Not Yet Dead

Looking at the sad lack of posts on this here site, one could be forgiven for thinking that I have shuffled off this mortal coil.

But that’s not the case.

Things have been happening, I’ve just not bothered mentioning them here.

So what have I been up to?

Well, my garage had an attempted break-in – as I mentioned a couple of posts ago  and I have finally got round to ordering the new door, which should hopefully be fitted in a couple of weeks. I’m really hoping to be able to get my bike out before this mild weather disappears.  Talking of bikes, a couple of us are thinking of doing this years’ Ring Of Red … weather permitting, of course. Feel free to join us if you can. And if you want to.

The mutt continues to dominate the homestead, in as much as we dote on her like a new baby. She’s getting better all the time and is fairly obedient, but develops selective hearing sometimes when she sees another dog and wants to play. Anyone who remembers the video of Fenton will easily be able to visualise me chasing her across the fields, yelling at the top of my voice. Jesus Christ!

I went to the Hamfest up in Newark at the end of September. That was most enjoyable. And I showed great restraint in spending only a ton. Most of that went on a piece of kit called a Weak Signal Propagation Reporter, which transmits a very low power signal that can be picked up by other stations around the world and reported back, thereby giving an idea of how well your aerial is working.  It’s early days and I’ve only tested one of my antennas, but I must say that I’m quite chuffed with the results from my 20 metre antenna¦ which is just a piece of wire strung up in the loft. Especially considering the lack of sunspot activity at the moment.

And, despite it initially looking like it had all gone quite smoothly, since moving my site to a new host, I found that I’ve not been receiving email notifications for any comments that get left.  I cannot for the life of me figure out why, and neither can the Support Desk of my new provider. They have effectively admitted as much and have left it with me. I have spent hours Googling and trying different things, all to no avail. I’m sure that when I do figure it out, it’ll probably be a D’oh! moment, as it is bound to be something simple. Really simple. Bound to be.

And on top of that, the current Mrs Masher decided we should start watching Designated Survivor on Netflix  so there’s three hours gone each evening. Got to admit, it’s bloody good though.

So, there you go: all caught up.

Wasn’t worth the wait really, was it?

I’ve moved

Following my last hosting provider putting their prices up nearly threefold, this site now comes to you courtesy of a different hard drive in a different data centre.

I still have some tweaking to do – some of the links got broke in the transfer – but overall, I’m pleased with it.

If you can’t see this post, let me know.

Sleeping dogs don’t lie

It’s three o’clock in the morning and I can’t sleep.

I’ll tell you for why.

Last night (Sat/Sun), for the first time, I didn’t put the dog in her cage when we went to bed. She always lays at the top of the stairs, of an evening, and manages to put on the sad doggy look when she is called down to go in her cage at bedtime. “Please let me lay here, I’ll be good”, she says with her eyes. And so, last night, I let her lay there.

Laying at the top of the stairs though, she can hear a lot more of the outside world, as we have the upstairs windows open at night. Several times, she woke me with her growling and low barking, as she could hear people outside – not uncommon on a Saturday night.

“Saber, shhh”

“Saber, be quiet!”

“Saber, knock it off!”

Was the general theme of the night.

And then, early Sunday morning, there was a knock on the door from a neighbour to tell me that my garage had been broken in to.


They never actually got in to the garage, as they were disturbed by a passing car and scarpered – another neighbour witnessed it – but they have damaged the door enough by kicking it in, that I will need to buy a new one.

I have made temporary repairs and have put up a new security light (so that they won’t have to work in the dark if they ever come back) but for the past two hours, I have been laying in bed, listening to every.



Really, I’d be better off, just listening to the dog.

Time wasting

I got home from work this evening and made myself a cup of tea before settling down to watch an episode of Star Trek on Netflix.

Only two minutes in and the phone rang, so I paused the TV and picked up the phone.  I smiled as I saw the words International Call on the little LCD display. About time I had another one of these!

I sat down on the sofa, took a sip of tea and answered it.

The following is a very abridged transcript of the conversation that then took place.

Hello. My name is James, said a voice with a strong Indian accent. I am calling from The Accident Helpline. Our records show that someone in your household has had an accident in the last year

Hello James. I’m glad you called. Yes, it was me who had the accident

OK. Was the accident your fault? If not, you will be entitled to some compensation

No, it wasn’t my fault. How much compensation are we talking about?

At least two thousand pounds

Is that all? I’d like at least five thousand

Er… I’m not sure if that is possible, but we can try. How did the accident happen?

A car ran into the back of me whilst I was sitting stationary at the traffic lights

Where were the traffic lights?

They were at red. That’s why I was stationary

No, I meant, what was their location?

Oh. At the junction. You know, that awkward one by the Post Office

Hmmm, can you tell me the name of the road, please

Yes, George Street

Can you spell that for me?

Of course. G for… um, George, E for episode, O for organism, R for Rasputin, G for George again and E for… what did I say before for E?

Um, OK. Yes, it’s OK, I think I have that. Can I have the registration of your car, please

I gave him the registration of my first car, dating back 35 years. I gave it three times, mixing the numbers up each time.

I cannot find that plate on our system. It isn’t in the right format.

It was a personalised plate.  When can I get my money?

Er… I think I will need to put you through to my supervisor

There was a pause and then another Indian voice: Hello, I am Robert.

Hello Robert. Now look, James promised me some money, but now seems to be backtracking

Yes, we cannot find your car on our system. We will need to send you some documentation to fill in. Could you give me your name please?

I looked at the TV screen, where Captain Jean-Luc Picard was frozen in time, tugging at his tunic. Yes, my name is Stewart. Patrick Stewart.

Could you spell your first name for me please

Yes, it’s P for Patrick, A for anonymous, T for terrapin, R for rap-rap-rap-rapido, I for ickle, C for crash and K for Keeble Bollege, Oxford

Right. Er… thank you Mr Stewart. Now, could you give me your postcode please

I gave him a fictitious postcode.

I cannot find that on my system either. I don’t think you are in this country

Of course I am. You rang me, remember? Now, how do I get my money?

I cannot arrange for compensation for you if I cannot find you on our system

He was getting slightly irate, by now.

Your system sounds rubbish. Is there someone else I can speak to?

Yes, I will put you through to my supervisor

You have a supervisor too?

Yes, Mr Stewart, we all have supervisors

There was another pause and then another Indian voice, a lady this time. Yes. What can I do for you? she asked, somewhat abruptly.

I want my money. Both James and Robert said I could have thousands of pounds, but they won’t give it to me

This is because you have not had an accident

I bloody well have. James phoned me up and told me so

And, I also do not believe you are in this country

Well, I don’t believe you are in this country, either, so that’s two of us

I think you have been wasting our time

I think you might be right

She hung up. I checked the phone: fifteen minutes… to the second.

Not one of my best, but it was most enjoyable nonetheless.

Car Insurance

My car insurance renewal came through the letterbox today.

I was taken aback somewhat to see that it had gone up… by 54%


That’s just mad. It sent me a little giddy, to be honest.

Once I’d regained my composure, I read further down the letter.

“Relax”, it said. “You don’t need to do a thing, as we will automatically take the money from your account on 31st August.”

“NO YOU FUCKING WON’T!!”, I shouted.

And: “Relax”? Who writes these things? You can’t write to a customer telling him that his premium has gone up by 300 quid, but that it’s all OK and he doesn’t need to worry, because you are gonna take it straight out of his account without him having to do a thing.

“Sit down and have a cup of tea and a biscuit whilst we rob your bank account to the tune of 300 sovs.”

Fuck off.

I rang them up.

The guy at the end of the phone was most apologetic, but there was nothing they could do. It was the car that was pushing the premium up, not the bike (I have a six-wheel policy). “Why has it gone up so much?”, I asked. “I drive a Ford Focus, not a Porche 911 Turbo!”. He didn’t have an answer for me, so I told him to cancel my renewal and that I would go elsewhere.

It took me just ten minutes to check online (because I am soooo Money Supermarket, apparently) and I found I could get it from a different bunch of thieving bastards, for just half that price.

I daresay I’ll probably have to do it all again next year when it goes up again, but I don’t mind too much… not if it saves me that amount of money, and let’s face it, it’s easy enough nowadays.

Those of us of a certain age (yes, you two), will remember having to sit down with the Yellow Pages each year, ringing round the different brokers for hours on end, trying to get the best price. Nowadays, we can compare the market in minutes and then it’s us who do the walking, not our fingers.

Sprachen ze lingo?

Well, I’m back from la belle France… and what a wonderful time it was too. A bit too hot for my liking, but an enjoyable getaway, nonetheless.

I’ve been to french France many times over the years and whenever I go, I’ll always have a go at speaking the language, because I’m told that they always appreciate that.

I’ve often joked that I speak just enough French to get my face slapped, but in truth, I could probably muster enough for a kick in the balls too.

Now, I’ve spent many, many hours in the car, listening to Teach Yourself French tapes and have learnt many phrases and words.

Stringing them into a coherent sentence though, that’s a different matter.

This was very evident one night when we went out to the Luna Park and I tried to get some drinks from a stall. As I queued, I practiced what I wanted to say, in my head, and when I reached the counter I confidently spoke the words… with a slight French accent, for good measure.

“Je voudrais une bouteille d’eau, s’il vous plait”

The girl serving behind the counter looked at me, uncomprehendingly, so I repeated myself.

She shook her head, looking confused.

I pointed at a bottle of water in the glass-doored fridge behind her. “Eau! Eau!”

She looked at me and then she looked at the queue growing behind me, and with some very obvious impatience and a condescending look, she said “Please say it in English”.

I fucking hate the French sometimes.

Paucity of posts

I know, I know…

I haven’t written anything here for ages. As a result, I’ve had complaints.

But, it happens: sometimes, my blogging mojo just ups and leaves me.

But it usually comes back.


So, what’s been happening in the Masher household during this lack of posts?

Bugger all, that’s what.

The mutt is still getting bigger and is starting to look like a proper pooch now. But, she’s going through her adolescent stage – yep, that’s a thing, apparently. She gets stroppy and disobedient and sulky, whenever it suits her. So, now I have three teenagers in the house. Arrgh!

However, it’s not so bad at the moment, as Mrs Masher and the kids have gone down to the south of France, so me and muttley have had a week to ourselves and, as a result, she has had some serious ‘instruction’.  I’m pleased to say, that she is picking it up quite quickly now.  Just as well, as she is about to spend the next week with my brother-in-law, as I am off now to join the rest of the family in French France.

I’ll bring you back a croissant.

Au revoir

Welsh For A Day

Yesterday, was my future brother-in-law’s Stag do.

Coming from the valleys – as he does – and being surrounded by us English taking the piss out of him all the time (yakki dar), we all decided to be Welsh… just for one day.

To make him feel at home.

And so we went to a local golf driving range – golf being one of his passions.

But we went wearing tee-shirts and pants (over our trousers) emblazoned with the Welsh flag, and with the words “Welsh For One Day” across the back.

And we carried sheep with us.

Inflatable ones.

Unsurprisingly, this drew interested stares from those around us, but after the fourth pint of wife beater, I wasn’t feeling self-conscious anymore.

And despite never having played golf, it turns out I was actually quite good. Actually, I was rubbish, but I did manage to hit it in the big holes several times. I’d have probably got an even higher score had I not been experimenting to see which bat worked best for me.

Back at HQ, silly games, beer, barbecues, beer, more silly games and more beer all ensued.

All washed down with beer.

As midnight got closer, I couldn’t handle any more alcohol, and switched to softer, warmer drinks as we continued to raucously play silly games and impossible quizzes. Because I’m a light-weight, nowadays, and I think ten hours of drinking is enough for any liver.

This morning, I have awoken to find that my head – and somewhat inexplicably, my legs – are really hurting.

If that’s what it’s like to be Welsh, then you can keep it.

Another Tom

This weekend – the one just gone – the current Mrs Masher and I went on a cruise.

Just a quick one.

Down the Thames.

And a very pleasant evening it was too.

Top notch grub, served and eaten to the sounds of a live jazz band, whilst taking in the sights of London as we gently motored down the river. It doesn’t come much better than that.

Except, it does, because we did it all in good company.

And beer.

Best night out I’ve had for ages.

And now for a quick mutt update:

As per the picture above, she’s getting bigger.

Film Review: Ant Man

I was quite late home from work last night and Mrs Masher instructed me to pick up a McDonald’s as: “I’m not gonna start cooking now!” Dutifully, I did so and arrived home, laden with chicken nuggets and burgers and fries and cokes.

I flopped exhausted onto the sofa with my meal and noticed that a film had been cued up on the telly and was paused in readiness. “We’re watching Ant Man”, Harry said. “Is that OK?”

I nodded wearily, but was also aware that this gave me an opportunity to squeeze at least one more review in.


Ant Man.

Not one of the Marvel Superheroes that I’ve ever been interested in, really. But I did reluctantly see this at the pictures last year, at the kids’ insistence, and I remember enjoying it to a point, but not being particularly impressed.

However, second time round I found it much more enjoyable. There is, of course, plenty of action; there’s a plot line that I can actually follow, and there’s humour.  More humour than Marvel typically go for in their Superhero films.

And there are ants. Hundreds and thousands of CGI ants.


And the fight scenes on Thomas The Tank, as seen from an ant’s perspective and then ours, made me actually guffaw.

Played excellently by Paul Rudd, Ant Man was well worth a second look and is probably worth a second film.

Theatre Review: Penn & Teller UK Tour

In a dramatic re-interpretation of the rules of this month’s challenge – in which I am going to fail, anyway – I thought I’d do a review on a show I saw on Sunday.

Live at the Hammersmith Apollo (or the Eventim Apollo, as it is now called), the American magicians, Penn & Teller, wowed 3000 of us with their zany, off-the-wall brand of magic.

Watching it with my mate, Paul, we couldn’t fail to be impressed. In a turn around from their TV series, I’m pleased to say that Penn & Teller fooled us.

At least some of the time.

The silent Teller is the real magical maestro of the pair – a fact that Penn Gillette will readily admit – and his sleight of hand skills are unsurpassed.

The trick with the goldfish: Wow! I was amazed when I saw it before on TV, but seeing it live on stage, just a few metres away from me, left both me and Paul even more impressed.

And we know how they got the lady’s phone inside the dead fish, but we can’t agree on how they managed to get it under someone else’s seat.

It was an excellent set from the pair and a thoroughly enjoyable show, marred only by having to sit through it all in an uncomfortable sweat, due to there being no air-conditioning in the theatre.

And afterwards, they waited outside the theatre to greet their fans and have selfies taken with them.  A nice touch.

Get out of my ear!

I’ve got an ear-worm.

I hate that term. It sounds like some sort of gross infection.

I prefer to call it “I’ve got a song stuck in my head”.

Which I have.

I don’t know where it came from, but Ultravox’s hit, Vienna, somehow made its way into my consciousness some weeks back.

I managed to lose it, last week, but then I received a report by email at work, that had not yet been explained to me.

I replied to the sender: “Lovely report, but I’m afraid this means nothing to me”.

BANG! Midge Ure’s dulcet tones were straight back into my bonce. Aarrgh!

But then, it slowly faded over the next couple of days and disappeared again. For a few hours.

I then received an email from my mate Gavin (that’s him, up on my extensive blogroll), saying that he was no longer in Bangkok as he had relocated to… Vienna.

BANG! Aarrgh!

And it is still there now. It’s been nearly three weeks, I think.

And it’s not even the whole song, just the same bit repeating over and over: “… it means nothing to me / it means nothing to me / Ohhh, Viennaaaa / dummm, dum duddah / dummm dum duddah…” And repeat.

It’s there, all the time, just slightly louder than my tinnitus.

And it’s slowly driving me bonkers.

Film Review: Wonder Woman

We saw this yesterday, as part of a Father’s Day present – followed up with a meal at Chiquito’s, which was all rather splendid.

So, Gal Godot stars as our eponymous heroine, and really, what’s not to like there… on Father’s Day?

Set during WW2, we see Wonder Woman grow into the fighting machine that she is: strong, fast and with lightning reflexes and yet still with her femininity intact. And of course, fabulously shiny hair.

Introduced to the war by an American British spy (played perfectly by Chris Pine of Captain Kirk fame), she and her little band of misfit soldiers save London from a terrible fate… and she defeats a naughty god whilst she’s at it.

The epithet ‘Wonder Woman’ isn’t yet attached to her in this movie, and I guess they are saving that for a later installment. I do hope so, because this film was the best thing to come out of the DC Universe studios for a long time, and I’m certainly looking forward to seeing the next one.


Film Review: The Nice Guys

Touted as being the new Lethal Weapon partnership, Ryan Gosling and Russell Crowe play a downbeat private detective and a downbeat not-quite-a-private-detective partnership, set in the 1970’s.

The plot felt a bit convoluted and is set around a porn film that… well, everyone who is  connected with it, gets killed and ends up as a stiff (yup, had to squeeze that one in!). And toward the end, I kind of lost my way with it, as it turned into a gunfest – how come bad guys with machine guns are such bad shots? – with everyone seemingly shooting everyone else and I didn’t know who were the good guys anymore..

There were some nice humorous bits though and I thought the dynamic between Gosling and fatty Crowe (I don’t know whether he purposely piled on the pounds for this movie, or whether he’s just let himself go) worked well. Gosling’s daughter – in the film, not his real one – steals the show for me though. Played perfectly by Angourie Rice.

And watching the credits at the end – to see if that really was John-Boy Walton playing the baddie (surely not!) – I was surprised to see Gil Gerard’s name scroll past: he played Buck Rogers In The 25th Century, which I briefly mentioned in my post last week. Huh, you don’t mention an actor for 25 years and then he gets two in a week!

You know when you come in halfway through a conversation…

… well, that happened to me this morning, as I was flicking through the channels and found two old boys chatting away.

OB1: “I struggle with the fingering because of the arthritis in my hands”

OB2: “Well funnily enough, I found that my fingering improved my arthritis”

And they both continued to talk – oblivious to the innuendo – about how they were learning to play the clarinet.

Film Review: Ghostbusters (2016)

The kids were keen to see this at the pictures when it came out some months back, but somehow or other, we managed to avoid it.

I picked it up on DVD as part of a two for a tenner offer last week, and having watched it this weekend – I’m glad I hadn’t shelled out for a family ticket at the Odeon.

Because it’s a terrible film.

To mark it out as different from the original, it has four women as the main protagonists, and they are all a bit zany and playing it for laughs, but it was only the lone male (Chris Hemsworth) who managed to get more than a snigger from me.

Yes, it has plenty of one-liners, and some of them were pretty good… but most of them just failed to deliver.

The special-effects are, of course a big step up from the original, but that’s about the only point on which it betters its predecessor. Obviously, as a reboot, it lacks the originality of the erm original, but for me, it also lacked the charm and the humour.

The best bits for me were the music – which did remain faithful to the 1984 version – and the cameo roles from the remaining members of the original Ghostbusting team.

The original Ghostbusters film has stood the test of time and is still very watchable today. Sony should have left well alone.

It’s the drink talking

Last night I went to the pub, for one of our regular BT Curry Night get-togethers.

It’s the first one I’ve been to for quite a while now: sometimes, by the time I’ve struggled home from work on the motorway(s), I just can’t be bothered to go out again, despite knowing that I’ll have a good time once I get there.

So last night, I made the effort. And it was good.

The curry was good. The beer was good. The company were good.

We laughed and we drank and we talked:

Films that stick in your mind
Kids films that play better to adults
People we used to work with (“Now, what was his name?”)
Getting old
The Conservative candidate for Harpenden
Is the space between a nucleus and it’s electron really empty, or is it actually full of custard?
Cheap radios
Talcum powder mines
The Beach Boys
TXE4 Cyclic Stores and EEProms
Table tennis
Buck Rogers in the 25th Century
The Six Million Dollar Man
Sam Fox is a lesbian? Really?
Paper thicknesses and weights

… are just some of the things we chatted about. I can’t remember the rest.

And it’s just as well, if that list is the best bits!

Film Review: The Terminator

Our Welsh correspondent, Bren, has laid down a gauntlet. Foolishly, I picked it up.

Bren has set himself – and by extension, me and Dave – the challenge of producing 10 film reviews during the month of June. Only ten? That won’t be too hard, I thought, as I accepted the challenge. But, I’m not a film reviewer – because that requires proper writing and shit – so we’ll have to see how this goes.

We watched this film as a family last week. It was Harry’s idea: he’s picked up a few Arnie soundbites from the internet and was keen to watch some of his films… if only to hear the oft quoted phrases that he’s heard elsewhere, put into some sort of context. “Get to the chopper!”

Mrs M streamed the film onto her phone and then casted it to the TV – all very modern. Personally, I was all for just buying the DVD from ebay – it would have probably been cheaper – I can’t believe that we paid 8 quid to watch a thirty year-old film on the telly!

Anyway, the film has aged well, with the ingenious storyline – full of plot holes as it is – holding up well against more modern time-travel offerings. It has to be said that special effects-wise, the film looked very dated. Not so much the blurring-the-lines-between-real-and-fantasy CGI that we get today, but rather ‘a-bit-like-Morph’ stop motion. And yet, back then, those sort of effects were ground-breaking and we lapped them up in a popcorn-eating frenzy.

Arnie plays the villain of the piece. Dark and menacing – you would not want to meet the T-900 Infiltrator down a dark alley. Or a brightly lit alley, for that matter. But, it’s hard to think of anyone else who could have slotted into that role – a role that he has become synonymous with.

Linda Hamilton plays the central role, around whom the film revolves, and she plays it well – dodgy eighties haircuts and all.

And there are – of course – plenty of action sequences to lap up.

It’s been a while since I last saw The Terminator – the film that arguably catapulted Schwarzenegger into Hollywood A-list status – and I have seen it several times over the years, but I still thoroughly enjoyed watching it again. We all did.

Arguably the best of the franchise – but I think it’s a close run between T1 and T2.

So, that’s my first film review of the month, just nine more to go.

In the words of The Terminator: “I’ll be back.”



I ordered a couple of tapes for my labelling machine, from Amazon a couple of days ago.

That’s them in the first picture, alongside a pen… to give a sense of scale.

Small enough to fit through the letter box in a jiffy bag, no?

Well, no, apparently not. The second picture shows the box that they actually came in.

Come on Amazon, we’re not going to save the planet this way, are we?


Here’s an updated picture of Saber. She’s growing quickly now and has settled in nicely.

Having had her second set of injections, she can now go out, so we have taken her on short walks… with mixed success. She loves the park, when we get there, but she is not so keen on the walk to reach it. I daresay that will soon change.

She has met lots of other people and a few other dogs now and she has not been fazed by any of it, I’m pleased to say.

Apart from doggy stuff, it’s been a busy Bank Holiday weekend, so far.

Lots of walking, courtesy of Geocaching – and Saber, of course.

A nice ride out to Jack’s Hill Cafe.

Shopping – both food and retail.

Running in a new burglar alarm cable because the old one got accidentally cut by the double glazing people.

And an aching back, thanks to some gardening that Mrs M made me do today. Well, I say ‘made’… but really, I just felt guilty after watching her hard at it with a shovel for two hours, so thought I’d better chip in.

So, when it came time for dinner, Mrs M was too tired to cook and we were all knackered anyway and couldn’t be bothered, so I drove up to our local McDonald’s for some veg-out-on-the-sofa-in-front-of-the-telly grub.

It took a bloody age to arrive. I watched as the girl went back several times to check whether it was ready.

Mrs M’s 5-piece Chicken Select meal came very quickly, as did Harry’s 3-piece meal. Amelia’s chicken nugget meal arrived almost immediately.

It was MY order that was causing them such a problem.  Had I ordered something out of the ordinary maybe?

No. I’d ordered a Big Mac Meal.

Their signature dish, so to speak.

The burger meal that the whole brand was built upon.

And it took them three attempts to get it right.

Think I’ll go to the kebab shop next time.

Alliterative Arses

Spending the amount of time that I do, driving on the M1 and around the M25, I tend see some terrible driving.

I may have mentioned this before.


On many occasions, the offenders tend to be young lads in VW Golfs, who think they own the road, but of course, I should mention that other vehicle owners are available.

For my own amusement, I have taken to calling these drivers alliterative names, as I see them transgressing the rules of the road and, indeed, general motoring etiquette.

“Git in a Golf”, is ubiquitously used, of course. “Fuckwit in a Focus” is also quite popular.

“Bastard in a Beemer” and “Arsehole in an Astra” crop up regularly, along with the occasional “Prick in a Prius”.

I was also quite pleased recently when I spotted a “Twat in a Twingo”.

Lorry drivers get away with “Lughead in a Lorry”, as that’s the best I could think of.

But, yesterday morning, I was astonished when several cars in front and around me had to brake suddenly to avoid an accident, as a small black Corsa cut across all four lanes at high speed, in an attempt to not miss the exit.

I struggled to come up with a suitably insulting name.

Dog tired

Well, we picked up the new little mutt on Friday night and I’m impressed with how quickly she has adapted to living with us.

The only problem we are having at the moment is night time. She wakes in the night and starts whimpering and that quickly escalates into fretting. And so we have had to take it in turns into going downstairs and giving her some attention until she falls back to sleep. It’ll take a few days I guess, for her to get used to being alone at night.

But, she had me up three times last night, so here I am at eight o’clock in the evening, struggling to keep my eyes open!

The vet has checked her over and given her a clean bill of health, so we are very happy with that, and Mrs M is weaning her off her current food onto that recommended by the vet and the little thing seems to be coping with it admirably.

So, now we just have to get her house trained – inevitably, there have been a few little accidents.

She has only been with us a couple of days, but she is already part of the family and the kids love her to bits.

I’m quite attached, myself.


I’ve mentioned before that the business park where I work, has several empty buildings and that a couple of the larger ones are often used for filming – I’m guessing an offshoot from Pinewood, which is just up the road.

It’s quite fun when driving into the estate, to see props and the like laying around the forecourts.

When they filmed part of the latest Transformers movie here, about six or seven months ago, we saw lots of British Police cars being driven in on the back of a car transporter. A couple of weeks later, we saw them being carted away, all dented and bashed up, obviously having got in a fight with some bad robots!

At the moment, they are filming the latest Jurassic World installment and the forecourts are littered with wind machines and large perspex domes amongst the many trailers being used by the actors.  I haven’t seen any actors yet although I have seen a couple of chauffeured Rolls Royces driving out, but several people claim to have seen Chris Pratt wandering about.

Security has definitely been increased, with security guards on hand each morning checking that we work there and directing us to our usual parking bays to make sure we don’t stray where we shouldn’t.

I wouldn’t go anywhere near the film set anyway, I’m not stupid: I’ve seen Jurassic Park and those dinosaurs are bloody dangerous!

“Hooray, hooray, the first of May…

… outdoor fucking begins today.” So sang Shag Larkin, a radio engineer that I had the good fortune to know, many years ago.

I’d oft wondered where the phrase came from, and so today, I have looked it up.

It seems it’s a traditional folk song.


And in other news…

Well, it seems there isn’t any. The pic above was taken from the BBC News website this morning.  Apart from some sport, nothing has happened in the world for three days, according to their top 10 news stories, which are all dated April 28th.

In other, other news:


Well, apart from me becoming officially old today – thank you Google and Classic FM for reminding me! – not much has happened around here either, that could be considered newsworthy.

The new dog that we haven’t yet got, is already costing a small fortune and Mrs M has visited the local pet shop to get advice, so many times, she is now on first name terms with the staff there. She’s spent an abundance on food and blankets and bowls and leads and chews and just about anything else that the good people of Pets At Home felt it was worth showing her.

I’ve just shelled out several hundred pounds for a new garden fence, as the old one had holes in it that a small pup could squeeze through… and we don’t want that.

And Amelia has spent all of her pocket money on doggy treats and toys, and has chosen the name Saber (sic). Even though Mrs M and I think it sounds like a boy dog’s name – we’re getting a bitch – we seem to have gone with it and it’s now engraved on her collar.

As it’s my birthday, I believe Mrs M is taking me over to exotic Hemel Hempstead later today, for a film and dinner.

So much for outdoor sex then.


They’ve been pestering me for ages, for years, but I have always stood firm and said “No”.

But the badgering never abated.

It continued on relentlessly, until, eventually, I capitulated.

The pressure on me was too much. Browbeaten to the point of surrender, I caved in and agreed that now was about the right time.

Now we are mature enough as a family, to cope with the rigours and responsibility that such ownership brings.

We’re getting a dog.

Being social

“Ha ha! Look Dad”, said Amelia, flashing her phone in front of my face for a second, before snatching it away again. “I’ve found my teacher on Instagram.”

I cast her one of my ‘not impressed’ looks, as I continued to wash the breakfast things. “You know all that social media crap doesn’t interest me one little bit, Amelia”, I said.

“Yeah, but it’s cool, because I can follow Miss Sullivan now and see what she gets up to.”

“Miss Sullivan? Isn’t she your science teacher?”, I asked, my interest piqued.


“The young, blonde lady I met at Parent’s Evening last week?”


“Well, show me, then.”

Spring has sprung…

… the grass is riz…

It most definitely is, because I cut it yesterday!

There are many things to indicate that Spring has arrived: plants; animals; insects, all sticking their heads out.

Buzzy bees buzzing around; the daffodils and crocuses (crocii?) in full bloom and an increase in the amount of roadkill littering the lanes, is all a sign that Winter is over and that Spring has finally arrived.

But round these parts, they know it is Spring, when Mr Masher finally gives in and cuts the back lawn. The sound of the noisiest Flymo in the world, being dragged around my garden for forty minutes on a Saturday afternoon, is as accurate an indicator of Spring’s arrival, as anything else.

Another good indicator, is the increased number of motorcyclists on the roads. And today, I added to that number.

I pulled the dustsheets off the bike and was pleasantly surprised when it started first time – having not been used since last November. And then I took to the roads and rode to Hitchin, for a pre-arranged meeting with a couple of guys I had never met before, but had spoken to on Saturday, on the radio.

Pete and John turned out to be a most amiable couple of chaps and we took a very pleasant ride through the back streets of Hertfordshire, before ending up at a biker’s cafe on the A10 for a bit of breakfast.

I look forward to meeting up with them again, some time soon.

And now that Spring has snuck up upon me, I really must pull my finger out and get my latest Geocache puzzle built, before Autumn suddenly arrives and I’m too late.


Getting old

Many of the people I work with in the office are of a younger generation.

Whilst I’m not yet in my dotage, I have, several times, noticed that I am the eldest in the room, in whatever meeting it is I am attending.

Over the past year, the fact that I am older than most of those around me, has become more apparent to me.

Not because I am hobbling about or because I can’t get up the stairs – I’m still quite sprightly in that regard – but usually something that I’ll say in conversation, will draw blank looks.

This happened yesterday whilst I was in a meeting. Presenting a spreadsheet up on the large screen, I said “…now, if we scroll down… down, down a bit further, down down, deeper on down, then we get to this section”

“Never had you down as a Quo fan”, said my boss, who, whilst being younger than me, is at least of the same generation.

The young girl – and when I say ‘young’, I mean twenty-something – seated next to him looked confused.

“Status Quo”, I said to her, “You must have heard of Status Quo?” She shook her head.

Every time this happens, I feel a little older and a step nearer to the Wurther’s Originals.

Tony Hancock; Anne Diamond; Alma Cogan; floppy disks; CHiPs; Catweazel; and more, are all things or people that I have mentioned in conversation, that have drawn looks of non-comprehension and I can kind of understand that.

But not knowing the Quo?

Now I feel really old.