RIP Captain Pugwash

Well this is a shame.

Of course, amongst schoolboys Captain Pugwash was most famous and popular for having a shipmate called Master Bates. And like many of the best stories, complete rubbish, but it still makes me titter.

Children's programmes are not what they used to be

Goodbye Weird John

We have one fewer people in the office, and there weren't many to start with. Nothing to do with the economy - we've had a lodger, for nigh on a dozen years and he is now departed.

John was a strange man who I met when I first set up in business. My first client had spare space...the top floor of a building in very fashionable Clerkenwell, and they let me occupy it. 2000sq' for one person. I bet even Alan Sugar would be jealous. It was beautiful, with a glass roof opening to a terrace, and wood beams all over the place. A little grubby perhaps, but you couldn't ask for better. And it was free, and that's important when you're just starting out. It also had a rather fantastic plant that had been allowed to grow and grow; it was a bit of an Audrey II and was draped fairly elegantly all around the rafters. I tried to remember to water it once a week.

I arrived in September.

Three months later John arrived. He sat at the other end of the room, was pleasant enough, not particularly chatty, but it was definitely good to have another person to keep me company.

I came in one day and John had decided to cut back Audrey II. To its roots. Evidently it was untidy. It had taken the owners some 25 years to grow. I hid under my desk when they found out.

John had the same thing for lunch everyday. A pot of cottage cheese, bag of crisps and an apple. Everyday the same thing. Day in day out.

We had a coffee shop opposite, and would take it in turns to buy the coffee. Mostly John would take his back for being too cold/too hot/too milky/not milky enough/too foamy/why's there no foam? and so on. In two years, I doubt the shop managed to make a single penny out of selling us three coffees each a day.

In the morning we would meet for coffee at Pret a Manger and put the world to rights. Not bad considering he bought the Daily Mail everyday, and I'm a confirmed Guardian reader.

John had been married for some twenty odd years. And in his household he was master of the universe. His wife would ring at least half a dozen times a day for guidance and help. If one of his daughters had done something wrong, he would tell her off from the office...or she would have to wait 'til he got home. If anything went wrong, he would sort it out from the office or would go home to resolve it. In twelve years my favourite was "I'm going home because Jane's washing machine has broken".

His youngest daughter was born when we was in his mid-fifties. "If you don't use it, you lose it." He quoted me...and not just about the reason for having more children late in life. He will never willingly retire.

He has a dog. An alsation. Which had a kennel outside and slept there spring, summer, autumn and winter. It was never allowed to cross the threshold.

When I (now we) moved to a new office John came with us. It was the first time I noticed that his desk was always immaculately tidy. Nothing on top that needn't be. Everything in perfect order. Everything placed to within a millimtre of where it should be. You could eat your baby's lunch off it. Even when he was busy, not a thing out of place.

John built his own house. Or rather he project managed the building of his house. The battles with builders, plumbers. electricians and decorators were legendary. He bought 20,000 second hand tlles for the roof and scrubbed everyone clean. The roofer said he'd never seen tiles as clean. Sadly, when the house was complete, there were a succession of leaks as the plumber hadn't been supervised quite enough. A bit like the chickens in Sainsbury's that have been reared under the safe watch of the RSPCA...for some of the time.

And then we moved again (seven years later) and John came with us. And then we moved again to where we are now. And John came with us. His desk remained tidy throughout.

John always arrived early at the office. By 7. To do that he rose at 4 and caught a train an hour later from mid-Kent. I don't know what he did when he got to the office, but I do know he had his music on loudly. Gilrs Aloud, Ah Ha, and the like. When we arrived he turned it off. So we put the radio on. He didn't like it - "the sound quality is awful" he said. When we got a new computer with a hi-fi sound system, "It's the music, it's awful, it's not good music." We kept the radio on.

At our new office, the top step of the stairs was slightly smaller (about half an inch in width) than the rest. For six months John tripped over this whenever he came up the stairs. He couldn't cope with variation.

He didn't make tea once in seven years at our old office, but in our new office we would share the tea making. But we had to ask John to stop. Whenever he squeezed the tea bags, he bent the spoon. "But they're not as good as the ones we have at home."

When we were broken into, I gave him the money for a new computer in advance of the insurance paying out. I gave him the money on the day of our Christmas lunch; Not a word of thanks. I had to wait a couple of months for the money. It was unusual of him to come along - he always said he would, but then would find a last minute excuse not to. In twelve years, I think he came along twice. They were quite calm, relaxed and pleasant affairs. This was the nicest place.

In our office bathroom, the light was always left on inspite of a sign saying "Save the world. Switch off a light". And there were skid marks in the loo. Evidently there was no one here to run around and clear up after him. In the bathroom, the flusher was broken several times. Too much force used to push down on the mechanism.

And one day, I arrived to find the door handle for our hardwood security door in the middle of the floor. He had forgotten to unlock the double lock and used so much force on the door he broke the handle. I was not best pleased. And that provoked him into saying he was moving out inspite of my protestations to the contrary. I suggested he thought about it over the Christmas break and let me know in the new year. He never spoke to me again, but returned everyday until he left last week. Still owing me three months rent.

And this is how he returned the office keys. Yes that's gaffer tape.

Goodbye Weird John. Don't come back.

IKEA for beginners

When I was a little wee boy I used to love making models (I'd love to make a model now, but that's a poor joke in poor taste), and spent many an hour with boxes from Airfix or Revell. My favourites were a model of the Saturn V rocket...that's the one that sent Neil Armstrong to the moon, and back, a giant Hawker Hurricane - so much better that the Spitfire I thought, a Centurian tank, and a glow in the dark Phantom of the Opera. I'm not sure I was that good at it, especially the painting bit, and surprisingly my little fingers struggled with the littler pieces. But generally I thought they looked ok and were well played with. My brother, I seem to remember used to bomb his and blow them up and burn them. We were suitably encouraged by our father who used to come home with very extravagant Japanese Tamiya ones. These were excessively complicated, came with little electric motors and should never be given to anyone under the age of 45. Like trainsets, I suspect they were more for Dad than Son.

When I grew up, my poor poor girlfriend of the time had to put up with me making model 1/18th scale model classic cars. Our domestic bliss involved me making cars and her making frocks...she was a dab hand with cotton and fabric. I built loads, and they're now all stuffed in numerous drawers, dusty and probably broken.

My building skills then progressed to Ikea furniture - and being a landlord I have become a dab-hand at putting up flat-pack furniture in no longer than it takes you to sneeze and spread your swine flu to all around you. If everything goes wrong, I feel I have a career as a cabinet maker. Of the 21st Century variety rather than the 19th century.

I hope you're still following me here.

You will recall I recently got a new Jeep. It came with a hard top, but I bought a soft top as well because I love the country breeze blowing through my hair. And now that we have summer, it has become time to put it on. I gave it about an hour perhaps ninety minutes to do.

It came in a big brown cardboard box with the instructions inside on top. We followed step one: remove hard top by removing eight bolts. We did that and lifted it into the garage. Leaving us with a topless car. Which is nice in the sun.



The we read stage two, at which point we realised there were 30 steps to complete. And the roof came in 89 parts. Yes this was a kit - designed for a dealer to fit.



And the instructions were fabulous:

"Place the lower header on the side bows. Orient the side bows with the brackets up. Install two (2) #8 x 1/2" Pan Head Washer Screws to secure the lower header to each side bow. Use a Pivot Knuckle to install the #3 Bow to the side bow/header assembly"

It probably would have helped if all the parts had been correctly labelled.



It definitely would have helped if it hadn't started to rain when there was no roof of any sort on the car. We sort of managed to get it under the garage door...with the boy pushing up with all his strength.





Six hours and many tears later(mostly mine)we had a new roof.



By this stage, I'd managed to jam the steering lock on, and no matter how much I huffed and I puffed I couldn't unlock the wheels or turn the ignition on. We called out the nice man from the AA, who jumped out of his shiny van with lots of flashing lights that woke up all the neighbours. He jumped in, yanked hard on the steering wheel and freed it up. He was here and gone in less than 30 seconds, with a glance back which said, "Tosser".

It was coming up to midnight when we sat down for supper.

And I'm pretty confident that my kit building days are over. Completely.

God lives in the Post Office

I love this post

The all-conquering hero returns

It's been a lonely old week...last week. The boy has been away on Army Cadet Camp. I've got used to rattling around the ghostly corridors and returning to the bad eating habits of a singleton. But don't get me wrong, I ventured out for a couple of evenings with friends and some well-desreved (in my mind) me-time.

Some of his time was spent in the hills above Folkestone and some of the time was spent in France...exactly when he was on the continent and when he was in England I'm not really sure, but I worked on the basis that the army generally looks after its cadets pretty well so I didn't need to be worried.

Unfortunately he couldn't remember when he was returning home, and neither could I; I assumed it was Monday evening, but in the end it turned out to be mid-morning; not convenient for any working parent...and to add to the complication, I'd been called away to a meeting in Stockport, so it needed a few panicky calls to friends and neighbours ensured he wasn't left on the doorstep.

Whenever he's away I never hear a peep...no doubt I'm forgotten in the excitement of freedom, and I'm a great believer that it's good to have a holiday from each other. Some of the Mums think that's odd, and no doubt spent the week ringing their beloved offspring on a daily basis. On this occasion, I got a couple of messages...it would have been one message and one phone call, but I couldn't work out how to answer the phone as I previously mentioned...he rang to say he'd won a 'Best Cadet' Award which he was delighted with, and indeed so am I. So long as he doesn't let it go to his head and remembers that he's not allowed to follow a military career.

I've always said that my job is to get him successfully to the end of his education and then he is free to do whatever he likes. Obviously that's nonsense as I'm discovering, and I'll have to disinherit him if he becomes a soldier or a pimp, or anything else that I randomly decide is inappropriate.

His enthusiasm for encouraging me to share in his experience meant that I got to enjoy the delights of powdered white tea, chicken stock drink and chilli beef paste. Let me assure you here and now that if you're ever tempted by army rations, don't be. You're better off rumaging through the bin. Not that I'm not grateful for the opportunity of trying the experience. Thank you my boy. We also got to play with matches that once lit won't go out...just like those trick birthday candles...and these should come in handy when we next light the bbq.

He took with him a very large rucksack (Duke of Edinburgh approved, although I doubt the Duke himself would know one from a bagpipe) and a large sports bag. And I'm pleased to report he returned with both. I know he did, because they are both in the middle of the sitting room floor, with their contents liberally spewed around the room.

He has indeed returned the conquering hero, to re-conquer his home and shape it in the way he likes.

On the naughty step

A few weeks ago we had the pleasure of visiting the Temple of Consumerism. Lakeside shopping centre. This is, as I'm sure you will know, not as posh as Bluewater or even Westside, but it certainly makes up for quantity what it lacks in quality. I wish I could remember why we went there, but I just can't. I'm confident though that whatever we went for we must have got. For the simple reason that like Harrods, anything that can be bought, can be bought there. One of the things though that we didn't buy was a set of towels that I saw and rather fancied in House of Fraser. Not that I have some sort of strange fetish for towels, it's just that we need new towels because the ones we have are old verging on the vintage if not ancient. And we don't have many of them. So when we have guests, we're rooting round for something they can dry their hands on (lord help us if they stay over, shower and then need to dry their other bits). The boy didn't like these towels, so inspite of pleading like a five year old who's just gone into the sweet shop, I was told firmly they were awful and we couldn't have them. I sulked for ages, dragging my feet along as we walked round and round in ever decreasing circles. I didn't want to go there in the first place.

At this point I will go off on a little detour and admit that we do still have a beach towel acquired by Grandma in Cyprus with Green Shield stamps when I was half the size the boy is now; like the Turin Shroud it rarely comes out, and I'm hopeful that if we keep it long enough I may be able to do a turn on Antiques Roadshow, feigning surprise and modesty when it is revealed to be a priceless classic worth many quidzillions.

In the boy's absence over the last week, I became a little bored at the weekend and ended up wandering around Habitat, spying some towels remarkably similar to the HoF ones. But different, obviously. So like a naughty school boy I purchased them, hoping upon hope that all would be ok and I would get away with it.

At home I immediately put them on the towel rail, thinking that they might just sneak in unnoticed. I know you're supposed to wash them first, but that's so boring and I didn't want to get them wet. You'll be telling me next to wash my fruit before eating it next.

Sure enough, I was out when the boy sauntered through the front door and made his way to the bathroom. I got a message left on my mobile, "Not convinced by the towels. I told you not to get them, so I'm very annoyed."

My "Aren't I clever? Look what I've done and I'm so damned smart I've got away with it" feeling evaporated, knowing for certain I would be spending some long time sat on the naughty step.

...and on a different continent altogether

My friend Nappy Valley left this green and pleasant land for the melting pot of the wild west, and not to be left out, I too have been venturing across the Atlantic.

I read around the blogosphere and occasionally trip over blogs that are more than worth reading/entertaining; one such is My Life As I see it...simple everyday situations which are given an enlightened animation by Tony. I love the way he makes his life enviably interesting. Anyway, I was quite chuffed when he dropped me a line to ask if I would put pen to paper when he went on his holidays (vacation). So here's the piece I scrawled:
The long hot summer holidays
and if you manage to get to the end of that, do have a rummage around his blog

NB

In the family way

Having previously explained my saintliness, I have now to insist that when you visit here, you kneel at the throne of royalty, or at least doff your cap. Please.

Some families are close and some not. My brother and I have been virtual strangers most of our lives...I blame it on the fact that you couldn't find two more different people - he is monstrously tall, with dark skin, straight dark hair and is powerfully built. I, on the other hand, grew up with a mop of wavy white-blond hair, have always been moderately proportioned (although now find myself indulging in some horizontal development). At school, I was academically inclined and went on to university, whilst he preferred the University of Life from, well, the age of about 13. Which is an interesting comment on nature vs nurture - he was after all just as bright as me. Jobs wise, I've had a fine middle-class career whilst his jobs fluctuated. However, over recent times we have become closer...perhaps age makes the differences in our lives more interesting rather than alienating.

In general, our family has not been a close one...and I find it fascinating when I come across people who have close family ties. I'm not sure if I'm jealous or just curious. It is definitely one reason that I am so passionate about the boy keeping in touch with his sister, and disappointed that they're not as close as I would hope.

However, when I do get the opportunity to I do very much enjoy spending time with extended family...as much as anything I find it amazing what can lie buried in the family history...even if it's run of the mill to everyone else. Just the other week, there was a gathering of the Bradstock clan...and I took a day out from work to make sure I could spend time with them.

The first thing I learnt was that Bradstock is a corruption of Bradenstoke, and the second is that there is a village which is our Mecca (not the bingo hall you uncultured lot). This is Burton Bradstock down on the south coast. If you don't want to read all, and I can't blame you, the village name comes from the local priory - Bradenstoke Priory. Now, I've not managed to research this any further, but someone mentioned...and this is the critical bit of the post...that the family name came over with the Norman conquest, and is directly linked to French Royal lineage. I like the royal...worried about the French bit.

As a result I have taken to wearing a crown around the house. And I might buy a corgi.

On a less cerebral but puff-your-chest with-pride note, I discovered that Grandma in Cyprus' cousin Alan has been significantly involved in the building in the UK of the first steam train for half a century. He is regularly to be seen riding on the footplate. The boy thinks it's pretty cool...but he's of a genration that doesn't want to grow up to be a train driver.



Food was provided by cousin David - he held the lofty position of head chef at Harrods; not Gordon Ramsey perhaps but we certainly got a fine lunch without any swearing. Other little gems were Uncle Jack (actually Grandma in Cyprus' uncle) who is 94 and still as sharp as ever. I'd like to be like that when I grow up. And the story of a great (great?) grandfather who remarried (how shocking) having previously been married into a Jewish family, quite forgetting to mention that he was born and grew up a gentile. When the offspring from our family tried to get in touch with their elder half-siblings, they were disdainfully turned away.

Rumour has it, that when a little girl, Grandma in Cyprus kept a stuffed pet rabbit on her bed, scaring the living daylights out of cousin Dorothy. But I accept that may just be a memory and a story that's got distorted over the ages. But I'd soooo love it to be true.

We seem to have a long line of butchers, bakers and candle-stick makers in our ancestry and I'm looking forward to next year's gathering.

It's a technological world

I've had my shiney new phone for nearly two weeks now. And it's very nice. I can see all my friends on Facebook, watch BBC iPlayer wherever I am, see the weather now and for a week in advance anywhere in the world, I can listen to music, watch videos and take pictures. Sending messages whether text or e-mail is a doddle. I can also navigate around the country with the navigation software and find 'things of interest' too. I can record sounds and voices. I can update the software and podcast. Write and edit office documents whether they're words, numbers or presentations. And I can play games until my thumbs fall off.

The thing is, it's taken me the full two weeks to work out how to answer a call.

Stop press: I save the world

As I have matured, I have increasingly seen it as my place to lead the world to a better place. I emphasise the word matured...it is not as if I am ageing, of course. Tuesday will be my birthday. At the moment I am 37 and on Wednesday I will be 37. I don't have any issues or hang-ups with my age...it's just other people that do.

Obviously, my concern with the state of the world has much to do with the realisation that I have brought another human being into this world, and it is my duty to make sure that he inherits it in as good a condition as possible.

So, as I have previously mentioned, the Beemer has gone. Now, at this point (and indeed many points henceforth) I'm going to ignore Miss Spoilsport Auntie Gwen's comment in my last post. After careful consideration I felt the need to address the dual world crises of the environment and the economy. So this reduced my choice of new vehicle considerably. However, I am pleased to say that having researched the matter considerably, I have chosen wisely.

Firstly, I have moved from petrol to diesel power. I am told by my green friends this is a good thing. Secondly I selected an engine that is 40% smaller than the last one - so no longer a gas guzzling 4.5 litre V8 monster, a mere 2.8 litres of pure environmental friendliness. Most importantly, it has won a Gold Award in the leading Green Award Scheme. And just as importantly, its simple construction means that its manufacturing carbon footprint (dust to dust is the phrase) is lower than that of the famous enviro-wagon beloved of Hollywood celebrities, the Toyota Prius. And I have made significant steps to improve fuel consumption...in fact by 25%

This you may well say is sufficient to elevate me to saintliness. But I say no. This is not enough. I want to do more.

So in the spirit of the current recession...the worst since the 1930's I hear...I have chosen a much better value vehicle. In fact the cost is just 25% of the Beemer (yes that was one of the more extravagant ones)...so I think a cut back lesson our government would do well to follow. And according to the manufacturer it costs less to run per mile than a Toyota Yaris (that's the small one in case you don't know the model range of every car company by heart) by almost 20%.

I hear you now trying to lift my halo above my head. But wait, I'm not yet ready.

I could have bought second-hand as a further economy measure, but no I was thinking of other people. So buying new has enabled me to sustain employment here in the UK at the dealership, and overseas where it was manufactured. Thereby helping develop improved international relations too.

Even now, I am not yet quite ready for my elevation.

I have indeed pointed out that here in the land of plenty (of gold, suntan and bleached blondes) BMWs are poor man's transport, and it is true with every house having a combination of Mercedes, BMW, Porsche, Aston Martin and Bentley parked on the driveway. I feel there is a need to redress the balance, and to make a stand for social equality, by making the people around me recognise that flashing your cash is not the way to achieve worthy recognition. Indeed, our new transport is so rare (you can count on the fingers of one hand the number that have been sold this year) that it turns heads wherever we go. In their eyes, I can see the flash of green...although as I'm colour blind some may say it is red. Whatever.

Yet more. The boy has lusted after one for decades (he's 14 you know) and in acquiring this vehicle I have significantly boosted his self-esteem and indeed standing amongst his peers.

So now I am ready.

And below is a picture for you to have and to hold.

Farewell fond friends

Parting is such sorrow, even though I always knew it would happen. I knew this day would come - and in all honesty the date has been known to me since the day we met. Truth be told I didn't want us to part, but you are being taken away from me. I admit that you're being replaced with something younger...but you must understand that the appeal of youthfulness never fades. Through good times and bad, I know you've always been there for me, and I know we've had our ups and downs, but you've never deserted me. Although I can't say you've always been a reliable friend.

However onwards and upwards.

So goodbye to my Nokia phone, your contract came to an end, so you're replaced with another so complicated that it'll take me a year at least to work out how to call my friends. And goodriddance to Vodafone and hello to T-Mobile - I like your adverts, so I hope the service is as good.

And goodbye to fat plutocrat autobahn express BMW. A lovely, speedy beast which has taken us on many wonderful adventures. Auntie Gwen thought it was far too flash...but actually in this neck of the woods, a poor man's car. So now replaced with sometthing, erm different. erm.

Firstly, I'm sorry

To all and everyone who is till waiting for a Christmas card from the Nota Bene household. You may have given up on it by now, and you may have struck us off your Chrsitams card list for next year; please don't - we don't get that many in the first place, so even one fewer is a hardship for us. We are having to clear out the car...and it is truly remarkable what you can find in the mobile filing cabinet after four years. And I'm afraid to say that we have discovered all our 2008 Christmas cards, signed sealed and stamped. But not posted. At this stage I will point out that they were on the boy's side of the car, and I distinctly remember giving him clear instructions to post them. So it's all his fault. But as a minor, I think you'd be wrong to hold it against him. That is my job.

And so, in the interests of the environment and the economy, we will be using the cards for this Christmas. So expect your card early....and if you're worried you're not on our list, simply send us your address and we'll sign, seal and stamp the card for you. I'm not guaranteeing though whether late entries will get their card this year, next year or even the year afterwards.

Men are from Mars

I'm very delighted indeed to report that after weeks of dropping subtle hints, I was rewarded with two poached eggs on toast and a cup of tea in bed this morning. Pretty cool eh? Admittedly half past seven was a little early, but the boy was determined to make sure that he had it all sorted before I woke up. Ten out of ten.

On a different note, I learnt a long time ago not to argue with a woman. Well women in general actually. They come at things from such a different perspective that even if by all the rules of nature I'm right, I'm wrong. What I hadn't realised is that if men are from Mars and women from Venus, well boys are from a different universe altogether.

Like all responsible parents (there's at least three of us in the country, we have a rule that if the boy goes out he needs to tell me where he's going and when he'll be back. After many hours of lecturing on the subject he's got it. So time for a cheer. Sometimes though for a variety of reasons the rule gets bent either by the boy or me. When that happens, I send a text asking when he'll be returning. Sometimes this works, sometimes I get the panicky text back to say he's on his way home. If I've explained it once I've explained it a hundred times, I'm just asking for a time of arrival, I'm not making a demand for return. And so it was today...he'd been invited for a lunch time party with the parents of his girlfriend. No time of return had been determined, so as I was getting hungry by 8ish, I texted wanting to know if he'd be back for supper. Twenty minutes later a taxi had been ordered by the hosts and the boy rematerialised. Grrrrrrr. I didn't want to curtail his social life. Grrrrr. Grrrrr. I'm sure I've explained it in words of one syllable, but perhaps I should try using a language he can understand. I'll try texting.

Feckers

I just need to get some things off my chest. Sorry.

1. What is it with the constant stream of people coming and going throughout a gig? I know it's about the 2 Ps. Piss - well if you need to go, go before the concert starts. I was taught that when I was still a babe in arms. Pint - if you need to drink beer at a gig, buy it at the bar before the start and make it last. In both cases you've paid forty squids for your ticket, which is a complete waste if you spend half the time not actually listening to the band. These are surely the same people that can't get through a couple of hours at the cinema without munching their way through a ton of sweets and crisps and a lake of cola. Or get on a European flight without a three course meal, crisps, nuts and beer, wine and and and.

2. To the man standing next to me last night checking the e-mails on his Crackberry. Get a life you fecker

3. If you go to a gig, don't leave ten minutes before the end so you miss the rush for the tube afterwards. That's like not reading the last ten pages of a novel. Feckers the lot of them

Right. Sorted.

Oh yes, Kings of Leon? Brilliant.

Travelled down the river from London Bridge to the O2.



My apologies to Glasvegas who were the support. I love your music, it was everyone else's fault that we only caught the last song in your set. It was a very good song.

And when KoL came on everyone, even in the seated area, stood and danced from beginning to end.



Hope they're playing again soon.