Hey - You ARE There...

An email warmed the very cockles of my heart this morning. (An odd phrase that. Does my heart have cockles? I do hope not.)

After my, well - not to put to fine a point on it, rant on the subjects of swedish furniture shopping and an complete lack of information in the area of recipes for my new bottle of Reggae Reggae sauce, I received a comment on this very blog directing me here - a veritable marketplace of Reggae Reggae Recipes. Thank you muchly, Mr. (or, indeed Ms) Anonymous. Nice name, by the way.

I might try one or two at some point.

Or I might just use it instead of ketchup. Because I'm lazy.

What A Load of Meatballs!

Have you ever been told that something was about to happen to you that has lead to you dreading the event in question for sometime?

That event for me happened yesterday. Furniture shopping.

I normally don't really mind furniture shopping, but yesterday we went to the worst furniture shop the world has to offer. I won't tell you which one it is, but I will tell you that it's Swedish and rhymes with pikea. Cryptic, I know.

Now, I do like the products. Solid. Dependable. Relatively easy to put up, even. But the experience of shopping there is one designed to make you want to take your own life in the car park. Mind you, it's so busy, even if you did, people would probably just think you were reserving a space.

I was pleased to see that the recent refurbishment in said store now means that you can actually take your trolley to your car, instead of having to leave the trolley (yes, leave it!) at the shop, go and get the car, and drive to the loading bay, realise you've left the receipt with the trolley which grants you access to the loading bay, go and repark the car somewhere near the Shetland Islands, go back to the store, collect the receipt and start again. So thank goodness that doesn't happen anymore. And they are good at catering for the kids. Lucy, my one year old, made some little friends over lunch.

My real problem with the place is that, you wander round the showroom, noting the furniture you want, then to get to the warehouse bit where you collect the goods, you have to go through the "marketplace" full of stuff that you don't need but almost always buy. I got a cheese grater. I don't need a cheese grater - I've already got one. And the one I've already got IS FROM THE SAME SHOP!!!

Then you get to the warehouse and realise that the item of furniture you wanted is out of stock. As happened to us yesterday. So you then hike the seven miles back to your car. With a cheese grater.

Mind you, the meatballs are nice.

Speaking of food, after making an apology last week on this very blog regarding this, I was wondering around the supermarket yesterday (before all the furniture shennanagins) and saw some Reggae Reggae Sauce on the shelf. Before I knew it, it was in my trolley. I suddenly had an overwhelming compulsion to have some in my house.

Now I've got it, I must confess to not being at all sure what to do with it. Perhaps an accompanying recipe book is in order. Reggae Reggae Recipes, anyone?

I wonder what it would be like with meatballs.

Let's Get Digital! Digital!

Followers of my life and work (yes, both of you) will be aware that you will find me on Premier Christian Radio.

Well, I have some news!

From Easter, you will be able to get Premier in lovely digital sound, via DAB, in London.

I have a DAB radio, and am exceeding pleased with it. So if you're in London, and haven't got one, then get one. Now. Go on.

Though I should point out that some areas may have trouble receiving because that's DAB for you. We'll have a postcode checker on the website in the next few weeks.

Lovely.

Have a good weekend.

A Confession

Alright, I admit it. I was wrong.

A while ago, I mentioned on this fine blog, my love for top television show, Dragon's Den. I happened to say that, while I found it to be an extremely entertaining piece of TV, I was unconvinced of it's credentials in the area of launching new products into the market.

Well, how wrong I was.

Forwarded onto me just moments ago was this link referring to the excellent Levi Roots (who, in one of the funniest events in the show's history, we discovered was really called Keith). It appears his product is taking to the shelves. I may just buy some.

So there we go. A confession. Although, I still maintain that one product on the shelves in the whole history of the programme is a pretty poor show. I'm still waiting for an umbrella vending machine at my local tube station.

Perks Of The Job

One of the things you find when you work in radio is that you get sent free stuff. I used to work in places where the free stuff was incredibly exciting and desirable. That's not really so much the case anymore. But now and then, something interesting and useful lands on my desk that I didn't part with any cash to receive.

Most of the time, though, the freebies are utterly and totally pointless. Just the other day, I noticed a little grey package in my pigeon hole. After checking it wasn't ticking, smelling of ladies perfume, or leaking a fine white powder, I proceeded to open it.

Inside was something that momentarily made me slightly excited. It looked like a little, grey radio. It was a package sent to me by a radio organisation that we do business with and we're about to use a new download of theirs, and this little grey radio with their logo on was sent to me to promote this new product.

Now, I own radios. I own several. Some of them (alright, one of them) are digital. But there's still something passably diverting about receiving a little one, for free.

So, imagine my consternation and disappointment when, upon ripping open the plastic wrapping that surrounded it, I discovered that it was, in fact, fake.

A fake radio. Made of sponge.

I imagine that it's meant to be some sort of stress relieving thing to squeeze, but is fundamentally pointless. In retrospect, it was always going to be so, as a seconds thought on my part would have concluded that it would be ridiculously expensive for this company to send out real radios to all their clients. But still, it was disappointing.

Ironically, I had to defuse my slight anger, by squeezing the radio in response to it only being a squeezable radio.

Ho-hum.

Return of the Astra

Yes, it's back. And my wallet is approximately six hundred pounds lighter. Well, my wife's is. She paid for it.

The car is back from it's two day excursion, and I'm sure that so much of it is new, it's practically a different car. I could have got one for the amount that we paid.

I mean, who really needs brakes anyway? Can't I just chuck an anchor out of the window when I want to stop?

I should stop moaning really. At least I have a car and it's working.

And that's it for a year! Hurrah!

Can You Lend Me A Tenner?

At the risk of depressing everyone, today is worse than yesterday.

Turns out it's gonna cost me more than I thought, for reasons I neither know nor understand.

That's it today.

Donations welcome.