I am, therefore I think

I haven't blogged for ages.  My dedicated, though disappointed followers may have noticed.  So there will be two questions in your mind, I'm sure.  Firstly, why have I been away for so long?  Secondly, what has prompted this resurgence in blogging?
I shall try to answer both questions in one go and therefore introduce today's blog.  A message popped up in my inbox the other day.  Someone with the curious name of Anonymous had posted a comment in my previous blog saying:
"Only just read this. Sounds Like You Think WAYY too much?"
Now, ignoring the excess of Ys in way, what is man to do when he receives such a comment?  I'll tell you what he does.  He sits and thinks about it.  And do you know, Anonymous is right.  Which led me to thinking some more.  Is all this thinking a good or bad thing?  I don't mean procrastination for its own sake, that's not healthy.  I mean proper thinking with potential results.  I remember back to when I was working in electronic communications and we used to have technical meetings with technical people that would last 6 or 7 hours at a time.  At the time, we had a contractor working with us, we shall call him Paul (largely because that was his name).  We would sit in the meeting discussing a particular issue and Paul would sit there saying nothing.  Thinking.  You could see the man think.  He would even graze on the limp sandwiches that were wheeled in thoughtfully.  Then, about 15 minutes from the end of the meeting, he would get to his feet, cutting across the meeting, armed with a white board marker pen and sketch out the entire solution that no-one else was close to after 6 hours of talk.  Right, thanks Paul, meeting over.  That's some good thinking.


Then there is the other sort of good thinking.  I'm talking Plato, Socrates, Voltaire, and any other philosopher that comes to mind.  Great thinkers.  I may have found my perfect career.  These guys just sat and philosophised.  They thought for a living.  They came up with great perceived wisdom.  And the very best thing; you could be terribly vague and because of the hypothetical nature of the business, you won't be proved wrong.  Or if you are you can counter it by being philosophical.
These people also spawned many quotes that you may have come across at some time, in closing, let me share a couple with you:



“Every man is guilty of all the good he didn't do” (Voltaire)
"Thinking: the talking of the soul with itself." (Plato)
And, finally, from one of the greatest thinkers of all time "Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again?" (Winnie The Pooh)

Happy Anniversary

Those of my readership that were avid readers of Russ' Redundancy Blog will notice the significance of today's date, assuming you read this on the day that it was written.  Also assuming that I post it on the same day I started writing (not always the case).  Today, as I write is 28th August 2010.  It is exactly one year since I was unceremoniously bundled out of  made redundant from Vertex.  I know, time has flown by and, on the whole, I have rather enjoyed the last year.  
Naturally, a year ago I was commuting to Cheltenham every day (more or less) at rush hour (more or less) and I have less than fond memories of spending best part of an hour schlepping the ten miles between Gloucester and Cheltenham only to find the car two milliseconds ahead of me was taking the last parking space.  A couple of days ago, though, I again had to drive to Cheltenham at a similar time of day.  The night before and into the morning we had some quite significant rainfall and, as a result, the local radio traffic news reported that Shurdington Road (my preferred route) was covered in standing water, stacked with traffic and passable "with care".
Bugger.
It's times like this when one has to bite the bullet and make a carefully considered decision.  Or at least a wild guess.  Which way to go?  If you are local, you will remember when Gloucester imitated Atlantis for a week or so a couple of years back.  In fact, if you live in the area, you won't forget it because it is probably still the most discussed topic in the local rag.  It is to the Gloucester Citizen what immigrants are to the Daily Mail or Royal conspiracies to the Daily Express.  It is easy lazy journalism.  It brings to mind a discussion I had with an eminent resident of Gloucester some time ago that went along the lines of:
Me "Yes, I saw that story in Citzen" (sorry, don't remember the story in question)
Him "Indeed, finally a real story."
[Polite laughs]
Him (continuing: "In fact the last few days the paper hasn't been too bad" [pause for effect] "I think the editor may be on holiday.
I digress.  The point is, I had images of Shurdington Road looking like it did on that day.  More reminiscent of a river than a road.  But, I decided that maybe people would heed the warning and stay away.  It was in fact, possibly the quickest weekday journey I have ever made to Cheltenham.  There was no traffic and the "standing water" had obviously cleared away remarkably quickly - there was barely a puddle.  My brake pedal was as redundant as I became that day 12 months ago.

Where there's blame

If you know me, you will be aware that I ride a bicycle.  In fact, I ride a bicycle quite a lot.  If you read my bike blog you will be aware that I will ride tens of kilometres at a time and in all conditions.  Indeed, I will, when the mood, conditions, my fitness and the aid of a good descent all work together then I ride quite quickly.  At a guess, adding up my blog rides, a bit of commuting and pootling about I have ridden well over 1000 miles this year.  I am also having a stab at riding a unicycle.  All without incident.  Until yesterday that is.  Let me paint the picture for you:

I drove Tina, my good lady wife, to work in Barnwood with my bicycle in the back of the car.  As is my wont, I cycled to my place of work just a couple of kilometres further up the road leaving the car in Barnwood.  I was scheduled to finish work earlier than Tina so decided that I would perform some necessary errands in Gloucester where, incidentally, I was pleased to see that the Animal travelling cycle display team were in Kings' Square doing there demonstration things using the ramps and quarter pipes bolted to the sides of their vans.  They didn't have any accidents either.  Despite doing some particularly stupid stuff.  Having completed my tasks, I headed back to Barnwood.  That's some 10Km completed today.  Without incident.  After saying hello to Tina I went to ride the 200 metres or so to the back of the building where I would put my bicycle in the back of the car and wait to drive home.  Weather is good.  Visibility excellent.  The road in the car park is dry.  There are no obstacles on the road.  In many ways, perfect conditions.  Except for one thing.  Deciding I was just going round the corner, I hadn't adjusted the straps on my rucksack, causing the right strap to slip down my arm pulling the handlebars sharply to the right, into my thigh and dumping me unceremoniously onto the tarmac.  Possibly my first accident in 20 years and I am travelling at no more than walking pace.  Tina dressed the wound on my leg and off we go to the accident unit.  After waiting an hour or so, in we go to see triage.  I am limping and holding my chest, having bounced off it when I landed.  There is blood oozing out of the dressing on my left leg, clearly visible through the ripped trouser leg.  Sitting down with triage and having been given pain killers, the first question the nurse asks is 'was I wearing a helmet?'.  No I wasn't, and anyway, it's my legs and chest that hurt.  My head is unscathed.

So, after being prodded by a doctor, x-rayed and seeing my daughter, Victoria, who, coincidentally, was in with a friend rather than going shopping with her mum, I am informed I have a clot in my leg, bruising and soft tissue damage on my other leg and a broken rib or two.  Take pain killers and take it easy for a bit.

Fortunately, when I got home and checked my emails I have the usual plethora of emails offering me drugs over the internet from pharmacies in Canada.  I won't be taking them up on that.

Sporting Prowess

It may have escaped your attention, but some time around now, a whole bunch of footballists are having a bit of a kick about in the sun and after four weeks they will decide who is best.  Except if the country you support doesn't win in which case be prepared for such comments as "we was robbed".  Now, I don't really follow football so as a result know absolutely nothing about it.  Except one thing.  Under no circumstances ever should the players of this sport be ever ever allowed to speak in public.   Maybe whisper it to an English speaking interpreter who can elucidate or at the very least speak English.  Allow me to demonstrate from a radio interview I heard on the radio today.  To set the scene, Johnny Sports Saunders, esteemed Radio 2 sports presenter explained that some player had been injured in an incident with one of his team mates during a routine training session, friendly fire if you will.  The ensuing comment by the injury causing player went something like this:

"So I said to him Sorry mate, there was nuffink I coud do about it and he said "It's alright mate, there was nuffink you could do about it".

It's absolute poetry I'm sure you will agree.

This blog, however, isn't here to moan or rant about the world cup, the never ending TV coverage, the pubs being turned over to World Cup venues, those bloody silly flags on people's cars, football results taking the news headlines or a million and one other irritations.  In fact, I have to thank the opening of the World Cup for such a clear drive home today.

Then, of course, at the other end of the spectrum there is the school and grass roots sport.  Remember back to your school days.  If you can.  Were you the 'jock', always chosen first or the bookish one left till last?  Or worse, if the games teacher knew you were always picked last he may elect you as one of the team captains in a kind of inclusive patronising type of way.  Now the dilemma.  Would you pick your equally bookish mates and risk humiliating defeats or the athletic kids and risk alienating yourself from your mates?  I went to a rugby orientated school and wore glasses.  The two don't go together well and my rugby career was put on hold for some ten years until I wore contact lenses and went to play for a team where the pitch was flooded for half the season and frozen solid for the other half.  I never really did get to grips with the rules either.  Many games the referee would be shouting "Number four, your off-side in the ruck" or words to that affect.  It took me about three seasons to sort this out.  The first season was just realising that I was number four and resisting the urge to respond "I am not a prisoner, I am a free man".  Still bookish.  Or at least slightly surreal.
Football was another game altogether.  I was quite a good defender or goal keeper when I was allowed to stay on the pitch but apparently kneecapping isn't in the rules.

Essentially though, I have always been better at solo sports so I don't embarrass team mates.  I was a good cross country runner at school but my real sport has always been cycling, you don't have to rely on a team unless you are proper good and know what you're doing.  Which I'm not and I don't.  In fact, some people have commented that I am half good at cycling, so I am now the proud owner of half a bike.  My good lady has bought me a unicycle as a birthday present but it has taken ages to get it delivered.  Therefore, this weekend, I shall be mostly making a tit of myself and causing injury.

Teaching to cycle or drive

I ride a bicycle.  In fact, I ride a bicycle quite a lot.  If you have read my other blog you will be aware that I ride my bicycle sometimes for long distances and on roads that are quite busy and sometimes have lots of scary traffic on them.  In addition, everybody in our household also rides a bicycle and we rather enjoy it.
Last weekend, we went shopping to Tesco in the car.  Not unremarkable, it happens most weekends.  And, in common with many weekends we got home and said "bugger, just look at all this stuff we forgot to buy".  Totally undeterred, I decided to link the idea of riding my bicycle with collecting the other stuff from Tesco.  My daughter, Victoria (aged 9) came with me on her very funky, recently acquired 1980s proper girls pink Raleigh 'racer'.  Being quite the demon cyclist, it seemed appropriate to give her a little coaching on going round roundabouts so I chose the one that leads on to Tesco at Quedgeley as it isn't terribly busy and the exit before ours is a bit blocked because of the traffic lights holding up the traffic.  We take the proper approved Highway Code route for the learner or nervous cyclist, round the outside, only to be cut up by a woman (yes, really, I'm not just being sexist) going nowhere into the stopped exit.  We took evasive action, there was no drama but I did suggest to the lady that she ought to look where she was going.  She retorted "You should be wearing a helmet".
Now, I do own a helmet.  It is 15 years old and immaculate.  I don't want to do the whole helmet argument here except to say that until that moment, I was firmly with the no to helmet legislation camp.  I have now learnt my lesson.  There I was thinking they were a pretty useless lump of polystyrene but no.  I have learnt the error of my ways.   This woman has taught me a valuable lesson.  They are - Harry Potter eat your heart out- a reverse invisibility cloak.  She couldn't see me without one.
This could have so many ramifications.  Imagine those times when you are stood at the bar for hours waiting to be served, you must be invisible - wear your cycle helmet, the bar staff will now see you no doubt.  Although the bouncers may see you first.

In other news, I am still learning to teach people to drive.  I have now had some 24 hours tuition with my instructor (and now Facebook friend) Dave.  Dave obviously isn't invisible.  He has a whole digital TV channel named after him.  The training is invaluable.  I need forty hours before I am allowed to apply for my trainee instructor licence and start teaching but without this excellent tuition I would be stuffed.  Dave is a good chap and an excellent tutor, we do have a similar sense of humour, possibly borne out of a common geekiness.  The training, make no bones about it, is hard work.   Don't think you could go to a training company, pay your fee and be an instructor, it just won't work.  I think I have forgotten or at least take more for granted about how to drive than I could have known before a couple of weeks ago. 
All this talk of invisibility puts me in mind of one of my instructing faux pas.  I will say "Be aware" or "mind out for" that pedestrian.  To Johnny learner one needs to be far more explicit "Be ready to slow, stop or change direction for the pedestrian in case they walk into the road"
My instructor goes to great lengths to point out that you can be 'aware' of aforementioned pedestrian as they bounce off your bonnet, the roof and land in a heap behind you.  Still, it's their own fault.  They should wear a helmet so we, the motorist, can see them.

Next time you are doing a three point turn or reversing into a parking space, try and pretend you are teaching someone that has never tried it before.  Still, hopefully, watch this space, we should be up and running soon enough so, if you're after some high quality driving instruction it shouldn't be long now.

It's a sign

Might I apologise to all my loyal readers that it has taken me so long to write the latest instalment of my blog.  I have had trouble with my creativeness.  I put this down to writer's block.  My brother suggests constipation.  From which, he may be inferring I am full of sh*t.

You may be aware that between my bicycle and driving, I am quite a regualar road user.   As such I have recently noticed a few signs on my travels that make you think, whether for good or for bad.

First thought is how useful are road signs really?  During my driving instructor lessons, to test my observance of the road, my instructor would, on occasion, ask what the last road sign we passed was.  The number of "dunno" and similar responses suggests that they are largely ignored.  So what would happen if we got rid of them all?  I'm not alone in thinking this.  Much research from such august organisations as the AA (that's Automobile Association not the one my brother ought to know) and RAC has suggested that we are bombarded with them.  Apart from that, it can ruin some of the scenery that we all gaze at while we are driving.  Then of course, there is the simple fact that we haven't really got a clue what they mean.  If they were that simple we wouldn't need the Highway code book of signs and have to be tested on them before being allowed to drive.

However, I want to concentrate on a couple of signs that I rather like.  

If you travel around rural Enland, you will, inevitably, see the sign "Please drive carefully through our village"..  Damn.  there I was planning on driving like a nutter at warp factor 3 and you've ruined my fun.  Now I have to be careful.  Sneaky little thing though.  Doesn't say what to be careful of.  Is it just the kids on their way to school walking in the middle of the road or do you have snipers ready to take out the stranger?  Then, at the end of the village you are met with the sister sign "Thank you for driving carefully".  Aah, how do you know I did?  Maybe I did drive like a nutter and left carnage in my wake.  Or maybe we were just lucky.  You'll never know....

Then there is the No Motor Vehicles sign.  You know the one, a motor bike above a car.   I still wish that sign meant no motorcycle stunts or Evel Knievel banned.

Have you driven through a ford?  I mean, of course water across the road not another car.  On the other side, there is often a sign that says 'Test your brakes'.  Wise counsel.  However, you may want to take a quick glance in your mirrors first.  You don't want to force the driver behind to test his.

I know it isn't a proper Highway Code recognised sign, but I would like to know what the purpose of the "Baby on Board" sign that people stick in the back of their car is.  I can only think of a couple of reasons.  Have you ever been driving behind a car and thought "I know, I'll just ram into the car in front for a laugh" then had your plan scuppered when you saw that they have a baby?  No, nor me.  But you never know.  The other possibility is that the gentleman of the car is desperate to prove that the tackle is all in working order.

Finally, I'm sure you're all thinking "What's going on with Russ learning to be a driving instructor".  Well, a couple of weeks ago, I met my new instructor.  A fine chap by the name of Dave and we had our first lesson. It's surprising just how much you take for granted, right from putting the seat belt on.  This is pretty much how my first mock lesson, how to adjust your seat went.  You'll get an idea of the level of maturity:
After getting Dave to adjust the seat forward and backward, we discuss the rake of the seat, or the angle of the back:
"Put your hand to the right of the seat, there is a large knob you turn to change the angle".
We move on to the adjustment of the head restraint (never, ever refer to it as a head rest):
"Press the knob on the side of the headrest and it goes up and down.  There's a couple of knobs in the car".

It's hard to take things too seriously.  Part two and three are coming up this week.  I'll let you know if we grow up in the meantime.

The perfect balanced meal

I treated myself to masala fish from the not very local any more kebab house tonight.  It used to be our local friendly kebab house but then we moved.  Still went there from time to time though until it burnt down.  Didn't go for ages whilst it was shut (well d'uh) but last Friday decided to go back for the first time in a couple of years. Everyone in our house enjoys a kebab and I am particularly partial to masala fish, if you are not familiar with such a delicacy, I implore you to hunt out Khan's Kebabs in Barton Street, Gloucester, part with four quid and enjoy.  We hadn't had one for ages so imagine my excitement.  Then imagine my massive deflation as we bump into kebab house man (imagine the super hero that DC comics could make out of that one) around the corner with a big bright orange van outside the shop.  What's going on you may ask?  I certainly did.  The buggers are closed again, albeit a little more temporarily this time, because of an electric fault.
So, it turns into a Monday night treat; and so to my theory.

You have a good sized chunk of fish and we're always told to eat more fish, although for the sake of my argument let's ignore the fact that it may be a little deep fried.  It is served in a nan bread so there's your carbohydrates.  Then, you add salad, that has to be at least three of your five-a-day that we are evangelised towards. Add a portion of chips and they're made out of potato and that's another vegetable.

Which reminds me of another take away experience from a couple of years ago.  I was staying for the week at an hotel just by Aldgate East tube station whilst attending a course.  Tina joined me at the weekend and, being the die hard romantic that's when we got engaged.  Anyway, back to the story - you know how I hate to digress.  Always straight to the point, can't be doing with unnecessary waffle.  After all, digressing is only superseded in the time wasting stakes by procrastination.  I have thought about procrastination but it needs longer to consider.
Aldgate East is either a) East end of London or b) Downtown Beirut, you choose.  It is also a stones throw from Brick Lane where I went for a take away at a Bangldeshi place.  I went in to a moderately busy place and ordered something.  Waiting for the order I got chatting.  You know the sort of thing, weather, where you from etc.  The conversation is cut across from the proprietor:
"Hey stranger"
"Mmmm.  Me?"  I whimper.  Has your heart ever sat quite so high in your throat?
"Yea you"
"Mmm"  My lower bowel is proper active now.
"You like Bhaji?"  That's it.  You scare the shit out of me to ask if I like an oniony starter?
I answer in the affirmative.
"You try my Bhajis my friend": he passes a bhaji across the counter.
"You like pakora?"
I'm quite enjoying this now, although with the amount of free samples, dinner does have less room.
Eventually my food is served, I bid a cheery farewell back to the hotel.

With all good intentions a day or two later, I decide on a return journey.  Sadly however, this time the place is swarming with police.  Less good idea tonight.

The results are in...

It's taken me ages to write this blog.  As my regular readers and friends will be aware, I didn't pass my first attempt at the driving instructor part two test.  On the first of March, I retook the test and passed.  Hurrah, cause for celebration and all that.

That's it.  That could be the end of the blog.  When you fail something it becomes a talking point.  What did you fail on?  When are you going to retake?  Most of the answers you could just record and replay.

Then there are the platitudes.  "I'm sure you'll do better next time", "Never mind, the best drivers pass second time", "Well, they've got their allocation they must have passed enough already".  All of course are a complete horses arse and have no basis in truth.  Still, that's the joy of a well aimed platitude, why let the truth get in the way of a good cliché?


But no.  I passed.  No questions, no platitudes, just celebration.  But that's not it.  After the test is over you sit in the car with the examiner who is now your best friend and he still insists on tearing you to shreds.  Although in my case, he probably has a point.  You may remember (or know) that to pass the instructor part two there is a maximum of six minor faults.  failed test, I had seven (d'oh), passed test, wait for it.... SIX.  So he tears me to shreds, or rather, gives me the debrief.


"Lets start with your reverse park"
"Crap wasn't it?"  I know I can reverse park and I can do it well.  However for my test I made a complete hash of it.
"Not how I would put it, but essentially, yes"  That accounts for two points.  It would be difficult to get more points for a single manoeuvre.
"You were too close to the maroon car on the motorway.  You weren't going fast enough on the approach to the roundabout.  You should have overtaken the other car etc, etc, etc"  And so it went on.


"But I've passed?"
"Yes"


It took as long to talk about my relative failings when I passed as it did when I didn't.  If you get what I mean.


Still, as I write today, it could be much worse.  A friend of mine who was scheduled to take it today was turned away.  The instructors were on strike.  That sucks.

If the devil were made incarnate, he would drive a bus.

A while ago I was watching a bloke on telly talking about the evils of driving big cars, especially 4 wheel drives.  The general gist of the article was to persuade us all to travel by public transport or to buy a teeny tiny car powered by 3 AA batteries.

And do you know what?

I think I am a convert.

No, please don't be mistaken.  This chap was completely 100% wrong.  He converted me to the idea that driving and especially driving big cars is a good thing.  I used to feel guilty about driving my 8 seat people carrier with just me in it.  But no more.  I imagine the majority of my readership drive.  I do.  And I drive a big car on occasion.  In fact, from time to time I stick a monster great caravan on the back and pull that as well.  Gross combined weight about 5 tons.  And yes, I do happily hold up other traffic  by not being in a particular hurry.  And it is a good thing.  Why is it such a good thing?  Because I can do it when I want to do it from where I want to leave to where I want to go.  If I had an electric car, even if it would pull the caravan I would have to stop and recharge the battery for about 12 hours every 20 miles or rely on the addition of a petrol engine and I already have one of them.

Alternatively, you could travel by train.  I remember sitting on Gloucester train platform one very early morning when an announcement came over the crackly loudspeaker:

"We are sorry to inform you that the 6:52 to Newcastle has been cancelled"

That's it, end of announcement and a couple of blokes shuffled away.  Of course you're not sorry Mr announcer.  You weren't going to catch that train.  What would you do?  The next train is several hours away and it's a long way.  If you had driven the journey is unlikely to be cancelled.  Add to that the train costs about £250 each.

I don't know about where you live, but on the back of Gloucester buses there is a sign that says "One day Bus travel £2.50.  4 hours car parking £5".  Or something like that.  Now, there are 5 people in my household.  That would be £12.50.  And it will leave not when I want to but at some vague time related or not to the timetable.  I will be guaranteed a grumpy driver and not a seat.  It will be dirty and smelly and stop every 20 yards holding up the traffic behind it.  Chances are it will be a rough ride and desperately uncomfortable.

I shall sign off now.  Grumpfest over and wait for the hate mail from the Green party and associated carrot crunchers.  Politically correct I may not be, but I'm bloody sure I can get where I want to go when I want to go there.

I prefer not to use the word "fail"

Failed is a bad word.   So I shall consider "not quite passed".  And I am in good company.  Allow me to quote Thomas Edison.  I don't consider old Tom to be a failure but he is quoted as saying "I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work."  Apart from the sentiment, famous peoples quotes are good for at least two reasons:

1.  It makes me look intellectual and well read (there's a bluff, I still struggle with the advanced Janet and John books)
2.  It saves me from thinking up something clever and witty to say for myself.

So, what is all this talk of not passing?  Last Friday I took my part two (of three) tests to be a driving instructor and, no surprises if you have read this far, I didn't pass.  But did I fail?  Well yes I did, there is a big marked box on the form that says "Fail".  So why did I fail?  Or rather, why did I not pass?  There are lots of categories on the test form that the examiner will put a mark in if you make a fault and I had seven of them although they could all have been scrubbed out and another box added entitled "Russ drove like a dick".  I may be being a little hard on myself but you know the feeling when you do something stupid and you know what you are doing is stupid and you know the examiner knows that you are doing something stupid and you know that the examiner knows that you know you are doing something stupid.  I know the feeling.  A few little stupid mistakes that aren't worth going into here but one big mistake.  One huge great doozy of a mistake that cost me a tick in the pass box.

If you know the roads around Gloucester, you may be aware of the stretch of A38 from Junction 12 of the motorway to the junction at Quedgeley where the Roundabout used to be.  It is a 70 mph limit all the way to the last 600 yards or so where it drops to 30.  I sailed past the 30 sign at about 45mph.  Dumbass.  I am generally familiar with the idiosyncrasies of these sudden changes in speed limit.  In my other life I regularly sit in judgement on people that fall foul of them.  I must therefore consider myself a bad person and take my punishment like a man.  Sitting in the car at the end of the test the Examiner instructs me to turn the engine off:

"I'm sorry to tell you Mr Kirby you haven't succeeded" (see, even the instructor didn't call me a failure)
 "I know"
"Why do you think you failed"
"Because I was dick on the bypass"
"Not quite how I would have put it but...."

Anyway, a bit more revision, a bit more practice and we'll give it another go.  In fact, we will give it another go at 9:30am Monday 1st March.  Happy St David's Day.  I hope the examiner has a good weekend.

Cry God for Harry, England and St George!

I've had a tune stuck in my head for a wee while now.  What is it I hear you ask?
Is it some cultured piece of classical music?
No
Is it a piece of 70s prog rock because that's what I tend to listen to by choice?
No
Is an earworm that was played on the radio recently?
No
Some cheesy piece of pop that the kids were playing?
No.

Give up?

It is actually a piece of music that I shall prefer to refer to as "To Anacreon in Heaven".  Are you familiar with it? I bet you are.  It is actually an ancient British drinking song (so if anyone I know is familiar with it, then it's my brother) but we all probably know the tune better as the Star-Spangled Banner.  I always knew that the tune was British but imagine my unfounded joy when I discovered the origins of the tune.  There's all our American cousins singing along to a tune that would have been familiar in a London drinking club.

This set me thinking though.  What are the origins of our National anthem?  Unfortunately I couldn't find any reference to the origins, although (and I hate to say this as a true patriot) it is a proper dull tune to the point where the Welsh, Irish and Scottish have almost entirely eschewed it and even the English often substitute more rousing tunes such as Jerusalem or the jolly excellent Land of Hope and Glory, I am a big fan of Last Night of The Proms.

Now all this talk of National anthems got me thinking again (Russ you think too much) about patriotism in general.  As previously mentioned, I am a patriotic type of chap, I would even stand if the Queen came to visit and consider the most rousing piece of writing to be Henry V speech at Agincourt (I know it probably isn't historically accurate).  But you may be aware that there is a bit of a football tournament going on this year in South Africa to which some English players will be going to join in.  And what is my biggest fear about this tournament?  It is England winning.  Why?  Two reasons.  One, from my rather limited knowledge of football, they aren't good enough compared to some (many?) of the other national teams and is it right that our patriotic support, neigh fervour, is based on a bit of a lucky break?  The other reason is that I find it hard to believe that thousands of pis55ed up lager louts, lobster red and shirtless represents England or my personal view of what Englishness should be.  My preferred sport is cycling, so imagine my joy when Mark Cavendish and Bradley Wiggins put in such a sterling performance in last year's Tour amongst other races, not because they were lucky - that doesn't work over three weeks of cycling - but because they are genuinely good; or the trouncing that our track riders gave the rest of the world at the last Olympics and World competitions.  Yet this doesn't get even a few column inches in the popular press.

If I were to be a football supporter, I think I would have to support Gloucester FC but even they aren't proper local now, playing as they do 25 miles away in Cirencester.  In fact Cheltenham FC are more local now and we are right down to macro patriotism, if such a thing exists.  If you were to visit the website for our local press and look at the comments for stories with a good list of comments and you will see the local unhealthy competition between Gloucester and Cheltenham so, of course, being a Gloucester boy, how could I ever support Cheltenham?  Maybe we need a Gloucester National anthem (other than:
We can't read and we can't write
But that don't really matter
Cos we comes from Glos'ershire
And we can drive a tractor (pronounced tratter)

But Cheltenham even hijack that to Cheltenhamshire.

The Postman Cometh

Are you superstitious dear reader?  Touch wood, I don't believe in superstition.
Do you believe in fate?  I don't.

But I'm willing to make an exception if it makes me feel better.

The postman came just the other day.  Nothing unusual in that except that there were no bills or final demands or anything of the like.  Rather there was a letter from the Driving Standards Agency.  Now, I'm sure that if you know me or if you have read any of my previous blogs, particularly here, here, here, or here, you will be aware that my chosen path is to become a driving instructor.  Now to do so, one has to pass three tests.  Part one, you may recall, I have aced.  So, back at the end of last year, I sent off to apply for my part two, not dissimilar to the practical test you would need to take when you first learn to drive assuming you started driving after the driving test was introduced.  In the aforementioned post was my test appointment and do you know what?  Of course you don't, I haven't told you.  The date for my test is 12th February.  That may not be significant to my readers but, let me tell you the spooky coincidence here.  Not only is it Abraham Lincoln and Charles Darwin's birthday but let me take you back fourteen years to 12th February 1996.  What were you doing?  You probably don't remember (though I'm sure my average reader is of an age to have been doing something, possibly drawing their pension).  I remember.  I was taking my driving test.  Weird coincidence eh?  It's fate, it must be.  And yes, of course I believe in fate.  Don't listen to anything I said a couple of paragraphs back.

Talking of my post, today I received a whole bunch of letters from the council and I'll tell you some other news.  Despite my moaning and protestation about the whole benefits system and its inadequacies and just plain hassle involved I did reapply for housing benefit.  Apart from trying to scrape back some of the money I have previously, gleefully given to the government, I thought it might be interesting to find out if I could be better off working part time rather than full time scrounger.  The answer?  Probably not.  My annual reduction in Council Tax - try and contain yourself - £17.14.  I can see you all leaping to get out of the rat run for that sort of benefit.

Nerd, Geek

Before I start today's blog, I need to make an addendum to my last blog.  If you read the comment, you may be wondering about the comment Darrel left.  If this is the story that I suspect it is, it goes back several years. 
I received a call from a conservatory sales company in the days when I was young and too polite to tell them to piss off straight away.  The chap was not taking no for an answer so I invited him to come round and measure up, quote me and whatever else they do.  When he arrived, he was quite cross with me.  He seemed to think I was wasting his time.  Why would he think that?  I lived in a first floor flat at the time.  I never did get my quote.

The purpose of this blog, however, is to share one of my fears with you.  I fear I may be a nerd.  It may be something genetic or an illness I picked up some time.  Try as I might, my nerdiness seems to surface whatever I do.  I may need help.

Why this dilemma?  As you know, I was made redundant from a proper techy nerd type job and company and vowed never to get back into the IT business.  As a result, I am doing some very non-IT related stuff.  Training as a driving instructor and working for a property landlord.  Doesn't get much less techy, just what I wanted.  However, a couple of weeks ago my boss approached me:

"Russ"
"Yes boss"
"According to your CV you've got a techy background"
"....yes...."
"I want someone to revamp the computer system across the office, bring it all in together.  You interested?"
Tricky one this.  From day one geek in me wanted to get in to the infrastructure, pull it out and rebuild it.  Now it's being offered to me on a plate but I want out of the IT industry.
"I'll give it some thought"

No Russ, you won't give it very much thought will you?  You know full well that you will do it.  And why will you do it?  Is it purely for the money?  Is it because you can't say no to your boss?  Of course not.  It is because somewhere deep inside no matter how hard I try there is a geek, a nerd trying to make himself known.  It is an addiction for which there is no cure.  No NHS quit geeking programme.  If you give up smoking, you can get patches and stuff to help wean you off nicotine.  You can get scripts to help withdrawal from hard drugs but there is no patch that leaks a bit of nerdiness into your blood stream to wean you off computers.
The rational me has had a go at justifying this.  I am not a nerd.  I am not a geek.  Of course, I am just doing someone a favour because I can aren't I?
I have started.  A good friend of mine, Tony is assisting.  I have identified a server and a few other components which are now on order and, do you know what?  I fear I'm quite enjoying it.  In fact, I'm rather looking forward to delivery day, not excited in a Christmas or birthday sort of way you understand.  But I know why I'm enjoying it over previous proper geek jobs.  It is a small company without acres of bullshit, I am, effectively my own boss and the only technical person on site and, to someone totally non-technical, anyone with any level of technical ability is revered as a god.

And that dear reader is the crux of the matter.  Geek to deity in one easy step.

I'll let you know how it goes maybe in this blog.  In the meantime, I'm considering renting myself out as rent-a-geek.

Charges and Chugging

In the comments of my last blog, Rant and I did briefly discuss the pleasures of the automated answering system which I then extended to paying for the pleasure of listening to the sodding thing by being forced to use the 0845 number that the company puts on the bill and correspondence.  You know the sort of thing:

"Thank you for phoning Faceless Insurance PLC.  Please listen to the following 97 options to choose the correct one.  It is important that you listen to every option as we will not make it possible for you to select the option you require until we have read v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y through every possible option and permutation of possible options from which you may, or may not, want to select.  Do not worry, you are only going to be paying 25p per second for this call and it will not last more than 2 hours.  Oh, and if you want to talk to a real person, then that really is tough shit.  Your call is very important to us."  Select option and wait 3 weeks for a response; all the time, of course, paying for the privilege.

These get up my nose for so many reasons.  I am not a kid, I have been brought up talking to people and aware that communication can be done direct with real people and talking unlike the majority of teenagers and the like that consider Microsoft messenger adorned with those bloody silly little faces and non words (lol) as conversation.  Apart from that, at their conception, 0845 numbers weren't such a bad thing.  Telephone call charging was dependant on whereabouts in the country you were calling, there was no such thing as a plan that included all your calls and 0845 was, I believe, charged at a flat local rate.  No more.   No, they will charge what they like and they can't be included in your phone any landline plan on a conventional or mobile that I am aware of.  However, there is some respite.  Public service that I am, if you are faced with an 0845, 0870 etc number, there is often a normal geographical number for it as well.  You could do worse than looking here.  You probably won't find your favourite purvy call line on there though.

One money making scheme I find even more irritating, however, are the people who stop you on the street to ask for money.  I don't mean real beggars I mean the plethora of charities and utilities companies that harangue you as you walk down the street and try to persuade you to sign up.  You can change your mind within 28 days, if you wish to do so, here is an 0845 number to ring to inform us.  Possibly one of the benefits of no longer working in Cheltenham is that I don't run the gauntlet at lunch time if I walk into town.  Cheltenham High Street must be the worst place in the world for these people.  You start of politely "No thank you" or "Sorry, don't have time".  After an hour of this and about 50 people approaching you, it gradually deteriorates into "Fuck off before I rip your arms off and shove your sodding clipboard where it will never be seen again".  Have you ever been chased by one?  I have.  Inside Regent Arcade, someone selling gas and electric:

"Excuse me sir"
"Sorry not interested" - I carry on walking, salesman follows.
"How do you know, you haven't heard what I am offering"
Still walking - "Nor do I care"
"But I could save you money on your bills".  I have increased my walking pace, the chap is almost jogging.
"Don't care, happy with my current supplier"  Still walking, he is still at my heels.
"Even if I could save you 10%?"
Stop.  "I'd rather pay an extra 100% than buy my sodding electric off a company that employs people like you"

But still, my all time favourite.  Animal lovers look away.  The anti-vivisectionists were out on force, armed with clipboards for petitions and shaky collection tins:
"Excuse me sir, could you sign our petition against animal testing and would you consider a small donation to help"
"No"
"Are you aware of the suffering animals are put through in the sake of research?"
"Yes, pretty much.  And if a few rats or whatever suffer and die so we can find a cure for life-threatening illnesses in humans I'm all for it"
"But even if you agree with that, innocent animals are suffering  for the sake of beauty products"
"Yes and better some rabbits eyes sting than mine or my daughter's when we wash our hair."

They do give up on you eventually.  Tina now bans me from talking to any chuggers and the like now.

New NHS Hotline

Two blogs in one day, I spoil you.  Although the first blog today was of course Russ on a Bike.  Before I start today's blog, firstly let me tell you about a road sign I came across today.  It read "Caution: Mud on road".  Now I'm no expert but we were awfully near a farm and mud, in my experience, doesn't smell like that.

But the real reason for this here blog is that I was looking through some old documents and stuff on my PC and, whilst plagiarism isn't really my style, I read this, nearly wet myself laughing, then nearly keeled over, then nearly wet myself again.  Now, I know mental health is a serious disorder and we mustn't mock the afflicted therefore I am mearly passing this on as an example of things I don't approve of:

"Hello, and welcome to the mental health hotline..."

- If you are obsessive-compulsive, press 1 repeatedly.

- If you are co-dependent, please ask someone to press 2 for you.

- If you have multiple personalities, press 3, 4, 5, and 6.

- If you are paranoid, we know who you are and what you want. Stay on the line so we can trace your call.

- If you are delusional, press 7 and your call will be transferred to the mother ship.

- If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a small voice will tell you which number to press.

- If you are a manic-depressive, it doesn't matter which number you press, no one will answer.

- If you are dyslexic, press 9696969696969696.

- If you have a nervous disorder, please fidget with the pound key until a representative comes on the line.

- If you have amnesia, press 8 and state your name, address, telephone number, date of birth, social security number, and your mother's maiden name.

- If you have post-traumatic stress disorder, s-l-o-w-l-y & c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y press 0 0 0.

- If you have bi-polar disorder, please leave a message after the beep or before the beep or after the beep. Please wait for the beep.

- If you have short-term memory loss, press 9. If you have short-term memory loss, press 9. If you have short-term memory loss, press 9. If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.

- If you have low self-esteem, please hang up. All operators are too busy to talk to you."

- If you are menopausal, hang up, turn on the fan, lie down & cry. You won't be crazy forever.

- If you are a blonde don't press any buttons, you'll just mess it up.

Are you taking the pith?

To start my most recent blog, I would like to set my vast readership (Ian, Darrel), a challenge.  Can you peel an orange in one go?  I only ask because I can.  Well sometimes.  That and writing this post gives me an excuse to gratuitously use the word 'pith' which, of course, has it's own comedy value; but only if you are immature enough.  I enjoy the occasional orange particularly in my lunch box at work if for no other reason than any colleague that may not be in the office when I peel will inevitably ask "Have you been eating oranges?".   The smell will linger for hours if not days after enjoying the fruity Vitamin C laden treat.
However, my method of peeling the other day was called into question.   I don't know how you do it but I find a good way of loosening the peel from the fruit is to roll it on the desk first, thus separating the bit you eat and the bit you don't, get it right and the pith also comes away from the fruit and that's a good thing.  The pith, so far as I can see is pointless, you can't use it for zesting and you don't want to eat it as part of the flesh.  So, if you will take my advice, next time you eat an orange, give it a roll first.

So to the snow.  I have been trying to avoid blogging about this so far because everybody else already has and what else can I add?  Well, here's one thing, I'm quite proud of this here panorama of Gloucester from a jolly chilly top of Robinswood hill.

I strongly expect you are expecting me to waffle on for hours on end now about sledging and snowball fights with the kids.  Well I'm not.  Although we did take a trip up Robinswood Hill, leaving a poorly mummy wrapped up in bed, armed with some equipment not designed for sledging and that would have the Health and Safety Executive trembling with fear with; all the expected results except no trip to A&E.

Another thing you're probably expecting is for me to have a grump about the snow, well I'm going to disappoint you again.  I like the snow, it makes me happy.  However, I won't stop anyone else being grumpy and if you want some topics to get your grumpfest going, may I suggest:

1.  Other drivers.  Not me or you obviously, just everybody else either driving like a lunatic or at 6.3 mph on well gritted, clear roads with a little slush in the gutter.
2.  "Cold enough?", "Slippy enough?" etc.
3.  Local press.  The Citizen (that's the Gloucester local if you don't know) has turned over at least 99.8% of the paper to covering the snow.  Surely there's other news?  Damned lazy hacks.  Still, at least it has given us a rest from reading about the 2007 floods.
4.  Flood threats - Panic, quick phone the press, when this lot melts we're going to flood for sure.
5.  Schools/businesses closed.  I don't know or care if I have an opinion on these closures but it is a good topic for a seasoned grumpy.  When has a legitimate opinion made a difference?

Facebook group to scrap pointless groups?

Every now and then something will get up my nose and I just have to vent.  I'm not talking about sneezing because of dust or pepper now (although I did sneeze so hard on Monday I pulled a muscle in my chest and it hurt until Wednesday), I'm talking about those things that most people either don't notice or are capable of ignoring.  So what has got Russ grumpy today?

As I have previously moaned, the majority of the groups and stuff are about as pointless as Percy Pointless from Pointlessville who has broken the point off his pencil.  However, if you are one of the people that perpetrates this level of pointlessness, for the love of God and all that is holy get your spelling right.  Use a spell checker  or a dictionary.  I appreciate that we all make spelling mistakes (some people even make up whole words) but do you group makers not realise that by its very nature these groups may be viewed by tens of thousands of people worldwide whereas the spelling mistakes in my blog are read by about three people.  It makes you look really quite dense.  Even if I liked these groups I could not subscribe to something so blatantly wrong.

Here are some examples that recently popped up on my Facebook that other people had joined (spellings corrected in brackets):

'Morning glorys are embarrseing (embarrassing) when cuddling a girl after a nice night ;)' - The ;) is part of the group name; if you have any idea what it is, please use the comments thingy to enlighten me.

'Join this group and we could be in guiness (Guinness) world record 10,000,000 members'. - Guinness is a proper noun so needs a big G at the front as well as spelling.  And I don't expect the Guinness book of records would print all 10 million names anyway.

'THE OLD WINDMILL STAFF,REGULARS &COSTOMERS (customers)' - and please don't shout.

Another thing is the groups that make completely unsubstantiated claims.
Unless the group was created by the writers of Gavin and Stacey, then 'If 3 million people join gavin and stacey will do another series' probably makes promises it can't keep.
Similarly, 'If this gets 100,000 members then facebook will have themes' probably not sanctioned by Facebook (and I don't even understand what it means).
Did Cadbury really promise this? 'If we get more then 100000 members wispa will make there price to 30p'

Or maybe I'm missing some magic link.  I may start a group 'If three members join then my bank will deposit 1 million pounds into my account'.  Or 'If my blog has more than three readers I will be surprised'.

Do you have crabbies?

I like beer.
I also like ginger beer (even ignoring the obvious connotations).
An obvious product of these two facts was to try the advertised Crabbie's alcoholic ginger beer.  I decided to put this plan into action on a recent shopping trip to Sainsburys and celebrate the final weekend before returning to the metaphorical grindstone.  It made sense to me that such a delicacy would be for sale in the beer aisle.  After several minutes scanning the bottles, a young lady assistant approached:

"Can I help sir?"
"Possibly, do you have Crabbie's"

This could have gone one of two ways, I'm sure you understand.  Fortunately, I came out of the situation unscathed and was guided to the cider aisle, I'm sure that made sense to someone where I made a purchase of one bottle.  Why just the one?  Several reasons, partly because if it is skank I haven't lost much, partly because those who know me or indeed read one of my previous blogs will know that Russ and drinking don't go together well but also because I am as tight as a camel's arse in a sandstorm.  If you are interested, assuming you enjoy beer and ginger (d'uh), I must report that this was indeed a fine drink.

So, the celebration marks the end of Christmas and new year celebrations, for our household at least.  How was Christmas for you?  I enjoyed it very much, thanks for asking.  A few highlights.  Firstly, to open the Christmas celebrations for 2009, we all got absolutely soaked watching Father Christmas turn on the light, yes singular, we only saw one work immediately, in Gloucester City centre.  Then there was much excitement Christmas morning, excitement with the realisation that Father Christmas had been and emptied his sack all over our living room - the kids were quite happy as well.



Another highlight is, of course, the time spent with family and friends.  Christmas day was spent at my brother and his wife's house where Sharon laid on an excellent dinner and Darrel provided the musical entertainment by demonstrating his prowess as a rock queen.  Invitations to other family and friends houses, notably my mum's and Wendy's over the next couple of days ensured that not only did we enjoy good company but also vast amounts of food was consumed and, even better, we didn't have to cook any of it.  Now, if you are anything like me and eat everything in sight before a busy day doing stuff all, you might have put on a couple of pounds, or possibly stone.  Now, I'm guessing that my readership doesn't qualify as one of the beautiful people of the internet but if you are then having to cut back for a while and get off your lazy arse may be the least of your worries.  You may find yourself being visited by the fat police and being excommunicated and deemed too fat to find your true love.  Harsh.