Can You Lend Me A Fiver?

Today is a bad day.

Don't get me wrong. There's nothing intrinsically wrong with today. Perhaps I should say, it's a bad day for me.

It's that moment in the year that we all dread. At least, if we're motorists.

Yes. Today the car is having it's MOT done.

Even though I pleaded with my Vauxhall Astra as I left for work this morning, that it should revise carefully and pass it's test, this morning I received a call from the "garage man". It went something like this...

Garage Man: "There's just a few things we're gonna need to do"

Me: "Erm, OK"

"Well, your wiper blades are split"

"Oh, well that's not too..."

"Your handbrake needs tightening"

"Erm, right, well..."

"Both your front tyres are worn"

"Ah, erm..."

"And your brake pads are 80% worn"

"(noise indistinguishable from beneath the whimpering)".

So, it looks like being a pricey day. All donations are welcome, although I entirely understand if you feel there are more worthy causes in the world to contribute towards, instead of keeping Dave's car on the road.

Still, it could be worse. The exhaust could be rusting.

Oh, yeah. He rang back later. The exhaust's also rusting.

But all this MOT business has achieved one thing that I never thought possible.

It's made the congestion charge look cheap.

A Lovely Day...

This is likely to be my last post for a few days. Well, until at least Tuesday.

The excus...sorry, reason - is that I've got quite a busy few days ahead. Tomorrow in particular.

My lovely daughter Lucy will be one whole year old tomorrow, and we're having a little (alright, big) family gathering to celebrate.

That's all I have to say today, really.

Have a lovely weekend.

The Colonel's Calling...

Those of you who know me well will be aware that, during my student days, I did something terrible. Awful. Something I find it very difficult to come to terms with even now, nearly ten years on.

I worked in fast food.

I know, I know. If you are just a happy browser coming across this, I wouldn't blame you if you never pointed your mouse in direction again, but it's true. For nearly three years, I worked for a popular high street fried chicken outlet. Originating in Kentucky.

It's not that I have any problem whatsoever with people who work in fast food. Please don't be offended if that is your current situation. But no-one can say they enjoy it, can they?

This long meandering post is merely build up for hoping that you'll point the little white arrow here to see exactly what the aforementioned poultry purveyors are up to these days.

By taking such an extreme course of action, they're demonstrating that they must really be desperate.

I mean, fish for goodness sake...

Can't Live With 'Em...

Computers.

I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with them, really. A lot of my work is heavily connected with them. I use them for the vast majority of my working day. When all is going well, they are incredibly useful tools that enable us to do many things we might not otherwise be able to do. When they go wrong, they make you want to set fire to your desk, and everything on it.

The problem is that we're so entirely reliant on them these days. A few weeks ago, for a long, boring fuse-related reason, I had no power to my desk and so my computer couldn't be switched on. I couldn't do anything (let me repeat that - anything) until the power had been restored. There was no aspect of my job that I could occupy myself with in the meantime. I was utterly helpless. I may as well have lost the use of my arms.

Over the last few days, I've been wrangling with a problem involving our radio playout system. It's my current (slightly cursed) responsibility to maintain it, and I've been having problems getting it to do one particular thing it needs to do. I shan't mention the name of the company we use, but they are a large one. They have, as all such companies do, a "help"line that hapless people like myself should call when one comes across a problem.

I rang first thing this morning. It's now late afternoon. They haven't called me back. What a great "help".

I daresay it will all sort itself out in the end, and without the computer, what I need to do would take a lot longer. But that doesn't stop me wanting to throw it out of the window.

But I can't even do that because the windows don't open. Why? Air conditioning. Controlled by a computer.

Is it me, or is it hot in here?

Toss It!

Ah, pancakes.

A simple concoction of flour, milk and eggs, whisked together and fried. Who's have guessed that the tradition pre-lent snack would cause so much excitement in our nation. We must get out more.

I like pancakes. I really do. I'm a traditionalist at heart, so it's the simple lemon and sugar for me. My wife likes golden syrup. Different strokes, I suppose. We had some in the office today, but because we haven't got anywhere to fry them, we had the microwave ones. They weren't the same, of course, but they weren't bad. And the lemon and sugar was in abundance, so all was well.

And when I go home tonight, we shall have a minimal dinner to leave maximum room for more fried batter covered in calories. I shall probably have the annual attempt to toss said pancake in my frying pan, but will end up scraping it off the floor, before my very-nearly-one-year-old-daughter crawls over and attempts to play with it.

So, if you're enjoying pancakes today, revel in the joy that they are about the most simple thing to make, but bring the most joy. Probably because most of us only really have them once a year.

But the most amazing thing about pancakes? Put the batter in a hot dish in the oven, and it'll turn into a yorkshire pudding!

Wonders will never cease.

Why The Tube Sucks

The Tube Sucks.

It's as simple as that. The London Underground is a nightmare.

Twice this week it has taken me an extremely long time to get home. Both times because a train was taken out of service. And what do I pay for this service? Six pounds a day. To go about ten miles. Rubbish.

I know that it was starved of investment for decades. That they're trying to catch up. That it will get better. That's all fine. But here's the problem. Next week they're extending the congestion charging zone in London, so more people will be forced onto the tube system to avoid paying the ludicrous eight pounds per day.

Why not get the public transport system up to scratch, and then charge people for driving.

Idiots.

Happy Friday

The Tipping Point

You may have noticed, eager reader, than on yesterday's entry I alluded to my valentine gift from my wife - a book I've wanted for ages. I thought that, perhaps, I might be overwhelmed with comments and enquiries as to what that book is. I haven't been. So, erm...thanks.

But I'm going to tell you anyway. It's The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell. I read his more recent book Blink a few months ago, and liked it enormously. It's really a book about how your instincts react in certain situations. It's full of fascinating examples and stories. I really enjoyed it.

I was, therefore, keen to investigate his previous book, The Tipping Point, in the hope that it would light my fire in the same way. It's a book about social epidemics - about how and why certain things that one minute no-one has ever heard of, all of a sudden are absolutely everywhere. How small changes can make a difference. I'm also enjoying this one, but am not far enough through it to offer a comprehensive review yet. But I'm sure I will. I know you can't wait.

The main reason I wanted to mention this today was an incredible, yet I'm sure quite true, fact that Gladwell uses to illustrate how small things make a big difference. Imagine you had a large piece of paper that you folded in half. Then folded in half again. And again. And you keep going until you have folded it in on itself fifty times. How high do you think the "stack" would end up being.

A few centimetres? A metre? Longer?

In actual fact, it would stretch from here to the sun. And if you folded it once more, it would reach from here to the sun, and back again.

Amazing, eh? You'd never think it would you? It's because the thickness of the paper rises exponentially. Isn't it interesting how our minds trick us?

So, I thought you'd find that interesting. By the way, don't actually try and fold a piece of paper that many times. You won't be able to. No matter how big the piece of paper is, you'll find it's impossible. The question here is entirely hypothetical.

I bet you'll try though.

Happy Valentines Day

I do hope that the postman was struggling to get to your door this morning, under the weight of all the post coming your way. As is traditional with married couples, I gave and received one card and present. The fair Gillian received a card from me, with an "I heart U" cuddly toy, and I received a card from her and a book I've wanted for ages. Allow me a few days to read it, and I shall, no doubt, pass on my thoughts.

I always find it difficult to come up with new ideas for Valentines Day. Romatic offerings do not really come very easily to me. Interestingly, the highlight of my day today has been nothing to do with my own valentines gifts, and everything to do with someone elses.

A colleague at my work (who shall remain nameless. You will see why.) was informing us this afternoon about the romantic (and frankly, incredibly creative) present that he joyously passed onto his lovely wife this morning. He made it himself, he said.

Wow, we thought. What magical, romantic gift has he spent many months crafting in his shed to pass on to the love of his life? What material offering could possibly communicate the love he holds for his dearest.

Answer? A pen holder.

Yep. A pen holder. A desk tidy, if you will. Made of toilet rolls.

He even informed us, as we rolled around on the floor in tears of hysteria, that "it looks rustic". In other words, he didn't even bother to paint it.

I should point out, for the sake of fairness, that his wife is doing a copy-editing course, so stationary is obviously something that is very important to her at this time in her life.

So there we are. Romance isn't dead. But it is tidy.

By The Power of Grayskull...

I have, this morning, been directed to one of the funniest things I have ever seen.

The internet brings us a myriad of useful information, entertainment, and a fair amount of nonsense too. This fair site fitting into the last category, I should think. One of the most popular web phenomenons is, of course, myspace - where all corners of the world come together via their computer.

A friend and a colleague today directed me here. Apparently, myspace is also available in Eternia.

All chaps of my age will recall the 80s hit of He-Man and the Masters of the Universe. The evil nemesis in said cartoon series (which was, by the way, only produced to market the merchandise. I had it all) was Skeletor. It seems he's fallen on hard times and contributes his weekly, hilarious, musings to the online community.

The first video blog is, in my opinion, not the best. But they get better, and funnier, very quickly.

I'm aware that some browsers of my ramblings may be sensitive to some, erm, adult language, in which case give it a wide berth. But if you're willing to put up with such things, and particularly if you were a fan of the aforementioned cartoon, you must go here immediately.

When I was little, I really wanted a Snake Mountain. This was where Skeletor lived, and the toy of it had a voice changer in it, which excited me perhaps a little more than was healthy. Anyway, I never got one.

If only I had, the extra revenue may have just prevented an arch-villain's life becoming a little sad...

Slaying the Dragons

This week saw the return of one of my favourite shows in the history of television. Sadly, it may not have done so well ratings-wise, because it was on at the same time as England v Spain. Actually, come to think of it, it may have done rather well after all.

I refer, of course, to Dragon's Den. Sixty minutes of genius. It sounds simple enough; a panel of entrepreneurs is faced with a series of inventors, small businesses, idiots, and so on, hoping that they will invest in their venture in exchange for a stake in the business. Mostly, of course, they are laughed at and sent packing like the witless fools they are. Occasionally, they decide to have a punt. When you describe all this, it sounds more boring even than Des Lynam on Countdown, but trust me - it's deeply compelling.

The show's been running for a few years now, and most weeks the panel will decide to invest in one or two people. And we're talking a lot of money here - normally hundreds of thousands of pounds.

So, here's the thing. I have never (repeat never) seen any of the businesses supported by these businessmen in the real world. You'd think with the support of such successful people, the products would be in the shops, if not every home, or at least be available online. I do a lot of online shopping. Never seen any of them. Ever.

The one that sticks in my mind the most from a couple of years ago, was the highly acclaimed venture of putting umbrella vending machines in train stations. Imagine! The advantages are obvious. A wonderful idea, cried the panel, before throwing money and advice at the chap. Have I seen any in the stations I frequent? Nope. Would I like to? Well, certainly if it's raining.

So, anyway - good TV, but I suspect that's about it. And if you've seen an umbrella vending machine, let me know where. Maybe I can change my route.

Snow Breaks Everything!

You will not have failed to notice, if you are resident in the UK, that today it has snowed. A lot.

Opinions vary enormously as to whether or not this is a good thing. There are some people I could name who are loving the snow. These people are, of course, largely made up of children whose school has been closed. There are many people who detest the fact that the white stuff has descended. These are largely the parents of the aforementioned children.

It also causes chaos if you have to travel any distance. My wife didn't get into work today, but I must congratulate London Underground (yes, you read that correctly) for getting me into work in a time not too far removed from what it would normally take.

I was sitting at my desk, revelling in the fact that I'd made it in so easily, when a colleague of mine (who shall remain nameless) walked in. Actually, he more like stomped in, mumbling grumpily under his breath about the snow.

He hadn't been so fortunate in being unaffected by the weather. His train was delayed, but it wasn't the delays that bothered him - that was relatively understandable. What really riled him was the fact that the station indicator board (which was entirely undercover) had entirely died leaving him completely devoid of information. How on earth did the snow do that? I also believe that the BBC weather website went down for short period today due, I'm sure, to millions of people wanting to know if it was worth stepping outside their front door.

Another colleague had no buses on the way in, a power failure at the station when he eventually arrived. All after having had root canal treatment yesterday.

And so the snow has broken, at the very least, many train lines, indicator board, and the BBC. Although it is perhaps unfair to blame it for the root canal treatment.

I stubbed my toe this morning. I bet that was the snow as well.

A Surreal Morning

We were just on the news.

Well, I say we. I was nowhere near it. A couple of colleagues were just shown on BBC News 24 standing on the street, outside our building. Why? There was a suspect package at the building next door to work. What with three letterbombs going off in three days, it was minutes before our neighbours were evacuated, police vans were everywhere and TV crews were camped on the street outside. The cafe over the road did a roaring trade.

Anyway, it turned out to be nothing, and everyone left as quickly as they arrived.

The bombs so far this week have included the people who do the congestion charging, a company that deal with parking fines, and, this morning, the DVLA in Swansea. Someone's got it in for everyone and everything connected with cars.

So the business next door, is what? What high-profile company feared they might be next? CIMA. The Chartered Institute of Management Accountants.

I don't know what the package in question turned out to be. Perhaps a badly wrapped stapler.

Is It Only Me?

At the risk of turning this into a blog largely about supermarket shopping, I can no longer keep quiet about one of the most stressful experiences of my week. I have already mentioned how I normally do the shopping each week (normally on a Monday - my day off), so yesterday I found myself cruising the aisles as usual. This bit of the supermarket shopping is fine. Quite enjoyable, even, My quibble is not with filling the shopping trolley. It's at the till.

Now, I'm quite organised and efficient at this, I like to think. When loaded the conveyor belt, I put all the frozen things together, all the cold things together, all the dry things together. This, in my head, means that at the other end, I will be able to embark on a packing system that means that all the similar things are in the same bags. This, in turn, means that at home, unpacking it all will be a lot easier.

I do this every week. I think this every week. It goes hideously wrong every week.

Here's what actually happens when I get to the other end.

"Would you like any help packing?" says the kindly person on the till. Yes, of course I would. I'd love you to pack it all. Wouldn't anyone? Only people who enjoy packing bags would sanely answer in the negative to this kind offer. So what do I say?

"No, I'll be fine". Every week. Why? I think because to accept help would be to suggest that I'm a useless, helpless male who can't even pack bags in a supermarket. As one of the few men around the supermarket enviroment, I do often feel like I'm flying the flag.

So, she starts to scan the items through, and all begins well enough. I start to pack the bags pretty well. It'll be OK this week, I think to myself. Perhaps I've broken the curse. No. I never have.

What inevitably happens is that after a minute or two, it becomes abundantly clear that she is scanning the items quicker than I can pack them. A pile of increasing size is appearing just past the till. She's struggling to find enough space to put the newly scanned items. I start to panic. I'm losing control. I need to pack quicker. If I don't, she'll be waiting for me to finish packing and give her my card for forty-five minutes. A large queue will develop. People will hate me. They'll throw tomatoes at me. I'll be banned from the shop. I'll have to go twenty miles to do my shopping. By the time I get home, all the frozen stuff will have defrosted. I'll poison my family with it. I'll go to prison for manslaughter. Aarrggghhhhh!

I end up just chucking anything into a bag with anything, just to speed the process up. My carefully planned conveyor belt organisation goes out of the window. Bananas are thrown in with nappies. Chicken breasts with toilet rolls. It's a complete nightmare.

Of course, what happens in the end is that the cashier helps me when she's finished scanning. I pay and leave, and when I get home, it takes me about three minutes longer to unpack than it would should my system have worked.

Is it just me? Is it a man thing? Am I actually incapable of shopping. No-one else on the other tills seems to have this problem.

Shopping. It's bad for your health.

Taking It For Granted

Sleep. A simple thing, isn't it. Not complicated. At night, when tired, you sleep. You wake up, do the day, and go to sleep again at night. Fine.

At least, that's how it used to be. Last night, sleep was but a fleeting wish to me. And, indeed my wife.

I love my daughter. She's fabulous. Her giggle, her smile, her big sloppy kisses. When she waves, when she claps. Even when she's screaming, I love her to bits and pieces.

But last night she didn't get to sleep until about 2. And I got up shortly afterwards to host a radio breakfast show. Bizarrely, it went quite well. Perhaps I should sleep less often. Actually forget that. Don't tell my daughter I said it.

So my message to you, if you are young and without children is simple. You are probably up all hours, going to pubs and clubs and having a great time with friends. I used to stay up late a lot too.

But you've got it wrong. Sleep. Sleep while you still can...

A Difference of Opinion

Those of you who are married (or in any sort of involved relationship with anyone at all) will be well aware that, every so often, within that relationship, disputes occur. You will probably also know that these disagreements are normally about ridiculous things that make very little difference. Toothpaste tubes, toilet seats - you know the drill. I should say that those things rarely cause havoc in my house. Mind you, our toilet seat isn't actually attached to our toilet. Don't ask.

I am fortunate enough to be married to someone who is fairly willing to put up with my, occasionally, bizarre ways. She rarely moans at me. She is, indeed, lovely and patient. But there is one thing I like to do (nightly, if possible) that drives her completely up the wall in a way that is almost impossible to convey in print. It occurs weeknight at 8.30pm. On More4. I am referring to The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.

Aired nightly on the Comedy Central network in the States, it is one of the funniest, most intelligent pieces of satire around. We get it here in the UK a day later.

I love it. Gillian hates it. "He shouts" apparently.

Well, yes, he does - I can't deny it. But it's what he shouts that is so genius.

If you're keen to see what I'm talking about, click here. Unless you're my wife. Or a fan of the American government.

Discover...

One of the things I hope you will note from my excessive, and often entirely pointless ramblings, is that I'm a bit of a music fan. I pride myself on being able to name pretty much any song from the late 80s/early 90s just from hearing the first 3 seconds of it.

Don't try it at home. I've been carefully trained.

My tube journeys to work are not complete without my trusty iPod (Nano, White, 4GB should you care). I almost always have it on shuffle. I like surprises.

One of the more recent additions to my in-transit entertainment has been the James Morrison album, Undiscovered. The man is a genius of music and lyric. Simple, intelligent songs, great melodies, fabulous voice. Go and buy it now. Go on, now. I'll wait for you.

Thanks. Enjoy.