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...