Bowlocks

I've mentioned George before.  He's the demon barber of Bermondsey Street.  He's been here for ever I suspect, and is one of the last bastions of traditional Bermondsey...a little run down shop that hasn't seen a lick of paint since England won the World Cup.  You my recall that I tend to go there when the naked girl on his calendar changes.  The last time I was there he showed me the calendar that had been donated by the local garage.  Obviously times have moved on because rather than being an elegant collection of  naked girls carefully posed to hide the very last vestiges of their modesty, this one was full of girls who had obviously got confused and had ended up at the photographers studio, rather than the gynaecologist where their poses would have been more appropriate. Fortunately George knows the difference between what's acceptable and what belongs under the mattress, so he didn't put that one up...he put up one from 2005.   I must say that over the last few times I've been there, George has been losing his touch slightly, and I've ended up with several nicks...always explained away as "You must have had a scratch" and I've gone with the flow.  This time, I asked for my usual... a Number three on top and Number two on the sides.  George clipped the blades on started the trim.  Immediately I knew that something wasn't right.  There was just too much hair falling on the floor.  Though he denies it, I swear this was a Number two on top (may be a number one even), and I came out looking like a Millwall Football supporter.  I can see my scalp through my hair, and feel my skull if I rub my hands over it.  All I needed was a pair of braces, white T shirt and H.A.T.E to be tattooed on my knuckles, and I would blend in with the locals nicely.  And I got a little nick to go with it. I no longer have my beau locks.

One of the odd results is that when I cycled in this morning, for the first time ever I could feel the rush of the air over the skin on my head.  It was odd.  It may have been this that distracted me, so that when I had to get off to carry the cycle up the steps of the bridge at Bow Locks, my feet didn't unclip properly and I just tumbled over.  No harm to me but I smashed my new cycle lights.  Bollocks.

To compensate, the Police had closed Rotherhithe Tunnel to traffic, and so I was able to cycle through as the only vehicle in the tunnel.  An odd but exhilarating experience.

Another brick in the wall

When I was just a young lad, Grandma in Cyprus bought me an Encyclopaedia Britannica.  It's always been something I have treasured, especially as it was quite a sacrifice for her to buy.  Although my memory of the times is hazy, it was I believe not long after she and my father were divorced and I am sure money was tight.  I came home from school one day, GinC wasn't there, but there was a note which said "There's a mess in your room can you tidy it up please".  Of course, as there was always a mess in my room, I ignored it until it was too late.  She arrived home before I went upstairs, so I somewhat spoiled the wonderful surprise.  The Encyclopaedia was never easy to use because it wasn't (in 30 volumes) in alphabetical order.  No that would be insufficient for the intellectuals wouldn't it?  Instead it was divided into two sections - ten volumes in the first and twenty in the other.  In order to find anything that you wanted to know about, you had to first look it up in the first section to find the reference in the second.  Getting to the bottom of any query was a labyrinthine challenge.  That was part of the fun.  Did it teach me anything?  Well yes, probably that the harder you work for something the better will be the reward.

When I moved to Brighton the Encyclopaedias eventually followed me.  In fact I think they nearly killed Grandad in Cyprus as I had moved in to a top floor flat with no lift and he helped bring them up.  In fact he may have carried most of them up.  There were over a hundred steps to the top.  Each part of the Encyclopaedia is thicker than a telephone directory (oh do those still exist?).  Legs, arms and hearts were well exercised that day.

They sit now in the 'library' - the small box room that we've given a rather grand title, as an icon and testament to a slower age.  It still gets thumbed through...although it looks pristine.  And the information is woefully out of date...but it is still an object of beauty.

Yesterday I read that the Encyclopaedia in print form will exist no more, replaced instead by a 'media rich knowledge experience'.  Yes I know there will be more in it, it will be interactive, there will be videos to go with the words and pictures and it will be constantly updated.  But, but, but will it have the stature and status.  Somehow I doubt it.  That's a shame.

When I was younger we had Lego.  Everyone had Lego.  It was a brilliant toy that stimulated the creative juices.  That was in the days when Lego simply consisted of rectangular bricks of different sizes and colours.  There must have been wheels too because I remember that in addition to all sorts of different buildings we used to create cars, vans and trucks...although there was no way to make the wheels steer.  Rockets and planes didn't require wheels.  Boats and ships were not very waterproof and mostly sank like the Titanic.  Each was carefully designed by my brother or I in our heads in about thirty seconds.  Built in ten minutes and then driven, flown and more importantly crashed over and over and over.

But in more recent memory, and presumably due to a decline in the creative spirit amongst small people, Lego has taken to selling 'kits'.  Fabulous constructions...often themed around the latest film sensations (Pirates of the Caribbean, Star Wars, Harry Potter, etc).  But all this you know.  I always felt this was a shame, although it didn't stop me buying the kits as gifts for kids of friends and family.  And from Lego's point of view it was the saviour of the company.  It was the way to compete in a digital age.

Then, last year I was bought a kit.  Not a Bionicle, not a Harry Potter, nor even The Death Star.  The Muffins bought me the Guggenheim from Lego's Architecture series.  Each one comes with a comprehensive set of instructions (IKEA please take note) and a booklet which gives loads of background.  Proper educational it is too.  We bought a second one (only another ten to go) and yesterday constructed the Rockefeller Center in a couple of hours.  If it took God six days to make the earth, and Rome wasn't built in a day, I think a couple of hours is quite good.  I didn't do it alone.  For both buildings, The Cat's Mother has equal billing.  The results are fabulous, and they're now displayed in our treasure trove room.  If I worked for a proper company, the HR department would probably describe it as a team bonding exercise.  Perhaps it is.

P.S. If Lego wants to send me one for "Review", I'm prepared to make the sacrifice....Fallingwater looks interesting

Off with their heads

It would be an exaggeration to say that Camilla nearly ran me over today, but it is true that her motorcycle out-rider did stop on the zebra crossing just as I was about to step out, and her car swept by but a moment later.  What on earth she was doing in the back streets of South London I have no idea.  It must be nice being ferried around everywhere completely out of touch with reality.  Much like a teenager then.

It's a Royal week this week as next weekend we are going to a charity fund raiser that is diamond jubilee themed.  This will leave me in a dilemma.  The Cat's Mother is part of the organising committee for the NSPCC, and helping children is a good thing (although on some days, I do wonder) so attendance is a pre-requisite for staying at the family home.  But she seems disinclined to allow me to go as Charles I's executioner, so I need suggestions for a costume.  Any will be welcome.

An Olympian effort

Sat here at my desk on Monday morning, I'm feeling weary.....and no wonder.

Below is the Sportstracker from my cycle into the office today.  Yes evidently I really was cycling at an average speed of 1752 km/hour for 202 km.  Only slightly different from last week's journey of 30km at 24km/hour
Maybe.

I was missing Auntie Gwen who hasn't put finger to keyboard for ages it seems.  So I sent her a text to find out what was going on.  Evidently her broadband is supplied by her company, and they have banned her blog.  Too much porn and fecking (which is one and the same really). Poor Auntie Gwen...I hope she finds a way round it - I would suggest a proxy server, but don't really know what that means or how to go about it.....

After a bit of a lull, our busy social life has begun to pick up again.  Friday night we went to see Florence and The Machine.  The last time we tried that, it nearly ended up in tears as the tickets we had been sent were forgeries...it was only through the sterling efforts of the ticketing agency that we managed to get new ones and got to enjoy a brilliant show.  This time it was easier...did I get them through American Express, I may have done, it was certainly without problems.  We four went with The Spanish Girl and her husband and went for a delicious meal first.  I'm not sure that fine dining really goes with a gig, but hey ho.  She was performing at Ally Pally, which if you've never been to is an absolutely splendid place with one of the best views of London you can imagine.  She performed brilliantly, faultlessly with a band that included a string section and a chorus.  We weren't as near to the front as I'm used to...but the days when it was just The Boy and I and we would arrive early and shoulder our way to the front are long gone, but standing on tip-toe we could generally see her (well I would have been able to if I'd brought my glasses).  Amazingly she still comes across as a rather pleasant girl from suburbia.



On Saturday, whilst The Boy went off on an inter-school United Nations event  The Cat's Mother and I went off to the big shopping centre at Westfield Stratford...which was the sort of mindless exercise we needed being so tired that we could have spent the whole day asleep.  The only thing to report from there is that SHE wouldn't allow me to buy a new camera, which seems quite harsh following on as it does from being told not to buy a new motorbike.  I'm feeling hard done by, but less broke than I would if I'd been encouraged.  Although The Boy didn't fully explain it, the event he was at was one where several schools get together to discuss matters of international interest.  The Boy was representing the USA, which was always going to be an uphill challenge.  Everyone is supposed to follow the views of the country they are representing.  We received some interesting texts from him during the course of the day including "Don't they understand, the USA has a hangover" and "China and N Korea are knobs".  Anyway, fortunately World War Three was narrowly avoided, even if the world order seemed to have changed - which included Portugal supporting North Korea, and some inappropriate and quite undiplomatic advances from Mexico.

Yesterday was spent at an Edwardian breakfast.  And it was a fair reflection of those times that it started at midday.  Whether it was authentic I have no idea.  I do know it was scrummy.  There were around thirty of us at Butchers Farm.  Which is owned by a baker.  There was no sign of the candlestick maker.  Breakfast consisted of:
Grapefruit (with red wine)
Porridge (with whisky)
Kedgeree (with white wine)
Eggs, bacon, sausages, black pudding, baked beans potato fritters, tomato (with port)
Pastries (with cognac)

As the clearing up started, the boys all plonked themselves in front of the TV to pass judgement on the English team and the French-speaking Irish ref.  Their view of the French team was decided long before kick-off.  The wine flowed throughout, especially as it was a nail biting game.  No wonder we were poured into the taxi at the end of it.

Sat here at my desk on Monday morning, I'm feeling weary.....and no wonder.  Oh, have I said that already?

Give me your answer do....

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.

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....!

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.

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

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.....

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.

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.

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 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 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

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

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.

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