We have some new faces in the office...in fact so many that I have been squashed into the corner and barely have the courage to poke my head out from behind my computer monitor. I feel you should be introduced...although I've not yet worked out their foibles, so giving them names may be a mistake.
Firstly we have The Apprentice. She's a feisty young spirit from Croydon, who seems to be a quick learner and will soon be a fearsome opponent for anyone who messes her around on the other end of the phone.
Then we have Mrs Mop. She likes the place tidy, and is happy to fill the dishwasher with the dishes and mugs that would normally spend several weeks getting grimier and grimier until the mould sprouted and they would walk around by themselves.
Next is WAG. Yes she does indeed come from Essex and is blond. But she's not perma-tanned, nor is she dripping in gold and designer labels.
The Omen. Actually he's been around for a while, and only comes in occasionally. When he's not doing double entry book keeping, he's learning to be a chiropodist. I think.
The Bishop. She's lovely, quite gently, and her husband is currently treading the boards with the RSC in Stratford. Her only peccadillo that I can fathom so far is her worry that the filter in the kettle needs to be changed more regularly....she thinks algae will grow and we will all die a horrible slow death on the floor of the office writhing in agony. She went and bought a new one, even though we have a box of a dozen sitting in the cupboard.
So a new cast, and I hope they get up to all sorts. None of the names are meant to be derogatory in any way, quite the opposite in fact. There's a busy, buzzy atmosphere here now which is lovely, and it's super to have them here.
I wonder what they think of me?
Thursday, 11 April 2013
Wednesday, 10 April 2013
Together
Technology is giving me headaches.
The email on my phone corrupted this week, and as having email wherever I am is important to my job I needed to do something about it. Repairing the email didn't seem possible even after an extensive search of the interweb, so I had to download a whole new application...and then work out the settings. Pleased I managed it, but what a time waster.
In updating my laptop, Photoshop stopped working...I needed to re-register it I was told. But the online registration wouldn't work, and after several attempts at calling adobe and being told my wait was "less than two hours" I've given up. I'd been sent some photo editing software for me to review on the blog, but the PR never managed to get in contact to show me how to use it, so it's been sat idle for a few months. However, I was a bit desperate so I've started fiddling and am beginning to work my way around it...it is remarkably complicated and not in anyway intuitive (but then neither is Photoshop), but I'm getting there. Slowly. The first photo has been worked on so that you can see everyone on the back row...it looks a bit artificial, but at least it's there.
And well done to Hippo for working out the comment issue...you are a determined man indeed!
This has turned into a week of reunions.
The consequence of last nights one being the most stonking hangover I've had for many a year. It was the annual reunion of my friends from school. We're a mixed bunch...amongst us was someone who drives a white van and repairs garage doors, one a £1 million a year city financier, one a two-times BAFTA award winner, a GP, and the mother of a former drug addict. It makes for an eclectic conversation, so no wonder bottles and bottles of white wine were consumed.
The day before was the family gathering, again an annual event. We met up at a restaurant that I hadn't been to for 45 years (I would guess). It was a lovely event with an age range from less than ten all the way up to just short of a century. Seeing all our family together is such a privilege even though we were struggling to work out whether we were second cousins, first cousins twice removed...does anyone know how that all works? And how fortunate we were that the sun came out. Lovely.
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And tonight we're off to see a friend who I met during the Olympics...we became best buddies throughout the rehearsals. As we're men, it's taken us this long to get our act together and meet up. I'm very much looking forward to it...but wonder whether it might be like those marvellous people you meet on holiday who just seem different when you are in a different environment...I hope not; I expect it will be fun
The email on my phone corrupted this week, and as having email wherever I am is important to my job I needed to do something about it. Repairing the email didn't seem possible even after an extensive search of the interweb, so I had to download a whole new application...and then work out the settings. Pleased I managed it, but what a time waster.
In updating my laptop, Photoshop stopped working...I needed to re-register it I was told. But the online registration wouldn't work, and after several attempts at calling adobe and being told my wait was "less than two hours" I've given up. I'd been sent some photo editing software for me to review on the blog, but the PR never managed to get in contact to show me how to use it, so it's been sat idle for a few months. However, I was a bit desperate so I've started fiddling and am beginning to work my way around it...it is remarkably complicated and not in anyway intuitive (but then neither is Photoshop), but I'm getting there. Slowly. The first photo has been worked on so that you can see everyone on the back row...it looks a bit artificial, but at least it's there.
And well done to Hippo for working out the comment issue...you are a determined man indeed!
This has turned into a week of reunions.
The consequence of last nights one being the most stonking hangover I've had for many a year. It was the annual reunion of my friends from school. We're a mixed bunch...amongst us was someone who drives a white van and repairs garage doors, one a £1 million a year city financier, one a two-times BAFTA award winner, a GP, and the mother of a former drug addict. It makes for an eclectic conversation, so no wonder bottles and bottles of white wine were consumed.
The day before was the family gathering, again an annual event. We met up at a restaurant that I hadn't been to for 45 years (I would guess). It was a lovely event with an age range from less than ten all the way up to just short of a century. Seeing all our family together is such a privilege even though we were struggling to work out whether we were second cousins, first cousins twice removed...does anyone know how that all works? And how fortunate we were that the sun came out. Lovely.
.jpg)
And tonight we're off to see a friend who I met during the Olympics...we became best buddies throughout the rehearsals. As we're men, it's taken us this long to get our act together and meet up. I'm very much looking forward to it...but wonder whether it might be like those marvellous people you meet on holiday who just seem different when you are in a different environment...I hope not; I expect it will be fun
Tuesday, 9 April 2013
No comment
I managed to miss a crucial event...well not crucial, just an important milestone for The Boy last month. He led the biennial review of the School's CCF. As with all things military, it was full of pomp and circumstance. I'm very proud of his achievement - he won two awards for his leadership and that shows a strength which will see him through life I hope. On the other hand, I retain the fear he may end up with a military career...it would break my heart and those of his family too. Difficult.
It is an enormous risk to step into the discussions about Margaret Thatcher...so I won't. In the last 24 hours I have seen a torrent of uneducated, ignorant comment - both for and against her. But I will say that to see people dancing and celebrating her death is unseemly. They should be ashamed. Death is a terrible thing, particularly for those close to the person who has died. We have all experienced the death of someone close at some stage in our lives, and I am sure would be distressed if we thought that people had cracked open the champagne to celebrate their passing...what if it happened to us...I'm sure we've all offended and upset people as we travel through life. For me, the best thing I've read so far was from the BBC "It is astonishing to think that when Margaret Thatcher first joined the Cabinet in 1970, the Wimpy hamburger chain still banned women from coming in late on their own on the bizarre grounds that only prostitutes would be out at that time of night."
Talking of uninformed comment, we went to see 'Oz, the great and powerful' at the weekend. I'm glad we could see a children's film without the children in tow. It's dangerous, as the makers knew, to go anywhere near the sacred Wizard of Oz, so they must have known the claws would be out. Surprisingly, the cinema was pretty full on a Saturday evening - not bad for a children's film.
We enjoyed it...in fact, the opening scenes, in black and white, are fabulous, capturing the essence of the original perfectly...beautifully filmed and produced, the acting is pretty good too. Of course, as we moved into Oz, the screen erupted into the bright colours of the fantastical land. It tells a good tale, the vivid colours serve the film well and the plot is pretty good...not bad considering you know the ending from the outset. Or at least you should. On the downside, I think today's over-produced films can feel a tad sterile and unemotional, and that was the case here, and it would have been well served by some judicious editing. But huge fun, worth a visit...and an encouragement to see 'Wicked' on stage if you haven't done so already.
And the bad reviews? The worst one was from The Guardian:
"It does have flying monkeys and the Munchkins, but crucially it lacks Dorothy and Toto; the Cowardly Lion, the Tin Man and the Scarecrow; songs by Harold Arlen and Yip Harburg; and Margaret Hamilton either on a bike or a broomstick."
In other words, it's not the Wizard of Oz...no, it was never meant to be!
It is an enormous risk to step into the discussions about Margaret Thatcher...so I won't. In the last 24 hours I have seen a torrent of uneducated, ignorant comment - both for and against her. But I will say that to see people dancing and celebrating her death is unseemly. They should be ashamed. Death is a terrible thing, particularly for those close to the person who has died. We have all experienced the death of someone close at some stage in our lives, and I am sure would be distressed if we thought that people had cracked open the champagne to celebrate their passing...what if it happened to us...I'm sure we've all offended and upset people as we travel through life. For me, the best thing I've read so far was from the BBC "It is astonishing to think that when Margaret Thatcher first joined the Cabinet in 1970, the Wimpy hamburger chain still banned women from coming in late on their own on the bizarre grounds that only prostitutes would be out at that time of night."
Talking of uninformed comment, we went to see 'Oz, the great and powerful' at the weekend. I'm glad we could see a children's film without the children in tow. It's dangerous, as the makers knew, to go anywhere near the sacred Wizard of Oz, so they must have known the claws would be out. Surprisingly, the cinema was pretty full on a Saturday evening - not bad for a children's film.
We enjoyed it...in fact, the opening scenes, in black and white, are fabulous, capturing the essence of the original perfectly...beautifully filmed and produced, the acting is pretty good too. Of course, as we moved into Oz, the screen erupted into the bright colours of the fantastical land. It tells a good tale, the vivid colours serve the film well and the plot is pretty good...not bad considering you know the ending from the outset. Or at least you should. On the downside, I think today's over-produced films can feel a tad sterile and unemotional, and that was the case here, and it would have been well served by some judicious editing. But huge fun, worth a visit...and an encouragement to see 'Wicked' on stage if you haven't done so already.
And the bad reviews? The worst one was from The Guardian:
"It does have flying monkeys and the Munchkins, but crucially it lacks Dorothy and Toto; the Cowardly Lion, the Tin Man and the Scarecrow; songs by Harold Arlen and Yip Harburg; and Margaret Hamilton either on a bike or a broomstick."
In other words, it's not the Wizard of Oz...no, it was never meant to be!
Friday, 5 April 2013
Woof, woof, time to brew up
It may be barking mad...it's certainly not 1st April...but one of my friends has come up with this lovely idea to give your pooch a healthy treat...we don't have a dog, sadly, but if you do and would like to try a herbal tea for yours, just e-mail me on bradstockboys@hotmail.com or leave your details in the comments section below. You can buy them here
Thursday, 4 April 2013
Only in Brighton
The home of the weird and the wonderful (click to enlarge)
Meanwhile in France, the terrific Alex Casey who taught The Boy to ski has been arrested and thrown into a police cell for teaching whilst unlicensed. He's been teaching for a decade and a half, but the French have decided to enact a law that mean his qualifications no longer count. Half the French instructors of the local ski school are also, therefore, unqualified too, but have not been arrested and marched off the slopes in handcuffs. Some would call it protectionsim, others would say it's just the French being French. C'est la vie. You can read about it here
Meanwhile in France, the terrific Alex Casey who taught The Boy to ski has been arrested and thrown into a police cell for teaching whilst unlicensed. He's been teaching for a decade and a half, but the French have decided to enact a law that mean his qualifications no longer count. Half the French instructors of the local ski school are also, therefore, unqualified too, but have not been arrested and marched off the slopes in handcuffs. Some would call it protectionsim, others would say it's just the French being French. C'est la vie. You can read about it here
Wednesday, 3 April 2013
Blown by Alice
I have a cold. It came on yesterday, and like a good and proper man I am full of misery and near death. This may be my last post. I'm looking for sympathy if you don't mind.
Grandma in Cyprus will for a short period be Grandma in Cyprus Not In Cyprus again. She's arriving today for a couple of weeks. Why on earth anyone would want to willingly leave the sunny sandy shores of bankrupt Cyprus for the frozen, miserable landscape of Albion is beyond me. Surely it can't be because she wants to see her family? Anyway, it will come as a shock to her, as she now finds 20 degrees cold. We have a big Bradstock family gathering on Monday...around twenty of us with a combined age of more than 1500 years. I'm looking forward to seeing everyone again.
I'm all in favour of making sure that benefits only go to people who deserve state support, but Iain Duncan-Smith (our local MP) has made a total arse of himself suggesting that he could live on £53/week. So if you haven't done it yet, please sign this petition which encourages him to do exactly that. A friend of ours that knows has seen the break down of how social security payments are spent and tells me that actually most of the money goes to people who are employed, but not fully or at a low wage, rather than the unemployed. So perhaps the solution to the problem doesn't lie with the 'scroungers' but with the corporates and the government establishment. And this all on the day where it's been revealed the banks have been given another £1billion tax break to help them through choppy times.
Coincidentally, I see there's a new survey of social class. I do find these things both tiresome and at the same time completely irresistible. So I had to complete the BBC quiz here to find out which class I fit into. I'm not saying where I ended up, but you are all plebs and I demand to be allowed to take my bicycle through the main gates. Perhaps if as a nation we could put aside the idea of class, that would be a better way of encouraging equality. Just a thought.
Last night we went off to see more poofs in tights*. As you must know by now, I love dance as an art form, and ballet is the finest form of dance. IMHO. We were able to combine my love of dance with The Cat's Mother's love of Alice in Wonderland which was being performed at the Royal Opera House. It was simply beautiful, stunning, wonderful and amazing. The imagination that has gone into creating Alice's Adventures is breathtaking. If you can beg, steal or borrow a ticket, please do, you'll be amazed. Failing that it may well be playing at your local cinema as a simul-cast I think. Failing that buy the DVD. One remarkable evening.
*yes, sorry, it's post-modern-ironic humour, which some may rightly find offensive
Grandma in Cyprus will for a short period be Grandma in Cyprus Not In Cyprus again. She's arriving today for a couple of weeks. Why on earth anyone would want to willingly leave the sunny sandy shores of bankrupt Cyprus for the frozen, miserable landscape of Albion is beyond me. Surely it can't be because she wants to see her family? Anyway, it will come as a shock to her, as she now finds 20 degrees cold. We have a big Bradstock family gathering on Monday...around twenty of us with a combined age of more than 1500 years. I'm looking forward to seeing everyone again.
I'm all in favour of making sure that benefits only go to people who deserve state support, but Iain Duncan-Smith (our local MP) has made a total arse of himself suggesting that he could live on £53/week. So if you haven't done it yet, please sign this petition which encourages him to do exactly that. A friend of ours that knows has seen the break down of how social security payments are spent and tells me that actually most of the money goes to people who are employed, but not fully or at a low wage, rather than the unemployed. So perhaps the solution to the problem doesn't lie with the 'scroungers' but with the corporates and the government establishment. And this all on the day where it's been revealed the banks have been given another £1billion tax break to help them through choppy times.
Coincidentally, I see there's a new survey of social class. I do find these things both tiresome and at the same time completely irresistible. So I had to complete the BBC quiz here to find out which class I fit into. I'm not saying where I ended up, but you are all plebs and I demand to be allowed to take my bicycle through the main gates. Perhaps if as a nation we could put aside the idea of class, that would be a better way of encouraging equality. Just a thought.
Last night we went off to see more poofs in tights*. As you must know by now, I love dance as an art form, and ballet is the finest form of dance. IMHO. We were able to combine my love of dance with The Cat's Mother's love of Alice in Wonderland which was being performed at the Royal Opera House. It was simply beautiful, stunning, wonderful and amazing. The imagination that has gone into creating Alice's Adventures is breathtaking. If you can beg, steal or borrow a ticket, please do, you'll be amazed. Failing that it may well be playing at your local cinema as a simul-cast I think. Failing that buy the DVD. One remarkable evening.
*yes, sorry, it's post-modern-ironic humour, which some may rightly find offensive
Monday, 1 April 2013
Nothing
I had a phone call from Grandma in Cyprus. Was I still alive? She asked.
That's the trouble with taking a blogging holiday.
Not that I'd intended to take a short break, it just happened that way.
With the two teens safely despatched on the annual school skiing holiday (how come they get to go twice and I only manage once?), The Cat's Mother and I headed down to the beach.
Well, when I say we headed down to the beach, we headed to Brighton, through a snow storm, headed up the stairs and essentially locked the door on the outside world.
We've been saying recently how we do too much. Hardly able to catch our breath before moving onto the next fun filled evening. And whilst it is wonderful, it's exhausting, and perhaps it makes it just a little too easy to forget how lucky we are.
So there were jobs to be done around the flat. I knew that because The cat's Mother had written a list. Quite a long list actually. The main one was to sort out the library. Now doesn't that sound grand? In fact it's a room about the size of a kitchen table where we've just shoved a lot of books, and all sorts of other stuff that just didn't really belong anywhere. Ever since I bought the flat a quarter of a century ago, there has always been one room which is just full of stuff...this is the smallest space that 'stuff' has ever occupied. Anyway, we went at it, and over a couple of days managed to clear the floor and organise the shelves. It may now truly be called the library because books are all that are left in there. There's not so many now as there were. Most of the childrens' books have been donated to the local charity shops, a Debretts from 1983 has been properly recycled, and a while host of others, including some Jeffrey Archers (not sure how they got there - I met him once, truly the slimiest person I've ever come across) and other miscellaneous rubbish will be pulped and put to better use. There's one special book I've got to send to an old girlfriend. It's a book a Winnie the Pooh recipes. In it we found a postcard from her parents. And a photo of a naked man. It wasn't me. I've no idea who it is. But as it must be at least 25 years old, I'm guessing he looks a little different now.
It should have been a cheap week, but the blu-ray player that I bought a couple of years ago and have used probably no more than a dozen times refused to work. That meant one evening we crammed into the 'games room' - yep that's the one with the Playstation in and also the size of a kitchen table to watch a very entertaining film 'Unknown' with Liam Neeson. I'm not aware that he's ever made a decent film, but they're all pretty entertaining. This one involves a man who after he travels to Berlin is in a car accident and when he comes round and goes in search of his wife who also travelled with him finds that not only does she deny she knows him, but also has a replacement husband in tow. Buy it from your local video store for £3.99, it's money well spent. the next day we went out and bought a new blu-ray player...this one's a Sony and I'm hoping might last a wee bit longer.
I'd been invited to the launch of the paperback edition of 'Over the Rainbow' by Paul Pickering. As we were away I couldn't make it. A real shame, I would have loved to have attended. This is another thing you should definitely spend your money on. It's a fabulous read. And so it should be as it manages to combine The Wizard of Oz, the Taleban and Afghanistan all on the same pages. That is no mean feat.
As I read 'Over the Rainbow' so quickly, that means I have a free evening to try and catch up with all the blogs I've missed over the last week or so.
There was one other thing I did in Brighton, it was cathartic. Amazingly so. I can't tell you about it for another month. Don't forget to remind me.
And on a sadder note, the passing of Richard Griffiths. A truly fantastic actor, and one who particularly despised mobile phones. We saw him last year in The Sunshine Boys with Danny DeVito. I thought his performance in The History Boys was beyond compare. So if you didn't see it at the cinema, haven't caught doing the rounds of the regional theatres, go buy the DVD.
That's the trouble with taking a blogging holiday.
Not that I'd intended to take a short break, it just happened that way.
With the two teens safely despatched on the annual school skiing holiday (how come they get to go twice and I only manage once?), The Cat's Mother and I headed down to the beach.
Well, when I say we headed down to the beach, we headed to Brighton, through a snow storm, headed up the stairs and essentially locked the door on the outside world.
We've been saying recently how we do too much. Hardly able to catch our breath before moving onto the next fun filled evening. And whilst it is wonderful, it's exhausting, and perhaps it makes it just a little too easy to forget how lucky we are.
So there were jobs to be done around the flat. I knew that because The cat's Mother had written a list. Quite a long list actually. The main one was to sort out the library. Now doesn't that sound grand? In fact it's a room about the size of a kitchen table where we've just shoved a lot of books, and all sorts of other stuff that just didn't really belong anywhere. Ever since I bought the flat a quarter of a century ago, there has always been one room which is just full of stuff...this is the smallest space that 'stuff' has ever occupied. Anyway, we went at it, and over a couple of days managed to clear the floor and organise the shelves. It may now truly be called the library because books are all that are left in there. There's not so many now as there were. Most of the childrens' books have been donated to the local charity shops, a Debretts from 1983 has been properly recycled, and a while host of others, including some Jeffrey Archers (not sure how they got there - I met him once, truly the slimiest person I've ever come across) and other miscellaneous rubbish will be pulped and put to better use. There's one special book I've got to send to an old girlfriend. It's a book a Winnie the Pooh recipes. In it we found a postcard from her parents. And a photo of a naked man. It wasn't me. I've no idea who it is. But as it must be at least 25 years old, I'm guessing he looks a little different now.
It should have been a cheap week, but the blu-ray player that I bought a couple of years ago and have used probably no more than a dozen times refused to work. That meant one evening we crammed into the 'games room' - yep that's the one with the Playstation in and also the size of a kitchen table to watch a very entertaining film 'Unknown' with Liam Neeson. I'm not aware that he's ever made a decent film, but they're all pretty entertaining. This one involves a man who after he travels to Berlin is in a car accident and when he comes round and goes in search of his wife who also travelled with him finds that not only does she deny she knows him, but also has a replacement husband in tow. Buy it from your local video store for £3.99, it's money well spent. the next day we went out and bought a new blu-ray player...this one's a Sony and I'm hoping might last a wee bit longer.
I'd been invited to the launch of the paperback edition of 'Over the Rainbow' by Paul Pickering. As we were away I couldn't make it. A real shame, I would have loved to have attended. This is another thing you should definitely spend your money on. It's a fabulous read. And so it should be as it manages to combine The Wizard of Oz, the Taleban and Afghanistan all on the same pages. That is no mean feat.
As I read 'Over the Rainbow' so quickly, that means I have a free evening to try and catch up with all the blogs I've missed over the last week or so.
There was one other thing I did in Brighton, it was cathartic. Amazingly so. I can't tell you about it for another month. Don't forget to remind me.
And on a sadder note, the passing of Richard Griffiths. A truly fantastic actor, and one who particularly despised mobile phones. We saw him last year in The Sunshine Boys with Danny DeVito. I thought his performance in The History Boys was beyond compare. So if you didn't see it at the cinema, haven't caught doing the rounds of the regional theatres, go buy the DVD.
Friday, 22 March 2013
Rotten Apple
A short post just to get something off my chest.
The Boy's computer - an Apple MacBook has gone wrong for the second time in three months.
The last time they replaced the hard drive, and it has the same problem again. The first time it died, I bought him a back-up drive because nothing had been backed-up...only to discover that he had one already but had just never used it. This time there is still no back up, and the computer contains his 'A' Level course work as well as the video from our last skiing holiday. The Boy is an idiot. I had told him that he MUST back everything up. As a teenager, I can only guess whether he;s just too lazy or thinks he knows best.
But that is not the point of my little venting of spleen. When I took the computer to the Apple shop, they did agree to replace the disk. They have to, it's still under warranty. They even offered to let me have the broken hard-drive back. But they refused to recover the information on it. That'll be the 'A' level course work. They say it's not their responsibility. I say they have both a legal responsibility because it's consequential damage, they deny it. When I say 'they', I mean the shop manager 'Elissa' and her hidden bosses. Worse still, they refuse to repair the machine at all because I won't sign their terms and conditions which specifically exclude data recovery. I may be on my high horse, but I think they are legally required to repair the computer and I'm not obliged to sign onerous T&Cs. They promised to e-mail me with a way forward. They haven't. The cost of recovering data I'm told could be anywhere between £300 and £3000. That's a lot.
I can't say I've ever been a fan of Apple...I've never bought one of their products for myself. I like the way they look, but have always had a feeling there's something quite Big Brother about the company and the way they operate. I'm not anti...just not bothered one way or another.
And I can't help feel that their 'fanboys' are blind devotees of a cult. Cults are never a good thing.
In this case, they clearly don't care about a customer, or that their product is faulty.
So what do I do?
Do I take them to court?
Or do I bow down, remove my trousers and let them shaft me from behind?
The Boy's computer - an Apple MacBook has gone wrong for the second time in three months.
The last time they replaced the hard drive, and it has the same problem again. The first time it died, I bought him a back-up drive because nothing had been backed-up...only to discover that he had one already but had just never used it. This time there is still no back up, and the computer contains his 'A' Level course work as well as the video from our last skiing holiday. The Boy is an idiot. I had told him that he MUST back everything up. As a teenager, I can only guess whether he;s just too lazy or thinks he knows best.
But that is not the point of my little venting of spleen. When I took the computer to the Apple shop, they did agree to replace the disk. They have to, it's still under warranty. They even offered to let me have the broken hard-drive back. But they refused to recover the information on it. That'll be the 'A' level course work. They say it's not their responsibility. I say they have both a legal responsibility because it's consequential damage, they deny it. When I say 'they', I mean the shop manager 'Elissa' and her hidden bosses. Worse still, they refuse to repair the machine at all because I won't sign their terms and conditions which specifically exclude data recovery. I may be on my high horse, but I think they are legally required to repair the computer and I'm not obliged to sign onerous T&Cs. They promised to e-mail me with a way forward. They haven't. The cost of recovering data I'm told could be anywhere between £300 and £3000. That's a lot.
I can't say I've ever been a fan of Apple...I've never bought one of their products for myself. I like the way they look, but have always had a feeling there's something quite Big Brother about the company and the way they operate. I'm not anti...just not bothered one way or another.
And I can't help feel that their 'fanboys' are blind devotees of a cult. Cults are never a good thing.
In this case, they clearly don't care about a customer, or that their product is faulty.
So what do I do?
Do I take them to court?
Or do I bow down, remove my trousers and let them shaft me from behind?
Wednesday, 20 March 2013
Completely Bent
I've reached that time of life (you may notice that is a bit of a theme at the moment) when many of my male friends and acquaintances have abandoned their wives of many years standing and taken up with a young filly. Many is a bit of an exaggeration A few is an understatement. Some doesn't do the numbers justice. Of these rather too obvious middle-aged men, a number have chosen to procreate, thus creating yet more overly-complicated family relationships that typify modern western democracies. I don't entirely blame the men as I remember when I was single at the wrong age, I kept meeting attractive young ladies who were clearly on a mission to start a family. None the less I cannot avoid feeling that the men are the dumb ones. Who at an age when you want a decent nights sleep chooses to have a baby? I've held this view for many years, as I remember when The Boy was a smiling, giggling, round-faced baby often spending my days in a semi-comatose state due to over-tiredness.
This morning those memories were brought back into sharp focus. The Boy was ill last night, and he was puking up every house. I felt it appropriate for me to get up and sympathise everytime he wretched, so whilst I don't have the screamingly painful stomach he has, I can barely keep my eyes open, can't focus on the task in hand and feel curiously detached from the world. Which is not good when I've got a ton of work to plough through. So absolutely no more babies for me. Ever. The Cat's Mother will be pleased.
Before I got home for my very disturbed night, I has been in Windsor, specifically at The Firestation Theatre with two more characters... Hereford Man and Ski Girl. I met them when The Boy was just tiny and we've been good if not close friends. He has two daughters who are at Exeter University, and she has a decade old daughter. I'd been invited to see the new show by Lee Nelson. I'd never heard of him, but took up the offer, on the basis that once before I'd invited Hereford Man to the Foo Fighters only for him to announce at the end of the show that he'd never heard of them. Wow. There's an odd logic there somewhere.
I arrived a little early and sat quietly playing on my phone in the bar whilst supping a Guinness. That is until a woman decided to strike up a conversation with me. I can tell you she came from Milton Keynes, has been trawling the internet for interesting things to do and that she was staying in a bed and breakfast round the corner. She could tell you precisely nothing about me. Eventually my friends arrived, and rescued me. That didn't stop them ribbing me for pulling. Milton Keynes woman didn't quite disappear out of my life though as she was one of those audience members that enjoyed participating in the show by shouting out at regular intervals. Eventually, during the second half, she moved down to the front row to get closer to Mr Nelson. I can't tell you how nervous he suddenly became. It's a very small theatre with the audience and performer separated by about a metre or may be two. The words 'stalker' and 'bunny boiler' came to mind. Anyway he was quite funny...although the photos of a man having sex with a horse and infected genitals were not to everyone's taste. Including mine. With a degree of inevitability I was picked on (yep it happens too much for comfort), but I survived quite well, unlike the lad after me who had his testicles squeezed. Comedians are an odd bunch these days. This one had evidently been arrested at a football match the other day in his guise as 'Jason Bent footballer'.
This morning those memories were brought back into sharp focus. The Boy was ill last night, and he was puking up every house. I felt it appropriate for me to get up and sympathise everytime he wretched, so whilst I don't have the screamingly painful stomach he has, I can barely keep my eyes open, can't focus on the task in hand and feel curiously detached from the world. Which is not good when I've got a ton of work to plough through. So absolutely no more babies for me. Ever. The Cat's Mother will be pleased.
Before I got home for my very disturbed night, I has been in Windsor, specifically at The Firestation Theatre with two more characters... Hereford Man and Ski Girl. I met them when The Boy was just tiny and we've been good if not close friends. He has two daughters who are at Exeter University, and she has a decade old daughter. I'd been invited to see the new show by Lee Nelson. I'd never heard of him, but took up the offer, on the basis that once before I'd invited Hereford Man to the Foo Fighters only for him to announce at the end of the show that he'd never heard of them. Wow. There's an odd logic there somewhere.
I arrived a little early and sat quietly playing on my phone in the bar whilst supping a Guinness. That is until a woman decided to strike up a conversation with me. I can tell you she came from Milton Keynes, has been trawling the internet for interesting things to do and that she was staying in a bed and breakfast round the corner. She could tell you precisely nothing about me. Eventually my friends arrived, and rescued me. That didn't stop them ribbing me for pulling. Milton Keynes woman didn't quite disappear out of my life though as she was one of those audience members that enjoyed participating in the show by shouting out at regular intervals. Eventually, during the second half, she moved down to the front row to get closer to Mr Nelson. I can't tell you how nervous he suddenly became. It's a very small theatre with the audience and performer separated by about a metre or may be two. The words 'stalker' and 'bunny boiler' came to mind. Anyway he was quite funny...although the photos of a man having sex with a horse and infected genitals were not to everyone's taste. Including mine. With a degree of inevitability I was picked on (yep it happens too much for comfort), but I survived quite well, unlike the lad after me who had his testicles squeezed. Comedians are an odd bunch these days. This one had evidently been arrested at a football match the other day in his guise as 'Jason Bent footballer'.
Tuesday, 19 March 2013
St Patricks Day
Whilst I regularly hear cries of 'Bugger Blogger', I rarely hear 'Darned Disqus', but that may be the cri de coeur this week.
Whether I wanted it or not, Disqus decided last week to 'upgrade' me to the latest version....I was afreared of problems, so not entirely surprised when Hippo said he could no longer comment. I seem to remember that was a problem once before, and the only solution was to turn the damned thing off. As I mentioned in the past, I only included Disqus by mistake in the first place, so it's no big deal, except that I will lose all the comments that have been published...and that's a bigger deal. But needs must. Just as soon as I've worked out how to do it. It will also mean that I lose the brand new 'whats on around the web' feature which they kindly included as a gesture of unfathomable kindness and generosity.
I'm looking a little bedraggled at the moment. As I get older, my sleep gets more and more disturbed...so high on my list of things I would wish from a genie would be a good nights sleep.
The four of us went off to the totally incredible Wiltons Music Hall on Friday night. It is the most remarkable place, and you do get to step back in history when you go in, so if you're in London make a detour and pay it a visit. And do donate because it's still short of funds. We were there to see a musical re-working of The Great Gatsby. It's a book I've never read, but the offspring have studied at school. I've only see the film about thirty years ago I would guess and had forgotten the story line. Anyway a play that's full of deeply unpleasant characters. Apart from Nick who's a lovely fellow. In the play if not in the book. Not only was the thing belted out with aplomb, but there was also much audience participation ..the actors mingled before the performance and during the interval...we all got to have a great sing along around the piano, and then returned to the auditorium where we got to dance on the stage.....
Saturday was bucket game night...names of the famous and not so famous are dropped into a bucket and the rest have to guess who it is. This time there were three rounds...first the general guessing game, then a sort of charades version, then you could only say one word to describe the character. It's a game the Cat's Mother and her friends have played all their lives. I'm a recent introduction to it. They love it, I loathe it. A good time was had by all, and in the tradition of the game, the boys team beat the girl's team...as they always do.
And Sunday was St Patrick's Day. This is a day when I recognise my Irish Grandfather and can also mention that I've been to St Patrick's grave. That gives me all the cred I need to participate in the celebrations. As usual in London, there's a big parade, and the Olympic volunteers were there in force. This time we had a roll of grass to carry as well. It was a jolly day and even the rain couldn't take the shine off it.
Whether I wanted it or not, Disqus decided last week to 'upgrade' me to the latest version....I was afreared of problems, so not entirely surprised when Hippo said he could no longer comment. I seem to remember that was a problem once before, and the only solution was to turn the damned thing off. As I mentioned in the past, I only included Disqus by mistake in the first place, so it's no big deal, except that I will lose all the comments that have been published...and that's a bigger deal. But needs must. Just as soon as I've worked out how to do it. It will also mean that I lose the brand new 'whats on around the web' feature which they kindly included as a gesture of unfathomable kindness and generosity.
I'm looking a little bedraggled at the moment. As I get older, my sleep gets more and more disturbed...so high on my list of things I would wish from a genie would be a good nights sleep.
The four of us went off to the totally incredible Wiltons Music Hall on Friday night. It is the most remarkable place, and you do get to step back in history when you go in, so if you're in London make a detour and pay it a visit. And do donate because it's still short of funds. We were there to see a musical re-working of The Great Gatsby. It's a book I've never read, but the offspring have studied at school. I've only see the film about thirty years ago I would guess and had forgotten the story line. Anyway a play that's full of deeply unpleasant characters. Apart from Nick who's a lovely fellow. In the play if not in the book. Not only was the thing belted out with aplomb, but there was also much audience participation ..the actors mingled before the performance and during the interval...we all got to have a great sing along around the piano, and then returned to the auditorium where we got to dance on the stage.....
Saturday was bucket game night...names of the famous and not so famous are dropped into a bucket and the rest have to guess who it is. This time there were three rounds...first the general guessing game, then a sort of charades version, then you could only say one word to describe the character. It's a game the Cat's Mother and her friends have played all their lives. I'm a recent introduction to it. They love it, I loathe it. A good time was had by all, and in the tradition of the game, the boys team beat the girl's team...as they always do.
And Sunday was St Patrick's Day. This is a day when I recognise my Irish Grandfather and can also mention that I've been to St Patrick's grave. That gives me all the cred I need to participate in the celebrations. As usual in London, there's a big parade, and the Olympic volunteers were there in force. This time we had a roll of grass to carry as well. It was a jolly day and even the rain couldn't take the shine off it.
Monday, 18 March 2013
Stealing from the poor to pay the rich
This is a year of great change at home.
The two offspring will disappear from home during the summer. The Cat will go off to a university, yet to be decided. The Boy is having a 'gap yah', some of which at least will be spent partying and instructing in the ski resort.
The Cat's Mother and I will be empty nesters. It's a big house, we'll rattle around.
Oddly, I have been pigeon-hold as a 'Daddy Blogger' by various media lists, but as it is The Boy's 18th birthday in May, my days as a Daddy Blogger are numbered. I never really understood how or why I was on those lists...after all I've never given a parenting tip in my life. Well not a decent one anyway. So I wonder how I will be re-categorised. Perhaps I won't. I don't much mind.
At the same time I've decided to give up membership of my professional body...yes after 25 years of being a Certified PR man, I will just be a consultant. I was hoping I would get fireworks and a gold watch, but I've not even had a response to my not of resignation. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, I've never been that comfortable with people who bend the truth to earn their crust because almost to a man and woman they are shallow, unthinking and uncaring. I thought I might do a top ten worst PRs, but really the worst are so hideous I can't bear to type their names....and by naming only ten I would be missing the hundreds that are guilty of distorting the truth day in day out A special mention should go to Alistair Campbell whose manipulations Beelzebub would be proud of...he was being featured on a repeat of Top Gear last week, and I just had to walk out the room.
There is one PR man I like though
The news that Cyprus is being bailed out should be good news, but in fact it has sent shock waves around the world. I'm sure you've read about it.
The principle that individuals that have deposited money in banks should not be penalised has become well established since the start of the financial crisis. This has been an important principle in helping restore confidence.
But in the case of Cyprus, a tiny little country with a tiny little economy, the jack-booted financial institutions have decided that it is the people who must pay for the follies of the banking sector. We've all suffered from the reckless negligence of the bankers, but in this case the knife has been stuck in and twisted and twisted. There's no real reason for this deal to have been done like this other than the suggestion that it will secure some Russian money which has been illegally salted away in Cyprus. In truth there's a big question as to whether that money is there anyway. And anyway that won't stop many, many not very well off people getting hit hard. There is a large ex-pat British crowd out there..Grandma and Grandpa in Cyprus are amongst them. In my experience these are not wealthy people who have salted away their millions, but rather hard working, often working class people, who have saved hard to be able to retire to the sun. They've suffered badly in the last few years as interest rates have plummeted, and as the value of sterling has collapsed causing their pensions to be worth less. Or do I mean worthless? The maths is simple. Imagine you've got £100,000 tucked away...that's a lot. But with today's interest rates, you'd be lucky to earn £3000 a year. Have you ever tried to live on that much? So, many of the ex-pats have taken up working in one way or another, but wages out there are not what they are here....not even close. So whilst they and the Cypriots get hammered, the sweet talking bankers continue to sun themselves on their yachts in the Mediterranean Nice. if you've got no conscience or moral fibre.
In the meantime, it looks as the deal may unwind and with it all the efforts that have been taken to prop up the European economy over the last several years. After all don't think that the snatching of private savers money will stop in Cyprus. The Greeks, the Spanish, the Irish, the Portuguese and the Italians will all be quaking in their boots today. And don't think that Britain is too far off either.
The conspiracy between the political and financial elite continues
The two offspring will disappear from home during the summer. The Cat will go off to a university, yet to be decided. The Boy is having a 'gap yah', some of which at least will be spent partying and instructing in the ski resort.
The Cat's Mother and I will be empty nesters. It's a big house, we'll rattle around.
Oddly, I have been pigeon-hold as a 'Daddy Blogger' by various media lists, but as it is The Boy's 18th birthday in May, my days as a Daddy Blogger are numbered. I never really understood how or why I was on those lists...after all I've never given a parenting tip in my life. Well not a decent one anyway. So I wonder how I will be re-categorised. Perhaps I won't. I don't much mind.
At the same time I've decided to give up membership of my professional body...yes after 25 years of being a Certified PR man, I will just be a consultant. I was hoping I would get fireworks and a gold watch, but I've not even had a response to my not of resignation. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, I've never been that comfortable with people who bend the truth to earn their crust because almost to a man and woman they are shallow, unthinking and uncaring. I thought I might do a top ten worst PRs, but really the worst are so hideous I can't bear to type their names....and by naming only ten I would be missing the hundreds that are guilty of distorting the truth day in day out A special mention should go to Alistair Campbell whose manipulations Beelzebub would be proud of...he was being featured on a repeat of Top Gear last week, and I just had to walk out the room.
There is one PR man I like though
The news that Cyprus is being bailed out should be good news, but in fact it has sent shock waves around the world. I'm sure you've read about it.
The principle that individuals that have deposited money in banks should not be penalised has become well established since the start of the financial crisis. This has been an important principle in helping restore confidence.
But in the case of Cyprus, a tiny little country with a tiny little economy, the jack-booted financial institutions have decided that it is the people who must pay for the follies of the banking sector. We've all suffered from the reckless negligence of the bankers, but in this case the knife has been stuck in and twisted and twisted. There's no real reason for this deal to have been done like this other than the suggestion that it will secure some Russian money which has been illegally salted away in Cyprus. In truth there's a big question as to whether that money is there anyway. And anyway that won't stop many, many not very well off people getting hit hard. There is a large ex-pat British crowd out there..Grandma and Grandpa in Cyprus are amongst them. In my experience these are not wealthy people who have salted away their millions, but rather hard working, often working class people, who have saved hard to be able to retire to the sun. They've suffered badly in the last few years as interest rates have plummeted, and as the value of sterling has collapsed causing their pensions to be worth less. Or do I mean worthless? The maths is simple. Imagine you've got £100,000 tucked away...that's a lot. But with today's interest rates, you'd be lucky to earn £3000 a year. Have you ever tried to live on that much? So, many of the ex-pats have taken up working in one way or another, but wages out there are not what they are here....not even close. So whilst they and the Cypriots get hammered, the sweet talking bankers continue to sun themselves on their yachts in the Mediterranean Nice. if you've got no conscience or moral fibre.
In the meantime, it looks as the deal may unwind and with it all the efforts that have been taken to prop up the European economy over the last several years. After all don't think that the snatching of private savers money will stop in Cyprus. The Greeks, the Spanish, the Irish, the Portuguese and the Italians will all be quaking in their boots today. And don't think that Britain is too far off either.
The conspiracy between the political and financial elite continues
Friday, 15 March 2013
It's all a bit fishy
I'm delighted to see royalty following in our footsteps. Well done Charles and Camilla...let me know if you want any more travel tips. Last year we headed off to Jordan, and prior to heading to Petra and The Dead Sea, we went to the fabulous Roman city of Jerash. The middle east is such a fascinating place to travel to...human history, from its beginnings can be found there. It is a shame that so much of it is unstable, and there is an overwhelming feeling that western governments are anxious to keep it that way - well done William Hague for arming rebels here there and everywhere; Al Qaeda was armed by the west and look what happened there.
Jerash is overwhelming - it is vast, and so much is still standing that you can almost feel and smell life as it used to be. Walking down the high street you can still see the multi-levelled shops, now empty of course. Much like our own high streets. I posted about Jordan here, and the first three shots were taken in Jerash. And here are some more:
Cameron is becoming more and more of a Conservative as he goes on. After God only knows how many hours and how much money was spent on the Leveson enquiry into press conduct, he has effectively dumped the whole report in the bin, told the Ed Miller Band to f*ck off, and put Cleggers back in his kennel. There will be a street party the length of Fleet Street tonight, and no doubt Murdoch and his minions will be piling up the cash for David's pay off. With Osborne unable to formulate any economic policy that in any way hurt his city paymasters, I'm anticipating a hot summer of riots.
In the meantime, I've been helping the economy by buying a new lens for my camera. Admittedly it wasn't actually made in the UK, but you can't have everything. I'll need a bit of practice to get the best out of it - a fisheye lens - but I quite like these...hoping to have some fun with it in the coming weeks!
Jerash is overwhelming - it is vast, and so much is still standing that you can almost feel and smell life as it used to be. Walking down the high street you can still see the multi-levelled shops, now empty of course. Much like our own high streets. I posted about Jordan here, and the first three shots were taken in Jerash. And here are some more:
Cameron is becoming more and more of a Conservative as he goes on. After God only knows how many hours and how much money was spent on the Leveson enquiry into press conduct, he has effectively dumped the whole report in the bin, told the Ed Miller Band to f*ck off, and put Cleggers back in his kennel. There will be a street party the length of Fleet Street tonight, and no doubt Murdoch and his minions will be piling up the cash for David's pay off. With Osborne unable to formulate any economic policy that in any way hurt his city paymasters, I'm anticipating a hot summer of riots.
In the meantime, I've been helping the economy by buying a new lens for my camera. Admittedly it wasn't actually made in the UK, but you can't have everything. I'll need a bit of practice to get the best out of it - a fisheye lens - but I quite like these...hoping to have some fun with it in the coming weeks!
Thursday, 14 March 2013
Nuts
Last night before we dined with Mr Walliams we went to a 'Promenade Performance' at Somerset House. The performance was 'In the beginning was the end'. Essentially, this is immersive and interactive theatre in the basement corridors of the building. It's the sort of conceptial theatrical bullshit that I love, and The CAt's Mother tolerates.
You don't get the programme until the end, so you have to work out what it's all about. We decided it was about the greed and cynicism of multinational corporations...a popular theme with me. But as it turns out, the concept came from Da Vinci who thought that mankind was obsessed with machinery. Which is odd, because I thought that was exactly what he was obsessed with. And somehow we missed John the Baptist. If you go you can make your own mind up. We were warned before we started our journey that there was male and female nudity. Hurrah, it's about time we didn't see something that was just todgers all over the place. And there were more naked women than men. But boohoo. Strangers nudity is fine when it's twenty metres away on the stage, but rather less comfortable when these folk pass within touching distance. Not that we did. Anyway, an experience, but perhaps it was all concept and no execution or artistry.
I'm always fascinated by the nuances of language.
Today, I had a problem because a package that should have been delivered hadn't arrived. When I called the supplier to find out what was going on they told me that it was because of the way I filled in the form. I explained quite politely that I could only fill in the form the way it was presented on my computer screen, so I couldn't accept any implication that I had done anything wrong. Indeed I was right the man admitted, the fault lay with their software and what was on screen hadn't translated into the right address label.
At the weekend The Cat managed to clip the curb with the car. She's been driving a short while and these things happen. I was told when I started riding a motorbike that it was inevitable that I would have an accident within six months. Indeed I did. So if this is The Cat's equivalent we have all been let off very lightly and should all be grateful. She was with El Bastardo*, but they were unable to put the spare on as they couldn't get the wheel nuts undone. The AA man came and (apparently) explained the wheel was rusted to the hub caps, and the only way to remove them was with a copper hammer because a normal one would shatter the bolts.
Now here comes the language thing again. The Cat's Mother got a text from El Bastardo saying with great authority that all the wheels should be checked because they were rusted in place, the nuts were seized and the only way to loosen them was with a copper hammer. No mention of the AA man. Written in a tone of great knowledge and authority. EB is a very, very, very successful man. And I think I understand why. Because he acquired the knowledge about the wheel, and now dispenses it as if it's his own.
If I had been in the same situation, I would have said, "The AA man told me that....." You can take it from that I am not very, very, very successful, but just as knowledgeable.
*I didn't include her father in my list of characters. This has to be said in a very heavy accent, and with a degree of humour. We bare no grudges.
On Saturday, I went on photographic course...hence the pictures this week. The best part was listening to two hours of our (French) tutor explaining the techniques of famous photographers. The worst part was the gut who kept answering his phone during those two hours. I don't know if it will do me any good, but it was an enjoyable way to spend a Saturday, and a good way to make me go out on to the streets and take some pictures.
This is what's known in our house as a 'tosser photo'
None of us on the course could really get this right...but it was fascinating to see this old pub being renovated whilst the ugly modern buildings tried to crowd it out
And I just liked the contrast between the cheap booze and the church
You don't get the programme until the end, so you have to work out what it's all about. We decided it was about the greed and cynicism of multinational corporations...a popular theme with me. But as it turns out, the concept came from Da Vinci who thought that mankind was obsessed with machinery. Which is odd, because I thought that was exactly what he was obsessed with. And somehow we missed John the Baptist. If you go you can make your own mind up. We were warned before we started our journey that there was male and female nudity. Hurrah, it's about time we didn't see something that was just todgers all over the place. And there were more naked women than men. But boohoo. Strangers nudity is fine when it's twenty metres away on the stage, but rather less comfortable when these folk pass within touching distance. Not that we did. Anyway, an experience, but perhaps it was all concept and no execution or artistry.
I'm always fascinated by the nuances of language.
Today, I had a problem because a package that should have been delivered hadn't arrived. When I called the supplier to find out what was going on they told me that it was because of the way I filled in the form. I explained quite politely that I could only fill in the form the way it was presented on my computer screen, so I couldn't accept any implication that I had done anything wrong. Indeed I was right the man admitted, the fault lay with their software and what was on screen hadn't translated into the right address label.
At the weekend The Cat managed to clip the curb with the car. She's been driving a short while and these things happen. I was told when I started riding a motorbike that it was inevitable that I would have an accident within six months. Indeed I did. So if this is The Cat's equivalent we have all been let off very lightly and should all be grateful. She was with El Bastardo*, but they were unable to put the spare on as they couldn't get the wheel nuts undone. The AA man came and (apparently) explained the wheel was rusted to the hub caps, and the only way to remove them was with a copper hammer because a normal one would shatter the bolts.
Now here comes the language thing again. The Cat's Mother got a text from El Bastardo saying with great authority that all the wheels should be checked because they were rusted in place, the nuts were seized and the only way to loosen them was with a copper hammer. No mention of the AA man. Written in a tone of great knowledge and authority. EB is a very, very, very successful man. And I think I understand why. Because he acquired the knowledge about the wheel, and now dispenses it as if it's his own.
If I had been in the same situation, I would have said, "The AA man told me that....." You can take it from that I am not very, very, very successful, but just as knowledgeable.
*I didn't include her father in my list of characters. This has to be said in a very heavy accent, and with a degree of humour. We bare no grudges.
On Saturday, I went on photographic course...hence the pictures this week. The best part was listening to two hours of our (French) tutor explaining the techniques of famous photographers. The worst part was the gut who kept answering his phone during those two hours. I don't know if it will do me any good, but it was an enjoyable way to spend a Saturday, and a good way to make me go out on to the streets and take some pictures.
This is what's known in our house as a 'tosser photo'
None of us on the course could really get this right...but it was fascinating to see this old pub being renovated whilst the ugly modern buildings tried to crowd it out
And I just liked the contrast between the cheap booze and the church
Wednesday, 13 March 2013
Some Mothers Do Have 'em
Well OK, he was on the table behind us. And I can tell you four things as a result. He's a very big man. His wife is very pregnant. He's very earnest. He knows a lot of people....he was meeting and greeting constantly.
Sunday was Mothers Day, of course.
Mothers Day is a tricky one for us.
Since The Boy's Mother died, it's been a date The Boy and I have studiously avoided.
That's hard on Grandma in Cyprus because she doesn't get the bunch of flowers she deserves...although she does at least get a telephone call and in my heart a big thanks for having tolerated her youngest son all this time....
However, these days we can't avoid it all together. The Cat gets tipped out of bed about three hours before she would like to deliver flowers and a little gift. A breakfast of marmite toast was brought....although obviously, even though I was still in bed with The Cat's Mother, there wasn't even a crumb for me. The Cat's Mother had in fact leapt out of bed earlier to make tea whilst I was still asleep so at least I had a hot drink. The Boy remained steadfastly in bed, heals dug in on the basis that this was The Cat's event and she didn't want him treading on her toes. Mmmm. Methinks something was not quite right.
However, The Cat's Mother has a mother too, so along with the rest of the family we went on a trip...a round trip across the Thames on the cable car, so that The Cat's Mother's Mother could see the Tate and Lyle factory that she used to work at...I think that was the story anyway. The Boy and I spotted this...and really want to get one...we think it would be a lotta, lotta fun
We then disembarked for a pub lunch. Very delicious....but in all honesty, I missed quite a bit because The Boy and I were being frantically distracted by the England vs Italy rugby game which was looking a bit iffy.
And here is the third photo in the series that I took on Saturday. I have another one where the girl is staring daggers at me, but this one captured the moment
Sunday was Mothers Day, of course.
Mothers Day is a tricky one for us.
Since The Boy's Mother died, it's been a date The Boy and I have studiously avoided.
That's hard on Grandma in Cyprus because she doesn't get the bunch of flowers she deserves...although she does at least get a telephone call and in my heart a big thanks for having tolerated her youngest son all this time....
However, these days we can't avoid it all together. The Cat gets tipped out of bed about three hours before she would like to deliver flowers and a little gift. A breakfast of marmite toast was brought....although obviously, even though I was still in bed with The Cat's Mother, there wasn't even a crumb for me. The Cat's Mother had in fact leapt out of bed earlier to make tea whilst I was still asleep so at least I had a hot drink. The Boy remained steadfastly in bed, heals dug in on the basis that this was The Cat's event and she didn't want him treading on her toes. Mmmm. Methinks something was not quite right.
However, The Cat's Mother has a mother too, so along with the rest of the family we went on a trip...a round trip across the Thames on the cable car, so that The Cat's Mother's Mother could see the Tate and Lyle factory that she used to work at...I think that was the story anyway. The Boy and I spotted this...and really want to get one...we think it would be a lotta, lotta fun
We then disembarked for a pub lunch. Very delicious....but in all honesty, I missed quite a bit because The Boy and I were being frantically distracted by the England vs Italy rugby game which was looking a bit iffy.
And here is the third photo in the series that I took on Saturday. I have another one where the girl is staring daggers at me, but this one captured the moment
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