73 Years

There has not been a British men's champion at Wimbledon since 1936, when Feed Perry won. So that would be 73 years by my reckoning. I therefore find it astounding that Andy Murray, Britain's best chance of a win in decades, is so universally loathed. Shouldn't we all be cheering him on and holding street parties and stuff? After the "late night, five-set thriller" yesterday, George at the office was heard to remark, "I was thinking last night while I was watching him, the only problem with him loosing now is that I won't have the pleasure of seeing him lose again". And George claims to love everyone. It's not true, he's pretty anti-social actually, though I get on alright with him. Anyway, point is, Murray must have worked pretty damned hard to have turned a nation of frustrated tennis lovers against him.

I slightly want to go to Cadbury World. I have inside information that suggests one should go on a weekday because then they hand out passes to the staff shop, which has huge discounts on broken chocolate bars and products close to 'eat by' date.

The government is preparing to ditch the id cared scheme.

Oh Happy Day, Oh Happy Dayy-eee-ay

The new Home Secretary is clearly in favour of just scrapping it, but can't do it without it looking like a huge climbdown. He has announced that it won't be compulsory for anyone now apart from foreign nationals. The scheme is now doomed anyway because there is almost no chance that the government will win the next election and all other parties are committed to scrapping it. The scheme relies on high street stores installing scanners and other equipment to implement the scheme, and no one is going to go to that expense knowing that the next government will throw it out. It means that several billion pounds has been spent on a scheme that is never going to be launched and which no one wanted in the first place.

Pictures I promised yesterday:

New shoes, very comfortable, but be honest, are they a bit ginger beer?


New glasses, I look like Brad Pitt, right?


And the strange thing I got free with my glasses. What's that all about?


Seriously, if anyone can tell me, I really want to know.

6 February 1958

I'm not going to talk about Michael Jackson.

I was at the kids playground at the local outlet centre yesterday, drinking Starbucks and pondering the workings of the universe, when a tall, heavyset man sat down next to me. He was wearing knee length shorts and there was a large and intriguing tattoo on his calf. The design showed a large clock with the hands at 3.04. Under the clock was the date, 6 February 1958.

I was curious about this, but I elected not to ask the gentleman what it meant. It could have been the date of some tragic event in his life after all, and he might have taken offence. Instead I made a mental note of the time and date and googled it when I got home. It turns out that it is the time and date of the Munich air crash that killed eight Manchester United players.

Not only that, but reading the account of the crash on Wiki, I found a list of survivors. I don't follow football, and I didn't recognise many names, but I did notice the name 'Harry Greg'. Harry Greg was at one time manager of Swindon Town football club. I know this only because I knew his daughter. She worked at the same hotel as me. I waited tables, carried bags, and washed dishes while I was at collage, she was a receptionist. I probably worked with her for two or three years and I never knew her father was a survivor of the Munich air disaster. Isn't that amazing.

They're talking about discriminates of quadratic equations with no real roots in my cube!

I had the wheel bearing fixed on the old car. It works much better now. It's so quiet. I don't need to crank the stereo up to dangerous levels just to hear it any more. The garage asked me on the phone which wheel had the problem. I confidently told them that I was sure it was a front one, but didn't know which. It was of course a back one. I suppose I should be pleased with the fact that I managed to correctly diagnose a wheel bearing problem. It cost £175 including VAT. I thought it was a lot. Turns out that the bearing on its own was over £75 though. So, perhaps I shouldn't complain.

I bought new shoes. They're comfortable, but they look a bit homosexual to me. I can't decide if I like them. They were quite cheap. I got them in a sale.

The weather was so nice yesterday that we decided to have a barbecue in the garden. I bought one of those disposable types. It's just a foil tray full of charcoal with a grill on top. I'm always amazed at how well they work. It kept going for well over an hour and we cooked lots of good stuff on it. Really good evening.

I have new varifocal glasses. I actually should have been able to pick them up last week, but the frames I chose turned out to be a bit crap. They couldn't adjust the arms to fit my head because they were aluminium. So, I had to chose another pair. I actually ended up with Ray Ban frames, but I'm intending to paint out the little logo. Varifocals are quite odd. Things get bigger and smaller as I nod my head.

In my new glasses case I discovered a cleaning cloth, of course, and a little bag containing 18cm of very narrow white tape like stiff ribbon, and 27cm of thick nylon thread like fishing line. I have no idea what it's for, but I'm on a quest to discover the meaning of this enigma.

I was going to include some pictures today, but it's now 11pm, the boy keeps waking up because he has a cold, and I'm knackered because, for reasons I won't go into now, I didn't sleep last night.

See, told you I wouldn't talk about Michael Jackson.

I'm Back

Haven't written here for a few days. I took some time off last week because my sister in law came visiting. She is Taiwanese, of course, but she was in Italy with her new boyfriend and the plan was that they both come to see us. It's only a two-hour flight. Things didn't go quite to plan however. The boyfriend, whom no one has yet met, got scared and refused to come. Sister in law was forced to fly alone.

We had a good week anyway. I hired a big-arse Peugeot car to drive around in. My old Subaru is making some quite horrific noises currently. He's booked in for a wheel-bearing replacement later this week. Then next month he's going to have a full service and MOT. We went to Somerset where we met my mother, and we went to Bowood House, amongst other places.

It was fathers' day on Sunday and we went to Roves Farm with the boy. It was a pretty good day and I got in free because I am a father. It's an urban farm where you can feed the animals, pet the donkeys, race goats, etc. There's also a really good maze. I found a four-leaf clover. I think it's a good omen. Fathers' day didn't happen properly for me until yesterday however. I was presented with a card and a Flymo strimmer which I took for a test-flight yesterday evening.

We have a new speaker in the House of Commons. His name is John Bercow and he appears to be universally disliked throughout all parties. So that is likely to end in disaster then. I'm just pleased it wasn't Margaret Beckett or Anne Widicome that won.

I'm writing this at work and it's quite difficult to concentrate because my old boss is bellowing down the phone in German. Apparently his daughter had a flute exam today. She has an oboe exam later this week it seems.

Because, as earlier mentioned, my car is not really drivable right now, I've started using the train again. I didn't want to, but the car is making so much noise that it's becoming impossible to drown it out with the stereo. It means that I have time to read books again. I've read almost nothing in the last month. I have bought a book called Greed, by Richard Girling however. I'm not really sure where it's going, but it's quite funny, in a very highbrow sort of way, and it considers the evolutionary element of greed. It's really quite good.

Here's an interesting one for you. The far right BNP party, and the closest thing we have in Britain to the Nazis, has been ordered to accept ethnic minority members or face prosecution. They are a political party that don't allow non-white members or staff you see. Their manifesto includes a plan to repatriate non-white people to their countries of origin. They oppose mixed race marriages. I could go on, but I won't, it makes my whole body ache.

I mentioned in the office this morning that Silvio Berlusconi has denied paying for sex. Apparently he stated on a chat show, "I never understood where the satisfaction is when you're missing the pleasure of conquest." Alan, who sits opposite me says it all depends on whether you catch anything. Deep man, Alan, deep man.

I see Spanker Mosley has agreed to stand down as FIA supremo at the end of the season. Good, the man is a twerp.

Today the government has managed to defeat a Tory move to make the Iraq war inquiry "public wherever possible". Not only that, it's also succeeded in ensuring that the next publication of MP's expenses will be censored like the last one. Your just making things worse Gordon. All this will do is make a Tory victory inevitable at the next election.

Slugs are Disgusting

I think facebook is crap, but I've come to the conclusion that one needs an account just to keep up with everyone else. So, I've reactivated myself after months of dormancy. So, here I am, if you're interested. There are no dirty pictures. I read that it's not allowed.

I just hired a car for next week. I got a big-arse Peugeot estate with 7 seats. My sister in law is coming to visit with her new man and the old Subaru is making odd noises. I think a wheel bearing is going. It's not really big enough for 4 adults and the boy, and I don't want to kill anyone on the motorway anyway, so a big-arse Peugeot seemed like a good idea. £178 for 5 days.

Have you seen the new pictures of Phil Spector without the wig? Nasty, right out of the Rocky Horror Show. I reckon he took it off in front of Lana Clarkeson, she laughed at him and it was goodnight Vienna.

I also liked this story about a man who found a dead mouse in his malt loaf. I feel there must be pun there, but I can't think of it.

We have a slug problem. I say "have", I'm hoping it's all in the past. Little bastard comes out at night and leaves his disgusting slimy trail all round our dining room. Weeks this has been going on. Every morning I come downstairs and there's a new trail. Every morning I follow the trail and never find the bugger. But a plan came to me. I figure I'll wait until the boy wakes me up in the night and after I've sorted him out, I'll go downstairs and take the slug by surprise, and last night it worked. Big, fat thing under the dining table! So, I'm hoping he hasn't got any friends.

Slugs are disgusting.

bungee jumping or getting my nipples pierced

Gordon Brown is having a crap week then. I'm fed up with politics. I'm not going to talk about it other than to say, I hope the guy stays there long enough to guarantee the permanent demise of his insidious party.

My car smells of decaying sea-food, long story. It's funny, I've lived in or around this town since I was a teenager, and I never really ventured into the Asian Quarter. I suppose I knew it was there. It boarders the red-light district. It's just somewhere I never felt I needed to go. But, now I have an Asian wife, and I've crossed the line. Suddenly I discovered that there are things there that I just didn't know about. You can buy exotic vegetables, odd spices, funny cuts of meat, and sea food. It's the sea food that is responsible for the vociferous odour in my car. The ice packed around two large boxes of prawns appears to have seeped into the carpet in the boot. I've removed said carpet and it now resides in the conservatory. The car smells better, but the conservatory does not.

I went to have my eyes tested this weekend. Do you know, they told me I should be wearing bifocals. I'm not that old. They should provide counselling or something, irresponsible bastards. It's this kind of thing that triggers mid-life crises you know. If I injure myself bungee jumping or getting my nipples pierced I'm going to sue Vision Express.

Nick Griffin, leader of the BNP and Nazi thug, has been prevented from holding a press conference outside parliament by egg throwing protesters. I know it's anti democratic and he should be allowed to speak and all that, but I can't help it, I half wish I had been there hurling eggs at him. I suppose one could argue that the egg throwing was democracy at work come to think of it. One thing I will say for Griffin, he must have big cast-iron balls. Sooner or later someone is going to fire a gun at him. He can't go anywhere without about a dozen trained gorillas as it is. I hope we get some good pictures.

True Story

Picture the scene ladies and gentlemen; it's Friday morning and I'm standing at the urinal at the office. I unzip my fly and that normally routine action is disrupted because there's no hole for my willy! I've only gone and put my underwear on back to front. Can you believe I got all the way to the office without noticing, so embarrassing! I was thinking I could just go into one of the cubicles and whiz them round, but there were other chaps there and I was thinking they would think I was weird if I walked away from the urinal and into a cubicle. So I took emergency action; I peed over the top of the waste band and then walked out. I walked back in again when I was sure all the people that saw me at the urinal had gone.

True story, I hate when that happens.

The last survivor of the Titanic has died aged 97. She was only 9 weeks old when the ship went down with her father. You know I can remember my Grandfather telling me he could remember the Titanic going down. He was 12 years old. I mean when the Titanic went down, not when he told me.

Danny La Rue has died aged 81. He used to make false boobs out of birdseed. He said they moved realistically.

Oh yes, January Girl asked me what an MP was. I suppose I take it for granted that everyone knows how the UK parliament works. An MP is a Member of Parliament. Each area of the country has its own MP. There are 646 altogether. Most MPs belong to a political party, but a few are independent. The party with the most MPs forms the government, and the leader of that party is the Prime Minister. There you go, simple.