Aug 29 2015

Fifty Shades Of Meh

FS tieThe kids have been away at scout camp this past week. A week in a field in Great Yarmouth with twenty kids…. those scout leaders deserve a medal… or at least a badge.

Of course, with the little darlings being well out of earshot, Mrs M and I thought it would be an ideal opportunity for us to spend some quality (adult) time together – a somewhat rare occurrence nowadays.

Unfortunately though, I ended up working away from home all week – not such a rare occurrence – and so it was not to be.

Last night, I got home from work, absolutely knackered, following a five-hour drive, to find that Mrs M was keen to make the most of what free time we had left. She’d booked us a table at a local restaurant and had had her hair done and was looking all rather splendid.

I quickly showered and changed and we took a leisurely stroll to the eatery, where we had a lovely meal and a couple of glasses of wine.

Back home, to give us time for our food to go down and to maybe help get us in the mood, Mrs M put on the DVD of Fifty Shades… which I have never seen or read.

What a load of rubbish. I really can’t see what all the fuss was about. Maybe it’s a girl thing, because it really did bugger all for me.

And it’s a longer film than we’d realised too. By the time we went to bed, sleep was the only thing on our minds.

The kids are back home tomorrow, so Mrs M and I have have one last chance tonight to make the most of it.

So we’re going to the pictures.

Aug 06 2015

Every cloud…

Alton_Towers_Resort_LogoThe accident that happened some weeks back on The Smiler ride at Alton Towers was a terrible thing, with several suffering bad injuries and two people actually losing a limb.  A fun day out that turned into a tragedy for all those involved.

The knock-on effect from this calamity is that people are staying away from Alton Towers – and possibly other similar theme parks – and it must be costing Merlin (Alton Towers’ owner) a small fortune in lost revenue.

I took the kids to Alton Towers on Tuesday and whilst it wasn’t actually deserted – as some of media are claiming – it was certainly not very busy.

Walking around the park was a breeze as there were no crowds, and queueing was almost non-existent. Bearing in mind that this is the summer school holiday, you’d expect it to be packed, but we literally walked straight on to both the Oblivion and Nemesis rides, without any waiting whatsoever. I can remember queueing for over an hour for each of those rides several years ago.

There was some waiting though:  we queued to get into Charlie and the Chocolate Factory for quite a while, until they announced that there was a delay due to a technical hitch. At that point, we lost interest and abandoned the queue.

Another problem ensued at the Air ride – another ride that has featured in the news for  technical hitches. We climbed into our seats and were duly strapped in. The floor dropped out of the way and the seats swung back into a horizontal position. And then nothing happened. For ten minutes.  Red jacketed attendants busied themselves around us, pulling at seat belts and double-checking restraints. By now, Amelia was in tears: having read about The Smiler incident, she was convinced that this was another accident waiting to happen.

Eventually, the seats were lowered back into an upright position and we all disembarked so they could send it off on an empty test run.  We climbed onto the next train  – apart from Amelia, who decided that fate had given her an opportunity to give this one a miss – and this time we were off with no hesitation.  The carriage flew around the track, darting in and out of the trees, coming so close that at one point I felt sure my feet had actually brushed against them. It was only when we disembarked that I realised that what I’d actually felt was all the loose change coming out of my pocket and hitting my foot as they fell to the ground. I lost over six quid on that ride!

But all in all, it was a great day. We left tired (and penniless), having been on most of the rides – something that wouldn’t be possible if you had to queue for an hour at each one.

 

Jul 30 2015

Yellowjack!

ambulanceMrs M took a phone call in the office yesterday afternoon.  It was from a member of the public, saying that she had found a postman collapsed in the street.

Being only a couple of streets away from the office, Mrs M legged it round there. It only took a few minutes for her to arrive and she found said postie laying sprawled on the ground.

He wasn’t breathing and he had no pulse. Luckily, Mrs M is a trained First Aider and immediately started to administer CPR, whilst calling for an ambulance at the same time.

It took five minutes for the ambulance to arrive and the paramedics then took over, having to shock the chap to bring him back.

Of course, Mrs M has received much praise for her actions from both the ambulance crew and her colleagues at work. She undoubtedly saved his life.

But the question that has everyone puzzled, is: why did the woman who found him, not ring for an ambulance instead of the local Royal Mail office?

Jul 23 2015

The pain, the pain

Agony; that’s what I’m in.

As you both know, I’ve long been a martyr to my back. It doesn’t take much to put it out, and that’s exactly what I did at the weekend.

Badly.

On Monday morning, the pain was so bad that I had to ask Mrs Masher to put my socks and shoes on my feet for me. Now, several days into the week, it is only just starting to get better.

I’ve been walking around like I’ve shit myself. I think it’s impossible to look any other way, when one has to walk so gingerly that the slightest jar can send pain spasming through your body.

At work, I had to get one of my colleagues to carry my toolbag for me… as I hobbled ten paces behind him, looking like I’d badly soiled myself.

Fortunately, driving hasn’t been too bad – I’m currently working in Northern Ireland and there is plenty of driving required – although getting in and out of the car has been a slow process.

So, what caused this terrible inconvenience?

What was I doing to cripple myself so badly?

Well, I’ll tell you: I was playing “Smacka-dat-bum” with Amelia.

I’d just caught her a cracker on the backside and was running up the stairs gleefully, with her in hot pursuit, eager to get me back. As I ran for the safety of my big swivel chair in the shack, I wiggled my arse at her in a taunting fashion.

 

“Ha Ha”, I said, “You can’t catch me!”

Then something clicked and I stopped suddenly as a bolt of pain shot through my lower back.  A second later, there was another painful sensation, as Amelia’s hand delivered a stinging slap to my posterior. She giggled as she quickly turned and made her retreat, whilst I limped into my room and slowly lowered myself onto the chair.

“Don’t you want to play anymore, Daddy?”, she asked, walking into the room cautiously. I grimaced a smile at her and shook my head.

“Have you hurt your back again?”

I nodded.

“Bother!” she said.

“Arses!” I agreed

Jul 19 2015

Rotten Tomato

10000 daysMrs M is a bit rubbish when it comes to films.

We can go see a big action blockbuster at our local picture-house and then, six months later when it’s shown on Channel Four, she’ll sit down to watch it again, swearing blind that she’s never seen it before.

And she’s really good at picking out rubbish DVDs too, which is why I cringed last Sunday when she returned home from the shops with a cheery “I got us a DVD to watch after dinner”.

She has a passion for the post-apocalyptic genre: 2012; The Day After Tomorrow; Deep Impact… that sort of thing.

And so we all sat down – as a family – after a full-monty Sunday roast and watched 10, 000 Days, a film about the survivors on Earth after it has been hit  by a large comet and has entered a new Ice Age.

There were no “names” in the cast list, save for the little-known blond-haired bloke out of the Dukes Of Hazzard TV series… and he wasn’t up to much.

So, what can I say about it? The acting was terrible, the storyline was truly awful and the special effects were atrocious.

Both kids left the room after about five minutes and Mrs M fell asleep half an hour into it, waking ten minutes before the end to exclaim that “it was a bit of a weird ending”.

I sat through it, determined to get our three quid’s worth, but it has to be one of the biggest piles of poo I’ve ever had the misfortune to watch.

If you see this DVD going for 99p in your local pikey Asda store, you’d do well to steer well clear.

But, it’ll probably be on the telly soon anyway… and Mrs M will be able to enjoy all again.

 

Jul 07 2015

Weekend away

DSC_0015 (Custom)Last week, the current Mrs Masher and I celebrated 20 years of marriage.

Twenty years!

But working away from home (as I always am) is no way to celebrate and so we had a weekend down that London. N.K.A.

No Kids Allowed.

I booked us into a snazzy hotel: the one above Charing Cross Station on The Strand.

We’d stayed there before – on our tenth anniversary – and had thoroughly enjoyed it’s opulant, old worlde splendour.  So this time I decided to push the boat out a little further and, instead of booking the bog-standard room that we’d had last time and had been so impressed with, I opted for a deluxe room with a king-sized bed.

To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. The first thing I noticed when I opened the door was the size of the room: it was half the size of the one we’d stayed in before – indeed, it was half the size of the Premier Inn room I’d stayed in two days earlier in Edinburgh, at a third of the price.

DSC_0013 (Custom)The next thing I noticed was the bed. As can be seen from this photo, it was twin beds, not a king-size.

I went straight back down to reception to tell them that they had obviously put us in the wrong room. But I was assured that  we were in a King Deluxe room and that not all of the King Deluxe rooms had a king-size bed… many had twins.

Huh? How can a King Deluxe room NOT have a King-sized bed… especially when it is advertised that they do?

I wasn’t happy. Here we were, celebrating our twentieth year of married life together and we were going to be sleeping in separate beds!

It took a while to rectify the situation, but eventually we were moved into another room and I was happy.  The picture at the top of this post shows our eventual room.

I cannot fault the staff at the hotel, they bent over backwards to try and sort us out and we received complimentary AKSdrinks and a partial refund as recompense but, Amba Hotels: you cannot advertise king-size beds on your website, when you don’t have them!

Anyway…

We went to see a show… The Woman In Black.

“A Masterpiece” – The Guardian.

“Nerve Shredding” – The Daily Mail.

“Meh” – Masher

I mean, it was OK, but I didn’t feel it lived up to the hype.  Mrs M thought likewise.

After that we went to Planet Hollywood for a slap up meal. Mrs M just lurves a half-rack of ribs… and as far as she’s concerned, no-one does them better than PH.

Stuffed to the gills, we then made our way to the IMAX and watched the new Terminator film.  Bit of a curate’s egg, that one. It was well made, but I thought it all very contrived… as though the script had been worked just to get Arnie back in to it. That can’t be the case. Surely?  We enjoyed it nonetheless.

The following morning, we stuffed our faces again at breakfast and then visited the James Bond exhibition… which was all rather splendid. I thoroughly enjoyed that and easily have spent more time there, but we needed to get home and collect the kids from the kennels.

It was a brilliant weekend, marred only by Mrs Masher dropping her phone onto the unforgiving cobblestones of Covent Garden.

I would get her a new one for her anniversary, but I’m afraid that was last week.

Jun 28 2015

Deep Thought 7

OK, it may not be able to provide the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything, but it’s a hell of a lot faster than Deep Thought 6: my old pooter.

6 was getting slow. No, actually, 6 WAS slow. Frustratingly slow. There were times when it seemed to just grind to a halt.

I cleaned it; I tidied it; I defragged the hard drive and I gave the registry a damn good wash, but nothing seemed to bring it back to it’s old self. I could re-format and reload Win 7, I s’pose – that would probably do it – but this seemed like an ideal opportunity for an upgrade.

And so, armed with expenses money that I’d accrued from travelling up and down the country, I scoured the web and made several orders from various suppliers.

Last weekend I found the time to do the rebuild and DT7 (because this is the seventh incarnation within the same PC case) was born.

I’m now having all the fun of transferring files from one to t’other.

But, I have to admit to being a little disappointed because, when I checked the Windows Experience Index, it wasn’t actually much higher than the old machine.  This, it seems, is all down to me skimping on the graphics card. With a possible top subscore of 7.9, each component is performing pretty well (especially the SSD HDD), with the exception of the graphics card which comes in at a miserly 4.2

WEI

I looked at graphics cards long and hard before deciding that there was no point in spending a small fortune on one: I don’t do gaming and my old card coped easily enough with the limited amount of video editing that I do.

And so I compromised by buying not the cheapest of cards, but certainly not the most expensive. And that’s what is giving me a poor WEI.

But maybe I shouldn’t worry so much about the numbers and actually just enjoy my new machine, because SHE FLIES!

At the moment.

Jun 22 2015

Daddy can’t win

Happy-fathers-day-pintFor Father’s Day yesterday, the kids wanted to treat me to a trip to the pictures, so we went to see Jurassic World… which was a lot of fun.

Cost me thirty-two quid, that did.

Afterwards, they said that as I was the “Best Dad Evuh”, they’d like to treat me to Sunday dinner in the local carvery. We had a most enjoyable full roast. Lovely.

That cost me another forty pounds.

By way of a Father’s Day pressy, I got a card and some socks!

And of course, I had to get something for my own father and that came to twenty-five nicker – not that I begrudge paying that one little bit, but, at the end of the day, Father’s Day has left me nearly a ton out of pocket.

Is that how it’s supposed to work, then?

And Mother’s Day seems to work in a similar way: I’m left a hundred quid short at the end of it.

Something’s not right, I tell ya.

Jun 18 2015

Do you want fries with that?

Metro BankI was driving through Sluff yesterday morning, when I spotted a high street bank that I’d not seen before.With it’s glass facade and it’s colourful red, white and blue signage, it stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the drab and dreary shops on the high street. But, the bit that caught my eye was the sign that said it offered Drive Thru (sic) banking.

Drive Through Banking? How does that work then?

Does it work like a McDonalds Drive Through?

Do you have to drive up to that speaker thing and then shout your order into the microphone: “I’d like to take out fifty pounds please and I’d also like two hundred pounds of Swiss Francs and three hundred pounds in Travellers Cheques.  And a hot apple pie.”

Then you drive to the next window where everything is handed to you in suspicious-looking brown-paper bags.

And when you get home, you open the bags to find they’ve given you forty quid in used notes and two hundred pounds of Malaysian Ringgits, there’s a book of Travellers Cheques missing and your hot apple pie has been substituted for a chocolate doughgnut.

Think I’ll stay where I am, ta very much… McBanking’s not for me.

 

Jun 14 2015

I’m back

Not that I’ve actually been away. But I just don’t seem to have found the time or inclination to write anything here. For ages.

I’ve been working in England for the past few weeks.  All of it, it seems.

From Carlisle in the north-west to Newcastle in the north-east to Bristol in the west and Great Yarmouth in the east… and lots of bits inbetween.

This week I shall be starting off in Canterbury in Kent and then onto… well, who knows where.

England, probably.

As you can gather, much of my time is spent on the road, travelling from site to site and I’ve stayed in more Premier Inns in the past weeks than Lenny Henry is ever likely to in his life.

Drive. Work. Drive. Sleep. Drive. Work. Drive. Sleep. Drive… well, you get the picture.  And of course, that doesn’t leave much time for blogging. It also doesn’t give much material to write about, hence the dearth of posts recently.

And so I’m going to make a bit more effort, I have decided, and post a bit more – even if I have nothing of interest to say – because I seem to have lost the writing habit and I want to get it back.

Prepare yourselves for drivel.

May 24 2015

Signs of the times

Fly Tipping SignOver the past couple of months, there have been several instances of fly-tipping in the corner of the car park of our local Sainsbury’s supermarket.

Sainsbury’s management have taken steps to prevent this from happening again, by putting up a sign that says “No Fly-Tipping”. Yeah, that’ll do the trick… because people who fly-tip have high morals and obey the rules.

Don’t they?

In reality, it’s a pointless sign, as people who fly-tip are not going to pay any attention to a sign asking them not to.

I saw a pointless sign on the motorway the other day – one of those electronic, temporary roadworks signs that they stick on the side of the road, sometimes.

“14 vehicles ran out of fuel in April” it said.   So, what’s that telling us? It’s telling us that some motorists are stupid… and I think we already know that.

And I’m intrigued by the speed limit signs within the roadworks.  Not the ones aimed at the motorists, but those aimed at site traffic actually within the coned off roadworks area.  10mph would be a reasonable speed to adhere to, you’d think. But I’ve not seen a sign for 10mph. I have seen signs for both 9mph and 11mph though. Unbelievably, I’ve even seen one stating a 9.5mph limit.  How good must your speedo be to be able to stick to exactly 9.5mph or less? OK, yes, less is easy. But, a maximum of 9.5mph? Really?

There’s a small village up the road from me and as you drive off the main drag onto the road that leads to it, there is a sign telling you to slow to 50mph.  Just thirty or forty metres  further on, there is another sign telling you to slow to 30mph.  So, you can drive at 50mph for about 40 metres?  What’s the point of that?

And driving along the motorway the other day, the overheads took great pleasure in informing me that that the roads are likely to be busier over the Bank Holiday weekend.

I need to stay in more.

May 10 2015

I have nothing to say

… apart from adding to my driving woes… which all gets very boring after a while. It seems to be all I write about, lately, so I won’t mention it again here.

Other than to say that I have spent yet more countless hours, sitting in traffic this week.

I mean, have you ever tried getting out of Liverpool on a Friday afternoon? It’s a bloody nightmare!

It’s not all bad though. On Thursday afternoon, I had an wonderful drive through the Derbyshire Dales which I thoroughly enjoyed. The sun was out; the view was gorgeous; there was hardly any traffic about and Just A Minute was playing through the car stereo. All in all, it was a lovely journey.

I even skirted around Manchester with ease.

But then I hit the M62 going into Liverpool and suddenly I was in a world of frustration.

We sat  almost motionless for what felt like three hours… but was actually only two.

And a bit.

How many hours of my life have I lost, just sitting in traffic?  I started to calculate a rough figure in my head, but stopped when I realised it might just send me over the brink.

Sitting behind a wheel driving somewhere, I don’t mind, even if it’s a ball-ache of a long journey, because it’s actually achieving something: it’s getting me to my intended destination. There’s a purpose to it.

But just sitting there, going nowhere, for hour after non-productive hour, just drives me fucking mental.

May 01 2015

Going nowhere fast

trafficThis week has been all about travelling slowly. Not through choice, I might add.

On Monday, I had to work in that London.  SE8, to be more exact.

I left in plenty of time… or so I thought. But I hadn’t taken into account that London is a shit-hole of a place to drive in.  The last 3 miles took me nearly an hour.  The journey home was a barrel of laughs too.

The following day, I was working in the same place and so I left even earlier, but also took a different route in.  All seemed to be going well, as I flew along the various motorways, before grinding to a halt somewhere behind City Airport. As we inched along at a snails pace, I noticed in my rear view mirror, a rather attractive blond in an Audi, behind me. I took even more notice when she started taking her top off.  Because of the Audi’s steering wheel,  I couldn’t tell if she was wearing a slip or was just sitting in her bra.

I watched as she started to put her face on. The full works: mascara; moisturiser ( I think); lipstick. All very well, but I wondered why she had removed her jumper.

And then she started shaving under her arms, with a razor.

I kid ye not!

Then she started doing her hair, taking it down and brushing it before putting it up again. Then doing it again. And again.  I half expected her to produce a hair dryer and tongs.

Eventually, we got past the roadworks that were causing the hold up and went our separate ways.

Again, I was late for work.

Wednesday was my final day there, and I left even earlier and took a further different route, but still struggled to arrive on time.

Problem is: I’m not a London driver. I’m too polite.  Whenever I found myself in the wrong lane (which was more often than not), rather than barge my way in, as the other drivers were doing, I’d find myself driving in the wrong direction for a couple of miles before being able to make a U-turn.

Sat-Nav didn’t help.  “In one hundred yards, turn left” is alright elsewhere, but in that London  “In one hundred yards, turn left, but be aware that the road quickly narrows and if you don’t get in the right-hand lane straight away, you’re fucked”, would be far more useful.

The other problem with Sat-Nav is that it picks up on slow or stationary traffic and tries to re-route your journey through the more minor roads. Unfortunately, the minor roads are also chock full but being minor roads, there are no sensors to inform Sat Nav of this. So, on my journey home on Wednesday, I decided to ignore Sat Nav and use The Force to get home.  Unfortunately, The Force told me the A13 would be the best route to take, but it was completely unaware of the accident that had closed one lane.  Another shit journey.

Yesterday, I was was working up in Birmingham. I left early as Mrs M wanted me to attend Amelia’s parents evening at school.  The M1 had other ideas though and an accident in the fast lane, through the roadworks, brought the motorway to a standstill. My usual 100 minute journey actually took over three and a half hours.

I missed parents evening.

Today though, I am working from home, because I can.

And because it’s my birthday.

Apr 26 2015

I’ve been busy

signpostBedford on Monday. Well, that was a nice easy one for me. Just up the road.

Preston, Doncaster, York, Leeds and Manchester for the rest of the week, before getting home late on Friday.

The company that I am doing this particular project for – and I won’t name them here – provided me with a list of addresses to all their sites across the country, which was very handy.

Except…

Except that, so far, not one single address or postcode has actually got me to site.  Some of them are nowhere near. Take the address I was given for Doncaster: it was more than two miles away from the postcode I was given! I spent two hours driving around, trying to find it.  It’s almost like someone had got a map of Doncaster, stuck a pin in it and said “It’s about there. Probably.”
It doesn’t help that none of the sites have any signage on them either.

Anyway.

Last night, we took the kids to the pictures to see the new Marvel Avengers film (yeah, like I wouldn’t have gone to see it anyway, kids or no) and it was all rather marvelous… pun intended.

We went to the new Odeon complex on the new retail park that has been recently built in new Milton Keynes/old Bletchley.

Traffic around there was horrendous, thanks to the rugby match between Northampton and Saracens. Roads were closed and traffic marshals were in abundance, trying to route people round the long way.  Although we had plenty of time, Mrs M – who was doing the driving – is an impatient soul and after trying several routes to find a quicker way in, she cut across the carriageway, blocking all the traffic as she did so and told a bare-faced lie to the traffic marshal to get him to let us in, whilst I sat there with my head down, pretending I wasn’t there.

We had a great nosh-up in Nando’s, and then watched the film, having paid a bit extra for the premier seats, which were very comfortable and afforded extra leg room.

The journey home wasn’t so comfortable though, as it was pissing down with rain and the blower on Mrs M’s car decided to pack in. We had to drive in torrential rain with the windows open, to try and stop the windscreen from misting up. Either that or hold our breath for thirty minutes.

We arrived home at about midnight, tired, wet and full of popcorn.

Apr 15 2015

Tsk tsk

 

“No, I haven’t got Tourettes – you really are a CUNT” 

 

Now, I’m no prude and I’m not averse to swearing. I’ll even use the “C word” occasionally…  though usually just for comic effect.

But I happened across the phrase above, at the weekend.

Where? you might ask.

Was it said by some bawdy comic on a late night stand up comedy show on Channel 4?

No.

Was it some jovial banter between a couple of mates chatting in the pub over a pint?

Again, no.

Maybe it was some graffiti on the wall of an underpass in one of the grimier parts of town?

Nope.

I’ll tell you where I saw this crude and rather unwitty remark: it was emblazoned upon the tee-shirt of a chap sitting at a table, no more than three or four metres from where my family and I were having Sunday lunch.

Now, as I say, I’m really no prude, but there are times and places for wearing such apparel.

And this chap had chosen Sunday lunchtime.

In a crowded family restaurant.

With kids around.

Including some on his own table.

Cunt.

Apr 11 2015

Going nowhere

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERANothing of interest has happened this week.

I’ve been working up in Edinburgh, which is a hell of a drive from Luton, I can tell you.

And that’s about it.

Several people said – when I told them where I’d be working – ” Oh, you’ll enjoy that. We went for a weekend break there and it’s lovely”… or words to that effect.

The same with Morecambe last week: “You’ll have to go down to the beach and get your picture taken with Eric”, I was told by a few friends who have visited in the past.

But, it doesn’t usually work that way.  Normally I’ll arrive on site after several hours of driving and then it’s work, work, work before going back to the hotel, have a bit of dinner, watch a bit of telly, catch up on paperwork and then bed.

Repeat until job is complete and then drive home.

With exception of my nine month stay down in Devon, that is pretty much how each job goes.

I suppose. I can say that I have visited many, many towns and cities around the country… but not actually seen any of them.

Bit of a shame, really.

Apr 03 2015

Catching up

DSC_5903_2It was Amelia’s 12th birthday last Friday. I know: 12! Where did that go?

She and a few of her friends had a trampolining party. Yep, that’s a new one on me too.  In my day *cough* when we had a birthday party, we had a few friends round for tea and jelly and ice-cream and we played Pass The Parcel and Pin The Tail On The Donkey.

Nowadays, there are all sorts of specialist parties that the kids can have: bouncing; swimming; juggling; going ape-shit in a padded fun factory; dancing; ten-pin bowling…, the list goes on.  Harry went to a party a few weeks ago where they were all taught how to street dance. He came home and showed me his ‘moves”. I threw a few shapes back at him in response, but he wasn’t impressed with my efforts.

Mrs Masher’s bestie made Amelia a cake – that’s it in the picture above. Cool eh? We made short work of that, I can tell you.

This week, I have been working away oop north. Morecambe, to be precise. I had to work nights. Outside. I’ve never been so cold!  I had two pairs of everything on, but I was still freezing.  At three in the morning it was cold enough anyway, somewhere around 2C, but it was blowing a gale and the wind chill factor made it feel like -20C. My teeth were chattering so hard, my eyes wouldn’t focus, as I tried to wire up a new MUX unit.

It was so cold that some penguins started pestering me. Or maybe I was starting to hallucinate. Anyway, a passing polar bear saw them off.

Yesterday afternoon, Mrs M asked if we could go to Ikea to get some bookcases for Amelia’s bedroom. She showed me the ones she wanted on the website and as they seemed reasonably priced, working out to about eighty pounds, I readily agreed.  This wouldn’t take too long, I thought, as we had already sorted out what we wanted.

I should have known better. Four hours later, at 9pm, we finally emerged from the store, full of Swedish meatballs (well, you’ve got to) and two hundred and fifty quid lighter, having bought something completely different that was bigger and three times more expensive than what we had originally planned for.

Well, I now know what I’m going to be doing this Bank Holiday weekend.

I’d better put my electric screwdriver on charge.

Mar 27 2015

Plates update

“Well…”, said Dr Death, as I sat before him in his private room, “I have some good news and some bad news.”

I visited him a couple of days ago, to find out the results from the numerous scans and tests that I’d had over the past few weeks.  Unable to get the whole day off work, I’d had to leave early and travel down from Birmingham, hoping that the motorway traffic would be kind to me for a change and allow me to make good time, which, luckily, it did and I arrived with fifteen minutes to spare.

Knowing that I wouldn’t have time to go home first to shower and change, I had taken a flask of hot water, a towel and a change of clothes with me.

Arriving at the hospital, I reversed the car up against a line of trees in a semi-secluded part of the car park. Upon opening the boot though, I realised that although I’d brought the flask of water with me, the towel and change of clothes were still in the carrier bag… which I’d left by the front door that morning.

Arse.

I had to do something though: I was a bit whiffy from working flat out all morning in order to get away early, and my feet had been stuck in a sweaty pair of safety boots all day.

Fortunately, I was wearing a vest underneath my polo shirt and so using that as a towel, I managed to give myself a half-decent wash behind the car. God knows what anybody would have thought if they’d seen me: stripped to the waist and barefoot, pouring the contents of a flask over myself. Anyway, it worked, because despite having to put the same clothes back on, I felt fresher and more confident as I sat myself down on the high-backed faux-leather chair in front of the consultant.

“I have some good news and some bad news”, he said, as his face developed a small frown “The bad news is that we can’t actually find anything wrong with your feet, so unfortunately we don’t know what is causing the pain that you are feeling”. He paused for a moment. “The good news”, he said, his face brightening, “is that as we can’t actually find anything wrong with your feet, the chances are, that whatever is causing you this pain, probably isn’t too serious.”

We discussed my options going forward… which pretty much boiled down to me having to put up with it.

And, after all that palaver in the car park, at no point did he ask to re-examine my hooves.

Mar 21 2015

Quite a day

There was an accident on the M6 yesterday morning, causing huge tailbacks. As such, my Sat Nav routed me around the edge of Coventry on the A46 and A45.  It was very, very busy and I was now late for work.  I also found myself racing the moon in an attempt to get to work before the much hyped solar eclipse happened.

The light took on an eerie twilight feel as I pulled into the car park, just minutes before the eclipse reached it’s maximum. I found my colleagues peering through the tinted window glass in the training room, all holding bits of paper with holes in.

Nine thirty-one came and went, and to us – badly equipped for viewing this astronomical event as we were – it was all a bit of a letdown.

“Has it happened yet?”,

“I think it has. I’m not sure”.  What a load of rubbish.

1999… now, there was an eclipse!

Later on that day, I met the Rt Hon Andrew Mitchell, MP for Sutton Coldfield.

I know it was him, as he introduced himself as he shook my hand: “Hello. I’m the Right Honourable Andrew Mitchell, MP for Sutton Coldfield”.

We chatted briefly. He seemed an alright kind of guy, actually.

After that, I had an interview on the phone. Not an interview for another job, but just a technical assessment by a client, to see if I was of the ‘right calibre’ to work on their equipment.  For fifty minutes he grilled me and I was a nervous wreck at the end of it.

More heavy traffic on the way home meant another three-hour journey. By the time I got home I was shattered and I fell asleep on the sofa at eight-thirty.

That’d be why I’ve been awake since 03:15 this morning then.

Mar 14 2015

Not very PC

blue motherboard“I’m thinking of doing a rebuild on the PC”, I said to Mrs M earlier today, “it’s slowed right down. It’s about due for an upgrade anyway”.

“Oh, OK”, she said.

And then, out of nowhere, she asked “What motherboard are you going to get, then?”.

I was taken aback slightly as, not only has she never shown any interest in the internal workings of a computer, but she certainly has no real knowledge about them, as far as I’m aware. But, I gave her the benefit of the doubt.

“Well, I’m not sure yet which one to go for”, I said, “but it’ll most likely be an AM3+ socket with USB3, DDR3 RAM and a SATA3 interface.”

She rolled her eyes at me and at that point, I realised the correct answer that I should have given was: “I’m going to get a blue one.”

Mar 11 2015

The Friendly Sadist

soloFollowing an awful journey down to Southampton this morning, which took ‘kin ages (40 mins to do 1.5 miles!  I ask you!  And there wasn’t even an accident causing it, just roadworks and inconsiderate drivers… but I’m not going to moan about it), this evening I met a very nice man: an Australian called Brian, who stuck electrodes on my hands and feet and gave me electric shocks that hurt. He also stuck big needles into my feet  – so deep that it drew blood. And all the while, as he tortured me this way, we talked about resistor colour codes and Wheatstone Bridges.

As I say, a very nice man.

Mar 08 2015

Football crazy

footyYesterday afternoon, I watched somewhere around 36 games of football, one after the other.

I’ve never been a big footy fan, but I do loosely follow the misfortunes of Arsenal FC. This is solely because many years ago, when I walked into the office of a Monday morning, everyone would be talking about the weekend’s games. I would often be asked how my team did, but I didn’t have one, so I chose Arsenal, because at the time they were at the top of the league. And alphabetically they were also top of the league. Not the usual way of choosing a team, I know, but as I was born in North London, I felt those three criteria validated my choice. But anyway, as I say, I only follow their fortunes with a mild interest – thinking about it, I can’t even name half the players in the squad.

My dad didn’t mind watching a bit of footy, but he wasn’t a big fan and we never sat down to watch a match together, when I was young. And he certainly never took me to any matches, probably because he could see that I never really cared much for the game.

Harry has also shown little to no interest in it, which pleases me really. Some of his mates are well into it, of course, and play at the weekends. The thought of me having to stand around a football pitch every Sunday, alongside lots of excited dads screaming at their kids to “… pass the ball … get in there! Tackle him!!”… go on… GO ON!”  just fills me with apathy.  I can think of better ways to spend my Sunday mornings. Even washing the windows and cleaning out the guttering sounds more appealing.

Anyhoo, back to yesterday.

Yesterday was the annual Scout Football Competition Thing that they do. And Harry – for some reason – wanted to be in it. And of course, he wanted me to stay and watch.

So I said I would.

I never realised I would be standing there for four hours!

I had planned to just watch Harry’s game and then go, but as he had several games throughout the afternoon, I had no choice but to stay.

The games were mercifully short as the youngsters tired pretty quick, plus there were about a dozen teams, all of which had to play each other.

Harry played in goal, because it was preferable to all that running around, and he had very little action throughout the afternoon, as his team were actually quite good and most of the play was at the opponents end.

We came home in the evening and he was full of beans and still excited from playing.

I flopped onto the sofa, my back killing me from standing there for four hours.

I hope this isn’t the start of him getting ‘into’ football.  I’ll need to engage him in some different sports to take his mind off it.

Now, where did I put that chess set?

Mar 04 2015

Dr Death

Yesterday I paid a visit to a consultant neurologist, regarding the ongoing saga with my plates.

I’d been advised that the waiting list at the hospital to see such a person, was horrendous and so I went to a private hospital that had been recommended to me. It’s the first time in the fifteen years or so that I have had private medical cover that I have actually made use of it and… it was really very good. It’s certainly a very different world to the NHS (Gawd bless it).

My doctor had the unfortunate moniker of Dr Mort – hence the post title – but in every respect he was a splendid fellow – easy to talk to yet very professional –  and he gave me a very thorough checking over.  His conclusion, was that I am most probably afflicted with something called Peripheral Neuropathy, but to double check this, I have further appointments later this week for blood tests and an MRI scan.

Mar 01 2015

Pinch Punch…

pinchypunchyWell, that’s that over and done with. Phew!

It was hard going sometimes, but overall – as it usually is – I found it to be not too bad at all.

I’d like to thank Bren and Dave for accompanying me again and I’d like to thank you lot for reading this drivel wot I write.

Next year will be my tenth year of doing this self-inflicted, February pain… and that’s a sort of anniversary. As such, I was thinking I may do something to make it special. But I’m not sure what.

Maybe I’ll set a theme. Maybe I’ll write each post naked. Maybe I’ll invite some celebrity guests.

Most probably, I’ll do nothing. But, I’m always open to suggestions, so, ideas on a postcard please to:

I Haven’t Got A Bloody Clue
Masher Dot TV
Blogland
BL0 G3R

Thank you.

Feb 28 2015

Going nowhere fast

I was told to be in work early yesterday morning and so, I spent some money (I know!) and hired a child-minder to take Harry to school, so that I could get on the road at a reasonably early time.

I was making good progress up the M1 when the overheads lit up to say that the M6 was closed between J2 and J3.

Arse.

Sat-Nav bird suggested a route down the M45 and through Coventry. “Coventry? At this time of the morning? Are you mad?” I screamed at her and drove on past the M45 turning.

The next suggestion was for the following turn-off, which would route me through the town of Rugby. Long time since I’ve been through Rugby, so I thought I’d give it a go.

Now, Rugby is famous for three things:

1. It’s where the game of Rugby League/Union Football was invented.

2. It is where the erudite Mr Jones now lives.

3. It is home to Rugby Radio Transmitter Station.

I have nothing to say regarding point 1.

Or point 2, for that matter, as I’ve not yet visited Mr J in his current abode.

But, point 3 got me thinking, as I drove very close by to the famous aerial masts (but, having just done a little bit of research on t’internet, I can’t find any reference to what I saw going on there when I visited the site some years ago. And as that particular activity was covered by The Official Secrets Act and may well still be going on today, I can’t really mention it here). So, sadly, it turns out that I have nothing to say on point 3, either!  :(

Anyway… having traversed through Rugby, I then realise that Sharon was routing me toward Coventry.

I decided that it was too late to turn around and that I might as well just continue on my way.

Eventually I found myself on the A45, the major arterial road that skirts Coventry.

It.

Was.

A.

Fucking.

Nightmare.

I finally arrived at work: stressed, with a bursting bladder, and over an hour and a half late.

And I bloody paid for that privilege!

Feb 27 2015

That’s MY bloody award, that is!

awardWell, the kids went back to school this week and we got our dining room table back as a result.

Y’see, both of them had been given homework to do during the half-term break and for both of them, their homework was to make a model. Amelia was tasked with making a medieval castle with all the parts labelled and Harry had to make a living habitat on an alien planet.

Cardboard boxes, empty toilet roll tubes, glue, string, Blu-Tak and paint have littered the dining room table for two weeks. Typically, neither of them were really interested in doing their projects and there has been much cajoling, shouting and crying over the whole affair.

Once I stopped crying, I got down to helping them get their projects completed in time to take them into school as time was fast running out.

Amelia’s wasn’t too bad as we cheated in the end (for various reasons that I won’t go into here) and bought a model castle that was made from balsa wood. Stuck onto a piece of wood, with a moat and grass painted around it, with some miniature trees made from short lengths of dowling and polystyrene balls, I thought it all looked pretty good, but unfortunately, she was marked down for buying a model from a shop. They don’t realise that even though the castle itself was shop bought, it still took her two days to put together!

Harry had opted for bio-domes on Mars, having seen a picture of the domes of the Eden Project on the internet. We constructed the domes from papier maché formed around a balloon and then painted them silver. Red rocks were made from tightly scrunched balls of newspaper painted red and then some more trees were made to go inside one of the domes.

It all looked pretty impressive actually and I wish I’d taken a picture of it before it got taken into school, but I never thought about it. Besides, it was all a bit of a rush: I was still putting on the final coats of paint just an hour before taking it in!

As I said earlier. his enthusiasm for the project waned pretty early on and the bulk of it was put together by Mrs Masher and I whilst Harry sat playing on his X-Box.

Which only makes it more annoying that he came top of the class and won a Head Teacher’s Award for all his hard work!

Feb 26 2015

If Manners Maketh The Man…

good-manners-cost-nothingI got home late last night and Mrs M said she couldn’t be bothered to cook. “Let’s just have McDonalds.”

“Yay!” shouted the kids.

I put my coat back on and drove down to our local Golden Arches.

It was quite busy in there, but I eventually got to the front of the queue and gave my order. “That’ll just be a couple of minutes, Sir”, said Anna, a spotty faced youth with a badge bearing two stars pinned to her ample bosom.  I stood to one side as she looked past me and asked “Can I help?”

A bald chap in his thirties stepped up to the counter. His wife and two young boys stepped up next to him.

He annoyed me straight away. “Can I get…”, he said to Anna, “Can I get two Chicken Legend meals…”

Anna tapped away at her screen. “What drinks would you like with those?”

“Coke. And two McNugget Happy Meals…”

“I don’t want a Happy Meal”, said the bigger of the two boys, “I want adult nuggets”.

“Right. Change one of them Happy Meals to an adult nugget meal”.

“OK”, said Anna, tapping furiously at her screen. “What drinks would you like with those, Sir?”

“Chocolate Milkshakes”

“OK. Is that everything?”

“No, I want two hot apple pies and two chocolate McFlurries”.

She gave him the total price, he handed over some money and then pocketed his change without a word.

At no point in the conversation had he offered up either a simple “please” or “thank you”.

As a role model for the two young boys standing with him, he was sadly lacking on the politeness front.

Feb 25 2015

Oblong eyes

Christ, but there’s some crap on the telly, isn’t there?

And the crappiest shows tend to be those that are the cheapest to make, ie. reality type shows.

” Let’s take some ordinary punters from off the street and get them to bake cakes”, said one bright spark at the BBC and before we knew it, the phenomenon that is Bake Off was upon us. And what a huge success it has been, for what must ultimately be very little outlay. I mean, even a good sponge mix from Sainsbury’s is no more than a couple of quid. But that doesn’t take away the fact that it is very dull watching somebody do some cooking.

“How about getting people to buy some tat at a car boot sale and see if they can sell it for more money?”, ventured an aspiring young wannabe TV producer, one afternoon, many years ago. As a result, the dull and dreary Bargain Hunt hit our daytime telly boxes and has been there ever since. It’s made a star of David Dickhead-son, but it’s still dull as dishwater to watch.

There’s even a gardening one, where contestants have to cut the grass and grow flowers at each other.  Yawn.

But the latest offering is The Big Painting Challenge, where amateur artists have to paint a nice picture to win.

We will literally be watching paint dry.

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