Saturday 15 August 2009

Hair today gone tomorrow

Once upon a time in a different life, I travelled a lot on business. As a single guy, the jet set lifestyle was a great one. I miss it occasionally, but take things as they come. The one lesson I took from it is that stereotypes do apply. I guess that's why htey're stereotypes.

As a man I know that women go to the loo together, and discuss things that I just don't want to know about. Here in the house of boys, we get our hair cut together. Invariably the boy comes out complaining it's not a good cut. I always point out that he has to tell the barber what he wants and that's progress on the days when I used to hide behind the boy and tell the barber how I wanted his hair cut.

Today was haircut day, and after the boy was trimmed it was my turn. Whilst sitting there, the chair next to me was taken by a young German guy. He said to the hairdresser (and it helps if you do the next bit with a 'ello, 'ello accent in your head). "I vould like my hair cut short. Not too short, but short. I vould like it zirteen millimetres on zer zide and eighteen on zer top. Zank you."

I'm very pleased we got our hair cut today.

Thursday 13 August 2009

It doesn't add up for Biggles

The school the boy attends, is one of the very best. Academically, it has been the top performing co-educational school in the country for many years, and only occasionally slips, particularly when the government starts playing around with statistics. It's not a sweat shop and there is a lovely community, with people from all walks of life. I think the boy is very lucky to go there...he has some great friends. I too was lucky as a lad and won a scholarship at the 11-plus which enabled me to attend first as a day boy and then latterly as a boarder, and my good fortune encouraged me to send the boy three years ago. It was an upheavel as we were living just by London Bridge, so we had to up sticks and move to the countryside.

At Bancrofts, I did well, achieving some good grades at 'O' level, including an A for maths. One of my maths teachers was Mr Hagerdorn, and he taught well. He must have done, as I was far from gifted as a maths student. But it's all in the results. It's been a long time since I studied maths, and it seems that Mr Hagerdorn has not maintained his own maths standards, as you can read on the BBC.

Perhaps he was feeling under par. And now he's feeling a little teed off.

So for anyone who fancies it the question is, "How much fuel do you need if you fly from Essex to Scotland and have to divert because of bad weather?" Extra points awarded for showing your workings and a large bill added for an incorrect guess.

Tuesday 11 August 2009

Pick your own

As its a boys house, you probably think this is about noses. But it isn't.

When we moved here, the garden was immaculate...well when I say garden, I mean the hedges. The rest had been paved over. But the paving stones were scrubbed clean and had a bright and colourful shine to them. Now they have weeds and moss growing between them, and no amount of weedkiller seems to stop nature encroaching. The hedges were trimmed beautifully, nice and square and as green as green could be. Apart from when they were covered in red berries. Beautiful. And the birds loved them. But not long after we took up residence, I, for the first time in my life, tried hedge trimming. The result was brown hedges. I don't know why. I know I did it wrong, and I don't know how to fix it. The boy is silent on the subject.

In the back garden, one of the hedges that separates us from the neighbours was the victim of their weedkiller. I hope they feel guilty. It was replaced in year two by a But now as we move into year three that bramble has been dispensing balckberries like they're going out of fashion. They're big black and juicy. Blackberry picking is a sweet childhood memory, so I hope the boy enjoys it when he doesn't even have to stroll more than twenty foot from the back door. And I feel at last we've got green fingers. But we're not quite at the jam making stage.

Monday 10 August 2009

The one that got away

I wrote a post last week...Friday I think it was, and then deleted. On purpose, but mistakenly. You'll appreciate it was the greatest post ever. Brilliant if I say so myself. Shakespeare would have been proud, Ian McEwan would have been proud. My English teacher would have been proud. But alas, once deleted, it's never to be found again. It was about how much I enjoy finding things like this on the interweb:

The downside, is that sometimes you get taken to the sort of sites that your mum wouldn't want you to go to. No problem providing you remember to close the pop up for 'Adult Dating', but definitely a problem if you don't spot it, thereby leaving it open for the rest of the office to find when they check your computer for urgent e-mails. So instead, I will just take my own from here on in: