear of coming home on a Monday evening and finding that I have to spend a couple of hours re-arranging things back to how they were in the morning. How they should be.

Of course I am grateful...it's been a very long time since I paid anyone to clear up after me. The last time was when I lived down in Brighton and commuted to London. I employed an East European woman, who it transpired was a fully qualified doctor in her own country. I felt terrible at this waste of talent, so was immensely grateful when she moved on. Of course, I missed having a clean and tidy flat..but that's bachelor life.

Your sympathy for my terrible predicament would be much appreciated.

Please don't think I'm a spoilt brat...but really, one more out of place ornament, and I may have to bury her in the basement.

Food glorious food!

Not so long ago we all trundled off to see the latest iteration of Oliver! It was tremendous fun, and interestingly having not seen it for a couple of decades I still knew all the songs and most of the words...I felt so sorry for my companions who had to listen to my tuneless renditions. Tara's theme this week is food...so he's a few shots to illustrate a theme that's close to my heart and even closer to my tummy!



A delicious salad from our last visit to Cyprus...we're off to see Grandma again soon



Fruit and veg from Taj a fantastic shop in Brighton



A cheesy Valentine's present



Menu from Riddle and Finn in Brighton - well worth a visit if you're ever down there



More fruit and veg from Mr Taj - I love the colours



I have a thing for rubber ducks...so here's the foodie version



And finally no meal is complete with a bottle of Mateus Rose. Well maybe not these days, but when I was younger it was everyone's first introduction to wine

Getting laid

It was remarkably pleasing that The Seagulls are top of League One after another win this weekend. The chaos the match caused on the A23 as we arrived for (yet another) flat tidy up was soon forgotten. It's been several years since we've had much to cheer about, but this is certainly excellent news. And with the new stadium well under way, perhaps I dare hope for a new renaissance in football down at the seaside. The memory of the old football stadium being sold off, levelled and turned into a Toys'R'Us will hopefully fade.

I've lost count of the number of times that we've tidied and re-tidied the flat over the last eighteen months. Every time we make some progress, we have a new workman/builder/contractor in to cause chaos and undo all our good work. This time it had been the carpet fitters. All the carpets were between twenty and forty years old and were in a shocking state - plenty of wear and tear which included many spills and stains from growing children meant that I let the painter cut away all the edges of the carpets so we could get a good finish on the skirting boards. Last year when the kitchen was refitted, the ceiling was pulled down, and essentially 200 years of shit came with it, covering everything in a black sticky soot. It was gross. I can't tell you why but the night before the carpet fitters arrived, I had my head down on the carpet in the hallway. All I could smell was years of stale cooking.

But their arrival meant more furniture moving...and then putting back the day after. Thank heavens The Cat's Mum was there to help. I'm not sure what she thinks she's got herself into, having paid someone to clean her house for the last twenty years. Still, a change is as good as a rest as I like to say to her. Often.

So upstairs is now done. Lovely cream carpets in the music room and the play room (that's the one with the Playstation in)) and a blood red hall carpet that flows down the stairs. It's delicious.

Next week the carpet fitters will be back to do downstairs. This may just push me over the edge, but I'm sure the results will be worth it. And at least I'll have the job of making them at least a dozen mugs of tea to keep me occupied.

And the whole thing keeps my mind off work at the moment which can only be a good thing as we lurch from one recession to the doldrums to another recession.

Sweet 16

Friday night was The Cat's birthday night celebration. Her real birthday is Wednesday, but celebrations have begun early.
Of course at 16, the big question is 'Alcohol?'
The answer from the teenagers was of course a resounding YES!!!
The answer from the adults was "um, err, um, erm".
We forewarned other parentals and there were no objections.
So a small quantity of beer, wkd, and Pimms was purchased.
As they arrived The Cat's Mum and I retreated fingers crossed and sat nervously in the living room whilst the party got into full swing in the basement, onto the conservatory and then into the garden before returning to the house.
Clearly our nervousness got the better of us as we dropped off to sleep whilst watching Sweeney Todd.
In the rest of the house there was no blood letting, no vomiting, no breakages and no one disappearing upstairs.
As the witching hour arrived, parents arrived, offspring collected and the evening ended.
Everyone happy.

The Office

My very kind phone provider was recently battered into submission and gave me a new phone even though I wasn't due one. The old one was rubbish, and the new one is lovely. My contract says I can upgrade it at the end of the month, so I'll have two shiny new phones in my pocket. If only I had enough friends to justify it. The new phone has only two problems - one it has a rubbish camera, so my First Friday Photos may well be a bit rubbish this time. The other thing is, being an 'Android' phone,it forced me to create a new e-mail address. bradstockboys95@googlemail.com. I don't like it, I didn't want it, but it has insisted. Hopefully no one will ever send me anything on that address because they'll never get a reply. I like my hotmail address for all things personal and my work address for all things work.

At home, I like to wake to the radio (Q Radio) and have my tea and toast to the radio - XFM. The Cat, however, has to be woken by an earthquake level 9 on the Richter scale, and over breakfast has struggled with my choice of radio station. She asked in her lovely way whether it would be possible to have Capital Radio on during breakfast. As an accommodating person I said yes (whilst cursing under my breath). This morning, the radio was retuned to Capital. Johnny Vaughan I think. It lasted no more than 30 seconds before The Cat said, "Oh I'd forgotten I hate Johnny Vaughan, can you put it back to XFM." I feel there must be a third way.

In the office, the musical chairs shenanigans continues. I've mentioned them before. I've reposted Weird John several times, and Mad Maria at least once. There was an Irish girl who came in. She was lovely but left in the blink of an eye. She was nearly replaced by The Spaniard, but he just couldn't quite make his mind up.

So in came The Baron and The Bane Of My Life.

I'm not quite sure when it became apparent that all was not quite right. It may have been when The Baron came in, had a shower and used the hand towels we all use to dry himself with. All of himself. None of us have been able to wash our hands since.

It may have been when The Cat's Mum came in bearing a very full box of Millies Cookies. When she'd gone The Bane took it upon himself to offer them around to everyone else.

Or it may have been when I heard a key in the door lock at 10.00 in the morning whilst I sat at my desk. The door had been locked. "Hello" I called out. "Oh" said The Baron "I didn't think anyone was in". At 10 in the morning. Clearly I've been in the wrong job all my life.

Or it may have been that whilst I was out, they came and took the cables connecting my two computers to the network so they could connect themselves. "We didn't think you needed them" they said after I'd spent half an hour when I came back trying to work out why I had no Internet access.

Or it may have been when The Bane just started helping himself to magazines on people's desks without asking.

Or it may have been when they decided to connect a router to the network, knocking everyone else off and thereby causing me to spend an hour and a half on the phone to an expensive computer technician before we discovered what they'd done.

Or it may have been when The Barron set off the alarm, and thought of letting me know by e-mail suggesting I call him. I picked up the e-mail four hours later.

Or it may have been the tea bag left in my tea which The Barron (kindly) made this morning. I found it when I reached the bottom of the mug.

Or it may have been......

Smile

Winter's coming, but we're still smiling.

Tara's gallery can be found here

This weekend the children were mostly burning the house down

So there I was chatting to Rich Dad on the sidelines of the second rugby match of the season, and he mentioned that he's 6-8 weeks behind in the training schedule for his trek to the North Pole. Evidently he keeps picking up injuries because when he was young he wasn't fit so doesn't have 'core strength' now that he's older. It made me realise a couple of things - one that mindless decisions made in our youth have lifetime consequences, and secondly that being rich doesn't just enable you to but a bigger house and a flashier car...you can afford the time and expense of doing things the rest of us can only dream of...good luck to him - he is really making the most of his success.

I remember when I took The Boy and his sister to see their mum in the hospital in Dublin after her brain hemorrhage that it was the first time I had seen them together for several years. Obviously it was an emotionally highly charged time but it was a beautiful sight as they messed around, chatted and generally interacted as only brother and sister could. I've held that memory very close in the years since, and it was probably that which encouraged me to be determined to keep them close after their mum died. Unfortunately I failed on that front but I've continued to hope upon hope that they will become close again as they get older.

Now, though, The Boy has The Cat and The Cat has The Boy. Putting the offspring of different parents together can be difficult, but in this case a great school friendship has blossomed. It is just startling to see the two of them play together, squabble, wind each other up in such a fashion. I love it. I suspect that both had missed having a sibling to play with when they were younger, and are now making up for it.

Friday night they were playing one of their games...it seems to involve The Boy trying to reach the house from the bottom of the garden without being seen. He wears his army camouflage gear. The Cat must also avoid being seen...I'm not quite sure how it all works, but The Boy has written out the rules for for The Cat to LEARN AND UNDERSTAND. Anyway, the game was in full flow and I was on the phone to Grandma in Cyprus. There was a screech from upstairs...clearly The Boy had been spotted. I thought. Moments later, The Boy barged past me presumably trying to reach home base. I thought. I continued chatting away; The Cat's Mum continued cooking dinner.

The The Cat appeared in the bathroom which I was standing by and calmly put her stockinged feet in the bidet. After a short while I noticed the soles of her stocking all appeared to be cut away, or melted. She was deeply engrossed. Eventually I caught her attention and mouthed "Are you OK?" She said yes, but something was not quite right. I lost track of my conversation and said goodbye to Grandma in Cyprus. By this stage The Boy was there tending to her. I asked what had happened, and got "It's fine it's all sorted". I thought I could smell burning...and went to the top room where The Cat had been. The ceiling was burnt...not a scorch mark, the lights had melted and two large burn holes in the carpet, a burnt t-shirt and burnt (Paul Smith!) flip flops. And plenty of ash.

The order of events had been...The Cat had been speaking on her mobile to The Boy during the game - she was in the top room, he had been in the garden. "Can you smell burning?" she asked, "No" he said. Then he said "The fire is behind you." It was indeed...one of them had somehow thrown a t-shirt onto the spot lights, it had caught fire. The Cat screamed. Pulled the shirt down and stamped out the flames with her stockinged feet. She got a blister for her troubles. The Boy rushed to the rescue. Together they put out the fire.

It was one of those events that is so serious that no one got told off. But much time was spent contemplating the potential consequences.