1 August
2010 (Sunday) - Feeling Fragile
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2 August
2010 (Monday) - Complaining
Up early to put the kettle on. ‘er indoors TM got tea in bed this morning. Can’t
think why. But she seemed happy with her pressie.
Today was the twenty-ninth time I’ve given her birthday pressies,
and each year it gets harder to find something. On the way home from work I popped
into Halfords to complain about the broken gazebo. I bought it the day before
we went to the June Teston Kite Festival. I’ve used the thing at two kite
festivals and one garden party, and yesterday when putting it away the
aluminium had snapped. I spoke to the staff there yesterday, and they said to
fetch the thing back. So I did that today. Unfortunately none of the staff
who were on duty yesterday were about the place
today. So explained to the doom-brained dimwit on the till that I’d brought
back a faulty item. She tried to scan its bar-code, failed (because there
wasn’t one) and asked if I could turn the thing round so she could scan
the bar code. I explained again that I wasn’t buying, I was complaining. I
started explaining the whole sorry tale, but it soon became clear that she
had been programmed to sell things. Dealing with returns was far beyond her
ability. But to be fair to her, she sat and listened, enthralled to hear what
I had to say. And when I’d said my piece, she just grinned inanely. With no
idea of how to proceed, it seemed that she’d thought that if she waited long
enough, I might go away. And then she had a stroke of divine inspiration. Her
face lit up as she told me her brainwave. Would it help if she paged her supervisor?
I smiled sweetly, resisting the urge to ask if the last brainwave she had was
when the thing said goodbye, and agreed that seeing her supervisor might
help. When it became clear that I wasn’t
making a fuss, and was quite happy to swap the broken gazebo for a
replacement all seemed well. But then disaster. Since the time when I’d
bought the thing in June, they’d dropped the price by ten quid. I really
couldn’t care, but this caused their computer no end of problems, and it was
with a sense of relief that I finally drove away with the replacement gazebo.
I wonder how long this one will last? I did notice
one or two similar gazebos in various states of having been unbagged – I wonder if they too were returned broken? And then home where there was an
email waiting for me. Last week I complained to the organisers of Ashford’s “Create”
festival that the thing was noisy, unwelcoming and was generally rubbish. I’d
received a reply. They said:
I was quite amazed – I never
thought they would reply. Sometimes it pays to complain. I then got my shears
out and gave myself a quick haircut. The birthday girl was quite amused when
she found I’d missed a bit… |
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3 August
2010 (Tuesday) - Stuff
Parking at work is always somewhat
problematical - one of the reasons I get to work so early is so that I can
park my car within a ten minute walk of the place. I managed to squeeze into
the last available space this morning. I say “squeeze” because as some
inconsiderate person had parked diagonally across the adjacent space. Ten
minutes later whist having an early morning cuppa I was told that there was
someone in the car park wanting me to move my car so she could get into her
car. I went outside to see the fattest woman you ever did see ranting at thin
air because she was too fat to squeeze into the space I'd left by the side of
her car. I had parked rather tight against her car. However I'd parked
symmetrically in the space so that the person on the other side could get
into their car, having no idea how podgy the poor parker was. I smiled sweetly at the porker,
and asked if she'd like me to move my car. She then stopped ranting at thin
air, and directed her ranting at me. Apparently her parking at all angles is
actually a very considerate way to park, and me and the rest of humanity
using the white lines painted on the ground as guides for our parking is very
“sad”. “Sad” was a particular favourite insult of hers. I
politely listened to her ranting, and when she'd personally insulted me for
the twentieth time (I counted!) I pointed at my bum, and told her to
kiss it. I then walked off and left her there. In retrospect I suppose my
taking a photograph of her poor parking didn’t do much to ease tensions, but
by that time I’d had enough. Ten minutes later I went back to
move my car - I wouldn’t put it past her to damage the thing. She'd folded my
wing mirror in. I debated pursuing the matter, but life is too short. My car
spent the rest of the day in a car park ten minutes away. The plan for the evening was to
get all the stuff for the weekend’s camping trip into one place. It can take
an age to find all the camping bits, and so I thought that I could find the
tackle tonight, and load up the car tomorrow. But with the car parked so
close, and with willing volunteers to hand, it seemed daft not to finish the
job. I’m now (nearly) ready for the kite festival. We then went to Chippy’s via Asda. Beer doesn’t
buy itself, and having drunk a lot of the supplies at the weekend I thought
we might as well stock up now rather than sending out for supplies on
Saturday. And so to Chippy’s where we watched Jeff Dunham. I’ve only ever seen snippets of this bloke before –
he’s really good…. |
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4 August
2010 (Wednesday) - More Stuff
Up with the lark, shirts ironed
and to work. Fortunately the car of yesterday’s epically porky “person”
was nowhere to be seen. In retrospect I should have checked the thing to see
if she actually had a permit to park where she had. And then home. I was glad I’d packed
the car last night – this evening there was nowhere close to the house where
I could park, and the rain was torrential when I got
home. So I packed my clothes for the weekend and waited for the rain to stop.
I checked the weather forecast. I do that all the time, and I’m happy if
sunshine is forecast, and ignore it if rain is
forecast. I really shouldn’t bother with them. I then slept in front of You-Tube
videos waiting for the rain to stop. During my kip both Martin and Lisa
dropped off tackle for me to take camping tomorrow. I can’t help but wish I’d
had the stuff yesterday, but there it is. And then I was woken by a text from
the most recent fruit of my loin – she’d sent me a picture of The Things,
which is today’s piccie. And as the rain slackened
off I got the last few bits into my car, before loading up ‘er indoors TM car with all her stuff shortly
after dark. And then an early night ready for
the off in the morning. To Teston for the kite festival – our third camping
event of the year. If any of my loyal readers are free on Saturday, don’t
forget we’re doing pooh-sticks at Teston lock at 5pm. And whilst we’re away, “My
Boy TM ” has
instructions to get on with a major tidying up session. I wonder if he’ll do
it this time? |
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5 August 2010 (Thursday) - Off
to Teston
All set to go, just
about to get into the car, and I realised that I needed the loo. As I came
out of the facilities I noticed something – my kite bag was still on the
shelf. My kite bag is huge, and is usually the first thing I pack for a kite
festival. Trying to squeeze it into the car last was tricky, but I managed.
And so, for the eighteenth time I set off to Teston for a kite festival. Ably
assisted by “Daddies Little Angel TM ” and the rear
admiral, we arrived on site at 10am, and started to put the tents up. As the
morning wore on, the in-laws arrived, as did other festival go-ers, and we kept leaving our setting up to say hello to
old friends. In the past, setting up camp has taken an age, but now we seem
to have it down to a fine art, and despite our wandering off to chat with
people, all canvas was in place by midday. ‘Er
indoors TM arrived to set up the camp kitchen, and we set about some
dinner. It was a shame that there were some normal people picnic-ing almost on top of us, but they eventually shoved off,
and we grabbed the picnic table they were using. One of the advantages of After a bite of scoff
I got our banners up, and Dick came over for a chat. Just as we were settling
down for a crafty pint we noticed that the wind had dropped. And so had
Dick’s kite. Right into a tree. So we went, pointed, and laughed. You have to
– it’s the rules. And then we tried to get the thing out of the tree, which
was easier said than done. But the kite was eventually rescued, and was
undamaged despite it’s being stuck up the tree, and
then thrashed with a pole to try to get it out. A few more beers
whilst more friends arrived, and then in a novel break with kite festival
tradition I played with a kite for a while until it got dark. And then with
the Jose-o-scope (patent pending) we tried to tell the difference
between “Cassie-o-pee-er” and “Cassie-opia”. Tried, but failed. |
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6 August 2010 (Friday) - Teston Kite Festival
It was very clear,
and very cold when I got up for a tiddle at 4am.
Someone else was also up and having a make-sure, so I shouted some abuse at
them, before going back to bed. I can’t help but wonder who it was – I didn’t
have my specs on at the time. Having been up to midnight last night, I could
have done with more sleep, but it just wasn’t happening: I lay awake until
7am when set about my morning ablutions. My nephew appeared from nowhere, and
once I’d shaved he helped me with some tidying up. It’s amazing how messy the
place had got overnight. Where had all those empty beer bottles come from? A bit of brekky,
and then we had to run ‘er indoors TM to her mate’s house; she was off
to the Annual General Meeting of the Guild of Candle Floggers and was getting
a lift from her mate’s house. Her mate lived twenty minutes ride away, and at
ten minutes before we were due at this mate’s house, ‘er indoors TM managed to lose her phone. Oh how
I laughed (!) But the phone was soon found (where it was left), and ‘er indoorsTM was deposited with her mates. On
the way back to camp I supervised the day’s shopping. Whilst by “Daddies
Little Angel TM ” and the rear admiral got the food
for lunch and the next day’s brekky, I tried to
find some replacement footwear; my plimsolls had developed a hole. I asked an
assistant if they sold shoes. The silly woman started at me blankly – she’d
never heard of shoes. In the end I pointed at my feet to show her what shoes were. She told me they didn’t sell shoes – apparently
there was no demand for the things. Back to camp, where more people
were arriving; more of our party as well as other festival go-ers. As we watched people getting settled in we had a bit
of lunch – bread, cheese and a bottle of porter. Very nice. And then I got
out my new kite that I’d bought a month ago at the Having been taught a song about
the virgin sturgeon (a very fine fish, apparently) more of our party
arrived, and over a beer we watched By now the wind was getting
somewhat excessive, and so it was decided to take down the banners, and the
beer started flowing. And then we had some fun. I had been given the job of
locking the car park gate at 9pm. I waited until 10pm to do it, because I’d
forgotten to do it. However nobody told me that Simon had driven off at
9.55pm to get my shopping. He came back to find the gate was locked. So he
sent to my camp to ask for the key. I wasn’t there – I was half way across
the field chatting. Half an hour later (once I’d been found) I went up
to the gate to commiserate with Simon, and we spent a good fifteen minutes
grumbling together until I told him that I actually had the key he needed. He
did laugh (!) |
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7 August
2010 (Saturday) - Pooh-Sticks
I woke at 6am to the sound of rain
on my tent. If I had to pick my most detested sound, the sound of rain on the
outside of a tent would certainly be a strong contender. After an hour I gave
up trying to sleep, and had my morning shave despite the rain. And then to
the toilet block where during my morning “rake out” I managed to fart
a perfect rendition of the theme tune to Captain Scarlet. I was impressed,
and told everyone of my accomplishment. I was disappointed I could find no
one who shared my enthusiasm. I can’t think why no one else would think this
was something tt be proud of. After a bit of brekky,
and the obligatory washing up, the rain slackened off, and I retrieved the
banners. For no adequately explored reason the banners hadn’t been stored in
the usual place I put banners whenever they are taken down. Instead they had
been rammed under a caravan overnight, and I spent the morning repairing
them. Most of the damage was wear and tear which had been brought on by
yesterday’s strong winds, but I’m not sure that the sharp edges underneath
the caravans hadn’t had a hand to play in some of what I was stitching up
this morning. We then had a minor altercation with a passing normal person
who wanted to be shown round our tents. He was adamant that we were staging
an exhibition of tents, and wouldn’t believe we were attending a kite
festival. Personally I thought all the kites were a giveaway, but what do I
know? As I was stitching the banners
back together I had a steady stream of visitors. People had taken the
pooh-sticks challenge seriously, and as well as showing off their entries,
contestants wanted to check that their entries were within the rules, and (more
importantly) were grassing up their mates for blatant infringement of
rules. By midday I’d repaired the banners, and I had this plan to go round
the various caravans and tents and people flying kites to sell them pooh-sticks,
and then do the same again some time during the mid afternoon. Or that was
the theory. In practice I sold out of sticks whilst only two thirds of the way round the field, and spent much of the afternoon
apologising to people who wanted to take part. I’d come along wondering how
many of the two hundred pooh-sticks would not be sold. In the event I think I
could have shifted four hundred. Bread, cheese and black beer for
dinner, and then it was time to fly a kite. We took
a small power kite into the back field for one of the teenagers of our group
to have a go. He loved it, and I had a go to remind myself that I love it
too. Back to camp where we took part in the festival’s quiz.
Things were looking good for us at one point, but on the recount we were relegated
to second place. And then to the river for the
Pooh-Sticks race. Two months ago we’d played Pooh-Sticks under the bridge,
and had this idea to organise something for the August kite festival. We had
two events running simultaneously – a standard pooh sticks race where people
bought a numbered stick. And an “open” category where people built
their own objects to float down the river, subject
to various stringent rules which the judges applied with a very arbitrary
hand. I’d told people to have their entries at Teston lock at 4.40pm so that
the adjudicators (me and the rear admiral) could check the home-made
pooh-sticks for “shenanigans”. I was amazed at the standard of the
entries – people had been working hard on them. There were carefully
constructed rafts of all materials, stick which had been cunningly carved to
reduce drag, all manner of origami boats and shapes, corks, a ryvita, and even a couple of apples. Having got all the entries
together I looked up and across at the lock. And for someone who is very
experienced in public speaking and is rarely embarrassed in public, I found
myself speechless. Pretty much everyone who was camping at the festival had
come down for the event. A silly little idea that we’d had a couple of months
ago had caught everyone’s imagination. I felt quite humbled, and yet very
happy about the success of the thing. I then gave everyone thanks for coming
along, hollered to the commodore of the flotilla at the finishing line under
the bridge (“Daddies Little Angel TM ”) to check they were ready, and we
chucked all the entries into the river. In June we’d had a trial run with
twelve pooh-sticks. Nine of these got to the finishing line at the bridge
within fifteen minutes. There must have been more water flowing then. Our
event started with a slight hiatus as the entire lot got immediately
becalmed. All except one: the ryvta was moving
downstream. But on close inspection it was going downstream because it was
being nibbled on by shoals of small fish. Officials conferred, and the ryvita was disqualified for “shenanigans”. The
rules clearly said that entries were to be unpowered,
and the fish counted as propulsion. There was another minor hiccup – just as
the current began to take the various floating objects downstream a pleasure
cruiser came up the river. The pilot listened to both the commodore of the
flotilla at the bridge and to me half way along the bank. Both of us asked
him to sail round our pooh-sticks. Instead he deliberately sailed through the
lot, sending 90% of them into the reeds with the wash from the boat. But
eventually one or two of the entries started making their way to the bridge.
The ryvita, an early favourite, crashed into a tree
ten yards from the finish, and Dave’s origami boat sailed into first place
way ahead of the opposition. The first “standard” pooh-stick followed
a couple of minutes later, but was disqualified. It was stuck to a carefully
stitched raft of cocktail sticks which had been entered into the “open”
category. Using a raft counted as propulsion, and so “shenanigans” was
declared, and victory was awarded to a stick which followed shortly behind. Oh, so many people had so much fun
playing such a silly game. There were one or two hiccups, but we’ve learned
from them, and we’ll be doing the race again next year. And then after a
smashing bit of dinner (and the washing up) we filled our glasses and
wandered up the field to the evening’s entertainment. We stood around talking
whilst waiting (and waiting) for them to be ready. Once the Old Gits were finally ready we started with “Daddies
Little Angel TM ” giving
a speech thanking everyone for supporting the pooh-sticks race, presenting
the trophies, and announcing that we’d raised eighty six quid for Great
Ormond Street Hospital. And then the Old Gits did
their thing – the 1812 overture with cannons. The bangs were so loud you
could feel them, and (allegedly) one of our number tiddled
herself with surprise when the first bang went off. I’ve seen the show three
times now, and it just keeps getting better. And then back to camp. And something strange had happened. Between watching the 1812 overture and walking the fifty yards back to camp, everyone in our group had become absolutely, totally, commode-hogging drunk. It wasn’t just me – everyone had gone from being relatively compos-mentis to singing songs about sailors. And the beer flowed. As did the amaretto. And three bottles of port (and far too much cheese). I can remember being told that one of our number was drunk, and throwing him into bed at 1am before going back to HQ for more to drink. I’m told that I went to bed at 2am. I’d like to think we weren’t too raucous – I’m reliably informed that the assorted littluns of our party slept through the lot. But as I’ve said before I’d hate to have me as a neighbour… |
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8 August 2010 (Sunday) - Blokus
Despite going to bed at 2am last
night, I was up and having a shave at 7am. I wasn’t feeling too well this
morning – not the beer, but something I’d eaten judging by the rumblings. I
shall blame the variety of cheeses. Brekky (as
always) went down well; I was in charge of cutting the mushrooms, and we
had an intellectual conversation about the relative pugnatorial
skills of pilgrims and monks. Once washed up our presence was
required down the field for a photograph taken by the local paper’s
photographer, and then back to camp where we played Blokus for most of the
day. Ideally we’d have got more kiting done, as this was a kite festival.
But, much as I love And then we started to take down
the banners, and pack away the chairs, and generally slowly put away
everything we wouldn’t need again. Everyone else was packing away anyway, and
it makes for a quicker getaway in the morning. And it gave us something to do
whilst dinner was cooked. A good bit of diner – I do like fajitas. We then drove off to fetch ‘er indoors TM, and on arrival back at camp as she
made her way back to the tents I locked up and used the local facilities. And
when I came out there was a commotion at the gate I’d just locked. Loads of
cars and people swarming around with torches. All shaking the gate. I marched
up and asked loudly if I could help them, only to be told that was what they
usually asked. It was the police, Loads of them. When they saw I had a key to
the gate they accepted my bona-fide, and they told me that they were looking
for a car in the car park that shouldn’t be there. I told them that to the
best of my knowledge the only cars on site were those who were with the kite
festival. They took my word without checking the car park, and then they all
promptly shoved off to wherever it is that police go. I can’t help but wonder
what that was all about. |
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9 August 2010 (Monday) - Home Again
I’d planned to have a bit of a lie
in today. I was woken at 6.30am by someone shouting asking for the gate key.
It was the ranger who either had forgotten his own key, or didn’t have one.
Once awake I wasn’t going to get back to sleep, so I started packing up my
stuff. Rather noisily so that ‘er indoors TM might wake up and do the same. My
ruse worked. Omelettes for brekky
to use up all the leftovers. We’ve done this for the last few camping trips –
I’m personally hoping it becomes something of a tradition. I like omelettes.
The sun was shining, and I remembered the rain after the kite festival atBrighton a
month ago as today we packed away dry tents. Everything went away quickly –
having packed up a lot of stuff the night before was clearly a good idea
because we were on the way to the Bat-Farm by 11am. With a camp at the farm
in a couple of weeks time it seemed daft to take the camping gear home only
to bring it out again later; far more sensible to take it where it will be
needed. I did have a plan to take the
kettles back to Camping International this afternoon – two new kettles; both
broken. But in the event I couldn’t be bothered. I’ll do that some other
time. Instead I found myself reflecting
on the camping and kiting events I do. On the Sunday night as we sat
chatting after Brighton Kite Festival, the conversation turned to the kite
festival being organised at I also heard about how popular the
kite festival in This has got me thinking about
kite festivals in general. I camp out at three every year, and visit a few
others. All of which are not too far from home, they are fun places to be; I
enjoy them. But I must admit that when I’m camping at a festival I prefer the
time when the normal people aren’t there. And before I’m being accused of
being a miserable old git, I’d ask my loyal readers
to have a close look at the normal people at a kite festival. It’s supposedly
a kite event, but there they all are with their disposable barbecues
disposing of smouldering ashes into the nearest hedge and playing football
around the kites. I can’t help but wonder if I’m in the minority with this
opinion. I’ve been going to Teston kite festival since June 2002, and in that
time the attendance of people staying and camping has noticeably dropped off,
whilst (seemingly) the amount of pic-nic-ers,
barbecue-ers, footballers and assorted normal
people has increased dramatically. A group of friends have taken to organising their own kiting events at a field in Sussexto which the normal people are not invited. They run events purely for themselves, away from the normal people. I can see the attraction… |
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10 August 2010 (Tuesday) - A Day Off Work
Much as I like going camping, you
can’t beat sleeping in your own bed. One of the best bits of my own bed is
getting out of it. You climb down onto the floor, rather than (when
camping) climb up off of the floor; so much easier. And talking of
camping, over the weekend we managed to break two kettles. The original plan
was to take them back to the shop yesterday afternoon and go fishing today.
But yesterday afternoon I couldn’t be bothered to go to the shops, and today
was raining so I wouldn’t have gone fishing anyway. Batty arrived at 10.30am, and we
collected Martin and set off to Camping International in We thought we might visit
Whitstable, so we took the A2 east through Rainham.
This is probably the road with the slowest moving traffic in the world, but
eventually we were in Whitstable. The idea was lunch, so we visited a pub –
the Ship Centurion Arminius. This is a pub which is
regularly nominated for CAMRA awards, and has been the Kent Pub of the Year
before. However, despite a decent ale selection, I’ve never been impressed
with it. The food menu is rather basic, and it’s clearly a “local pub for
local people”. So we had a quick pint and moved on to the kite shop. I’ve this plan to cover the tops
of the banner poles with rubber bungs to stop them ripping through the tops
of the banners, so “Kites and Things” was the ideal place to get the
rubber bungs. Whilst there I got a rather attractive hanging banner for a
fiver, and my eye was taken by a large windsock. A very pretty windsock. The
chap behind the counter didn’t know how much the windsock cost (he was
covering the shop during the owner’s holiday). So I showed him a smaller
windsock which was up for sale for a tenner, and I
offered him twenty quid for the bigger one. He seemed happy with my offer,
and at that bargain price, so was I (!) The only thing remotely similar I can
find on eBay is priced over fifty quid. Our next port of call was W.M.
Camping in Sturry where we looked at the stuff and
came out without spending anything. Which was probably for
the best. Realising that it was now gone 3pm we grudgingly conceded
that most pub kitchens would be closed, so after quickly visiting |
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11 August 2010 (Wednesday) - Bored?
Back to work, after a few days
off. It wasn’t my idea to go back, and (quite frankly) I didn’t want
to. There was a time a few years ago when I loved my job; now it pays the
bills until I retire. Which is a great shame. After work we watched the second
film in the “Twilight” series - “New Moon”. At first thought I
wasn’t overly impressed, but on reflection I love the film. I now have a cure
for my chronic insomnia. And I’ll end today’s entry with a
bit of a whinge. I’m planning to get my bike out and have a cycle ride this
coming Saturday. Starting from my house at 11 a.m. (ish)
I (and anyone who wants to come along with me) intend to cycle along
the river where I might just possibly see pike and trout. Along by the rugby
club there are usually greenfinches, which are a bird you rarely see. And
then we’ll pick up National Cycle Path 18. Whilst it’s nominally a road, I’ve
hardly ever seen any cars use the thing. We’ll go along here, through some
wonderful scenery and after a really good fun downhill whizz,
we’ll find the Honest Miller. This is a pub in a nearby village which has a
cracking ale selection, a really friendly landlord, and the best food you
ever did scoff. From here, once suitably replete, we will cycle up into Wye
for a pint of afters, before taking National Cycle Path 18 home again; to be
back home for mid afternoon. I’ve mentioned this idea to a few
people. Some are up for it. Some would like to come, but cannot because they
are working. And there are a few who have dismissed the idea entirely because
they would rather spend the day “chilling”. “Chilling” – I
detest that phrase. Just hearing it makes my blood boil. What does it mean?
Someone intends to refrigerate something? I have done “chilling”
before, under expert supervision; I was fed up with it within fifteen
minutes. From what I can see, “chilling” involves sitting about,
deliberately wasting the few precious years we have left in a deliberate
attempt to do nothing. Boredom comes often enough in life – why go actively
seeking it out? Rant over – going to lie down
now... |
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12 August 2010 (Thursday) - Copyright
Yesterday there was an interesting
article on the radio that has made me think. There was a discussion about the
illegal redistribution of copyrighted materiel, both on the Internet and
through pirated videos and DVDs. Fergal Sharkey was on the panel,
representing the views of the As a child I would buy records
from time to time, as would all of my friends. And we would all lend each
other our records so we could copy them onto cassette tape for ourselves.
Absolutely everyone did it. It was illegal then, as it (probably)
still is, but the panel on the radio show admitted that no one in authority
was ever that fussed about a few boys swapping records in the classrooms.
Apparently things today are different. The next generation of kids aren’t
swapping records in the classroom; they are swapping records over the
internet. The amount of copying remains the same; it’s just done over a
larger distance. But the principle remains the same, surely? I can’t see how
my hypothetical copying of a record belonging to a mate who lives down the
road is any different to my hypothetical copying of a record of someone I’ve
never met who lives in Aberystwyth. Or can I? It is
very difficult for those involved with tracking copyright theft to crack down
on kiddies swapping music in the classroom. Or anywhere, come to that. There
was once a sci-fi shop in Now I’ll admit that this sharing
of media is illegal. I said as much in today’s first paragraph. But is it a
bad thing? In my book, (and this is my book), “illegal” is a
very different thing to “bad”. It was the view of some of those on the
radio show’s panel that file sharing denies income to the various music and
film industries. One of the most vociferous members of the panel was a poet
complaining that people shouldn’t be able to download her poetry for free; if
people wanted her poetry then they should pay for it. After all, this was her
livelihood. Professional poetry. I can feel my blood boiling at the thought
of it, but I shall endeavour to remain objective. I suppose they are entitled
to their income, even though my gut reaction is that the professional poet
might be better advised to get a proper job. (Sorry to any professional
poets reading this, but that’s how I feel). I can’t help but wonder how much
money the professional poet makes. I can make a reasonable guess at how much
the professional musician makes. In February I went to see a live band – a
good band, but not in the league of those who are complaining about copyright
infringement. Tickets for the show I saw were fourteen quid each, and the
theatre had 231 seats (I’ve looked it up). Not all were sold, but from
what I can remember, and from what I’ve seen on the theatre’s website I think
it’s fair to say that the band went home with a clear profit of over two
thousand quid that night. There were six of them, and from their website I
see that they are performing twice a week. This gives them each an (estimated)
annual wage of over thirty thousand quid. I don’t think anyone would begrudge
them that, even if they are only doing half a day’s work twice a week to earn
that wage. However when you look at the big boys – for example some of the
bands playing at the O2 arena, it’s a bit different Tickets are fifty quid
each, and the attendance is measured in the thousands. With the profit they
are raking in from live performances, they can hardly claim poverty. And are
they really losing any more money to file sharing than they lost to me and my
mates copying records all those years ago? Or take the film industry, which
is really suffering (apparently) from the revenue lost to the video
pirates. The radio show told us that there are a lot of people behind the
scenes that we don’t think about – camera men, sound men, producers, best
boys, etc. All of whom will be out of a job if the film doesn’t make money.
But is the film industry that strapped for cash? To take one example, if the star of the film was to take a pay cut and be
paid merely twice that which the British Prime Minister earns for the years’
work rather than the millions she was paid, then the cash saved would pay a
very decent year’s living wage to over one thousand other people. Meanwhile firemen who actually
deserve a decent wage get a pittance. And (somewhat closer to home)
lifeboat crews do it for free. Perhaps
those who should benefit from the monies legally due to them because of
copyright law have been benefiting just a little bit too much…? |
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13 August
2010 (Friday) - Stuff
Up with the lark to see to a
week’s worth of ironing. A dull job, but someone’s got to do it. And that
someone was me. I got half of it done; I shall come back to the rest of it
later. And then to work, which was much the same as ever, and home again to
find my new kettle has been delivered. With a capacity of a gallon and a lid
that actually comes off, it will certainly come in handy on our next camping
trip. Washing up water doesn’t heat itself, you know. I just hope it lasts
longer than the last two kettles. Washing up and ironing: welcome to my
world. In a novel break with tradition,
this evening we sat down and watched telly – six episodes of “Man vs Food”.
I’ve been recording it somewhat faster than I’ve been watching it. A
wonderful program showing the culinary restraint of our American cousins. I *so*
need to go to the |
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14 August
2010 (Saturday) - Iden
I have been criticised for many
things over the years. One of which is my approach to practical astronomy.
There are those who sit shivering in darkened fields whilst waiting for a
break in the clouds through which they might see a star. And there are those
who call up pictures on Google Images. I know which approach I favour – after
all, no matter how much your telescope might have cost, there’s no way it can
compete with the orbiting Hubble Space Telescope, is there? Last night my
convictions were again confirmed. With the most brilliant meteor shower of
the year predicted; in between the clouds I saw one satellite in the general
vicinity of Cassiopeia. What a waste of my time – there will be pictures of
the things clearly visible in the warmth of the astro
club in a week or so. Whilst scoffing brekkie the door bell rang – the postman had a recorded
delivery letter. For me (!) From Renault (!!) Postie
joked that they wanted my car back. I opened the envelope to see that postie was right. There was an urgent safety recall –
apparently it would be possible for the electronic parking brake to activate
whist driving. But then I realised they had the registration number of my car
wrong. They were recalling the car I’d sold back to them three months ago. At
first sight I thought this was an understandable administrative error, but
the letter said they’d got my details as registered keeper of the vehicle
from the DVLA. That was rather worrying, so I phoned the local dealership,
who told me they’d look into it on Monday. I suppose all the time my current
car’s not recalled, I’ll not worry too much. The day’s plan was originally to
go for a bike ride, but heavy rain put paid to that idea. Instead we
designated a driver (bless her) and set off to a pub we’ve never
visited before. The Bell in
Iden had a
good website, so we thought we’d try it out. It was a little off the beaten
track, and for one of our number this involved the first trip of his life to
another county, but it was a good choice. Six (and a half!) of us sat
down to some of the best home-cooked food we’ve ever tasted. And three ales,
none of which are that common too. Certainly a pub to re-visit. On the way home we popped into
Swallow Aquatics and went gooey over their geckoes, frogs, Koi and various
assorted animals. And whilst we were at it I bought a new set of innards for
the fish pond filter. That didn’t come cheap, but then keeping Koi isn’t a
cheap thing to do anyway. Perhaps I should have had goldfish. And then we wasted five minutes in
the fishing tackle shop – a forthcoming camping event will feature some
fishing, so it never hurts to be prepared. And then I turned down the chance
to take part in a pub quiz in favour of a quiet night watching the telly.
Every so often even I have a bit of peace and quiet… |
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15 August
2010 (Sunday) - Going Underground
Regular readers of this drivel may
recall an entry a few weeks ago where we walked across the White Cliffs
between Folkestone and After quite a bit of faffing about in B&Q this morning, we set off to
Folkestone to meet up with the rest of the archaeological expedition. Four of
our party proceeded in the Batmobile, whilst Map checked, routes planned, pints
downed, me and Suitably chastised we found our
way to the cliff top and to the first set of holes. The first hole led to a
very long corridor in which we found evidence of previous explorers – the
boxes of binoculars and torches were left lying around. And then panic set
in. We had a role call, and couldn’t locate the Rear Admiral. Having visions
of his falling in the darkness an d laying
unconscious somewhere, we went through the tunnel time and again trying to
locate him. Only to eventually find he was sitting outside the hole waiting
his turn to go in once he’d helped others get out. In retrospect this was a
sensible thing to do. Generally these tunnels are far easier to get into than
they are to escape from. The second hole was rather tight
to get into, but with a little judicious scrubbling
I got into the hole. In fact there was only one hole all day that I couldn’t
get into. Provided you were prepared to get mucky, and didn’t mind scrabbling
on hands, knees, bums, and various sundry bits of your anatomy, practical
archaeology was easy. Having scrubbled the skin off
my elbows I got into the second hole, which was a disappointment. A rather
small room. Scrubbling back out of the hole was
fun, but not as much fun as watching others scrubble
out of that hole. “Daddies Little Angel TM ” then engaged “egg-laying mode”,
and with good cause. There was a feeling that some tunnels were accessible
from the cliff face, and we clambered around the tops of the cliffs looking
for candidate burrows. The closest we came was an old railway vent and a set
of overgrown concrete steps leading from the top of the cliffs. I must admit
that this was perhaps the scariest part of the day – the drop down the White
Cliffs is quite a way down. And then we found the hole we’d visited last
time. In the last few weeks that hole has got rather damp and muddy, but we
had a good root around anyway. The third tunnel was amazing. Next
to a disused cowshed we found what looked like a rusty manhole cover. The last tunnel we explored had a
rather tricky entrance. Rather narrow at the top, but wide and deep further
down. Getting in was somewhat tricky, but once in, this was the longest
tunnel of the lot. Having explored the tunnel I had a problem – I couldn’t
get back out again. I tried various angles and scrubbles,
but it wasn’t happening. In the end the Bat and the Rear Admiral grabbed each
of my arms and physically hoiked me out. Such an exertion was traumatic for
all; hoikers, hoikee and
audience, so we adjourned to the pub for a crafty half before getting the bus
back to civilisation. Or Folkestone, at any rate. We will be returning. If
any of my loyal readers are up for it, check the “Dates for the Diary”
section to find out when…. |
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16 August
2010 (Monday) - Facebook, Kites, Stuff
I had a really good weekend. And
so, as always, Monday came hard. I quite like the late start when I do a late
shift on a Monday. Or that is I like the late start when “My Boy TM ” is also on a late start.
Unfortunately that didn’t happen today. He woke me (and half the county)
as he left for work “as quiet as a mouse” (!) at 5.30am this morning,
and I couldn’t get back off to sleep after that. I got up an hour or so later, but
in retrospect I wasted the morning. First of all on Facebook, where “The Chilli Bar”
wants to be my friend. From our mutual friends, I can only deduce that “The
Chilli Bar” is
either something to do with kite flying, or is a shop in I also had an invitation to join
the “Kite Flying Lovers Association” (sic); a bunch of some
three thousand people based in the University of the Punjab who are trying to
overturn a kite ban which has been imposed somewhere in Pakistan. The
implication of the message I received that was my clicking to accept
membership would in some way count as a vote against this ban. I can’t see
that myself, and more electrons went into the recycle bin. On further research I find
myself agreeing with this kite ban. Kite fighting is well and good – an
established tradition and something I’ve done myself. But when it’s being
done in so reckless a fashion that innocent passers
by are being slashed and killed by kite lines which are coated in glass, then
surely something has to be done. There have been kite bans in the And then I wasted some time in
NeverWinter – it would seem that ghosts have overrun the sewers. I would have
thought they might have found somewhere more salubrious to haunt, but what do
I know? And then to Tescos to pick up some lunch. I
really should leave more time for lunch shopping – the place was swarming
with old biddies – an empty coach outside the supermarket led me to believe a
coach party of the things had arrived. And not one had any urgency about its
shopping; pootling along with all the time in the
world as my blood pressure went through the roof. Do they really need to pick
up every apple in the shop before eventually selecting the first one they
saw? Surely they are capable of walking more than four steps in any one
direction before stopping and heading off at right angles? Do they do this
deliberately? Having asked that, I know I would… |
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17 August
2010 (Tuesday) - Stuff
I’m not quite sure how it came
about, but I found myself researching the acquisition of a pig today. Not as
a pet, but as something to stick on a barby. Some
time over the last few days the subject of a hog roast was broached, and I
think it might have been a suggestion for a forthcoming camp. I’ve found a
butcher in Woodchurch who has a field full of suitable pigs, and with a
week’s notice he can do the necessary so’s we could
have a hog roast. And a whole pig isn’t overly expensive – considerably less
than two hundred quid, and it comes ready to have the stick shoved up it’s bum. The only drawback is how much pig we’d get. The
butcher seemed to think that just one leg would do us for camping for the
weekend; the whole pig comes with four of these legs, and together with
bellies, loins and briskets would probably do us through till Xmas. Perhaps I
might content myself with just sticking a few pork sossies
on the barby instead – it’s always worked in the
past. I then phoned a plumber to service
the boiler. It’s not been done for a while and is probably overdue. I phoned
about a dozen plumbers until I found one who’d actually answer the phone,
rather than just letting the thing ring and ring. But it was his wife who
answered. She’s taken my number, and said someone will call me back. We shall
see… An email via Friends Reunited.
From someone with whom I lost touch some thirty years ago, but remember from
before my first day at primary school. The chap’s left the army after
twenty-odd years and is now a teacher in |
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18 August
2010 (Wednesday) - Tea, Coffee, Fish
Up with the lark, and I got jiggy with the laundry whilst watching Al Murray DVDs.
Socks don’t pair themselves up, you know. A dull
job, but marginally better than lying wide awake watching the clock. And then
to Asda. As well as lunch I bought coffee for tea
breaks at work. Due to various health and safety considerations I cannot eat
or drink in my workplace, and so for refreshment I need to actually go
somewhere else for a cuppa. Consequently getting a break becomes a I’ve finally bitten the bullet and
admitted that I don’t like green tea. I’ve been trying various flavours of
the stuff twice a day for the past year and it’s
true - they all taste horrible. I started off on the green tea ages ago; I
see that on 17 November last year I mentioned that I found a flavour of the
stuff that wasn’t “utterly disgusting”. Since arthritis got a grip on
my right knee last year I’ve been advised that green tea will help the pain.
(Not that my knee actually hurts – it just makes an awful noise when I
walk). However since I’ve started on the green tea, the only change I’ve
noticed with my joints is that over the last few months my right foot has got
particularly painful. I’ve
still got the noise and now I’ve now got a joint that really is a problem. So much for green tea. Today I
bought a packet of instant latte. To be honest I can’t tell a latte from an
earl grey. All I know is that the box looked impressive. The stuff tastes OK
I suppose. It’s better than green tea at any rate. In four days time I shall
buy a jar of Nescafe and a jar of coffee-mate. I came home from work to find a
scratch on my car. Or, to be precise, ‘er indoors TMnoticed a
scratch on my car. I would never have seen it, and for all I know it may well
have been there for weeks. Whilst it’s a shame that it’s happened, I can’t
say I’m really that bothered about it. After all, it’s only cosmetic. The car
can still get me and a serious amount of luggage from here to there and back
again. I expect the scratch happened in the hospital car park at some point.
These things often do. Meanwhile, just down the road from my house, the country’s biggest carp has died. “Two Tone” who weighed in at some five stone and was probably the same age as “Yours Truly”, has croaked. (Or is it frogs that croak?) Apparently there are several local people who blame that fish for their divorce, the men having wasted so much time on the pond side trying to catch the elusive leviathan. As far as I’m concerned that’s just another vote in favour of my preferred style of fishing – “tiddler bashing”. I can’t understand spending days waiting to catch one fish. When I’m fishing, if I’m not into double figures of fish within half an hour, I go home. |
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19 August
2010 (Thursday) - TV Licences, Neighbours...
A late start, so I had the morning
to waste. I started off with a trip to the dentist. I see they’ve now got six
different dentists working there. I sat with the “great unwashed” for
five minutes before being called in. I was in the chair for two minutes
whilst the chap voomed around the inside of my cake
hole with a mini camera. He then showed me the cracks in the filling which he
will replace tomorrow. Just as well I’m on another late shift then. And then home again to find the postie had called. He delivered my television licence. I
begrudge paying for it. I’ve found a website which
shows where my money goes. Nearly eight quid a month goes on the ten TV
channels operated by the BBC. Yes – ten. I watch BBC 1 when Doctor Who is on,
and other than that, I don’t think I watch any of their output. Two quid a
month goes on their sixteen radio channels. I listen to Radio Four on the way
to work and back, and occasionally at work when it’s my turn to skive. Sixty
six pence a month goes on their on-line services. For me that’s
sixty six pence each month for a weather forecast that rarely bears any
relation to actuality. And one pound thirty five pence a month goes on various vaguely unattributed sundry
expenditure. I see that translating the licence into Welsh is one of
the things this one pound thirty five pence is wasted on. So to summarise the licence fee:
twelve quid a month gets me fourteen episodes of Doctor Who each year, half
an hour’s radio a day, an unreliable weather forecast and the opportunity to
have the thing translated into Welsh. Wasn’t the government talking about giving
the public value for money a while back…? Brekkie, and time to check my emails. I see
my blog has been nominated for an award. Every day as well as writing my own blog, I read
several other blogs. Those of my friends and acquaintances are linked in the
panel to the right. I was invited to nominate seven other blogs for awards. I
spent half an hour trying to do so, but gave up. I got down to a shortlist of
ten, but seven? – I couldn’t get it down to seven. Talking of blogs, this morning I
read something in one of these blogs where a fellow blogger
intimated that his relations with some of his neighbours are somewhat
strained. This has got me thinking – for years I thought it was some failing
in myself which was the reason for my poor
relationships with neighbours. As a child we lived next door to a
shop on one side (no real relationship at all) and on the other side
lived “Old Granny Gutsache”; a pinch-faced
old battleaxe if ever I met one. I can’t remember her ever saying anything
that wasn’t a complaint. When I was ten years old we moved house and very
soon fell out with the neighbours there. When I left home I moved into the
nurses home at the old Ashford hospital and spent the most miserable
fortnight of my life there, trying to co-habit with the most antisocial
misfits I’ve ever met. From there I moved to a flat in Folkestone where in
two years we never saw any neighbours. There then followed what was in
retrospect a blissful five years in Kingsnorth Road
where we got on well with both neighbours. We’ve been in our current house
for nearly twenty years. On one side the first set of neighbours were a sour,
bitter childless couple whose only interest in life was “peace and quiet”.
Why people who were so obsessed with “peace and quiet” would have
bought a house on what was at the time the main “A” road out of Ashford is
anyone’s guess. They eventually moved out, and were replaced with a chap with
whom I am slowly getting back onto speaking terms. A few years ago there were
some rather nasty solicitor’s letters to-ing and
fro-ing in which this chap was formally told that I
did not need his approval or permission to lead my life how I wanted to. On
the other side we’ve had a succession of temporary neighbours to finally end
up with the current lot – a pleasant enough bunch, albeit with some rather
noisy dogs. I’m glad to find out I’m not the
only one who has problems next door.
|
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20 August
2010 (Friday) - Being Smart
Back to the hunt for a plumber.
The chap I phoned earlier in the week hasn’t got back to me, so I tried the
one that had been recommended to me. A woman’s voice answered the phone
telling me that plumbing and boiler services were no longer available. I went
back to check adverts on the internet and eventually got through to a chap
who told me he was on the job (oo-er!),
but said he’d get back to me. I then wasted an hour or so in
NeverWinter before going back to the dentist. I was not impressed. Well, let
me elaborate on that. The chap’s dentistry cannot be faulted, but I know him;
I know he’s good. He
did X-rays, a replacement filling and a general all-over gob service and I
was in and out in ten minutes. However were I a first time
patient I don’t think I would have sat in his chair; I would have turned
round and walked out. Clad in jeans and T shirt, and not been near a razor
blade for a couple of days, he just doesn’t look the part. Whenever anyone
sees me in my work attire, people are amazed to see me in a shirt and tie.
Perhaps I’m just hopelessly old fashioned to think that professional people
should dress to inspire confidence. From the dentists I popped into Lidl’s where, to confirm my prejudice, I was mistaken for
a member of staff. When I explained I wasn’t, the woman who’d mistaken me
said that she assumed I was working, because I was wearing a tie. Last night there was a minor
problem when I came to have my shower. The shower head was gone. As in
missing; not there. It’s no secret that strange things
happen in my world, and I suppose in the great scheme of things losing a
shower head is no big deal. But it was a nuisance. This evening the thing has
returned; it wasn’t there last night. Perhaps it had been lent out to
someone? I don’t know. I have my suspicions as to who was messing the thing
about, though…. |
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21 August
2010 (Saturday) - Tudor
Even thought it was Saturday, I
was up with the lark, brekkied, and at the costume
hire shop early. More about the costumes later. And then round to Gore Hill
to help with the moving house. I arrived, rang the door bell, and waiter. And
waited. I rang the doorbell again, and shouted through the letterbox. And
waited. So I gave the phone a ring. No answer, so I tried Matt’s mobile
number. He was on the other side of the town, having forgotten that I’d said
I was going to help him move house. So I went shopping for birthday pressies for half an hour or so. Once shopped, it was
back with helping with the moving house. In retrospect I can’t help but feel
we didn’t actually achieve much. In six hours we moved a bed, a sofa, an arm
chair, a freezer and a few sundry bits from one house to another, and got
some bits out of the loft. We then sat down for pizza, and listened to the
nice man from Sky TV explaining why he couldn’t install a satellite dish
because there was a great big building between the new house and the Sky
satellite. He pointed out that if you looked up and down the road you could
see all the houses hed satellite dishes except for
a row of thirty houses all in the shadow of Charter House. Over to cable TV… And then home, showered and into
costume for a birthday party. Drew’s special
birthday, and a Tudor banquet at Bewl Water was the
order of the day. Due to a miscalculation on my part as to how far away Bewl Water was, we arrived a little too early, but that
wasn’t a bad thing; we got to spend a while admiring the lake, and making
plans to re-visit to walk or cycle round the pond (it’s huge!). Before
long, other people were arriving, and we found the bar. A bottle of Spitfire
slipped down nicely, but there was a minor hiccup – where should I keep my
wallet and my change? Being back in the sixteenth century for the evening we
were suitably attired, and the invention of the pocket was still a few
hundred years into the future. In the event I shoved my wallet and my camera
up my jerkin (oo-er!) and all was
well. We got news that that the birthday
boy’s carriage was on the way, so everyone made their way outside where we
staged quite a major photo shoot. Pretty much
everyone had dressed for the occasion, and in retrospect I did feel a tad out
of place in my traditional (for the period) velvet trousers. Quite a
few of the other chaps there were wearing stockings and tights and were
remarking how comfortable they felt. (Never confused!!). The costumes
were wonderful, and the kiddies especially were hamming it up. There were
Kings and After a few minutes the Royal
carriage arrived, and the embodiment of a rather svelte Henry VIII and his
retinue emerged. I’m reliably informed that in his youth, the original “our
enery” wasn’t the size that traditionally we
remember him as. We all made our way to the lake where we boarded “Swallow”
– a pleasure cruiser which took us around the lake. For someone who’s
generally “into” ponds (like I am) this cruise was a wonderful
way to spend an hour in the evening. And having a foxy Tudor lady dishing out
free wine was a very much appreciated added bonus. Back to shore, and as we made our
way back to the Bewl centre for dinner we admired
the fire eaters on the pavilion. Earlier in the week I was speculating on the
possibility of a hog roast. Tonight we had one. It was smashing; really good
food, washed down with a glass of champers. We joked with the birthday boy
about a Mc Hog Roast and a Mc Tudor, and we struggled to eat all of what we’d
been given. In the meantime, our Tudor entertainer told jokes, and wandered
around the tables making balloon animals, and generally being really good at
what he did. A shame he couldn’t make a balloon penguin, but I suppose (to
be fair to him), penguins were only discovered in 1492, so it’s possible
that our chap hadn’t yet heard of them. After an excellent bit of dessert
the floor was cleared, and we stepped up to trip the light fantastic.
Normally I don’t do dancing, mainly because I’m crap at it. But I do enjoy
country dancing where a caller shouts out what you have to do. Tudor dancing
is in that style, and we promenaded a Pavane.
Rather well, I thought. Even if I do say so myself. All too soon it was home time, and
having slept most of the way to Bewl, despite
having downed copious quantities of ale, wine and champagne during the
evening, I was wide awake all the way home where I staggered into bed shortly
after 1am. If any of my loyal readers are looking to stage a special event, I
really can’t recommend a hog roast at Bewl highly
enough… |
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22 August
2010 (Sunday) - Fishing (in the rain)
Despite a skinfull
of assorted beverages last night, I was wide awake at 6.30am this morning.
And from experience I know there is no point in lying there wide awake. So I
got up, had brekky, had a look at what was going on
in cyber-space, and by 7.30am I was tired again. So I went back to bed and
stayed put until after 10.30am. Perhaps this might be a better way to deal
with insomnia. After second brekkie
I spent a little while in NeverWinter, where sea-elves are becoming a problem
(!) And then the Folkestone contingent arrived with a tub of maggots, and we
set off for an afternoon’s fishing. As we drove, so a few spots of rain fell,
but I confidently announced that rain always sounds louder on the inside of a
car, and that it was only a passing shower. So we decided to carry on with
our plans; confident that glorious sunshine was only a few minutes away. How
wrong we were. Within five minutes we were all soaked to the skin, but still
desperately clinging to the idea that it was going to brighten up soon. A
triumph of idiot enthusiasm over common sense, and as the rain slackened off
to only being torrential, we all decided that we were right, and the weather
was improving. We fished for three hours, and in
that time we had a whole ten minutes when the rain actually reduced to only
being described as “drizzle”. We were all soaked right through, and
there was a dodgy few seconds when I slipped in the mud and was flat on my
face; slowly but inexorably sliding down the bank towards the water, giggling
like a twit. But we had fun, we all caught fish; one of the fish was large
enough to need the net. And even though the weather was atrocious, we enjoyed
ourselves. I suppose we had a choice. We could have stayed indoors and done
nothing, or we could have made the most of the day. We certainly did make the
most of the day, but there is no denying that it was good to get home and put
on some dry pants. We found a minor hiccup when we
got home. ‘er indoors TM had been defrosting the
freezer, and the lobby and bathroom carpets are now soaked. I can’t hang the
carpets outside, as it’s raining. I’ve put down some cardboard, and I’m
desperately hoping the weather will perk up tomorrow so I can do something
with these sodden carpets. I then spent the evening
researching comets. I’ve offered to do a talk on comets to the astro club next year, and I’ve been working on this
presentation for some time. For some reason I just can’t seem to get up any
enthusiasm to actually get on and prepare the thing, though… |
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23 August
2010 (Monday) - A Day Off
I woke with a terrible aching in
my stomach muscles. I suspect yesterday’s little altercation with the mud at
the fishing pond probably had something to do with this. Yesterday I
mentioned our wet carpets – despite having had torrential rain all night long
the weather forecast predicted a dry morning, so I dragged the wet carpets to
the washing line to try to air them out. Even if it poured hard on them all
day long, they couldn’t stay where they were. I then took the costumes from
Saturday back to the hire shop, where I met up with other party-go-ers returning their kit too. We chatted, and all agreed
what a wonderful time we’d had. Talking of Saturday’s party I then dropped
off a memory stick full of photos with the birthday boy, and then on my way
home popped in to B&Q for a dustbin; I needed something to put garden
waste into, and traditional canvas composters just
go smelly, so I came home with a plastic dustbin, and hacked back the jungle
coming over the fence from next door. I did plan to mow the lawn, but it was
very wet, so I set about my correspondence instead. As is so often the way I’d let my
letter rack get to what could only be described as “overflowing”
before I dealt with it. First of all the bank and credit card statements.
Usually I’m very good at keeping track of what I’ve squandered my money on.
Not so good this month, finding loads of expenditure of which I’d not made a
note. I effectively wasted two months worth of money in August. Oh well; I’ll
just spend a little less on beer next month. It was just as well the bank had
also sent a letter confirming my overdraft arrangements. I must admit I’m
rather cross with myself – I like to think I’m good with my money; clearly
not this time. Aviva had
sent me several offers of cheap motorbike insurance, as had Carole Nash. I
didn’t have the heart to tell them I’ve not ridden a motorbike for seven
years. PlusNet offered me the best broadband I
would ever see. To me it looked like all the other broadband offers I could
see. ActionAid sent another begging letter. I wish
they wouldn’t; I’ve told them they get their bit each month. The leccie company had written to me to tell me that emails
were bouncing. I blame the anti-spam software; it can be somewhat
over-zealous at times. And the Aspinall foundation
sent their newsletter with the free entry voucher. Must actually use that
this time; I always forget about it. I then tried another plumber to
see if they would service my boiler (!) So far despite promises to call back,
no one actually has yet. The chap I’ve tried is in Tenterden and has good
recommendations on-line. The lady answering the phone seemed keen to take my
details. I wonder if he’ll phone. I’d like to think he will, but to be honest
my hopes aren’t high. After a quick sarnie
for lunch I had another look at the lawn. It wasn’t *that* wet, so it got
mowed; it hadn’t been done for three weeks, and really needed doing. I then
got the carpets off of the washing line. One was dry, one nearly so. But
judging by the colour of the sky if I’d left them there much longer they
would have got very wet, so I put them back where they belonged. I did have a
hankering to go fishing this afternoon (to make up for yesterday’s episode),
but I didn’t fancy another afternoon in the rain. I then spent a couple of
hours on the comet presentation for the astro club.
It still needs quite a bit of work, but it’s getting there. And just as the
afternoon was all but over, the sun came out. A glorious evening, so I went
for a couple of hours fishing... |
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24 August 2010 (Tuesday) - Another
Day Off
Another day off work, but still I was up before 7am. A quick bit of brekkie, then I wasted an hour in NeverWinter. I’ve now finished a game that’s kept me out of mischief for a month – I need to look for another one now. There’s three thousand up at theNeverWinter Vault ; that should keep me going for a while. |
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25 August 2010 (Wednesday) - Rain!
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26 August
2010 (Thursday) - Preparing for Camping
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27 August
2010 (Friday) - Off to Camp
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28
August 2010 (Saturday) - Camping
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29
August 2010 (Saturday) - More Camping
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30
August 2010 (Monday) - Coming Home
And so home where I’ve stashed most of what I’ll need for the forthcoming camping trip into one of the lock-ups. And then I had a shower. Heaven. Much as I like camping, I like a shower too. We need to camp in places with shower blocks. I shall smile sweetly at the farm management… |
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31 August
2010 (Tuesday) - Back To Work
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