It's a sad day.
Daisy is leaving us.
Not that Daisy works with or for us; she's downstairs with the 'Disco Bunnies', but that hasn't stopped her being the object of our affections. The Disco Bunnies are in fact an agency that promotes and books high-end DJs...Eric Prydz is one of their clients....or used to be, I'm not sure which. Eric is, of course, very talented, and you can see one of his most famous and compelling videos below - don't watch it if you're of a nervous disposition:
To be honest it was never one of my favourites, but I thought I'd include it, following in the footsteps of Steve who puts up pictures of scantily clad lovelies to boost his readership. Allegedly.
The alarm on the Disco Bunnies' office is a smoke bomb - set it off and within a few seconds, the entire place is fully of a dense acrid smoke which both chokes you and stops you from seeing where you are. Any burglars trying to pinch computers will most likely trip over and break their necks. When they first moved in, the smoke bomb would be set off on a daily basis. There were never any burglars.
The Disco Bunnies are made up of the sort of characters you would expect...at least we would expect. There's the guy who's clearly smoked so much dope that the world is only vaguely aware of his existence, there's the girl who tends to wear moon boots and a mini skirt whether its 30 degrees above or below freezing point, there's the guy who's got so many piercings you know it must take him several hours to get through security at Heathrow, there's the beautiful east European girl who one day will smile at you and the next scowl, there's the guy who must be fifty but still dresses like a 17 year old, there's the girl who wears every colour under the sun every day on clothes that were clearly made for someone three times her size.
And then there's Daisy. The sort of girl that we've all decided would be great on a drunken night out, but you'd never take her home to see Mummy. We first met Daisy a couple of months after we moved into the building. She waltzed into the office explaining that the battery on her mobile phone was nearly flat and could she charge it in our office. She left it here for the rest of the day with it ringing off the hook. We'd regularly see her out of our windows in the courtyard below, and we'd often hear her. On the good days she'd be laughing and cackling on the phone, on the bad days she'd be screaming, crying and using every expletive and blasphemy imaginable. And a few more. As she came out of the building, mobile phone clasped to ear it was often difficult to know which way it would go, so we'd take bets and wait for the conversation unfold. Sometimes these were client conversations, sometimes boyfriends. On other occasions she'd be downstairs with the bosses..either over-excited at the new car they'd bought or in tears because something was not right or had gone wrong. Stability isn't a word you'd apply to the lovely Daisy.
During the time of the riots, Daisy came up to see us one lunchtime. She explained that neither of her bosses were in the office or available on mobiles, so given there was going to be more riots later would it be OK if she and her colleagues went home early. "Yes" we said enjoying our new found responsibilities.
I feel our days are going to be a little bit duller.
Friday, 9 March 2012
Thursday, 8 March 2012
School's out
Well, well, well. There's scandal at the school. I'd like to say more, but I'm not the re-incarnation of the News of the World and The Cat's Mother pointed out that behind every 'scandal' is a human tragedy. Naturally we learned about it from the offspring who found out about it from the dinner ladies, who were told by the etc,etc
After the disappointment of The Boy's ski course, there's been another cock up. The Geography 'A' level students are due to go to Iceland for a field course. The Boy loves the place so has been much looking forward to the trip in July. Thing is, without telling anyone the organiser changed the date, so it now starts when The Boy is on a cadet leadership course. I've waded in...straight to the top...and told them that this sort of cock-up happens too often for comfort. We'll see how it is resolved, beyond the note of apology I've received already.
We're having a debate at home. How do you pronounce meme? I say it's meemee, The Boy says meam and there are reports that some pronounce it memmy. I think resolution of this is more important than the old scone, scon or eether, ither debates, so any help would be much appreciated. By the way, I'm right and all other opinions are as valuable as a vote for anyone other than Putin (my word...isn't he looking like the old USSR leaders with his paunchy, wax-like complexion?) in Russia
On a positive note, after the third attempt, the garage claims to have fixed the problem that has afflicted the motorbike for the last several months. It was the starter relay. Touchingly, The Cat's Mother thinks I could have fixed it. Touchingly, I think I should have just traded it in for the very, very beautiful Ducatti they had on the forecourt.
On a second positive note, we realise that the cancellation of The Boy's ski course does not mean he will be home alone. In fact the rest of us will have returned from our travels (me skiing, The Cat's Mother and The Cat from New York and The Boy from adventurous training. So all is well, although we haven't yet broached the subject of where and when The Boy will take his first steps to becoming an instructor. Sorry Kellogsville that means you can't join thousands of FB friends dancing, drinking and vomiting on the front lawn....!
After the disappointment of The Boy's ski course, there's been another cock up. The Geography 'A' level students are due to go to Iceland for a field course. The Boy loves the place so has been much looking forward to the trip in July. Thing is, without telling anyone the organiser changed the date, so it now starts when The Boy is on a cadet leadership course. I've waded in...straight to the top...and told them that this sort of cock-up happens too often for comfort. We'll see how it is resolved, beyond the note of apology I've received already.
We're having a debate at home. How do you pronounce meme? I say it's meemee, The Boy says meam and there are reports that some pronounce it memmy. I think resolution of this is more important than the old scone, scon or eether, ither debates, so any help would be much appreciated. By the way, I'm right and all other opinions are as valuable as a vote for anyone other than Putin (my word...isn't he looking like the old USSR leaders with his paunchy, wax-like complexion?) in Russia
On a positive note, after the third attempt, the garage claims to have fixed the problem that has afflicted the motorbike for the last several months. It was the starter relay. Touchingly, The Cat's Mother thinks I could have fixed it. Touchingly, I think I should have just traded it in for the very, very beautiful Ducatti they had on the forecourt.
On a second positive note, we realise that the cancellation of The Boy's ski course does not mean he will be home alone. In fact the rest of us will have returned from our travels (me skiing, The Cat's Mother and The Cat from New York and The Boy from adventurous training. So all is well, although we haven't yet broached the subject of where and when The Boy will take his first steps to becoming an instructor. Sorry Kellogsville that means you can't join thousands of FB friends dancing, drinking and vomiting on the front lawn....!
Tuesday, 6 March 2012
Do YOU know who I am?
Lord St John of Fawsley has died. You may neither have noticed, not cared - why should you? For my part his death brings back the memory of an evening at The Royal Festival Hall. This was a very long time ago. My then girlfriend and I were there to enjoy an evening of Christmas Carols. The subject matter made us feel it was an evening to be enjoyed in a relaxed way. Perhaps too relaxed. We joined in. Well why wouldn't you...that's what Christmas carols are for isn't it. Suddenly and without warning someone behind us slapped my girlfriend round the back of the head. Instantly I was up on my feet demanding to know what he thought he was doing. "Do you know who I am?" was his reply. Yes I did, but I wasn't going to let on. "I don't care who you are" was my reply. He and his male companion left shortly afterwards. It was probably for the best. After all, even then the report of a senior politician attacking an attractive young lady would have probably ended his career. Goodbye Norman and thanks for giving me something to write about.
Another passing (no I'm not going to turn this into an obituary column, although death has featured a lot recently) is that of Ralph McQuarrie. He's best known for his work on Star Wars. Even now I still don't think I've seen all the films, and I've certainly not see all of them all the way through. At my age, that's tantamount to admitting that I've spent my education has been sadly lacking. So I'm not a great Star Wars fan, but for work I was once involved with an exhibition of his work - at The Barbican. Even for a non-fan it was fascinating and I could see the talent. I got to meet Kylie Minogue's then boyfriend...unfortunately not the woman herself. More importantly though, it was an opportunity to meet up with my brother and his family. We'd not been close, but this was a great day and helped renewed bonds. We had a brilliant time.
The Boy was due to go on a ski instructors training course in April...he loves the sport and I think it will do him good to have this up his sleeve whether he wants to take a gap year or a couple of years out after university. The course was to run in Hintertux which is somewhere in Austria, At first I had planned to go with him (for company, not to go on the course itself), but then I took a deep breath and decided he would be best going by himself. Another step to adulthood was my reasoning. We booked so many months ago that in the meantime my hair has turned grey and I've started using a walking stick. Of course he was over-excited...as indeed was I. But yesterday they rang to let us know that due to a lack of numbers it was cancelled. I think I was more gutted than him, but perhaps he just hid it better. We now have to work out what to do - BASI run courses in the UK, but they're in a snowdome, and it's not quite the same as Austria is it? I think he should do a UK course, but he's a bit disillusioned at the moment...there are three more levels which he will need to do and those will have to be done on the slopes proper. On a practical level, the rest of us are all due to be away at the time he was supposed to be training....and I'm not that keen on him being home alone.
Another passing (no I'm not going to turn this into an obituary column, although death has featured a lot recently) is that of Ralph McQuarrie. He's best known for his work on Star Wars. Even now I still don't think I've seen all the films, and I've certainly not see all of them all the way through. At my age, that's tantamount to admitting that I've spent my education has been sadly lacking. So I'm not a great Star Wars fan, but for work I was once involved with an exhibition of his work - at The Barbican. Even for a non-fan it was fascinating and I could see the talent. I got to meet Kylie Minogue's then boyfriend...unfortunately not the woman herself. More importantly though, it was an opportunity to meet up with my brother and his family. We'd not been close, but this was a great day and helped renewed bonds. We had a brilliant time.
The Boy was due to go on a ski instructors training course in April...he loves the sport and I think it will do him good to have this up his sleeve whether he wants to take a gap year or a couple of years out after university. The course was to run in Hintertux which is somewhere in Austria, At first I had planned to go with him (for company, not to go on the course itself), but then I took a deep breath and decided he would be best going by himself. Another step to adulthood was my reasoning. We booked so many months ago that in the meantime my hair has turned grey and I've started using a walking stick. Of course he was over-excited...as indeed was I. But yesterday they rang to let us know that due to a lack of numbers it was cancelled. I think I was more gutted than him, but perhaps he just hid it better. We now have to work out what to do - BASI run courses in the UK, but they're in a snowdome, and it's not quite the same as Austria is it? I think he should do a UK course, but he's a bit disillusioned at the moment...there are three more levels which he will need to do and those will have to be done on the slopes proper. On a practical level, the rest of us are all due to be away at the time he was supposed to be training....and I'm not that keen on him being home alone.
Monday, 5 March 2012
It's culture innit?
Well done to Vladimir, who has done himself proud by winning the free and fair elections in Russia this weekend. It's quite an achievement, and I will henceforth refer to him as the 'Comeback Kid'. Despite the nay sayers (including the OSCE) claiming that they were biased and corrupt, I will have none of this. Democracy and Russia are not natural bed-fellows and I have little doubt that the current 'enhanced voting system' is the perfect fit for a country with such a chequered political past. There may be protests which may well be stamped on ruthlessly, but what do you expect? When we visited Moscow last year, it was clear that what many Russians craved for was the strong leadership and certainty that Putin brings....reports suggest that many others just want a vote. Western European democracy works well in Western Europe....around the world it has been adapted to suit the local conditions and tyrants. And that I think is the way it should be.
We're not having a great cultural experience at the moment. If I look back over what we've done and seen this year, I have to say it's managing a pretty low average. There have been a few gems, but mostly it's been pants. Latest in the line of disappointments was 'Traveling Light' which we went to see at The National on Friday night. The tickets had been bought by The Cat's Mother's Best Friend For Ever who usually has impeccable taste, except where it suits her not to. Anyway, the premiss of the play was the origins of Hollywood in the Jewish villages on the Russian steppes...there must be a grain of truth in it somewhere. Our second look at Russia, having seen Stalin in The Collaborators last month. On the downside, the auditorium was at least 50% empty. On the upside, the staging was superb. On the downside, the first half was so dreary I decided to go to sleep (normally I just drop off). On the upside, the second half was shorter. On the downside, the second half was badly written and quite ridiculous. On the upside it starred Damien Moloney...better known to me as Hal from the latest series of Being Human. On the downside, he was hopeless.
I may just have had enough of Russia for now. So instead of going east on Saturday we headed to the Wild West...The Cat's 'house' (ironically East House) was putting on its bi-annual event, and we all headed for a fun evening. The Cat had written and Directed the main event, so another feather in her cap...and a fine performance was given by everyone who participated...especially as they'd only had two rehearsals. Elsewhere was a bucking bronco...so I was cajoled into jumping on....as was The Boy (actually he was with two mates, so there was just bravado in his case). I did myself (and The Cat's Mother) proud by coming second...and in the spirit of competitive father managed to stay on significantly longer than The Boy.
Sunday was most peculiar...we ended up spending the whole day (without realising it until it was too late) organising ourselves and ordering tickets to keep us amused for the coming months. Film, theatre and flights were all purchased. We're hoping that sound planning and wise choices will keep us occupied and in cultural splendor for the rest of the year.
I was contemplating applying for the Chelsea manager job which is available yet again. I know nothing whatsoever about football, but don't see why that should be a hindrance to my application. I don't know why anybody with any credibility would apply for this job...after all they will only last a few months anyway. If anyone ran a proper business like this, the shareholders would be reaching for their lawyers. I feel I'm eminently qualified, and in any case there can't be many top class managers left who haven't held the role in recent living memory. There is, of course, the other footballing job up for grabs - the England one, but I'm biding my time there as I see the muppets in charge are going to take their time to choose. After all why appoint a manger just as the team is about to play in the European Cup...squalid defeat would not be a good start would it?
P.S. SP - am missing your blog
We're not having a great cultural experience at the moment. If I look back over what we've done and seen this year, I have to say it's managing a pretty low average. There have been a few gems, but mostly it's been pants. Latest in the line of disappointments was 'Traveling Light' which we went to see at The National on Friday night. The tickets had been bought by The Cat's Mother's Best Friend For Ever who usually has impeccable taste, except where it suits her not to. Anyway, the premiss of the play was the origins of Hollywood in the Jewish villages on the Russian steppes...there must be a grain of truth in it somewhere. Our second look at Russia, having seen Stalin in The Collaborators last month. On the downside, the auditorium was at least 50% empty. On the upside, the staging was superb. On the downside, the first half was so dreary I decided to go to sleep (normally I just drop off). On the upside, the second half was shorter. On the downside, the second half was badly written and quite ridiculous. On the upside it starred Damien Moloney...better known to me as Hal from the latest series of Being Human. On the downside, he was hopeless.
I may just have had enough of Russia for now. So instead of going east on Saturday we headed to the Wild West...The Cat's 'house' (ironically East House) was putting on its bi-annual event, and we all headed for a fun evening. The Cat had written and Directed the main event, so another feather in her cap...and a fine performance was given by everyone who participated...especially as they'd only had two rehearsals. Elsewhere was a bucking bronco...so I was cajoled into jumping on....as was The Boy (actually he was with two mates, so there was just bravado in his case). I did myself (and The Cat's Mother) proud by coming second...and in the spirit of competitive father managed to stay on significantly longer than The Boy.
Sunday was most peculiar...we ended up spending the whole day (without realising it until it was too late) organising ourselves and ordering tickets to keep us amused for the coming months. Film, theatre and flights were all purchased. We're hoping that sound planning and wise choices will keep us occupied and in cultural splendor for the rest of the year.
I was contemplating applying for the Chelsea manager job which is available yet again. I know nothing whatsoever about football, but don't see why that should be a hindrance to my application. I don't know why anybody with any credibility would apply for this job...after all they will only last a few months anyway. If anyone ran a proper business like this, the shareholders would be reaching for their lawyers. I feel I'm eminently qualified, and in any case there can't be many top class managers left who haven't held the role in recent living memory. There is, of course, the other footballing job up for grabs - the England one, but I'm biding my time there as I see the muppets in charge are going to take their time to choose. After all why appoint a manger just as the team is about to play in the European Cup...squalid defeat would not be a good start would it?
P.S. SP - am missing your blog
Friday, 2 March 2012
Eye of the storm
Well it's been a funny old week this one has.
Even before a tenant has moved in to one of the flats they threatened legal action and demanded a 50% cut in the rent until a kitchen cabinet was replaced ( the old one is fine, but is being replaced by a new one for aesthetic reasons, a new one is on order and will be fitted within a week)
The previous tenant has accused me of ripping them off and is also threatening legal action because I want to make deductions from their deposit. Of course I regard them as legitimate, and the whole rental market is so highly regulated that there is no way I can rip her off. There's an established dispute procedure through the tenancy deposit scheme, so that is where it will go. I'm completely relaxed about that...in fact I welcome it as it makes it all proper and above board.
It's interesting that in both cases the people involved are well-educated professionals yet their response to the situation has been aggressive, emotional and uncontrolled. I wonder if successive Government's attempts to de-humanise every aspect of our lives is creating a more basic response to modern living.
Tuesday I was out at a seminar on The BRIC countries and doing business there (sorry, I find these things fascinating even if I don't plan on venturing east of Tilbury or west of Slough). All I will say is that China did itself justice, India did itself justice whilst Brazil exemplified every possible stereotype you can imagine. The most oft heard thing at the drinks afterwards was 'Were they still at the Carnival?' Russia wasn't on the agenda, but then they have an election coming up and I am sneakily pleased that my look-alike will be swept back to power...at least you know where you stand with a former KGB officer.
On Wednesday we were due to have an old boys reunion drink...this had been postponed several times as the whole concept of making a commitment and putting a date in a diary seems to be a challenge for a bunch of middle-aged men. The date had been in the diary for a couple of months and had been chosen to avoid family commitments, etc, etc. Yet come the day one by one people dropped out 'Got to see my children', 'Wednesdays are always difficult for me' 'My seventeen year old has a cold and I need to look after him', 'My car had to go into the garage for repair'. In the end four of us materialised and had a jolly good time, helped along by a goodly portion of red wine and no food. But it does make me wonder about the reason the others didn't make it. Did they not want to come in the first place, but are unable just to say, 'No'...it all felt like the old 'The dog's eaten my homework excuse' Sad really.
I was really sad about the death of Davy Jones. Any death is sad. In this case, I remember watching The Monkees as a child and always enjoyed the TV show. They were the epitome of young and fun, and the music was brilliant too. So it felt like a part of my childhood died with him. The Cat's Mother was lucky enough to have seen them perform live last year.
Another truly sad death was that of PC David Rathband. Although he killed himself, ultimately he was effectively murdered by Raoul Moat. Since he was blinded he has gone through unimaginable emotional and physical trauma. He had set up the charity The Blue Lamp Foundation, and I'd encourage everyone to make a donation.
Last night we went off to The Royal Opera House. When I say we went to the RoH, what I actually mean is that we went to Grays, near Thurrock, a rather desolate town on the Thames Estuary which saw better days when the Thames was the thriving gateway for ship-borne cargo some fifty years ago. I'm guessing that as part of the deal which secures them public funding there is an outreach programme to bring culture to the masses. So there we were to watch an 'Insight' session about the current production of Alice In Wonderland...we got to hear the director and choreographer, the costume maker and watch the rehearsal of a couple of scenes. The audience, which was certainly made up of people that would never go to the RoH itself and included many children who were transfixed. As were The Cat's Mother and I. It was truly fascinating and it has whet our appetite - we haven't been able to get tickets for this year, but it will be back next year, and will be shown live in the cinema as well...can't wait.
Glad the weekend is beckoning.....
Even before a tenant has moved in to one of the flats they threatened legal action and demanded a 50% cut in the rent until a kitchen cabinet was replaced ( the old one is fine, but is being replaced by a new one for aesthetic reasons, a new one is on order and will be fitted within a week)
The previous tenant has accused me of ripping them off and is also threatening legal action because I want to make deductions from their deposit. Of course I regard them as legitimate, and the whole rental market is so highly regulated that there is no way I can rip her off. There's an established dispute procedure through the tenancy deposit scheme, so that is where it will go. I'm completely relaxed about that...in fact I welcome it as it makes it all proper and above board.
It's interesting that in both cases the people involved are well-educated professionals yet their response to the situation has been aggressive, emotional and uncontrolled. I wonder if successive Government's attempts to de-humanise every aspect of our lives is creating a more basic response to modern living.
Tuesday I was out at a seminar on The BRIC countries and doing business there (sorry, I find these things fascinating even if I don't plan on venturing east of Tilbury or west of Slough). All I will say is that China did itself justice, India did itself justice whilst Brazil exemplified every possible stereotype you can imagine. The most oft heard thing at the drinks afterwards was 'Were they still at the Carnival?' Russia wasn't on the agenda, but then they have an election coming up and I am sneakily pleased that my look-alike will be swept back to power...at least you know where you stand with a former KGB officer.
On Wednesday we were due to have an old boys reunion drink...this had been postponed several times as the whole concept of making a commitment and putting a date in a diary seems to be a challenge for a bunch of middle-aged men. The date had been in the diary for a couple of months and had been chosen to avoid family commitments, etc, etc. Yet come the day one by one people dropped out 'Got to see my children', 'Wednesdays are always difficult for me' 'My seventeen year old has a cold and I need to look after him', 'My car had to go into the garage for repair'. In the end four of us materialised and had a jolly good time, helped along by a goodly portion of red wine and no food. But it does make me wonder about the reason the others didn't make it. Did they not want to come in the first place, but are unable just to say, 'No'...it all felt like the old 'The dog's eaten my homework excuse' Sad really.
I was really sad about the death of Davy Jones. Any death is sad. In this case, I remember watching The Monkees as a child and always enjoyed the TV show. They were the epitome of young and fun, and the music was brilliant too. So it felt like a part of my childhood died with him. The Cat's Mother was lucky enough to have seen them perform live last year.
Another truly sad death was that of PC David Rathband. Although he killed himself, ultimately he was effectively murdered by Raoul Moat. Since he was blinded he has gone through unimaginable emotional and physical trauma. He had set up the charity The Blue Lamp Foundation, and I'd encourage everyone to make a donation.
Last night we went off to The Royal Opera House. When I say we went to the RoH, what I actually mean is that we went to Grays, near Thurrock, a rather desolate town on the Thames Estuary which saw better days when the Thames was the thriving gateway for ship-borne cargo some fifty years ago. I'm guessing that as part of the deal which secures them public funding there is an outreach programme to bring culture to the masses. So there we were to watch an 'Insight' session about the current production of Alice In Wonderland...we got to hear the director and choreographer, the costume maker and watch the rehearsal of a couple of scenes. The audience, which was certainly made up of people that would never go to the RoH itself and included many children who were transfixed. As were The Cat's Mother and I. It was truly fascinating and it has whet our appetite - we haven't been able to get tickets for this year, but it will be back next year, and will be shown live in the cinema as well...can't wait.
Glad the weekend is beckoning.....
Tuesday, 28 February 2012
Stuffed
You know it's not good when:
1. You finish work on Friday with a troubling e-mail arriving in your inbox. You know you'll have to deal with it on Monday which means that it hangs over your head all weekend like the executioners axe
2. You go out on Friday night even though you're barely speaking to each other after a squabble the day before
3. You spend the weekend walking on eggshells hoping the atmosphere will thaw on Sunday night. It does.
4. You realise on Monday morning you can't find your office keys either because they're lost or you left them in the office. Either way you can't get in until someone else arrives.
5. Your motorbike won't start on Monday morning even though you spent several hours on Sunday getting it to fire up. And then the garage says that they can't do anything for a week, and they suggest the same solution that they have done for the last 18 months that (clearly) hasn't worked
6. You want to cycle to work to keep up the progress of last week only to find it's raining so it's not a sensible option
7. You pick up the wrong keys as you set the alarm on your way out of home, realising only when you're out the front door. So you have to go back inside un-setting and resetting the alarm. Twice.
8. You decide you need a coffee and bun before you go into the office even though you know neither is good for you
9. You find a virus on your computer which takes half the day to fix.
10. You're so exhausted by the middle of the afternoon that you're being totally unproductive
11. You get a county court summons
12. There's a dozen other things on your plate that are troubling (and you don't think they should be shared in public) and you're not quite sure how they will get sorted
But on the other hand, when all the sh*t comes at the same time, you know there's only one way to go....UP!
Did anyone else watch Jeremy Paxman's pseudo heavyweight history documentary Empire last night? On the up side it provoked plenty of discussion at home during and afterwards, on the downside it was quite appallingly bad. I'm not sure whether it was interviewing the equivalent of the 'bloke down the pub' in Egypt and India about whether they thought the Brits having conquered their countries was a good thing, or the lack of context, or the strange way he started in the middle, or whether it was the lack of context or his smug sneer or the simple bittiness of the whole thing that made it so bad, or the complete lack of research beyond anything that I knew from my second year at senior school. But bad it was. Next week he looks at how we became rich on the drug and slave trades. I'll be watching intently to see if there is anything that vaguely resembles historical context there.
I'm troubled by the etiquette of electronic communication. I know I'm not alone. Even when I started the business, we wrote letters to people and that was simple. Dear Mr Smith, or Dear John worked very nicely. These days it's all e-mails and I'm troubled about how to start the damned things. Dear Mr Smith is wrong for sure, 'Hi' is crass, 'Hello'...I don't think so...so much time is wasted working out how to start the things. Not that the end is any better. 'Yours sincerely'...no way. 'Kind regards'...usually but isn't that a bit formal when the start is so relaxed? And then there's women...they tend to put a X after their name...when I reply should I also put an X (yes because it's polite, or no because it seems flirtatious) I just don't know. I'm going back to letters. Or telegrams.
1. You finish work on Friday with a troubling e-mail arriving in your inbox. You know you'll have to deal with it on Monday which means that it hangs over your head all weekend like the executioners axe
2. You go out on Friday night even though you're barely speaking to each other after a squabble the day before
3. You spend the weekend walking on eggshells hoping the atmosphere will thaw on Sunday night. It does.
4. You realise on Monday morning you can't find your office keys either because they're lost or you left them in the office. Either way you can't get in until someone else arrives.
5. Your motorbike won't start on Monday morning even though you spent several hours on Sunday getting it to fire up. And then the garage says that they can't do anything for a week, and they suggest the same solution that they have done for the last 18 months that (clearly) hasn't worked
6. You want to cycle to work to keep up the progress of last week only to find it's raining so it's not a sensible option
7. You pick up the wrong keys as you set the alarm on your way out of home, realising only when you're out the front door. So you have to go back inside un-setting and resetting the alarm. Twice.
8. You decide you need a coffee and bun before you go into the office even though you know neither is good for you
9. You find a virus on your computer which takes half the day to fix.
10. You're so exhausted by the middle of the afternoon that you're being totally unproductive
11. You get a county court summons
12. There's a dozen other things on your plate that are troubling (and you don't think they should be shared in public) and you're not quite sure how they will get sorted
But on the other hand, when all the sh*t comes at the same time, you know there's only one way to go....UP!
Did anyone else watch Jeremy Paxman's pseudo heavyweight history documentary Empire last night? On the up side it provoked plenty of discussion at home during and afterwards, on the downside it was quite appallingly bad. I'm not sure whether it was interviewing the equivalent of the 'bloke down the pub' in Egypt and India about whether they thought the Brits having conquered their countries was a good thing, or the lack of context, or the strange way he started in the middle, or whether it was the lack of context or his smug sneer or the simple bittiness of the whole thing that made it so bad, or the complete lack of research beyond anything that I knew from my second year at senior school. But bad it was. Next week he looks at how we became rich on the drug and slave trades. I'll be watching intently to see if there is anything that vaguely resembles historical context there.
I'm troubled by the etiquette of electronic communication. I know I'm not alone. Even when I started the business, we wrote letters to people and that was simple. Dear Mr Smith, or Dear John worked very nicely. These days it's all e-mails and I'm troubled about how to start the damned things. Dear Mr Smith is wrong for sure, 'Hi' is crass, 'Hello'...I don't think so...so much time is wasted working out how to start the things. Not that the end is any better. 'Yours sincerely'...no way. 'Kind regards'...usually but isn't that a bit formal when the start is so relaxed? And then there's women...they tend to put a X after their name...when I reply should I also put an X (yes because it's polite, or no because it seems flirtatious) I just don't know. I'm going back to letters. Or telegrams.
Sunday, 26 February 2012
Once you go black
We were in Oxford yesterday which made an interesting contrast to our recent trip up to Cambridge. Though both cities are steeped in academia, Cambridge continues to feel small and rural, whilst Oxford is more bustling and urban. We had travelled west because The Boy was attending an open day at one of the colleges to find out more about studying German at Oxford University. Whilst he went off and spent the day in lectures, debates and such like, The Cat's Mother and I explored the city.
It's not a place I am entirely unfamiliar with as I spent three months there during my gap year. It wasn't a happy time as I worked at a firm of accountants to find out if it was a career I wanted to follow. It decidedly was not. The lingering legacy of that time is that my bank continues to be based there....and that's not a happy relationship either.
Anyway, we found ourselves in the Ashmolean Museum, which claims to be the oldest in the country. That doesn't mean it isn't modern... certainly a lot of money has been invested in modernising it. Most of the building seems brand new. Bizarrely, who ever designed the thing decided that the best way for visitors to enjoy the contents is to make it as complicated as possible to navigate even with the museum map, and then to further complicate it by not bothering to put up the gallery numbers. I've never seen so many people asking how to get to a gallery as I did yesterday, which proves, to me at least, that I wasn't being stupid. Perhaps the powers that be had decided this was the best way to encourage people to explore. Anyway, we looked at Howard Hodgkins' collection of Mughal art (pretty dull really - sorry) and not much else, as the whole place was a bit dense and difficult to get enthusiastic about. They did at least have an excellent section on Cyprus, so we studied that at length in readiness for our next trip to see Grandma in Cyprus.
We headed off to Carfax to get a birds' eye view of the city roof tops, and were sold our tickets by a man who really was the spitting image of a ventriloquist's dummy, even down to the rosy cheeks. He was very happy and friendly, but I didn't see anyone sitting behind him with their hand up his posterior. The view was fine, and we were able to spot the Bodleian Library, which we didn't go in as visitors are discouraged. I bet most city libraries would be pleased to be able to do that. Instead we went in the souvenir shop where I was given a sound ticking off for trying to take a photo out the window.
We'd arrived early so had gone for a coffee in the Randolph Hotel, which we noted was a Macdonald group hotel. Disappointingly there were no burgers to be had, and we had to twist their arm to let us have breakfast as we'd arrived at 10.05. Breakfast stops at 10.00. Burgers or not, there were a couple of very well-spoken and loud gentlemen in the lounge with us. They were like the arguing professors in Newman and Baddiel...except they weren't arguing, they were just talking extremely loudly in very affected accents. I recorded some of it on my mobile phone, but I assume publishing it would be illegal. Shame. One had bug eyes and a bowler hat, the other was portly and wore slacks, sports jacket and a waistcoat.. You couldn't avoid hearing them; in fact it was hard to hear each other speak such was the volume of their conversation. Their views were somewhat conservative. They were clearly men who thought the world had gone rapidly downhill since their youth, and probably bringing back the birch and national Service would solve all our problems. One of them I suspect was an academic, but without too much up top, and the other it transpired was a priest. And it was he that was heard to say, "Well as they say once you've had black you never go back".
We spluttered into our coffee cups and left shortly afterwards.
It's not a place I am entirely unfamiliar with as I spent three months there during my gap year. It wasn't a happy time as I worked at a firm of accountants to find out if it was a career I wanted to follow. It decidedly was not. The lingering legacy of that time is that my bank continues to be based there....and that's not a happy relationship either.
Anyway, we found ourselves in the Ashmolean Museum, which claims to be the oldest in the country. That doesn't mean it isn't modern... certainly a lot of money has been invested in modernising it. Most of the building seems brand new. Bizarrely, who ever designed the thing decided that the best way for visitors to enjoy the contents is to make it as complicated as possible to navigate even with the museum map, and then to further complicate it by not bothering to put up the gallery numbers. I've never seen so many people asking how to get to a gallery as I did yesterday, which proves, to me at least, that I wasn't being stupid. Perhaps the powers that be had decided this was the best way to encourage people to explore. Anyway, we looked at Howard Hodgkins' collection of Mughal art (pretty dull really - sorry) and not much else, as the whole place was a bit dense and difficult to get enthusiastic about. They did at least have an excellent section on Cyprus, so we studied that at length in readiness for our next trip to see Grandma in Cyprus.
We headed off to Carfax to get a birds' eye view of the city roof tops, and were sold our tickets by a man who really was the spitting image of a ventriloquist's dummy, even down to the rosy cheeks. He was very happy and friendly, but I didn't see anyone sitting behind him with their hand up his posterior. The view was fine, and we were able to spot the Bodleian Library, which we didn't go in as visitors are discouraged. I bet most city libraries would be pleased to be able to do that. Instead we went in the souvenir shop where I was given a sound ticking off for trying to take a photo out the window.
We'd arrived early so had gone for a coffee in the Randolph Hotel, which we noted was a Macdonald group hotel. Disappointingly there were no burgers to be had, and we had to twist their arm to let us have breakfast as we'd arrived at 10.05. Breakfast stops at 10.00. Burgers or not, there were a couple of very well-spoken and loud gentlemen in the lounge with us. They were like the arguing professors in Newman and Baddiel...except they weren't arguing, they were just talking extremely loudly in very affected accents. I recorded some of it on my mobile phone, but I assume publishing it would be illegal. Shame. One had bug eyes and a bowler hat, the other was portly and wore slacks, sports jacket and a waistcoat.. You couldn't avoid hearing them; in fact it was hard to hear each other speak such was the volume of their conversation. Their views were somewhat conservative. They were clearly men who thought the world had gone rapidly downhill since their youth, and probably bringing back the birch and national Service would solve all our problems. One of them I suspect was an academic, but without too much up top, and the other it transpired was a priest. And it was he that was heard to say, "Well as they say once you've had black you never go back".
We spluttered into our coffee cups and left shortly afterwards.
Wednesday, 22 February 2012
Landscape
I've got a little out of sync with Tara's photogallery which I always used to participate in....not sure why, but it just hasn't happened for a while. I guess life in general is like that isn't it? Everything going hunkydory, and then for no apparent reason it doesn't all hang together as it should.
I thought I would make a special effort this week, but then she set the challenge of 'landscape'. Not a difficult thing in itself, but I have hundreds of landscape pictures, some of them OK, some of them good, but they all have a special meaning to me. The obvious thing to do would be to post up a picture from the top of the mountain last week, but that seems just a little too obvious and easy. So instead I chose the following:
This was a new year in Hereford with some very dear friends. I'm heading off to the slopes with them in April, and very much looking forward to it
I thought I would make a special effort this week, but then she set the challenge of 'landscape'. Not a difficult thing in itself, but I have hundreds of landscape pictures, some of them OK, some of them good, but they all have a special meaning to me. The obvious thing to do would be to post up a picture from the top of the mountain last week, but that seems just a little too obvious and easy. So instead I chose the following:
This was actually Zermatt last year taken through the cafe window...the words seemed appropriate. In truth it was a much better holiday than this year. The Cat's Mother has declared she is hanging up her ski boots.
This was Iceland, the first holiday we took as a family...the poor girls got dragged around this (amazing) barren landscape which we were all somewhat dwarfed by. Eventually they insisted we abandoned the natural landscape for one that included shops
This is just along the coast from Grandma in Cyprus...in the north of the island. The Cat's Mother and I are heading there in May to celebrate a very special birthday for her, unfortunately exams will mean neither The Boy nor The Cat can come with us.
Does this count? A chalk pebble on the beach just down the road from the flat in Brighton
Anyway, do take a trip over to Tara's gallery to see what everyone else is doing
Tuesday, 21 February 2012
Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief
I am as anyone who knows me, a dedicated Brighton & Hove Albion (The Seagulls) supporter. But like many a Manchester United fan based in Malaysia or Peru, not a regular attendee at matches. This despite them having a shiny new stadium this season. When I cycle to work...yes 17 miles in each direction...I am to be seen wearing the Away Strip - a luminous green and black vertical striped little number which generally terrifies oncoming motorists. You can I hope appreciate my delight then to be able to say this weekend they scored four times when playing Liverpool in the FA Cup. The northerners scored only three times, but strange as it may seem they won the match and have gone through to the next round. 6-1. I'll let you work that one out.
Having got back from our holiday on Friday, we spent most of the weekend doing nothing much, apart from the washing and relaxing. The Cat's Mother has an advantage over the rest of us, as she ENJOYS washing. Whilst the rest of us, at any given moment, would gladly just collapse on a sofa, she busies herself loading an unloading the washing machine, loading and unloading the tumble drier. You may think I make his comment in jest. I do not. First thing she does when she when she gets up in the morning is head to the utility room. First thing she does when returning from a night out at the theatre is head for the utility room. Even in the middle of a film on the TV she'll up and head for the utility room. Don't think for one moment I'm not grateful. I am. But it does give me a guilty conscience. Sort of.
We have managed to miss a few films recently that we really wanted to see, so it was good that we finally found somewhere to see George Clooney in The Descendants. I'd been looking forward to seeing this for months, especially as I'm a great fan. Have you seen Welcome to Collinwood? Hilarious. Have you seen Burn after reading? Sublime. So what a massive disappointment this was. I can't really find anything in its favour. I poo poo anyone who says that at least it's a great piece of acting from George. It may be, but completely swamped by mediocrity in every other department.
We consoled ourselves by watching Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy on DVD. Just as brilliant second time around.
Having got back from our holiday on Friday, we spent most of the weekend doing nothing much, apart from the washing and relaxing. The Cat's Mother has an advantage over the rest of us, as she ENJOYS washing. Whilst the rest of us, at any given moment, would gladly just collapse on a sofa, she busies herself loading an unloading the washing machine, loading and unloading the tumble drier. You may think I make his comment in jest. I do not. First thing she does when she when she gets up in the morning is head to the utility room. First thing she does when returning from a night out at the theatre is head for the utility room. Even in the middle of a film on the TV she'll up and head for the utility room. Don't think for one moment I'm not grateful. I am. But it does give me a guilty conscience. Sort of.
We have managed to miss a few films recently that we really wanted to see, so it was good that we finally found somewhere to see George Clooney in The Descendants. I'd been looking forward to seeing this for months, especially as I'm a great fan. Have you seen Welcome to Collinwood? Hilarious. Have you seen Burn after reading? Sublime. So what a massive disappointment this was. I can't really find anything in its favour. I poo poo anyone who says that at least it's a great piece of acting from George. It may be, but completely swamped by mediocrity in every other department.
We consoled ourselves by watching Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy on DVD. Just as brilliant second time around.
Monday, 20 February 2012
IS this on?
Whilst I'm waiting for our own Steven Spielberg to finish off editing his masterpiece of our antics last week, this provides a useful summary of the conversation from our time in Zermatt last week
Don't forget tomorrow is Shrove Tuesday, so pancakes with sugar and lemon are compulsory for all children under the age of eigty-five
Don't forget tomorrow is Shrove Tuesday, so pancakes with sugar and lemon are compulsory for all children under the age of eigty-five
Thursday, 9 February 2012
Snow? It's certainly freezing
This morning as I came in to work this morning on the tube (brrrrr, it's far too cold to be on motorbike or cycle) I was listening to Kate Bush's most recent release - 50 Words For Snow. It seemed appropriate. It's quite a nice album (my way of saying it didn't really register), soft and gentle, and then I thought it was brilliant when I got to a track called Snowed in at Wheeler Street
I've seen two performances this year where the main character appears to have been rehabilitated. I mentioned The Iron Lady recently...not a film I enjoyed. And last night we went to see The Collaborators, a new play which in a surreal fashion examines the relationship between Stalin and the playwright Mikhail Bulgakov. It stars the always delightful Simon Russell-Beale and Alex Jennings (last seen by me this week in Being Human). Without giving too much away, whilst JS writes a play, Bulgakov makes decisions that lead to The Great Terror. What I've taken out of the play is that artists are fools and Stalin wasn't such a bad bloke - practical and very wise. Next thing we'll all be celebrating what a cheerful chap that Adolf Hitler was. I've come away somewhat bemused.
Talking about Being Human, the fourth series started this week, and if you like humorous stories about a house share involving a ghost a werewolf and a vampire, then this is the programme for you. Series four is going to be radically different from the previous ones, so I will reserve final opinion until it has developed a lot...but I would certainly recommend the previous outings.
Tomorrow we are off skiing to Zermatt in Switzerland with The Muffins. There is more snow in Europe than in the entire Antarctic as far as I can tell so we are in for a good week I hope. The Boy is so hyped, he's been bouncing off the ceiling for weeks. With his new 'action cam' I fear there will be hours and hours of footage for you to enjoy when we return. He's also been spending his time trying to decide which songs to use as a soundtrack...it changes everyday, so I am hoping that ROL will come to our rescue and will come up with a 'Top 10 ski video songs". I know he's just itching to do that.
And so to finish in the only way I know how. Here is the 'bounce' on an e-mail I sent this week to someone I know at News International, Rupert 'I don't know anything' Murdoch's little play thing:
"I am currently no longer in the office"
I've seen two performances this year where the main character appears to have been rehabilitated. I mentioned The Iron Lady recently...not a film I enjoyed. And last night we went to see The Collaborators, a new play which in a surreal fashion examines the relationship between Stalin and the playwright Mikhail Bulgakov. It stars the always delightful Simon Russell-Beale and Alex Jennings (last seen by me this week in Being Human). Without giving too much away, whilst JS writes a play, Bulgakov makes decisions that lead to The Great Terror. What I've taken out of the play is that artists are fools and Stalin wasn't such a bad bloke - practical and very wise. Next thing we'll all be celebrating what a cheerful chap that Adolf Hitler was. I've come away somewhat bemused.
Talking about Being Human, the fourth series started this week, and if you like humorous stories about a house share involving a ghost a werewolf and a vampire, then this is the programme for you. Series four is going to be radically different from the previous ones, so I will reserve final opinion until it has developed a lot...but I would certainly recommend the previous outings.
Tomorrow we are off skiing to Zermatt in Switzerland with The Muffins. There is more snow in Europe than in the entire Antarctic as far as I can tell so we are in for a good week I hope. The Boy is so hyped, he's been bouncing off the ceiling for weeks. With his new 'action cam' I fear there will be hours and hours of footage for you to enjoy when we return. He's also been spending his time trying to decide which songs to use as a soundtrack...it changes everyday, so I am hoping that ROL will come to our rescue and will come up with a 'Top 10 ski video songs". I know he's just itching to do that.
And so to finish in the only way I know how. Here is the 'bounce' on an e-mail I sent this week to someone I know at News International, Rupert 'I don't know anything' Murdoch's little play thing:
"I am currently no longer in the office"
Tuesday, 7 February 2012
Different lives
It says a lot about the vagaries of life that last night I was swanning around at an event with a man who has just made several £billion by selling some of his company to HP. I gaily went around a room of 250 or more full of confidence and joie de vivre, chatting to so many familiar faces and coming home drunk on the pleasure of the evening. Today I was full of aches and pains, covered in dust, cobwebs and twenty years of emotional baggage.
The evening event had been to launch a Foundation which will help bring pupils to The Boy's school who could not otherwise afford to pay the fees. I was fortunate enough to go there as a grant-aided pupil, and have always been very grateful for that opportunity. The founder of the school, Francis Bancroft, had bequeathed a legacy and specified that the school should have one hundred scholars from a poorer background. In recent years as the grant-aided system was closed, the number of pupils who don't come from a monied background has dwindled. So the Foundation has been set up to right this anomaly. This did set me thinking that I've missed a big chunk of the argument when they talk about kids from public school who go to university rather from state schools. The Boy's school is not alone amongst public schools in helping the less well off progress. So the State School vs Public School debate is more complicated than I had previously really thought.
Today my task was to empty out the basement of The Boy's house. This is the property left to him and his sister by their mother. It's been my responsibility to look after because I'm relatively local and property is my business. After a couple of empty years, it hadbeen me that took the decision to rent it out, and in quite a brutal weekend it had the living quarters emptied of the most (emotionally) valuable things.
It has been rented out for a few years now, but the basement has remained resolutely filled to the ceiling. Literally. With new tenants in it had to be emptied. The easiest thing would have been to get some laboureres in to do it, but there was a feeling that there may be some precious things down in the dampness. So I arrived this morning and began the task...it was a bit more monumental than I had anticipated, but I dug in. I now know what the pit miners felt like - the ceiling is no more than five foot at best, and the ladder down is narrow and steep. My back was quickly aching as I piled stuff outside the house in readiness for throwing in the Transit I had rented for the day
Like an urban archeologist I waded in uncovering long forgotten secrets. Some unused kitchen cabinet doors addressed to The Boy's Moother's first husband when they had converted a ramshackle building itno a splendid North London double fronted terraced home. It must have been very exciting. So many old clothes from a different age, and hundreds of toys from two childhoods....including a Barbie Doll SUV which I remember building in a panic of Christmas Eve. The Boy's travelling cot and many books now ruined by damp. A lot of paperwork from her company which went down in the post-millenium crash. Some pictures, enough crockery for the finest banquet.....and so on. There were all sorts of trinkets which I half remembered. Of our life together the only thing I found were the divorce files. In another time I'd have looked and seen her side of the story, but really that chapter has closed and I didn't feel it mattered anymore.
Nearing the end and I found the holy grail...a rocking horse which has survived quite intact. There were lots and lots of soft toys which will head to the charity shop tomorrow, and some badly damaged vinyl albums which probaly can't be revived.
It being Finsbury Park, it was long before the scavengers arrived, and they were welcome to pick. A couple of hours later and half way through a couple of Romanian guys arrived offering to take the metal and electrical goods...I seized the opportunity and offered them £20 each to help me finish off the task. An hour later the task was done...there was not a a millimeter to spare...literally.
I headed off to the municipal tip and an hour later I'd emptied the van all by myself. I ache from head to toe. Some of that is the physical exertion, no doubt some of that is emotion of it.
But it's done. The past is in the past and the future beckons enticingly.
The evening event had been to launch a Foundation which will help bring pupils to The Boy's school who could not otherwise afford to pay the fees. I was fortunate enough to go there as a grant-aided pupil, and have always been very grateful for that opportunity. The founder of the school, Francis Bancroft, had bequeathed a legacy and specified that the school should have one hundred scholars from a poorer background. In recent years as the grant-aided system was closed, the number of pupils who don't come from a monied background has dwindled. So the Foundation has been set up to right this anomaly. This did set me thinking that I've missed a big chunk of the argument when they talk about kids from public school who go to university rather from state schools. The Boy's school is not alone amongst public schools in helping the less well off progress. So the State School vs Public School debate is more complicated than I had previously really thought.
Today my task was to empty out the basement of The Boy's house. This is the property left to him and his sister by their mother. It's been my responsibility to look after because I'm relatively local and property is my business. After a couple of empty years, it hadbeen me that took the decision to rent it out, and in quite a brutal weekend it had the living quarters emptied of the most (emotionally) valuable things.
It has been rented out for a few years now, but the basement has remained resolutely filled to the ceiling. Literally. With new tenants in it had to be emptied. The easiest thing would have been to get some laboureres in to do it, but there was a feeling that there may be some precious things down in the dampness. So I arrived this morning and began the task...it was a bit more monumental than I had anticipated, but I dug in. I now know what the pit miners felt like - the ceiling is no more than five foot at best, and the ladder down is narrow and steep. My back was quickly aching as I piled stuff outside the house in readiness for throwing in the Transit I had rented for the day
Like an urban archeologist I waded in uncovering long forgotten secrets. Some unused kitchen cabinet doors addressed to The Boy's Moother's first husband when they had converted a ramshackle building itno a splendid North London double fronted terraced home. It must have been very exciting. So many old clothes from a different age, and hundreds of toys from two childhoods....including a Barbie Doll SUV which I remember building in a panic of Christmas Eve. The Boy's travelling cot and many books now ruined by damp. A lot of paperwork from her company which went down in the post-millenium crash. Some pictures, enough crockery for the finest banquet.....and so on. There were all sorts of trinkets which I half remembered. Of our life together the only thing I found were the divorce files. In another time I'd have looked and seen her side of the story, but really that chapter has closed and I didn't feel it mattered anymore.
Nearing the end and I found the holy grail...a rocking horse which has survived quite intact. There were lots and lots of soft toys which will head to the charity shop tomorrow, and some badly damaged vinyl albums which probaly can't be revived.
It being Finsbury Park, it was long before the scavengers arrived, and they were welcome to pick. A couple of hours later and half way through a couple of Romanian guys arrived offering to take the metal and electrical goods...I seized the opportunity and offered them £20 each to help me finish off the task. An hour later the task was done...there was not a a millimeter to spare...literally.
I headed off to the municipal tip and an hour later I'd emptied the van all by myself. I ache from head to toe. Some of that is the physical exertion, no doubt some of that is emotion of it.
But it's done. The past is in the past and the future beckons enticingly.
Monday, 6 February 2012
Mr Motivator
There are some bizarre people in the industry I work in. On Friday I received an e-mail from someone I've known for sometime....many years in fact...saying that although it was short notice, was I free to meet on Monday. I replied yes, and have heard nothing since. Not bad, but the same person contacted me several months ago suggesting we meet up, to which I responded yes that would be excellent...I heard no more so re-contacted him, to which the reply had been he didn't know what I was talking about. One of us is mad.
It was a cruel irony that the one person in our house that truly loves the snow was in the only place in the UK which had none over the weekend. Instead The Boy was getting drowned in a tropical monsoon in Devon on his Geography field trip. We were out at the school inter-house drama competition on Saturday night as the snow started to fall. As parents we are weak and after The Cat performed we sneaked of for a sneaky pizza. The consequence was that by the time we got back The Cat had been awarded 'Best Supporting Actor', and The Boy's House had won the competition. I put that down as a parental fail.
It's a remarkable loss when The Boy is not around. Last year when the snow fell we were all marched out into the forest whilst The Boy strapped on his skis and went for a fun ski. This year, and in his absence, we were at the shops and bought a fun sledge, which has remained resolutely in the back of the Jeep whilst we remained resolutely in the warm inside the house. I think that's our loss, as the snow is now melting away so the opportunity this year may have slipped out of our grasp. We had been scheduled to drive up to Cambridge, but even in The Tank that is the Jeep it didn't seem sensible. So the day was spent sorting out ski wear for next week and cooking a lovely piece of beef for the evening. The Boy's energy and enthusiasm can be a pain sometimes, but it's at times like this that I really appreciate how motivating his enthusiasm can be. Here's last year's video of him skiing in Epping Forest.
And again here
It was a cruel irony that the one person in our house that truly loves the snow was in the only place in the UK which had none over the weekend. Instead The Boy was getting drowned in a tropical monsoon in Devon on his Geography field trip. We were out at the school inter-house drama competition on Saturday night as the snow started to fall. As parents we are weak and after The Cat performed we sneaked of for a sneaky pizza. The consequence was that by the time we got back The Cat had been awarded 'Best Supporting Actor', and The Boy's House had won the competition. I put that down as a parental fail.
It's a remarkable loss when The Boy is not around. Last year when the snow fell we were all marched out into the forest whilst The Boy strapped on his skis and went for a fun ski. This year, and in his absence, we were at the shops and bought a fun sledge, which has remained resolutely in the back of the Jeep whilst we remained resolutely in the warm inside the house. I think that's our loss, as the snow is now melting away so the opportunity this year may have slipped out of our grasp. We had been scheduled to drive up to Cambridge, but even in The Tank that is the Jeep it didn't seem sensible. So the day was spent sorting out ski wear for next week and cooking a lovely piece of beef for the evening. The Boy's energy and enthusiasm can be a pain sometimes, but it's at times like this that I really appreciate how motivating his enthusiasm can be. Here's last year's video of him skiing in Epping Forest.
And again here
Saturday, 4 February 2012
Revenge is a dish best served cold
There appears to be a different value system operating in Government compared to International Football doesn't there?
The pretty objectionable John Terry apparently refused to stand down as England captain because he claims to be innocent. He'll stand trial after the Euro finals which evidently take place this summer (had you forgotten/don't care/been overwhelmed by the excitement of of the Olympics). "Innocent until proven guilty" I hear declared. It will indeed be several months before we find out whether he can add racism to his list of sins. It does seem that the Terry family is a pretty awful one, and its probably fortunate that they have a footballing talent otherwise who knows what they'd be doing to terrorise the neighbours. So forced to go he was by the FA, which is hardly renowned for its ability to manage a p*ss up in a brewery. It took several months for the FA to come to this decision, and until the last few hours their position appeared to be that unless and until he was convicted, he could stay in his elevated role. By any measure he can't be that good a captain anyway given the amount of silverware on the England dressing room mantlepiece.
By comparison Chris Huhne, who also protests his innocence, has resigned immediately on being charged of getting his (ex) wife to take the points for a motoring offence. A very middle class crime. I hear that as a Minister he is pretty good at his job, so you can probably assume that his loss is our loss. He has consistently proclaimed his innocence and intends to prove it in court. Or at least prove that he can't be proven guilty. Government circles, or at least political commentators had made it clear in recent days that should he be charged he would be sacked, so his decision to resign was an astute one.
For different people Huhne and Terry are both role models, and it fascinates me to see how each, and their employers, have responded to their situation.
I wonder how Vicky Price is feeling this evening. As I understand it, it was her position as spurned wife that started the ball rolling. She was the one that told the papers that he had asked her to take the points and she had agreed. We've all been dumped at some stage in our lives, and we've all (well me at least) have thought of revenge as the route to follow. But generally after a chat with Best Friend down the pub and a few whiskeys we've realised that acting in the heat of the moment is not sensible. I suspect she is regretting her actions (the big caveat here is that I am assuming that I have understood what she did correctly). She is being prosecuted for the same crime as her ex-husband - the very serious offence of perverting the course of justice. If he is convicted then inevitably so will she. So at that level it may feel that things have backfired. But if he is found not guilty, she will be viewed in a pretty poor light indeed. Her stock will have fallen. For her I just can't see an upside to any of this. So the moral must be 'Think before you jump'.
Interestingly I read another press article today that suggested that the best revenge for a spurned partner is success...and that's something from personal experience I can whole heartedly agree with that...after The Boy's mother and I divorced, that seemed to spur me on, and my greatest work success was in the years following. I was never conscious of it, but I guess looking back, subconsciously I was there trying (and succeeding) in proving something.
The pretty objectionable John Terry apparently refused to stand down as England captain because he claims to be innocent. He'll stand trial after the Euro finals which evidently take place this summer (had you forgotten/don't care/been overwhelmed by the excitement of of the Olympics). "Innocent until proven guilty" I hear declared. It will indeed be several months before we find out whether he can add racism to his list of sins. It does seem that the Terry family is a pretty awful one, and its probably fortunate that they have a footballing talent otherwise who knows what they'd be doing to terrorise the neighbours. So forced to go he was by the FA, which is hardly renowned for its ability to manage a p*ss up in a brewery. It took several months for the FA to come to this decision, and until the last few hours their position appeared to be that unless and until he was convicted, he could stay in his elevated role. By any measure he can't be that good a captain anyway given the amount of silverware on the England dressing room mantlepiece.
By comparison Chris Huhne, who also protests his innocence, has resigned immediately on being charged of getting his (ex) wife to take the points for a motoring offence. A very middle class crime. I hear that as a Minister he is pretty good at his job, so you can probably assume that his loss is our loss. He has consistently proclaimed his innocence and intends to prove it in court. Or at least prove that he can't be proven guilty. Government circles, or at least political commentators had made it clear in recent days that should he be charged he would be sacked, so his decision to resign was an astute one.
For different people Huhne and Terry are both role models, and it fascinates me to see how each, and their employers, have responded to their situation.
I wonder how Vicky Price is feeling this evening. As I understand it, it was her position as spurned wife that started the ball rolling. She was the one that told the papers that he had asked her to take the points and she had agreed. We've all been dumped at some stage in our lives, and we've all (well me at least) have thought of revenge as the route to follow. But generally after a chat with Best Friend down the pub and a few whiskeys we've realised that acting in the heat of the moment is not sensible. I suspect she is regretting her actions (the big caveat here is that I am assuming that I have understood what she did correctly). She is being prosecuted for the same crime as her ex-husband - the very serious offence of perverting the course of justice. If he is convicted then inevitably so will she. So at that level it may feel that things have backfired. But if he is found not guilty, she will be viewed in a pretty poor light indeed. Her stock will have fallen. For her I just can't see an upside to any of this. So the moral must be 'Think before you jump'.
Interestingly I read another press article today that suggested that the best revenge for a spurned partner is success...and that's something from personal experience I can whole heartedly agree with that...after The Boy's mother and I divorced, that seemed to spur me on, and my greatest work success was in the years following. I was never conscious of it, but I guess looking back, subconsciously I was there trying (and succeeding) in proving something.
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