A ridge too far

We had a tornado. Yes we bloody well did. Yesterday morning at about 6.20am. Honestly we did. It may have only been an itsy bitsy, teeny weeny, yellow polka-dot bikini of a tornado but it still happened.

And even if it wasn't a tornado, it sounded like one - a great roaring noise followed by the terrible sound of utter destruction and devastation. Yes, we suffered damage to our house. One of ridge tiles was ripped from its' very foundations and smashed into a billion pieces ... on the drive next to my wife's car.

This was all very exciting and scary. Not quite hurricane Katrina I grant you but this is Britain and we have to make the most of dangerous weather. It was quite rainy too. In fact there was a major flood at my work. A large area of carpet got soaked when a drain outside overflowed. It was total chaos ... until the maintenance man got the wet-vac on the case. Again, not exactly the Indian ocean tsunami of 2004, but still ...

I am mourning the loss of that little ridge tile

Knickerbocker Glory-days

Whatever happened to the Knickerbocker Glory? I haven't seen one on a dessert menu in years and the thought occurred to me at 6.04am this morning, that it may have disappeared for ever.

Firstly, you may ask, why was I awake at 6.04am on a Saturday morning? Well I was simply responding to a 'call of nature'. Actually, whilst we're on the subject, don't you think that the phrase 'call of nature' is a little grand? I mean that phrase conjures up an image of the instinctive migration for millions of birds across the globe, or the natural desire for great herds of wildebeest to sweep majestically across the great plains of Africa. It doesn't make think of having a wazz.

Anyway, I digress. The Knickerbocker Glory has a significant place in my heart. Why? Because when I was a kid, the culinary landscape of Britain was like a flat, vapid, grey and brown terrain of bland flavours and unspeakably bad restaurants and eateries. God forbid you should decide to have a meal at a pub. If you chose to dine during the day, you could expect a cheese sandwich (two doorstop slices of bread, a tiny film of margarine, 3 thin slices of processed Cheddar and a penny-sized smudge of pickle), a packet of 'plain' crisps and a small bottle of warm tomato juice. Yum.

Eating out at night was often little improved with dishes such as gammon (with pineapple ring), chips and a wedge of lemon or chicken in a basket, chips and a small heap of processed peas. Yay.

So, with this in mind, try to imagine how enormous a gourmet experience the Knickerbocker Glory offered as you gazed at it, sitting proudly at the top of the dessert menu. A huge, tall glass stuffed with fresh melon, strawberries, grapes, vanilla and strawberry ice cream, strawberry sauce, squirty cream and a fan wafer, all topped off with a glace cherry. It was pure, unadulterated food heaven.

The Knickerbocker Glory was like no other dessert or pudding. In fact, it was like no other food. It was a God amongst edible things and I adored it. And what made it even more special was the fact that I only ever got to experience one a few times a year. You couldn't just pop down to Tesco and buy one. Oh no. You had to eat at a proper restaurant like a Berni Inn or a Little Chef. It was a rare treat indeed.

So, I shall raise a glass of Blue Nun to this great British institution that began in the 1930's and may, we hope, still survive somewhere in the quaintest backwaters of the UK.

Somewhere like Mansfield.

Cheerio Mourinho

Oh bless his little cotton socks. Details are still sketchy but the jolly, laugh-a-minute ex-Chelsea boss has departed Stamford Bridge with a rumoured £20,000,000 pay off. I just hope that softens the blow for little fella.

Ain't life cruel sometimes?

Un-social Networking? Update

Brilliant! As you'll see below I mention a made-up website. Well guess what? It actually exists - and it really made me titter. So I don't spoil the surprise, I won't name the site here. The best thing to do is read the posting below and then click on the title of this posting to take you to the site.

It's a funny place the Tinterwebnet

Un-social Networking?

Whether it's a fad or a phenomenon, 'social networking' is certainly hugely, globally popular. Personally, I hate the phrase but I can't deny it's success. Websites such as MySpace, Facebook and Bebo have attracted millions of users who have discovered a whole new way of socialising in a virtual world.

If you've no idea what I'm talking about then here is how Wikipedia explains it: "A social network service focuses on the building and verifying of online social networks for communities of people who share interests and activities, or who are interested in exploring the interests and activities of others, and which necessitates the use of software".

It's essentially an online meeting place for friends. A place where your identity, life, interests and activities are shared amongst those people you deem to be your friends. You can share photos, movies, messages and even throw virtual cakes, join a common interest group or draw a pretty picture. One of the most popular features on Facebook, is the ability to let your friends know what you are doing by 'posting' what you're up to at any given time.

So who uses these sites? We're told that it's mainly people under 25, but that may be changing. Where I work, a few people joined Facebook a while ago. Now there are roughly 25-30 people who have a 'profile' on Facebook. Many of them are over 25 and some of them are not even regular computer/internet users. The reason they joined was because once you join, you gain 'friends' with whom you begin to communicate and share. And it's this communicating and sharing that people find appealing and rewarding.

We all love to have friends but many of us lose touch with our chumsover time. Furthermore, we make many acquaintances over the years and although these people would never be classed as friends, some of these acquaintances are still people we'd like to be able to stay in contact with. Social networking sites let you do this but without the need to make any sustained commitment to the friendship. So you can just drop your friends and acquaintances whenever you like, with no apparent consequences. Thus Facebook is, essentially faceless.

And that does make me think. How social are social networking sites? I have to admit that I have a Facebook account and according to my details, I have 103 friends. This is ridiculous because of these 103 'friends' only about 15 or so are people I would ever, in the real world, have regular contact with and whom I would be able to call real, proper, actual friends. So I have to, unfortunately, be selective.

Social networking sites allow you to 'dip' in and out of friendships without any need for the usual social etiquette. If you don't fancy contacting someone, you can just ignore them. I actually have one or two people in my 'friends' list whom I've never contacted. That's just crazy.

So yes, online social gatherings are good in the sense that you can make contact with people you may otherwise have lost touch with altogether. However, paradoxically, it's easy to end up with a huge list of 'friends' with whom you are certain to have little or no contact for the very reason that there are just too many people in that list. These people are then, actively ignored. And they all know this.

So, are social networking sites actually un-social? Yes, I think they may be because every time I log on to Facebook, I'm confronted with many requests, messages and invitations (most of which I just have to delete or pretend don't exist) which is in itself, un-sociable. I'm actually forced to ignore my friends. Now that can't be right can it?

So the paradox continues and I now ignore more friends and acquaintances than I have ever done because I have more 'friends' than I can cope with. The weird thing is that I know that everyone else is in the same boat. For me it's like trying to juggle 103 balls at once, whilst smiling and chatting to every single ball as it passes through my hands. I just can't do it but I wish I could. So I've decided that there's only one feasible answer. A new website which allows you to have an online presence but without the pressure of social networking. No-one can be your friend, send you messages or throw virual tripe at you. It has a name:

www.ihavenofriends.com Sorted.

Filler

Hey don't worry dear readers. My schedule has slipped a tad, so this posting is just a filler. God knows how Samuel Peyps kept his diary going every bleedin' day.

Anyway, I shall give you some interesting thoughts on otter sex tomorrow and maybe some other, thought-provoking chit chat.

Although otter sex should be enough.

Microshaft

Now for fear of legal reasons I shall not use words such as "liars", "corrupt" or "bastards" in this posting. I shall merely convey my feelings with a subtle use of language.

Microsoft are fine purveyors of the art of the making of the 'porky pie' and have an inate ability to cleverly imitate the characters immortalised in that fine film by Francis Ford Coppola starring Marlon Brando and a horses' bonce. Oh, and they are bastards*. *Allegedly.

I'll cut the very, very long story short. I bought my Xbox 360 in May 06. It broke in November o6 and was repaired, under warranty, by Mircosoft. It broke and died in July 07 - two months outside its' one-year warranty. It's death is a mystery, but basically, there's no power, no lights, nothin'.

After several million phone calls and the odd email, the delightful lady at Microsoft informed me that had my original Xbox breakdown been due to the '3 red lights' issue then I would have been alright. By the '3 red lights' issue, she meant the well-publicised hardware problem that many Xbox 360's suffered. Microsoft admitted this problem and promised to repair all affected consoles, including those out of warranty, for free.

When my Xbox broke in November, it was not due to the '3 red lights' issue, but another crippling hardware failure. Had it failed because of the sodding red lights thingy, I would have been given a whole years' worth of additional warranty. This would have meant that when my console died this July ... it would have been covered by the new warranty and repaired for free. Instead, they will charge me £70 to have it fixed.

The woman on the phone actually agreed with me when I said that it was clear that my console had suffered the 'wrong sort' of breakdown in November. Yes, she agreed! If you look around the Tinterweb, you'll find plenty of information about the huge number of Xbox 360 failures there have been since it was launched. Despite this, the *%^&$+£'s from Redmond have only reluctantly agreed to repair the most known about and publicised problem with their console. All the other buggered Xbox 360's are simply being ignored, and left to be used as doorstops or generously-sized paper weights.

I wonder if my console would fit up an arse. If I really shoved it?

VFM day

I've got a real thing about not wasting your days off from work. You know how some days just seem to fly by and when you look back, you feel like you've not done really anything at all? And then before you know it, it's bath-time and up the wooden hill to beddy-byes.

These sorts of days are bad VFM - Value For Money. I bloody hate 'em. So, bizarrely, on my days off I get up at the same time (or even earlier) than I do on work days, just so I can make the most of not being at work. Is that mental? Possibly. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. This is because it's all very well dragging yourself out of your fetid pit at 7am, but if you just waft around the lounge in your pants for three hours, you're not exactly giving yourself an action-packed day.

So today, as I'm not working, I'm up early and have plans: have a light, yet nutritionally balanced breakfast (peanut butter on toast and a pint of coffee); head down to Tesco to buy ingredients for making a big, homemade pizza for tea; go the gym for an hour; phone the council about an erroneous postal voting thing they sent us; write and send a 'congratulations on your engagement card' (which I should have done before today); finish writing my presentation (more on that tomorrow); phone Microsoft and complain even more bitterly than last time about my deceased Xbox 360; go to the toilet; iron the cat and have a shower. Oh, and make, bake and eat the pizza with my wife.

Now I reckon that's a pretty full day. Some of it is fun, some mundane, some tiring, some irritating and some a pain in the pooper. Nevertheless, it will be a really good VFM day and I'm sure I shall feel a real sense of achievement when it's all over.

Or I may just waft around the lounge in my pants for thirteen hours.

Tie-land

Oh dear. My father-in-law is quite eccentric sometimes. He phoned me today and said that he'd being looking through his collection of ties, as he was preparing to go to a wedding.

He chose one that appealed to him and as he was examining it he found the label that showed were it was made. "Guess what?" he said, "It was made in Thailand!" He then proceeded to explain that it was Thailand, spelt T-h-a-i ... I told him that I'd got the joke. He was still chuckling to himself as I ended the phone call.

Humour - it's an art.

Gadget fatigue

I am a big gadget fan. Well, being male I'm pre-disposed towards shiny things that make noises as it is but it goes much further than that. I adore technology but even I start to wilt under the immense pressure imposed on us all by the constant tide of new, 'improved' or 'revolutionary' products.

Don't get me wrong. If I had the cash I could spend hundreds or even thousands of pounds a month on products like plasma telly's, computers, iPods, games consoles, mobile phones and bluetooth underpants. It's just that the companies who make all this stuff have got us over a barrel. They constantly tweak and develop their goodies in such a way that the phone (for eaxample) we bought 2 months ago quickly becomes the 'old' model because the 'new' one has a number of slightly better features which suddenly make your recent purchase seem ever so slightly adequate and even inferior.

Now most people can cope with this sudden obsolescence of their new toy. However, even the least materialistic of us eventually come to realise that their phone (or whatever)is truly out of date, unstylish and lacking in so many ways compared to every other phone out there. Thus the only option is to go out and buy a new one.

Years ago, when you bought a product like a telly or a CD player, you were pretty safe in the knowledge that for the forseeable future, you would be the proud owner of something that was not only up to date but did everything you wanted and needed it to do. Now however, the manufacturers update things so speedily, you hardly have time to enjoy your phone/computer/telly/ etc before realising you own an historic relic.

And there's my dilemma. I hate being dictated to by bloody manufacturers and salespeople but I adore new technology and shiny things that make nosies. So Apple's latest update to their iPod lineup doesn't help. I don't need a touchscreen, widescreen iPod with WiFi ... but I want one. I can't afford the £199 or £269 they're asking either ... but I want one. So what do I do? Well ...

I wait for a few days or weeks until something else shiny, new and that makes noises, gets announced by Apple or Hitachi or Nokia or Fisher Price and start drooling over that instead. And so it goes on. A cycle of drooling, waiting and drooling again until I can afford to buy something. But then what? I daren't buy something because I know that a new, improved, fuller-featured, faster, brigher, more powerful, greener, revolutionary version will be out soon. Aaaargh!

So maybe I, like so many of us, find ourselves trapped in this vicious cycle, created entirely by those who want to sell us things we don't really need. Even my mum who is in her seventies succumbed to this retail treadmill a while ago when she found that her existing phone just wasn't as bright and shiny as the newer ones. She held out for two years, which in technology terms is like the length of the Jurassic era, but the pressure finally told and she conceded defeat. She bought a new one.

So what is the answer to this never-ending story of consumerism? Easy. Go outside, take a deep breath, stretch your arms and legs and go for a walk - in the real world with real people. It costs nothing, is always bang up to date and you get to make all the decisions.

Try it, it's fun.

Cat(s)nip

One of my esteemed correspondents has informed me that her pussy ... cat (I'm not dumbing down THAT much) is about to have a bit of routine surgery in the trouser region. Now there are several reasons for having your cats' love-spuds lopped off. These include the obvious one of preventing him from fathering a veritable clan of ASBO-prone, feral felines along with a few other benefits. Benefits such as a much calmer cat, a more loving cat, a less territorial cat and a cat that doesn't spray that rancid wee stuff over plants, car tyres and your 37" LCD telly.

Now this got me thinking. I'm a bloke. No really, I've checked and everything. As blokes go, I'm fairly placid, affectionate and responsible. Not all men are like this. You may even know some. So, imagine, if you will, what sort of a world we would have whereby all those violent, aggressive, drunken, promiscuous n'er-do-well's had their hairy chestnuts hacked off (in a proper, medical way of course)instead of being thrown in jail for their crimes? Would those unpleasant and disturbing traits disappear, just like they do with our kitty-bretheren?

If it did work, we would be blessed with a whole new type of man - knackerless but well adjusted and pleasant to be with. The criminal justice system would be transformed and the world would be a safer, happier place.

As long as they didn't start bringing dead birds into the lounge.

Oh go on then

Oh I knew it would happen. I just couldn't let YBATYD die could I? Especially as I've been asked by loads (well a few) of my loyal former readers to get back on the net and let rip ... typographically speaking.

So, here I am and You're Born and Then You Die (YBATYD) is back on the block. I intend to carry on in the same vein as previously with one difference - swearing. Now I'm not going to dumb down to the lowest, basest style of writing - like The Sun, but I've decided that a teeny bit more 'adult' language is, where necessary, entirely acceptable.

If you, dear reader peruse through any or all of my old posts, you'll find no sweary-business at all, which is just fine. However, sometimes, just sometimes, the addition of the word 'bollocks' for example can lift a boring sentence to new, humorous heights. Indeed, the word 'bollocks' itself provides several funny alternatives: 'tats', knackers, love-spuds and the Franglais version - 'tats d'amour'

So, in my first posting of the reborn YBATYD I shall use my new-found freedom to tell you that my new iMac (pictured) is the dog's bollocks. I bought it a couple of weeks ago and although my old iMac was bob-on, this one just makes me a little damp with joy. Furthermore, it's even caused stirrings in my loins which may, just may lead to the resurrection of the YBATYD podcast which ran for about 4 glorious episodes before sinking like Derby did today at Liverpool (6-0).

So, things are a changin' and you are welcome to come along for the ride. And if you are new to YBATYD, then "welcome" and feel free to invite your friends, family, colleagues and carers to pop in every few days for a bit of light reading.

And swearing