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Glory Days..

Editor — Thu, 28 Mar 2013 15:18:33 GMT

WTF is this? It�s not even half nine of a Thursday morning & the car park at Morrison�s is virtually full. And there�s all manner of nobbers slowly tooling about & taking half a dozen attempts at reversing in. Ah-could it be pension day? It would fit-it�s all older people. I�ve bagged my bit & sauntered in. I�m on orders not to return home for a couple of hours, & I�m deliberately a bit peckish so now seems like a good time to check out the Morrison�s Caf� for breakfast. Oh God no-I�ve got it now. Must be 2 for 1 on all caf� meals for OAPs-it�s even more rammed than the aisles. Sod this-I�m walking into town. But there�s no escape-it�s market day & there�s even more old fucks dawdling about. I�ve legged it & looked in at the butcher who does a cheap line in bacon or sossie rolls to go. The queue for that part is to the door-sod that too. It�s blardy freezing & unlike the wisdom of my elders I�ve not come out with any kind of hat, scarf or gloves so I�ve returned back to the warmth of Morrisons, hoping that old people�s systems need meals at their proscribed time, & unless they all need elevenses surely it must have thinned out.

Yay-I�m right. They do all need coffee & a bun or toast but there�s a lot less of them now. I�ve gone for the big brekkie, which is the same price as �award winning fish & chips� & everything else you might want for lunch. I�ve asked why it seems to be sooo busy. �Easter isn�t it duck?� What, all of them in on a Thursday? �Sure, but we are closed on Sunday.� I still can�t fathom this. So I�ve given up & tucked in. Over the other side of the plastic ferned barrier an older couple are enjoying a leisurely conversation. The lady looks somewhat older than the man, but they�re not mother & son. I wonder what the relationship is? It�s an ace start to my earwigging session: �well of course they didn�t like that so they got hold of her, took her right to the back & rubbed her nose into it.� Could it be a dog story?? �she went home with remnants of it still on her. I guess the girls were just trying to drag her into the 20^th Century, but even so. It�s how things were done then.� Promising. Make up at school do you think?

The conversation then meanders via walking out with young men to the shops on Broad Street to houses & who lived in them. Both of them intimately know the area & have for some decades. �We had Bobby Aces next door to us-shared the same entrance. You remember Bobby-back then he had hair, & what hair he had! And he knew it-always fiddling with it. Such an easy going boy-all the girls loved him. Got that from his mam-she was an easy natured lady. Not his Dad though-he was a strict one. Come to think of it we had a lot of houses which had the council officials in them-like they wanted to live in the same row. Then there was the District Nurse, who in those days was always busy. And the midwife was there too. When the dentist, you remember him on Carolgate? Before he went there he set up in the midwife�s house. He�d just come out of the Navy & was wondering what to do & next minute he was in her front room. Have to remember that the nurse, midwife etc were all single in them days so they had some space. Ah well, best go into town now we�ve had our coffee.� And off they went. People I�ll prob never meet again, talking about people I�ve never heard of, in a time when I wasn�t born. Memories of other people, just flitting by. I�d like to know what happened to the great Bobby Aces, what you did when you were demobbed & what their relationship was, but that�ll have to remain filed under �speculation.� Meantime another much older but equally matched in age couple take their place..

�What do you want to eat Terry?� asks his wife. Terry is immaculately turned out with a new scarf tucked cravat like under his green waxed jacket. His thin white hair has a whiff of a quiff about it-I�m wondering if the cream teddy boys used might have left a permanent wave. �What do you want to eat Terry?� she asks again. And repeats it three more times. Terry�s not very good with words. He can make a sort of plaintiff noise if he concentrates. �What do you want?� asks the woman with some asperity & finality. I don�t know if she decoded one of Terry�s non-verbal responses, or if she�s simply decided that he�s having fish & chips. Because he is now. She�s wizzed away & returned with 3 trays of triangular sandwiches. Blimey she must be starving. But no, a much younger man joins them & sits opposite. That still leaves an extra tray-oh I see. She�s repeated that Tel�s fishy will be coming soon but perhaps he�d like one of these whilst he�s waiting. Again I wonder what the relationship between them all is. Perhaps it�s not his wife at all. I wonder if this might actually be some kind of live therapy for him? That would be nice, I think.

I don�t know if Terry will remember what he had for brunch. I�m not sure he quite knows his name or who the women is. I can see it�s taking him some considerable effort just to be. He�s doing better than I am, because I�ve been steam rollered by a colossal wave of melancholy with a despair undertow. I�ve looked across the barrier & caught our tel�s gaze. There�s not really anyone at home. Actually there might be, but the curtains are closed & the storm shutters are down. I�ve made my own plans long ago-I�ll be no burden to anyone & I feel relieved & fortunate to have done this. But nevertheless part of that journey returns in it�s original shapes of �is this it?� �This is what the end looks like?� �What if you don�t have anyone?� What is the fucking point?� To pinch a phrase off my film poster in my kitchen: �all those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.� You know what Rutger says & does next.

I�ve cleared my plate & darted outside for a pull-yourself-together ciggy away from everyone. And I was watching the people walking in & out of the entrance of the supermarket & was transported back to a course I was once on, where the facilitator was taking about fears. �People can have some very odd things that make them afraid. Some of them might seem pretty irrational to just about every one of you. Some you might think some trivial or nonsensical. But to all those afraid people these matters are very real.� She went on to tell a story. �I�m terrified of the automatic revolving doors at Morrison�s. I know they stop if you get so much as a foot too close to them, but I�m blardy spooked by them. The bloody things shit me right up-I�m getting the wobblies even just talking about them.� What about other Terrys, who aren�t �just� left in a state of impotent fog & need of care, but who are additionally afraid but have forgotten WTF shits them up & now live in a perpetual state of terror? I�ve seen this-I didn�t recognize it for what it was at the time but by our dad�s final stroke that�s how he spent the last year of his life. And loaves & fishes apart, there ain�t no healing for that.

I�m still a bit perplexed about this Easter crowd of old people. Morrison�s might well be closed on the Sunday, but all of this generation will remember a time not so very long ago when no bugger at all opened on a Sunday. You just planned for it. And very belatedly the penny has finally dropped. That�s exactly what they are doing because you don�t want to be old, unsteady & fragile & being barged out of the way by the crowds of Friday POETS**. As for shopping on a Saturday, any Saturday, that must be their idea of hell on earth. So Thursday it is so they get the freshest stuff for their traditional Easter observances, which looks to me like a nice possibly fish based meal with fresh veg & a small indulgence from the bakery, rather than taking full advantage of the offers down the booze section, the multi-buy in the freezers & several kilos of cheap egg shaped choco for your 4 day session. It�s me whose the odd one out-I shouldn�t be there on their day.

On a final note I did think that if you were of unsporting mind & in a mood to exact revenge for your impeded progress around the pastry section & someone�s wrinkled hand beating you to the last Hot Cross Bun fresh & warm from the bakery, you could play a few rounds of mousetrap with the revolving doors & the likes of dawdling Terry & his chums. If you get one that screams the house down that�ll be a slightly rotund lady with slowly advancing arthritis. Call her Jackie & ask her about the story about the dollies. You�ll like that one, not in the least because it�ll teach you something & it�ll get her off her own personal ceiling. Just be warned that one day it might be your turn to be the mouse & that might come sooner than you think.

** old gimmers� term. Piss Off Early, Tomorrow�s Saturday. Applicable now to 0.001% of the population.

terror has a name

Editor — Sun, 25 Nov 2012 12:29:48 GMT

the following is part of a larger piece which I've posted up here because I'm interested in generational differences etc. See thread in General.

http://www.therevcounter.com/general...-into-you.html

******************

My goodness we were so lucky to not only to live in the right time but to be the age we were. And so safe as well. Not for us listening around the radio like our grandparents or perhaps even parents, hearing Churchill declare World War 2. A time when our grandparents had already experienced round 1 against the WW 1^st XV & had a pretty good idea of how life was about to change, again. And not for the better either. Or us living in the places where children had no childhood because they�d already been invaded by the germans. Or the sheer fear when the world held it�s breath fearing real all out nuclear war over some missile base locations. Nah-all I can remember is doing a project about Cod Wars & that wasn�t a Call Of Duty thing. It was simply the fish itself. So yeah-safe. Apart from the IRA but that�s what happens to other people right? Greenham Common-WTF is that? Mind you there was a nasty moment in the caf� at VI form College just after the Falkland�s Conflict was announced & Natalie of the raven corkscrew hair with a purple died twist down one strand at the front instantly stood up & screamed �We�re going to die. We�re ALL going to die.� We sort of calmed her down with �nah-that�s not going to happen. No one�s going to nuke an island full of sheep & our own citizens. Get a grip Nat, really.� Actually I think what really happened then was that Nat �simply� grounded & restabilised all by herself whilst transferring a fair bit of this over to us optomistic in the face of blind folly chaps. Or perhaps she knew about nuclear tipped torpedoes sometime before we all did. It�s not comfortable reading what there is released under the 30 year rule & you know there�s stuff we�ll never be alive to see & yet more stuff no-one will ever hear about.

So our gen is largely the N part of yer NBC suit, but not quite. There was the small matter of the Survivor�s programme that I wasn�t actually allowed to see but had grasped the idea rather quickly with the white masked surgeon looking chap cropping the flask of white liquid at the beginning. So that�s yer B bit. And we had flids, thalidomide, so that makes the triplet with the chemical component. Ish-OK agent orange & napalm then & MASH. When I get my dreams, & I do, quite regularly it looks nuclear, but for me there�s strong underlying compent which is cleverer & more insidious. More thorough-not even the creatures in the bottom of that trench or even the ants making it. But yeah-it�s to one fuck of a firework show & I guess it doesn�t quite matter exactly what flavour the apocolypse rides in on, in much the same way that if you�re going to die it doesn�t matter from what. Not when all hope has gone & it�s a cert. So whilst we were safe & had little idea of what went on in Childrens Homes (we had an inkling-it was the ultimate threat for naughtiness at home being threatened to be put into Borstal & that did the trick everytime) we didn�t quite get away scott free. I wonder if anyone ever did & in fact, if it would have been healthy if so?

So I reckon that there�s a latent streak of neat essence of terror within us all-what�s yours called?

a post I didn't publish about S.A.D.

Editor — Tue, 20 Nov 2012 12:43:40 GMT

Seasonal Affected Disorder aka The Winter Blues.

I never used to have a shift of mood over winter-I loved it actually. It's the most intense time in retail-hardwork but fun & even the lull after the January sales is pretty full as you're busy destocking & doing all the returns, planning for the rest of the year whilst you have some time & Valentine's is only just a few weeks away. You've Back to School to keep you busy as well. Although it is dislocating if you're a buyer or planner. From my POV I've bought Christmas back in August really & would have been doing Easter just before, so one's mind is a bit elsewhere in some ways. And the chill snap that January heralds coupled with the sounds of children singing at morning assemby as I used to walk by Winchester College on my way into work quite often took me into a festive 'space cadet' glow for a few weeks after it had all passed. I still liked Christmas then.

Over the last several years things have changed-Christmas is the worst time of the entire year for me now. Usually I drug the bastard-i.e. turning the emotional dimmer switch (copyright our very own Hunter) down to just a glimmer. But this year has been different so far & my saved stash of dried frog pills (DFPs) has remained unopened. I don't think it's been cold enough to set it off for me-usually it's when my fingers turn white when working outside.

Seeing as it's all going so well** I'm minded to front it through this time. OTOH it takes a good 3 weeks for the meds to kick in & I do remember another year when I thought 'I don't need to take these anymore' & it all collapsed around December 20thish. Fuck knows what year that was, & I can't for the life of me recall any other detail.

It does make the arrival of Spring so much more the sweeter. And not being on the meds also means I can have a good laugh at things as well. That's the thing about meds-they flatline EVERYTHING. The good stuff as well.

�Given the choice between the experience of pain and nothing, I would choose pain.� William Faulkner. Hmmm, maybe Billy & then again, maybe not.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow" The Bard, of course. Mind you-that didn't exactly end well for either Romeo or Juliet.

some knowing observations below:
Quotes About Sorrow (232 quotes)

**Oh dear-that was a bit premature then. I've just gone through some 10 year old emails to see what I was doing a decade ago (thread= http://www.therevcounter.com/general...ml#post1813642 ). It's like reading about a stranger who I used to know from another time & place. Fucking Hell-the documented loooooong few seconds before the crash if ever there was. This has not helped one bit-shit I can even see the poor obs error in the making. The theme tune from The Likely Lads is playing..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JcJ4C...eature=related

So meantime I'm going to toss a coin to choose between gobbling a handful of DFPs or a box of maltesers. Meh-it feels like a bad Monday Morning as of right now.

An Unofficial Christmas Guide to Use By & Best Before Dates

Editor — Thu, 15 Nov 2012 14:21:22 GMT

By now I expect your fridge, or if you�re lucky, the larder, will be groaning with all manner of goodies. Lovely eh? But it has to last the festive season, & so as the week progresses it�s a good idea to actually read the labels. But wait-this all costs. Didn�t our gran used to spoon the hair off the strawberry jam & shave the cheese? Never fear-in households like ours there other ways of establishing what is safe & what is not.

Milk & other Dairy
Get the cat & pour or spoon a bit into Tiddle�s bowl. If she runs away it�s certainly gone off. As we all know the cat is always right. The cat certainly believes it is.

Meats.
Again, summon in Tiddles. Slice off a corner & profer on finger to cat. Same again, but do be careful as we had a cat that went mad for chicken & that one would have had the finger as well in its keenness.

Salads.
Seeing as the tortoise has been asleep for a few months it�d be a bit rude to wake it up just to test the lettuce. No-this is a job for the wascally wabbit. Roll it up & poke it through the cage. If bunny snaffles it you�re on. Also good for carrots.

Vegetables.
You�re on your own there unless you own the amazingly rare vegetarian cat. The chickens are supposed to be quite fond of cabbage. Ours aren�t-they play with it & throw it at each other. Ours I feel are not entirely representative.

Drink.
A job uniquely suited to Dads. If they say they�re unsure & need another go you can safely assume that it�s perfectly fine. Put the cork back into it.

Confectionary
Something every child under 55 will willingly test. It�s a good way of providing a diversion if there�s something of a conflict brewing over who plays with whose new toys.

You may have noticed, esp in a newsletter like this, that there�s somebody missing. No-it�s not Gran & her jam spoon. The household Basset-o-Meter might be a fine judge of character & possess an almost unparalleled sense of smell, but on matters like these he is entirely unreliable. He�ll scoff the bloomin; lot & if he could talk would emphatically insist that�s whatever you fed him is lethal to humans, cats, bunnies & best you get it all out of your fridge & into his bowl before any further deterioration occurs. Those big eyes glancing between you, the bowl & the fridge door are to tell you that you had better also turf out anything that has been next to, below or above it due to probable cross contamination. Do NOT fall for this. And now that every pet in the household now knows where all the proper grub is you�d be well advised to chain & padlock your fridge shut & alarm the door. This may not be enough-a bunny, cat, chicken & basset must be a kitchen burglary dream team. Even the tortoise might awake for this. You have been warned.

More seriously my mate in the trade says: some of the use by dates are very tight. Dairy (especially yoghurts) meat products (esp pate) etc. Remember that the date on the pack refers to the unopened product. So ham in a pack will go off in 4 days , even if the use by date says two months. If in doubt don�t & this applies vastly more so to youngs, olds, infirm & expecting mothers. Stay well & stay safe & for goodness sake get that absurdly large bird out of the fridge the night before. Oh sorry Gran-hold on. What are you doing in here? How did you get past the lock & alarm & what are all these scoop marks in the bottom of the trifle for tomorrow? GRAN!

Time Spent Skiving is Rarely Wasted..

Editor — Sat, 08 Sep 2012 12:07:59 GMT

Now think about it for more than 1 sec. 1st of all you're doing something you shouldn't & if nabbed by a beak it will result in some kind of punishment. So life lessons of precaution, vigilance, contingency & avoiding detection are required. Particularly a good cover story that will resist initial interrogation. Ah that's another one-dealing with the awkward questions whilst under the threat of violence.

So what were you really up to? Well lurking in the school library was always quite a good �un for all of the above reasons. Instant & credible cover story, corners to hide, silence to hear the dreaded foot steps etc**. Whilst we're avoiding the wet rugger session might as well see what we got. And it's then & there, when I pulled out a substantial & oversized reference looking hardback for a reasonable excuse, that I fell in. It was a Magnum Photographic Agency retro-spective, or something very similar. Those now iconic monochrome images from the front line, portraiture, reportage all thrillingly fresh for the very 1st time. I read them all & like some kind of sponge, absorbed.

It lay dormant until I changed school & had my hands on my 1st proper 35mm, which was a Canon my dad had for his work. Lots of snappy snaps of friends, which looking at the prints I found a few months ago they were naively & frankly, flukily alright. Solid documentary I'd say, but you can see some unaware 'homage' in places. Bit later on for a birthday I had my own budget Pentax P50 & me & the 50mm did the usual power stations, railways & filters in B&W. Because film & esp. D&P was expensive, every shot had to at minimum have some hope of working or me learning. Then came Uni & I put it all away. Stupid-I have no record of those years at all.

During the subsequent wilderness time an arty friend of ours, whose mum called him Jonson & he called her mother, was showing me some photos either he or his bro down at Dartington had taken. The now infamous cibachrome to print process-fuck my boots. Just blown clean away. Back out with the P50 & I was experimenting with tungsten balanced film, speeds, bought my 1st tak whatis name zoom. Moody portrait, sinuous landscapes, running up steep hills just to get the angle & of course, the light. I'm sorry to say that I never made that leap to an incident/reflective meter & I would have loved to have at least D&P'd my own B&W. But I'm quite happy because I do have some records, even if quite a few are book events & a portfolio of window displays I'd done. That was also interesting, if not a slightly obvious (not me it wasn�t-I resisted the initial invitation for some months) extension. Because until that point I'd considered I hadn't an arty femur to my body. But windows were not at all unlike composing a good picture (yes I know a window is really 3D-analagy with DoF then) & I took some training & read a couple of books on art composition. I really enjoyed that because you have to think about it, sketch it, plan it, blag the props, think about angles of view, distance to the viewer & of course utilise any 3d or parallax effects that you can, whilst all that time you're in your own little bubble. I haven't done a display for many years, but I always take an interest in what I see. (FYI the perfume ones are pretty text book & Harrods /Harvey Nicks & even the Army & Navy are damned hot. Mary Quantas's old job that one-oh it could have been ME!). But the American's; my goodness they're good & I've not been to NY yet.

So these days I'm mostly taking piccies of dogs & puppies with the occasional trip out as a guest of someone in this camera club. The members have all the kit, done the evening classes, the right software & know how to use it all properly. And whilst I myself have never really worked at it enough to go through that derivative level, I have had a little fun with a Sony cybershot point & shoot against their Nikons & Canons. Because there is a gap-you can teach it all you like, rules of 3rds whatever-I even had it taught it maths-the Golden Mean drawn from an exponentially uncurling ammonite. But, rather like say doing your apprentice as an auctioneer before you're ready to even think about being an antique dealers that's going to make something, it's an early immersion into the work of people who were/are so damned good, so inspirational & aspirational that makes the cut. At its most effective when your mind is young, hungry & inquisitive & you have the time, all the time & a whole load of resources & you can see the real thing, not a monitor. And you can have a go yourself, push it, fuck it up & work out why-concentrating all the time on just that rather than worrying about day to day stuff. And that experience, IMO, is what gives lil ole me & his scornful toy of a camera at say a Sculpture Park, enough of an edge to be able to play with the camera club�s big boys & their sophisticated expensive toys & hold my own. Which was really good for me as now I have my 1st proper bodied Canon & I'm sort of starting to think about getting back into a groove. It sits not in a dust proof case, or even in a bag. It's on top on a wooden unit in the living room, just within reach of me leaning round the kitchen door to grab it. Because that�s the thing-chickens & dogs won't stay on there marks or do a take two. Like the reportage & war stuff, you need to be good to go at an instant. And if there's a spec of dust on the lens it doesn't matter if you get that shot.

An admonishing master might well have said had one taken the time & energy it takes to successfully skive & apply it to what one should have been doing in the 1st place, who knows just how good you could have become? I discard this notion: I knew damned well I wasn't going to be a Jonny Wilkinson, but I found something else. Something far more suited to myself which was never, except around the walls of the lovely Rev Craig�s supposed RE classroom, anything I'd been exposed to.

In short-I might not be very good at taking or making pictures, but I have a reasonable idea of how not-good I am. And that's a certain level of attainment in itself is it not-a realistic awareness?. And perhaps a demonstration of why education is not simply about the grades you come out with but more about the laying of foundations. Certain readers will know why I chose the 'foundation' word & some will instantly think that not all foundations are good ones-ones' leading to a decent drug habit for extreme example. But for everyone else, I still put it to you that time spent following where an enquiring mind might have pointed, even if the initial flutter of the butterfly's wings was accidental, is rarely a waste. Far, far from it.

** with many & grateful thanks to Egon, really Andrew Eborn, who was at that time prefect in charge of the library. He knew what I was up to. Oddly, or then again not, he became a barrister in intellectual property rights & now running several company of media rights specialists. He�s also a member of the Magic Circle, so no stranger to sleight of hand & misdirection either. He knew alright!

************************************************** ******************************

Foundation(ers). LWC like quite a number of schools, has what might be termed an 'assisted place scheme'. This is for children in reduced cirumstances or gross tragedy. LWC was originally established for agricultural orphans, & today still provides help, often all of it, for children who have lost a parent. Hence their term for this-foundationers. I think that is well worthy.

Addendum: I've remembered that my ideal job was, back in that library, to be the editor on a newsroom picture desk. Before that point it was to be a vet, which was largely formed from the James Herriot books. Funny eh? Next time I�ll get an encyclopedia, jab a pin into a randomly selected page & professionally pursue what I hit, although I�ll reserve the right to best of three & a loose degree of intepretation. .

choices on an endgame..

Editor — Sat, 18 Aug 2012 19:48:22 GMT

Hi xxxxx

Sorry to dive straight in but there's a wee problem with a tiny corner of the internet I've lived in for the last decade or so. It's that bike forum I expect I mentioned & it's fallen foul of google adsense which it relies on for most of it's funding. I expect in your line you'll know all about this but Google's auto systems have detected something they don't like & pulled out. Despite their draconian & instant attempts at compliance & investigation G are not even acknowledging comms, let alone discussing it. Telling them exactly what it is is way too much to ask for. This seems to their common practice. So that's sort of it.

http://www.therevcounter.com/site-an...mg-moment.html

This is of course part of a much larger & rather hideous issue, pointing perhaps to the USA & it's intention to be the arbiter & police of all things www Google of course being an American registered company, but for now that's incidental.

What would be nice is to have things back as they were. I don't think that is going to happen.

The alternatives are to source hosting & other revenue streams so it could at least sustain itself. I don't know what costs etc are involved. There's enough IT bods on that site to be able to build our own server for bog all. Hell-I've half a wardrobe I could stick a 5 foot rack in & it's got a Cat5 cable in it already (my NAS server lives in it), enough nouse to learn whatever language or software needed, enough about hardware to help build it, but our own connection is <0.5M.

At the end of the day it isn't much of a hill of beans. No-one's died, hurt, life changed. I'm not sure the man who runs it even likes me either! And in some ways I'm a little tired of it now. In others I've only really over the last 2 years used it for what it was all (2 sites ago) initially set up for, which was a way for early adopters in the post bulletin board days to arrange their own rideouts (& social stuff). I've had some cracking rides in the Dales-just come back from one last month with an ex-police instructor. And the repository of information on there is just staggering. It could be a money maker for someone. What it hasn't been is grown. That's partially why I'm a bit tired of it. I know the online personas so well that I know what they're going to say on most subjects. Some of the more interesting characters have left. There ain't much in the way of new sign ups. I'd say it's stale.

Any immediate thoughts on this please? Could it self-sustain? Is it worth me getting stuck in??

Hope all fine & dandy with you & yours. Next time bring the family hey? There's 2 utterly top notch show pups we've kept from the last litter now 9 weeks. It was never quite supposed to be a show litter but for some reason we've done it again. One day we'll have a litter of pets, keep none & pay back some of the debts. Hell of a way to live.

As Ever

P

The Best Thing about the Olympic Closing Bash 2102..

Editor — Tue, 14 Aug 2012 08:47:17 GMT

As a representative & telling review of all things British I thought it utterly outstanding.

No, really. Think about it. Shit load of old used2bes, outstaying their welcome like a drunken Uncle at the christening, unsubtle, unsophisticated, rehashing ancient wins & missed all the real opportunities by such a margin that one is drawn to wonder if it wasn�t sabotage. The only nod to contemporary affairs is that it had more spin than a top lashed by 13 epileptic Blairites on pharma grade whizz.

Give us 9billion squids & we still can't get the real deal acts to come along, who does to mime properly, whoever was supposed to be engineering the mikes for the vocals to get that right & the one single 'name that UK in one' brand that encapsulates the entire Kingdom to park her arse on a seat. She probably looked at the set list beforehand & banned herself from it.

"I say Philip, I see young David Bowie, that Kate Bush you so like, Mr Clapton, most of Pink Floyd & Genesis, none of the clever 90s Britpop lot, & not one of the Strolling Bones can be arsed to turn up. Just a guitar windmilling kiddie fiddler, sid snot & a dead Beatle. After that ghastly chopper gag at the start, if they think I'm coming this time they can jog on. I'll send the yoof-Harry or whatever his name is this week." No wonder he looked fit to cry-there was bugger all in it for his gen.

Talking of drunken uncles I enjoyed quite a lot of it. AV cranked up, dinner on the sofa, knackered from the day & needing no-brainer input. Plus wine. And actually I think we did the visuals pretty well. Loved the roller-blading big hatted nuns & the tantalising prospect of the bloke on the tightrope falling off or also going up in flames. Eric Idle doing a Tommy Cooper checkout. Those taxis with the spicegirls did get vairy close to the edge of the front stage..Prince Henry doing a tired & emotional flounce.

TBH I thought musically that Ray Davis, George Michael (Freedom anyhow) & Jessie J nailed it. But I was by then a fair bit of vino down & besides the boys must have moved damned fast 'coz I'm positive I saw both Ray & George consuming a '99 flake cornet whilst hanging around the Crazee Golf circuit in Whitby yesterday. Seedy looking fuckers.

The extinguishing of the Olympic Flame was an entirely different affair. Architect Thomas Heatherwick�s �Cauldron� was a superbly considered piece. Each team carried in a petal or leaf when the games all started, which went onto the plants. When they left the 204 teams were given a by now charred copper leaf each to take home. I thought that idea excellent & another largely unsung demonstration of the UK�s worldwide reputation. It also didn�t do the public perception of �monstrous carbuncler�s� any harm either.

The soundtrack to this was the Spirit of the Flames, composed by David Arnold which started with high Germanic operatic vocals, & then took on a big ship�s rowers timing pound with soaring strings. He blew that clean up with a distorted guitar top strings on top of a high energy percussion that must shaken the entire structure. Powerful, aggressive perhaps even angry? Bloody furious I�d say & the phoenix lifting in Darcey Bussell from her retirement heralded the lift off phase of David Arnold�s floor to ceiling show. Bit of rest with some chanting, some intricacy with the strings, more elecro beats, building hypnotically to a full on combine-the-lot with a strident Wagnerian crescendo, finishing on a sudden, iconic stop. Then the stems slowly descended to a Last Post crossed with Dvorak�s New World lament & lay flat to the ground like the dying flowers they represented, whilst the flower flames danced their last. Beautiful, haunting & elegiac done with grace, style & pace. I did wonder if the ever thoughtful Thomas had designed in the extinguishing process or if down underneath it all, where the gas pipes live, there was a chap in a brown overcoat twiddling the taps with a 3/8� nobber. It doesn�t matter. The twinkling stars slowly going out, a quick suggestion of a flicker of resurgence & then, the stillness after the last breath. And it�s on that note I think maybe things should have been left. I don�t want to talk about what happened next. Or more accurately, who.

Unsurprisingly the leaf idea will happen again during the Paralympics, except this time each leaf is stamped to distinguish them from the Olympics just gone. And if it was a chap with a spanner putting put the fires then perhaps he could return because that merited an AmDram gold.

Mind you, if you think our lot were a bit lacking, consider American viewers who were unable to see the extinguishing part as NBC chose to cut it..

Darcy Bussell: BBC iPlayer - Olympic Ceremonies: London 2012: Closing Ceremony

Sources:
Balletic climax to London 2012 Closing Ceremony < News - Royal Opera House

Olympic cauldron was designed to be temporary, says designer - Xinhua | English.news.cn

a draft ebay advert..

Editor — Sun, 22 Jul 2012 18:01:00 GMT

Hello Campers. Here is a draft of my proposed ebay advert to jettison yet another redundant purchase the GF made simply because she liked the colour. Needless to say I paid for it..

***************
Header: Mint Samsung N150 netbook Flamingo Pink, UK, battery tested 7+ hours, genuine windows XP + FULL Office Professional. No modifications. i.e. I haven't fucked this one up by fiddling with it. That's because I can't stand the sight of the wee cunt.

160GB HDD, 1GB DDR Ram, b/g/n wifi, card reader, 3 USB ports, ethernet slot, VGA out, mic, headphones.

This is a proper UK netbook, bought from XX, running legitimate & genuine Microsoft Windows XP & Office Professional 2003. Barely used so condition is excellent & the all important battery still has it�s maximum capacity of over 7 hours (we looked after that), which I doubt any of the other machines on here will. E.g the one in the acer I bought from ebay lasts for all of 30 minutes. Factory Standard, so no dodgy ebay upgrades, modifications or reinstalls etc. Also has some useful/essential software extras, 6GB of superb music & 3 good films inc the best Vampire one for years. Yes! Got 50 Shades into it. That�s got to be good for a tenner.

And it�s in Flamingo Pink! That�s the official samsung description by the way. Frankly sex aid pink would be more accurate unless you�ve seen a lot of flamingos impaled on dildos. This could account for their fondness of standing on one leg. Tell you what though-take this baby out in public as a bloke & you�ll be fighting men who prefer the company of their own gender off with a shitty stick.

Comes with power adaptor, any documentation, a protective slipcase & possibly a pink bag. Light, distinctive & stylish-it certainly gets second glances! That�s because it�s nearly an ultimate badge of metrosexuality. Or that you're on the game.

Official Model Number is NP-N150-KA03UK

We bought this when my job changed to a bit of travel. We chose it for much the same reasons as you will: it�s very light, compact, strong, you can do some work on it, it connects to everything & runs Industry standard software. We did consider an iPad but it�s really no good at all for work or stuffing in a suitcase with airport baggage handlers flinging it about. Plus there�s lots all the netbooks can do that the iPad can�t as standard. Like back up your holiday pictures. Anyhow the job didn�t work out so it never did get to travel, except on our recent hols, & we just don�t use it at home so it�s a nice, but now non-essential extra for us. Or put it another way-the GF fucked up. AGAIN.

Link to Samsung�s site:
Support for NP-N150 although that is a slightly diff model. So far as I can tell this one doesn�t have the inbuilt bluetooth. I�ve included a brand new small bluetooth USB adaptor which gives you that functionality back. Otherwise best not mention the dual core, the slightly improved screen & doubtless something else. Mind you all that does cost power so maybe I�m on the right lines.

Don�t forget this is a netbook you are looking at. They all have fractionally smaller keyboards, screens & NO optical drive. Otherwise it would be called a notebook. If you were expecting this please consider a toaster & removal from the gene pool.

Good Things. We bought this Samsung Factory installed with genuine XP Home (see sticker on the base), which is ideal for one of these. Win7 starter is almost as good (but you can�t alter the look of your desktop with that) but XP has the smaller footprint. Win 7 full would use pretty much all of the RAM even if you upgraded it just to run & we won�t even mention Vista. The whole point of these is to travel light but do lots. You don�t want most of your resources hogged by the OS itself. Ah-& you don�t get to suffer that annoying UAC plagues you as well. FWIW all of the complaints on Amazon about these being slow are down to Win7 & insufficient RAM. Easy & cheap enough to put more in (max=2GB) but I never felt the need. In short XP is what these netbooks were designed for & Microsoft then stripped Win7 right down so it could just about run on them. That�s marketing for you. Actually no it isn�t. I made most of that up-now that�s marketing.

Full proper MS Office Professional 2003, so usual Word, Exel & PowerPoint, plus FrontPage, Publisher & the powerful Access database that isn�t on the non-pro. Now you can do some proper work. I�ve tried openoffice & the other free alternative. It�s horrible & all your formatting disappears if you open it in Office proper. Yes, I did learn this the hard way.

Condition is virtually mint-it still has the protective film on the lid. Touchpad is very responsive-can�t see what the few complaints in some reviews of this are on about, although this does have all the latest drivers from Samsung installed which the review models wouldn�t have at the time. On top of that most of the amazon reviews & def feedback on ebay is written by people who need a diagram for how to use what is inbetween their legs.

Screen has very good contrast & the text is very clear. Goes very bright indeed if you want it so. Yes, desparate line.

Keyboard is in white & has large stylish flat keys. I can type on it almost as fast as I can on my office PC. It�s a UK machine so the @, � & $ keys are where you�d expect them to be, which they aren�t on an import. A small detail that drives you round the twist as I found out on a near previous purchase-watch out for that! Yep-that was the NC10 mistake I made myself a year earlier. Round the twist? I nearly took the wood axe to it.

I left it to run the battery down properly over the weekend (as you should every so often) & it was on from 4pm & still had 8% left at 11pm when I went to bed. That�s with no power saving options selected & IMO excellent. Most people never look after the battery & you�ll be very fortunate indeed to see that on other used ones of these. This is true enough. About the only thing that is..

It does have monitor out port so if you really wanted you can stuff a full sized monitor on, plug in a full width keyboard/mouse & type away like a professional. Can�t say I�ve ever bothered but it could do it if you needed it. Unlike an iP.. desperate Ed,

Extras-the usual essentials really. Avast anti-virus, Malware Bytes, Spybot, Ccleaner (really useful cleaner), Firefox, Chrome, Opera, a load of games & some other useful utilities. Freeware we all know but it�s on there, updated as is everything else so you�re good to go as soon as you unpack it rather than spend � a morning putting it on.
Also Genuine Canon Driver & Software utils for transferring & adjusting photos for all their digital cameras. You can�t download that-you have to have the CD that comes with the camera. Very useful.
Over 6GB of my fav music-I�ll let that be a nice surprise for you. It�s no slouch on sound quality either-we tried putting it through the living room system & it sounded great.
A clever little app called Sharepod which allows you to move music to & from your iPod without needing iTunes.
3 Modern Films (& a classic piece of french cinema involving a Ferrari in Paris)-inc Let Me In which is the best vampire film I�ve seen in years.
Kindle app & a couple of books to go along with it.
Samsung KIES for your lovely Galaxy phone.
All the Samsung Recovery & Utils that were installed at the Factory & these are also updated. Personally I�d remove them (effectively bloatware) but seeing as you�re paying for it you might as well have it & make your own mind up.
Forgot-it also has Cyberlink�s Power DVD (software) player on it as well which isn�t freeware. Although the VLC media player (also on it) is freeware & there is nothing I can find that VLC cannot handle. Again remember these do not have a DVD drive built in. And what a load of old waffle & BS that is. trans: have some of my GF's shite music & 3 girly films she ripped.

Bad Things. Slight rub on one corner from the slipcase if I had a magnifying glass & was being picky. My partner might have said it being Pink (what with him being a bloke, Grrr) but it didn�t stop him taking it when he last went down south. No inbuilt bluetooth, but I�ve inc a tiny brand new bluetooth USB dongle with this so that�s addressed. I�ve seen some griping on reviews about needing to upgrade the RAM to 2GB. As said earlier this runs XP & it�s adequate as it is for us. Prob the best bang for your buck (apart from disabling the windows search/indexing function** & removing the samsung software, which will cost you nothing) there is to speed it all up though. That�s it. That�s also true enough. I can barely see any mark but some wanker will bleat on about how it destroyed his life, gave the dog a bipolar condition & demand compo if I didn't point it out.

As a point of ref I wandered over to the power bar when we were waiting for the Eurostar train to Paris last month. The suits working there either had iPads & were 2 finger typing on screen with a titchy area left to see what they were doing, or netbooks like this. The best dressed ones did have full sized glorious laptops about 3mm thick, but those are a good �1000 plus! (Apple & Sony make them). And yes I�d fucking love one as much as I'd love f** that girlie in the pin stripe whistle.

Top travel tips: load on some films of your own, pack a lightweight Dsub monitor cable & use that big flatscreen TV that even the cheapest hotels now have as a monitor to watch your films on. You canna do that with an ipad either. I wouldn�t get too fixated on wireless speeds-continental (& UK) hotel internet speeds are appalling. Don�t forget your travel adaptor..(now you see why battery life is so important). S'good advice but looks like flannel & filler dere boy.

** Just remembered that my partner disabled the window indexing or search function on this. Now that really did speed it all up because it runs constantly. Much faster & you can find everything with the search companion anyhow. If the winning bidder would like him to start it running again just say-it�s only a few keystrokes. But really it�s so much better without it-I got him to do my own office computer as well. Also true enough & any idiot can do this. Took me an entire day to find out how myself though.

Last thing: no netbook comes with installation or backup CDs. Instead they put all this on the D partition of their hard drives. So what happens if the drive fails? You�re in trouble is what-so I strongly suggest that whatever netbook you win you run full back up or ghost the entire drive using either an external USB Hard Drive or onto a series of DVDs, using an external DVD writer or if you�re vaguely clever map the DVD drive from another computer on your home network onto it & use that. Personally on all ours we use either a Seagate or WD drive in a USB enclosure, which then allows you to use their versions of Acronis True Image to do it all easily. Natch of course I have done no such thing with this so for the love of god don�t fuck it up because I have no such copy at all.

Happy bidding & hope you�re as pleased with it as I was. Bet you will be! (i.e. as pleased as I will be to see the pointless pink fucker gone).

Usual shite about zero feedback, nigerian funds but an exception made for swapping my GF for a camel. We can do business there. In fact I'm begging you..

*******************

Do think it'll sell?

Noise & Sounds

Editor — Thu, 14 Jun 2012 09:41:58 GMT

I see noise in shapes. There are grey covered overcast skies of background hum, delightful when there's a break in the cloud & sunbeams of other senses shine through & provide their own illuminations. There are little sparkly bits of pleasure, mostly musical or that of birds, which is of course composed of notes. Great visceral tidal waves or breakers over the rocks of engines. And then there's discord which I find possesses an angle of point defined by the pitches involved. Sharp & piercing are created by higher frequencies of short duration; a more wedge shape made by lower more sonorous disharmony.

The ones I find most difficult to deal with are the sharply pointed ones. I think we're probably all pre-programmed that way-the response to a baby's & child�s cries & so we should be. But when emulations trot along it confuses my brain. That dog isn't in distress. It's pretty damned happy & it wants more. But it goes right to the front of my head & hurts.

Then there are special cases. Mine are sneezes. It's like a blunderbuss to my head, again no surprise as a sneeze contains all the frequencies in the audible spectrum but they do for me. Ah, one final bit of the analogy I omitted. The amplitude of all of them or in non-tech, how loud they are. This quality is Wile E Coyote's ACME anvil & the bigger the lump of metal & the higher up the cliff it falls from dictates how much damage it does to me. Quite a good one I thought. Wedge shape hammered in-forces the crack a bit wider. Pointy one impales it into the centre of my brain. But the colossal gratuitous vulgar sneeze is Coyote's anvil dropped from space onto a shed full of high explosive, clad in ball bearings & driven further into my cranium by the inevitable locomotive emerging at full steam from the suddenly appeared tunnel. It fucking hurts & I swear every time it robs me of a little something. Sometimes, & it's always unexpected, there's some cunt who manages a tsunami of sneezes. And here we discover the poor bedraggled & beaten up Wile E isn't on the valley's floor at all. Oh no. He believes he is, he think's it's all over, but in fact he's just landed on a precipice. And we all know what happens next until he really does hit the final deck. Where, natch, he gets run over by that fucking train again & the roadrunner turns up to do 'dibble dibble' at the stars round his head. Small wonder he hates it so much.

And then there's the special case of special case sneezes. I can't tell you much more because I think I've had to repress the memory of each occurrence, but the net effect is like when Tom Cat catches Jerry Mouse by sandwiching him in a mahoosive cymbal clap, & Jerry emerges stunned with his entire body staccatoilly vibrating like an epileptic punk pogoing on an 11kv line.

I mentioned a bit earlier that I think a bit of me is diminished by every pointy one & esp. the trumpeting blunderbuss fired at the cymbals, which is not to say that it doesn't recover in time, but a volley of canon fire doesn't give one a lot of chance to rebuild. And so it is here with the dogs, the traffic, the fucking telephone (pointy & jangly) &, oh god. The pollen. What did I ever do to all the trees & flowers to deserve this kind of warfare?

Oh and one more special case. The squished sneeze-you know the one that people try to hold in? I swear whenever I hear the pneumatic TSCHHHHH after the 'aaahhhatttchhh' my body delivers a sympathy fart. And that's not a good thing when you've already got your teeth clenched & muscles all tensioned up. Has the potential for embarrassment down the launderette. 'Goodness-near moment on the bike?' 'Not quite-some other buggers sneezing near me actually.' 'You're very weird.'

It's not all bad the panoply of human noises. Monks for example. I like chants & I love choirs & I adore girly vocals. The German in me likes a good wet bottom burp. The schadenfreude of someone else sitting on a drawing pin-pointy in every way of course. And when I was at the airport I'd sneak away on long day for a quick 40winks in a departure lounge, where the Babel of other languages being spoken by 1000s of people was rather like the lullaby of Alfred�s babbling brook. But even then the dreamscript can be turned by the quality of what's being said. I might not have word of Italian in my lexicon but you can certainly get the drift of their conversation if they're getting a bit het up. And then there�s �ugly speech�: German, Slavonics & very possibly English as well. But the sound of laughter softens everything, unless they�re laughing at you. That's a rum one laughter because we're back to percussive sounds again, but it has such a different effect. Like a boom of a celebratory bass drum or the peel of bells; even tinkly silver ones. Babel didn't get that one. Laughter & tears are universal language. The infectious Charlotte Green disolving into helpless giggles whilst reading the news about Jack Tuat, which should be on the internet & also the NHS, but sadly appears on neither. Melancholic oboes. Lachrymatory violins. A bugle playing the last lament. And what on earth is it with bagpipes? They make me want to burst into tears & at the same time pick up the warhammer & rush straight into battle. Military Intelligence might well be an oxymoron, but the forces have learned a thing or two about music & movement over the years. Play it all loud enough & you might well not notice you've had your legs blown off because you were to busy singing along. Until the music stops.

And that's my point (ha) really. I wish it would stop. Just for a bit so I can mend, repair, nail a few bits of wood over where the holes are. But no. So if the noise won't play ball then I shall have to take the ball away & fuck off somewhere else, just for a bit. Which is to say that I'm having a brief holiday from myself. Toodle pip & please no-one fall off their bikes or perches.

TTFN (which one would normally decode as an archaic Ta Ta For Now, but in this case you can substitute Totally Toxicated & Fucked by Noise.)

Whilst I�m away would someone please find by hook or by crook the audio fromTwatgate for me?!
http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/2004/mar/03/tvandradio

some suggestions I made for a quiz at my old school. 30 years after leaving.

Editor — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 13:34:21 GMT

This weekend there is a reunion of the leaving year of '81 at my old school. I have just learnt that there will be an inter house quiz down memory lane. So I've made some suggestions for some questions....read on.

Quiz

What year was the Great Porn Amnesty?
do you know I can't quite remember. That's a good start. Everyone else should though. I think it would have been 5th form. Although for some reason I thought it was in the 70s. Ho hum.

What was Mash's question to the assembly in Gavin Hall?
stand up any boy who has seen any pornography recently?

Who was the 1st person to comply?
The big 6th form bloke from School house (James?) who sprang out of his seat to military attention. Might have been a prefect as well!

Who profited most from these events & how?
Mash' own son, who nicked the best ones from the bonfire

What event & who caused the entire Amnesty in the 1st place?
Mr Whiteman catching Tim Mannings in his French class with a humdinger of a mag under his desk Might have featured Long Dong somebody, or it might have been the one with, em a horse. Either once seen-never forgotten.

I'm sure you have far more illustrious questions than that, but should be good for a giggle.

oh-what breed of dogs did Mr Merryman & Brian Lonnon have?
Afghan Hound & a fat Labrador (Henry)

alternatively which dog was most like his master?
Mr Merriman, whose Afghan Hound was as aristocratic & aloof as he was! (don't get me wrong-I was very fond of Minty & very greatful for an excellent grounding from him)

Who had motorbikes?
Wally, Wiggo, Ian Kerr, David Dames & Jerry Baker (who eventually had the biggest one of them all). I think I've forgotten someone here. Did Baggo have one?? Peter Booth!

What was painted on the bonnet of Brick's black Ford Capri & who did it?
A 'trans-am' eagle & his wife did it.

Which master has the most internet stories about him?
Mr Watson-of chemistry & Junior House. They are also hilarious & every year has them!

What was booboo Baines's end of term trick?
Showing the class what an amazing memory he had (might need more detail on that. IIRC it was about numbers & mnemomics)

What was the summer game 'unique' to Junior House?
Puddex. (see bottom of page 4 http://sternians.org/files/Nov2009Link.pdf )

Bit personal this one (but he was legendary for this kind of thing) Whose logic went 'if a 50cc motorbike can do 50mph, & a 100cc one can do 100mph then does that mean a 1000cc can do...?
The lovely & irrespressible Simon Timms!

Which master played impressionable juniors filthy musical rounds of the fruitier type of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales & was reduced to utilise all his prodigious talent & the then new & expensive electronic organ in the Gavin Hall so he could play the same insistent juniors the theme from Star Wars?
Bernie 'Elton' Newman!

2 esp for the dinner guests:
Which master also related dirty old (classical) tales & was more than adept at updating the language for a modern audience?
RTD (& then she climbed over me, bustled up her skirts & pissed (staled was the original word) long & hard on my face!) Ask him what that story was!

Which master encompassed French colouring in sheets, creation myths & a memorable visit from the Samaritans which resulted in perplexed teenagers in days of pre-coed having to deal with a phonecall from a desparate woman whose baby would not stop crying?
Robin Craig (& I think put it into a microwave or a blender might have been one offered option. It was a time for such 'jokes' I'll take the 5th on that one!)

What did you have to do if you were nicked by Wiggo?
Pick stones out of his garden.

What did Concord teach?
Art. Sometimes!

Who taught us what in the highest & stuffiest room in the school block?
Charlie Hallows & Geography. Best daydreaming window ever!

Who taught us PE at the start?
Johnny Webb (IIRC)

Which short in stature sadist got his job?
Pitprop!

What dd Doc Watson teach?
History! (chem was the other Watty)

What "team event" so nearly happened one night at the CCF camp in Folkestone?
We challenged another school (who had had enough of our repetition of the muppet song) to a bit of a scrap & someone (Andy Wilson) removed all the chains securing the rifles & distributed them about. It was a no-show on the field by the other lot, which was just as well!

What musical did we all do in the 1st year & where did we all sit?
Joseph & on top on the entrance to the back of the stage in the Gavin Hall-Health & Safety would have had a fit!
You could get them all to try & do the hand jive & award points for the best one. LWC Strictly eh?!

Who got the most rakings when Wally emptied the lost property box at the far end of the changing rooms at Junior House?
Berywn-followed very closely by his bro Daniel.

Whose shampoo coated most surfaces in Haslevere 5th form dorm, nicely dusted with 1/2 tonne of washing powder just before we all had to toddle off & sit an O level?
Andy Perry's! The 4th form said that Mr Whibley popped in, saw the trashed dorm, fetched some other masters & lay in wait. However, immediately after the exam we returned straight there & cleared the whole thing up in about 5 minutes. Apparently the expression on Mr W's face was priceless when he burst in to 'have words'.

2 pages, not sides, narrow lined A4, in black ink, bought to me before assembly tomorrow morning. Any argument & it's doubled. Who?
Brian Lonnon-& if you were silly enough to do it blue you got to do it all again! Berywn..

For Group Discussion:
What was yer fav General Film? & best end of term production by any year & which master had the best/most apposite nickname?

Which Master(s) was(were) worthy of the Most Sarcastic Bastard Ever award?
Jerry Baker for sheer quantity, but Brian Lonnon had an occasional neat & devestating line in it.

Nominations for the biggest troublemakers in our year?
Steve Brabant from me. A late arrival, but man did he make up for it the minute punk arrived!

Whose gone onto the most unlikely career out of us all?
Could be myself, but David Stroud as a Customs Officer made me giggle when I heard about it! Hope he has the last laugh!

Which master had the sexiest wife?! (now if that doesn't get them going..)

Oh yeah-you gotta end on a group Manna Mana!
The Muppets: Mah Na Mah Na - Children in Need 2011 The Best Bits - YouTube

BTW will any of you be off to Sutton & if so what time? May I tag along & see my girl up there?!

Finally, time to be serious I feel. If you do an absent friends I'd like to say a little prayer for those of us, & who we knew, that haven't made it this far. JPW springs straight to mind. So young. Also I'm not quite sure if Mr Smooth (DD) & Peter Seelig (who I reckon was the most interesting one of the lot) are still with us. The internet is oddly absent, although I did see a cached Sternians webpage page about some cartoons "commemorating" them, which rather suggests that they aren't. RIP if that is the case & thanks for the memories from two real individuals. If there was something of a scandal I'm not sure that I want to know.
.
Also & possibly not an easy way to work this in, but I'm positive I read in one of the mags/newsletters that LWC so kindly send out the text of a remarkabley eloquent, mature & deeply moving speech given by a leaving Foundationer that year. Possibly the finest thing I've read about how important that system is. And it's also proving very difficult to find-I know there's the issue of anonymity but if anything is likely to get people to give, IMO, it is that.

And the below deserves wider recognition for obv reasons. Matthew was 1999-2004 Sutton House.
The Matthew Elvidge Trust | Welcome

As Ever

Paul

Rideout To Whitby with Crass. Warning: contains Goths & an unbelievable error..

Editor — Sat, 29 Oct 2011 13:38:34 GMT

The Ride, Bikes & Kit

It started as a wizzer for probably the last dry biking day of the season, so Crass & I met in Donnie & headed east. Don�t ask me exactly what we did because the plan got modded pretty quickly due to some very greasy roads. Which wasn�t a terrible problem as we were both smooth about it, but that wasn�t really the point to the day. It was bloomin� chilly, which was to come back & bite at the other end of the day. Also I had wrecked my old fogcity visor insert with a baby wipe mid-ride a few weeks ago & had to prise it off then & there. It was quite a revelation how clear everything was after that-I would guess it�s been optically degrading for some time, so I didn�t replace it. This was a very, very bad decision. I�d stuck Effbee�s idea of a cable tie round the chinstrap to kind of pop visor open just a smidgeon, but it wasn�t quite thick enough to do the job unless you were at 80 plus. So it was visor open at minimum most of the day & feck. Still-kept one alert. Should have bought an Arai rather than a Shoei.

So the twistie way to Whitby & it was. Let me tell you that a well set up Kwaker ZXR400 goes fucking well. It�s immaculate, Weeksy clean & very purdy-some lovely detail on it. The venerable CBR6 coped excellently & most of the time it kept up really just being lazy about the choice of gear. Until there was a blind corner & there the man was in his element. I got quite a lot more confidence about them during the day (thanks fella) but most of the time he was lined up, done & gone, so I then had to spank George a fair bit after exit to catch him up, very concious that any fool can go fast in a straight line! It�s all me, not George who has far more capacity than I have. Still, things gradually got much better as I stared to move my shoulders around the bike & applied myself. Really enjoyed that & even better the sun came out & warmed by backside up, which was essential. The ride across the moors was superb & I can tell you that dry stone walling is not quite dead yet as we passed a bloke in the middle of reparing a length, who was taking a break & looking at the remaining work to be done. About 6 months worth by the look of it. He didn�t look very happy about it though.There were also some mad bastards doing the paragliding thing, which TBH looked excellent.

Into Whitby, left, down Love Lane, (which I noticed had a Creamery..) & out via the coast road. Bloody brilliant & the sunshined sea view of Sandsend as you round the corner made me actually shout �oh yes-that�s it.� Stopped for tea, went back into Whitby for fuel & did it all again to go further on to Staithes. Another �oh yes, now THIS one is it� shout through the misty visor. Then back to Whitby for late lunch & entertainment, Robin Hoods Bay & return via Scarborough. Details of this later in Destinations. As far as the ride back went dusk was falling, temps were dropping & I�m about to rapidly discover limitations of my kit, the bike & myself. It don�t probably help that after the steepest hill back to the bikes that I was pretty sweaty-took jacket off to cool down as I slowly kitted up.

Bit of a clusterfuck of issues on the return frankly. Heat being an immediate big one. I�ve leathers with underlays of a clever T & a long sleeved but thin T, bandanna, thick waterproof HG gloves and silk liners & old hiking socks in boots. Way not enough. Upper body at the limit really, thighs & arse ditto. Hands gradually totally numb & by the end so fucked that I could barely operate the clutch. Not so bad with the CBR-damn thing will pull from 2K (it has been regeared) so you can virtualy leave in top, but each movement was really painful. Bike has heated grips. Forget about that-it�s the finger tips that were the worst, so Heated gloves for me next time. Also both palms were fucked so I had to keep taking hands off & shaking them & riding a fair bit with just the heels of my hands on the bars. On top of that both my thighs cramped so I was alternately stretching my legs out. That fucking hurt a lot-everytime I put one back on the footrests it cramped again. Also a balaclava would have helped enormously as would being able to close the visor. Also the hiking socks had seen better days & were tissue thin at the toes. That was also a costly error-painful changing up that was. Finally as the light truly went, the real biggie-vision. Fucking bastard cunting badly adjusted headlights & full lighthouse strength bulbs on the oncoming traffic. Plus the shittiest headlamp bulb known to Edison in the CBR. I�d have been better off with a dark lantern. The headlight on my CB500S, which is exactly the same age as this, was ten times better & that�s standard. This on the cross country routes where (obv) there are no street lights meant that a lot of the time I using Crass�s rear running light as a target, & there were sevcral times when I �lost� him round the bends & had to spank to reacquire, which was unfunny running virtually blind. Also if there had been something on the road I�d never have seen it. 80 miles is nothing in the sunshine & a fucking long way in the dark & cold. By christ those moors are freezing after dark. Anyhow, we eventually got back OK-past Eggborough Power station which was very spooky in the dark http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eggborough_power_station

Sod knows what the next town was called but it was rough as fuck. Takeaway after takeaway, all peeling signs, gangs of feral looking thin kids crossing the roads in packs. One lot shouted at me & I had visions of being pushed off, so I ignored the 30 in 30 for a wee moment. We split shortly after & I had bloody roundy after roundy (with the hands) to hit the A1 & then head down & a pretty buffety ride back home. Couldn�t feel my gate keys when I got there-all I could was my phone so Had to ring the GF to let me in & open the garage. A really hamfisted lurch up the driveway, very sloppy into garge & then fucked off into the house, where joy of joys the girls had lit a fire & poured me a beer! Had a lovely couple of texts making sure I�d got back OK from Crass, during which I learn he was stiff as a board after!

So it was a superb day out & incredibly useful. The end of it doesn�t read like much fun, & it wasn�t. It�s the most continuosly frightened I�ve been on a bike & when the twin leg cramps arrived I seriously wondered if I was going to make it. I don�t think that I might have done without Crass in front of me & there�s the learning. I could have had all the right kit, my Bro�s VFR800 which wafts lovely thigh warming heat out of the side rads & is of course a proper tourer, illegally powerful lights but I still wouldn�t have been able to see a brick on the road in time. It could be down to needing new visor & glasses (plastic lenses on these) which I should replace, but frankly I think pitch black night riding & me are now a thing of the past-TBH I really knew this from the car. So if that�s all I lose by virtue of getting older then I can live with that! And now I know it for sure. Mind you-it wouldn�t be a proper adventure without a bit of a frit would it? Indy had a few moments in search of the Ark & Bond got his undercarriage belted with a carpet beater (he did-read the book or see the original Casino Royale) so compared to that a bit of chill & WTF are we is very small beer. A very tidy, clear, precise & safe ride from Crass-a pleasure to follow & I learnt a lot.

Lessons to be learnt & Glad I Knew That�s

As ever, ride your own ride. You�ll all know this, but if one newbie takes anything from this let it be this one. There were a few overtakes where I wouldn�t have got through if I�d followed Crass, or it would have been too close. Never blithely follow the leader-unless you can�t see a fecking thing apart from their tailight & keep the same lines.

Assumptions. Guilty again. Caught myself out at least twice. One was assuming he was going left at a sloping T junction & making the turn. He didn�t due to traffic so I had to halt a bit more suddenly than I�d have liked. Fortunately Horse�s Betty Boothroyd came to the rescue. Very early on there was a set of roadwork traffic lights which I thought he was going to nip through on the change, because I would have done, so I was on the gas, but as he said later he was sure that I wouldn�t have got through behind him, so he elected to stop so we didn�t get split up. Now that is forward planning. Also an excellent early spot of mud on the road & very clear signalling so I knew exactly what was about to happen.

Always check your side stand. I left it down whilst backing out & Crass spotted it. That could have all ended badly. So, always.

Hills, sweat & then ride. Not so clever. Better kit all round. Cold is a killer.

Vision-the single most important thing of all.

Investigate the headlamp on the bike & also the positioning of the footpegs & the handlebars.

Know your limitations & don�t put yourself into situations where these are exposed.

Now for some more nice bits:

Destinations
http://www.visitwhitby.com/people-pl...coast-villages

Staithes I think!

view other side Staithes

an 120kg cast iron fish, which is a collecting box for the RNLI at Robin Hood's Bay.

detail of above 'Wayfoot Fish'. Note it's wet..that'd be the sea.

TO BE CONTINUED PLUS PHOTOS ADDED

Professor Wellington�s Transport Policy

Editor — Sun, 27 Mar 2011 11:04:29 GMT

nearly final edit: spot the strap lines!

Greetings to all fine hounds, coming to you this time from their living room. It appears that Rank hath It�s Privilege & I have been promoted from the kitchen. I get to go & annoy Rals & Duggie & teach the yoof how to deport properly, & when I consider my work done I get to have a sustaining snooze on their sofa. All I need now is another roast beef dinner (there is no substitute) & I�ll have the lot of them fully under my control. Since I�m talking of comfort for desirable creatures, I�d like to give some considerations about what they call, �the car.� If you�re Rals we know it better as the chunder wagon, & if it is Panda, it�s unmentionably messy. As for puppies, words fail me.

I think the approach here is to get your human to consider the matter from YOUR point of view, which is about a foot off the ground, & the ground is something that should be stable. Your Dad, being male, is bombarded with subliminal (& according to your Mum, frequently blatant) media messages that inform him that such & such a motor will put va va voom back into his life. His life is incomplete without racing seats, inadequate without a big engine & failure without a turbo. The power of dreams etc. Give him a Smart Car & he turns into a hairdresser with a low serotonin level, or so he is led to believe by the authority of the likes of Jeremy Clarkson & his hamster. I�ll give James May the benefit of my doubt. At least he knows his wines. I�ll tell you something though-none of that lot buys their own fuel. Going down the performance route leads to discomfort, liquid mess & a distinct & voluble reluctance to be put in it. Think of each outing as the equiv of not so much the big dipper at Southend, but some godawful American thing that drives compression marks & nightmares into small children. So the ScoobEvoIntegrale V24 144 valve superultradodecaturbo is out & so is anything with �sports suspension.� Clue-if there�s a girlie dressed in her summer nothingness in the advert & the vehicle is red or black, it�s a non starter. Beauty is not enough.

So that�s what we don�t want. What do we need then? The drive of your wife, that�s what. I�m pretty much sure I woof for us all when I say that our own little space is what we want & I don�t mean the passenger footwell. That�s for poodles & the glove box is for toys. I like my own place with lots of bodyroom, so may I commend you to the estates? Besides, anyone who has ever had one always says they never knew just how they managed before. It also removes the distractions afforded by the whicker pic-i-nic basket, with it�s tasty morsels & easy to crunch through sides. Like a wrapped prezzy is how I think of those. You might think you can do all this with the rear seats folded flat like those clever Hondas do, but where are you going to put the nosh? In the front you reckon-so that�s why I poke my nose between the seats for the whole journey. And dere hearts, I�m afraid even the best of us can have an accident on a journey, which is why you really, really need a removable & washable boot liner. Also, pay great attention to what�s left sticking out when those seats go down. A few years ago they were looking at a Mondeo, but put the seats down in that & there was this nasty sticky out thing where the seats located, just at my eye level. I believe this defect has been rectified on the later models, but for my sake, check that one out on whatever you choose. And if you dare leave me in your hatchback & pop out for a drinkie & fish & chips, well, I�ll feel so left out that I might just make a light lunch of your headrests, chew your steering wheel & rip the stuffing out of those leather chairs. If I can get at the satnav & iPod I�ll have them too. You have been warned. The dog in front is a Wellington.

There�s also the matter of getting me in & out. Do I look like a beagle? In my case, most emphatically not, so don�t expect me to be jumping in & out at my age, so easy does it. Perhaps if you�d taught me to use a ramp as a nipper that would have helped, but no you didn�t think of that. Poor planning I must say. Caveat here-make sure your ramp can�t slip off. My Dad picked up a motorbike with his van & used the proper thing. Unfortunately he didn�t fix the ramp to the van, & on top of that he started the bally thing & powered it in. Of course when the rear wheel got to the top of the ramp, it gripped it & spat it onto the ground (think of my own excited 4 legged drive here). How I laughed at him holding it by the rear wheel & screaming for help. If only everything in life was as reliable eh? The point of this is if either me or the bike fell off neither of us will be getting up in quite the same condition as we went down. And your Chelsea tractor (aka the 4x4) is even higher up.

Now when you let me out it�s walkies time, so of course I�m a bit excited. It would help matters a lot if you have a cage in the back so I can�t slip out as you open the tailgate. If you look at the show lot they almost all have a custom rear gate with a door in it. These are excellent & you can buy them 2nd hand as well. It should go without saying that you should have a front one-think of that pic-er-nicked basket & all that�s holding me back are your stuffed headrests.

Environmental concerns. No I don�t mean the catalytic converter & wotnots. There was a smattering of snow at the start of the year that caught most of you out. Here�s what to do. Get some cheap nasty steel wheels for your car. Get a trolley jack & a decent wheel brace for the wheel nuts. Put some very good winter tyres onto these rims & stuff it all into the back of the garage. When the next ice age comes, simply slip trolley jack under the car & replace the wheels with your snow ones. Job jobbed, unless you have been silly enough to believe Top Gear & have a rear wheel drive BMW etc. The ultimate driving experience only if you like spinning off into the road furniture. Personally I think that�s overrated. Incidentally your big 4x4 isn�t much cop when it gets to deep snow. Those fat tyres & all that weight compresses the snow into ice & simply spin no matter what lockable diffs & electrickery you have. What you want are narrow tyres that kind of cut & slice through. Our Micra was the only vehicle that could even get off the drive way & did us all proud. And that�s with standard tyres. See, you can with a Nissan.

Creature Comforts. So you have aircon. Warms you up, keeps you cool. What about me then? Or your rear passengers? Best check where it all goes. And if you�re old skool & reckon to open the rear windows a bit, let me tell you that the Peugeot 406 makes some kind of dervish drumming noise which winds the heck out of me & them. So I�d check that as well. You can get clever little fans that you hang on the front dog guard & they power off the cig lighter. They have inserts you stick in the freezer too. Also, much like you like a coffee or a gin if you stop, I�d like a drink too. So pack some water AND my bowl please. Here�s an idea. Put my full waterbowl on your lap. Now drive without spilling it. That�s how I like to be chauffeured about & I promise you your fuel economy will rocket too.

A couple of things those nice salespeople won�t tell you. One-how much it costs to replace the clutch. Old skool motors it was pretty easy. However, Vauxhall Vectras, Rovers etc of a certain vintage need to be almost taken apart to do it. You can buy me a lot of roast beef with �400. Also, due to European Emissions regs, rather a lot of diesel engines after 2001 have a FAP system in the exhaust. This filters out the soot, & when the filter get a bit blocked, injects some magic cleaning fluid into the fuel, sparks up an element like an old electric fire & burns it off. Very environmentally sound eh? But wait. Somewhere underneath is a small tank of this magical liquid. If you run out (about every 30k miles) it won�t work. (wee light on the dashboard-the kind of thing you mean to look up in the owner�s manual but forget). Then the filter clogs. Replaced at the same cost as my roast beef extravaganza. And that fluid must be the most expensive liquid on earth, after printer ink. If you look at the top of the service desk in VAG garages you�ll see notices all about this. Vorsprung durch technik, my sainted whiskers.

Finally, if you take one thing from any of this-do not leave me in a car when it�s sunny or even overcast. I don�t care if you have the windows down & water in. There�s one heck of a lot of glass in the back & my personal veterinary physician tells me that I�d have under 10 minutes before everything gets very final indeed. You wouldn�t leave an infant or the frozen shopping in such a situation, so do not do it to me. Thank you for listening. Bassets. For life. Bash on the Bonios!

Edit: basking in my glory at beating my nemesis (Rals), in a class of our own, to take Best Veteran in Show at the Basset Hound Club Open Show at Stafford yesterday, under Judith Murray aka TTN, I am now waiting on my stretch limo so I can ride in the back-my very own portable sofa. Born to Perform-that�s me. Unlike any other!

A Christmas Message From My Dog to Yours

Editor — Sun, 05 Dec 2010 17:17:51 GMT

Edit 2 BHC Christmas 2010 Article.

This is the version I wasn't allowed to submit...

***********

It is I, Wellington Basset here. Consumer of yore show sanis, escape artiste & curse of st hubert�s. Now if it�s the staff reading this, then give this to the Very Important Bassets on yore sofa & go and get us a tasty smackerel of something while I explain the true wonders & traditions of the festive season to yore VIBs & lesser breeds.

Have they gone yet? Good. Eat these pages after you have read them. It is for yore own good, as you will see. Christmas is the time for joyous opportunity. There�s more time for mayhem, distraktions & tricks than there ever was on Halloween. Read on & don�t leave this lying around for the Cat to find, or all will be undone & kitty will be Topp Cat.

OK. Come In.

The Advent Calendar. This is a thing the tinies hang on the kitchen wall & fold bits of cardboard back. It seems to function as a Chocolate Dispenser. I can see no other obvious use. Choccy is very luverly, but it is not good for you at all. Bit like what your Mum says when dad opens another bottle of beer. Just sit underneath it, stare at the floor if they drop the sweets & do not move. They will think you have grown up at last. Little do they kno.

The Tree. As considerate as you might think they are providing an indoor facility for your ablutions, I strongly suggest you conduct this sort of business outside as usule. What it does make for are ransom & extortion. Simply tease off one of the shiny round decorations & hold it yore mouth. Do NOT bite it. Instead wait for your Mum to have a fit of the screaming habdabs & waft all manner of bribes under your nose. Hold out for steak before you relinquish the bauble & get lots of hugs. All this stops them taking you for granted! NB this only work once-see bit about magazines later.

The Christmas Box for your staff. This is easy diggings. Simply find the shiny stuff you�ve hidden throughout the year & drop it in. Lots of hugs, clever dog & treats. There�s one born every minit.

The newspapers, comics & Christmas special magazines. Should be outlawed by the Geneva Convention as illegal weapons-I�d rather a split-seam �creaker� kane. Should you find yourself on the receiving end it�s only fair if you eat the Radio Times & bite their internet connection. All families are but two missed TV programmes away from a descent into barbarianism. Or charades.

Guests-family. Always good for a touch of something. Except gran. It would ne nice if they just formed an orderly queue & dished out the treats, but instead you have to put up with inane chatter & the interminable �how much have you grown� tosh before they hand over the goods. Just nod & silently diskard them.

Guests-friends of family. Fine for jumping up & running around. Roll over & beg. Look longingly at their plates. Sooner or later one will relent & ask if �anyone ever feeds that dog?�. Nope. Not as often as they should.

Guests-dogs of friends of family. Tricky. Best hide all the toys before they arrive, otherwise wee FiFi the poodle in her bow will have them all & little Stroggy will nip her tail & then there will be a fight. For which you will get the blame & be back in the Jug again. A cleaning of the cupboards, walls, you getting a brush & a bath & a full water bowl might give advance warning. On the other hand it might also herald arrival of she-who-should-not-be-mentioned.

Other Guests-Gran. What mathematicians & other insane profeshunals call a �special case.� All is never what it seem. All family, well nearly all, is pleased to see her. Except yore dad. This is becoz when there is no-one else in the kitchen she fix him into yore basket with an �old fashioned� look & launches in with �your feet are a disgrace & when did you last wash your face?� Swiftly followed with �when I was a girl, real men used to..� Her ears then glow red & she finish on a final uppercut: �I have no idea what my daughter sees in you at all.� She swiftly depart room & you & dad look at each other, wondering which one of you was being talked at. It does not matter. It doesn�t to gran.

Father Christmas. This means a smackeral of pie for you. There is usually a glass with something vile in the bottom it, which for some reason smells a lot like your Dad when he has fallen asleep in the soup. It would be a chizz for the tinies if Father Christmas was banged up so it�s down to you to do the decent thing &, ahem, dilute it. He�ll never suspect what with it being much the same colour until it is Too Late. Only good manners to leave a little bit of the pie & also to point the cat in that direction. With a bit of luck puss will cop for the lot & the Geneva Convention can be briefly considered abandoned. Who would have thort puss would have done that, wot a bad cat, etc? Take care to look inscrutable i.e. do not hang yore tongue out of the side of your mouth & drool with anticipation or the game will be up & you will be in Wormwood Scrubs along with dere Santa.

Charity & unfortunates. See those wee birdies outside? The ones that wait until you�re almost there & then wing it? They are deserving of your largesse. And they luv pic �n� mix, much as you will this afternoon�s dinner. So the correct thing to do is to, ahem, recycle that vile dog fud you were given for breakfast onto the patio. In addition to providing a nutritious & now hot meal, you also have the benefit of more space for the main event & the warm glow from a recycling job well done.

Christmas Day Lunch. This all need to be played carefully after the Roast Beef Incident earlier this year. The vital bit is not to do what they are expecting & you were hoping i.e. pinch the bloomin� lot. When dad stands up & offers a �toast to the queen� this is yore cue. Well actually is dad�s cue to slurp more booze, as he hav no interest in the royals wotsoever, but no matter. Shortly after yore dad will lower his voice & raise his glass (agane) & mutter �absent friends� & yore mother will blub a bit. Quietly go sit by your master (yes, I kno- wait for it..) & put your head on his knee. He will then nearly fall over when he move & say something like �blasted dog.� Gran will look thortfully down at you & joy of joys you will get a sopwith�s sossie under the table. There are times when I luv the old gurl.

Presents. Always nice to see the tinies faces during this time; although we�ll never see the likes again of when dad gave mum a drill & she give him hair curlers. Well, I hope not anyhow. It would be nice if they gave us VIBs things that are Good for You. Take Nail Clippers (I wish you would & as far away as possible.) At the least treat them to a new sharp blade. Better still get a really decent pair. Keeping with Elf & Booty, how about some really good shampoo? That disinfectant that smells like old fine wooden libraries & parquet flooring? Expensive at 1st sight, but a very little goes a long way. How about if someone treated you to a brand new bed? Whilst we�re talking about smelly things I do think it�s high time we had a new mop & bucket. Sorry, Ralegh that is. Wasn�t me & it never is.

The Christmas film. At one time this was the main event after lunch. Yore dad used to keep awake during the Bond movie, much to the annoyance of your mum. Instead now it is all cartoons & Harry Potter, which yore dad compares poorly to something called Morecombe, Wise & Angela Rippon. This also annoys yore mum, but it does not last because he soon fall asleep. Now the game is truly afoot. Quietly creep back to kitchen & look on the surfaces. You might need to stand on something, like Ralegh, but it�s worth it for the excellent spoils. NB do not pull the plate over the edge. Unless you�ve had yore lot & wish to get the others 6 of the best.

And no matter how well you hav fed, or drunk, come bed time under no circumstances fall asleep in the teenager�s (if you hav such a creature in the house-it�s really what kennels were designed for) dirty sock collection, or in the morning you will be ushered from the kitchen with a broom & it�s a Boxing day bath for you. You have been warned.

The Boxing Day show/walk. It�s not the winning it�s the taking part, they tell the smalls. And when the smalls are getting their hair brushed they hiss into your ear something like �if you don�t behave & come back with a rosette, we�ll do you.� Why they don�t do the same to their own pups on School Sports Day I do not kno. Obviously it�s wot yore mother whispers to yore father just before the Dad�s sack race & see how hard he then try? Or maybe it is that she hav given him an incentive-maybe a sausage treat? Still there is a satisfaction in winning dog wot looks most like his master when dad is showing. I don�t even need to make any effort to look that miserable.

Panto. A proper opportunity for unsupervised mayhem, assuming you hav not landed a part on centre stage. Unless, that is, gran has been left behind, in which case you hav no hope. You could try worrying the old gurl by pointing yore nose at the front door & growling. Some grans are harder than others-there is a high risk of your radiant whiskers being reintroduced to a rolled up mag. Personally I believe sleep to be the better part of valour.

Party Pieces. Everyone thinks they have one. Some are more successful than others. Some make the X factor rejects look worthy of Christmas No1. However, this is where you can shine. After dad�s appalling & brutal murdering of Slade�s Merry Christmas simply let slip the catch & let the kitchen crew in. Snowball can say her name. Lucy can demand her favourite snack (hula hoop). Ralegh can convert a clean pair of trousers into a muddy sodden mess in about 0.02 seconds, whilst Moose pinches everyone�s shoes, the washing up sponge & anything else not nailed down. Dougie cleans the entire coffee table with a single sweep of his tail. TBH it would have been kinder to have done this before dad went on, but the poor fule deserve it & besides this is all about making you look good.

Charades. This is where you must effect a hasty exit or you will be dressed up as something hideous which will make them howl with laughter & take photographs. If you are caught then there is only one thing to do. Find the item you stashed under the sofa whilst playing lucky dip with the dirty washing on Christmas Eve & drop them onto gran�s shoes. If you are lucky it will be a pair of knickers. Make a break for it during the �I thought I told you to clean up� discussion.

Other trad games. The only one worth mentioning is the 3:30 at Kempton. 2lb of tripe on the nose to win. If they fall for that you hav it made.

Thank you letters. This seems to be some kind of torture for tinies, judging by their howls. This is where you come in. Wot small boy wouldn�t want to pla with his doggie eh? If you are both clever the game can go on all afternoon. It only ends when the sordid truth is discovered by mum & you are sent back to yore basket. Never mind-it�s not as if it is the Gulag Kennel & you will be fed. Probably the tinnies dinner as well. This is a good moment to invest for the future. Ensure you take yore not-quite-empty bowl quietly up the stairs to their bedroom & scratch door. They will luv you for yore gesture & you will still get to finish yore dinner.

New Year�s Resolutions. Fine for everyone else but not for you. Unless you are on the invite list to that wedding, in which case start sliming now becoz the pickings there will be a once in a lifetime opportunity & you mite get to have a dalliance with a Corgi.

Now destroy the evidence & I wish you good will & fortune to all bassets, dogs, owners & even the cat. Bash on the bonios!

Wellington

*****

I am ridiculously pleased that I still got away with an oblique reference to Fat Freddie's Cat, bottersnikes & that the nob gag slipped through :D

EDIT: Farewell bestest buddy whose fault it all was that we got another one. Sleep well darling & hug Moppet, Noodles & Ralegh. There's not one day that passes when I don't think of you all, but it's always you first, WellyBelly.

Book Ends

Editor — Sat, 27 Nov 2010 14:29:55 GMT

The luminous green FogCity cab advertises that you can get your oil changed for $31.95. Any guesses where we are today? Well let�s start the approach from the south along the coastal road. It�s designated a highway, but it�s more like a B road here. Single track & it twists & turns, up & down, a perfect biking road except there wouldn�t be a good idea to take time to enjoy the view because the drop over the edge is a lonnng way down to the rocks. Considering how often in films there seem to be wrecks going over vistas like these I�m a bit disappointed not to see one burnt out hulk or at the very least some wheels nestling in a rock pool. Maybe there�s really so many that there�s an overnight clean up team. I�m imprinting an image of a small black bird counterbalancing a preposterously long & bright red beak when we go through a narrow pass sided by high rocks, turn the corner & bang, industrialisation materialises. Like it was dropped there. The highway widens enormously & the speeds pick up. In case you were in any doubt there�s a huge sign in the distant hills to the right that spells out in white letters �South San Francisco The Industrial City.� It looks like a Hollywood job, but to reinforce (..) the point these letters are actually concrete & set in flush to the ground. Apparently the city of South San Francisco is considered a separate entity to SF proper & these two are described in wiki as �not even contiguous.� Maybe I blinked, but you could have fooled me although we are aiming to pass through SF as fast as possible-we are coming back to it later. You can see the Golden Gate Bridge, & it ain�t golden. It�s the same colour of red oxide primer. Then a bit of a surprise-the front of San Quentin State prison passes by & with immaculate timing Johnny Cash comes on the country station the driver has imposed on us for today. It�s a big facility & they kill people there, so don�t get any romantic notions. It isn�t half sitting on some prime real estate though-it overlooks the damn waterfront! About � billion bucks worth, 10years ago. So about 3cents, post sub-prime then. Perhaps we could turn it into a Bank.

The road starts to go uphill & SF then disappears with no sprawl. We�re into sunlit woodlands with 15mph bends, minimal Armco & lots more upping & downing. The whole geography starts to become more rugged & frontier like. And it has a name-the Golden Gate National Recreation Area (GGNRA). The long name fits it well because it�s one of the largest parks in the world & one of the most visited state parks in the US. I�m aware that I keep saying this but the American�s do their national park scheme so well & I�d have love to spend some time there. We pull over at Stinson Beach to watch some surfers. I can�t believe how close all this is to SF. It�s amazing-like having the Peak District/Forests & the Scottish Coast about 20mins north of London. Back in the car & we�re travelling on hwy 1. Yep, that one & it is a stunning route. Destination today is Mendocino, on the coast on Mendocino County. Officially this county is a bit hot on wine growing & production. Not quite so shouted about is the estimation that half of their economic prosperity is attributed to the cultivation of marijuana. Although an enquiring mind might have made something of a connection when it saw that the 40 mile train service between fort Bragg & Willits is known as the �Skunk Train� Unfortunately it would have been wrong, because this rail route was all about ferrying redwood lumber & although once steam powered it followed �progress� & used mainly gas powered self propelled rail cars. You could smell them before you saw them. And today their sole source of revenue is from passenger excursions, so once again we are safe from a stopover at San Q. We didn�t actually know this at the time.

We pull into Mendocino & it is quiet, rural & captivating. We�ve found a hotel & sent the negotiators in. 5 mins later & we�ve dropped from $345 to $175. In utter contrast to the Elk Hotel in the woods back the other side of SF, who were having none of it. And with a proper Porsche Turbo & a big fug off Audi A8 outside they obviously didn�t need to. We�ve thrown the luggage into our two floor part of our own house & gone straight back put again as light will soon shortly fall & we all want to investigate the headland. There are fabulous wee trails across it & once again little nod to health & safety. Wooden railings aren�t exactly straight & bits of it have fallen down. Look back at the coast line & it's like prehistoric aquatic monsters with giant long claws have torn chunks out in an effort to climb onto the land. The sea is elemental; it�s the Pacific Ocean & there is no gentleness here. Crashing over the stickly spiky rocks, big spray like from the formula 1 winners champagne bottle, except fired from the last argument of kings. It�s quite desolate & completely unspoilt. Bloomin� cold though-three of my fingers turned white. Mendocino itself is lots of white picket fences, 2 story white wooden buildings with balconies & porches, alleyways with gnarly arty bits of wind & sand blasted tree, gardens with faded wagons, wheels, purpley & pink pointillism planting. It�s as clean as a whistle & the front with the shopping is all board walked. Low lit window displays have glassware with coloured liquids & powders in like Merlin�s apothecary. It seems vaguely, distantly familiar. It also sounds rather cutesy artsy, & it is because a lot of it is carefully structured & composed, but very sympathetically so. We�ve been to far worse artists� communities where naturalised nature might just as well have been signed, dated & stuck with a title & a price tag. What there is a lot of are wooden water towers & these poke squattly into the skyline. This is fortunate because I have been despatched for provisions (i.e. booze) & I have managed to disorientate myself even in this small place. The towers provide me with points of reference & like a successful Hansel I find my way back. By way of a supporting cast to the towers are a lot of metal tailed windmills up poles. Not seaside ones, these are substantial & have red lettering on them proclaiming that this art is from the ERA Motor company.

Priorities. Warm up & investigate dinner. The hotel is woven around a Victorian theme. Lots of hardwood, big drapey curtains, deep carpets, dim wall lights & staff are dressed in period. The hotel dates back to 1878. Now you might think that we do the best fish & chips in the world. Well, I grant you that we have some places that do it very well indeed, but the Americans are a discerning lot when it comes to seafood & fried things. Rock fish & chips & it is superb. And if you think that the only beer is Budweiser & Coors, I have a rather lovely surprise for you. The bottled beers are incredibly varied & I choose a stout from the Old Rasputin microbrewery. It was so full of flavour that I had another one. I�ve popped outside after for a ciggy & behind the hotel is a �beer bar� with music & the jolly sounds of youth. Outside, also smoking a tab is a local girl & as a boy walks past her he stops & asks her what�s she doing tonight? Girl replies, �waiting to go out to dinner.� Boy says quickly, �who you going to dinner with?� Oh green-eyed son. You grasped it wasn�t you so fast, but you could have played that so much better. I�ve toddled back inside to look at the walls. There�s an antique framed picture called �Point Of Honour� & which features 2 ladies in big dresses sword fighting. They might be a bit chilly as neither seems to be wearing anything above the waist. I had thought the American�s quite prudish about these things, but as I said earlier I was unaware of this county�s rather liberal laws on certain matters. It�s slightly out of keeping with the hotel�s original inception as �The Temperance House� & described as �the one bastion of good Christian morals in a town of loggers.� Behind is a bar called the Garden Room & it has a wonderful domed tiffany coloured skylight. Below are incredibly well dressed group of ladies & gentleman. Glamorous doesn�t really quite cover it. They�re fizzling with energy & then there�s a brief snippet of solo opera, which gets rapidly taken up by the rest & then collapses into delightful & infectious laughter. Could it have been post dress rehearsal, or 1st night, or last night I wonder? Just then our friends collect me as they are going to our Garden Suite to attack the provisions & light the fire. I join them, leaving my musings unresolved. The slight aroma of mothballs in our rooms quickly disappears & we write a couple of postcards on the wooden desk, under the standard lamps. Our friends have the balcony bedroom upstairs & I read up for the next day & childishly make a couple of paper darts to try & circle them into the bedroom upstairs. It�s a very chilly night, even though we are sleeping in front of the fire.
The Mendocino Hotel and Garden Suites: Fine Lodging and Dining in Historic Mendocino

As soon as morning comes I�m off out to find fresh bread & things & joy of joys there�s an artisan bread shop. I think my accent does the serving lady�s head in because she can�t stop looking at me. I�ve bought some things for breakfast & to make lunch if we need it & scampered back, noticing that overnight the moles have been rather active in the hotel�s grounds & that ground squirrels look like they�re going to mug me. Totally unafraid of anything. By heck, the bread is superb-we�ve eaten it upstairs with the windows thrown open so the sunshine & sea air can come in & we can enjoy a virtually nose to nose view of the windmill outside. It�s such a funky American design, like mail boxes. I can see Jerry mouse strapped & wired to it & Tom pedalling like mad on the vanes in an effort to electrocute him. Or Wile E. Coyote utilising it to catch his roadrunner, just before it topples over & deposits him 15,000 feet into the canyon below. We�ve wandered to the oak bank tellers booth at reception to checkout & as they�re doing so I�ve walked around to see what everyone else is having. Alongside the front window are two men of retirement age discussing art. Quietly so, with no point scoring, & a couplet from a Simon & Garfunkel song wanders through my mind:

�Old friends, old friends.
Sat on their park bench like book-ends.�

The conversation turns to fathers & as one mentions what his did, the other picks up on similarities of his own upbringing, values & his own life. These are new acquaintances, fresh as this morning. Separated by hundreds, maybe thousands of miles of geography, but bought up & living through the same period & today, now in the same town, same hotel & same table. And sharing things as if it were the most natural thing to happen in the world. It strikes me, and not for the first time, that when we travel it�s always the differences that we notice & look at-rarely the similarities.

�Can you imagine us years from today,
Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange to be seventy.�

You know what-in many ways I don�t think it will. The bill is paid & shopping on the boardwalk beckons. Our host from our LA stopover has given me a list of dog stuff that she would like & annually makes a special trip to Mendocino to get. And I�ve lost the bally thing. We�ll see what we can collectively remember from it. You can park hood in along the front-no municipal car parks here. There are old Volvos, pick up trucks with expectant dogs in the back & hey-my 1st Toyota pick up too. Local trade must be good pickings because I�ve spotted a rather fine half moon table in one shop for $13k, which is a bit beyond my Tesco Visa. However, on the way out I see a beautiful solution to our own scratched, warped & swelling front door back at home. A snip at $4k. Pausing to look at some photographs in a window & the latent memory finally slips into place. Not so long ago you could have been walking exactly where we are & bump into Angela Lansbury, or ask the teddy bear like Tom Bosley for his autograph, because virtually all the backgrounds to 12 years & 264 episodes of Murder She Wrote were filmed in & around here. The arrival of the film crew was a yearly event & quite a lot of the residents have appeared as extras. We know all about this kind of thing too- We have Midsommer Murders on the outer reaches of the freeview channels back in the UK. Chicago might well think of itself as the current murder capital of the planet, but really that accolade goes to anything in near orbit of John Nettles. It�s about time we left before somebody goes head down in their soup & we, sorry I mean I, get involved. Some people like to travel to the world�s hotspots & dangerous places for their experiences. Hang around me long enough & it will come right in front of your very eyes. Just wait until we return to San Francisco.

Now showing on Sunday Night at The Cranium.

Editor — Mon, 15 Nov 2010 12:42:20 GMT

It�s Sunday night at The Cranium, & according to my calculations on the back of my daily stamped meds, we�re about due for a premiere showing. What might the unmarvelous, blackmagical mindfuckorgan have instore for tonight�s Technicolor transmission? Let�s add a primary smoking ingredient to usual multilayered guilt trip-The Spiderwick Chronicles that I�d watched during the afternoon. Curtain time, grab your popcorn, slurp the slursh & if you like we can wind back the clock & you can sit on the left handside & light yourself a tab. You might as well be comfortable.

I find myself at my old primary school friend�s Simon�s house. Oddly it isn�t his parent�s home, but I don�t know any other. The phone rings & it�s a landline. Which timestamps it, but again, inconsistently. He passes it to me & says �it�s Jo.� I�m a little taken back, seeing as that would have been my uni ex of some decades ago & HTF did she know Simon�s number? I am terribly pleased though-my fondest of the fondest- & I manage a friendly �hello & what a lovely surprise etc.� �Never mind all that,� she says, �it�s high time you came & saw me. I�ve arranged something, so I�d really like you to be there.� Strewth, it�s just like it was all yesterday. She goes on firmly about something that I can�t quite catch, so I ask her to repeat it. This gets an annoyed & still uncatchable response, but I let it go. Bound to be some minor dig disguised as a detail if things are running true to usual. I�m really looking forward to meeting her. For once I have the upper hand-she thinks it�s 20 years ago & I know it isn�t. This has potential.

Jump Cut to standing outside a bookshop in London. We�ve agreed to meet here. It�s an unusual looking affair with really intricate window display that seems to be cascading down a set of steps. Think Strictly here. And then, all of a sudden I�m through the glass & find myself trying to clamber up these steps & avoid treading on the soft toys, props & not to fall over. It just keeps on going up & I�m wondering how on earth I�m ever going to find her in such a vast place. If this is just the window how huge is the rest of it? I manage to get to the top & swing over, knocking a few items off with my bag so they bounce down the window steps & start to knock other carefully placed things over, starting a dominoes effect. I don�t look. I know what chaos is going to happen-it always does. And there she is, right in front of me-hurrah! Jo glances over the edge & looks back at me & says �you can�t do anything normally can you?� And then we go for a coffee in this bookshop. She tells me that the shop's name is something like �harrowgate� & that it�s been in her family for years. �Didn�t I tell you this?� she asks, meaning �you weren�t listening to me, again.� Errr, no, but that is possible. Before I can say anything Jo looks at my bag and then says, �I bet you forgot to bring your trunks.� What? �Tell me you didn�t-that was the whole point.� What, what? She opens my bag, & under the zip is a pair of rather bright long legged shorty type swimming trunks, on top of a towel. �Oh well done, I�m sorry I doubted you.� Well stone the crows-fucked if I know how they got in there, but I go with this piece of luck without revealing the fluke.

We�re off for a swim now & we go through halls full of books & toys & then turn into some kind of skylit atrium with huge stone baths in it. In the middle of a shop. I�m slightly agog. Jo behaves like it�s the most natural thing in the world & says, �let�s get changed & I�ll meet you out here.� And before I can ascertain exactly where, because it�s huge & I won�t be wearing glasses she disappears. I open a door & walk in. Of course it�s the wrong room & the girls howl me out. Open another door. This has a sort of oiled gladiator look about it & the tall everyone blonde, draped in white athletic men all stop talking & look at fat old me. Uhoh. I open a door off this room & bingo. It�s a small private room with red bath, loo, bidet etc. That�ll do nicely. I think, I know I�ll grab a quick shower right now, because all swimming pool changing rooms have showers don�t they. Not this little one, so I go to wash my hair in the sink. No sink. Oh no. It�ll have to be the bidet then. I don�t know why** I have to wash my hair, but it seems really important. Turn on the taps & start to undress. Bingley tinkle crack. Yes, both taps have fallen off the bidet & it�s geysering to the ceiling & back (**I do actually know the genesis of this-it�s not very pleasant but I was incredibly sick a bit earlier-to the extent that I had to have a shower after, which is a 1st for me. I�m still cleaning the bathroom now..). Well be a shame not to take advantage & I�m going to be in trouble whatever happens, so I use this waterfall as my shower. There�s a banging on the door. The jolly tanned & muscled men want to know what�s going on. It�s flooding, that�s what�s going on. There is only one thing to do. Grab a towel & leg it.

Yes, for once in my life I make a move in the correct direction! Or so it seemed. I�m back in the swimming pools alright, but not where I started. I�m in the children�s area, with a far too short towel & nothing else. This is not going to look good. Then I �realize�, or more precisely a part of me realizes, that I�m going to meet my ex in her swim suit, all wet & she thinking we�re still on. I thought I was so lucky with my baggy shorts, but they�re on the bathroom floor. It�s going to be tricky hiding a priapic moment in this kind of towel. This is going to be really, really bad so I make to get away as fast as I can. Would have been handy if that been a frigidarium en route, but you can�t have everything.

Ah, back in the shop again. Oh well, it�s better than the last location for an arrest for indecent exposure & being equipped. Keep moving & pretend it�s all perfectly normal. Front it out. And I�m wandering down some stairs & there are loads of copies of a book that has �Jo recommends� banner over the fronts. Rows & rows of them. I open one up & it�s a highly illustrated children�s book. Very well done, but to my eyes, nothing special. Cannot see for the life of me what made her go for it in such a big way. I carry on down the stairs. Oh no-I really should have anticipated this-the signs were there. I�m in the kids section & I can hear voices behind me. And this time there�s no exit. Aaagh, hide. Chuck all the books off the bottom of this stack of shelves & climb on & try & pull the books in front of me. Hey ho, wait. I can see light. I wonder if I just squeeze through there�

It�s big hall time again. Cathedral like actually. And there are groups of people with someone in the middle of each of them, giving a talk. I wander round & every talk is fascinating. I want to hear all of them & I�m wondering how I�m going to do this. Start somewhere, so I sit down. There�s an erudite looking chap opposite me, who looks at me, smiles & looks away, listening to the talk. I get the gist & I think that if I round robin the lot then maybe I can get back to this one, see if I can fill in the gaps & repeat round again. Next group, sit down & again, opposite, is the same gentleman. He smiles once again & hands me a heavy, thick board backed book. �You might find this of interest� & he stands up & quickly wanders off. Well you could have written �under no circumstances EVER open this� all over it, but I�d still have to have a peek. I open the cover & it�s full of long pieces of dark polished hardwood fitted together in square. Sort of like parquet flooring. WTF? So I get up to go & find this fellow & discover what he�s on about. I pass a workman with a tool belt who�s attending to something. �Good isn�t it� he says to me. I turn around & it�s the same man in work clothes. �Cleverest thing out is wood & what you can do with it. Books are wood really, aren�t they?� And he takes a small piece of wood from the box book & uses it to finish what he�s doing. It�s some kind of churchy thing, but he wordlessly beckons me to have a closer look. Inside there is a network of water pipes. Oh no-he�s going to turn into Bob �oskins. I�ve seen this film & it didn�t end well, whichever way you interpret it. The riot police are going to burst through the windows & I�m in for strap down in the seatless chair & prescribed wet & 240volt treatment administered from an unearthed electric carpet beater. I�m not having this, and this is a dream so I try to emerge from it. Like an upwards dive. Blessedly for once it works. There I am, at the top of an underground station, clothed & dry. & most relieving of all, there is Jo. �Ah there you are,� she says. �I thought you�d got lost again. Come on.� And we sweep past an exit. �Hold on,� I say. �I must show you this. I�ve seen this before.� She looks bemused, which is attractively rare. �You can�t have-you�ve never been here.� �Yes, I know, that�s the strange thing. But I have seen it before-it�s that dream I was telling you about ages ago. Straight out of that exit & turn right are all little white houses, & a green & a river & a lighting shop & after that is the flat where you all live upstairs. It has a nice line in glass tables & cutlery. Except that you don�t because you live in a semi in W4.� You look stunned-I�m liking this look a lot too. And then it comes to me that actually, I�ve only half dived. This is a dream, within another dream with content from yet another dream, made to look real. Oh fucking hell-it IS that film. Bob-back the fuck away from me. NOW.

And in another cruel streak of injustice, I�m just about to coyly suggest that there might just be time for, well, you know, one last proper goodbye, in that passport photo booth behind the curtain, before they bring on the rubber hoses, when my stomach propels me to the newly cleaned bathroom. To really rub it in, the priapic moment has arrived as well. Late, inappropriate & useless. As ever.