w.atching the w.orld unw.ind

I got tagged by 'er, so...

10 years ago

The office I moved from Yorkshire to Sussex to manage was closed down. Within six months (and still working for the same firm) I’d worked in Kingston-on Thames, Solihull (pronounced So Lee Hull) and Brentwood. So it was (another) start of an itinerant working life. I was 42, and it hurt. Life was not all that good. But I was determined to hold it together for the kids’ sake.

5 years ago

I’d re-established myself, career-wise, and apart from having to commute around the M25 for up to four hours each working day, was happy. And foreign holidays were becoming an annual event again, with the kids becoming ever independent. Not financially, y’understand. That ain’t ever gonna happen.

1 year ago

I thought I was dying, after a problem during a scuba dive in Crete. It turned out Ok, but was blummin’ scary, even so. I wrote an article about the incident, which was published in the May 2005 edition of "Dive" magazine. It was called "I’m forever blowing bubbles".

Yesterday

Was a fairly routine day. Re-booted the Broadband hub three times to get it working. Got an e-mail from Number One Son announcing the impending end of his World Tour (he’ll probably get home while we’re off on our – by comparison – bland two weeks abroad).

Cooked tea for Number One daughter (Steak pie with Guinness, chips and ‘special’ beans – a recipe handed down through, oh, at least two years. The secret is a judicious use of cayenne pepper). And had a glass of red waiting for Mrs.D. when she came in from her late shift. You didn’t know they still employed women down the mines? Shame on you, in this egalitarian world.

Today

So far, so good. The latest company takeover augurs well for our little division (he wrote, with all digits crossed).

Tomorrow

Is POETS day (Push Off Early, Tomorrow’s Saturday) and we’re off to Pompey to spend the weekend with our mates at the IFOS exhibition. (We’re all Pompey born and bred, but have managed to lose the accent along the way?)

5 snacks I enjoy

Not much of a nibbler, actually. And definitely sapid, not sweet.
Pork pies
Crisps
Kracker Wheat with cheese.
Tuc biscuits
I love nuts but, as they say, they don’t like me. Hmmm.

5 songs I know all the words to
Wish you were here – Pink Floyd
Take it to the limit – Eagles
Hammer to fall – Queen
Sky will fall – The Bluetones
Willie The Pimp – Frank Zappa

5 things I would do with £1,000,000
Buy a trawler-sized boat.
Go to Navigation classes
Equip it with everything to cope with disabled kids.
Take them out fishing.
Stand back and watch them having just the greatest fun.

5 locations I would love to run away to
Hawai'i (Big Island)
Molokai
O’ahu
Maui
Kaui

5 things I like doing

Barbecuing. Man. Fire. Etc.
Listening to music (really loud)
Scuba diving. Stressful peace.
Photography (really getting back into it, since going ‘digital’)
Reading (books, not the place in Berkshire. Though I'm sure it's a lovely place)

5 things I would never wear

Socks with sandals (or even sandals)
Pyjamas (if we ever have a house-fire in the night, I’m bu99ered)
A cap
A sarong
A thong

5 recently-seen movies I like
Not much of a film buff (why are they called that?)
So…
About Schmidt
Touching the void
Master and commander
Er, that’s it.

5 famous people I’d like to meet
Bob Geldof (yeah, I know, I know)
Dave Gilmour (Pink Floyd)
Jack Nicholson
Dubya (he’d get such a slap from me)
Johnny Rotten

Shallow? Me?

5 biggest joys of the moment
Both kids (so different, I’d swear they’re not mine, if I hadn't been at the conception)
Blogging
(Still) having all senses/limbs intact, to enjoy reading, listening to music, scuba-diving
Having finished decorating our bedroom. That’s the last flatpack I assemble for a long while
And... drum-roll…...

Mrs.D.


5 favourite toys

Sony minidisk (keeps me sane and removed from the other commuters)
Fuji S5000 digital camera
Blogger (yeah, let’s hear it for Blogger)
Our Mini Cooper
Suunto Gekko dive computer

And the baton goes to..

Bruv
Buddy
Bsag
Soapy
Gert

The capital is unremittingly, relentlessly grey today.

A desultory shower has left the streets dirty, not even washed clean of the last few weeks' detritus of dust.

Th Pb-coloured, lowering sky has a depressing sense of claustraphobia about it.

Time to get out the holiday brochures and dream of where we're going soon...

I'm having a tinker with the site, using a lovely little function gifted to me buy a friend I've not (yet) met.

When I've got the hang of it, I'll update the site.

Update:

Whoo - easier than I thought.

Will be continuing to tinker...

It just is.

This is not really a rant against BT. Just a chronological record for the trial...

Individually, I've had nothing but courteous help and advice, Collectively, it's just not joined up communication?

I rang the Broadband Helpline last Monday (so, a week ago today). "We are very busy and your call is in the queue. Please hold the line to speak to an operator."

"Hi - I've lost my Internet connection and there's a sonar ping-like noise on the landline. I've checked the physical connections and re-set the hub via the Hub Manager software."

"We'll test your line. Yes, there's a fault. Give us 48 hours and ring back if it's not fixed"

So I rang on Wednesday. "It's been fixed" they said. No, it hasn't (or I wouldn't be 'phoning, now, would I?)

"Another 24 hours?"

So I rang on Thursday. "Ah, sorry, this is an offline job and you need to 'phone this number." "No, sorry, we can't put you through to save you queueing again. Sorry."

Several different 0800 queues later - "We are very busy and your call is in the queue. Please hold the line to speak to an operator" (and after replacing the filter, as suggested), an engineer called round.

"Nope, it's not your landline, I suspect it's your BT hub."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Hello BT Broadband Helpline. (Yes, the one where I started.) I've been told....."

"We'll send you another hub. I've generated a Fault Reference Number. You need to 'phone this number. It's this one if you bought the original hub on-line and this one if over the 'phone."

"We are very busy and your call is in the queue. Please hold the line to speak to an operator."

"It looks like your original hub was billed to your telephone?"

"Yes, I 'came back' to BT when we ordered the broadband (on-line) so that everything was BT and I'd only have to make one call to one company."

"Ah, I'm really sorry but I'm not authorised to release the hub because of the way you paid for the original. Sorry, but you need to phone..."

"We are very busy and your call is in the queue. Please hold the line to speak to an operator. You can always report a problem on-line (no, I CAN'T, because my link is broken) or ring this number (what, the one I'm ringing RIGHT NOW?)". Click.

What? What happened to the promise of an operator?

So I chose a completely inappropriately-named option.

"Ah, no, this is the repair department. Sorry. You need to 'phone..."

"But I've just come from there?"

"No, you can't have done. They don't open on Saturdays."

"Would you please ring and establish that they are in fact open, because I'VE JUST COME FROM THERE?"

"Ah, yes, you're right. But they only open 8:00 'til 8:00 and it's now 8:09."

"I know what the time is, because I've been in more queues than Sainsbury's for THE PAST TWO HOURS."

So I lost the will to live and fcuked off to the Goodwood Fesival of Speed. (Pix later)

And got home for Mrs.D. to advise that the hub's fixed itself.

I'm sure I've got a loaded revolver lying around somewhere...

Labels: Broadband

These ladies deserve a virtual pat on the back.

No Irish* jokes, please.

*I'm part-mick meself, so know 'em all.

In keeping with the track title from which "Today's Lyric" is drawn, it has been a bit remiss here of late.

I can honestly blame pressure of work (out at a seminar on Wednesday and then playing catch-up yesterday) but it's also a measure of how the heat affects me. I can laze on a beach all day in it, but having to wear a rope around your neck all day is, ahem, wearisome?

So, nothing of moment for you to peruse, for which I apologise, so I just wish you a great weekend (I'm off to the Goodwood Festival of Speed on Sunday) and remember to slap the suntan cream on. Please.

The book I’m reading at the moment (yes, that one, up on the left there) is reminding me a little of life in my home town, Portsmouth.

With a violent history naturally based on its shipping facilities – the deep-draughted harbour with its easily-defensible, narrow entrance makes it a superb safe haven and hence its name, Port’s Mouth - it was always going to be a place with a reputation. It had the worst records for alcoholism, prostitution, teenage pregnancies, STI’s, a premature history of drug abuse – the whole nine yards.

But its magnetism for ships of all sorts – naval, tall, ferries, yachts (with Cowes just over the water) has ever fascinated me.

Our dad always encouraged Bruv and me to be different. Not in what is now denigrated as a nerdy way, but just to not necessarily follow the crowd. So, because I wasn’t interested in collecting train numbers (even though nostalgic steam was still the main rail power in my very early youth) I decided to collect the numbers of the Navy's ships. You know, F41 (frigate) M84 (minesweeper) – that sort of thing.

And perversely, it was a healthy hobby. You had to be down at the harbour when they sailed – which was generally around 6.00 to 7.00, so it meant an early start to the day, a fast bike ride down to the Round Tower, or Sallyport, or the Camber. And just jot down the numbers – leaving you with the whole of the rest of the day to do other kidstuff. Including meeting your mates who were only just up and off train number-collecting, if they could drag you along.

And given the prolific, sniggering jokes about sailors and their sexual proclivities that are inevitable in a city rich in naval history (rimming had evidently been invented but not yet baptized) I was only ever ‘approached’ once in the early quietude of the docks area. Some latent defensive system kicked in and I tore off on the bike in the general direction of away. Thus avoiding becoming another Pompey statistic.

I don’t remember ever telling anyone that before now?

And during a school fad for autograph-collecting, when an American warship visited, I went to get signatures from some of those on shore leave. (A lot of 'ladies' had been 'specially bussed into town for the visit, too).

When one clean-cut matelot asked me why I wanted his autograph, I just replied "'Cos you're an American sailor." I swear he had a tear in his eye. Well, you walk out of the dockyard and someone immediately wants your name? You're gonna feel important, aren't you?

The last dowel has been glued, the last cam stud has been turned, the last Allen bolt has been driven home, the last picture hook has been rawl-plugged in, the last carcase has been shuffled around to see how best it looks in this position, that position, back to where it was originally position and the last cardboard packaging has been re-cycled.

We're back in our own bedroom and I promise to say no more about it.

Except that, when they say you climb into bed, we have to. I'm looking for a short ladder and a supply of oxygen tanks...

It’s gone quiet?

Friday night saw us 90'ing it (sorry, Officer) down to Pompey (Portsmouth) to see the re-scheduled Finn brothers' gig, which had been postponed because of the suicide of their former drummer, Paul Hester (Hessie).

From the opening bars of "Nothing wrong with you" they had the audience transfixed, but you've got to hand it to Pompey fans, they don't stand in awe of stars. After a particularly rumbustious rocking number, someone called out "Oi! You bin practisin'?"

Tim announced that it was July '81 when he'd last played Portsmouth's Guildhall. "How did you remember that?" asked Neil. "Someone slipped a note under the door" Tim replied.
"So what was the lad's name?" teased Neil. The slur went over Tim's head but the audience and the rest of the band picked up immediately. "Bastard son?" explained Neil.

When "Four seasons" was dedicated to Hessie, Neil ordered the PA to be turned off and, just keeping the beat on his guitar, had the audience sing the whole song back to him. To say it was an emotional moment would just be the greatest understatement...

I was only disappointed that they didn't perform "Dust from a distant sun". Ever my favourite track, its title indirectly led me to this lovely lady's original blog and thence into blogging myself. Strange thing, music.

Then on Saturday, we made our first two UK dives of the year. 12 kilos (26.4lb) of lead and a 15-litre tank do not make for an elegant walk across the sand down to the boat. Believe me.

The Far Mulberry is a 6,000 ton, 60 foot long concrete caisson which was used for target practice by the Navy and when it finally sank, became a protected area. So it's possible to swim inside a huge 'bait-ball' of fish which are undisturbed by trawling or anglers.

It takes about twenty minutes to lap, so we managed three tours. Great fun, even though the temperature at 12 metres was about 11 degrees Centigrade. In a semi-dry wetsuit (great oxymoron, that) the idea is that a small amount of water is deliberately allowed in, which your body then warms up and insulates you from the cold. Inevitably, though, you get the odd fresh 'trickle' which is like someone briefly turning off the hot water while you're in the shower. 'Invigorating' is a good word for the sensation. 'Bloody freezing' is also apt.

On the way back to shore, in the very fast rib (rigid inflatable boat) someone spotted a dolphin, so the pilot slowed the boat and turned about, to let the dolphin come alongside, breaching the water close enough for us to have been able to reach over and touch it, then dashing under the bows to treat the divers on the other side to a display of finning we'd love to emulate. Not sure what type it was, but it looked like a bottle-nose?

The second dive was a so-called drift dive, where you literally 'go with the flow', over fossil beds. I saw, for the first time ever, a cuttlefish, which was so perfectly camouflaged, my buddy took three looks to spot it when I pointed it out. It jet-propelled itself away when we got too close. And a huge eating crab completed the 'live show'. Unfortunately it scuttled back into its lair before we could snaffle it from behind. Would've made a tasty sandwich, though.

Working on the house today (yawn) and between tasks, checking the dive gear and bwraf processes (Witchy'll understand).

So, tomorrow, hopefully two dives - one on the Far Mulberry and then a drift dive over the fossil beds.

I'll let you know more, later.

Great weekends, y'all.

..on Friday night, I'll be seeing two Finns in the re-scheduled concert, after the tragic death of their former drummer.

And then on Saturday, I'll be donning two fins, putting on some weight (about 24lbs of lead should be right) and sinking twelve metres down to have a look at this.

That's assuming the 'June Bloom' problem doesn't crop up?

Prays an atheist's prayer..

Bruv gets his kit on over at MoC

That's only his faithful roadie, btw.

After 48 hours of solid (well, almost) graft on the house, we were determined to have a glass of wine in the freshly-mown garden. And it started raining. Hmmmm.

So, proof that we finally got remote wireless broadband connection.



Part of the graft involved some jiggery sawery pokery. IBM used to be called "Big Blue". It also used to be known as "I'm bloody marvellous!". And "BMW blue" was what their (motorbike) exhausts used to re-colour to, after use. So I was amused to see what colour my jig-saw blade turned to after I tried to cut some 'corners' with it...



And the Ginger Whinger had her first birthday at the weekend. Her 'mum' sent a birthday card. Putting her into a bag (GW, not her 'mum')is the only way of getting anywhere remotely near a focussed picture. Happy Birthday, Lola.

Thanks to everyone who contributed with their comments in the last couple of posts.

I'm honoured.

Enjoy your weekends, y'all.

Thank you to everyone who contributed comments to yesterday's post/question (and those on bsag's blog, too).

But if planets were originally liquid i.e. extremely hot molten rock, how did they manage to carry with them anything which could subsequently become living matter?

I mean, what amoeba-like creature could survive the furnace in order to evolve into us?

Answer me up!

Sad b@stard that I am, when I was slowly surfacing on Sunday morning, I heard a familiar whoooshing sound.

Peering out of the curtains, I grabbed a dressing gown and my camera, nipped downstairs and out into the garden and shot these.



Oh, the bits of foliage are my hedge.

Now - sort of connected (and a serious question) - can anyone tell me how come planets are basically round?