The title would be referring to the temporary writer's block that had me stumped for a title for a few minutes, a couple of seconds ago. Still, I turned the problem into the solution expertly, and once again have bent reality to my will. Go me!
Ahem.
I walked to work the other day, enjoying the weather, which recently has been very hot and very sunny (followed by very cold completely cloudless nights). Even as I walked to work in shades and a T shirt, neighbours were hapilly talking about how lovely the weather is for the back end of September.
Yep, just as the hottest (one of the hottest, at least!) day of the year was way back, abnormally early, in april, it seems the hot weather has continued, more or less, right through September, even as the trees shed their leaves, and sycamore seeds whirl from the sky almost as a precursor to the snow that will follow. Once again, another year seems to be growing old.
Which leads me to make the astonishing announcement that I have, as of a few hours ago, purchased my first Christmas Present! As shocking as this might seem, if you read back, you'll notice that I started buying presents about this time last year, as well.
So about this present. Well. It's sparkly, different, very cool, and in fact is so cool that I'm going to have a quick look at it to er, check the contents, and to make sure everything works and stuff. Yes, that's right :-).
But it's not arrived yet, so hey :).
My Ipod parts on the other hand, did finally arrive, and so I set to work replacing the shell/clickwheel of the ipod. Youtube tutorial videos had made it clear that replacing the case is simple enough, but to replace the clickwheel the entire thing has to come to bits. I guess the most worrying part was having to prise the main board off the frame, since it was held in place only by glue (!)
The whole thing took about an hour, and was simple enough really, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't relieved when the 2 halfs of the case finally locked together with a satisfying click. And my Ipod? Well now it looks new. Yay!
One other thing I did, was to copy my family's favourite christmas tape (we've always used one particular christmas tape for years and years) to MP3 so now I can carry those old tunes about with me. Once done, I went to search for other tapes to copy, and in the process I found lots of stuff I thought I no longer owned. Old talismans, pendants, postcards from mates I haven't seen for years, lots of stuff with a very high sentimental value.
When I was a kid, my sister and I used to fight over who got to keep the extremely long receipts we got from the checkouts at christmas food shopping. I found a few of them in a box under my bed, dated 2001 and 2002, and just for old time's sake went to show my dad.
Disappointingly, all he did was question why I should want to keep "rubbish".
My sister and I are very different in that regard - If I don't have a damn good reason to throw something away, I generally keep it, especially if it has sentimental value.
My sister on the other hand, likes to throw stuff away the second she can't instantly come up with a good reason not to. She attatches no sentimental value to anything, and seems to value a possession based strictly on its utility. Efficient, but rather cold, I think.
I guess I now see where she gets it from. Still, one man's junk is another man's treasure, as they say, and as freudian/homoerotic as that sounds, I'm inclined to agree.
So yeah. Not much else to go on about relaly layley, so I'll leave it here. while I lay back and daydream about what other presents I'd like to buy :-).
Byeeeee.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Ahh Memories...
Ahem.
I noticed that despite the year winding on, the weather has been fairly civil, with no real rain to speak of. And so, by virtue of its very normality, the weather, or lack thereof, went completely unheeded by me, and pretty much by everyone that I speak to regularly.
A couple of days ago however, we had one very warm very beautiful day. The sun was out and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The slight breeze was cool but not cold, and even a few birds could be seen wobbling in the branches of the trees, which themselves barely moved (Of course they barely moved. When did you last see trees walking about)?
It seemed to be a perfectly pleasant if somewhat cool summer day.
the day that followed, was nondescript, nothing more than a marker on the path from Summer to Autumn. And today? Overcast, cool, with a little rain cooling everything down.
Yes, it seems that September has been struggling to stamp its mark on the year, and is even now trying to point out that it's not summer anymore. And so, as I heed these signals, my mind turns to the future. And to the past.
Why am I writing like a second year English Student? I don't know :).
No, it's that time of year, where the dreaded C word begins to creep slowly but inexorably into conversation, and even as I start planning how to handle Christmas 2009, searching ebay for presents, decorations and other acoutrements, I'm looking back with tinsel-tinted spectacles to last year's Christmas. An event which went pretty well, by all standards actually.
Why do this so early though? It's only September!
Because, I only earn about £50 a week, which is only very slightly more than you get paid for being unemployed. Therefore I have to look ahead in order to be able to make sure I have the finances that I need. I already have an idea what I want to buy one person (if they don't go and get it themselves in the months ahead) .
So, what about the recent past, the last couple of weeks.
Well, despite what the dentist said, relief was two or three days wait after my visit to the practice, not exactly the instant fix she promised me, but hey, everyone's entitled to make a mistake every now and again. I couldn't diagnose, much less treat jaw problems, so I should shut my mouth. Aha. Ha. Ha. Etc.
Eventually, the pain, if not the swelling died down, so the whole issue is a lot less thorny than it was before. I'm still reluctant to talk about having my tooth out, so for that reason I'm going to move on and talk about something else.
My Ipod, having been rebuilt the day before halloween 2007 is once again looking like an absolute dog's dinner, and having been dropped a few times, has bangs, scratches, dints, dents, dings and things all over it. In order to put this right, I've bought some new bits for it. Not only a new faceplate, in black again, but a new rear case, and a new clickwheel.
Having got bored with the white clickwheel though, I've ordered a lovely red one this time, meaning that my Ipod should look something like this when it's finished.
I haven't bothered buying the "U2 Autographed" rear case, because I stopped liking that arch-idiot Bono (and anything he touched, participated in or talked about) once he became conceited, narcissistic, and arrogant enough (he was always conceited and narcissistic, but he crossed the threshold at some point in the indeterminate past) to stop being a musician and to try his hand at getting us to all give money to Africa instead, like some kind of second rate Bob Geldof, but without the stupidly annoying offspring.
I'm not in favour of poverty, obviously, but while I'm not going to go into my views in detail on here, what I am going to say is that firstly, if he wanted loads of money to go to Africa, he should pay out of his own extremely full pocket instead of moaning about Africa's problems every opportunity he gets, like some kind of unofficial spokesman for the entire continent, to the point where U2 fans everywhere are made to feel crap for not selling their own property to raise money.
Secondly, he's conveniently forgetting the fact that a huge majority of aid that goes to Africa ends up going directly into the equally extremely full pockets of the leaders of these impoverished countries, who then go to spend said money on AK47s, RPGs, BMWs, gold plated bathroom fixings, champagne, works of art, and whore parties, a wide variety of hedonistic and fun things, that conveniently don't include anything to do with providing food, water, or shelter, for the poor of the country.
Still, I've no doubt that he's going to try to buy/adopt a small malawi orphan at some point, since that seems to be the fashionable thing to do these days.
So to ignore that little rant, suffice it to say, I don't want to be associated with that, and for that reason, the U2 signatures stay off the back of my ipod, thankyou very much.
But black and red does look cool :-). I've also bought a plastic shield thing to stick to the front of it to make suire it continues to look cool.
I've been waiting on both for about ten days, not particularly happy about that. Hmm.
So, what else have I been up to.
Well, going one better than pulling my camera off my desk, I managed to drop it 3 foot onto concrete a few days ago. Damaged? YES!
The little battery latch thing came loose and had to be superglued back on. That's it really.
No lasting effects, but it was... interesting... at the time.
Still, there you go.
My little Traser keyring turned up, and has since spent its time being generally sparkly, which is good. A bit expensive at £8.50 but then it's going to stay lit for the next 10 years, so hey :).
And that's it really, nothing else much to report. I spend more and more time looking on ebay for (Hmm, a firetruck has just gone down the road with lights flashing, wonder what's happening) christmassy stuff, and as the time creeps closer towards us, I've no doubt that I'm eventually going to have to start spending money on it.
So hey :).
Little Clarification
One thing that I will say, that I should clarify rather, having been reminded by the fire service zooming down the road, is the meaning of my comments a few weeks back;
I noticed that despite the year winding on, the weather has been fairly civil, with no real rain to speak of. And so, by virtue of its very normality, the weather, or lack thereof, went completely unheeded by me, and pretty much by everyone that I speak to regularly.
A couple of days ago however, we had one very warm very beautiful day. The sun was out and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The slight breeze was cool but not cold, and even a few birds could be seen wobbling in the branches of the trees, which themselves barely moved (Of course they barely moved. When did you last see trees walking about)?
It seemed to be a perfectly pleasant if somewhat cool summer day.
the day that followed, was nondescript, nothing more than a marker on the path from Summer to Autumn. And today? Overcast, cool, with a little rain cooling everything down.
Yes, it seems that September has been struggling to stamp its mark on the year, and is even now trying to point out that it's not summer anymore. And so, as I heed these signals, my mind turns to the future. And to the past.
Why am I writing like a second year English Student? I don't know :).
No, it's that time of year, where the dreaded C word begins to creep slowly but inexorably into conversation, and even as I start planning how to handle Christmas 2009, searching ebay for presents, decorations and other acoutrements, I'm looking back with tinsel-tinted spectacles to last year's Christmas. An event which went pretty well, by all standards actually.
Why do this so early though? It's only September!
Because, I only earn about £50 a week, which is only very slightly more than you get paid for being unemployed. Therefore I have to look ahead in order to be able to make sure I have the finances that I need. I already have an idea what I want to buy one person (if they don't go and get it themselves in the months ahead) .
So, what about the recent past, the last couple of weeks.
Well, despite what the dentist said, relief was two or three days wait after my visit to the practice, not exactly the instant fix she promised me, but hey, everyone's entitled to make a mistake every now and again. I couldn't diagnose, much less treat jaw problems, so I should shut my mouth. Aha. Ha. Ha. Etc.
Eventually, the pain, if not the swelling died down, so the whole issue is a lot less thorny than it was before. I'm still reluctant to talk about having my tooth out, so for that reason I'm going to move on and talk about something else.
My Ipod, having been rebuilt the day before halloween 2007 is once again looking like an absolute dog's dinner, and having been dropped a few times, has bangs, scratches, dints, dents, dings and things all over it. In order to put this right, I've bought some new bits for it. Not only a new faceplate, in black again, but a new rear case, and a new clickwheel.Having got bored with the white clickwheel though, I've ordered a lovely red one this time, meaning that my Ipod should look something like this when it's finished.
I haven't bothered buying the "U2 Autographed" rear case, because I stopped liking that arch-idiot Bono (and anything he touched, participated in or talked about) once he became conceited, narcissistic, and arrogant enough (he was always conceited and narcissistic, but he crossed the threshold at some point in the indeterminate past) to stop being a musician and to try his hand at getting us to all give money to Africa instead, like some kind of second rate Bob Geldof, but without the stupidly annoying offspring.
I'm not in favour of poverty, obviously, but while I'm not going to go into my views in detail on here, what I am going to say is that firstly, if he wanted loads of money to go to Africa, he should pay out of his own extremely full pocket instead of moaning about Africa's problems every opportunity he gets, like some kind of unofficial spokesman for the entire continent, to the point where U2 fans everywhere are made to feel crap for not selling their own property to raise money.
Secondly, he's conveniently forgetting the fact that a huge majority of aid that goes to Africa ends up going directly into the equally extremely full pockets of the leaders of these impoverished countries, who then go to spend said money on AK47s, RPGs, BMWs, gold plated bathroom fixings, champagne, works of art, and whore parties, a wide variety of hedonistic and fun things, that conveniently don't include anything to do with providing food, water, or shelter, for the poor of the country.
Still, I've no doubt that he's going to try to buy/adopt a small malawi orphan at some point, since that seems to be the fashionable thing to do these days.
So to ignore that little rant, suffice it to say, I don't want to be associated with that, and for that reason, the U2 signatures stay off the back of my ipod, thankyou very much.
But black and red does look cool :-). I've also bought a plastic shield thing to stick to the front of it to make suire it continues to look cool.
I've been waiting on both for about ten days, not particularly happy about that. Hmm.
So, what else have I been up to.Well, going one better than pulling my camera off my desk, I managed to drop it 3 foot onto concrete a few days ago. Damaged? YES!
The little battery latch thing came loose and had to be superglued back on. That's it really.
No lasting effects, but it was... interesting... at the time.
Still, there you go.
My little Traser keyring turned up, and has since spent its time being generally sparkly, which is good. A bit expensive at £8.50 but then it's going to stay lit for the next 10 years, so hey :).
And that's it really, nothing else much to report. I spend more and more time looking on ebay for (Hmm, a firetruck has just gone down the road with lights flashing, wonder what's happening) christmassy stuff, and as the time creeps closer towards us, I've no doubt that I'm eventually going to have to start spending money on it.
So hey :).
Little Clarification
One thing that I will say, that I should clarify rather, having been reminded by the fire service zooming down the road, is the meaning of my comments a few weeks back;
"But tonight, seeing the wheels turning smoothly, first the crime/injury, then the ambulance and the police response, I guess it gave me a little more faith in our emergency services.
Nice one, lads"
Nice one, lads"
It occured to me that the other day, that these comments could be seen as expressing - at worst - pleasant surprise in seeing our Emergency Services doing their jobs effectively and efficiently, and therefore give people the impression that I don't have a lot of respect for or trust in those Emergency services.
As you're probably aware, the posts on this blog do not represent the opinions or views of any entity other than myself, which means I can bloody well say what I want and tough luck if people happen not to like it. But I do want to point out that not only do I have absolute trust in and respect for our emergency services, but I also feel proud to have those hardworking guys and girls in my neighbourhood.
We'd all be lost without 'em, so let's all give it up for our firefighters, police officers, EMTs/Paramedics etc, and the new Yorkshire Air Ambulance guys, with their shiny and awesome new #2 helicopter :-).
Cheers people, all the best :-).
As you're probably aware, the posts on this blog do not represent the opinions or views of any entity other than myself, which means I can bloody well say what I want and tough luck if people happen not to like it. But I do want to point out that not only do I have absolute trust in and respect for our emergency services, but I also feel proud to have those hardworking guys and girls in my neighbourhood.
We'd all be lost without 'em, so let's all give it up for our firefighters, police officers, EMTs/Paramedics etc, and the new Yorkshire Air Ambulance guys, with their shiny and awesome new #2 helicopter :-).
Cheers people, all the best :-).
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Eee, by gum...
:(.
It seems that even when it's closed, my mouth is getting me into trouble.
A small swelling of my gums at the back of my mouth has since turned into a larger swelling, with associated discomfort (for discomfort read: "Not being able to sleep or eat properly because it hurts too much".
And that's it. No further details available at the moment, I've had the issue for a couple of days and while it hasn't got any worse, despite me starting on low-level (available without prescription) painkillers and antiseptic mouthwashes (Corsodyl/Chlorohexidine - which is available without prescription in the UK but not the US - eek!) it hasn't got any better either.
Eventually, I phoned the local clinic (having been spurred into action by a sudden (and temporary) sharp increase in pain yesterday. Their advice? "Phone the dentist". Fair enough I spose, but if you're a regular reader of the blog and you've got a decent memory, you'll remember I've seen so much of my dentist that I may as well be married to one.
Nevertheless, I found myself reluctantly phoning the NHS dentist, who (despite what the newspapers (both in the UK and the US) are fond of saying about the NHS) have sorted out an appointment for me to have a quick checkup, which is in about 50 minutes.
Is this the start of another long saga of me getting victimised/treated with long sharp instruments? Let's hope not.
But last night, when I should have been celebrating England's recent (and very effective!) win, Instead I was sitting at home feeling sorry for myself, rationing pain killers and generally having naps to try and recover from my pain-induced lack of sleep (3 hours in the last 30, up until that point).
So let's see what happens. I'll let you know more when I get back.
17:44
Right, I've been to the dentist. The problem was pretty much as I'd expected (informed opinion, aided by medical/NHS websites (don't self-diagnose, it's naughty!)), my gum was being irritated by "foreign bodies" in my mouth.
However, it's a bit more involved than that. Apparently, stress causes swelling of the gums (I've not heard that one before), and as the gum swelled over my wisdom tooth, it trapped food between the surface of the tooth and itself. Food doing what food will after a few days of being trapped in a warm damp environment, started turning into interesting chemicals which lots of interesting bacteria started eating.
My gum didn't like being in contact with at all, hence the pain and inflammation.
So after giving this "gap" a quick wash with some antiseptic stuff (more Corsodyl I think), they prescribed me with some antibiotics, which will persuade the interesting bacteria to stop being interesting and start being dead (hey, i'm all for "good bacteria", but these little sods have had me in quite a lot of pain! Payback!).
My dentist has warned me that eveb after succesful treatment, there's nothing to stop this situation reoccuring, and that I should have the aformentioned wisdom tooth removed.
Hmm, I'll have to think about whether I want that to happen or not.
Still, I've got some medicines to get through, so I'd best get started. I'm going to try and eat something in a bit.
Ciao :-)
It seems that even when it's closed, my mouth is getting me into trouble.
A small swelling of my gums at the back of my mouth has since turned into a larger swelling, with associated discomfort (for discomfort read: "Not being able to sleep or eat properly because it hurts too much".
And that's it. No further details available at the moment, I've had the issue for a couple of days and while it hasn't got any worse, despite me starting on low-level (available without prescription) painkillers and antiseptic mouthwashes (Corsodyl/Chlorohexidine - which is available without prescription in the UK but not the US - eek!) it hasn't got any better either.
Eventually, I phoned the local clinic (having been spurred into action by a sudden (and temporary) sharp increase in pain yesterday. Their advice? "Phone the dentist". Fair enough I spose, but if you're a regular reader of the blog and you've got a decent memory, you'll remember I've seen so much of my dentist that I may as well be married to one.
Nevertheless, I found myself reluctantly phoning the NHS dentist, who (despite what the newspapers (both in the UK and the US) are fond of saying about the NHS) have sorted out an appointment for me to have a quick checkup, which is in about 50 minutes.
Is this the start of another long saga of me getting victimised/treated with long sharp instruments? Let's hope not.
But last night, when I should have been celebrating England's recent (and very effective!) win, Instead I was sitting at home feeling sorry for myself, rationing pain killers and generally having naps to try and recover from my pain-induced lack of sleep (3 hours in the last 30, up until that point).
So let's see what happens. I'll let you know more when I get back.
17:44
Right, I've been to the dentist. The problem was pretty much as I'd expected (informed opinion, aided by medical/NHS websites (don't self-diagnose, it's naughty!)), my gum was being irritated by "foreign bodies" in my mouth.
However, it's a bit more involved than that. Apparently, stress causes swelling of the gums (I've not heard that one before), and as the gum swelled over my wisdom tooth, it trapped food between the surface of the tooth and itself. Food doing what food will after a few days of being trapped in a warm damp environment, started turning into interesting chemicals which lots of interesting bacteria started eating.
My gum didn't like being in contact with at all, hence the pain and inflammation.
So after giving this "gap" a quick wash with some antiseptic stuff (more Corsodyl I think), they prescribed me with some antibiotics, which will persuade the interesting bacteria to stop being interesting and start being dead (hey, i'm all for "good bacteria", but these little sods have had me in quite a lot of pain! Payback!).
My dentist has warned me that eveb after succesful treatment, there's nothing to stop this situation reoccuring, and that I should have the aformentioned wisdom tooth removed.
Hmm, I'll have to think about whether I want that to happen or not.
Still, I've got some medicines to get through, so I'd best get started. I'm going to try and eat something in a bit.
Ciao :-)
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Stones, Suzuki and Sambuca...
The moon is looking very spectacular tonight. 3 quarter moon, and it's that lovely pinkish orange colour. I would have taken a photo - okay, I took several. I would have displayed a photo - but my camera's autofocus isn't infallible and the moon behind clouds just kinda tripped it up.
So what's been happening...
In my usual disordered A to C to B to E and then D way, let's see.
I've enjoyed my week of freedom away from the parents, especially considering that they phoned much much less than I expected they would. Despite this, I've looked after the place pretty well, and nothing's collapsed, caught fire, or being blown away in a tornado (yes we do get them - not large ones (depends whether you'd call an F2 tornado large), but we do get them).
I whiled away the lazy days, going to work, coming back, listening to loud music, getting pissed (drunk) and generally doing what I wanted when I wanted. Of course, all good things come to an end, and even though during the week I'd missed the company of my parents, as soon as they phoned me to say they'd be back in a couple of hours, my freedom suddenly became incredibly precious.
Still, they came back, and once they'd gone to bed out came the beer.
Not much has really changed since then. I'd been struck by the idea of finally actually really selling my bike and getting a new one. But it seems that the old lession of "never try to sell anything to a friend" proved itself spectacularly wise, as said friend and I quickly developed animosities that turned into arguments and insults, with accusations of dishonesty Exaggerations, truths, half truths, and lies disguised as truths flew back and forth...
...officially, said "friend" is now seeing whether he can afford my bike.
Unofficially, I think he's wasting my time.
Shame. I really fancied a new ride.
As for tonight, well. Sodding hell.
I'd been complaining to my boss for months that they shouldn't be sending us into dodgy areas, sending us to areas full of feral kids, graffiti, dogshit, and shuttered up houses.
But hey, an order is an order so off we go.
Last night, a guy was shot dead about 4 miles from here, which I spose would be worrying, but we have a couple of areas round here that aren't such great pleaces to live in.
One thing threw me for a loop last night though.
I arived in the "hood" where the dude was shot, looking around, noting the lack of shutters on the windows, the lack of graffitti etc, and I thought "well it doesn't look like it, but I spose technically, this is a "hood".
Anyway, I ended up on my way back from the area, cheerfully looking forward to my beer.
On the way back, I saw a couple of random spotty teenagers flick something into the road, and thought nothing of it.
Seconds later, with a shark *CRACK*, one that I more felt than heard, I might add, something hit me on the side of the head (helmet).
That fcuking stone.
A stone, must have been. bounced off my lid.
First thing I did was to slam the anchors (brakes) on, and half turn in the road, as I stared at these two kids.
I honestly was not sure what to say I felt. Anger? No, kids will be kids. Disbelief? No, kids will be kids. I'm not sure.
I stared at these two lads walking up the road, trying to figure out what I was possibly going to say to them.
In the absence of anything better to do, after ten seconds of watching them calmly walk up the road, I rode off.
Initially I was absolutely furious, shaking, if not from the cold then from the anger. How dare these two wankers throw stones at me, just because they've nothing better to do.
Then the voice of reason kicked in. "Chill out mate, you're a pizza boi, and pizza bois are fair game".
By the time I got back to the store, I was laughing. Yes, I was angry, but it wasn't an attack on me, I'd never met these two lads, how could it have been. It was an attack on pizza boys. And your stereotypical pizza boy is a thick as fcuk 17 year old lad who wants a bit of extra cash for his weed.
Upon reflection, I sincerely wish I'd gone back to congratulate these lads on their awesome shot. I was moving at 30mph, and they still managed to bounce a rock off my head. What's that, if not a good shot.
I got back to the shop and clocked out. Time to go home.
But I wasn't the only one on the receiving end, it seems. I walked out to see my mates having a smoke break, and across the road, surrounded by maybe 50 people, was a guy on the ground.
No one was sure whether he'd been bottled, or glassed, or whether he'd just been knocked out, but whatever, he was down for the count.
Someone had phoned the services, as before we even saw it, an ambulance and a paramedic were on the scene dealing with it.
5 minutes later, the police showed up, and so for me, it was hometime.
Let's give credit to our emergency services though eh?
some stuff had gone off outside the store, and before we knew it had happened, first the ambulance and paramedic, and then the police, were there to pick up the pieces.
In another country, the guy's fate would have depended on his medical insurance. Here, in the UK, thanks to the much maligned NHS, this guy will be treated, free of charge, and released when he's good to go.
Here, the police have turned up to calm things down, and make sure he's ok.
The UK has its shittyness, sometimes, the crap the government comes out with beggars belief.
But tonight, seeing the wheels turning smoothly, first the crime/injury, then the ambulance and the police response, I guess it gave me a little more faith in our emergency services.
Nice one, lads.
EPILOGUE: It turned out that it wasn't a drunken attack that put this guy on the floor, it was a hit and run, by two jackasses on an illegal pit-bike. Rumours circulated that the guy was killed outright, but according to an official press release, he's "critical" but still alive.
As for these off road wankers, we've had an upsurge recently in illegal motorcyclists, and despite police efforts, they're still riding about the local estates...
The police helicopter has been about quite a lot recently though, so let's see what comes of it.
So what's been happening...
In my usual disordered A to C to B to E and then D way, let's see.
I've enjoyed my week of freedom away from the parents, especially considering that they phoned much much less than I expected they would. Despite this, I've looked after the place pretty well, and nothing's collapsed, caught fire, or being blown away in a tornado (yes we do get them - not large ones (depends whether you'd call an F2 tornado large), but we do get them).
I whiled away the lazy days, going to work, coming back, listening to loud music, getting pissed (drunk) and generally doing what I wanted when I wanted. Of course, all good things come to an end, and even though during the week I'd missed the company of my parents, as soon as they phoned me to say they'd be back in a couple of hours, my freedom suddenly became incredibly precious.
Still, they came back, and once they'd gone to bed out came the beer.
Not much has really changed since then. I'd been struck by the idea of finally actually really selling my bike and getting a new one. But it seems that the old lession of "never try to sell anything to a friend" proved itself spectacularly wise, as said friend and I quickly developed animosities that turned into arguments and insults, with accusations of dishonesty Exaggerations, truths, half truths, and lies disguised as truths flew back and forth...
...officially, said "friend" is now seeing whether he can afford my bike.
Unofficially, I think he's wasting my time.
Shame. I really fancied a new ride.
As for tonight, well. Sodding hell.
I'd been complaining to my boss for months that they shouldn't be sending us into dodgy areas, sending us to areas full of feral kids, graffiti, dogshit, and shuttered up houses.
But hey, an order is an order so off we go.
Last night, a guy was shot dead about 4 miles from here, which I spose would be worrying, but we have a couple of areas round here that aren't such great pleaces to live in.
One thing threw me for a loop last night though.
I arived in the "hood" where the dude was shot, looking around, noting the lack of shutters on the windows, the lack of graffitti etc, and I thought "well it doesn't look like it, but I spose technically, this is a "hood".
Anyway, I ended up on my way back from the area, cheerfully looking forward to my beer.
On the way back, I saw a couple of random spotty teenagers flick something into the road, and thought nothing of it.
Seconds later, with a shark *CRACK*, one that I more felt than heard, I might add, something hit me on the side of the head (helmet).
That fcuking stone.
A stone, must have been. bounced off my lid.
First thing I did was to slam the anchors (brakes) on, and half turn in the road, as I stared at these two kids.
I honestly was not sure what to say I felt. Anger? No, kids will be kids. Disbelief? No, kids will be kids. I'm not sure.
I stared at these two lads walking up the road, trying to figure out what I was possibly going to say to them.
In the absence of anything better to do, after ten seconds of watching them calmly walk up the road, I rode off.
Initially I was absolutely furious, shaking, if not from the cold then from the anger. How dare these two wankers throw stones at me, just because they've nothing better to do.
Then the voice of reason kicked in. "Chill out mate, you're a pizza boi, and pizza bois are fair game".
By the time I got back to the store, I was laughing. Yes, I was angry, but it wasn't an attack on me, I'd never met these two lads, how could it have been. It was an attack on pizza boys. And your stereotypical pizza boy is a thick as fcuk 17 year old lad who wants a bit of extra cash for his weed.
Upon reflection, I sincerely wish I'd gone back to congratulate these lads on their awesome shot. I was moving at 30mph, and they still managed to bounce a rock off my head. What's that, if not a good shot.
I got back to the shop and clocked out. Time to go home.
But I wasn't the only one on the receiving end, it seems. I walked out to see my mates having a smoke break, and across the road, surrounded by maybe 50 people, was a guy on the ground.
No one was sure whether he'd been bottled, or glassed, or whether he'd just been knocked out, but whatever, he was down for the count.
Someone had phoned the services, as before we even saw it, an ambulance and a paramedic were on the scene dealing with it.
5 minutes later, the police showed up, and so for me, it was hometime.
Let's give credit to our emergency services though eh?
some stuff had gone off outside the store, and before we knew it had happened, first the ambulance and paramedic, and then the police, were there to pick up the pieces.
In another country, the guy's fate would have depended on his medical insurance. Here, in the UK, thanks to the much maligned NHS, this guy will be treated, free of charge, and released when he's good to go.
Here, the police have turned up to calm things down, and make sure he's ok.
The UK has its shittyness, sometimes, the crap the government comes out with beggars belief.
But tonight, seeing the wheels turning smoothly, first the crime/injury, then the ambulance and the police response, I guess it gave me a little more faith in our emergency services.
Nice one, lads.
EPILOGUE: It turned out that it wasn't a drunken attack that put this guy on the floor, it was a hit and run, by two jackasses on an illegal pit-bike. Rumours circulated that the guy was killed outright, but according to an official press release, he's "critical" but still alive.
As for these off road wankers, we've had an upsurge recently in illegal motorcyclists, and despite police efforts, they're still riding about the local estates...
The police helicopter has been about quite a lot recently though, so let's see what comes of it.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Cameras, Scameras, and Pizza
Eek. I woke up to a cloudy day. Nothing serious, and even as I ambled downstairs, the weather brightened. The sun came out, and it began to look like we were in for another nice day again.
After sitting about for a while, I decided to expand my portfolio a bit, picking out and printing my best/favourite photographs, and sticking them in a binder. After a bit of thought I managed to arrange four A4 photos in an A3 display book, by sticking two of them, one above the other, to a piece of card, and then sticking another two, one above the other, to the reverse. These four I then slotted into one of the plastic wallets in the display book.
Which was great until some dirt got in between the wallet and the photos, which muckied them up.
After a short time of swearing, reprinting, remounting and redirtying the photos, I gave it up as a bad job and decided to save my (expensive - thanks grandad) photo paper by keeping the slightly dirty (as in, have dirt on them, not dirty as in woman-not-wearing-any-clothes) photos I had already printed.
After a short time, my sister phoned, in true "sister" fashion, asking for my immediate help in the next five minutes, and any plans I had for today, be damned.
Of course me being the nice person that I am, and being completely used to this, agreed to help. A process which involved taking photos of the outside and inside of two houses which my sister and her friend are trying to get someone interested in.
So I spent a while wandering round taking pretty pictures and generally having a rather good time. Despite my nephew's (cute, then annoying, then boring) inability to understand that photos without him in it did actually and could actually exist :-).
Eventually though, we came home and shortly after, it was time for me to go to work.
Work started out extremely slowly. Very little to do, and no deliveries to speak of.
Eventually though, I was sent on my way with a delivery, and on my way over the bridge noticed something rather unpleasant. Well, in purpose if not appearance.
A very shiny and colourful but very spiteful and condescending "safety camera" van. Without going into detail, "Safety cameras" in this country have been widely discredited, and the only aspect of road safety despised nearly as much as them is the fact that there are some people who insist that they are there for the right reasons, in a perfectly detestable self righteous "well I don't break the law, so anyone who does should be punished" type way.
I ponder as to the success of the day's fishing (for the crew of the van, that is), and eventually arrive at my destination. During my conversation with the customer, I accidentally *ahem* let it slip that there is a camera at xyz location, right after the bridge sign, pointing south etc etc. "Just in case you're going out tonight".
The customer responded that he was in fact going out tonight, and would also actually be passing that way. I tell him his order comes to £16.46, as he gives me a £20.
I start fumbling for change, at which point he tells me to keep the change, as I've probably just saved him a £30 ticket :-D. Woo! £3.54 as a tip - that's a new record, and a fairly respectable amount for a night's total.
With a cheerful tune in my mind, I ride slowly back to the store, and approach the van's location. Normally I ride to the left of the road allowing people to overtake my slow vehicle, but this time I'm very pointedly in the right-third of my lane (we drive on the left in the UK) preventing all the traffic behind me from overtaking. Sure it must have been annoying for them, but I reckon the penny dropped when they saw the scamera van :-).
I cheerfully arrive back at work and continue with my shift.
Within an hour of the camera being spotted, a local "car meet" and half the city's taxi drivers were aware of the scamera's precise location. Loose talk costs money (ill-gotten money that should, by all wrongs, belong to the "safety camera partnership"), and all that lot. Oops, I'll have to do a better job of keeping it to myself in future.
I'd been refusing to finish my shift early, as I wanted the money, despite the absolute lack of activity. However, as the addresses of the next few deliveries appeared on screen, including the addresses of a few places in the less salubrious parts of town, I changed my mind. I said to my manager that I'd clock off early in return for "nom nom". After explaining that I wanted free food, he agreed, and I clocked off.
While my food was in the oven, I checked my account and went to the off licence/liqor store. I chatted with the staff for a while and finally bought my beer.
I checked the receipt later on, and was pleasantly surprised to discover that my beer £2.99 for 4 cans, x 2, plus £2.00 per can, again x2, plus some other items, (about £3 of chocolates and stuff), about £13.00 approx (I suck at maths) came to - according to the off licence's card machine, just over £5, which was duly debited from my account.
Seems their card machine sucks at maths too.
Did I report it?
I've already done my good deeds for today (the camera/speed camera thing). I felt entitled to be a bit of a bastard.
So now I'm drinking my extremely cheap beer, and eating my extremely cheap chocolate, and chilling out. £8 won't put the shop out of business. I work in retail, I should know :-).
But yeah. A very good day.
Enjoy :-).
After sitting about for a while, I decided to expand my portfolio a bit, picking out and printing my best/favourite photographs, and sticking them in a binder. After a bit of thought I managed to arrange four A4 photos in an A3 display book, by sticking two of them, one above the other, to a piece of card, and then sticking another two, one above the other, to the reverse. These four I then slotted into one of the plastic wallets in the display book.
Which was great until some dirt got in between the wallet and the photos, which muckied them up.
After a short time of swearing, reprinting, remounting and redirtying the photos, I gave it up as a bad job and decided to save my (expensive - thanks grandad) photo paper by keeping the slightly dirty (as in, have dirt on them, not dirty as in woman-not-wearing-any-clothes) photos I had already printed.
After a short time, my sister phoned, in true "sister" fashion, asking for my immediate help in the next five minutes, and any plans I had for today, be damned.
Of course me being the nice person that I am, and being completely used to this, agreed to help. A process which involved taking photos of the outside and inside of two houses which my sister and her friend are trying to get someone interested in.
So I spent a while wandering round taking pretty pictures and generally having a rather good time. Despite my nephew's (cute, then annoying, then boring) inability to understand that photos without him in it did actually and could actually exist :-).
Eventually though, we came home and shortly after, it was time for me to go to work.
Work started out extremely slowly. Very little to do, and no deliveries to speak of.
Eventually though, I was sent on my way with a delivery, and on my way over the bridge noticed something rather unpleasant. Well, in purpose if not appearance.
A very shiny and colourful but very spiteful and condescending "safety camera" van. Without going into detail, "Safety cameras" in this country have been widely discredited, and the only aspect of road safety despised nearly as much as them is the fact that there are some people who insist that they are there for the right reasons, in a perfectly detestable self righteous "well I don't break the law, so anyone who does should be punished" type way.
I ponder as to the success of the day's fishing (for the crew of the van, that is), and eventually arrive at my destination. During my conversation with the customer, I accidentally *ahem* let it slip that there is a camera at xyz location, right after the bridge sign, pointing south etc etc. "Just in case you're going out tonight".
The customer responded that he was in fact going out tonight, and would also actually be passing that way. I tell him his order comes to £16.46, as he gives me a £20.
I start fumbling for change, at which point he tells me to keep the change, as I've probably just saved him a £30 ticket :-D. Woo! £3.54 as a tip - that's a new record, and a fairly respectable amount for a night's total.
With a cheerful tune in my mind, I ride slowly back to the store, and approach the van's location. Normally I ride to the left of the road allowing people to overtake my slow vehicle, but this time I'm very pointedly in the right-third of my lane (we drive on the left in the UK) preventing all the traffic behind me from overtaking. Sure it must have been annoying for them, but I reckon the penny dropped when they saw the scamera van :-).
I cheerfully arrive back at work and continue with my shift.
Within an hour of the camera being spotted, a local "car meet" and half the city's taxi drivers were aware of the scamera's precise location. Loose talk costs money (ill-gotten money that should, by all wrongs, belong to the "safety camera partnership"), and all that lot. Oops, I'll have to do a better job of keeping it to myself in future.
I'd been refusing to finish my shift early, as I wanted the money, despite the absolute lack of activity. However, as the addresses of the next few deliveries appeared on screen, including the addresses of a few places in the less salubrious parts of town, I changed my mind. I said to my manager that I'd clock off early in return for "nom nom". After explaining that I wanted free food, he agreed, and I clocked off.
While my food was in the oven, I checked my account and went to the off licence/liqor store. I chatted with the staff for a while and finally bought my beer.
I checked the receipt later on, and was pleasantly surprised to discover that my beer £2.99 for 4 cans, x 2, plus £2.00 per can, again x2, plus some other items, (about £3 of chocolates and stuff), about £13.00 approx (I suck at maths) came to - according to the off licence's card machine, just over £5, which was duly debited from my account.
Seems their card machine sucks at maths too.
Did I report it?
I've already done my good deeds for today (the camera/speed camera thing). I felt entitled to be a bit of a bastard.
So now I'm drinking my extremely cheap beer, and eating my extremely cheap chocolate, and chilling out. £8 won't put the shop out of business. I work in retail, I should know :-).
But yeah. A very good day.
Enjoy :-).
Friday, August 14, 2009
Gelato, Cappucino, Minestrone, Gondolas...
3:15AM
...and other things.
Yep, looks like my parents are shortly going to be off on their wonderful holiday to Italy, and I'm sure will have a lovely time :-). For my part, I'm sitting here trying to keep my room cool (actually getting it cool in the first place might be a good start), and wishing I'd put my coca cola in the fridge earlier so I could have a nice cold drink of it now.
Come to think of it, Ice cubes are an age old invention... Hmm...
3:24AM
Having returned, in true "me" fashion with both a hot drink, and a nice cold drink of terminally one dimensional coca cola (with half an ice cube tray inserted), I seem to be doing not-much other than wandering round trying not to get in the way, and alternately wishing my parents would sod off so I could have a bit of peace, and chatting to them because I'm already beginning to miss them, when they haven't even gone yet.
It's odd that even as the world sleeps, the moon is high above, and the stars are out twinkling in their twinkly nuclear fusion type way, it feels many hours later than it is, with an otherwise quiet early morning punctuated by the sound of hair dryers, the smell of perfume, and endless questions about the location of things.
I've fixed the "lake garda" tags to the suitcases, helpfully removing last year's "paris" ones.
It was a close thing :-).
With 15 minutes to go, amid complaints of "this should have been done bloody ages ago", courtesy of my dad, who has ordered the taxi for actually about the same time as last year, which is still earlier than it needs to be, for some reason.
Tension is beginning to increase a little as all the final preperations are being made, with 10 minutes to go everything is just about sorted, and the taxi should be on his way :-).
I've asked my parents to bring me another little "baby alcohol" (small bottles of alcohol! Not alcohol for babies!!) tub/collection/thingiewhatsit, so I can do my alcoholic advent calendar type thing again this christmas :-).
04:04: and now I'm off to escort my parents away :-). Not all the way to Italy, sadly :-(.
And off they go. They're gone now, and I'm already feeling quite lonely :-(.
Still, time for a cold drink and stuff I guess. Then a nice shower, and time to make my bed and go to spleep :-).
...and other things.
Yep, looks like my parents are shortly going to be off on their wonderful holiday to Italy, and I'm sure will have a lovely time :-). For my part, I'm sitting here trying to keep my room cool (actually getting it cool in the first place might be a good start), and wishing I'd put my coca cola in the fridge earlier so I could have a nice cold drink of it now.
Come to think of it, Ice cubes are an age old invention... Hmm...
3:24AM
Having returned, in true "me" fashion with both a hot drink, and a nice cold drink of terminally one dimensional coca cola (with half an ice cube tray inserted), I seem to be doing not-much other than wandering round trying not to get in the way, and alternately wishing my parents would sod off so I could have a bit of peace, and chatting to them because I'm already beginning to miss them, when they haven't even gone yet.
It's odd that even as the world sleeps, the moon is high above, and the stars are out twinkling in their twinkly nuclear fusion type way, it feels many hours later than it is, with an otherwise quiet early morning punctuated by the sound of hair dryers, the smell of perfume, and endless questions about the location of things.
I've fixed the "lake garda" tags to the suitcases, helpfully removing last year's "paris" ones.
It was a close thing :-).
With 15 minutes to go, amid complaints of "this should have been done bloody ages ago", courtesy of my dad, who has ordered the taxi for actually about the same time as last year, which is still earlier than it needs to be, for some reason.
Tension is beginning to increase a little as all the final preperations are being made, with 10 minutes to go everything is just about sorted, and the taxi should be on his way :-).
I've asked my parents to bring me another little "baby alcohol" (small bottles of alcohol! Not alcohol for babies!!) tub/collection/thingiewhatsit, so I can do my alcoholic advent calendar type thing again this christmas :-).
04:04: and now I'm off to escort my parents away :-). Not all the way to Italy, sadly :-(.
And off they go. They're gone now, and I'm already feeling quite lonely :-(.
Still, time for a cold drink and stuff I guess. Then a nice shower, and time to make my bed and go to spleep :-).
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Hedge Trimmers, Doggies, and Import Duty.
Wow what a day.
It kinda started at 00:01 yesterday morning, when I crawled into bed. Or climbed in. Whatever. I didn't climb in because my bed is only 2 feet off the floor. I didn't jump in because the frame is already broken in one corner, and I didn't levitate in because despite what my parents might say, I haven't been possessed.
Maybe I insinuated myself into my bed, though generally I only really insinuate myself into other peoples'. Given the complexity of my bed, with more layers than a sponge cake in an earthquake, and four pillows, perhaps we could say that I installed myself in my bed, and configured myself appropriately.
Now I am one of these people, I can't drift off to sleep without listening to some form of background noise, lest I get caught in my own thoughts and never return to sanity. Historically, I used to listen to the radio, though the "we'll bring you more news as the story develops" or the odd interesting program on the radio frequently served to keep me awake, rather than do the opposite, so I switched to listening to videos on the TV. Turn the brightness/contrast way way down and it may as well be a radio, with your own choice of programming :-).
So it was that I drifted off while halfheartedly listening to Eddie Izzard bemoaning the lack of taxis in San Francisco ("And when you do get in, they don't know where they're going. I just said 'get in the back, I'll drive'"). I managed to forego the dreams I've been having recently, which while not nightmares or even really disturbing, are moderately depressing.
And at 3am I woke up.
And rolled over and went back to sleep.
Except I didn't. For two hours I tossed, turned, revolved completely, and adopted every position I'd ever heard of, from the recovery position, to the brace position recommended by airlines, through the wide and varied positions described in some indian book I'd never heard of, and then some.
Somehow, after two interminable hot, uncomfortable, boring and quite frankly angering hours, I got to sleep.
Eventually I woke up again. First at seven, then at 9, then at 12:30.
And before I knew it we were off to my sister's house to help with her garden.
This portion of the day proceeded vaguely to plan, apart from the tome in the garden that I watched with horrified fascination, the power cable for the Hedge Trimmer drifting closer and closer to the whirring blades. In less time than it takes for a nerve impulse to travel from my brain to my hand, to either release the trigger, or jerk the cable away, a dozen seperate thoughts, including "oh no, here we go", "oh look what I'm about to do" and "I hope I don't get electrocuted" flashed through my mind, right before the whirring of the blades, punctuated with a brief pop and a flash, came to a halt, the almost completely severed cable jammed between two of the teeth.
A sheepish apology to the owner later, we were off to my dad's (this house) to get it fixed.
At the top of our road, coming the opposite way, but also turning down our road, was a UPS van.
Now I received an email from the company in china telling me I should be "receivings my deliverings in approximately five daysings"and that it was being shipped UPS, but I shrugged off the possibility that it would be my lens. It was only monday, and they only shipped it on saturday.
But the van followed us down to my house, and though I watched with sinking heart as he drove past our place to the bottom of the road, I cheered right up when I saw him do a U turn and park more or less directly opposite.
Getting out of the van he told me that not only did he have a parcel for me, but that he'd been already this morning and no one was in. Except me but I'm a heavy sleeper, despite the earth shatteringly loud doorbell.
He also told me I had some money to pay him before he could give it me.
See, the UK has this thing called Value Added Tax. I don't pretend to know the ins and outs but generally, the UK government have decided that it'd be a great money maker if a percentage of every retail purchase by anyone anywhere in the UK went to the government's coffers. As a result, every item in catalogues or whatever has two prices in the UK; What it actually costs, and what it costs once the government have stuffed an additional cut in their wallet.
Because I imported the lens, buying it from a business that neither paid VAT to the UK government, nor charged their customers VAT, I was instead subject to the government's plan B: Everyone who buys something out of the country, without VAT, and expects to be allowed to use their purchase in this country, has to give the government a cut anyway. Except this time it's called "Import Duty" which to all intents and purposes amounts to the same thing.
UPS had nicely paid the import duty on my behalf, and less nicely, charged me upon delivery. In addition to paying £390 for the lens, I then had to give UPS some cash to repay them.
"How much?" I asked him. "Fifty pounds, sixty pence" he replied.
I think my response was more or less "FUUUUUUUUUUUU".
After failing to find my chequebook (which is probably out of date now anyway, and if not, is still A. misplaced, and B. probably lining some mouse's comfortable nest, I convinced the guy to wait while I ran to the store to get some cash. "Even better" he says, "I'll meet you there".
I get there, running to the store and see him pull up. I duck inside and run out a couple of minutes later with the money. A quick farewell and I'm back home playing with my lovely lens :-). In true "man" style, the box and instruction manual get flung on the table, and I disappear off upstairs with the lens.
An hour later, we're back at my sister's, cutting more hedges. This time, it's my sis that breaks the hedge trimmer, when during cutting something, the trimmer suddenly emits a high sing-song whining noise, before my sister turns it off.
Pulling it off the branches, something's definitely broken. The motor still whirs but the teeth don't move anymore.
It's not had a good day, that hedge trimmer.
Still, mine's not been bad at all :-).
Some photos :-).
It kinda started at 00:01 yesterday morning, when I crawled into bed. Or climbed in. Whatever. I didn't climb in because my bed is only 2 feet off the floor. I didn't jump in because the frame is already broken in one corner, and I didn't levitate in because despite what my parents might say, I haven't been possessed.
Maybe I insinuated myself into my bed, though generally I only really insinuate myself into other peoples'. Given the complexity of my bed, with more layers than a sponge cake in an earthquake, and four pillows, perhaps we could say that I installed myself in my bed, and configured myself appropriately.
Now I am one of these people, I can't drift off to sleep without listening to some form of background noise, lest I get caught in my own thoughts and never return to sanity. Historically, I used to listen to the radio, though the "we'll bring you more news as the story develops" or the odd interesting program on the radio frequently served to keep me awake, rather than do the opposite, so I switched to listening to videos on the TV. Turn the brightness/contrast way way down and it may as well be a radio, with your own choice of programming :-).
So it was that I drifted off while halfheartedly listening to Eddie Izzard bemoaning the lack of taxis in San Francisco ("And when you do get in, they don't know where they're going. I just said 'get in the back, I'll drive'"). I managed to forego the dreams I've been having recently, which while not nightmares or even really disturbing, are moderately depressing.
And at 3am I woke up.
And rolled over and went back to sleep.
Except I didn't. For two hours I tossed, turned, revolved completely, and adopted every position I'd ever heard of, from the recovery position, to the brace position recommended by airlines, through the wide and varied positions described in some indian book I'd never heard of, and then some.
Somehow, after two interminable hot, uncomfortable, boring and quite frankly angering hours, I got to sleep.
Eventually I woke up again. First at seven, then at 9, then at 12:30.
And before I knew it we were off to my sister's house to help with her garden.
This portion of the day proceeded vaguely to plan, apart from the tome in the garden that I watched with horrified fascination, the power cable for the Hedge Trimmer drifting closer and closer to the whirring blades. In less time than it takes for a nerve impulse to travel from my brain to my hand, to either release the trigger, or jerk the cable away, a dozen seperate thoughts, including "oh no, here we go", "oh look what I'm about to do" and "I hope I don't get electrocuted" flashed through my mind, right before the whirring of the blades, punctuated with a brief pop and a flash, came to a halt, the almost completely severed cable jammed between two of the teeth.
A sheepish apology to the owner later, we were off to my dad's (this house) to get it fixed.
At the top of our road, coming the opposite way, but also turning down our road, was a UPS van.
Now I received an email from the company in china telling me I should be "receivings my deliverings in approximately five daysings"and that it was being shipped UPS, but I shrugged off the possibility that it would be my lens. It was only monday, and they only shipped it on saturday.
But the van followed us down to my house, and though I watched with sinking heart as he drove past our place to the bottom of the road, I cheered right up when I saw him do a U turn and park more or less directly opposite.
Getting out of the van he told me that not only did he have a parcel for me, but that he'd been already this morning and no one was in. Except me but I'm a heavy sleeper, despite the earth shatteringly loud doorbell.
He also told me I had some money to pay him before he could give it me.
See, the UK has this thing called Value Added Tax. I don't pretend to know the ins and outs but generally, the UK government have decided that it'd be a great money maker if a percentage of every retail purchase by anyone anywhere in the UK went to the government's coffers. As a result, every item in catalogues or whatever has two prices in the UK; What it actually costs, and what it costs once the government have stuffed an additional cut in their wallet.
Because I imported the lens, buying it from a business that neither paid VAT to the UK government, nor charged their customers VAT, I was instead subject to the government's plan B: Everyone who buys something out of the country, without VAT, and expects to be allowed to use their purchase in this country, has to give the government a cut anyway. Except this time it's called "Import Duty" which to all intents and purposes amounts to the same thing.
UPS had nicely paid the import duty on my behalf, and less nicely, charged me upon delivery. In addition to paying £390 for the lens, I then had to give UPS some cash to repay them.
"How much?" I asked him. "Fifty pounds, sixty pence" he replied.
I think my response was more or less "FUUUUUUUUUUUU".
After failing to find my chequebook (which is probably out of date now anyway, and if not, is still A. misplaced, and B. probably lining some mouse's comfortable nest, I convinced the guy to wait while I ran to the store to get some cash. "Even better" he says, "I'll meet you there".
I get there, running to the store and see him pull up. I duck inside and run out a couple of minutes later with the money. A quick farewell and I'm back home playing with my lovely lens :-). In true "man" style, the box and instruction manual get flung on the table, and I disappear off upstairs with the lens.
An hour later, we're back at my sister's, cutting more hedges. This time, it's my sis that breaks the hedge trimmer, when during cutting something, the trimmer suddenly emits a high sing-song whining noise, before my sister turns it off.
Pulling it off the branches, something's definitely broken. The motor still whirs but the teeth don't move anymore.
It's not had a good day, that hedge trimmer.
Still, mine's not been bad at all :-).
Some photos :-).
Saturday, August 08, 2009
Twin Lakes, Tokina, and Tiredness...
Yikes, lots of stuff to get through.
Yep, I'm gearing up for a nice relaxing week next week. I've only got two shifts (not at my request), so the five hours overtime I've put in this week ought to stand me in good stead, financially. My parents are off on their holiday at the end of next week, off to italy again, so it looks like I'll be looking after theplace while they're gone. Good stuff.
Well, I am financially solvent again. The huge lurking financial burden of the new lens has disappeared. Yep, that's right, as of yesterday, I am now the proud owner of a Tokina 11-16 F2.8 etc etc lens (video review here). I am also the proud owner of a 14" Zildjian Oriental China Trash (a cymbal), which I have in fact been the proud owner of for a while.
I did put it up on ebay, but for some bizarre reason, while drum retailers are having no trouble selling theirs for £170-£220, no one wanted to pay more than £65 for mine. Which is odd because it's in excellent condition and generally very sparkly.
Still, I didn't really want to get rid of it, so I spose I can now go back to proud-owning it.
So, what else have I been up to. Well, we finally went along to Twin Lakes again, which was pretty cool. I ended up back about 90 minutes late for my shift (despite my repeated warnings to my sis that we were gonna be late - bleh) but they took it in good stead and didn't complain.
The place hasn't changed. It's still awesome, still a fantastic mixture of ball pools, slides, rope bridges, swinging ropes, spinny floor pads, spinning poles, climbing nets, rafts, pedalos, mock-up western villages (complete with heavy rain), pirate ships, little zoos etc etc... My nephew and co, me included, ran around the place, me with my sparkly new camera. The video quality is awesome. Unfortunately, it also takes up just under 4.6gb So I've got to burn the lot to a dvd.
Not to worry, I'm looking forward to backing everything up on my computer before reinstalling everything. Time for a clean sweep - it's not had one for a while. Time to clean out the cobwebs, I feel. To this end, I've won/sniped an 80gb SATA hard drive. £9.50 for an 80Gb drive. Can't complain, hey!
Not much else to report really. Work goes on as normal. Home goes on as normal, though the place is pretty tidy what with the rents getting ready to sod off to italy.
Bleh, that's it really.
I'm off to drink my celebration beer (just the one this time, yikes!) and then to go to beer :-).
Here are a few pics for you :-). (The people featured in the photos are not my family. If they are your family and you want their faces edited out of the photos, leave a comment and I'll do that for you :-) ).
Yep, I'm gearing up for a nice relaxing week next week. I've only got two shifts (not at my request), so the five hours overtime I've put in this week ought to stand me in good stead, financially. My parents are off on their holiday at the end of next week, off to italy again, so it looks like I'll be looking after theplace while they're gone. Good stuff.
Well, I am financially solvent again. The huge lurking financial burden of the new lens has disappeared. Yep, that's right, as of yesterday, I am now the proud owner of a Tokina 11-16 F2.8 etc etc lens (video review here). I am also the proud owner of a 14" Zildjian Oriental China Trash (a cymbal), which I have in fact been the proud owner of for a while.
I did put it up on ebay, but for some bizarre reason, while drum retailers are having no trouble selling theirs for £170-£220, no one wanted to pay more than £65 for mine. Which is odd because it's in excellent condition and generally very sparkly.
Still, I didn't really want to get rid of it, so I spose I can now go back to proud-owning it.
So, what else have I been up to. Well, we finally went along to Twin Lakes again, which was pretty cool. I ended up back about 90 minutes late for my shift (despite my repeated warnings to my sis that we were gonna be late - bleh) but they took it in good stead and didn't complain.
The place hasn't changed. It's still awesome, still a fantastic mixture of ball pools, slides, rope bridges, swinging ropes, spinny floor pads, spinning poles, climbing nets, rafts, pedalos, mock-up western villages (complete with heavy rain), pirate ships, little zoos etc etc... My nephew and co, me included, ran around the place, me with my sparkly new camera. The video quality is awesome. Unfortunately, it also takes up just under 4.6gb So I've got to burn the lot to a dvd.
Not to worry, I'm looking forward to backing everything up on my computer before reinstalling everything. Time for a clean sweep - it's not had one for a while. Time to clean out the cobwebs, I feel. To this end, I've won/sniped an 80gb SATA hard drive. £9.50 for an 80Gb drive. Can't complain, hey!
Not much else to report really. Work goes on as normal. Home goes on as normal, though the place is pretty tidy what with the rents getting ready to sod off to italy.
Bleh, that's it really.
I'm off to drink my celebration beer (just the one this time, yikes!) and then to go to beer :-).
Here are a few pics for you :-). (The people featured in the photos are not my family. If they are your family and you want their faces edited out of the photos, leave a comment and I'll do that for you :-) ).
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Maybe I should go into business...
Chapter one: Ebayness
I have been spending hours and hours on ebay recently. Since playing with that little tamron lens, I've been taken with the idea of getting a wide angle lens for my camera, and I figured there were a few things that I wasn't using, so up they went.
Days later, and I've raised a few hundred quid, I'm (still - see below) almost at the point where I can buy the lens, and things are going well.
Admittedly I'm running round like a headless chicken to and from the post office, and my ebay seller's fees are not far off three-figure sums. I'm reasonably stressed trying to keep on top of everything, what with setting reserves, finding boxes (which I'm beginning to run out of), and things like that, but I'm sure after the miniature furore has died down, the effort will be worth it. As I write this, there are only a couple of auctions still open, so hopefully once they're done, I have only to ship those two items and await the (hopefully!) positive feedback, pay the fees off, and we can draw a line under the whole thing and move on. With a few hundred quid more in the pocket than before.
Halfway through my selling spree, I decided I had gone to so much effort to make money, and I hadn't (despite being on track to exceed the cost of the new lens by a wide margin) really got anything in return (the money just sits unused staring at me, etc). I fancied a new digicam on account of the fact that my old one now seems to enjoy eating batteries (maybe it was just the batteries that were getting knackered, in retrospect) and besides, I just fancied something cool.
So I decided to buy an awesome little piece of kit, the Canon SD780IS (as it's known in America - over here it's called the IXUS100IS (I think)). An awesome little digicam, 12 megapixels of fun, complete with a beautiful 2 and a half inch screen and High-Def (well, 720P) video recording, all contained within the smallest compact camera body I've ever seen on the market. Look at the photo. The thing it's resting on is a (credit-card sized) membership card of mine. That's how small the camera is. It's a tiny little thing. It even has an optical viewfinder, though being no bigger than 6mm by 5mm, the viewfinder is extremly squinty to use, it does come in useful from time to time.I ordered the camera last saturday (having paid £10 for fast delivery) and after a few days of waiting at the window looking for the post van (seeing it twice drive down the road to someone else's house, and then up again out of sight), I got woken up at 9am on friday by the stupidly loud doorbell, pressed by a very nice man who wanted to give me a camera. You'll notice that I said the SD780 was the American name of the camera. You'll also notice my camera is an SD780. Yep, it's a grey import, I do believe, so if it does go wrong, well...
I just get in touch with the seller, who has included a one year warranty with it.
Why did I buy a grey import? Simple. To buy the camera over here would be £230. To buy a grey import from ebay, was £180. A substantial saving, and after having a very long play with the camera, let me assure you that it is absolutely top notch, even if the paperwork doesn't add up :-).
Chapter Two: The New Lens
As I say, I've been struck on getting a wide angle lens for the camera (which camera!? Er, my D200). I've been doing some more reading around, and as cool and sparkly as the little tamron lens seems, its competitor, the Tokina 11-16mm F2.8 seems to edge it in three very important areas. One, the tokina is built out of higher quality materials and is substantially more sturdy. Two, the tokina lens is absolutely razor sharp, where as the tamron is a bit fuzzy by comparison. And three, the tokina is a much faster lens than the tamron, being a professional standard F2.8.
Sorry for the mumbo jumbo there, read the links if you're interested in learning what I'm talking on about, if you're not, suffice it to say that the Tokina lens is substantially better than the Tamron lens. It's more expensive, but I've decided that I intend to stretch to the cost.
So that's settled, hopefully I'll have it soon.
What else have I been up to? Not much. Another trip to Manchester, which was pretty good.
This time, they redirected the planes down to the runway nearest the beer garden, so I was running round like a headless chicken trying to take photos of them zooming off to various places.
So yeah.
I'm knackered, so I'll leave you to it :).
Have fun!
Sorry for the mumbo jumbo there, read the links if you're interested in learning what I'm talking on about, if you're not, suffice it to say that the Tokina lens is substantially better than the Tamron lens. It's more expensive, but I've decided that I intend to stretch to the cost.
So that's settled, hopefully I'll have it soon.
What else have I been up to? Not much. Another trip to Manchester, which was pretty good.
This time, they redirected the planes down to the runway nearest the beer garden, so I was running round like a headless chicken trying to take photos of them zooming off to various places.
So yeah.
I'm knackered, so I'll leave you to it :).
Have fun!
Monday, July 06, 2009
Canines, Nephews and Sticky Labels...
I'm concentrating on having a good night, which makes blogging a little difficult. Still I soldier on.
Yes, after getting back into the swing of things, fitness wise, I'm sitting in my nice arm room, with finest beer, having just eaten a lovely (well, a bit overdone) fish and chip supper, listening to tunes and wandering around the internets, which is now a singular noun rather than a plural.
I woke up several times this morning to what is probably the nicest feeling on earth - that of discovering that you've woken up early, and you're free to go back to bed. Eventually though, the time came to go to an interview at the AFCO in town, just to confirm that I was happy with my job choices and ready to proceed. Eventually, despite being subjected to a personal space invasion by some woman or other, and having to listen to the ramblings of an unemployed feckwit who left his last job because he became violent when he didn't receive something or other that he felt he was entitled to, I arrived in town still sane, and after a reasonably nice breakfast made my way to the AFCO.
I got there in good time, and was seen fairly quickly, only to be told that the interview had in fact been cancelled, as some more paperwork came to light. My recruiter was good enough to ask if we could skip it, and after being told no, we got through it all with a minimum of fuss and effort.
I was feeling cheery on the way back home so I popped into a shop I don't normally freqent.
Jessops, a national chain of camera specialists, have suffered from a somewhat poor standing with me, after I went into one of their stores (Meadowhall - this was a few years ago so the staff there are probably completely different people now) asking for advice, and was practically told to either buy the item, or not buy it, from a disinterested and apathetic member of staff.
Me being the sort of person I am, I didn't make a fuss and simply bought the item, swearing under my breath never to visit one of their shops again.
However, in a camera created daze, I wandered into the Sheffield branch of jessops to have a look about, and spent a short time staring lovingly at various lenses and bits of kit.
I had a chat behind the guy with the counter, who to my (unfairly held, in retrospect) surprise turned out to be polite and friendly. After a short chat about filters, I decided that this guy was doing his job well enough for me to end my unofficial boycott of the place, and bought two sparkly new filters for my lenses :-).
I then decided to push my luck a little, and after a while of looking at various lenses, came across a little rising star. The Tamron SP AF 10-24mm f/3.5-4.5 DiII LD Aspherical (IF) - to give it its full name, is an ultrawide lens designed for cameras like mine, and it feels like a little gem. As the guy was kind enough to get it out of the basement, and put it on a camera for me to look at and play around with for myself, I've found that the optical quality is good (The review says it's poor, but then the review says that the 18-105 is poor, and I've found that a cracking little lens), and the build quality is great. Everything fits together well, the lens is compact, but not light, and feels well put together. The guy behind the counter even accompanied me out into the street so I could see what it was like in the real world, instead of inside a dark shop.
I was going to get the Tokina 11-16 lens, as it allegedly has higher optical quality, and higher build quality. However, at £429, it's also £90 more expensive, and that's £90 I don't really want to throw at it.
But I loved the tamron, and the time I spent in the shop chatting to the guy behind the counter about pretty much everything, photography related, has convinced me to put the three year old grudge I've had against Jessops to rest, which is good - I don't like animosity.
I found that Jessops will print my photos in A3 for me too, and even up to A0 if I want to step up to the price. I don't have that kinda room in my bedroom, but A3 is good!
So, what else have I been up to?
Well, in the past week or so, the dog came to stay. For six days. My family, being the mostly "busy" type of people (busy in the way that only people who don't like walking dogs can be) that they are, the care of the dog seemed to fall pretty much solely to me.
After a few days my nephew comes to stay as well. He's apparently solely under my care. Great! No one asked me if I would help, or even if I was busy or able to help, I get the impression he was dumped at my bedroom door with a "here, take care of him" shouted after him.
The three days went fairly quickly though, and through it all, the sun shone and shone.
One time, I took them both out for a big long "mystical trek" round the local housing estate, through all the "secret passages" (alleyways) and everything.
We spent a good 90 minutes out, before we took a little detour down to my mate's old house.
Nothing special about it, a house opposite a patch of grass surrounded by trees and the stream.
But it was weird, the last time I walked down that road must have been ten years ago. Almost everything was exactly as it was when I was a kid. I wasn't sure whether to feel happy that it hadn't changed with time, or sad that both he (my pal) and I had.
We forded the stream though, and walked back up to the park. After a brief session of chasing the dog around the new bike track (during which time I learned that bike tracks are best suited to bikes, and during which time the dog learned not to run down hills too fast for me to keep up (as her paws parted company with the floor and left her swinging by her neck - eek!).
Eventually, we went off to the park where we stayed for a while before disappearing off home.
The days passed interminably, as I tried to keep both the nephew and the dog in check without getting too disgruntled at the sudden and complete loss of my personal space/time.
Eventually though, and after one occasion where my nephew opened a shop (by sticking adhesive price labels over everything in sight), it was time for them to leave, and after a protracted goodbye, I had my life back to myself again - woo! I've always said, kids and animals are great, as long as you can hand them back to their owners when you've had enough.
Yesterday though, I found occasion to be at my sis's house, trimming the grass and the trees, and getting on with those other summery jobs. My time there coincided with the Wimbledon final, and as we sat out in the sun, my sister brought the TV outside for us to watch the tennis in the garden... It was surreal, but a fairly laid back day.
Though it's nice to have my personal space back, and I'd like to keep it for a while longer.
As the scorching heat of last week fades away to be replaced by leaden skies and rolling thunder, I'm sat wondering if those five or six perfect days were all the summer we are going to get this year.
Hopefully not, eh? Let's hope summer continues to be as beautiful as it has been.
EDIT: As a little surprise pressie, I have here a couple of tunes that I should have thrown in with "Back on Track" a few entries down the page. Some music to keep us company on our journey to Strensall.
Enter Shikari - Juggernaut
and
Kaiser Chiefs - Never Miss A Beat - with the best song lyrics in the world ever.
The customary pictures :-) Nothing exciting this time round :-P.
Epilogue: 8th July.
That Enter Shikari tune, while originally well liked by me, has fast worn out its welcome. Over the course of a few days, the tune reinvented itself as a musical bout of talentless screaming egotistical U2 "let's-save-the-world" tree planting construction opposing yoghurt weaving hippie nonsense.
So that's that then.
Yes, after getting back into the swing of things, fitness wise, I'm sitting in my nice arm room, with finest beer, having just eaten a lovely (well, a bit overdone) fish and chip supper, listening to tunes and wandering around the internets, which is now a singular noun rather than a plural.
I woke up several times this morning to what is probably the nicest feeling on earth - that of discovering that you've woken up early, and you're free to go back to bed. Eventually though, the time came to go to an interview at the AFCO in town, just to confirm that I was happy with my job choices and ready to proceed. Eventually, despite being subjected to a personal space invasion by some woman or other, and having to listen to the ramblings of an unemployed feckwit who left his last job because he became violent when he didn't receive something or other that he felt he was entitled to, I arrived in town still sane, and after a reasonably nice breakfast made my way to the AFCO.
I got there in good time, and was seen fairly quickly, only to be told that the interview had in fact been cancelled, as some more paperwork came to light. My recruiter was good enough to ask if we could skip it, and after being told no, we got through it all with a minimum of fuss and effort.
I was feeling cheery on the way back home so I popped into a shop I don't normally freqent.
Jessops, a national chain of camera specialists, have suffered from a somewhat poor standing with me, after I went into one of their stores (Meadowhall - this was a few years ago so the staff there are probably completely different people now) asking for advice, and was practically told to either buy the item, or not buy it, from a disinterested and apathetic member of staff.
Me being the sort of person I am, I didn't make a fuss and simply bought the item, swearing under my breath never to visit one of their shops again.
However, in a camera created daze, I wandered into the Sheffield branch of jessops to have a look about, and spent a short time staring lovingly at various lenses and bits of kit.
I had a chat behind the guy with the counter, who to my (unfairly held, in retrospect) surprise turned out to be polite and friendly. After a short chat about filters, I decided that this guy was doing his job well enough for me to end my unofficial boycott of the place, and bought two sparkly new filters for my lenses :-).
I then decided to push my luck a little, and after a while of looking at various lenses, came across a little rising star. The Tamron SP AF 10-24mm f/3.5-4.5 DiII LD Aspherical (IF) - to give it its full name, is an ultrawide lens designed for cameras like mine, and it feels like a little gem. As the guy was kind enough to get it out of the basement, and put it on a camera for me to look at and play around with for myself, I've found that the optical quality is good (The review says it's poor, but then the review says that the 18-105 is poor, and I've found that a cracking little lens), and the build quality is great. Everything fits together well, the lens is compact, but not light, and feels well put together. The guy behind the counter even accompanied me out into the street so I could see what it was like in the real world, instead of inside a dark shop.
I was going to get the Tokina 11-16 lens, as it allegedly has higher optical quality, and higher build quality. However, at £429, it's also £90 more expensive, and that's £90 I don't really want to throw at it.
But I loved the tamron, and the time I spent in the shop chatting to the guy behind the counter about pretty much everything, photography related, has convinced me to put the three year old grudge I've had against Jessops to rest, which is good - I don't like animosity.
I found that Jessops will print my photos in A3 for me too, and even up to A0 if I want to step up to the price. I don't have that kinda room in my bedroom, but A3 is good!
So, what else have I been up to?
Well, in the past week or so, the dog came to stay. For six days. My family, being the mostly "busy" type of people (busy in the way that only people who don't like walking dogs can be) that they are, the care of the dog seemed to fall pretty much solely to me.
After a few days my nephew comes to stay as well. He's apparently solely under my care. Great! No one asked me if I would help, or even if I was busy or able to help, I get the impression he was dumped at my bedroom door with a "here, take care of him" shouted after him.
The three days went fairly quickly though, and through it all, the sun shone and shone.
One time, I took them both out for a big long "mystical trek" round the local housing estate, through all the "secret passages" (alleyways) and everything.
We spent a good 90 minutes out, before we took a little detour down to my mate's old house.
Nothing special about it, a house opposite a patch of grass surrounded by trees and the stream.
But it was weird, the last time I walked down that road must have been ten years ago. Almost everything was exactly as it was when I was a kid. I wasn't sure whether to feel happy that it hadn't changed with time, or sad that both he (my pal) and I had.
We forded the stream though, and walked back up to the park. After a brief session of chasing the dog around the new bike track (during which time I learned that bike tracks are best suited to bikes, and during which time the dog learned not to run down hills too fast for me to keep up (as her paws parted company with the floor and left her swinging by her neck - eek!).
Eventually, we went off to the park where we stayed for a while before disappearing off home.
The days passed interminably, as I tried to keep both the nephew and the dog in check without getting too disgruntled at the sudden and complete loss of my personal space/time.
Eventually though, and after one occasion where my nephew opened a shop (by sticking adhesive price labels over everything in sight), it was time for them to leave, and after a protracted goodbye, I had my life back to myself again - woo! I've always said, kids and animals are great, as long as you can hand them back to their owners when you've had enough.
Yesterday though, I found occasion to be at my sis's house, trimming the grass and the trees, and getting on with those other summery jobs. My time there coincided with the Wimbledon final, and as we sat out in the sun, my sister brought the TV outside for us to watch the tennis in the garden... It was surreal, but a fairly laid back day.
Though it's nice to have my personal space back, and I'd like to keep it for a while longer.
As the scorching heat of last week fades away to be replaced by leaden skies and rolling thunder, I'm sat wondering if those five or six perfect days were all the summer we are going to get this year.
Hopefully not, eh? Let's hope summer continues to be as beautiful as it has been.
EDIT: As a little surprise pressie, I have here a couple of tunes that I should have thrown in with "Back on Track" a few entries down the page. Some music to keep us company on our journey to Strensall.
Enter Shikari - Juggernaut
and
Kaiser Chiefs - Never Miss A Beat - with the best song lyrics in the world ever.
"What do you want for tea?"
"I want crisps"
"I want crisps"
The customary pictures :-) Nothing exciting this time round :-P.
Epilogue: 8th July.
That Enter Shikari tune, while originally well liked by me, has fast worn out its welcome. Over the course of a few days, the tune reinvented itself as a musical bout of talentless screaming egotistical U2 "let's-save-the-world" tree planting construction opposing yoghurt weaving hippie nonsense.
So that's that then.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Summertime!
10:25PM
I'm walking home, having just been let out of work an hour early. I'm off home with a heavier than normal shoulder bag (it was 8 cans of beer heavier), and I'm looking forward to getting stuck into them, when I hear something I don't expect to hear at this time of night.
Checking to see whether I'm just going mad (as I occasionally do), I peer over the concrete fence into the cricket field, and see the cricket club packed with people enjoying a cold beer or glass of wine. People are smoking out on the verandah and from one of the other bars/restaurants (as they all seem to be, these days) come dance versions/remixes of Michael Jackson's best known tunes.
Seems yesterday's sad news has had a predicable but heartwarmingly sentimental response, and as the chorus of "Beat It" drifts over the field, I see that my ears weren't in fact lying to me, and the cricket field is full of parents and kids, playing football, throwing balls around, frisbees etc.
At 10:25. Traffic is sparse, most of the houses have no lights on, but it's still light (ish) and warm enough for kids to play.
And this is the thing I love about living in England. Sure, the stereotypical overcast weather with rain a few times a week isn't far off the mark, but it's not as common as people think.
Even we maintain that stereotype, and everytime we get something out of the ordinary, like the snow earlier this year, the heavy summer rain a couple of years ago, or a national heatwave (due to be repeated next week apparently) that is so hot that the tarmac roads literally start melting, we treat it as if it is something special and new, a novelty to be enjoyed, or endured.
And boy are we in for it next week, or so they say. With 32 degree (89F) heat mixed with heavy thunderstorms, it looks like we're definitely gonna be having some fun. Let's hope no one falls foul of the weather - in all seriousness, heatwaves can be dangerous things. The thunder seems an ever-present threat too, as today's overcast sky turned the colour of lead, and steadily got darker before the night decided the day had had its fun, and turned the whole lot dark blue.
It seems that as far as the national consciousness is concerned, these types of weather are novel and they are special, when in fact, every year I can remember has had some type of odd weather.
It was with this traditional English mindset that I was pleasantly surprised by the sight of everyone out enjoying themselves, late at night, and it was that that has kept me in a good mood, almost an hour later.
I've been spending more than my normal share of time out and about in the lovely summer weather too. My sister has disappeared off for a package holiday, you see, and has had to leave the dog with us.
Tess as she has always been, is a lovable hyper dog that has endless amounts of energy (when it suits her) and therefore requires a lot of walking. Given that I am the most able bodied of my family (they're not old!), this task apparently falls to me.
So Tess and I have walked everywhere. Up hills, down hills, along streams, through streams, across roads, under parked cars, through peoples' kitchens, up peoples' trouser legs, through supermarkets, across rooftops, up trees, down drainpipes, and everywhere inbetween. We've been getting on quite well. The lil' girl even seems quite content to stretch out on my bed and go to sleep when she's tired/I'm not being sufficiently entertaining.
Another cornerstone of the English summertime, is Wimbledon. More formally, "The Championships, Wimbledon"
Ah yes, Wimbledon, that great English sporting tradition, where 128 (if I read wikipedia correctly) tennis players from all over the world (including 2 British players, 3 American players, 6 Australian players, 20 French players, 30 Russian players, and an assorted mess of other nationalities) expert tennis stars get together to do their thing in front of the cheering crowds, under the blazing sun/wet rain and above the grass and electricity/gas mainlines.
Now I have to admit, I'm not a tennis fan. However, I'm not a football/soccer/fussball/futebol/футбол/フットボール/whatever - fan either, but when the national side (or in this case, players representing the nation, are playing, I don't mind sitting down and watching for a few matches. Particularly if Andy Murray keeps winning, as he is doing at the minute (his next match is on monday, don't forget!)
We've even got the strawberries and cream - or my sister and I have at least.
Yes, as we did last year, my sister, nephew and I have been out to the local strawberry field, and after an initially disappointing half hour, have managed to come back with some 5 kilos of yummy shiny red strawberries. You can't have strawberries and cream without cream though, so I took care of that too.
And now, since I'm beginning to lose track of the way the easily-ordered blog post in my mind went from A to B to C, I'm going to call it a day.
Actually I think I'll call it a week. Since I now have 5 days off. Woo!
Here are some pickatures for you :).
I'm walking home, having just been let out of work an hour early. I'm off home with a heavier than normal shoulder bag (it was 8 cans of beer heavier), and I'm looking forward to getting stuck into them, when I hear something I don't expect to hear at this time of night.
Checking to see whether I'm just going mad (as I occasionally do), I peer over the concrete fence into the cricket field, and see the cricket club packed with people enjoying a cold beer or glass of wine. People are smoking out on the verandah and from one of the other bars/restaurants (as they all seem to be, these days) come dance versions/remixes of Michael Jackson's best known tunes.
Seems yesterday's sad news has had a predicable but heartwarmingly sentimental response, and as the chorus of "Beat It" drifts over the field, I see that my ears weren't in fact lying to me, and the cricket field is full of parents and kids, playing football, throwing balls around, frisbees etc.
At 10:25. Traffic is sparse, most of the houses have no lights on, but it's still light (ish) and warm enough for kids to play.
And this is the thing I love about living in England. Sure, the stereotypical overcast weather with rain a few times a week isn't far off the mark, but it's not as common as people think.
Even we maintain that stereotype, and everytime we get something out of the ordinary, like the snow earlier this year, the heavy summer rain a couple of years ago, or a national heatwave (due to be repeated next week apparently) that is so hot that the tarmac roads literally start melting, we treat it as if it is something special and new, a novelty to be enjoyed, or endured.
And boy are we in for it next week, or so they say. With 32 degree (89F) heat mixed with heavy thunderstorms, it looks like we're definitely gonna be having some fun. Let's hope no one falls foul of the weather - in all seriousness, heatwaves can be dangerous things. The thunder seems an ever-present threat too, as today's overcast sky turned the colour of lead, and steadily got darker before the night decided the day had had its fun, and turned the whole lot dark blue.
It seems that as far as the national consciousness is concerned, these types of weather are novel and they are special, when in fact, every year I can remember has had some type of odd weather.
It was with this traditional English mindset that I was pleasantly surprised by the sight of everyone out enjoying themselves, late at night, and it was that that has kept me in a good mood, almost an hour later.
I've been spending more than my normal share of time out and about in the lovely summer weather too. My sister has disappeared off for a package holiday, you see, and has had to leave the dog with us.
Tess as she has always been, is a lovable hyper dog that has endless amounts of energy (when it suits her) and therefore requires a lot of walking. Given that I am the most able bodied of my family (they're not old!), this task apparently falls to me.
So Tess and I have walked everywhere. Up hills, down hills, along streams, through streams, across roads, under parked cars, through peoples' kitchens, up peoples' trouser legs, through supermarkets, across rooftops, up trees, down drainpipes, and everywhere inbetween. We've been getting on quite well. The lil' girl even seems quite content to stretch out on my bed and go to sleep when she's tired/I'm not being sufficiently entertaining.
Another cornerstone of the English summertime, is Wimbledon. More formally, "The Championships, Wimbledon"
Ah yes, Wimbledon, that great English sporting tradition, where 128 (if I read wikipedia correctly) tennis players from all over the world (including 2 British players, 3 American players, 6 Australian players, 20 French players, 30 Russian players, and an assorted mess of other nationalities) expert tennis stars get together to do their thing in front of the cheering crowds, under the blazing sun/wet rain and above the grass and electricity/gas mainlines.
Now I have to admit, I'm not a tennis fan. However, I'm not a football/soccer/fussball/futebol/футбол/フットボール/whatever - fan either, but when the national side (or in this case, players representing the nation, are playing, I don't mind sitting down and watching for a few matches. Particularly if Andy Murray keeps winning, as he is doing at the minute (his next match is on monday, don't forget!)
We've even got the strawberries and cream - or my sister and I have at least.
Yes, as we did last year, my sister, nephew and I have been out to the local strawberry field, and after an initially disappointing half hour, have managed to come back with some 5 kilos of yummy shiny red strawberries. You can't have strawberries and cream without cream though, so I took care of that too.
And now, since I'm beginning to lose track of the way the easily-ordered blog post in my mind went from A to B to C, I'm going to call it a day.
Actually I think I'll call it a week. Since I now have 5 days off. Woo!
Here are some pickatures for you :).
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Nikon D200 Drop Test...
[spoiler - it didn't get damaged].
So my camera's there on my desk, I'm getting my sensor swabs and cleaning solution ready to get some crap off the sensor. I can't remember exactly what I did, but I think I must have got my hand tangled in the camera strap, and I ended up pulling the camera, lens still attached, off my desk.
It falls, in slow motion, before its fall is temporarily broken by my knee (which itself feels temporarily broken). It bounces off my knee to land [relatively] gently on the floor, before rolling under the bed.
Of course, I pick the camera up and give it the once over - once again, not an ounce of damage, not a dent, not even a scratch anywhere. But I've suddenly lost the ability to bend - or unbend - my left leg.
So I spent the rest of the night wandering around like Dr House, on one and a half legs.
What fun!
As for the D200? I spend ages cleaning the sensor and then discover I've got a hot pixel on the sensor! Bloody thing. I was annoyed first time I saw it, but it is literally one pixel, and once I forgot where it was, it became impossible to find again (One pixel out of 10.2 million is difficult to track down!).
Well, that's all! Ouch.
PS, if you're feeling a little cheated, you can read a drop-test review of various camera equipment including the D200, here.
And several drop tests of the 18-200, here, yikes!
And finally, this is what your expensive gear would look like after 5 years of professional use.
That's really all, now!
Well, I can walk downstairs normally now with only the very slightest twinge of pain, thankfully the knee seems to have healed okay.
As for the hot pixels, I've been playing silly buggers by shooting the camera at ridiculously high ISOs, and I've discovered I've actually got two hot pixels, one blue, one green (Further shooting turned up about a dozen pretty, sparkly, but unwanted and unexpected hot pixels).
I'm not too bothered though, to be honest. They're hard enough to see with the image at 100%, and even if I did notice them, I could use photoshop to get rid of them easily enough.
I'm not really concerned about the camera producing hot pixels. As Ken Rockwell said, every camera does it from time to time, and with me being a total ass and shooting at ISO 3200, even my camera is bound to show signs of strain from time to time.
So there you go :).
So my camera's there on my desk, I'm getting my sensor swabs and cleaning solution ready to get some crap off the sensor. I can't remember exactly what I did, but I think I must have got my hand tangled in the camera strap, and I ended up pulling the camera, lens still attached, off my desk.
It falls, in slow motion, before its fall is temporarily broken by my knee (which itself feels temporarily broken). It bounces off my knee to land [relatively] gently on the floor, before rolling under the bed.
Of course, I pick the camera up and give it the once over - once again, not an ounce of damage, not a dent, not even a scratch anywhere. But I've suddenly lost the ability to bend - or unbend - my left leg.
So I spent the rest of the night wandering around like Dr House, on one and a half legs.
What fun!
As for the D200? I spend ages cleaning the sensor and then discover I've got a hot pixel on the sensor! Bloody thing. I was annoyed first time I saw it, but it is literally one pixel, and once I forgot where it was, it became impossible to find again (One pixel out of 10.2 million is difficult to track down!).
Well, that's all! Ouch.
PS, if you're feeling a little cheated, you can read a drop-test review of various camera equipment including the D200, here.
And several drop tests of the 18-200, here, yikes!
And finally, this is what your expensive gear would look like after 5 years of professional use.
That's really all, now!
Epilogue: 14th June
Well, I can walk downstairs normally now with only the very slightest twinge of pain, thankfully the knee seems to have healed okay.
As for the hot pixels, I've been playing silly buggers by shooting the camera at ridiculously high ISOs, and I've discovered I've actually got two hot pixels, one blue, one green (Further shooting turned up about a dozen pretty, sparkly, but unwanted and unexpected hot pixels).
I'm not too bothered though, to be honest. They're hard enough to see with the image at 100%, and even if I did notice them, I could use photoshop to get rid of them easily enough.
I'm not really concerned about the camera producing hot pixels. As Ken Rockwell said, every camera does it from time to time, and with me being a total ass and shooting at ISO 3200, even my camera is bound to show signs of strain from time to time.
So there you go :).
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Back on Track...
Argh.
The first 5 minutes of waking up are always the worst. Blurred vision, mild (temporary) headache, mild temporary hypersensitivity to sound...
To be completely honest, I'm still knackered.
The first 5 minutes of waking up are always the worst. Blurred vision, mild (temporary) headache, mild temporary hypersensitivity to sound...
To be completely honest, I'm still knackered.
*twenty minutes later*
Right, I feel ten times better now, in fact, apart from the fact that I can feel my skin beginning to tighten up in response to the ultra-violet assault it's been under all day, and the fact that my right (again, always my right, why?!) shin is a little sore, I feel fantastic.
Today has heralded a return trip to Strensall, the army training center that I last visited in january last year. Having got my army application back on track, I was given a date for a bunch of assessments, and the assessments tiptoed closer and closer over the course of the weeks.
After a fairly sleepness night (so damn hot, doo damn nervous), I woke up at 06:45. True to form, about 25 minutes before I was due to get out of bed. Too early to get up, too late to go back to sleep. Damn.
Grabbed some weetabix, grabbed a banana, and off we went.
30 minutes later, after light traffic, we stopped wenting, and got busy arriving. There was already a crowd, one of the sergeants I recognised, and another lad who must have been along to provide moral support or some such.
My banana - of the yellow variety, had turned out to be related to the one I grabbed for the last assessment, as this one also not only opened itself, but bent in the middle the wrong way, revealing a mess of banana pate.
Turns out that in an attempt to get the day through as quickly as possible, lads were already going through their icebreakers even as they were waiting for the transport. The principle's simple - it's designed to test your ability to talk in public, to measure your confidence and communication skills.
Even as our lads were working their way through their icebreakers, I noticed once again how many 16, 17 and 18 year olds there were, and how few 22+ lads there were. Not sure why, the max age for joining is 33 so something must be going awry somewhere.
Remember gobby Simon? The cute, lovable but gobby fifteen year old kid from last year's selection?
I was certain that I saw him again in the crowd. Surely it was Simon, back for a rerun.
Except this kid, a sixteen year old called Josh, was a brand new kid. So hey, so what, someone new to make friends with.
To my pleasant surprise, one lad, from Mombasa no less, turned out to be 25. The scary looking (but ultimately very friendly and sociable) heavily tattoed lad turned out to be 24, which was cool. Not only that, but he and I were both after the same job. Tank Crewman on the Challenger 2.
Geez, I dunno, 24 and I'm developing an age complex already.
We had a young woman introduce herself, telling us she was from Uganda, which I, in my ignorance didn't even know was in the Commonwealth.
I've brushed up on it a little since then.
Soon enough, the coach turned up. Not a little pissy minibus like last time, a big coach driven by one of xyz 1234 squadron's transport division's finest. As we started moving, we continued with the icebreakers. I started mine, got into the intro, and then described the job I wanted to do and the role I wanted to go for.
"I want to join the Royal Armoured Corps, as a Main-Battle-Tank Tank Crewman. As soon as the words got out of my mouth, the big scary bald lad in front of me stared intently.
"Yes" I said to him, in a look, "We are both gonna be tankies, dude". The same hopes for the same job, knocked barriers down straight away. We kinda hit it off in a non homo totally heterosexual brothers-in-arms type way. We're both gonna be tankies. Screw rifles and 4 ton transport wagons, those poor guys carry their weapons - me and [whatsisname?] Our weapons are gonna carry us.
Better than last time. No pauses, no struggling for words, just (as was requested) two minutes of waffle to keep the assessors happy.
A short trip later, and we were in Doncaster to pick up some other kids. The bus filled up some, and off we went again.
I got chatting to the young lad behind me, just for something to do. This lad was determined he was gonna become a Para, one of the British Army's finest. Fair play to him, if he's got what it takes, he's a stronger young man than the majority of us there. He looked the type. Very short hair, your typical US Army haircut. His expression didn't give much away.
As time went on though and we headed over to Strensall, I got to know the lad a little. He was 18, nervous about the upcoming selection, but pretty sociable. At one stage I figured I was boring the lad, but just as I go quiet, he pipes up with another question - remember, I've done this before. Fair enough, it's nice to be wanted.
Again, we headed north. Past Ferrybridge Power Station, past Tadcaster Brewery, tunnelling through the tunnels, under underpasses, over overpasses, and all without resting at rest stops.
We got there eventually. The streets and little roundabouts and country lanes became more familiar, eventually the one or two houses dotted along the side of the road gave way to a long perimeter fence, which gave way to the entrance to Queen Elizabeth Barracks, Strensall.
We turned up, in time honoured fashion, with full bladders and (according to one lad who didn't put too fine a point on it) other pressing needs. Still, we were directed into the nearest prefab building.
It's at this point that we get marked up for the day's events. Coloured bibs were handed out left right and center. My bib? Red. My number? One.
Red one, RED ONE!, Red leader, you couldn't make it up!
I sat there, in my t-shirt, with a red bib, the giant "1" on it.
"This takes the piss. If they made a movie of my life no one would believe it".
Due to having recently imbibed three strong beers, my memory is a little hazy at this point.
The first order of the day was to drop our stuff off in the "classroom" and then "dress" (go) outside for the first test of the day. Which turned out to be the Jerry Can Carry. Two jerry cans full of water, weighing 25 kilos (55 pounds) a piece. Take one in each hand, and at walking pace, walk 150 meters without dropping them, or putting them down.
Joy! I only barely passed this last time.
The "course" looked fearsome enough, but when we overheard that it was only 25 meters end to end, and we'd have to do it six times each, nervous glances started shooting back and forth.
We dressed forward in a number of ranks, six I think it was. The instruction came to pick up the jerry cans and get ready to walk. As soon as I gripped them and lifted them, fifty kilograms of dead weight pulled my arms to my side.
"For fcuk's sake" I thought.
"Okay, walk with me" calls the sergeant, and keeping pace we get to the end of the first "lap".
"Turn to your right, so as not to hit the guy next to you" we're told. At the end of lap one all I'm thinking about is how much these bastards weigh. The water sloshes around inside them, and the cans seem to move of their own free will.
We get to the other end, then back, then back again, we finish a third circuit.
As I head up to the end of the fourth lap, my confidence starts wavering as the cans seem insurmountably heavy. They've gone from pulling my arms against my sides to pulling my shoulders out of their sockets.
Two of our number, two girls (not saying anything about girls, just saying it as it was!!!) dropped their cans, one after the other, at the end of the fourth lap. "you've passed" says the sergeant. As I listen on, the pain in my hands temporarily forgotten, he mentions to the two that "you only need to do 100 meters to pass", and we're carrying 150 meters.
"Right you bugger, I'm not being fcuked around with, you want 150 meters, you'll bloody well get it", thinks I.
At the start of the fifth lap, the cans slip, almost out of my grip. Steeling myself, grabbing them by my fingertips and forcing my hands tightly closed, I end up with the handles digging into the flesh between my knuckles, hurting more than they did before.
But slowly, we get towards the end, each footstep takes us twice as close to the end, and remembering last time when I all but threw my cans down, I take care to lower them to the ground, with a grin, having just passed.
As the first group, we get the most rest while another two or three groups do their thing. "Your cans hit mine on the turn" says Para Boy, grinning. I shrug. Nothing I can do about that, I was busy trying not to drop the damn things.
Eventually though, we're all back together and we're marched into the Gym.
PTI Bastard is nowhere to be seen, this time we have a guy who seems a lot less scary (while commanding the same respect! don't let anyone say otherwise!) and more sociable. We've got to do the heaves again, measuring your ability to lift your own bodyweight.
In the field, maybe in afghanistan, fighting house to house, there'll be a few times when you've got to pull yourself up through a window into a building. If not, there will be times when you need to scramble up a wall and get down the other side while Terry's letting loose at your sorry arse.
Hence this assessment - how many times can you lift your bodyweight.
This time could have gone better. I was towards the back of the queue, and watched both in admiration and in contact embarassment as the strongest of our group did 20 pullups/heaves, his muscles sticking out far enough for him to crack his head on. The little sod.
Others didn't fare so well, one lad dangling from the bar, seemed content to stay there, as his feet pedalled in circles, scooby-doo style, as if he was trying to gain purchase on the very air itself. I would have cried out of horrified pity, but I've seen worse.
Then, for all my arrogance, came my turn.
I jumped up, grabbed the bar, and my fingers almost lost grip there and then.
The varnished wooden bar, slick with sweat, was none too easy to grip, but still determined to pass, I began.
Up, down. "One"
As I began my second ascent, it was clear I'd misjudged my body position. As I lifted myself up a second time, my legs swung forward, pulling my hands and the bar away from me.
"Two".
I pulled myself up a third time, swinging violently like a pendulum, the anger on my face. I'd trained for hours to be the strongest I could be, but because of poor technique, because of the slick sweat-lubricated bar, my strength may as well have not been there!
I felt my body and head going backwards as my feet narrowly avoided hitting the PTI in the chest, and with an angry grunt I half lowered, half dropped myself onto the floor.
"Three".
I managed five last time, I wasn't tired, not even a bit, I could have done better, if it wasn't for my technique and that fcuking bar! I know, they say a bad workman always blames his tools, but I was riding a goddamn motoGP bike with one wheel!
I wandered over to the corner, dejected, embarrassed and angry.
I was one of the last to do the test, and so, quickly, we were told to go outside ready for the run.
This was it, the bit that I would have put off if I could have, the hardest, most horrible bit.
We got led around the route, same as last time. No humour, nothing nasty, just a quick route tour.
We got back to the start, the same place PTI bastard told us he hated our guts, 18 months ago.
"I'll give you a tip" says PTI-not-bastard. "Stick to the left hand side, and you'll knock about 200 meters off your circuit. 'cos the guys who measured it, didn't measure it properly".
Course I'm a veteran of MotoGp games, I use the racing line when i'm walking, much less when I'm on the scoot or whatever, Stick to the racing line and you will have a fecking easier time!
"Go" he says.
"Big deal" I think to myself as I sprint off. This isn't like last time.
This isn't where I nearly make myself throw up because I don't know how to run, this is about setting the best time I can. There's no point doing the first lap of a 2 lap race in 4 minutes if you're puking like a dog with food poisoning halfway through lap two. Pace yourself. Don't stay behind to help your mates, and don't expect them to stay behind to help you. I set a decent pace, breathing hard, I would have sworn but I was too busy breathing out of my arse. I passsed para lad, using what scragged breath I had free to grunt some kind of encouragement to the kid. "Keep up with me" or something like that.
A couple of dudes I'd never seen before passed me. I got mad, I got angry, towards the end of lap one, in the 27C (80F) heat, with no breeze, I was bloody angry.
I thought about giving up, I slowed a couple of times, in front of me, lads that I were chasing suddenly dropped behind me. Others that were far ahead and lost to my sight appeared again, leaning against trees, feeling sorry for themselves.
What could I say? It was hard, I found it very hard. But if I couldn't even run 1.5 miles in trainers and trackies as a civilian, how the hell would I run it in combats and boots?
"It's hard, and it's only going to get harder" I thought to myself, as I powered on. I got to the end of the main straight, the main road into the camp, before it turns off into the backstreets around the mess halls, the training buildings etc.
I was narrowly aware of someone, no, two people overtaking me. One talking to the other. Neither was our para lad. "He has to be somewhere behind me, he'll be close by" I said to myself.
The two lads passed me, one, our lad from donny with the bright purple hair as his mate runs alongside shouting support. "Fcuk this" I think, "I'm not lagging behind. I'm staying here" I thought and glancing around, acknowledging the lad behind me who is also breathing out of his arse at this point, "you are not passing me!"
We got past one of the outbuildings, as one lad - another unfamiliar face - passed me, before we turned the corner though, he was back behind me. The lads in front kept pace, as i closed in on them. We turned the final corner, to the home straight, which horribly, wasn't straight, and it wasn't until we got past the elbow in the corner that we could see the instructors shouting us on.
"Come on! Get a fucking move on! Come on lads, hurry it up! Close in!"
"Fuck this" I thought, I've just done a mile and a half breathing out of my arse, I'm not going to show a weak side now. Like a total dick, All the reservations, all my reserves, second thoughts and pacing disappeared as I sprinted to the end. My first priority was to finish, now it looked like that was a cert, my new priority was to finish well. I sprinted, grunting and swearing, my legs making small circles behind me as the sergeants cheered me on.
I got 11 minutes exactly. 11:00.
How about that.
I sprinted to the outbuilding next to us to calm down. Don't bend over, don't lie down. Stand straight, stand tall. Anything less, and you won't get the oxygen in your lungs.
Sweat pouring down us, our words coming in ragged gasps, we shared "victory tales" and compared times and experiences. The fastest was our little lad Josh, at 9 minutes 9 seconds. (very, very very fast by the Army's standards). the slowest (that finished under their own power) came in at about 14 and a half minutes.
As for my lad, my mate, the para kid...
DNF, all the way, or not as the case may be. The kid hadn't kept himself hydrated, he hadn't been drinking water, and even as he ran past, the sergeant could tell by his red face that he was struggling, and he said to him "I don't want you to run anymore".
We repaired to the changing rooms.
As I and a few other lads were getting ready to get a nice cold shower, the younger lads were blushing and inspecting their fingernails.
"Come on lads" I said, "You didn't think you'd join the Army and NOT have to shower together did you?"
Eventually I manhandle myself over to the shower which is pretty vacant - our lot would rather be scruffs than be clean. I climb into the shower with a warning "Look all you want, just don't fcuking touch!"
I hit the nozzle, right before I yell obscenities.
The water is cold, no heating whatsoever, even as I'm backing away, I'm swearing.
Then I notice my forehead is dripping with sweat and I smell like a moose.
"What the hell" I think, and throw myself under the shower.
"How is it?" ask the other lads.
"It's okay mate, a bit warm for me" says I, getting out of the shower and laughing to their cries of anguish as they cover themselves in ice.
After the showers, rehydrate, get water down your throat, and listen to the sergeant.
Our sergeant sat us down and talked to us about the dangers of dehydration. The dangers of isotonic sports drinks, the trouble you get with drinking lucozade before a run.
The general synopsis is that the best thing to drink before, during and after physical excersise, is water, H20, and water. And don't let Glaxosmithkline tell you otherwise.
Water, Water and water. Not lucozade, not sports drinks, Water!
Next comes dinner. Even as we enter the building, I see the "Sodexo" signs above the door.
The Number of the Beast himself may as well have been carved into the wooden doors.
Back in the day, when I was a boy of seventeen, a young man in the TA (British Army Reservists) our food was provided by chefs of the Royal Logistics Corps. Army chefs trained to serve army soldiers with good solid food.
Since then, under Gordon Brown (I spell his name with capitals, because it's the last fcuking time it will happen in his lifetime) and the various politicians have outsourced practically all functions of the army. Now we have a french company called Sodexo providing all the British Army's food.
Isn't the EU awesome, eh?
Bleh.
So the army is outsourced to contractors, Sodexo provide the food, some european company provides our ammunion, what the fcuking hell happened to an army being self sufficient?
I'll tell you what happened to it! New Fcuking Labour!!!
Back in the day, the army used to blast an an enemy out of his position with artilliery, before the soldiers move in to flush the stragglers out. Then our lads would move in, set up ammo dumps, kitchens, forward operating bases, etc.
These days, it seems that we don't do wars anymore, we only do "combat engagements".
"The historians can't seem to settle whether to call this one "The Third Space War" (or the "Fourth"), or whether "The First Interstellar War" fits it better. We just call it "The Bug War" if we call it anything, which we usually don't and in any case the historians date the beginning of "war" after the time I joined my first outfit and ship. Everything up to then and still later were "incidents," "patrols," or "police actions." However, you are just as dead if you buy the farm in an "incident" as you are if you buy it in a declared war." - Johnny Rico - Starship Troopers.
We do the combat then some wiseass civilian contractor moves in. Some guys who don't carry weapons, who don't do the fighting, but because they're not PAID to fight or to be anywhere dangerous, earn quadruple salary just by being in a warzone.
Jackasses.
Anyways, we make our way along the queue to the food, under the watchful eye of the food guardian. We keep an equally close eye on this guy to make sure he doesn't drip any sweat into the food, and we grab whatever he's touched the least.
For me, pasta and meatball bologneise, with chips.
Can't complain.
I'm enlightning the guys about the virtues (or lack thereof) of sodhexo and how much the regular army hate them (their new policy, "pay as you dine" (or known amongst the soldiers, Save as you starve) having proved deeply unpopular, I'm busy slagging Sodexo off to all and sundry when the grins and giggle in front of me go quiet.
"What?" I say...
"What were you saying about me?" says sergeant whatsisface who has magically appeared behind me.
To a completely unconvincing burst of laughter from the lads in front of me, I manage to get out "Absolutely nothing, Staff".
He took it in good humour - I hope.
Eventually, time comes to assemble for the command tasks - an assessment of your ability to function as part of a team.The first two teams go off and do their thing while we sit in the sunshin and chill, waiting for the slots to become available. The birds were singing, we were laid back throwing questions back and forth with the local sergeant, one of whom recognised me as an ex reservist. Nice one.If a little embarrassing.
Eventually time goes to do one of the command tasks.
We turn up under some big-ass tree, a beech or something. Below it is a gravel pit, bordered by wood, maybe eleven feet wide and 22 foot deep (3.5 meters x 7 meters deep)
In the middle of this pit is a wooden frame, two logs buried into the earth, standing vertical.
Between them, is lashed another log to the horizontal.
From this log hangs a tyre, like you'd find on a tractor.
The helmets go on.
"Right" says the sergeant.
"Say that this gas canister" - he points to a heavy LPG bottle at our feet "is ammunition - you need to get it to the soldiers at the front".
"You don't touch the floor, at all.".
"You can use the ammo boxes to get across".
Great. Crystal maze, let the timer begin!!!
Picture here:
So we got two minutes to plan what we were gonna do, and ten minutes to get round it.
The sergeant counted out the seconds, "you can start planning...now".
Which was followed by a profound silence while the ammo boxes laid there in the dirt.
At which point I piped up (Do I sound bigheaded? Damn right I do, I practically lead the entire team to victory!)
I noticed the planks on the floor. "What we should do is get those boxes, throw them towards the tyre, and rest the plank between the two, walking across.
So who's gonna be first across?"
Course, my idea, I get to try it out. Under the watchful eye of the sergeant, I'm edging across a wooden plank balanced on two ammo boxes, on top of a virtual minefield, as I grab hold of the tyre.
"FFS" I think as i edge through the tyre and pull myself vertical before setting myself down on one of the ammo boxes on the other side of the tyre.
"You ready for the ammo" said my mate on the other side, right before he tossed the gas bottle through the tyre at me.
I wasn't, but I figured I could handle the weight and keep my balance.
It was a close thing.
30 seconds later, witha big grin, I tossed (gently enough to not break it) the "ammo" gas bottle to the other side of the obstacle, and my buddies started following through the tyre, down to my side.
At which point the sergeant called time on the exercise.
With two minutes to go, he called a halt to the proceedings.
Seems me and my pals (my pals and I) had already crossed the obstacle, carrying the cargo, and to all intents and purposes, had succeeded.
But the rest of the "section", a section being 8 people, had done fcuk all.
I don't know this, I didn't see them doing this, I was too busy getting the job done.
Me and maybe two or three pals had concentrated on getting the ammo through, while the other four or five stood there thinking "hey look at those guys doing that thing", and the sergeant pulled us up on it, big time.
The end result? Had we been assessed as a team, we would have passed.
Since we were assessed as individuals, based on our level of participation, three out of eight passed.
And me?
I got the highest score of all, the score for best participation and the credit for leading the team to a pass. Apparently I was the only one who did any real talking, and had we been allowed to finish, our entire team would have got across with the cargo, from one side of the obstacle to the other.
When we finished, the sergeant asked me what job I did.
I told him that I rode pizza scooters for a living.
You could see the gears grinding in his mind - "that doesn't account for it"
"What job did you do before?"
I told him I worked at a call center.
Apparently that accounts for my "great communication skills".
In the words of a Sergeant of the British Army, I have a "Very Strong Personality".
You'd have to shove a helium balloon up my nose to make my head any bigger than it is now :-D
Apparently, and I made sure to listen in to make sure I wasn't getting confuzzled with someone else, as soon as the exercise started, I started banging ideas, and solutions and strategies out."Do you lot know how to do it? Well I do if you don't, listen in"...
Personally I think I was being a gobby knowall.
But hey, I aced that test.
One of our team, a poor spiky haired fifteen year old kid failed with zero score, big time kick up the ass. He stood there in the command task and for 10 minutes didn't say a thing.
His fault, his loss, I still feel sorry for the kid. He got off the coach with a face like a wet weekend.
We got on the coach without much warning, "Is that it?" and it was.
Our scores were called out on the way home. Did I pass?
I did.
I don't know what happened with the heaves or whatever, but I managed to pass pretty well.
And on the way home, we slept, we chatted, we reflected.
those that didn't pass today will pass later.
Maybe para boy will get his place in his regiment.
Let's see how things go, eh?
EPILOGUE:
It's just gone 4am, and the sky is already brightening. It's that shade of blue that promises a beautiful day. The dawn chorus is as beautiful as it's ever been, and by the looks of it, we're in for another lovely hot day.
As for me, I've been chilling out, drinking beer for the last 6 hours. I'd be lying if I said I was stone cold sober, but hey, I've got cause to celebrate.
Just about everything that can go right, has gone right. I've done the assessments that I was dreading, and I've passed every single one. I went thinking I'd have done well to scrape a pass, and as it was, I stormed through it.
So lets hope that before long, I can become a British Soldier.
I hope you enjoyed reading about my day as much as I enjoyed doing it.
Here are today's tunes.
"All Summer Long" - Chris Rea
"All Summer Long" - Kid Rock - hey, look at that! (scuse the advertisements)
"Gott ist ein popstar" Yikes! - A German band, getting angry in English!
Sums up the start of what looks like it's gonna be a beautiful summer :).
And this day didn't cost me a single penny. It cost me not a pound, nicht ein deustchmark, awesome stuff.
I've been in a better mood than I've been for ages.
At least for today, life is good, and I've got a week off :).
Today has heralded a return trip to Strensall, the army training center that I last visited in january last year. Having got my army application back on track, I was given a date for a bunch of assessments, and the assessments tiptoed closer and closer over the course of the weeks.
After a fairly sleepness night (so damn hot, doo damn nervous), I woke up at 06:45. True to form, about 25 minutes before I was due to get out of bed. Too early to get up, too late to go back to sleep. Damn.
Grabbed some weetabix, grabbed a banana, and off we went.
30 minutes later, after light traffic, we stopped wenting, and got busy arriving. There was already a crowd, one of the sergeants I recognised, and another lad who must have been along to provide moral support or some such.
My banana - of the yellow variety, had turned out to be related to the one I grabbed for the last assessment, as this one also not only opened itself, but bent in the middle the wrong way, revealing a mess of banana pate.
Turns out that in an attempt to get the day through as quickly as possible, lads were already going through their icebreakers even as they were waiting for the transport. The principle's simple - it's designed to test your ability to talk in public, to measure your confidence and communication skills.
Even as our lads were working their way through their icebreakers, I noticed once again how many 16, 17 and 18 year olds there were, and how few 22+ lads there were. Not sure why, the max age for joining is 33 so something must be going awry somewhere.
Remember gobby Simon? The cute, lovable but gobby fifteen year old kid from last year's selection?
I was certain that I saw him again in the crowd. Surely it was Simon, back for a rerun.
Except this kid, a sixteen year old called Josh, was a brand new kid. So hey, so what, someone new to make friends with.
To my pleasant surprise, one lad, from Mombasa no less, turned out to be 25. The scary looking (but ultimately very friendly and sociable) heavily tattoed lad turned out to be 24, which was cool. Not only that, but he and I were both after the same job. Tank Crewman on the Challenger 2.
Geez, I dunno, 24 and I'm developing an age complex already.
We had a young woman introduce herself, telling us she was from Uganda, which I, in my ignorance didn't even know was in the Commonwealth.
I've brushed up on it a little since then.
Soon enough, the coach turned up. Not a little pissy minibus like last time, a big coach driven by one of xyz 1234 squadron's transport division's finest. As we started moving, we continued with the icebreakers. I started mine, got into the intro, and then described the job I wanted to do and the role I wanted to go for.
"I want to join the Royal Armoured Corps, as a Main-Battle-Tank Tank Crewman. As soon as the words got out of my mouth, the big scary bald lad in front of me stared intently.
"Yes" I said to him, in a look, "We are both gonna be tankies, dude". The same hopes for the same job, knocked barriers down straight away. We kinda hit it off in a non homo totally heterosexual brothers-in-arms type way. We're both gonna be tankies. Screw rifles and 4 ton transport wagons, those poor guys carry their weapons - me and [whatsisname?] Our weapons are gonna carry us.
Better than last time. No pauses, no struggling for words, just (as was requested) two minutes of waffle to keep the assessors happy.
A short trip later, and we were in Doncaster to pick up some other kids. The bus filled up some, and off we went again.
I got chatting to the young lad behind me, just for something to do. This lad was determined he was gonna become a Para, one of the British Army's finest. Fair play to him, if he's got what it takes, he's a stronger young man than the majority of us there. He looked the type. Very short hair, your typical US Army haircut. His expression didn't give much away.
As time went on though and we headed over to Strensall, I got to know the lad a little. He was 18, nervous about the upcoming selection, but pretty sociable. At one stage I figured I was boring the lad, but just as I go quiet, he pipes up with another question - remember, I've done this before. Fair enough, it's nice to be wanted.
Again, we headed north. Past Ferrybridge Power Station, past Tadcaster Brewery, tunnelling through the tunnels, under underpasses, over overpasses, and all without resting at rest stops.
We got there eventually. The streets and little roundabouts and country lanes became more familiar, eventually the one or two houses dotted along the side of the road gave way to a long perimeter fence, which gave way to the entrance to Queen Elizabeth Barracks, Strensall.
We turned up, in time honoured fashion, with full bladders and (according to one lad who didn't put too fine a point on it) other pressing needs. Still, we were directed into the nearest prefab building.
It's at this point that we get marked up for the day's events. Coloured bibs were handed out left right and center. My bib? Red. My number? One.
Red one, RED ONE!, Red leader, you couldn't make it up!
I sat there, in my t-shirt, with a red bib, the giant "1" on it.
"This takes the piss. If they made a movie of my life no one would believe it".
Due to having recently imbibed three strong beers, my memory is a little hazy at this point.
The first order of the day was to drop our stuff off in the "classroom" and then "dress" (go) outside for the first test of the day. Which turned out to be the Jerry Can Carry. Two jerry cans full of water, weighing 25 kilos (55 pounds) a piece. Take one in each hand, and at walking pace, walk 150 meters without dropping them, or putting them down.
Joy! I only barely passed this last time.
The "course" looked fearsome enough, but when we overheard that it was only 25 meters end to end, and we'd have to do it six times each, nervous glances started shooting back and forth.
We dressed forward in a number of ranks, six I think it was. The instruction came to pick up the jerry cans and get ready to walk. As soon as I gripped them and lifted them, fifty kilograms of dead weight pulled my arms to my side.
"For fcuk's sake" I thought.
"Okay, walk with me" calls the sergeant, and keeping pace we get to the end of the first "lap".
"Turn to your right, so as not to hit the guy next to you" we're told. At the end of lap one all I'm thinking about is how much these bastards weigh. The water sloshes around inside them, and the cans seem to move of their own free will.
We get to the other end, then back, then back again, we finish a third circuit.
As I head up to the end of the fourth lap, my confidence starts wavering as the cans seem insurmountably heavy. They've gone from pulling my arms against my sides to pulling my shoulders out of their sockets.
Two of our number, two girls (not saying anything about girls, just saying it as it was!!!) dropped their cans, one after the other, at the end of the fourth lap. "you've passed" says the sergeant. As I listen on, the pain in my hands temporarily forgotten, he mentions to the two that "you only need to do 100 meters to pass", and we're carrying 150 meters.
"Right you bugger, I'm not being fcuked around with, you want 150 meters, you'll bloody well get it", thinks I.
At the start of the fifth lap, the cans slip, almost out of my grip. Steeling myself, grabbing them by my fingertips and forcing my hands tightly closed, I end up with the handles digging into the flesh between my knuckles, hurting more than they did before.
But slowly, we get towards the end, each footstep takes us twice as close to the end, and remembering last time when I all but threw my cans down, I take care to lower them to the ground, with a grin, having just passed.
As the first group, we get the most rest while another two or three groups do their thing. "Your cans hit mine on the turn" says Para Boy, grinning. I shrug. Nothing I can do about that, I was busy trying not to drop the damn things.
Eventually though, we're all back together and we're marched into the Gym.
PTI Bastard is nowhere to be seen, this time we have a guy who seems a lot less scary (while commanding the same respect! don't let anyone say otherwise!) and more sociable. We've got to do the heaves again, measuring your ability to lift your own bodyweight.
In the field, maybe in afghanistan, fighting house to house, there'll be a few times when you've got to pull yourself up through a window into a building. If not, there will be times when you need to scramble up a wall and get down the other side while Terry's letting loose at your sorry arse.
Hence this assessment - how many times can you lift your bodyweight.
This time could have gone better. I was towards the back of the queue, and watched both in admiration and in contact embarassment as the strongest of our group did 20 pullups/heaves, his muscles sticking out far enough for him to crack his head on. The little sod.
Others didn't fare so well, one lad dangling from the bar, seemed content to stay there, as his feet pedalled in circles, scooby-doo style, as if he was trying to gain purchase on the very air itself. I would have cried out of horrified pity, but I've seen worse.
Then, for all my arrogance, came my turn.
I jumped up, grabbed the bar, and my fingers almost lost grip there and then.
The varnished wooden bar, slick with sweat, was none too easy to grip, but still determined to pass, I began.
Up, down. "One"
As I began my second ascent, it was clear I'd misjudged my body position. As I lifted myself up a second time, my legs swung forward, pulling my hands and the bar away from me.
"Two".
I pulled myself up a third time, swinging violently like a pendulum, the anger on my face. I'd trained for hours to be the strongest I could be, but because of poor technique, because of the slick sweat-lubricated bar, my strength may as well have not been there!
I felt my body and head going backwards as my feet narrowly avoided hitting the PTI in the chest, and with an angry grunt I half lowered, half dropped myself onto the floor.
"Three".
I managed five last time, I wasn't tired, not even a bit, I could have done better, if it wasn't for my technique and that fcuking bar! I know, they say a bad workman always blames his tools, but I was riding a goddamn motoGP bike with one wheel!
I wandered over to the corner, dejected, embarrassed and angry.
I was one of the last to do the test, and so, quickly, we were told to go outside ready for the run.
This was it, the bit that I would have put off if I could have, the hardest, most horrible bit.
We got led around the route, same as last time. No humour, nothing nasty, just a quick route tour.
We got back to the start, the same place PTI bastard told us he hated our guts, 18 months ago.
"I'll give you a tip" says PTI-not-bastard. "Stick to the left hand side, and you'll knock about 200 meters off your circuit. 'cos the guys who measured it, didn't measure it properly".
Course I'm a veteran of MotoGp games, I use the racing line when i'm walking, much less when I'm on the scoot or whatever, Stick to the racing line and you will have a fecking easier time!
"Go" he says.
"Big deal" I think to myself as I sprint off. This isn't like last time.
This isn't where I nearly make myself throw up because I don't know how to run, this is about setting the best time I can. There's no point doing the first lap of a 2 lap race in 4 minutes if you're puking like a dog with food poisoning halfway through lap two. Pace yourself. Don't stay behind to help your mates, and don't expect them to stay behind to help you. I set a decent pace, breathing hard, I would have sworn but I was too busy breathing out of my arse. I passsed para lad, using what scragged breath I had free to grunt some kind of encouragement to the kid. "Keep up with me" or something like that.
A couple of dudes I'd never seen before passed me. I got mad, I got angry, towards the end of lap one, in the 27C (80F) heat, with no breeze, I was bloody angry.
I thought about giving up, I slowed a couple of times, in front of me, lads that I were chasing suddenly dropped behind me. Others that were far ahead and lost to my sight appeared again, leaning against trees, feeling sorry for themselves.
What could I say? It was hard, I found it very hard. But if I couldn't even run 1.5 miles in trainers and trackies as a civilian, how the hell would I run it in combats and boots?
"It's hard, and it's only going to get harder" I thought to myself, as I powered on. I got to the end of the main straight, the main road into the camp, before it turns off into the backstreets around the mess halls, the training buildings etc.
I was narrowly aware of someone, no, two people overtaking me. One talking to the other. Neither was our para lad. "He has to be somewhere behind me, he'll be close by" I said to myself.
The two lads passed me, one, our lad from donny with the bright purple hair as his mate runs alongside shouting support. "Fcuk this" I think, "I'm not lagging behind. I'm staying here" I thought and glancing around, acknowledging the lad behind me who is also breathing out of his arse at this point, "you are not passing me!"
We got past one of the outbuildings, as one lad - another unfamiliar face - passed me, before we turned the corner though, he was back behind me. The lads in front kept pace, as i closed in on them. We turned the final corner, to the home straight, which horribly, wasn't straight, and it wasn't until we got past the elbow in the corner that we could see the instructors shouting us on.
"Come on! Get a fucking move on! Come on lads, hurry it up! Close in!"
"Fuck this" I thought, I've just done a mile and a half breathing out of my arse, I'm not going to show a weak side now. Like a total dick, All the reservations, all my reserves, second thoughts and pacing disappeared as I sprinted to the end. My first priority was to finish, now it looked like that was a cert, my new priority was to finish well. I sprinted, grunting and swearing, my legs making small circles behind me as the sergeants cheered me on.
I got 11 minutes exactly. 11:00.
How about that.
I sprinted to the outbuilding next to us to calm down. Don't bend over, don't lie down. Stand straight, stand tall. Anything less, and you won't get the oxygen in your lungs.
Sweat pouring down us, our words coming in ragged gasps, we shared "victory tales" and compared times and experiences. The fastest was our little lad Josh, at 9 minutes 9 seconds. (very, very very fast by the Army's standards). the slowest (that finished under their own power) came in at about 14 and a half minutes.
As for my lad, my mate, the para kid...
DNF, all the way, or not as the case may be. The kid hadn't kept himself hydrated, he hadn't been drinking water, and even as he ran past, the sergeant could tell by his red face that he was struggling, and he said to him "I don't want you to run anymore".
We repaired to the changing rooms.
As I and a few other lads were getting ready to get a nice cold shower, the younger lads were blushing and inspecting their fingernails.
"Come on lads" I said, "You didn't think you'd join the Army and NOT have to shower together did you?"
Eventually I manhandle myself over to the shower which is pretty vacant - our lot would rather be scruffs than be clean. I climb into the shower with a warning "Look all you want, just don't fcuking touch!"
I hit the nozzle, right before I yell obscenities.
The water is cold, no heating whatsoever, even as I'm backing away, I'm swearing.
Then I notice my forehead is dripping with sweat and I smell like a moose.
"What the hell" I think, and throw myself under the shower.
"How is it?" ask the other lads.
"It's okay mate, a bit warm for me" says I, getting out of the shower and laughing to their cries of anguish as they cover themselves in ice.
After the showers, rehydrate, get water down your throat, and listen to the sergeant.
Our sergeant sat us down and talked to us about the dangers of dehydration. The dangers of isotonic sports drinks, the trouble you get with drinking lucozade before a run.
The general synopsis is that the best thing to drink before, during and after physical excersise, is water, H20, and water. And don't let Glaxosmithkline tell you otherwise.
Water, Water and water. Not lucozade, not sports drinks, Water!
Next comes dinner. Even as we enter the building, I see the "Sodexo" signs above the door.
The Number of the Beast himself may as well have been carved into the wooden doors.
Back in the day, when I was a boy of seventeen, a young man in the TA (British Army Reservists) our food was provided by chefs of the Royal Logistics Corps. Army chefs trained to serve army soldiers with good solid food.
Since then, under Gordon Brown (I spell his name with capitals, because it's the last fcuking time it will happen in his lifetime) and the various politicians have outsourced practically all functions of the army. Now we have a french company called Sodexo providing all the British Army's food.
Isn't the EU awesome, eh?
Bleh.
So the army is outsourced to contractors, Sodexo provide the food, some european company provides our ammunion, what the fcuking hell happened to an army being self sufficient?
I'll tell you what happened to it! New Fcuking Labour!!!
Back in the day, the army used to blast an an enemy out of his position with artilliery, before the soldiers move in to flush the stragglers out. Then our lads would move in, set up ammo dumps, kitchens, forward operating bases, etc.
These days, it seems that we don't do wars anymore, we only do "combat engagements".
"The historians can't seem to settle whether to call this one "The Third Space War" (or the "Fourth"), or whether "The First Interstellar War" fits it better. We just call it "The Bug War" if we call it anything, which we usually don't and in any case the historians date the beginning of "war" after the time I joined my first outfit and ship. Everything up to then and still later were "incidents," "patrols," or "police actions." However, you are just as dead if you buy the farm in an "incident" as you are if you buy it in a declared war." - Johnny Rico - Starship Troopers.
We do the combat then some wiseass civilian contractor moves in. Some guys who don't carry weapons, who don't do the fighting, but because they're not PAID to fight or to be anywhere dangerous, earn quadruple salary just by being in a warzone.
Jackasses.
Anyways, we make our way along the queue to the food, under the watchful eye of the food guardian. We keep an equally close eye on this guy to make sure he doesn't drip any sweat into the food, and we grab whatever he's touched the least.
For me, pasta and meatball bologneise, with chips.
Can't complain.
I'm enlightning the guys about the virtues (or lack thereof) of sodhexo and how much the regular army hate them (their new policy, "pay as you dine" (or known amongst the soldiers, Save as you starve) having proved deeply unpopular, I'm busy slagging Sodexo off to all and sundry when the grins and giggle in front of me go quiet.
"What?" I say...
"What were you saying about me?" says sergeant whatsisface who has magically appeared behind me.
To a completely unconvincing burst of laughter from the lads in front of me, I manage to get out "Absolutely nothing, Staff".
He took it in good humour - I hope.
Eventually, time comes to assemble for the command tasks - an assessment of your ability to function as part of a team.The first two teams go off and do their thing while we sit in the sunshin and chill, waiting for the slots to become available. The birds were singing, we were laid back throwing questions back and forth with the local sergeant, one of whom recognised me as an ex reservist. Nice one.If a little embarrassing.
Eventually time goes to do one of the command tasks.
We turn up under some big-ass tree, a beech or something. Below it is a gravel pit, bordered by wood, maybe eleven feet wide and 22 foot deep (3.5 meters x 7 meters deep)
In the middle of this pit is a wooden frame, two logs buried into the earth, standing vertical.
Between them, is lashed another log to the horizontal.
From this log hangs a tyre, like you'd find on a tractor.
The helmets go on.
"Right" says the sergeant.
"Say that this gas canister" - he points to a heavy LPG bottle at our feet "is ammunition - you need to get it to the soldiers at the front".
"You don't touch the floor, at all.".
"You can use the ammo boxes to get across".
Great. Crystal maze, let the timer begin!!!
Picture here:
So we got two minutes to plan what we were gonna do, and ten minutes to get round it.
The sergeant counted out the seconds, "you can start planning...now".
Which was followed by a profound silence while the ammo boxes laid there in the dirt.
At which point I piped up (Do I sound bigheaded? Damn right I do, I practically lead the entire team to victory!)
I noticed the planks on the floor. "What we should do is get those boxes, throw them towards the tyre, and rest the plank between the two, walking across.
So who's gonna be first across?"
Course, my idea, I get to try it out. Under the watchful eye of the sergeant, I'm edging across a wooden plank balanced on two ammo boxes, on top of a virtual minefield, as I grab hold of the tyre.
"FFS" I think as i edge through the tyre and pull myself vertical before setting myself down on one of the ammo boxes on the other side of the tyre.
"You ready for the ammo" said my mate on the other side, right before he tossed the gas bottle through the tyre at me.
I wasn't, but I figured I could handle the weight and keep my balance.
It was a close thing.
30 seconds later, witha big grin, I tossed (gently enough to not break it) the "ammo" gas bottle to the other side of the obstacle, and my buddies started following through the tyre, down to my side.
At which point the sergeant called time on the exercise.
With two minutes to go, he called a halt to the proceedings.
Seems me and my pals (my pals and I) had already crossed the obstacle, carrying the cargo, and to all intents and purposes, had succeeded.
But the rest of the "section", a section being 8 people, had done fcuk all.
I don't know this, I didn't see them doing this, I was too busy getting the job done.
Me and maybe two or three pals had concentrated on getting the ammo through, while the other four or five stood there thinking "hey look at those guys doing that thing", and the sergeant pulled us up on it, big time.
The end result? Had we been assessed as a team, we would have passed.
Since we were assessed as individuals, based on our level of participation, three out of eight passed.
And me?
I got the highest score of all, the score for best participation and the credit for leading the team to a pass. Apparently I was the only one who did any real talking, and had we been allowed to finish, our entire team would have got across with the cargo, from one side of the obstacle to the other.
When we finished, the sergeant asked me what job I did.
I told him that I rode pizza scooters for a living.
You could see the gears grinding in his mind - "that doesn't account for it"
"What job did you do before?"
I told him I worked at a call center.
Apparently that accounts for my "great communication skills".
In the words of a Sergeant of the British Army, I have a "Very Strong Personality".
You'd have to shove a helium balloon up my nose to make my head any bigger than it is now :-D
Apparently, and I made sure to listen in to make sure I wasn't getting confuzzled with someone else, as soon as the exercise started, I started banging ideas, and solutions and strategies out."Do you lot know how to do it? Well I do if you don't, listen in"...
Personally I think I was being a gobby knowall.
But hey, I aced that test.
One of our team, a poor spiky haired fifteen year old kid failed with zero score, big time kick up the ass. He stood there in the command task and for 10 minutes didn't say a thing.
His fault, his loss, I still feel sorry for the kid. He got off the coach with a face like a wet weekend.
We got on the coach without much warning, "Is that it?" and it was.
Our scores were called out on the way home. Did I pass?
I did.
I don't know what happened with the heaves or whatever, but I managed to pass pretty well.
And on the way home, we slept, we chatted, we reflected.
those that didn't pass today will pass later.
Maybe para boy will get his place in his regiment.
Let's see how things go, eh?
EPILOGUE:
It's just gone 4am, and the sky is already brightening. It's that shade of blue that promises a beautiful day. The dawn chorus is as beautiful as it's ever been, and by the looks of it, we're in for another lovely hot day.
As for me, I've been chilling out, drinking beer for the last 6 hours. I'd be lying if I said I was stone cold sober, but hey, I've got cause to celebrate.
Just about everything that can go right, has gone right. I've done the assessments that I was dreading, and I've passed every single one. I went thinking I'd have done well to scrape a pass, and as it was, I stormed through it.
So lets hope that before long, I can become a British Soldier.
I hope you enjoyed reading about my day as much as I enjoyed doing it.
Here are today's tunes.
"All Summer Long" - Chris Rea
"All Summer Long" - Kid Rock - hey, look at that! (scuse the advertisements)
"Gott ist ein popstar" Yikes! - A German band, getting angry in English!
Sums up the start of what looks like it's gonna be a beautiful summer :).
And this day didn't cost me a single penny. It cost me not a pound, nicht ein deustchmark, awesome stuff.
I've been in a better mood than I've been for ages.
At least for today, life is good, and I've got a week off :).
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