Ketchup

Ooops. Forgot to post these last few days so here's a quick catchup/ketchup (geddit?) on what's been going on in my oh-so-hectic life:

Sunday - er, not much. Went for some grub at my in-laws
Monday - opened a new savings account, got a new exhaust fitted for my car and went to a baby-gothtastic gig; namely My Chemical Romance, which made me wish I'd worn more eyeliner
Tuesday - er, work

So, as you can see, it's non-stop action. However, it doesn't stop there. Tomorrow it's ten pin bowling, Friday, a bit of theatre, Saturday we're having a tree chopped down and Sunday, more eating out with relatives. This is all going to have to stop. I'm 41 for God's sake and I need to take it easy.

Someone fetch my pipe, slippers and copy of 'Herbacious Borders' monthly.

Wemberleee

This isn't a post. Well, alright, it clearly is a post but what I mean is, it's really just a marker. By that, I mean that it's here simply to record an noteworthy event. Bear in mind though that this is noteworthy as far as I am concerned so don't expect anything really important like the start of the war in Iraq or the discovery of a real, working brain inside George Bush's head.

Nope, this is simply an historical note to say that the new Wembley stadium hosted it's first footie match yesterday, Saturday. This is, indeed an historic event in the world of footie, despite the fact that the match was a rather feeble under 21's match between England and Italy. It ended 3-3, so no England victory and worse still, the first ever goal scored at the £800 million, 90,000 stadium was not by an Englishman. Typical. Oh well, the stadium looks absolutely stunning although as it's still getting it's safety certificates, the crowd on Saturday was limited to 60,000 lucky punters. So, there it is. My first 'marker' post.

Isn't learning great?

Under pressure

My wife and I were out in her car yesterday. We were just loading the car with shopping when I noticed that one of her rear tyres looked pretty soft. Thus, we headed off to a nearby garage where we sidled up to the air pump.

The first three tyres all needed a bit of topping up, but then we got to the fourth one. On her car, the pressure required for the rear tyres is 28psi. We attached the air hose to the tyre nozzle. Instantly, you get a readout of the current tyre pressure on the machine. It said '7'. I thought there was a digit missing. The readout blinked and displayed '7'. The tyre, which should have been at 28psi was at 7psi. That's a quarter / 25% of what it should have been. Spectacular. I asked my wife if she'd felt like she'd been driving a boat recently and she admitted that the car had seemed a tad "spongy". A tad spongy? It's a surprise the bloody car wasn't cornering on it's sills.

Well, it's all inflated now and we actually suspect a slow puncture which we'll have looked at this week. So here's your safety tip for the week dear drivers. Check your tyres. And your oil. And your screenwash. And your lights. And your wipers. And your power steering fluid. And your shock absorbers. And your exhaust. And ...

Oh just get a bicycle.

A roof too Ferrari

I was zipping along a dual carriageway the other day and as I passed a line of slower moving cars, I espied a huge black, Ferrari F430, leading the line. Nothing strange about that you may think. However, the car (top speed of 196MPH) was only doing about 50 MPH.

"Strange" I thought. Then, as I drew level with the mighty Italian stallion, I saw why it was driving so slowly. The Ferrari in question was a convertible. Unfortunately, there seemed to be a bit of a problem with the roof. As I passed the £150,000 supercar I could see that the suited, chisel-jawed and extremely embarrassed driver was steering with one hand and trying to hold the roof down with the other. His fingers were gripping the outside of the roof as he struggled to stop if catching the wind and ripping off completely. There was clearly something badly wrong with the roof-closing mechanism and he appeared to have no option but to keep driving until he either got home or to a garage.

Now I have to say that I don't begrudge people having lots of money. Apart from footballers. However, anyone who buys a car that costs more than our house deserves to be the victim of 'crappy-flappy-roof-syndrome' and yes, I did nearly p*ss myself laughing as I wafted past him in my 1.2L Vauxhall Corsa.

Se ha comprato la a Lamborghini.

Triple Dutch

We've all read stuff that we can't understand. You know the sort of thing: credit card agreements, mortgage applications, DIY instructions and especially any type of contract. The Plain English Campaign (link in title) is an organisation that fights to rid the world of this incomprehensible drivel and has some brilliant examples of horrendously complex gobbledygook on their website.

So imagine my joy when I came across this notice, posted by my local council. It's basically advising people of some upcoming road closures due to a big event. It's 18 paragraphs long, tied to a lamp-post and full of literary cobblers. Here's one of my favourite paragraphs, Paragraph 5:

Nothing in Paragraph 3 of this Notice shall apply as to make it unlawful for any person to proceed in the lengths of roads to which the public has access as specified in the said Paragraph for the purposes of access to or egress from premises, provided that the said access or egress may only be gained by proceeding over the lengths of roads to which the public has access as specified in the said Paragraph, provided that the Event taking place would not be inconveniently interrupted.

Dear God.

Happy Mother's Day

To all of my reader's mum's,and especially my own - I want to wish you all a happy Mother's Day. I know this is celebrated on May 13th in the U.S, but you can still join in! Everyone reckons their own mum is the best mum in the world and I'd like to think that everyone is, in fact, right. Our mum's are the best and they truly deserve a day that celebrates just how wonderful they are. And let's be honest ...

... we wouldn't be here without 'em.

Surprise surprise - part 2

So after the initial stunned shock, our dear pal soon relaxed and entered into the spirit of things. This was due to two factors. Firstly, the fact that all his friends and family were there to celebrate with him. Secondly, beer. This photo was taken a couple of hours after he arrived and I can only assume that he actually knows the little old lady he's holding aloft, like a prize fish. Mind you, the lady in question seems chuffed to bits although, she had been seen sinking a few ales during the evening.

So, all in all, a fantastic night was had by all. The whole thing was organised in total secrecy by his fabulous fiancée who, to be quite honest, employed staggering amounts of deceit to keep the party a secret. All for a good cause though! During the evening I had the chance to enjoy some bopping on the dance floor. Seeing me dance is like watching your dad on the dancefloor at a wedding. Suffice to say, I always draw looks of amazement and awe as I gyrate, groove and grind. If you have ever seen David Brent's famous 'dance' scene in The Office, you'll get the idea. My wife has a different approach. She dances like an excited child in a chocolate factory, with her eyes fixed at a 45 degree angle, towards the ceiling. Together, we look amazing.

Anyway, back to our dear friend. His actual birthday is on Monday, so he's got the whole weekend to enjoy the partying until the big day arrives. All this for someone who definitely didn't want a party and especially a surprise party. So I'm sure all of my lovely readers will want to wish him a cracking 40th birthday.

Happy birthday Mr M.

Surprise surprise - part 1

We went to our friend's surprise 40th birthday party last night. Objective number one was - surprise. Well, as this photo proves, that objective was most definitely achieved. It's great to see someone who is totally and utterly gobsmacked and lost for words. He admitted to us later that he had absolutely no idea about the whole thing, right up until when he opened the door into the room where all 80 or so of us were gathered.

Result.

It's nearly Mother's Day!

Oh my God! I nearly forgot about Mother's Day, despite the fact that I keep remembering but then forgetting that I've remembered until I remember that I've forgotten. Oh the pressure. Fortunately I know a brilliant florist who makes up a super-massive bouquet for my mum, delivers it personally and takes payment after the event. Now that's what I call customer service.

The good news is that my mum absolutely loves flowers. Despite this, I still feel like I should get her something a bit more imaginative, like an elephant, a bionic elbow or some shares in Charlton Athletic. Some people are just naturally fantastic at gift-buying. I always seem to buy a present that will either A) cause minimum offence, B) be easy to sell on ebay or C) be a Will Young CD. Actually, I don't think 'C' works with 'A' or 'B' so let's forget that.

Whilst I'm on the subject, the most crap present I ever received was a 'collectors' tea-towel with a map of Cornwall on. It wasn't the abysmal depiction of the 'Tin Mine County' that was the worst part. No. It was the fact that it didn't work. Yes, a bloody tea-towel that doesn't work. It was moisture repellent. Honest to God. When you wiped dishes with it, the water just got moved around the plate, whilst the towel stayed sort of dry, like a sheet of plastic would. I've no idea what it was made out of, but suffice to see that it felt similar to that horror of all horrors - 'tracing paper' bog roll. If you don't know what 'tracing paper' bog roll is, then ask an adult. If ever something failed to do exactly what it was designed for, it was that deadly bog roll which absorbed nothing and ... well, just remember that the tea towel just moved moisture around...

Enough said.

Amazing fact of the day

A short but incredible posting today. Guess which country are the current World Elephant Polo champions? Nepal? India? Nope. It's Scotland. Oh yes, and you can find out more by clicking the title of this posting. Ain't that just berserk?

Mind you, having had a quick look at the World Elephant Polo Association (WEPA), I discovered that Iceland have a team. Iceland?? How many bloody elephants are there in Iceland?

About the same as in Scotland I suppose. Nil.

Where in the world ... ?

... PC World. Well, that's what the ad on the telly says anyway. I popped in to my local PC World this fine, sunny morning, as I needed a new firewire cable. Having checked on the Tinterweb, I knew that, obviously, I could get one cheaper online than I could in the shops. However, convenience and instant-ness (what?) are always worth paying a few extra pennies for.

Unfortunately, the price difference was a tad more than even I was prepared to pay. Online, the cable cost £9 which included delivery. PC World were asking slightly more for the same cable. They wanted £21. Yes, that's £12 extra. Bugger that. I was mildly miffed at this but my mood improved considerably as I was leaving the store. Being Sunday morning, I assumed it would be fairly quiet in the shop, especially as it had only been open for 8 minutes. I was wrong. The service and repairs counter already had a large queue of disgruntled-looking punters, clutching various bits of computer in their impatient little hands. I couldn't help but smirk (oh, and take this photo) as I thought that maybe if they'd perhaps bought a computer from another company (er, can't think which one ...) then maybe they'd be relaxing at home on a Sunday morning, surfing the Net, sending emails or listening to some nice, downloaded music. Hmmm.

Talking of 'where in the world', on Saturday, my wife and I popped down to Herefordshire for a family 'do'. Fine. Nice, easy 2.5 hour drive down to the place and enjoy the day. One slight problem. We entered the UK's Bermuda Triangle. In short, from arriving at what turned out to be 3 miles from our destination, to actually getting there, took longer than the 135 mile trip from our bloody house. At the end of one road there was a signpost to the village we were looking for. We drove down it. When we got to the end of the road, there was another signpost for the village ... pointing back the way we'd just come. This road was about 2 miles long and either side were fields. And a cow. No village.

After several mental breakdowns, failed mobile phone calls (no signal), asking directions from some ramblers and a man who was making a hedge, following some other relatives until their car broke down and my wife having to 'tootie-down' in a field to have an emergency wee, our fuel-starved car finally pulled up at the venue. We felt like Sir Edmund Hilary and sherpa Tenzing reaching the summit of Everest. Mind you, they didn't have pints of lager and a 13 foot table laden with buffet gorgeousness to bring them back from the brink of death.

World-weary explorers love an onion bhaji and a pint of Carling.

I told you

Still here

Alas, I have absolutely nothing of note to say today but I thought I should at least 'check in' so that you don't get all worried and think I've run away to join the circus or become a driving instructor in Laos.

Oh, well I have just downloaded a nifty little (free) application that allows me to make time-lapse movies. Expect something dreadful soon.

Yay.

A great lay

Sad but true. I'm excited about a carpet. Let's be honest though, our gorgeous new bit of floorware has not only been laid perfectly, but it looks the canine's love-spuds to boot. The photo shows the carpety lovliness sans furniture, in all it's glory. And the best bit? It's not royal blue. Yes, our previous carpet was a deep and disturbing blue. Blue, like the sea. Sometimes, when we were sitting on our sofa, it felt like we were on cross-channel ferry.

Now however, the lounge feels more like a room than a busy shipping lane and that's just great. The only downside is we still have 2 months to wait for our groovy new leather sofas to arrive from, er, Singapore. Fear not though dear reader, we shall be dragging one of our ageing sofas back in from the garage so that we don't have to go all Japanese and sit on the floor.

There's a pouf on its way too. Oh yes.

Dead stop

I don't usually rob stories off the Tinterweb but this one made me laugh. A 47 year old woman from Wales was caught by a speeding camera doing 41mph on a 30mph road. The problem was that she had only got a provisional licence which meant she was going to be in a bit of bother. So what did she do?

She said she was dead.

When the rozzers wrote to her she bravely ignored the letter. When the court then issued a summons, she wrote back, pretending to be her daughter, saying that her 'mum' had been killed in a car crash. Brilliant. Unfortunately the court were a tad suspicious and she ended up getting nailed by the long arm of the law. Well, I say nailed. She got a pathetic six month suspended sentence. I reckon she should have had both legs lopped off and the phrase 'I'm a crim' tattooed across her face.

Perhaps it's best I'm not a judge.

Fame and all that

It's Saturday, I'm at work and I have a headache the size of Izbekistan. That asisde, I'm just fine. T'other evening after work, some colleague-chums and I availed ourselves of a nearby hostelry whereupon the conversation turned (after a discussion about sewing lasted for less than 9 seconds) to 'famous people wot I have met'.

It's quite surprising how many famous people we have all encountered over the years. A couple of er, highlights included someone who accidentally laid a hand on the royal bosom of Princess Caroline of Monaco, in a swimming pool; someone else who got to interview big-faced laugher - Brian("Gordon's alive!)"Blessed in a caravan; someone who once danced with Kylie Minogue for "about 5 seconds" and finally me, who once put a naan bread on the head of Joseph Fiennes (bruv of Ralph) during a meal at a curry house in Birmingham.

However, the award for the 'Most Crap And Tenuous Link To Someone Famous' was the person who's ex-boyfriend's auntie was once the P.A for Ken Dodd . How rubbish is that? Mind you, I came a close second with my thrilling account of seeing the back of Aled Jones' head as he stood on a pavement talking to a rozzer.

Can any of you beat that?

Yay, Harry Podder!

My esteemed Scottish coleague is, as I've mentioned before, something of a literary enigma. Despite this high-brow exterior, she also likes to 'dumb down' and join the rest of us from time to time.

A case in point is Harry Potter. She's a big fan of the bespectacled wizard (as am I)but not to the point of being an obsessive. Some people, however, are a little more enchanted by the whole H.P thing and love nothing more than to chat in online forums about anything and everything 'Potter'. There are a number of websites that encourage people to discuss the minutae of the books; the plot lines; the hidden meaning behind certain fragments of text; the many complex relationships and inter-relationships of the myriad characters and even to point out the tiniest mistakes which Ms Rowling has dared to make in her (so far), six tomes.

However, the more amusing reading comes when you encounter the chat forums where some of our American friends reside. Here are a couple of amusing Q&A's that my colleague discovered. One correspondent from Utah proclaimed that Hogwart's was definitely in England because "the train never crosses any water to get there". Someone from the UK replied that there are, actually, two little-known countries called Scotland and Wales which are connected by land, to England. Another cracker came from someone in Wyoming who declared that the Harry Potter books are "based in a country called Kent, which is near England". Bless our little chums across the pond.

Oh what do I know? I had no idea Paris was in Texas.