Stubborn traditions and clever reporting

This weekend has been the classic English bank holiday. We started with a forecast of good weather, latterly tempered to a great Friday and Saturday then deteriorating. Great tactics by the weather forecasters that ensures the masses will try and travel on Friday, one of the worst days of the year. Friday, Saturday and Sunday have followed the same pattern in weather terms. Waking up to glorious sunshine and all the hallmarks of a beautiful day but fading rapidly as soon as the hungover tourists start circulating. Today (Monday) is the magical culmination, a stunning day that is like nature sticking two fingers up at tourism. Already I have heard suitcases being wheeled to the station, where they will join a sweaty bus due to track renewals, and later the road out of town will be full.

The final tradition of a bank-holiday is to indulge in a pint whilst watching children bickering in overheated cars while hungover parents scowl. I think that our politicians would benefit from a bank holiday spent at a UK seaside town, to give the some understanding. All of the advertisements and inducements in the world won’t draw more people to UK tourism, it is ingrained for generations. It can all be summed up by the 60 year old man walking down the prom in bare feet yesterday, in the face of coats and hats to defeat a chill wind he sported only speedos and wet hair, fresh from his swim. I can hear the conversation, as I did when I was child, that went “I came to the beach for a holiday and I will be going for my bloody swim”. It is this bloody minded spirit that sees families battling the wind to get to the beach and frozen children paddling in the sea. They know that on Monday the coast will be mocking them but that doesn’t mean they can’t enjoy their break.

In other news my stubborn streak has been out in force this weekend. I decided to do some tattooing on Saturday and it went reasonably well although I did ache very quickly. On Saturday evening my left wrist was in agony which made no sense, I am right handed. So the wrist that controlled the machine was ok but the one that had to hold the skin was not, why on earth would that be? I checked the relative movements but could not make sense of it.

The pain remained overnight and into Sunday morning when I was forced to consider options. Here the stubborn streak stepped in and suggested that I should do some more work. After all I had adjusted that packer hadn’t I? And it would be a shame not to use it. And so it is that I can report that two shorts sessions of ink has done nothing to ease the pain in lefty which is, equally stubbornly, claiming the title of ‘hardest worked’. On the plus side the greatest response to an SMS that asked what you are doing has to be “colouring in my knee”.

Wet rides and funny pictures

I would like to caution anybody that I speak to today, I am having a pedant day today. Just to confirm that it is just me allow me to share some examples.

On the train this morning there was an announcement that the train “would run at reduced speed caused by flooding”. Now this was a diesel set and I was intrigued, the weather hadn’t been that bad overnight had it? I was guessing we needed a good meter over the rail to physically cause reduced speed. Or perhaps we had half a meter and this reached critical electronics thus reducing speed. The truth was that the line speed was reduced because of flooding, there are various reasons for this, but the water didn’t cause the train to slow down.

Next up was the station announcer telling some poor commuters that “the train on platform 14 is cancelled” nothing odd in that. Why did he have to announce the cause as “due to a fault that couldn’t be fixed”. Surely the inability to resolve said fault, in the time available, is established by the cancellation. If the fault had been fixed then there would be no more fault and no cancellation. I waited for the announcement that the train on platform x was departing on time “due to a fault that was fixed” but it wasn’t forthcoming.

Then the newspaper showed me a picture of a woman who had done something and was very mean. In the picture were two children who had their faces blurred because the story was not about them. The picture caption included the information “we have pixilated their faces”, did anyone need this help? I imagine Mrs x throwing the paper at her husband and spluttering “oh god look at their poor faces”. Without this snippet of information I could have thought that Dr Who had a problem on his hands or that some new strain of acne was taking over the world.

Although this is not pedantic it also caught my eye in the newspaper today. Apparently divorce rates are rising as the economy struggles, no shit sherlock. For any man that believes in romance, love at first sight and all that garbage take a close look. The theory is that when the going is good people will stick with it but when times are had they don’t, remember now that women initiate the majority of divorces. I have heard it said that prostitutes are similar, they are all smiles when the money is there but won’t make you dinner when you’re broke.

So before you ‘put a ring on it’ do some maths and consider a rental rather than an outright purchase after all marriage may be temporary but ex wives are for life. 

Keep the sand bags we need more tape

Some of you may have heard that we had a bit of a high tide over night or as the press like to call it ‘devastating flooding’. There are several things that one can learn from observing the reactions to this weather and I’m always up for sharing observations as you know.

There was an outpouring of anger from people on public transport that the UK “falls to bits at the first sign of weather” and the normal complaint “why can’t we be more like other countries”. This stems from a couple of English traits, the first is that we are self-effacing and the second is that we have a death wish. We can’t comment on the fact that in the UK we wouldn’t think of having the day off because of something daft like 100 MPH + winds because we are too hard-working, oh no. Highest tide for 60 years and severe flood warnings (that is defined as significant risk to life by the way) “pass my umbrella the stationary order wont write itself”. The truth is that we are all mad, when I speak to friends in the US they can’t understand us because they have been brought up to stay home unless it’s essential, hence less traffic, hence less chaos. So yes other countries are better prepared but only because they stay at home and don’t race to the office like lemmings shouting “it’s only rain”.

Then there is the bizarre need to punish ourselves at every opportunity for the fact that hundreds of years ago we may have had a bit of a colony. This was seen in the press, or rather the uniquely English press. Yesterday they filled the airwaves with dire warnings, evacuation plans and pictures of the 1953 floods captioned “it will be worse than this”. Well at 3 am I kinda wanted to know whether boots were appropriate for the trip home or whether I needed a boat. Where did I turn? why to our most hated public service broadcaster, funded by a punitive tax to provide this type of information. The television was on from 3 am to 4 am and I learnt nothing, except that Africans dance a lot when somebody they like dies. Mandela died at 9pm UK time, I know this because they stopped all television to alert us to the fact that an old man who has been trying to die for some time had finally achieved it. Don’t misunderstand me I am sure that this is a very important thing to a lot of people but showing it for an hour on the main news channel won’t change it, showing my personal possessions floating down the street would have changed my travel plans!

I have never seen an entire hour of the news devoted to a single subject and certainly one that is not active. A death is a single event it is not a fire or a flood it doesn’t develop and so it is not suited to extended news coverage. The reporters seemed intent on showing dancing Africans, state visits and well frankly anybody that had ever shaken the mans hand. We got such brilliant insights as “the family were summoned to the hospital and we thought something was wrong” he was terminally ill not bloody pregnant, what did you think had happened? I also heard a reporter honestly say “Although he had gone to the hospital to live out his last days we still didn’t think he would die” I hope that fella doesn’t get a pet or he will need counselling, in the entire history of the human race death has always been a certainty. But the problem is that it involves the whole South Africa thing, former colony and all that so we have to go mad.

Of course the real heroes of these acts of nature are the health and safety loons, no I got that all wrong didn’t I? Once again the magic red and white tape has filled in any gaps in common sense that may exist. So far my favourite is the application of a robust line of said tape across the entrance to a flooded pier. Now you can spot a pier, it is a wooden or concrete structure that extends out into the ocean but remains above the tide and dry. It’s a pretty simple concept and that means it is fairly easy to spot a problem with it. When you cannot see the pier because of water something is wrong, a bit like if you see a horse laying on its back with its feet in the air, that’s not going to be your ride home. All along the promenade people are wise enough to realise that they cannot simply step out into the ocean, but what if they mistakenly walk onto the pier and its flooded? I guess it’s easy to make that mistake when you are out for a stroll along a pier at midnight in a vicious storm but don’t fear, the health and safety tape will save the day.

Finally there is my favourite observation, coastal residents are a mad breed, hardy but mad. So when the emergency services are rescuing cats and workers are out shifting felled trees what do those nearest the ocean do? these are the people in those severe flood warning zones remember. I will tell you what they do, they go the beach and watch, you may see floods and storms and the almighty power of nature but we see the ocean and well it’s just there isn’t it? it’s a friend, a comforter and it’s what listens to our dreams, worries and secrets it wouldn’t turn on us would it? Of course not, now if it was in the tourist season that would be a different matter because come on, we all get annoyed with them sometimes don’t we?

For those that are not in the UK or don’t live by the coast the photographs below should give a little context.

 

Slow boot-up, rubbery joints and upwardly imobile

After some delay I have news from the front, from the battle between me and nefarious Ms Nature. Over the weekend my left knee rebelled somewhat resulting in an intermittent limp. I was somewhat amused that the might of Ms Nature would choose such a weak assault for what I hoped was a last stand of sorts. Yesterday’s commute, delayed a day by St Jude, showed that there was more to this assault than I had first envisaged. The train that I arrived into London on was packed full due to other disruption and as I rose from my seat at Stratford there was little more than room for my feet.

Rotating around my left leg I felt a rather sickening weakening of the knee almost as if I was reliant on rubber bands for tendons. Thankfully the thoughtful train operator had ensured that there were far too many people on the train for me to actually collapse and instead I fell onto the lady next to me. There is then that moment, the one where you shake your leg out and try again. For me this is always accompanied by a sudden sweat as I ponder the worse result. I hate any attention and can think of few things worse than not being able to regain some form of perambulation and therefore having to be stretchered off. It is this desire to be invisible rather than some machismo that keeps me moving through pain.

I did regain traction and returned to a limping gait not perfect but, most critically, not dependent or incapacitated. This morning I awoke with the normal pain and awkwardness, struggling to lift and tilt even the small hotel kettle. This is a standard start to the day, it seems that an effect of the accident, and perhaps my age, is an increased ‘boot-up’ time. By the time that I had left the hotel room I realised that I had taken on a slight stoop to accommodate the left knee. Both of my parents were/are crippled by arthritis and I could see my father in the stooped semi shuffle that I had developed. That was enough for me, clearly bowing to the vindictive ways of Ms Nature is not the way forward. I strode the one and a half miles to the office with a deliberate and straight gait, despite the attempts of Ms Nature to distract me. It will be an interesting day, before I arrived in the office my knee had swollen to the constraints imposed by my jeans. Once again though Ms Nature has not thought through her assault, water on the knee stops you bending your knee and so forces you to walk straight.

I would also like to share a father’s thought today, I have no idea where it comes from but I bring it to you in a somewhat modified state anyway. As fathers we work hard to ensure that our children are given the opportunities and experiences to make the greatest memories, it is the cruelest of corrolary that we often become nothing more than one of them.

Ms Nature, topless, helpless and numbered poo

If there are two constants in British life they are the weather and our desire to speak about it. Without wanting to drone on about it I would like to just let everyone know that weather is under the realm of Ms Nature. For those that don’t read me regularly Ms Nature is the nefarious, nasty, man hating variant of Mother Nature. Think how your ex wife went bad, same deal between Mr and Mrs Nature, in short the woman’s a bitch! I was delighted to read an email from Vicky the other day where she made the effort to distinguish between Ms and Mother Nature, keep up the good work. It’s quite a simple division of tasks, Mother Nature does all your flowers, smiles and sunshine while Ms Nature is out there making toothache and kicking footballs in your nuts.

It takes a bank holiday to realise that weather lies with Ms Nature. For those that are not familiar with the concept of bank holidays (hey this is read in over 40 countries) they have nothing to do with banks. At some point somebody will sue and the government will remain them “another day on the piss”. I don’t think that this will happen for a while though because having told us that the banks are responsible for the recession, the decline in jobs and pretty much everything else that’s bad they need some good press. And so it is that we plan a weekend of excess because it is a three day weekend due to the bank holiday.

Now Ms Nature can’t let this pass, she starts with a severe weather warning that pretty much covers the coast for Saturday. Your good old English tourist ignores this because we all remember Michael Fish telling us that only mad women thought storms happened in the summer. Having spent half of Friday in nose to tail traffic your tourists are ready for the beach on Saturday. Now the weatherman was right, for a change, and torrential rain hits, hey you were already wet in the sea weren’t you? Sunday improves but your good day, your good day is Monday, a proper scorcher. Do you see what she has done here? You’re gonna be stuck in the same nose to tail traffic all the way home in scorching heat. Like a criminal genius, or a once loved wife she has thoroughly pissed on your bonfire.

In other news, I’m winding inextricably and slowly towards drawing a line under the accident and restarting life, still some hurdles to go but the end line is in sight. This morning I reviewed some forums for people moving to the island, its always good to learn. One of the biggest concerns was making friends, seriously that is a concern of an adult. These people are moving from the mainland, they talk the same bloody language how hard can it be? Some research revealed that apparently your average 30-40 year old female is still only friends with her school year. What is the matter with these people, go and see the world. I can see how this would be the case in deprived UK neighbourhoods where girls are pregnant before they leave school and rarely move to a different street, but really do none of these people have a life? I have one friend that I stay in touch with since school, not because I went to the same school as him, not because we live in the same town but because he is a bloody good bloke.

I actually read one serious post that suggested getting a puppy to break the ice. That is the advice you give a paedophile* not an adult moving address. How is walking a puppy going to make you friends? Introduce yourself over the poo bin perhaps or hey you could get your number printed on those little bags that you put the shit in! It would be like a practical business card. On a positive note perhaps I have worked out why all those lone women of my age ignore me, its not because I’m drunk or because I’m obnoxious its because they are not skilled in the ways of making friends. I would like to offer to support these poor bewildered women if they simply give me a sign. Now we could have a coloured hat or a hand gesture but, as a single male, I would like to suggest topless. Remove your upper garments and even if I’m not there so how quick you make friends then!!

*The iPad couldn’t spell this so I had to google it, if I get run over and die today then please remember that is why paedophile is in my browser history, I wasn’t trying to make friends!

Rolling over and the myth of gardens

I think that being ‘on pause’ is making me even older than life is. I received a letter this weekend from my estate agent kindly informing me that they intend to increase my rent again. This is neither a surprise or unreasonable since, like most things in my life, my rent is negotiated on a long-term. The letter advised me that the new rent had been considered against the market which was a challenge that I could not resist. A quick check found that my apartment is indeed still good value when you consider its location. But one property, sharing the glorious ocean views, in much better condition was on the market for the same as my new rental figure. One significant point that the landlord has overlooked is supply and demand, there being significantly more of the former than the later. Now normally I would argue and debate the matter but I have just penned an acceptance letter. You see that is one of the problems with having your life on hold, it takes the fight out of you. There is no benefit in starting an argument now and dealing with the potential repercussions because my life is not yet my own.

Whilst life may be on hold it doesn’t detract from my plan, it is like I know where I am heading but I just can’t progress at the moment. Like an exercise bike in a gym the pedals are going around but I am growing no nearer. This morning I performed a much more interesting search and confirmed that there remains a wealth of property in my current price bracket on the Island. There is no point in me moving my home address now when I intend to do it again relatively soon so I will post the acceptance letter. I am though, considering how I can work the principle of ‘killing the goose that lays the golden egg’ into my eventual termination letter.

I have to, because I am English, mention the weather. It has been a really nice weekend at the coast but I think my view may not be held by all. Having had a week in London in blazing sun I was delighted to be met by a sea breeze and even a mist. Whilst I love the sun it is not suited to town life, it just saps the energy out of you walking around sun-scorched towns. The refreshing sea air has reinvigorated me for the week ahead and, let’s be honest, it normally turns brighter on a Monday when you’re heading to work.

There is a perennial discussion amongst single men at this time of year, garden or views? The established wisdom is that if you have a garden and you have children then you will spend more time and, by corollary, less money because you will be in the garden. I believe that the garden is a myth, a fantasy that is very far from reality. I challenged a friend over the weekend and asked when he would have cut the grass in the past. Quick as a flash the answer was middle of the week with a beer while the Mrs was cooking dinner. Now in his new arrangement he would have to cut the grass and cook the dinner right? You see the garden is the ultimate greener grass, sure we all think that they are a great idea when we don’t have one but they are just hard work. You look at the sun and fantisise about laying on your lush and verdant lawn with a cold beer in hand and the smell of BBQ wafting past. The reality is that you will be shouting at the kids who are bored as you battle the lawnmower through weeks of growth that you haven’t got round to. By the time that you have finished you will be too exhausted to play with the grass stained urchins that are your children. You will suggest a BBQ to be told that the kids want Pizza and will then spend your evening indoors drinking a beer whilst filling the washing machine and searching google for ways to remove grass stains.

Don’t let the garden owners sway you, like a Ferrari it is great to look at but would you want to run one? An apartment with a view is great, a stroll over the road and you can sit on the beach with a cold beer just don’t do it at 3 am or you may meet me there.

For those that take an interest in matters of my recovery I can report that I have eventually secured the Dermatix so will be reporting on that in due course. I am still unsure as to what I have done to upset the wicked Ms Nature but both wrists are very keen to make themselves known. I actually reverted to two hands this morning to pick up the kettle for fear of dropping it. Before anybody notes the weather I should say that I still steadfastly refuse to believe that atmospherics has anything to do with it.

Predictable is boring

This morning’s weather is not what one would have wanted for a summer Sunday. It has, though, confirmed that the licensed trade is a minefield. It has also reduced the visible tourist population and reminded me why I love the coast. Finally it has given me a pat on the back for recovery. While working yesterday I had my favourite webcam on one monitor and I can confirm that people were still sprawled on the beach sunbathing at 6pm. I saw updates on Facebook telling me that Sean had music on today, he can only do this outside, and the world was looking sunny. Today I read that there are severe weather warnings and torrential rain, who would have thought.

I know that Sean will have been grumbling in his coffee this morning, shortly before trying to negotiate a rain off with his live act. Like everything else that is tourist related the licensed trade is weather dependent. In some cases bad weather can help, if tourists have arrived then at least your indoor venue is dry. But normally bad weather means bad takings, worse is the unpredictability of nature today’s rain will have ruined many long planned events. For me on the ‘sunshine coast’ the beach looks lovely and empty, the diehard tourists of yesterday will be frying bacon in their caravans until the pubs open. If I was here all week then today would be the day to stock up on all of the food products associated with barbecues as the grocery store try’s to get out of its stock.

It is still dry here so the shops will see some trade today and the arcades will relieve people of any excess cash. But as much as the tourist trade is a random, unpredictable feast or famine I wouldn’t have it any other way.

How did this remind me of healing? I am 8 weeks from the anniversary of my accident and I vividly remember last summer. I spent my summer looking out at the beach but imprisoned by casts and dressings. Like something from a movie I sat in my front room growling at people having fun. This year I will see the sun, one more restriction of the accident lifted. There are only a couple of restrictions left before I am back to me, its nice to tick them off.

Sun baked tears and sticky pillows

The glorious sunshine streaming over a calm ocean and a flat golden beach this morning was yet more evidence of Ms Nature and her war of attrition with the male race. The salty film on my windows, peppered with tear streaks from the rain, is being baked on by the powerful sun, why does this confirm the presence of Ms Nature? because it is Tuesday today, the bank holiday weekend is over and, in the standard family unit, dads are returning to work. Because the children are not at school mum and kids often stay at their holiday home for this week whilst dad returns to work before rejoining them at the weekend, an opportunity Ms Nature couldn’t miss.

So dad is at work, tired from a long weekend battling the elements and a family confined to a caravan because of the bad weather, looking out of his window at a glorious day. When the family phone call occurs this evening the children will recount stories of their day on the pier or playing in the park before returning the phone to mum, relaxing on the veranda with a glass of wine. Dad will listen to this story of idyllic coastal life all week and will load the car with BBQ provisions on Friday before crawling through the traffic to arrive, exhausted to the words ‘it’s turned very overcast this afternoon and they are forecasting rain’ I can almost hear the cackle of Ms Nature in the wind.

I managed last night to peel off the home made plaster from righty, this morning it looks like I have been performing satanic rituals in bed! Because the wound is long and straight, and I tend to move about a lot in the night, I produce a random pattern of bloody crosses on the bed linen which maps my nightly movements. Spectacularly I woke in the middle of the night with a pillow actually stuck to my arm, a situation that I can tell you takes some comprehension in the middle of the night and your arm appears oversize and softer than expected.

A summer of wonky time

Book quotes are coming thick and fast this week, the latest being ‘I would trust that man with my wife’ if that is a mark of trust then I am indeed honoured because there isn’t a person I wouldn’t trust with my wife! Alright that may have something to do with the fact that she is in fact now an ex-wife but hey I am going to use that the very next time the debate comes up ‘dude I would trust you with my wife’.

This morning saw the weather making a special effort to tease some tourists into visiting the coast, we started the morning with a threat of snow but that gave way to glorious sun just in time for the Mums to start thinking a trip would be a good idea and hopefully badger Dads into the drive. It’s scary to see just how reliant so many businesses are on the weather and how many are stretched at this time of year as we head into the ‘season’, good luck to all. The weather must have worked to some degree as the local grocery stores look like they have been under siege all day and I have been treated to the view of chip eaters in their natural environment. Directly opposite my flat is  shelter arrangement with seats all of the way around it, the sort of thing that is commonly found at most UK coastal resorts, if you sit on any of three sides you can see the sea but the fourth looks at the road. It is the road side seems the most popular, now I would understand this if people were waiting for buses and the like but no they sit there eating their chips and, in so far as I can see, watching me. I haven’t let the fame go to my head though, I still wander around my flat in various stages of undress and I have even managed to overcome the natural urge to wince when I look down and spy somebody biting down on a sausage. 

If the weather really is able to plot and twist to tease us then this supports my theory that time also is not inanimate, I know that I am encroaching on Mr Paynter’s territory here but stick with me. If time was a simple and linear measure then how would it be that on leaving work yesterday with a sensible allowance for making my train connection I ended up just missing the train? I didn’t miss my train of course but I missed the one before it, just missed it actually, by seconds and I believe this was time playing with me. For the first part of the journey time passed extraordinarily quickly, stations whizzed by and the miles were consumed voraciously, hence the early arrival at the interchange, but then just as we approached the momentum was lost and time started flowing like road tar. How many times does this happen to you? Your racing ahead, everything is looking good and then it just slows down and frame by frame you miss your target. Paul once tried to guide me through a book that was way beyond my intellect, we used to have mornings at work around a whiteboard so he could explain such seemingly obvious concepts as bending time but unfortunately they were lost on me, that is until now. I think that time can bend itself and I think it does it to spite us, I may even venture that I detect the workings of Ms Nature in this somewhere.

If you imagine that we are travelling down a road that we shall call ‘time’ and we can only ever see a fixed distance in front then when that path is bent we are mislead into thinking that we are travelling faster because we can see further ahead. So at this point I can see my connecting train, the grocery store still open or the cab waiting but because I am looking to the left or right (because of the bend) I am tricked into thinking it is within grasp when in fact I still have the long road to travel. Are you still with me? If it helps, imagine a very large roundabout and you are approaching from the 6 o’clock junction and heading off at 7 o’clock, although you can see 7 o’clock you actually have to travel around the whole roundabout to get to it.

In summary, time is against us it is trying to confuse us and it is making us late, I haven’t figured out why yet but I am working on it and will report in due course.

 

Thoughts from here

It’s a viciously cold Sunday morning here in the UK, we have had repeated flurries of snow that have failed to settle and take hold because of the easterly wind. There are a lot of wonderful things about living on the coast and especially this close to the sea, the easterly wind that blows unobstructed onto our shores is not one of them but from indoors it forms a fantastic vista as it whips the sea into such a frenzy that long strips of foam tumble along the beach.

I had a fantastic meal with Andrew and Helen on Friday, yes as odd as it is that my restaurant visits are as a threesome these days, good food, good company, we shall be repeating the experience. On returning home we carried out some taste testing on new ciders, hey what can I say it needed doing. Cider is an interesting and old debate between Andrew and Helen after Andrew moved to Strongbow and dropped the draught Blackthorn which Helen prefers. Now it turns out that neither Andrew or me actually drink or taste draught cider and so we started with a test comparing Strongbow with the new Carlsberg offering ‘Somersby’. I should have noticed the glint in Helen’s eye as we sampled the Strongbow, it is disgusting, I very much doubt it has ever seen an apple let alone had any used in its production. A taste of sweetness is followed by a chemical note and a lingering after taste of formaldehyde, this is not cider it’s chemical garbage.

At this point Helen is doing her sage knowledgeable face and saying “I told you it was rubbish” I think Andrew even conceded that the next brand debate they have should be supported by actual tasting. On to Somersby, a product recently launched to much fanfare by the mighty Carlsberg, the slightest hint of apple was detected almost ‘Strongbow with a hint of apple’ that’s a no as well absolutely revolting. We moved into the Bulmers range next, I am not a fan of their straight apple cider but nowadays I think that market is really captured by people like Aspalls and Stamford Press so its not a true reflection of their brand. Bulmers have two new varieties this year, red grape and black cherry, now each of these was a genuinely nice drink and will fly off the shelf in the summer months.

This got me thinking though, the draught cider staples of my childhood are about as artisan as cadburys dairy milk, our modern tastes expect more and I really have no idea how this is still sold except to older patrons and the traditional ‘cider and black’ crowd. There are some very good apple ciders out there but there is also a new market for adult fruit drinks and we may have finally realised that blue (a stable of the RTD market) is not a fruit, I for one am pleased about that. So our more mature tastes are seeking out real fruit names like black cherry and Forrest fruits, I hope the industry that responds is the fruit industry and not the same division of ICI chemicals that must make Strongbow.

Honourable mention to Helen for the cleanup, in the hospitality trade we often come across people that do not deserve to be shown any hospitality, in fact people that should not be allowed out of their house, whilst its all part of the job I do hope the person that did that to a toilet gets the help they need.

Many thanks to Wildcat for my new jewellery, sadly the knuckle duster arrangement is to heavy for an upper lobe piercing so will have to find its way onto eBay but the 6mm acrylic plug is proving a real challenge so that will keep me busy. For those that worry over these things the catalogue is safely in Helen’s care so out of reach to me…

In other news, technology is back on my side for the time being. I am writing this on my I Pad, my kindle is by my side and the beloved BlackBerry 9900 is safely in my pocket. The Kindle is actually pretty good, I have some 10000 books in my collection and the wonderful Calibre spent the night knocking on electronic doors and collecting meta data and cover pictures to fill any gaps, if you have an E book I thoroughly recommend Calibre. One thing that annoys me is that you can’t buy both formats, so if I have a paperback why doesn’t that entitle me to the E Book file? After all as a reader I have paid my royalties what difference does the medium make? E Books are in fact retailing a mere 50 pence below the hard copy price which hardly seems right. Commercial worries aside I love the E Book, its easy to read and you can get over the flashing as you turn pages but most importantly I have 50 books with me when I get on the train tomorrow and they weigh less than one paperback. I do like the fact though that when faced with a choice of 10000 books my colleague Andy was distraught “the kindle only holds 1100 how will I chose?” Bless him, I bet he has been running X Factor for books all weekend.

Some clarity for any of you that have heard the latest story regarding the accident, this one comes to me from Mallorca although to be fair it originates closer to home. Apparently stories abound that I upset some rather unpleasant people who took to me with iron bars and smashed my wrists up, now I actually prefer this story because it sounds very macho but sadly it has some serious flaws. The X-rays show clear compressive snaps of the ulna, you can actually see how my arms both shortened after the accident, to create this you have to absorb impact in through your hands, perhaps I could say that this was me defending myself? I hit them so hard that I broke my arms? I read a lot of books and I can’t see why somebody would want to break my wrists, if I owed you money how would I work to recover your loss? What heinous underworld crime causes you to lose your wrists? Answers on a postcard addressed to the gossips. Perhaps this is all the work of Mr(s)Smith generating a cover story to throw you off the scent when she makes her move, don’t be fooled.

One more honourable mention, to gorgeous Max, thanks for the kind words and I hope you enjoy reading, I will be checking the stats later to see how far you read.