Ghoulish winds and troubled bolts

We had very strong winds on the coast last night, the type that blow you over when you’re walking. When I left the ghoulish whistling through the pub windows I had to fight my front door against the air pressure leaking through every gap and crack, despite closed windows. I awoke in the night and realised something was wrong, getting up for a drink I spotted the cause of my concern the street lights were out. Returning to bed and laying there listening to the power of the ocean in the darkness of no street light was a lovely example of nature’s power.

I have found myself becoming increasingly frustrated by the ‘can’t do it’ generation. You know the sorts of people who tantrum at a challenge and just give up. I’m not sure if it is a generation thing or a sex thing, obviously either would be an unfair generalisation, but hey in for a penny. At work last week a colleague’s wife phoned for him to rescue her because she had a flat, as far as I know she is a healthy middle aged woman. I am sorry but if you cannot change a wheel you should not be allowed behind one! I am pretty sure that on the multi choice paper for the theory test there isn’t an option for ‘push up cleavage and shriek’.

Overhead on the train last week was the woman bemoaning her father for not coming round to sort a leaking tap. This was a commuter in her thirties presumably living alone so why should she wait for her father. Changing a washer is equally a very simple task and does not require a masters in domestic plumbing.

As I am writing this I can recall a rage building when I overheard a lady congratulating her friend on changing a wheel. The conversation involved lots of “wow”, “so brave”, “so clever” and the ever present “I wouldn’t have known where to start”. By the time that they had finished I wanted to grab them by the ears and shake violently whilst yelling “it’s a bloody wheel”. This is part of the bizarre need to celebrate every little thing whether it’s an achievement or not. You are an adult, driving a car and got a flat, this is a routine failure. You don’t need qualifications or a diagnostic machine, here’s a thought they even give you all the tools. Don’t tell Sindy but they actually expect you to undertake this task yourself.

This morning I hit the most ridiculous praise, one that always gets me. A girl was talking to a very new mum and congratulating her on how well she did with the birth rolling out the old line “I couldn’t do it”. Forgive me if I missed something in the basic biology of man but, once you’re pregnant, you’re doing it simple as that. This is not a choice where the mother chose the harder route and succeeded, she did what she had to do.

What irks me in all of this is the attitude that some people have. It is as if they have another option on their mental checklist that says “don’t bother, get a man to do it” and this is spreading so soon we will have no men to do it either. One day the human race will be defeated, not by aliens or disease but by a bolt!

How do these people think that the person they turn to learns? You know when we don’t over tighten that bolt? That’s because we did once. You wonder how we knew that extra screw was there? Because we forgot it once. Most importantly if you wonder how we know it’s no mystery we just don’t give up. A special note to parents, when your child brings broken pieces of toys to you don’t chastise them they are learning. You know how your partner is ‘not very practical’ that’s because his mum told him off for breaking things, think on.

Rat’s cradles and myopic operators

Walking to the station this morning gave me cause to reflect upon the question ‘why is there no licensing requirements for extending dog leads?’ You know the idea, spools of trip wire contained in a plastic handle that allow for the operator to be some distance from the dog. In fact let’s be clear here, by dog I mean rat.

Now I appreciate that there is a use for these leads and, because I am not a politician, I do not believe that they should be banned outright. Indeed I have seen these leads used repeatedly along the promenade by seemingly competent people. I do, however believe that some people should either not be allowed them or need some form of training. Twice this morning I was accosted by the combination of angry woman and distant rat. I have no idea why the operators of these little beasts always seem angry but I guess they do say that owners are like their dogs don’t they?

On both occasions the operator was bent over, marching forward and generally looking like they didn’t want to be braving the wind. Of itself this is not an issue but, like the pin on a hand grenade, this is just the start. As the owner wobbles along the pavement my legs are whipped by the trailing lead and there,in the distance, is a lazily meandering rat. That’s the problem, these creatures never lead the operator they always trail. Little rat legs skip from side to side of the pavement creating a cats cradle of lead with which to ensnare me.

The pavement is a public area so why are these people allowed to operate a rat without any knowledge of where they actually are? I can’t drive my car whilst looking out of the rear window, that would be dangerous. If I were to tie a rope to a pushchair and drag it along behind me I would be condemned for my irresponsibility. But they have a completely independent animal, allegedly under their control, completely out of sight. In fact, given the age of most of these operators, they probably can’t see what is at the end of the lead.

I think in future we should all arm ourselves with a pair of scissors and when we get tangled in a random mess of lead we can just cut it. The dog will thank us as it is freed to continue its exploration un tethered and the operator will probably not even realise they have lost their rat. 

Grubby and abused but not beaten

I have concluded that those of us that live on the coast have a differently calibrated barometer. Apparently we managed only 68 MPH winds yesterday while highs of 99 were recorded on the Isle. Such winds offer no challenge to those of us that live with an east coast wind it’s just another blowy day. Walking to the station I realised that it is not just the human stalwarts that shrug off the wind, the buildings do as well.

As I walked past the older buildings I saw no more than the odd jaunty angled television aerial. All very much a case of ‘nothing to see here’. But as I approached the pier I noticed odd pieces of felt and roof tiles littered amongst the bushes. The relatively recent flats had lost several pieces of roof. Like poorly prepared visitors they had not faired well against a mild storm. The roofs will now be repaired to a better standard and over time they will grow to withstand the environment. Sometimes the work will be too much and required too often and these buildings will lose the fight, when that happens the old buildings of town will watch in stoic silence as the newcomers depart.

As I walked past the development that surrounds the old pier hotel I thought again about our lamentable failure to secure a history for the next generation. The pier hotel was a marvellous building in its day and has had various uses since. Having closed it’s doors to the public the building was left to rot until a planning application was received to develop it. In what was either a travesty or outright corruption the morons that we charge to look after planning approved the development. Phase one of the development was to build new flats around the old building, phase two provided new public toilets to release more of the footprint and phase three redeveloped the original building for domestic use.

Phase one and two were completed before the shell company set up by the developers folded. Who could have seen that coming? The easy construction work completed and the quick profits realised the complicated task of sympathetically developing the old hotel was never tackled. To allow the building to have been raped like this is symptomatic of the lack of a reasoned planning policy. Development has to happen, of course it does, but why is it approached with such naivety? When a developer chooses to take a profit from part of a development then it is easy to control this and negligent not to. An arrangement should be made that profits are held in escrow until the task is complete, where the development fails the funds to be used to complete the original works.

In the meantime this building, and so many others, sits patiently waiting for some benefactor to see its beauty. Surrounded by an inappropriate development that has drained it of much needed commercial value the building retains a shabby elegance. On a morning like this morning I like to think that there is a sly smirk hidden in the grimy windows. Not a tile has shifted on the neglected beauty but it stands surrounded by roofing material stripped from the invading neighbours. Even nature seems to have more respect for our history than we do.

Forgotten noises and a new Beaufort scale

Here on the east coast I am looking out at a pretty calm ocean. There was a fair whip up earlier but nothing that came anywhere near the predicted storm, but then it isn’t actually predicted to hit here for another hour. The reason that I am at home is that the rail companies had all suspended services until 09:00, I’ve just checked the site and they are now suspended until 12:00. I did think that it was odd that they intended to start services at 09:00 with the brunt of the storm predicted at 10:00, it made me think of Homer Simpson stepping out of his basement and remarking how calm it was when the eye of the storm was over the house. The good thing about planning for chaos is it is a self-fulfilling prophecy, if you don’t run a single train until 12:00 then more people will drive, causing road chaos and of course the 12:00 train will be solid. I have taken an American view this morning and since I am not an emergency service I will be working from home.

I had one of those moments yesterday that children are so good at, you know when a single line reminds you that you’re an idiot. A friend’s daughter had a small puppy toy which she was proudly displaying when her Dad commented “he probably doesn’t work anymore”. I enquired, in all seriousness “what noise does he make” and young Emily’s immediate response was “woof woof probably”. In 40 years you would have thought that I would have worked out what noise a dog makes wouldn’t you? apparently not. In my defence I offer a conversation from Saturday with Emily’s mum, we were talking about the impending storm. Having concluded that it would be very difficult to get to work if the storm hit I thought that we were on the same page. The public transport system would be a mess with overhead wires down and trees on the line so travel would be chaos wouldn’t it? Apparently I had taken the thought a step further than, the ever pragmatic, Helen who said “you wont be able to walk against that wind”.

The storm has given me another reason for loving living at the coast. You can keep your pictures of trees on buses, your fence panels being blown along the street, I’ll trade them all for the pictures below. Any destruction is sad but check out the before and after pictures below, we don’t count trees fallen on the coast we count helter-skelters !

 

 

 

Winter builders and conspiring floor cleaners

The east coast wind calmed yesterday and this morning was replaced with torrential rain but its still been a pleasant weekend all in all. Looking out this morning, after the rain, I caught sight of confirmation that, despite views to the contrary, I have grown up. The sight of a child, no more than seven years of age, building a somewhat extravagant sand castle was that of a true child at work. The little lad was dressed up in winter clothes and had thick woollen gloves on but did it stop him? did it hell! Not for him the warmth of a café or a pub, he wasn’t going to simply observe he was a bold explorer and this empty beach was his.

He toiled against the wind, quickly working out that letting go of sand was a bad idea unless you faced downwind. The result was quite impressive, reasonable architectural merit and good proportions. It was all the more impressive for being the work of a seven year old in October! I for one salute the young man for his stoic refusal to bow to nature, it will serve him well.

Because I am grown up I didn’t spend the day building sandcastles, somehow I think I missed out. I chose to shampoo the hallway carpet, hey why not? I have no idea of the etiquette of carpet shampooing, I vacuum regularly but the concept of washing carpet has always been a battle except, of course, for when you move in. Having set up the monstrous carpet washer and pre vacuuming the carpet, why does it have to be clean first?, I was away. Now I am not a carpet engineer but there is nothing in this top of the line cleaner that makes me think that it does anything other than spray water on top of the carpet and then vacuum it off.

If, as they would have us believe, our carpets are hideous greasy objects then how does this clean them? The machine that I have has rotating brushes but they don’t force themselves into the carpet they float along the top tickling it. There is no concept of scrubbing so, as far as I can make out, it simply lays the solution on top. But, and here’s the rub, the vacuumed solution is filthy. I believe that there is a filter in the machine that colours the water to make us feel better, make us believe that we have cleaned something.

To further support my theory the carpet washer collected  sand. Now I know that there is sand in the flat, it is a consequence of living so close to the beach, but I had just vacuumed! Somebody is lying to me, either the Dyson super cyclone monster is missing something or the Vax carpet scrubber is making up the residue. My money is on them both lying and I think that it all started when the world went clear. What was the reason that all vacuum cleaners started getting clear bins? Why was it that the manufacturers thought we wanted to look at the dirt, like our own miniature ant farm? They didn’t but they knew that if we had clear bins we would see the ‘dirt’ and convince ourselves of the need to clean more often, its all a fix!

Mark my words sooner or later there will be an expose in the Sunday newspapers about carpet cleaners that sell us a solution that goes grey on contact with water and vacuum cleaners that come pre loaded with dirt to make it look like they are working.

For those following the other project the current number is 11,488

Rude inclusions and the winter wash

For those that don’t live in the luxury of such close proximity to the sea allow me to share some of the ocean’s majesty. Last weekend I was looking out over a mill pond calm ocean at this time, so flat it looked like you could walk on it. At the end of this week the east coast has had a wintry turn and there is nothing that reminds you of the strength of the ocean better than a windy day. Despite being a sun lover I watched enthralled as the ocean was whipped into a viscous and unforgiving frenzy last night.

Near horizontal winds howling along the front gave the perfect opportunity to meet neighbours in the alleys and side roads that criss-cross the town. The brown, foaming waves spent the night smashing over the promenade, tearing at mans rude inclusion in their path. For me this mornings view is the first one of winter. There are no tourists on the beach, indeed no people at all since the dog walkers have not yet ventured out. The sand that is so gently lapped by summer seas is now bright and clean. Like some great industrial washing machine the ocean has hurled all of the beach around in a maelstrom of rage and cleaned every trace of the summer.

It is like nature is washing off the grime of the summer and refreshing itself. The sun is breaking over a much calmer see and there is little witness of the fury which whipped such waves up overnight. But there in the middle of the beach, as if to warn us of its power, the ocean has deposited an enormous tree root. This is not the driftwood that you see in shops this is the root of some great tree. I like to think that, like a tired mother, this is natures way of telling us that if she ‘has to clean our room one more time’.

I apologise for this line which will mean little to most of you but is important nonetheless. Today’s value is 4363 because I slowed at the end of the week discipline, it would seem, is a must.

Grown up snow

For the avoidance of doubt please be aware that some clothing is age limited, if you really insist on keeping certain articles they should be restricted to the privacy of your own home. Travelling today as a commuter on the public railway I saw two examples that led me to publish this advice, clearly it is not as common knowledge as I suspected.

The 40 year old woman who appeared to travel all of the way to London, the heart of commerce, in a baby-grow decorated as Tigger clearly had no concept of normal dress. I struggle with the whole concept of these all in one garments past the age of 8 months but as an adult? What was she thinking? If that wasn’t a wager then she must have been on day release. Its a shame that ‘Tigger’ didn’t travel with me to Hackney Wick where she could have met up with a 30 odd year old who chose to come as spiderman. I’m not joking, he had red leggings and an extra large red hoody resplendent with spider webs and spiders, even over the hood which he kept up, probably wisely. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was so overweight I would have been expecting him to spray webs from his wrist.

Is there a small percentage of the population that are incapable of maturing? That are forever stuck in the world of Barbie dolls and Action Men? Did they miss some key stage where everyone swapped from comics to newspapers? If that is the case then surely the manufacturers that are producing and retailing these over sized childrens outfits must be held accountable for drawing these social misfits into the public domain? If the government are seriously considering tax levies on high fat foods surely there is a strong case for a punitive tax on adult super hero outfits?

In other news I hear that Hertfordshire suffered very heavy snowfall over the weekend, I find the news oddly comforting. On the bitter east coast we have had a viciously powerful wind, as witnessed by the sand and seaweed distributed along the high street this morning, and this has prevented the snow from settling. Having spent all day Saturday watching snow travelling horizontally past my window I had been wondering where it would end up, logic told me that sooner or later there would be a solid object to stop its path, sorry Hertfordshire but hey someone had to have it.