Where Are You Special One?

At home doing end-of-year appraisals and battling PeopleSoft. Tres dull.

My list of topics to blog remains just a list. From the week's news, as yet unformed rants comprise:

• Dangerous dogs -- 42% rise is dog attacks in London
• Labour Party funding -- Dirty, dirty, dirty
• Bungs in football -- Harry R is innocent; Harman for England
• Clissold Leisure Centre -- 15 years late, costing Hackney tax payers £47m
• Sudan teacher and teddy bears -- Them fuzzy-wuzzies don't like it up 'em

Ho hum, I have at least mangaged to break a record in Labels..

So in place of the usual sound and fury signifying nowt, an amusing bon mot from Popbitch.

Brian Barwick sees an old lady in the street struggling with heavy shopping.
"Can you manage love?" he asks.
"It's OK", she says, "I don't want the job, thanks".

Snaggletooth

Crank it up to 11 and give me another Red Bull mum..

Choon

Of Weddings, Feasts And Football

We had our 'Cilla moment' this weekend at the wedding of Jo and Paul -- who met each other at our hitching last year.

The event was held at the chi-chi Grove golf and spa hotel, just outside glamorous Watford -- which has tried hard to combine the old-world with contemporary bling. It only sort-of works. It's opulent, a bit quirky with a rather contrived 'farmyard' / country theme -- think P-Diddy meets Babe. Perspex boxes and console tables containing hundreds of butterflies, feathers, farmyard animal cuddly toys and rubber ducks. It self-consciously terms its style "groovy grand".

..Mmmm. Art for art's sake or just plain odd?

And our pre-wedding lunch was most unusual too. The Glasshouse restaurant is what the funky kids at The Grove term "an international Theatre of Cooking" (pretentious, moi?), where chefs prepare British, Asian and Mediterranean dishes, all served buffet-style.

And as we all know, buffet-style really means 'all you can eat' which in turn translates to big fat greedy pigs.

A tad hungry, I happily obliged..

I gobbled the most incongruous selection of foods ever. In sequence of ingestion, I had, in the space of an hour and a half, the following..

Black and green olives, black beans, pickled cauliflower, fig, potato salad, sardines, Spanish torte, green chilli peppers stuffed with cream cheese, parma ham, artichokes, tomatoes with melted cheese, figs, sweet garlic, sweet and sour chicken, fried rice, roast pork, Yorkshire pudding, wild berry cheese cake (2 portions), panacotta and to finish -- crackling. All washed down with a lovely crisp Verdicchio.

Thankfully, there wasn't time for cheese.

A thoroughtly weird repast, but strangely satisfying. I'm uncertain as to our fitness for attending a wedding though. A long nap would have been nearer the mark. Suffice it to say, I wasn't able to fully appreciate the lovely dinner a few hours later.

Anyway, as mentioned, The Grove is quite a fancy operation -- just the kind of place for premiership footballers to unwind on off-weekends like this. So we didn't bat an eye at David James lunching a few tables away. But when Steven Gerrard was spied in the lobby, I began to wonder..

Durr. Of course, the whole of the England squad is staying at The Grove ahead of Wednesday's make-or-break Euro2008 qualifier against Croatia at Wembley.

I'm not sure how Jo and Paul felt about sharing their special day with the boys, or indeed, if they minded coach Steve McLaren and his family barging through the middle of their reception drinks.

Personally, I'm a wee bit disappointed not to have seen Messrs. Terry, Lampard, Cole (A and J), Wright-Philips or Bridge..

Carefree

I'm A Nobody, Get Me On Telly!

Marc Bannerman, Anna Ryder Richardson, Lynne Franks, Janice Dickinson, Rodney Marsh and John Burton Race are all 'competing' in the new "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here!".

Thing is, if I have heard of them, I've heard nothing of them for years. But most of them, I really have never heard of.

Who are these people, what is their talent and where do they come from?

It's the same for the stupid BBC dancing thing. Who on earth are Alesha Dixon, Brian Capron, Dominic Littlewood, Gethin Jones, Kate Garraway or Matt Di Angelo?

There seems to be an active and lucrative job of being vaguely known, but not doing, achieving or being good at anything at all.

Abi Titmuss and Rebecca Loos are famous for what? Well, shagging married or distasteful men as far as I can tell. Callum Best is known for being a distasteful man and shagging the aforementioned hussies -- I'm guessing..

Switch channels and ditto. I've never heard of Carole Malone, Cleo Rocos, Danielle Lloyd, Ian "H" Watkins, Jackie Budden, Jo O'Meara..

In these few lines there are a lot of names of D/E-list 'celebs' on quasi-reality TV programmes. Don't get me wrong, I don't read the red tops or Heat. (I've been Googling …and wish I hadn't). I do however, spend an awful lot of time pouring over the Guardian Guide looking for something worth watching.

It makes the annual event of a Stephen Poliakoff drama worth the wait. And like buses, you wait a year and all of a sudden six turn-up at once..

What I (Don't) Want For Christmas

Everyone's gone mad for Apple iPhones. They did in the US over the summer of course, but then that's America -- a country that redefines our more sober interpretations of the word 'mad'.

Today, British loonies are sleeping outside the Apple Store on Regent's Street so they can be first to own the damn thing.

Humbug. I've had Apple gear before and it's utter pants. I can't imagine the iPhone is any different.

For a start, Apple's are notoriously buggy. While lovely to behold, my iMacs have habitually seized and fallen-over. My iPod periodically freezes too -- though to be fair, the 80G 'Classic' is far better than the 20G version three it replaced last year.

The iPhone is supposed to be this magical device that for the first time combines phone, Web, camera and media in one stylish and easy-to-use package.

Sure -- it looks good. But then it's an Apple. As noted, Apples do look lovely, but invariably disappoint.

Let's review the evidence.

The iPhone is quite expensive at £220. It's locked to only the O2 network in the UK and T-Mobile in Germany. It's 2G not 3G, therefore fails in delivering one of its critical USPs -- a true mobile Web experience. It's limited to Apple's obsolete iChat IM. The camera is a measly 2 megapixels. And it only carries 8G of memory with no provision for memory cards, so fails as a meaningful media device.

I think this knitted iPhone is just as pretty, likely more reliable and probably with better functionality.

Nope. This year my Christmas list is sorted and includes quite a lot of 'technology' -- Robert's retro DAB, Tom Tom and X-Box360. But this frippary won't be added. Not until it's cheaper, unlocked, significantly enhanced and like the iMac and iPod/iTunes, is compatible with Windows and other more widely used platforms. Which it inevitably will. So one day. Version 2, 3 or 4..

Streeetcccch

Lovely abstracting of the Dumpling.

It Gets Worse

So to win back a modicum of good karma I bought loads of sweets from M&S for the 'Trick or Treat' kiddies of old Stokie. Free of artificial colours and flavours, they are eminently suitable for the neighbourhood's little Jocastas, Octavias and Tarquins. (It's sooo Observer 'round our way, dharling).

Problem is -- I'm eating them all. Mmmm, Fizzy Fish and Percy Pigs.

I have no guilt, but I am feeling very full and a bit sick.

I have abjured all responsibility and am little more than a wanton vessel.

Ha. I am the Lord of Misrule!

Running with The Devil

See, I was right. The portents are far from good. Indeed, they're downright diabolical.

Again, this morning there were six magpies in the park.

Great, I think, more of that gold. Show me the money. Show me the money.

But wait. Think about it.

CFC scored six goals on Saturday**. Six magpies yesterday and six again today…

And what day is it today?

Halloween.

Three sixes. 6 6 6. The number of the beast. Beelzebub himself. Satan. Lucifer. The Devil.

Cripes. See what comes of being greedy?

And thinking about it again, that fox (symbolic of me?) yesterday was *encircled* by the sextet of monochrome birds.

We really are doomed.

Paranoid, moi?

**Man City didn't score any goals on Saturday, so there's no 'against' to add and therefore the 666 symmetry remains intact.

Superstitious Mind(less)

My superstitious mind is prone to the disastrous. I see dead people**. Well I don't really, but I do tend to see the worst in the proverbial tea leaves. If things are going well, I just know that catastrophy is near.

"We're doomed; doomed I say."

But today, I think my fortunes have taken a more positive turn. Out with 'madam' this morning I spied magpies. Not the usually sorrowful one or the occasional but deceitful two. No today, six. And all surrounding a mature male fox -- which must double the potency of this most agreeable portent. (The handsome creature to the right is there because P endearingly calls me 'fox').

Six magpies -- that's gold baby!

And only a few hours ago en route to work P agreed to increase my pocket money -- so it's already working.

I'm off now to blow the lot on lottery tickets and scratch cards and ponder the Aston Martin's spec.


**With the dark nights upon us and All Hallows Eve nearing, if the seasonal story in last week's Hackney Gazette is anything to go by, then maybe I soon will ..see dead people, that is. The site of Butterfield Green where we do our bi-daily wanderings was until the 1980s residential housing. It is reported that 69 Spencer Grove was a most haunted place indeed. And while the troubled abode is no longer there, surely there must be some shadow of its presence among the brambles and bushes...

The haunting of 69 Spencer Grove, Stoke Newington, started in September 1967 and involved a mixture of poltergeist phenomena and the appearance of phantoms. Raps and strange noises were heard and furnishings damaged. A disturbing apparition of a woman in white with dark socket-like eyes which emerged from a wardrobe was seen by several members of the household. A series of fires also broke out in the property and the family concerned fled the house. Subsequently 69 Spencer Grove was demolished.

Six of the Best

Sorry Chooch. I'm nicking Sun headlines as well.

Anyway, he may look like Uncle Fester (no, not Didier), but with Henk ten Cate's evident impact at Cobham, Avram Grant has done the impossible -- destroying a (hiterto) in-form Man City 6 - 0.

It works for the arse. Hey, Wenger's no oil painting, but he too puts the 'pretty' on the pitch.

Boring, boring.. :-)

Carefree

Only Words

Words have meaning. Together they have metre. They can be ambiguous, posessed of wonder and meaning beyond their defined purpose. Sometimes they just look strange. And some sound very odd indeed. Verbs, adverbs, nouns.. I just like these.

Coagulation, Teutonic, Conqueror, Protagonist, Globule, Cyrillic, Bellicose, Labourious, Quizzical, Augment, Cipher, Galvanise, Lorem Ipsum, Oncology, Augur, Codify, Necessarily, Cubical, Posthumous, Arduous, Corrosion, Pseudonym, Railing, Tarmac, Believe. Protocol, Arable, Grimoire, Compass, Pavement, Clack, Desolate, Ovis, Corrugated, Puddle, Bulletpoint, Putty, Suit, Refrain, Desist, Blossom, Cistern, Protagonist, Blame, Dough, Blizzard, Optimist, Vague, Intestate, Granite, Articulate, Riddle

Yes, I'm a bit bored today.

Missed Me.. By 24 Hours

A creature of habit, I keep a fairly regular schedule. I wake at the same time each morning; ditto leave the house; ditto leave the office at the end of the day, etc. Each day, orderly the same, while content varies.

I prefer to be home rather than out, so do little work- or friend-related socializing during the week.

Part of the routine is the same 10 minute walk from the office to car each evening, usually departing desk at about 5:00 p.m.

But a little over week ago, as luck would have it, I hosted a weeknight work dinner and so the routine was disrupted.

Thank Christ! I walk past this location (corner of Harewood Avenue and Rossmore Road NW1) every day at this time.

No Lily, it doesn't lie. This (shit)ty does just what it says on the tin.

SCB v2.2

CDL "Integrated Fulfillment Services".

???

A courier firm.

Petri

At a family breakfast yesterday morning, The Observer’s Coolbrands Supplement was the focus of much discussion.

To some amusement, bafflement and bit of (honest) embarrassment, P and I found that we own / use / consume 15 of the 20 top [ehem, cool] brands.

The automotive bling notwithstanding, we really must be most shallow –- a Posh & Becks of old Stokie -- as it were..

And anyway, we don’t want a Ferrari. We’re quite happy with our hulking great Land Rover TVM ;-)

Addendum: On second thoughts, many of the below are rather proletarian -- Google, eBay, Amazon.. So maybe we're not so hideously status-obsessed afterall.

The list from 1 to 20

Aston Martin
iPod
YouTube
Bang & Olufsen
Google
Playstation
Apple
Agent Provocateur
Nintendo
Virgin Atlantic
Ferrari
Ducati
eBay
Rolex
Tate Modern
Prada
Lamborghini
Green & Black’s
iTunes
Amazon

Blog-Stretch

When a blog page takes a while to load, stetches and distorts.

An improvement, I think..

(Fat)man

Zoiks!

The 'Caped Crusader' has been eating too many Gotham Burgers.

Time for mum to prepare a few BatSalads..



And as the theme tune went, "Dinner, dinner. Dinner, dinner. Dinner, dinner.. Batman."

No Shit Sherlock #2

Welsh newsreader, BBC 1, 22:00 Tuesday, 2 October: "Tories accuse Brown of electioneering."

Catalyst for Tory criticism: PM Gordon Brown announcing, on photoshoot tour of Iraq during Tory Party Conference, the withdrawal of 1,000 British troops from Basra by year's end.

Catalyst for withdrawal: War bad in general. This particular war very bad. Snap November election in the offing given strong 11 point lead in polls and withdrawal can only improve that position.

So to the, ehem, snot-Greens: I suppose all those conference proposals of this week -- to increase the inheritance tax threshold and lower stamp duty -- are in no way an attempt to curry favour with middle England and claw-back some poll positioning ahead of that impending snap..?

While I accept that politicians are slimy, self-interested, self-aggrandising back-stabbers, I do expect somewhat less sophomoric journalism from the BBC.

Stupid Corporate Branding (SCB) v2.1

And another spied this morning..

A nice dark blue van run by the firm Calligan zips about the capital delivering …"Business Water".

That'll be somewhat more serious and commerically-minded H2O than the stuff from the tap or supermarket then?

As this is likely to become a series, as a good and true corporate citizen, I've decided to establish an acronym -- SCB and will append numeric iterations à la software and now (dire) films starring Bruce Willis. Te he

Dinosaur Jnr.

So along with 10 million or so others, I logged my details online for the 'Led Zeppelin Lottery'. I waited patiently for three weeks until the magic 1st October for notification *only if successful*. Ho hum, while 20,000 lucky so-and-sos got their stairways to heaven yesterday, I got nought.

As consolation, I've instead forked-out £75 for one of the Sex Pistols' Never Mind The Bollocks 30 year anniversary gigs at the Brixton Academy instead.

That's, of course, as long as the broker of 'hard to find tickets' who I've already paid doesn't, in reality, find my tickets too hard to find. All three gigs did sell-out in 15 minutes, afterall. (Not an unlimited supply)

And while I'm quite tempted to give said broker the required £480 to go find me an entry to Zep (likely, in through the outdoor ;-), I'd rather 'get burned', with the best of punky intentions, for £75 instead of nearly £480 for a Zofo no-show or worse, a whopping £555:zip for both.

No fun.

Stupid Corporate Branding Goes Nationwide

Driving through London each morning (naughty me ;-) provides for much opportunity to absorb all manner of corporate branding. There are billboards and hoardings and buses and taxis all brightly adorned with consumer advertising -- for cinema movies, DVD releases, albums, home stores, clothing, financial services, lifestyle magazines et al.

Also, I'm long used to sharing the road (shame) with the ubiquitous "white van man" -- the hazardous road warriors of Britain's small traders. These too announce themselves on their vehicles, but with more low-fi, descriptive 'branding': witness, Honest Bob's Plumbing, Catford, tel: obviously a mobile, email: bobplum@hottail.com.

But increasingly, the good-old, reliable (i.e., no regard for the rules of the road; other road users or pedestrians; their indicators; traffic lights; box junctions; lanes; speed limits etc.) British white van men and women seem to be aping the corporate branding philosophies of larger business service firms. Regardless of their field -- carpenter, bricklayer, electrician, waste disposal.. -- our nation's artisans are all busy devising nonsensical company positioning.

I should know about the sometimes idiotic branding of service firms. I work in business services and my two previous employers, for instance, have carried "Helping Business Thrive on Technology Change" and "Many Minds, Singular Results" as their respective tag lines. While not very elegant, the first kinda says what the company does. NB: It has now since 'rebranded' to the possibly even more insipid "Making Leaders Successful Every Day". The second is a wee bit more obtuse, but dutifully indicates a service mentality. My current employer too has something equally natty yet inscrutable as its tag -- a play on ingenuity, cleverness, value... (Sorry, no names, no pack drill)

But today, I find that I must have awoken to a parallel universe. The capital's white van folk seem to have swapped The Sun or The Mirror for The Economist and Harvard Business Review as their periodicals of choice. Their new brand identities are now homogenous lumps of hackneyed business-esque techno-babble -- 'full of M.B.A. but signifying nothing'.

Two instances today caused me to pull the car over, reach for pen and paper and make notes so as not to forget.

The first van owned by the company, Geze, has positioning awash with the florid meaningless adjectives of a Palo Alto software firm -- 'solutions', 'integrated' and 'systems', and its tag -- "Opening Doors To Innovation". What does Geze do? Furniture design, architecture, advertising? No, it's a glazier. That's the people who fit windows. Mmmm..

The second, JPS Group, offers its customers the intriguing promise of "Infinite Possibilities". And the good people at JPS, what is their business, pray? Systems integration, management consultancy, venture capital? Nope, it's, ehem, office supplies. That's paper clips and stickie notes to you and me. So how infinite are the possibilities for making bouncy balls from elastic bands? Do tell JPS..

Good grief.

Come back all you honest Bills, Bobs and Brians. Your driving is still atrocious, but we expect that of you and at least we know who you are.

Parp

This morning I found a large jar of Greek Gitgantes beans in the kitchen and thought they might make a tastey snack to dip into from time to time at work.

Problem is that I've just eaten the lot for lunch in one sitting.

Eeks. Strong liklihood of windy afternoon.

Slartibartfast.

Correspondence, After A Fashion

From: ManUreGit
Sent: 20 September 2007 13:58
To: Viking; Arse (Dubai); CFC (London)
Subject: I'm so happy
_______________________________

The Premiership has lost a poisonous, graceless little sh!t.

Oh happy day.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

From: Viking
Sent: 20 September 2007 14:23
To: MauReGit
Cc: Arse (Dubai); CFC (London)
Subject: Re: I'm so happy
_______________________________


Ohh yeah - because Ferguson is such a positive shining light

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

From: Arse (Dubai)
Sent: 23 September 2007 20:14
To: MauReGit; Viking; CFC (London)
Subject: Re: I'm so happy
_______________________________

Lost gooner blather –- something about Fabregas and cheeky smiles ;-)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

From: CFC (London)
Sent: 24 September 2007 09:02
To: Arse (Dubai); Viking; ManUreGit
Subject: RE: I'm so happy
_______________________________

Happy's not the word. Ecstatic more like!

At best, we'll melt into lower-table mediocrity.

But the likely scenario is: RomanAb will sell the club in three week's time after a few more draws and buy Harrods or something equally exotic but more predictable than a bunch of back-stabbing, illiterate prima donnas.

Ken Bates will return triumphantly from dismantling Leeds and install Dennis Wise as player manager. Kerry Dixon will be recalled from deep, deep, deep retirement to lead an under 16s squad of Surrey chavs all elevated to 1st team duties due to the rats-sinking-ship-clamour of departures akin to a Northern Rock run.. Ditto the new-blues -- ehem, fans -- who'll return their favour to ManUre, scarrse gits and Arse.

Mike Dean will have a bizarre gardening accident which amounts to his regained hair growth, but that his spindly arms and legs will miraculously fall off (shame).

CFC will be finish in the toilet behind Derby and Spurs and go down.

I'll be able to get a season ticket and there'll be plenty of room in the shed.

Bring on the Championship.

Still love the chels ;-)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Compare & Contrast

Total Sweetie
Good natured, friendly, affectionate, cute, unstintingly loyal, albeit quite greedy, occasionally noisey and smelly


Complete Shit
Aggressive, vicious, deranged, pointless, ugly, mad, unpredictable, untrainable, unlovable, unspeakable and in-need-of-extinction


See post below

Ban These Bloody Monsters

..Oh, they are banned. Then enforce the sodding ban.

Explanation --

On the day that Jackie Simpson was acquitted of manslaughter for allowing her chav son's pit bull to maul her 5-year-old granddaughter, Ellie Lawrencon, to death, Ems and I too had the misfortune to encounter first-hand one of these vicious, unnecessary beasts.

Minding our own business at 06:30 on our usual early morning stroll (me) / ablutions (her), Ems was attacked by a young pit-bull-type in the park near our home.

The monster was off its lead (illegal), unmuzzled (illegal) and in the company of a teenage chav (female, nearly (and should be classed as illegal)) who had absolutely no control over her unpredictable weapon.

It just tore into to Ems harassing, growling and nipping at her. Ems is a bit dim and tends to cower in these situations, bowing to the greater aggression of the other dog, instead of more sensibly fleeing. [Actually, thinking about it, being rag-doll compliant is probalby the better method of survival in this circumstance]. While she did initially bark to tell the other to bugger off, quickly, her barks turned to helpless yelps of intimidation and then pain.

With her creature's jaws clamped around Ems' back and sides, the foul peasant was next to useless and just kept apologising (innit) instead of actually trying to exert some authority over her shit or grabbing hold of the bloody thing to drag it off.

Eventually, after what seemed like an age but was probably only a matter of minutes, I extricated the bastard's jaws from my pet's rear. Luckily, we were only slightly bruised (me and Ems), shaken (her, literally), but no blood was drawn (either of us) and all's well.

But do Stoke Newington's police, the Met, the British government or its judicial system acknowledge the Dangerous Dogs Act of 1991? Anyone at Stokie's Safer Neighbourood Team ever going to call me back for this 'non emergency'?

Hell no!

These monsters aren't pets or companions. They're weapons and like guns and knives must be banished from our streets or only posessed in the face of severe penalty (chav owner) and destruction (fucking disgusting animal).

Mad Cows..?

Hackney Dwellers #1

You have two cows
They are both stolen
You order your milk from Waitrose
It is expensive but organic

Hackney Dwellers #2

You have a cow
You see another cow
Both have benefits
Both are lovely...
You know that you can only have one cow
You spend ages working out the pros and cons of each cow...
You wonder whether the mooing of the second cow will be soothing, or sound unfamiliar
The first cow has a very different moo...
You wonder whether the smell of the second cow might bother you
You remind yourself that the first cow doesn't smell all that good sometimes...
You query whether, in practice, you would be able to milk the second cow - it is much bigger than the first cow...
You arrange a viewing to see the second cow
You consider (against all your better instincts and principles), instructing Foxtons to sell the first cow
You know it would be worth it, but also that it will be expensive and stressful

Country House

OK, we've had builders and gardeners all over the place this, ehem, summer. There was a good reason -- the old place hadn't been sorted since Victoria was on the throne.

The upheaval was nasty, but ultimately worth it. Now we have a great place that will serve as a lovely home for a good while until we *need* more space..

But we have always planned on moving out of London in two or three years.

Anyway, with work done and artisans paid in full, it's only reasonable to have a few agents over to review and appraise..

Eeks! North London valuations are bonkers at 28% increase year-on-year.


And as fate would have it, the details of this beautie -- of comparable price and 30 minutes from King's Cross -- arrived randomly by email last week.

Forget the mid-term plan. The green-ward move may be very very near indeed.

..And so the the story begins.

The Worst Route Planner In The World..?

I only want to get from north London to Richmond Upon Thames..

The Build -- Before And After

Not exactly sequential, but you get the drift.
..Suffice it to say, we're rather pleased.

The Indignity Of It

"I want to lick my foot and I feel like a prat.."

This Charming Man

Interviewer: Have you ever faked an orgasm?

Lemmy: No, but I have faked foreplay once or twice.

Pot, Kettle, Black

No not poor old Conrad. He's gonna get his in clink and isn't the only corporate nasty on my shit list today.

BA's chief executive Willie Walsh has today joined the throng criticising Heathrow Airport for handling some 68 million passengers a year when it is only designed to manage 45 million.

"It has gone well beyond the point at which we can expect our customers to put up with the standards," Walsh said of the venerable terminus.

He joins a number of other high-profile and vocal hypocrites having a pop at lovely LHR..

London's Mayor Ken Livingstone and Sir Thomas Harris, vice chairman of Standard Chartered Capital Markets have also damned the world's busiest international airport this week for being too busy.

In his *not unusual for him* irrational outburst, Ken said that Heathrow "shames" the city. Ehem, trips to Venezuela, buddies with the monster Chavez, concentration camp guard quips.. Ken, you really are an arse, aren't you..?

But back to you Willie boy.

Hey, Wills -- tell me all about your concern for the welfare of those customers of yours. Didn't you just get dropped in it by Branson for fixing long-haul prices as revenge for all your dirty tricks? That nasty American Department of Justice just fined you £270 million for hiking fuel surcharges over a one and a half year period (August 2004 to January 2006) from £5 to £60!

[Note: Sneaky wriggle-out by the complicit snitches at Virgin.]

Mmmm. Your indignation is righteous indeed.

Now that's the kind of customer concern I'm after from an airline.

No Shit Sherlock

This, from the BBC Web site yesterday. Insightful reportage of the coroner's report..

Thames Headless Body Was Student

The headless body of a woman found floating in a bag in the River Thames was a Chinese student.

...A post-mortem examination concluded the cause of death as neck injuries caused by a sharp instrument.

As I say, no Sh....

Bela, Is That You Girl?

So there I was, Saturday night past midnight in the living room rapt reading that final book about the boy wizard. P had long-since departed for bed, and while I was dog tired, I kept cajoling myself with, "just one more chapter.."

And as I was still up, the house was unlocked, the garden lights on and the back door ajar. Nothing to worry about. It's a quiet neigbourhood, nice to have a flow-through of air and I'd surely hear anything untoward.

Anyway, at about 12:30 out of corner of my right eye I notice beady eyes, pointy ears and snout and sandy brown fur.

I naturally thought it was our friends Lana and Jon's dog Bela who we're very used to having to stay when they're away. It didn't immediately occur to me that it was slightly odd for Bela to show-up at our place unannounced at such an hour. Lana and Jon do have a set of our doorkeys and have been known to -- and are most welcome to -- stop-by at all hours.


Maybe due to a combination of fatigue at the late hour and under the book's grip, I didn't pay any more attention to our visitor, apart from noticing that Bela had lost weight. Hey, Bela's lost some weight -- good for her -- I thought and returned to The Deathly Hallows.

A few moments more and it dawned on me that clearly an albeit slim-sized Bela hadn't just decided to break-out of De Beauvoir and pitch-up a quarter of a mile away from home in the dead of night to raid Emmie's food bowl (which is never, ever anything but empty anyway).

I removed my glasses, rubbed my eyes and realised that the pointy ears and snout weren't Bela's at all, but instead belonged to a juvenile city fox.

Now Stokie's full of these wiley critters living large on an abundance of scraps, discarded take-aways and streets lined with bin bags.

It's been a long time since I railed against Hackney Council -- but rest assured, refuse collection is still abysmal.

Only three weeks ago -- maybe this chap or an equally inquisitive relative -- padded emulsion paint left outside by the builders across our brand new decking.

Unlike their country cousins, it's widely known that city foxes really are very bold, but I've never heard of one actually venturing with such aplomb into someone's house and just making itself at home.

"Hey, creature. Out" I yelled. Ems and Bela both *tend to* respond to my orders, but this fox just regarded me with mild curiosity and continued about his sniffing. "Hey, creature. Shoo. Shoo," quoth I again and all to nought.

At this point P ventured down to investigate the commotion -- well, to tell me off for waking her with this unnecessary racket. And unlike me she thought our visitor delightfully cute crouched as he was by this time under a living room chair. But acknowledging in heart-of-hearts that a fox is the wrong kind of house pet, we worked together to lure him from hiding and out the door. Though snaring the fellow wasn't easy and all the displaced building junk in the house just made for excellent cover.

Eventually, between us we managed to coax Mr Todd out of his lair, downstairs and back out into the garden.

I'm just pleased that Emmie wasn't home -- as a Springer chasing a fox through an up-market Steptoe's Yard of a house strewn with furniture, boxes, timber, rough cuts of plywood, bathroom fittings, dust and numerous power tools would have been utter mayhem. Moreover, I really wouldn't have relished the job of extricating a young bleeding fox from Emm's teeth and having to clean-up and dispose of said vermin either at that or any hour.

Bela, you might be a bit of a madam and prone to yapping at passers-by, but you're welcome anytime.

And Mr. Fox -- with the building work nearly finished and Emmie returning home, from Thursday onward, please Beware Of The Dog.

Dyb, Bloody Dyb

Robert Baden-Powell, he wot formed the scouts 100 years ago, writing on the character of bees reveals himself to have been quite the fascist.

"They (bees) are quite a model community for they respect their Queen and kill their unemployed."

..Ahh, this explains why scouts and brownies are so attired. Clearly the teachings of this man are not as innocuous as we think! Right now, up and down the country, hundred of thousands of Britain's young women and men are being indoctrinated into some hideous new model army intent of overthrowing the Brown-ite junta. And we thought this scouting lark was all about camping and helping little old ladies across roads.

Hey, best to (sic) be prepared and ever vigilant to the right wing menace. So to quote another famous kook (Intel's Andy Grove),

"Only the paranoid survive."

What You Don't Want To See Underwater..

..Or a good dive ruined.

(Juvenile) Platitude Of The Day

Old Chinese proverb say:
"Man who goes to bed with itchy bottom wake up with smelly finger".

Oh how mature :-)

This is just pointless filler. Desist (Ed).

Platitude Of The Day

"Every day you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and glory of the climb."

Sir Winston Churchill

..Sounds like our builders who were only supposed to be with us for four weeks and now it's six, running into seven. I'm sure they've decided to move in for good.

BTW: There's nothing glorious about the state of our kitchen, bathroom or dining area yet..

Rock and Roll Building Materials

With the builders in, one must try to maintain a sense of humour. So I've been having a bit of inventive fun with silly word association. A Letterman kinda thing..

"Emulsion" Early Van Halen album

"Polyfiller" Backing singer for X-Ray Spex

"Bonding Compound" Exclusive VIP backstage area populated by exceptionally attractive groupies

"Door Frame" Difficult dance move from 'rare groove' Northern Soul '80s revival

"Topps Tiles" chirpy Cockney bandleader from the '60s

"Hack Saw" Throat complaint from trying too hard to hit notes beyond limited range

"Putty" Hashish

"Step Ladder" That 'difficult' third album

"Skirting Board" Studio equipment, state-of-the-art in the '70s

"Joist" 'Putty', lit and sprinkled over cigarette tobacco in Rizla

"Faucet" Beer keg specifically, but increasingly used to denote any supply of booze

"Spirit Level" Point of crowd frenzy at the opening bars of third encore

"Rawl Plug" Country legend

"Veneer" Derivative Dutch rockers of any decade

"Set Square" Didn't make the guest list

"G-Clamp" Ex- gang-banging LA rapper

"Dust sheet" Like a rap sheet, but an on-tour tally of drug-related arrests

"Stanley Knife" Genial head roadie

"Plywood" Danish festival, now in its second decade

"Nail Gun" All female Minneapolis post-punk quartet comprised of members aged 12 - 15 years

"Drywall" South London gay club, popular hang-out of diminutive Aussie divas

"U-Bend" Jamaican ragga star

"Plaster" Norweigian death metallers and Eurovision runners-up

"Skip" First name of over-weight, acneyed 16-year-old stakler fan of Nail Gun's bassist, Linda

"Application Nozzle" Rolled-up £20 note - or similar of any currency

"Render" Female groupie who swings any way you want

...and my personal favourite

"Matt Vinal" Lead singer of late '70s new wave combo Fizzy-Popitty that later morphed into early '80s new romantic 'almost-rans'. Now retails neo-punk tat to Japanese tourists in Camden

Ooh, That Oh So Fresh Feeling

Due to the builders doing their thing at home and that we're still sans bathroom, I'm using the shower facilities at the office gym this week.

While there is the ever present issue of veruka collection and the general foustiness one associates with a dingy basement gym, the choice of tea tree shower gel is maybe even more hazardous -- particularly when washing, ehem, ones middle bits. It's invigoratingly stingy, but strangely pleasing..

However, tea tree or more accurately, Melaleuca Oil (Melaleuca Alternifolia), is good for the following, which should set me up nicely:
- Acne
- Athlete's foot
- Dandruff
- Vaginitis
- Thrush
- Periodontal disease
- As an antiseptic
- Boils
- Lice
- Eczema
- Psoriasis

Humm.

A lovely Summer's Day

This [colour] shot taken at 12:00 noon today -- Friday, 20th July. (Well, it could well have..)

Damnit, this day last week was the 13th.

And it gets worse. The rain's in for months to come. So, St. Swithin's Day a myth..?

I think not. It pissed down on the 15th.

"St Swithin’s Day, if it does rain
Full forty days, it will remain."

The Weather Outside Is Frightful..

..But this is where we're off to for a week in September -- only eight weeks away :-)

The Wrong-(Way-'Round) Pants

I know it's full of PR fluff, but this caught my eye in this morning's Metro.

Workers Suffering 'Huge Sleep Debt'

"Most British workers now suffer from 'weekend jet lag' due to disrupted sleep during a typical British weekend, a study suggested yesterday. ..The lie-ins and late nights of a typical British weekend leave people with a 'sleep debt' equivalent to a flight from New York on the red eye..," according to caring, informative corporation employing 'creative PR-types' in bid to grab column inches.

Maybe that's why my underwear is on the wrong way around today..?

Well, It Worked..

..Charlie's calling for is sister, that is.

Amazingly only one day later than forecast, Madeleine Ann Atkinson gave mum a nudge early Saturday evening and made a speedy debut at 20:29 -- and after only about two hours of labour.


Good time keeping and a minimum of fuss are admirable qualities in any woman.


Welcome little one!

Novel Way To Enduce Childbirth..

..Or funny Charlie #2.

My sister's about to produce her second child anytime now -- this time a girl. While Madeleine Ann, a sensible girl's name has been selected, the 'bump' has, for many months, been nicknamed after a commonal-garden vegetable.



So with the arrival of a long-awaited sister imminent, my nephew Charlie greets the day by shouting ‘Come out Cabbage!’ at his mum’s belly every morning.

Precious.

Blog 2.Bollox

I've been scooting around the wibbly-wobbly instead of working recently (well, it's my bat, ball and game, so poo to you..) and have happened upon rather a lot of earnest outpourings of a Stephen Hawkins nature from many proffesional types.

For instance, go to the Friendly Ghost link on the right and check-out all the links there. (NB: 'Caspar' is an ex-colleague, damn fine writer and adept, if quizzical blogger). What d'ya get? Mucho naval gazing and angst-ridden bogs authored by many, many commies (communications peeps) about the working world they inhabit.

One day I'll learn how to hot-link these things in the text.

Eeks, it's only a job and most of it silly PR at that. To hear them chunter so passionately about drivvel-dressed-as-consequence is really quite amusing. Hey -- It ain't HBR, you know..?

All I ever post about is my rickety little house, cuddly dog, P and beloved Chel-WUss-Ee.

I'm now overcome with smugness in the knowledge that my priorities seem properly placed.

But then only P, Alex and RJB read the thing anyway, so unlikely to cause much offence or grace the pages of PR Wank.

S'ppose everyone has their own motivations to scribble.. Dumpling's, like mine, is a homely-sort of missive of recipies and pussy cats. Goodwin's [sadly locked-down to the NFI] gonzo 'Fear And Loathing In Dubai' provides tales of debauched excess in the desert. (Ha -- Henry Goes To Barca :-)) PJ and Penny are long-resting, and Alex hasn't yet got past homepage design selection. There's even one eejit out there who list songs everyday..

Ho hum. Off to muse in florid tones on the critical strategic importance of scissors and sticky tape in the modern global business environment, or some such. HBR it might be..

Savage Garden

Has it really been over a month since that last post? Heck, time flies and much has happened since then.

Went on holiday and the garden was something akin to an overgrown mud bath (pre-Glastonbury too). Return, and it's fit for Homes and Gardens. ..Well, the 'Gardens' bit anyway.


Hey -- it might be raining ALL THE TIME, but it's good for the new plants ;-)


We'll make it into the 'Homes' part of the mag too in about three/four weeks when the builders are done sacking the place and have completed the rebuilding.

Durr -- It didn't occur to me that we'd be without water/washing facilities for the duration of a bathroom redesign and re-fit. So off to the country a few miles up the Chiltern Line for a week or so to maintain regular bathing routines and avoid having our BO becoming a public health issue for us, friends, colleagues and London's general citizenry.

What else has been going on? Oh yeah, P is in the throes of planning to build/do-up a house on our idyllic Grecian hideaway, Kastellorizo. ..More of that in another post.

Job Done (..Kinda)

League Cup and FA Cup winners 2006/2007. Runners up in the Premiership -- some way off ManUre, but a clear 15 points ahead of Liverpool and Arsenal. And semi-finalists in the Champions League.

Should have kept it tighter over Christmas/January and scored many more goals -- in open play and as penalties -- in April/early May to truly compete..

But all-in-all, not all bad for the 2007/2008 Champions.


Carefree

Blue Is The Colour..

..of the sky.

Yay. The sun returns to this soggy island after a long, long absence.

So, Q: Is the colour above an omen for tomorrow.

Thinking about the final -- I'm convinced we can do it. Just that we need to come out of the traps chomping. (Remember Di Mateo in '97..?).

Of course, I'm expecting some needle from ManUre about Yorkies -- but hey, a man's gotta defend his family and who the hell goes to confiscate a dog at 10:30pm on a Wednesday evening? West London police are clearly all gooners..

Carefree

The Halo Effect

At last, some good news. (Well there's a lot ot be happy about, just that I'm a bit 'Meldrew' today..)

Microsoft announces the launch date for Halo3 -- Wednesday, 26 September. That gives me a good two+ months of gaming ahead of little Roo's arrival late year. :-)

Yes Simon. Now I'll buy an Xbox360.

Oh, and the sun has made an appearance after about three weeks..

It's all too good. Now surely something catastrophic is bound to happen.

Superstition

"Very superstitious, writing's on the wall.."

..Well, we have a Banksy in the Green.

But I wonder (sic)

su·per·sti·tion, noun:- "..belief in the existence or power of the supernatural; irrational fear of the unknown; a religion or practice based on such tendencies; widely held but wrong idea."
- Oxford Dictionary

Not only am I hounded by a sole magpie each morning (sorrow), but now black cats are routinely getting in my way (is this good? I'm confused..)

Jose getting arrested for ownership of a rabid Yorkie and no end in sight to this Biblically dismal weather..

The omens are woeful.

We're doomed.

Act Local

We're getting active; involved; grass roots.

Right on, brother.

Yesterday evening, P attended a Hackney planning open house and was the only non-NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard) in attendance. Amid a mass of ill-informed, knee-jerk busy-bodies, she was the only reasonable, sensible, level-headed home-improver there.

The reason: we want to extend, and extend big stylee. Upwards, which means mansard roof extension.

So the scheming, conniving "Gordon Brown will make a great interim Prime Minister ahead of David Milliband" lobbyist that she is, managed to work her slick brand of spin on the council's head planning officer.

..Though we also think he was just pleased to speak to someone not berating him for national government housing policy (something he has no control over), refuse collection (again, beyond his p-l-a-n-n-i-n-g remit), or the lousy weather (God's department, I believe..).

At issue is the fact that the council has held an unoffical moratorium on granting permission for mansard extensions in our neck of the woods for about two years. Only now is outlining a clear policy. This is good for us as we now know what will and will not meet with planning -- an important consideration if you're going to pitch-up a wad of cash for an architect only to go nowhere..

But not to be out-done, I'm getting in on the act too and must cancel my attendance at lunch with friends tomorrow in favour of the totally mega 'Composting In The Park', which, as the Hackney junta put it, promises to be "A great day out in Clissold Park."

Hey, I really, really want to win a wormery.

..Spectrum is Green

Quite A Record

This from the BBC's Web site about tonight's penultimate Premiership game. Impressive statistics however you cut it..

Chelsea clinched their second successive Premiership title with a 3-0 win in this equivalent fixture last season. This time around they must relinquish that crown to their visitors Manchester United, in a dress rehearsal for the FA Cup final. Jose Mourinho will be hoping to retain his undefeated League record at Stamford Bridge. The Blues are unbeaten in 61 home League games - 55 in the tutorage of the current incumbent. Indeed the Portuguese chief has masterminded a combined total of 93 home League matches without defeat - last losing on 23 February 2002 when FC Porto were beaten 2-1 by Beira Mar.

Although they're ending the season second best to (sic) ManUre, Chelsea are on a longer current unbeaten League run than United of 12 matches, they've lost fewer Premiership games (three to United's four) and conceded fewer goals (23 to 26). Victory will close the unassailable gap between them to four points.

Mourinho's only defeat to United was 1-0 in last season's trip to Old Trafford which ended their 40-game unbeaten Premiership sequence. They've since thrashed them in last season's corresponding fixture, and shared two goals in a classic game of two halves at the Theatre of Dreams in November. The Londoners have lost one of the last eight League clashes at the Bridge, winning the last three.

Sir Alex Ferguson's side are chasing a first point and a first goal in four visits to the west Londoners.

Carefree

Hell Hound On My Tail

All those years of watching late night horrors and listening to 'The Devil's music' has caught-up on me.

Regardless of the rain, this morning, Ems and I extended our walk to take-in Abney Park Cemetary -- something we habitually do nowadays (see earlier entry).

Maybe it was the fact that I was soaked and cold, maybe I'm just over sensitive this weekend with bad weather and even worse football.

Whatever. Early-on into the cemetary, I was overtaken by heavy goose-bumps, a strong feeling of static electricity and the sense that there was someone/something at my back. It was most uncomfortable and like a wuss, I high-tailed it outta there.

Pooch, though, didn't seem overly perturbed. But then, they do say that dogs have a keener sense to these things than we. She probably spends all her waking hours 'seeing dead people' and to her, Abney Park is always like some sort of Piccadilly Circus for the departed.

Anyway, next weekend, I'm insisting that P comes along to hold my hand.


...Boo!

Or Maybe Not..

That dream thing might have been about next season, or the one after that.. Who knows? Anyway, ManUre have it and well done to them. A concession. With Drogba, Robben and Cole 'resting', it's on to Wembley (and next season) for us.

Carefree

I Had A Dream Jo(se)

I dreamt numbers. I dreamt football. I had a dream.

And maybe all’s not lost..

The past fortnight has been a horrid, torrid time for CFC of edging nearer and dropping further in the Premiership.

Champion’s League dramas not withstanding, it’s been a rollercoaster domestic season. Indeed, in a way, it’s nice that Europe’s behind us.

[Let’s get one thing straight Jose – if you don’t score goals, you don’t win. Liverpool scored, we didn’t. They deserve to be in Athens. End of. And why wasn’t Drogba – the season’s highest goal-scorer up for a penalty in favour of Robben (no game for seven weeks) or the second-string Geremi? Finally, management requires an equal measure of gravitas and humility to counter confidence and self belief. Outbursts of this week are 'Special Needs' not 'Special One', bud..]

But anyway, last night I dreamt and the portents are good. In my vision ManUre lose to Man City tomorrow and we beat Arsenal on Sunday. Moreover, I had a strong sense that we go on to beat ManUre at the Bridge next week to nudge ahead at the top by a point.

The portent didn’t reveal anything about our respective final games – Everton (us) and West Ham (them). Nor did it give me a glimpse of the Wembley result either. My radar is clearly quite near-term and needs fine-tuning.

Now all I need tonight is a sense of the winner of the 3:15 at Epsom and Saturday’s lottery numbers.

Gang Of Four

Domesticity overtakes us at a lightening pace. Our two-person, one dog collective will be added to by year's end.

The wonderful, talented P is with child and carrying little [TBC] Joe (boy) or Rowan (girl) S. I'm told that there's yet some negotiation on the naming, but I tend get my way in the end.

Mum's doing well and hasn't been subject to too many prenatal nasties. Dad's enjoying peace and quiet while he can -- a relative concept when you live with a springer..

Anyway, there's no smoking or drinking chez nous -- well, both the former and latter for Pippa -- not me ;-).

Mothercare. People Movers. And oceans of vomit to come. Yeah.

Picture: Twee, moi?

Carefree

Beavis

Have you ever put a padded bubble-wrap envelope through a shredder?

It's brilliant!

You couldn't Make This Up..

This is the headline from a Datamonitor study into the leading players in a specific pharmaceutical market.

Penetration Sought In Erectile Dysfunction Market

Also, closing the gap on Pfizer's blockbuster Viagra in this, ehem, growing market, is a Korean firm appropriately named Dong-A PharmTech Co.

Precious.

The Future Is Unwritten .. Well 'Till Thursday

I've never been to a film premiere before so I'm very excited about Thursday night.

OK. It's not exactly a world premiere -- that was at Sundance late last year -- but it is an advanced showing ahead of its 18 May UK release.

The film is "The Future Is Unwritten", Julian Temple's bio-pic of Joe Strummer.

I do, without equivocation, rate the erstwhile John Graham (Woody) Mellor as my absolute hero.

But then we must always remember that heroes are human and therefore fallible.

For instance, I was left with a rather sour taste after devouring Chris Salewicz' brilliant (official) biography "Redemption Song" recently. The reportage was accurate, detailed, personal and importantly, sanctioned. Moreover it was honest.

No one's perfect and Joe was nowhere near perfect. He was real. He was complex. And what's the point in fawning sycophancy?

I'm not going to re-write history or serve as a muso/pop-soc/socio-political critic. There's plenty of words about Joe out there and Wikipedia's profile is as good a place as any to start.

That said, I am hoping that the film will be a wee bit more 'enjoyable' than the book. [I know, enjoyable's the wrong word ..Satisfying? Direct? Telling?]. Either way, surely the medium of film is more visually and aurally appropriate to understanding and appreciating the man and his work? His was a musical art afterall, with a bit of film acting and scoring thrown-in for good measure..

Oh, even though in his later years Mr. Strummer preferred The Groucho to The Elgin, forget about Leicester Square as the venue. The advanced screening's part of the East End Film Festival and is at the Rio in Dalson -- just down the road from us.

That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore (Or Ever)

And now a joke (of sorts) made up today by Charlie, my four-and-a-half-year-old godson.

Q: Why do chefs plough the fields?

A: Because they don't like cooking.

Surrealist? Absurdist?

Hey, it didn't do Spike Milligan any harm and according to Saturday's Guardian magazine, he coined that oh so amusing joke below.

Smells Like..

It hasn't rained in London since some way before Easter. That's over four weeks. But this morning we've just had a very light spinkling which causes one of the best smells in the world -- light rain on dusty streets. It really is a sign of summer. Kind-of like new mown grass.

Stop Me If You've Heard his One Before

I know it's old, but it is considered -- through scientific study -- to be the funniest joke ever..


Two hunters are out in the woods when one of them collapses. He doesn't seem to be breathing and his eyes are glazed. The other guy whips out his phone and calls the emergency services.

He gasps, "My friend is dead! What can I do?"

The operator says, "Calm down. I can help. First, let's make sure he's dead."

There is silence, then a shot is heard. Back on the phone, the guy says, "OK, now what?"

Too much Pressure

So we bottled it. With ManUre dropping two points to a feisty Middlesbrough on Saturday, all we had to do was dispatch Newcastle at St. James' yesterday afternoon. After a convincing four-one away against the Hammers last week, one would have thought we were back to scoring ways.

Well, we aren't (back to scoring) and we didn't (beat Newcastle). We didn't trouble their goal and we didn't compete in midfield. In fact the Geordies pretty-much ran the show for 94 minutes and actually came close on a couple of occasions. We can complain about dodgy reffing decisions and disallowed penalties, but hey, play to the whistle and quit moaning.

So, onto the next ones -- a double-header this week and next against Liverpool for a place in the Champions League Final. Oh, and we host Bolton on Saturday -- never an easy fixture, especially when they're playing for a UEFA place next season.

Grrr.

Finally, to the FA Cup.

The new Wembley has a capacity of 90,000.

Chelsea FC currently has 27,267 season ticket holders, (22,606 non-hospitality/4661 hospitality). It also has nearly 70,000 members.

Chelsea (and ManUre) will receive a total of 25,000 tickets from the FA -- aka Fekkin Ar**holes -- for the Cup Final.

This means that 50,000 tickets will go to partisans and 40,000 will go to sponsors and an odd assortment of footballing trainspotters, geeks and weirdos.

Some 23,000 tickets will go to other clubs and grass roots and other football organisations. Erm, OK. Why would a groundsman from, say, Colchester or a ticketer from Oldham get dibbs?

And a stack -- 17,000 -- have been allocated to to some f***wit outfit called Club Wembley -- an affiliation of eejits who'd prefer to pitch-up a wad of cash for a guaranteed decade of crap like England Ladies XI v Luxembourg Ladies XI and Robbie Williams.

Vitriol misplaced? Au contraire. If you Google for tickets, there are thousands available -- even though they haven't yet been released -- and all for upwards of £1,500 each. So our assorted spotters and freaks are making hay while we true supporters either pay though the nose or watch on telly..

Isn't this season stressful enough?

I wish I'd followed my father and become a Villa supporter. I wouldn't have to worry about any of this stuff..

Carefree

Highway To Hell

Caution with that Internet browser thingie -- especially when using a work laptop at home.

I've been online for 11 years now and so know what I'm doing in the wibbly-webby world. Well, I like to think I do. But occasionally even the most experienced of us surfers take a wrong turn.

The Wi-Fi connection to the iMac at home is practically non-existent and Steve Jobs' pretty little pooter is a good year past its best. It's time for us to upgrade and following the lead of RJB and PJ we're going Gates. (Frankly, PJ should should know about this stuff -- it is his job as a tech analyst after all). In the meantime I use my work laptop at home over the weekend.

Anyhow, left to my own devices for a couple of hours last weekend, I was browsing for rock and roll info and memorabilia. I thought that I'd visit the site of a rather famous Australian heavy rock outfit and see if there are any good looking Donnington t-shirts and cheap CDs out there. Note: 'DC's catalogue isn't available on iTunes.

But instead of using the handy Google toolbar I usually use to navigate, I typed something like ACDC.com directly into the address bar and pressed return.

Eeks. Thunderstruck. But for all the wrong reasons.

Instead of Angus Young and gang, there's ladies and men and ladies and ladies all sans clothes and in poses.. You get the drift..

(I don't know the actual URL [really!] and I'm too scared to go look now).

I know I was there a matter of moments, but now I've got nasty cookies and I'm certain that IT will send me a stern memo about correct use of corporate equipment.

So memo to self: Use Google. And you don't need any more heavy 12 bar blues-based rock music.

Dogged Ambition

While I've miserably failed over the years to quit an unpleasant nicotine addiction, I did manage to stop chewing my nails well over a decade ago. And I've successfully resisted gnawing my digits since.

But with the current football madness of CFC -- scrapping every game to keep ManUre in sight in the Prem, a double-header against our nemesis of recent seasons (scaarase gits) in the Champions League semis and the prospect of battling The Red Dung again in the FA Cup Final -- my fingers (and nerves) are raw.

Great to see SWP coming good and just waiting for Joe Cole to find his touch again. There's yet much hope and still all to play for.

But it would be nice if Ronaldo could catch a cold, or something..

Carefree

Gunning For Trouble

After nearly a month of work-type madness, things are more under control and there a wee bit more time. So back to this..

With the wonderful Spring weather and longer evenings -- it's long walkies in Clissold Park for me and my furry friend. And if we stop by The Shakespeare en route home to whet our whistles, hey, we've earned it.

Old Emms is a biddable pooch and very friendly -- especially to picnickers and groups of young women lounging on the grass.

Top tip to young single men -- get yourself a cute dog, or borrow one at least. It really engenders coos of interest from said young women -- which of course, is lost on me as I have the delightful P.

Anyway, back to the park..

More so than ever before, we dog owners are under general scrutiny for how well we manage our beasts. Dog ownership is all about consideration and responsibility.

Aside: with the exception of work suits, every pocket I have is crammed full of poo bags.

But today, some breeds are now seen as urban status symbols -- doggie bling as I put it. This is a problem. Canine bling is exclusively centred on the most unpredictable and dangerous of breeds -- pit bulls, rotweillers, chow chows, American staffs etc., -- dogs bred expressly for hunting and fighting. These aren't pets or companions, they're lethal weapons. Moreover, the folks that own them are invariably unsuited to the task of dog ownership. Think modern-day Bill Sykes and Bullseye (shudder).


The papers are full of horror stories about savaged toddlers, bystanders and other, more malign pets. Ipso facto -- there's an understandable degree of public alarm about these monsters being abroad, and a keen interest in their control. So all over the park are signs reminding folk about responsible animal husbandry and expressing the rule that 'dangerous breeds' must be carefully controlled and on the leash.

We (Ems and I) wholly approve. If these breeds are 'banned' as the BBC keeps saying, then why are there so many of them -- not just in London but across the country? Why are they still bred and why aren't they confiscated and destroyed?

Surely, we should bring back The Dog Licence as a means to control ownership and engender responsibility?

The dog licence was abolished in 1987 after which a series of consultations led to the dog control measures contained in the Environmental Protection Act 1990 and to the Dangerous Dogs Act 1991. In Opposition Labour gave a commitment to introduce a dog registration scheme, a course of action rejected by the former Government.

Mr. Cameron. Here's a nice and easy policy for you. Everyone will support you and heck man, you need one!

Not convinced?

OK. The other evening she and I quietly, happily getting on with our constitutional, causing no harm to anyone. We pass three young-uns in hoodies and caps askew. They have a young pit bull type straining on a heavy chain and as we pass a conversation (of sorts) is exchanged.

Hoodie 1 (addressing 'Killer', 'Tyson', 'IceCube' or whatever the unfortunate hound is named). "Ah, Geez. It's not fair, innit. Vat one's free an you ain't."

Hoodie 2 (regarding Ems asks his crew). "What kinda dog is dat anyway?"

Hoodie 3. "It's a gun dog, innit."

Hoodie 2. "Wicked. I gotta get me one of vose."

Hoodie 1. "But if it's a real gun dog, why don't it look very hard?"

We didn't dawdle long enough to find out what kind of game these likely lads had in mind for retrieval, or indeed, removal..

(Meet Me At The) Cemetary Gates

Beyond the usual urban crap, our patch of North London holds many fascinations, not least Abney Park Cemetary.

This eerie Victorian cemetery is a gem amid the hustle and bustle of the city.


Not only is it a place of gothic tranquility, it's expressly a place for non-conformists. As an aging punk, this appeals to me greatly.

It's one of only two key places for the burial of non-conformists in the capital and offers a fascinating insight into the history of London's dissenting families. Which I guess, explains why the leftie loony lefter-overs of the 80's set-up shop on Saturdays to peddle Socialist Worker to passers-by..



The ornamental ironwork, along an Egyptian theme, over the Church Street entrance came from the entrance to Abney House, named after Lady Mary Abney, who retired here in the early 1700s with her daughters and their tutor and chaplain, Dr. Issac Watts -- a well-known dissenter, who lived in the area for many years and was famous as a composer of hymns and sermons.

The heiroglyphs over the lodges read, 'The Gates of the Abode of the Mortal Part of Man.' Also in Abney Park, are wonderful Celtic crosses, austere Welsh Slate memorials to members of the London Welsh community, and a vast statue to Isaac Watts. There is also War Memorial commemorating local people who fell in the two World Wars. A smaller Civilian War-Memorial was raised in memory of local people who died as a result of enemy air bombardment during World War II.



The cemetery's chapel, in a fine gothic style, was part of the original installation of Abney Park. The imposing spire retains much of its original cladding, but today the chapel is a sad shell, home to a population of pigeons and used as a setting for horror films.

The fortunate result of neglect was to allow the cemetery to develop into an 'urban forest.' OK, now in disrepair but a conservation area, at its zenith, the cemetery eclipsed the Royal Park at Kew, with 2,500 different species.



Disappointing: Emms didn't dig up any bones.
Question: Where's Jim?

We Need To Talk About ...Emmie

Recognising that London is an increasingly hazardous Gotham and Gomorrah (see previous post), the city's councils keep its parks locked through the hours of darkness in an effort to keep safe its citizenry from bush-lurking n'er do wells.

This makes absolute sense and is the right thing to do. The only problem is that pooch and I can't get into the Green first thing in the morning for our daily eye-opener. Well, she can squeeze through the tightly bound multi-locked gate, but I can't. So we instead scratch around and attend to pees and poos on a piece of waste ground adjacent to the out-of-reach mini park.

Naturally, this isn't very exciting for either of us, but we make do. Though Emmie has taken to pawing at the park fence and yelping pleas for access. And clearly, as the mornings have got lighter and she's been able to case the railings, think, sniff, plot, pee and plan, a change has come over her.

This morning with my back turned the pooch shimmied through a gap in the fence and with spike-topped wrought iron fence between us, ran off into the Green and refused to acknowledge my whistle to heel.

It's 6:20 a.m., so 'calling' a dog must be done very quietly and with due regard for slumbering neighbours. Only, the more she ignored me -- occasionally gazing my way in distain, with clock ticking and my bath and coffee chilling at home -- the more she wound me up. (Ever tried shouting in a whisper? Grrr.)

Anyway, some 20 minutes pass and I'm about ready to join London's gang-banging teens and commit evil, evil deeds when dog saunters out, sans care in world and looking very pleased with herself.

Ever seem The Omen? ..The knowing look of malevolence in the eyes of the outwardly innocent face of the boy Damien..? That's the dog today. She knows what she's doing and she's enjoying being bad.

She's changed. I'm afraid to go home alone now and am uncertain as what I'll find.

My old pet -- riddled as she was of late with middle-class doggie angst (it's true, really) -- has undergone a transformation and is now host to an unwelcome messenger of Satan. A demon from Hell. Will she start projectile vomiting? Am I to find, though fur, the words 'help me' etched on her skin as I tickle her tummy? Will she begin levitation? Will she start resembling Linda Blair?

It's off to church with us this weekend and an overdue bath for the disobedient dog -- this time with a wee sprinkling of holy water just to be on the safe side.