My bro-in-law unhooked his chefs whites and made one heck of a barbie in our dripping back garden yesterday. Burgers, tuna steak, haddock, mackerel, couscous stuffed peppers... and so on to gluttony and happy food related death. Shame we couldn't barbecue the Thickie. She would have been quite tender and tasty as the 'cue wasn't too keen to light. Covered in sweet chilli sauce, her meat would have been a rare and fragrant treat.
Slow cooked dog. Good enough for Korea, good enough for me.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
The sound of the draburbs
My boss, who is moving to Dagenham (out of choice), has christened it “The Drabbest ‘Burb”.
I can’t think of anything that could possibly contradict this description. Admittedly, in its favour, there are the tube stations, for easy exit, it features numerous fast food outlets (most with home delivery and mainly decent without troubling the word “gourmet”) and there are few rather nice parks, Parsloes and the un-aptly named Central Park (inaccurate for the fact that it lies to the north east of the town, AND is about as far as its more famous counterpart as you can possibly get). And it has been a safe enough place for us to reside for the last eight years.
My boss, on landing there for the first time, also described it as “an area without stimulation”.
Can anyone knowing the UK capital well come up with a more drab ‘burb? Cos I grew up in suburban west and have lived in southeast and inner east London and I can’t think of anywhere – least of all a whole town - that’s drabber. Oddly enough though, I do rather like living there. Maybe I reflect the town as much as it reflects me.
Monday, April 14, 2008
TV programs and foreign dubbing. How to please no-one
So, we find a Freeview box which manages to access and output the Audio Described audio track available on British TV. Great.
Then we find it in Aldi for £39 and don't end up paying the Dick Turpin inspired price charged by RNIB (£89). Great.
Then we plug it in and it all works finely and dandily. Great.
And when the audio-d happens it is fun and really, really great. Great.
All great, fab, cool and hip If you don't own a blind wifey or can actually follow any film which runs at anything faster than Brokeback Mountain, you won't realise how non-ironic I'm being here.
So, armed with your electronic joybox, you turn on a program without audio description. Nothing new under the sun there then. Not great, but what we've experienced since the dawn of TV so no reason for boo hoo hooing. There will be more A/D coming along soon if the media slaves remember they are dealing with a "disabled" audience who aren't all planted in wheelchairs or stuck with ear-trumpets. Stick wavers and dog-shaggers exist and are cooking in the unappertising stewpot of "disabled" punters who rather inconveniently won't go off the pub for an uber-bender and just die. Anyway, I ranteth somewhat excessively. (But its my blog so ner ner na-ner ner).
I can only assume them that there is a whole jungle's-worth of happily brainless media-chimps that haven't yet been trained in the "wake up and smell the coffee" philosophy of programme making. (I will do this, by the way, for a small consultancy fee. I like the small of the gravy pouring off this particular traiin).
You watch a programme (in this case "I am the Elephant Man", about a Chinese geezer with elephantistic tendancies, or whatever technical term which accurately describe his mis-shapeness. Large chunks of the program contain dialogue in Chinese, which sort of makes sense as it is the Elephant Man and his family doing much of the talking.
So, how to blindos fare compared to our mutt 'n' "pals" in the disab scene? Badly.
Deaf person switches on subtitles and has everything subtitled. The Chinese translation either comes up as an English voiceover - which is subtitled, OR a load of white subtitltes appearing for the benefit of all viewers who don't understand Cantonese.
Its the OR that matters.
Since there is no audio description for this program, if you press the A/D button on the Freeview remote, without much surprise, nothing happens.
So...what you get, is a program where half the Chinese is translated into English and spoken by a translator. And half the of the Chinese being subtitled (which benefits everyone - except the blind person who doesn't get a translation of any description.
It just so happens, in this case, that the hero of the programme, the Elephant Man himself, becomes silent to a blind person. Because, although a deaf person gets the benefit of added subtitles, plus the added-in subs for the benefit of the great unwashed, a blind person gets nothing but pure Cantonese.
I have two solutions - and for once, coming from me, they aren't even the slightest bit sarcastic.
1. All TV producers and program makers should agree that having three quarters of a program made watchable, or indeed, listenable, means that actually, in reality, the whole of the program becomes pointless. Either translate all of the non-English segments of the programme with an interpreter, or put a full A/D soundtrack on board for so that a blindo can opt into the verbal translation experience.
2. Oh dear, gnashing of chimp teeth. I can hear tthem crying that this would be awfully expensive wouldn't it? Er, nope. You make subtitles already, Mr Programme Maker. So, simply feed the text of this through a half-decent text-to-speech voice, such as Realspeak Sarah, who isn't massively different in sound to Charlotte Green. And off we jolly well go. The audio description track comes for free anyway. Make some use of it then. And stop chucking out programmes that are worse than useless because they are three-quarters baked and therefore promise a gift which doesn't transpire to owt. All or nothing.
Thanks.
Then we find it in Aldi for £39 and don't end up paying the Dick Turpin inspired price charged by RNIB (£89). Great.
Then we plug it in and it all works finely and dandily. Great.
And when the audio-d happens it is fun and really, really great. Great.
All great, fab, cool and hip If you don't own a blind wifey or can actually follow any film which runs at anything faster than Brokeback Mountain, you won't realise how non-ironic I'm being here.
So, armed with your electronic joybox, you turn on a program without audio description. Nothing new under the sun there then. Not great, but what we've experienced since the dawn of TV so no reason for boo hoo hooing. There will be more A/D coming along soon if the media slaves remember they are dealing with a "disabled" audience who aren't all planted in wheelchairs or stuck with ear-trumpets. Stick wavers and dog-shaggers exist and are cooking in the unappertising stewpot of "disabled" punters who rather inconveniently won't go off the pub for an uber-bender and just die. Anyway, I ranteth somewhat excessively. (But its my blog so ner ner na-ner ner).
I can only assume them that there is a whole jungle's-worth of happily brainless media-chimps that haven't yet been trained in the "wake up and smell the coffee" philosophy of programme making. (I will do this, by the way, for a small consultancy fee. I like the small of the gravy pouring off this particular traiin).
You watch a programme (in this case "I am the Elephant Man", about a Chinese geezer with elephantistic tendancies, or whatever technical term which accurately describe his mis-shapeness. Large chunks of the program contain dialogue in Chinese, which sort of makes sense as it is the Elephant Man and his family doing much of the talking.
So, how to blindos fare compared to our mutt 'n' "pals" in the disab scene? Badly.
Deaf person switches on subtitles and has everything subtitled. The Chinese translation either comes up as an English voiceover - which is subtitled, OR a load of white subtitltes appearing for the benefit of all viewers who don't understand Cantonese.
Its the OR that matters.
Since there is no audio description for this program, if you press the A/D button on the Freeview remote, without much surprise, nothing happens.
So...what you get, is a program where half the Chinese is translated into English and spoken by a translator. And half the of the Chinese being subtitled (which benefits everyone - except the blind person who doesn't get a translation of any description.
It just so happens, in this case, that the hero of the programme, the Elephant Man himself, becomes silent to a blind person. Because, although a deaf person gets the benefit of added subtitles, plus the added-in subs for the benefit of the great unwashed, a blind person gets nothing but pure Cantonese.
I have two solutions - and for once, coming from me, they aren't even the slightest bit sarcastic.
1. All TV producers and program makers should agree that having three quarters of a program made watchable, or indeed, listenable, means that actually, in reality, the whole of the program becomes pointless. Either translate all of the non-English segments of the programme with an interpreter, or put a full A/D soundtrack on board for so that a blindo can opt into the verbal translation experience.
2. Oh dear, gnashing of chimp teeth. I can hear tthem crying that this would be awfully expensive wouldn't it? Er, nope. You make subtitles already, Mr Programme Maker. So, simply feed the text of this through a half-decent text-to-speech voice, such as Realspeak Sarah, who isn't massively different in sound to Charlotte Green. And off we jolly well go. The audio description track comes for free anyway. Make some use of it then. And stop chucking out programmes that are worse than useless because they are three-quarters baked and therefore promise a gift which doesn't transpire to owt. All or nothing.
Thanks.
Hello John, gotta a new mo-ta!
I’m about to be the proud best man to my mate, who is a 70s car nut, and ideally, he would like to be transported to his nuptial ceremony in a motor born before the days of lead-free petrol. So it was with a sense of serendipity that both of us should stumble across this rare and wild beast in the centre of where it was probably made.
Therefore, as a relic of Dagenham’s finest export, I give you a (somewhat rusting – no, completely red-flaked), Cortina Mk III estate. A car I’m very familiar with indeed having been driven to school in one for three or so years in the early 70 when I was but a nipper.
Built in a time before accountants were moved to the design department.
It’s just a shame this one is is more rust than car.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Suburban dliemma: blinds
Please tell me, is £1000 too much to pay for blinds?
They are blinds. Yes, venetian, wooden, slatted blinds. But light-stoppers. Curtain-replacers. Nothing that a couple of heavy blankets and some good quality string couldn't achieve.
We have a small 3 bedroom house. A very SMALL 3 bedroom house.
It has eight windows, one of them minute.
£1000. For flip's sake. Am I being a fuss-budget or am I about to be ripped off?
IKEA is where I'm going after I die. Celine Dion and Mariah Carey records will be playing over the tannoy on perma-loop. There will be no meatballs. There is no Swedish shop. There is no exit. There isn't even directions to a non-existent way out. Sartre mange le coeur, buddy.
But even I reckon a trip here, just a little weeny visit, with drugs and social workers to hand when required, would be preferable to paying this amount. They are very cheap in IKEA. Well, not very cheap, but not £1000 either.
Please tell me I'm not being screwed. Thanks.
They are blinds. Yes, venetian, wooden, slatted blinds. But light-stoppers. Curtain-replacers. Nothing that a couple of heavy blankets and some good quality string couldn't achieve.
We have a small 3 bedroom house. A very SMALL 3 bedroom house.
It has eight windows, one of them minute.
£1000. For flip's sake. Am I being a fuss-budget or am I about to be ripped off?
IKEA is where I'm going after I die. Celine Dion and Mariah Carey records will be playing over the tannoy on perma-loop. There will be no meatballs. There is no Swedish shop. There is no exit. There isn't even directions to a non-existent way out. Sartre mange le coeur, buddy.
But even I reckon a trip here, just a little weeny visit, with drugs and social workers to hand when required, would be preferable to paying this amount. They are very cheap in IKEA. Well, not very cheap, but not £1000 either.
Please tell me I'm not being screwed. Thanks.
Monday, March 31, 2008
In praise of...The Art of Falling Apart
My right ear has been bunged up with wax and behaving rather unreasonably. It started out on Easter Friday and continued being mutt 'n' jeff until a few minutes before I rocked into work on Tuesday. Gree-ut as they say in Newcastle....
It was over the weekend after trying to make a mate's iPod synch properly with his copy of iTunes, that while drifting off to sleep, my own iPod threw a wonderful random track into the mix.
I like Soft Cell in the same way I like Wagon Wheels. That is a like them a lot, but once in a while only is a very good thing indeed: same attitude I have to Pink Floyd's "The Wall" and Newcastle Brown. I had bought a couple of CDs a few years ago. "Non-Stop Erotic Caberet" replaced a cassette copy I'd worn out, and for good measure I'd acquired "The Art of Falling Apart". I'd ripped both and not really played the second album, other than the deliciously spooky "Martin" - an Annie Nightingale 80s staple.
It was while drifting off to sleep that the magnum opus of TAoFA was revealed - a track called Heat. As spooky and disturbing in its own way as the creepiest record I've heard to date, Throbbing Gristle's Hamburger Lady. I've played HL to many a person who didn't previously believe that music could be genuinely scary - with mixed receptions from those who have become converts to those who simply asked me to turn it off (most a quite fascinated by what it is obviously doing to their perception and wish to hear it again, but in a "did that guy really eat his own shit?" sort of way.
Next day, with my ear still knackered, I played the album in full, and what a finely bleak album it is - particularly disconbobuled pseudo-mono. Depeche Mode before they started the CBT counselling. Throbbing Gristle mixed my Stock Aitken Waterman's pop sensibility. Pervy funhouse music for 80s darkside club-headz. Music that Smiths' fans would have liked had they been into granny porn.
This is one of those great lost 80s albums. Ones the critics will not include alongside, for example "Welcome to the Pleasure-Dome" by Frankie, Rio by Duran Duran or the ultimate 80s audio sum-up, according to yon host, The Lexicon of Love by ABC.
It would be hugely unjust to overlook this album though. It wasn't ever as rawly indie as the music released on Cherry Red, but it was a outlet of (and for) those many who were disenfranchised by Thatcher's "winner takes all" laissez faire greed and fuck you Jack society. But unlike the Smiths whose albums whined about just how plastic and silly 80s Britain was for the vast majority without a stake in Canary Wharf Porscheville or even access to a reppy Ford Sierra, this album served as a foghorn call reminding you that having such trinkets was a complete pile of jizz anyway. Screw all that, it said, get your blow-up doll out and get the family mutt to give you a blowy while the wife's out at bingo.
You know you want it.
Then afterwards, go blast your cranium with crystal-meth and burn your house down. With your family inside.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
For Danny Baker fans only
Went to see The Candyman, Amy, Kwo-ey and Baylon at the Hackney Empire last night. Not exactly what I'd expected but a lovely show anyway, and a great showcase for the BBC Concert Orchestra and the lady with the typwriter.
Anyway, just a quickie. Do any DB fans know what the tune "which is what you hear when you listen inside a 2 year old's head" is called? I've not heard this for a few years as I don't listen to the afternoon show (being as I am at work) but was an avid fan and a daily listener to his BBC London breakfast show (much missed).
It is probably a piece of ungettable library music, but if it does have a name or author I'd love to know.
Anyway, just a quickie. Do any DB fans know what the tune "which is what you hear when you listen inside a 2 year old's head" is called? I've not heard this for a few years as I don't listen to the afternoon show (being as I am at work) but was an avid fan and a daily listener to his BBC London breakfast show (much missed).
It is probably a piece of ungettable library music, but if it does have a name or author I'd love to know.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Cruddy brown saliva
Dear Blogging audience (a veritable universe!!)
This isn't an aspect of my life I share without considerable thought. What I'm about to discuss is neither pleasant not great self-PR. But nevertheless, I've googled extensively this subject and find nothing that constitutes a satisfactory answer. Thus I beseech you, can anyone tell me what kind of crud I spit out in the middle of the night when I go for a no. 1? And what I can do to stop it happening?
So, I wake up needing a gypsy's kiss. My mouth, though, is all dry and tastes dreadful. I spit into the sink. What comes out is grim, and ranges in colour from light green-yellow to coca-cola brown. It is mid-way in texture between snot and saliva.
I am borderline diabetic, and wondered if what I have is the result of mouth thrush. But I can't find this symptom when I look under diabetes, and I wouldn't know whether this is one of the fun filled results of such a condition. And anyhow, the description of this condition seem to indicate that the crap you spit out is creamy in colour.
My physiotherapist daughter thinks my lungs are ridding themselves of all the accumulated nicotine and tar from when I was a 20-a-day smoker for 10 years (gave in October 2006 - so far, so good).
Anyone have any idea? It doesn't happen every night, but it does seem to occur more regularly (though not always) following the consumption of large amounts of food, regardless of whether my teeth have been cleaned.
Most likely guesses from my point of view are:
1) Diabetes (yeast, maybe)
2) Nicotine
3) Gum or palate disease
4) Bacteria in throat or sinuses
Not sure though.
Any serious opinions will be given consideration.
This isn't an aspect of my life I share without considerable thought. What I'm about to discuss is neither pleasant not great self-PR. But nevertheless, I've googled extensively this subject and find nothing that constitutes a satisfactory answer. Thus I beseech you, can anyone tell me what kind of crud I spit out in the middle of the night when I go for a no. 1? And what I can do to stop it happening?
So, I wake up needing a gypsy's kiss. My mouth, though, is all dry and tastes dreadful. I spit into the sink. What comes out is grim, and ranges in colour from light green-yellow to coca-cola brown. It is mid-way in texture between snot and saliva.
I am borderline diabetic, and wondered if what I have is the result of mouth thrush. But I can't find this symptom when I look under diabetes, and I wouldn't know whether this is one of the fun filled results of such a condition. And anyhow, the description of this condition seem to indicate that the crap you spit out is creamy in colour.
My physiotherapist daughter thinks my lungs are ridding themselves of all the accumulated nicotine and tar from when I was a 20-a-day smoker for 10 years (gave in October 2006 - so far, so good).
Anyone have any idea? It doesn't happen every night, but it does seem to occur more regularly (though not always) following the consumption of large amounts of food, regardless of whether my teeth have been cleaned.
Most likely guesses from my point of view are:
1) Diabetes (yeast, maybe)
2) Nicotine
3) Gum or palate disease
4) Bacteria in throat or sinuses
Not sure though.
Any serious opinions will be given consideration.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
How can't I help you?
Just for the record, I never received a reply to this email, which I sent after not receiving any service other than a shrug and a "sorry, can't help you" response.
If C2C, the local train company for south Essex, ever DO reply, I'll be sure to post it. I received an auto-response from their server so I know it actually arrived safe and well. Sadly, their response will remain...unknown.
More "how can't I help you" stories to follow as they come.
And they most certainly will. The culture of "how may I not help you" is endemic.
From: Me
Subject: Long distance ticket
Date: 8 February 2008 18:43:40 GMT
To: custrel@c2crail.co.uk
Dear fellow human
I have just returned from Barking station where I attempted to purchase a ticket from Kings Cross to York for next Friday (about 5.30).
I was told by your admittedly polite ticket sales chap that I can only do this between 10-4.
HEL-LOOOOO!
The majority of the great tax paying public work between 9-5. So to avoid a trip into Liverpool Street to buy a ticket from the long-distance counter, or risk not getting my tickets on time by booking online I now have to return to Barking tomorrow, Saturday, a trip which was definitely NOT on my agenda. As I am a prize-winning cynic, let me pre-empt some of your responses so that you don't waste my time with pointless automaton-speak (aka PR flannel. Been there, got the T-shirt....
1. "This is a busy time".
No, it wasn't. There was me in the queue. Followed by no-one. I was at the window in about 2 seconds.
2. "We are committed to improving our customer services".
Good. You could start by offering sales points at times where people actually wish to use them.
3. "You may purchase on the online."
Indeed, I can, have, and will continue to do so. Do I not have a choice though? Ticket office. An office to buy tickets from. On my way home from work. CO-VEEE-NI-ENCE! CHOICE! Nope, no choice? Shucks-a-mussy.
4. "Our special long-distance ticket printometer runs on solar power. Had you wished to purchase a ticket in the summertime..."
Nah, that's just tooooo cynical.
But please, you get my point, surely? I mean, you guys ARE human I take it?
Anyway, I really think this yet another case of "how can't I help you, sir?"
A non- cut and pasted answer from a pre-packed formula would be appreciated. Otherwise, do spare me.
Adam Holdsworth
Dagenham
Essex
A C2C train. More useful than its ticket office.
If C2C, the local train company for south Essex, ever DO reply, I'll be sure to post it. I received an auto-response from their server so I know it actually arrived safe and well. Sadly, their response will remain...unknown.
More "how can't I help you" stories to follow as they come.
And they most certainly will. The culture of "how may I not help you" is endemic.
From: Me
Subject: Long distance ticket
Date: 8 February 2008 18:43:40 GMT
To: custrel@c2crail.co.uk
Dear fellow human
I have just returned from Barking station where I attempted to purchase a ticket from Kings Cross to York for next Friday (about 5.30).
I was told by your admittedly polite ticket sales chap that I can only do this between 10-4.
HEL-LOOOOO!
The majority of the great tax paying public work between 9-5. So to avoid a trip into Liverpool Street to buy a ticket from the long-distance counter, or risk not getting my tickets on time by booking online I now have to return to Barking tomorrow, Saturday, a trip which was definitely NOT on my agenda. As I am a prize-winning cynic, let me pre-empt some of your responses so that you don't waste my time with pointless automaton-speak (aka PR flannel. Been there, got the T-shirt....
1. "This is a busy time".
No, it wasn't. There was me in the queue. Followed by no-one. I was at the window in about 2 seconds.
2. "We are committed to improving our customer services".
Good. You could start by offering sales points at times where people actually wish to use them.
3. "You may purchase on the online."
Indeed, I can, have, and will continue to do so. Do I not have a choice though? Ticket office. An office to buy tickets from. On my way home from work. CO-VEEE-NI-ENCE! CHOICE! Nope, no choice? Shucks-a-mussy.
4. "Our special long-distance ticket printometer runs on solar power. Had you wished to purchase a ticket in the summertime..."
Nah, that's just tooooo cynical.
But please, you get my point, surely? I mean, you guys ARE human I take it?
Anyway, I really think this yet another case of "how can't I help you, sir?"
A non- cut and pasted answer from a pre-packed formula would be appreciated. Otherwise, do spare me.
Adam Holdsworth
Dagenham
Essex
A C2C train. More useful than its ticket office.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Zeerust - a pictorial definition
"Zeerust: the particular kind of datedness which afflicts things that were originally designed to look futuristic."
The Meaning of Liff
Douglas Adams and John Lloyd
And here's a nice example - kind of. Located on the decidedly un-futurist light industrial Thames Road area of Barking, East London, here's Edwards Recycling. I just love the way that perspex dome looks so scuzzified by the massive level of grime caked within it. Yet still appears oddly optimistic with a weedy morning sun trying to poke through.
The architect's blurb would have stressed the sense of light and space offered by having such a dome. Not so great when it is covered in shit though.
I really like this structure.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Idiot car drivers
I'm back, and just as narky as ever.
As anyone who knows me will tell, I'm not a great fan of cars, regarding them nothing more than things which are dangerously in my way. While I agree that cars are not the root of evil in the world, they would, in my idea world, fail to exist as I believe their existence brings out the individualist worst in many. Obviously, to have a car free world, alternative transport has to be there, affordable and fairly universal before this could ever happen - not that I can see EVER happening within my lifetime without there being quite a lot of bloodshed over the availability of oil and other energy resources first - but its a nice dream. If the alleged ticking timebomb of environmental catastrophe isn't merely a pile of pulsating bollocks talked about by those who don't have any real concerns, such as availability of the next lump of food, for example, and a real thing that'll really mean your days won't be as comfortable as they were as a complacent baby boomer brat
What I really dislike about cars is the way they turn what I'd consider to be nice, ordinary people with few bad bones, in to complete wankers when it comes to the placement of their lumps of metal. These guys were papped in my street, but they are far from being alone. Apart from looking ugly being where are parked, then in the way, and just say the pedestriian "fuck you jack - there's only king in this town, and it isn't you. Parking on the pavement is fairly new to our street. I've been here for seven years and have only noticed this kind of thing for the last six months, and as anyone who knows me will tell, I'm pissed off about so many things that I could not have not noticed this before.
Anyway. Here's arsehole number 1.
And arsehole number 2
And finally, this clown things this is a great place to park. Hope your suspension becomes unbalanced, matey.
Ahhh, its good to be back...and on a high note.
As anyone who knows me will tell, I'm not a great fan of cars, regarding them nothing more than things which are dangerously in my way. While I agree that cars are not the root of evil in the world, they would, in my idea world, fail to exist as I believe their existence brings out the individualist worst in many. Obviously, to have a car free world, alternative transport has to be there, affordable and fairly universal before this could ever happen - not that I can see EVER happening within my lifetime without there being quite a lot of bloodshed over the availability of oil and other energy resources first - but its a nice dream. If the alleged ticking timebomb of environmental catastrophe isn't merely a pile of pulsating bollocks talked about by those who don't have any real concerns, such as availability of the next lump of food, for example, and a real thing that'll really mean your days won't be as comfortable as they were as a complacent baby boomer brat
What I really dislike about cars is the way they turn what I'd consider to be nice, ordinary people with few bad bones, in to complete wankers when it comes to the placement of their lumps of metal. These guys were papped in my street, but they are far from being alone. Apart from looking ugly being where are parked, then in the way, and just say the pedestriian "fuck you jack - there's only king in this town, and it isn't you. Parking on the pavement is fairly new to our street. I've been here for seven years and have only noticed this kind of thing for the last six months, and as anyone who knows me will tell, I'm pissed off about so many things that I could not have not noticed this before.
Anyway. Here's arsehole number 1.
And arsehole number 2
And finally, this clown things this is a great place to park. Hope your suspension becomes unbalanced, matey.
Ahhh, its good to be back...and on a high note.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Last Saturday I went for a wander to Ely and Cambridge, after reading Corn Dolls, a detective thriller set on the Fens. The author, Patrick Lennon, really sold the area and like Christopher Moore's portrayals of San Francisco, the location is almost a character in its own right. Unfortunately, the transport in that part of Cambridgeshire is so dire that you can really on soak up the atmosphere with a car. So, yet more social exclusionism hitting home.
Despite being confined to the city limits, I can say that Ely is quite a pleasant city and feels nicely balanced with neither too much deprrivation and unlike Chichester (another cathedral city) the population don't appear to be snobbish about its status, despite it being well-and-true middle-of-the-road England. Bet the salaries are crap in general though.
Having arrived, I munched a burger from the growler stand in the market, known simply as "The Business", I can thoroughly recommend it - one of the best burgers I've had a while, or maybe it was just that I was a bit cold. The meat was...well, meaty, which was a pleasant surprise, aand the bacon was a large, lean lump.
I fell in love with the cathedral which is about as picture-book as it could be (and free to enter too). Some pictures of the cathedral ltseelf and a couple of shots of the stained glass are below.
Its a shame about the lack of transport though. Getting around middle England is near-nigh impossible without a car and its at times like these where the non-driver really does feel (and IS) a second-class citizen of this country.
Despite being confined to the city limits, I can say that Ely is quite a pleasant city and feels nicely balanced with neither too much deprrivation and unlike Chichester (another cathedral city) the population don't appear to be snobbish about its status, despite it being well-and-true middle-of-the-road England. Bet the salaries are crap in general though.
Having arrived, I munched a burger from the growler stand in the market, known simply as "The Business", I can thoroughly recommend it - one of the best burgers I've had a while, or maybe it was just that I was a bit cold. The meat was...well, meaty, which was a pleasant surprise, aand the bacon was a large, lean lump.
I fell in love with the cathedral which is about as picture-book as it could be (and free to enter too). Some pictures of the cathedral ltseelf and a couple of shots of the stained glass are below.
Its a shame about the lack of transport though. Getting around middle England is near-nigh impossible without a car and its at times like these where the non-driver really does feel (and IS) a second-class citizen of this country.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
A Titan-ic admission of guilt
I have managed to get through over three years of writing this blog without telling the world at large that I'm a transport nerd, especially when that transport concerns me directly - so any London centric news interests me. I'm not a fully fledged anorak, but I'm fairly close. Keen readers may have spotted that I tend to include stories about transport which interest me.
Well here's a nice couple of pictures I took while on my way home from work. I was passing, on a detour, Barking bus garage, when I spotted this little beauty parked outside, with its nose, sadly, facing the street, so there was no way I was going to get a frontward view. Here's a couple of sideways shots of London Titan T1, the first ever Titan to enter London service back in 1979. The bus was done up in full 70s paint job with 'multi-ride' labelling on the front. Attention to detail also includes the RD garage code on the side. Hornchurch garage (RomforD) no longer exists and this bus would have been transferred to nearly NS (North Street, Romford). For London bus nerds of 30 or 40-something vintage, this is a wonderfully evocative animal. I remember how excited I was, aged 10, when the first Metrobuses appeared on one of my local routes, the 90B from Kew Gardens to Yeading (as was then). I'd never heard anything like them, the they did make the future seem a brighter place.
A lot of people were upset when the last Routemaster was withdrawn from regular service use. I was pretty sad, but the Titans, Metros and even Fleetlines were my generation's London buses when the last Titan went, more or less unremarked, this was a sad moment for me. I can't get so an excited over an ALX400 or President, competent machines though they are.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Nicki the dog goes rasta
Spent a very relaxing weekend at the parents house after the first week of my new job. And what a well-deserved period of non-work it was too. The work is difficult (being the newbie) and I'm learning loads and don't feel as though I'm pulling my weight - though i suppose that will change in time as I get to learn new processes and routines.
Nicki, AKA Noodles, Lynn's new dog, did it dancehall stylee with her new rasta hat, worn, aherm, firmly, on her head. Just caught her before she flipped it!
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Supernanny
I'm only writing this cos its on telly at the mo. d
Does anyone else find Supernanny, aka Jo Frost, really, really sexy?
I'm married to a big girl and find that mostly I'm drawn to the corpulant side of femalehood, but I reckon than if I wasn't a chubby-chaser I'd find Ms Frost a bit of a lust-magnet.
Does anyone else find Supernanny, aka Jo Frost, really, really sexy?
I'm married to a big girl and find that mostly I'm drawn to the corpulant side of femalehood, but I reckon than if I wasn't a chubby-chaser I'd find Ms Frost a bit of a lust-magnet.
Trip to Tallinn
Got back from Tallinn last week. Estonia was great and I'd recommend it to a friend. Sadly (unless you're Estonian) its not a cheap city any more and tourist prices are about 10 percent less than London suburban - beer about £2.50 a pop, a good meal is about £20-25 a head. Here are a few pictures I took on the mobile. When I can be arsed I'll post some picture of the soviet style flatblocks I took on the proper camera.
Charge your battery with an Estonian Red Bull clone. Not a bad representation of a Duracell-esque cell.
The view from our hotel. Enhanced a wee bit on the Mac, but quite a nice colour palette I reckon.
The ornate, and somewhat gorgeous pink Russian cathedral in Toompea, the hill at the centre of the Old Town, a prime qualtiy bit of medieval real estate, though the church dates from the early 20th century.
A view of the lower town from the top of Toompea
The centre of the old town - Town Hall Square. Fan-bloody-tastic architecture and postively bursting with atmosphere. This has to be the most photogenic city we've been too, other than maybe Krakov, which I've possibly spelt wrong.
So what was Tallinn like? Different, espensive, surprising, not so much ex-Eastern Europe, but more up-and-coming Nordic/Scandinavian. If it weren't for the housing developments on the outskirts whcih comprise at least 200 tower blocks, then you could almost be in olde worlde Sweden or Finland. Worth a trip before it gets even more expensive and EasyJet certainly don't overcharge - I think we paid £60 return each, so a wee bargain.
We stayed at the Metropol Hotel, a 3 star. Comfortable without being luxurious and missing a few basic staples which I'd expect from a hotetl of this class - no coffee making facility or shampoo/soap in the bathroom. Beds get a high mark though and the room itself was about the same as a Premier Travel Inn. Bang for buck ration was fair though we've done better (I'd recommend the rather wonderful communist throwback for anyone travelling to Krakov, known as the Start. Walls stinking of cabbage, as though they had absorbed years of stinking condesation, but clean, cheap at £8 per night and with coffee machines too). A basic but very comfortable place if you don't mind a 20 minute trip into the centre by tram).
Charge your battery with an Estonian Red Bull clone. Not a bad representation of a Duracell-esque cell.
The view from our hotel. Enhanced a wee bit on the Mac, but quite a nice colour palette I reckon.
The ornate, and somewhat gorgeous pink Russian cathedral in Toompea, the hill at the centre of the Old Town, a prime qualtiy bit of medieval real estate, though the church dates from the early 20th century.
A view of the lower town from the top of Toompea
The centre of the old town - Town Hall Square. Fan-bloody-tastic architecture and postively bursting with atmosphere. This has to be the most photogenic city we've been too, other than maybe Krakov, which I've possibly spelt wrong.
So what was Tallinn like? Different, espensive, surprising, not so much ex-Eastern Europe, but more up-and-coming Nordic/Scandinavian. If it weren't for the housing developments on the outskirts whcih comprise at least 200 tower blocks, then you could almost be in olde worlde Sweden or Finland. Worth a trip before it gets even more expensive and EasyJet certainly don't overcharge - I think we paid £60 return each, so a wee bargain.
We stayed at the Metropol Hotel, a 3 star. Comfortable without being luxurious and missing a few basic staples which I'd expect from a hotetl of this class - no coffee making facility or shampoo/soap in the bathroom. Beds get a high mark though and the room itself was about the same as a Premier Travel Inn. Bang for buck ration was fair though we've done better (I'd recommend the rather wonderful communist throwback for anyone travelling to Krakov, known as the Start. Walls stinking of cabbage, as though they had absorbed years of stinking condesation, but clean, cheap at £8 per night and with coffee machines too). A basic but very comfortable place if you don't mind a 20 minute trip into the centre by tram).
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Three days before my new job
Am I nuts?
Have I bitten off more than I can chew?
Could it be the job from hell dressed up in Prada?
We'll see.
In just over three days time.
Plenty of space in which to shit myself blue.
Have I bitten off more than I can chew?
Could it be the job from hell dressed up in Prada?
We'll see.
In just over three days time.
Plenty of space in which to shit myself blue.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
I've left my job!
My last day at at my current place of work came to an end on Friday. Nearly 11 years of service and I can't say I'm sad to leave.
I'll be missing some people, but since I decided when creating this blog not to namecheck my friends, especially those connected with work, by name, I can't, regrettably, give this item of somewhat significant news much justice. If you're one of them and should stumble across this blog, my thanks probably extends to you.
Work has become a hotbed of politics of late. Too much politics, too much (and ever-expanding) layers of upper management re-arranging deckchairs as the Titanic drifts towards the iceberg. I'm not saying the my ex-employer's future will be end in tears or even be especially bleak - events tend to ride themselves out - but working there isn't the same as it was for the first five years or so. As everywhere now, an honest day's work cannot be had without involving huge swathes or corporate bollocks intervening, and to honest, I just don't care enough about them to be arsed. There have been some large holes in this blog where I've simply been too demotivated or simply depressed to write anything, and much of this is as a direct result from what was going on in the workplace.
Despite this, I have come across some fine people there. Some of these lovely colleagues, the ones who didn't get away before I did anyhow, gave me what I would have most wanted, having just about all the material goodies I reckon I need in life.
Food.
Salami, pork pies, Harribo sour jellies which I can't get enough of, and cider. They know me so well. In a vain nod towards the healthy lifestyle I don't possess (or ever will), they even included an apple. Wasn't there enough health-promoting Magners already?
So fairwell old employer. Hello new one (in two weeks' time). More news on that when it happens.
I'll be missing some people, but since I decided when creating this blog not to namecheck my friends, especially those connected with work, by name, I can't, regrettably, give this item of somewhat significant news much justice. If you're one of them and should stumble across this blog, my thanks probably extends to you.
Work has become a hotbed of politics of late. Too much politics, too much (and ever-expanding) layers of upper management re-arranging deckchairs as the Titanic drifts towards the iceberg. I'm not saying the my ex-employer's future will be end in tears or even be especially bleak - events tend to ride themselves out - but working there isn't the same as it was for the first five years or so. As everywhere now, an honest day's work cannot be had without involving huge swathes or corporate bollocks intervening, and to honest, I just don't care enough about them to be arsed. There have been some large holes in this blog where I've simply been too demotivated or simply depressed to write anything, and much of this is as a direct result from what was going on in the workplace.
Despite this, I have come across some fine people there. Some of these lovely colleagues, the ones who didn't get away before I did anyhow, gave me what I would have most wanted, having just about all the material goodies I reckon I need in life.
Food.
Salami, pork pies, Harribo sour jellies which I can't get enough of, and cider. They know me so well. In a vain nod towards the healthy lifestyle I don't possess (or ever will), they even included an apple. Wasn't there enough health-promoting Magners already?
So fairwell old employer. Hello new one (in two weeks' time). More news on that when it happens.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
A nice (I said NICE) brown Rover 2000
I haven't seen one of these beauties for a while. One of our family friends had a turquoise one. A P reg I think, back in 1980 or so. Went like a rocket, though to me, always felt old fashioned. This example was captured a street round the corner from where I work in Kings Cross.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
The end of the unrefurbished Ds is nigh
They're disappearing fast.
The unrefurbished D-stock trains on the District Line, that is. I took a picture of this silver beast against a suitably grey sky. While I shan't ultimately miss their old-style wooden slat flooring, horrible bright silver lighting, installed about 2002 - and what exactly was wrong with the pinky-peach fluorescents they came with? - and their garish "pizza topping" seat covers, I will miss their PROPER comfortable seats, which are not like tea-trays with a small amount of token padding and their quite seriously good heating which caused a wonderful dry, used smelling fug on cold winter days to fill the train.
I've been on these since 1980 or so, when they were first introduced to the tube and so I can't help but feel a little nostalgic about them passing. Another year or so and that'll be that for the unpainted silver tubes. Which were only introduced to save money on paint. Until then, most tubes were painted either red or white. The silver tubes, as can be seen here, were also a graffiti magnet, hence the re-introduction of painted bodies.
I'll miss their shabby comfort. But like ELO, a band I love to this day, am I glad we've moved on? To quote a certain nodding dog, ohhh yes.
And finally, these are by far the most reliable tubes on the network with old fashioned tried and trusted "garden shed" technology tucked beneath. I hope TfL think long and hard before replacing them technologically advanced depot-hogs. And while they're about it, get the dreadfully iffy signalling sorted out. I wonder, now Metronet is out of the way, whether we'll notice a difference in station and track refurbishment. After a promising start, it looks as though MN just gave up. So they deserved to not be handed over any extra money - they were not cheap and provided an inefficient, slow maintenance program. Anyway, we're drifting off elsewhere.
Inside....
...and out
The unrefurbished D-stock trains on the District Line, that is. I took a picture of this silver beast against a suitably grey sky. While I shan't ultimately miss their old-style wooden slat flooring, horrible bright silver lighting, installed about 2002 - and what exactly was wrong with the pinky-peach fluorescents they came with? - and their garish "pizza topping" seat covers, I will miss their PROPER comfortable seats, which are not like tea-trays with a small amount of token padding and their quite seriously good heating which caused a wonderful dry, used smelling fug on cold winter days to fill the train.
I've been on these since 1980 or so, when they were first introduced to the tube and so I can't help but feel a little nostalgic about them passing. Another year or so and that'll be that for the unpainted silver tubes. Which were only introduced to save money on paint. Until then, most tubes were painted either red or white. The silver tubes, as can be seen here, were also a graffiti magnet, hence the re-introduction of painted bodies.
I'll miss their shabby comfort. But like ELO, a band I love to this day, am I glad we've moved on? To quote a certain nodding dog, ohhh yes.
And finally, these are by far the most reliable tubes on the network with old fashioned tried and trusted "garden shed" technology tucked beneath. I hope TfL think long and hard before replacing them technologically advanced depot-hogs. And while they're about it, get the dreadfully iffy signalling sorted out. I wonder, now Metronet is out of the way, whether we'll notice a difference in station and track refurbishment. After a promising start, it looks as though MN just gave up. So they deserved to not be handed over any extra money - they were not cheap and provided an inefficient, slow maintenance program. Anyway, we're drifting off elsewhere.
Inside....
...and out
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