Saturday, January 05, 2013
Friday, January 04, 2013
The Odd Couple
With lots of people still off work on holiday, and the final day of the school holidays being warm and dry, there was quite a crowd at the zoo.
They oohed and aahed over the tiger, who paced and posed before them, and crashed out in true cat style.
They smiled as they snapped the lions, especially when one rather large cub sat on the other, almost as if she were trying to mate with her, as their mother looked disapprovingly on.
But no one was taking much notice of the people most used to being the centre of attention, and having their pictures taken.
And trying not to be intrusive I only got some rather blurred shots. But there she was in her black furry hat with ear flaps, and there was he, his crinkly grey hair.
The odd couple.
Helena Bonham Carter and Tim Burton.
They oohed and aahed over the tiger, who paced and posed before them, and crashed out in true cat style.
They smiled as they snapped the lions, especially when one rather large cub sat on the other, almost as if she were trying to mate with her, as their mother looked disapprovingly on.
But no one was taking much notice of the people most used to being the centre of attention, and having their pictures taken.
And trying not to be intrusive I only got some rather blurred shots. But there she was in her black furry hat with ear flaps, and there was he, his crinkly grey hair.
The odd couple.
Helena Bonham Carter and Tim Burton.
Thursday, January 03, 2013
Pain and Pleasure
Christmas dinner this year has turned out to be rather an expensive affair.
I went down to my friend's to celebrate with her and her mother. We sat around the kitchen table on rather hard wooden chairs. I wriggled a bit, but didn't think anything of it till the next day, when my back was killing me. The sacro-iliac had locked.
I've been trying to coax everything back to normal, but with no luck. My Christmas break has been pretty much a write-off.
So today I phoned the osteopath, not expecting to get an appointment any time soon at this busy practice. But I was in luck, and at 10am I was in the treatment room with Habib, parading my pale flabby flesh so he could see where the problem lay.
It turns out that, since my last visit six years ago (really?) they have introduced acupuncture into their repertoire. So this was me (only fatter):
A few pinpricks and a lot of painful clicks later, my mobility was improved, my bank account diminished by £30 (quite cheap for an osteopath, £40-£50 is more usual) and I came away armed with a further appointment for next week.
Meanwhile, one of the nation's favourite ad campaigns has reached new heights (depths?)
The car insurance comparison site GoCompare has been running ads for several years featuring a Welsh tenor singing the Go Compare song to the tune of the wartime song "Over There". They have now decided to set various celebs on the hapless man with ever more inventive deadly weapons.
But the latest has attracted the co-operation of one of the world's most eminent scientists.
Enjoy:
A few pinpricks and a lot of painful clicks later, my mobility was improved, my bank account diminished by £30 (quite cheap for an osteopath, £40-£50 is more usual) and I came away armed with a further appointment for next week.
Meanwhile, one of the nation's favourite ad campaigns has reached new heights (depths?)
The car insurance comparison site GoCompare has been running ads for several years featuring a Welsh tenor singing the Go Compare song to the tune of the wartime song "Over There". They have now decided to set various celebs on the hapless man with ever more inventive deadly weapons.
But the latest has attracted the co-operation of one of the world's most eminent scientists.
Enjoy:
Wednesday, January 02, 2013
Tuesday, January 01, 2013
Monday, December 31, 2012
School Sport
At school, I was really unsporty. Hockey in the freezing cold was only slightly less of a torture than the cross country running they made us do when it was too cold to play hockey. Purple and orange knees don't suit teenage girls. Netball and athletics in summer were OK if you could run, jump or aim a big ball. Swimming was fine if you could get out of the pool and make it to the toilets before puking up.
So when options became available, I went for it. Ice skating and horseriding were great, but I only made it on to those lists at 15. So I opted for diving. It took place at the National Sports Centre at Crystal Palace:
There was a dedicated diving pool (much warmer than the swimming pool), 10ft deep at the edges, 16ft in the middle.
I was already scared of heights, so I could just about jump from the 5m board, but couldn't dive from it. I limited myself to the 1m and 3m springboards. Pikes, backward and inward dives were as advanced as I got.
We had a tutor for these classes, whose name was George Rackham. We came to realise he was actually an Olympic diving coach. As a warm-up he had us shoot ourselves feet-first down to the bottom of the pool. We would have to lie first on one side, then on the other, and do pedalling motions that made us turn round like wheels in the water.
If there were due to be televised diving competitions later in the day, we helped them set up the cameras by diving down past the round underwater windows where the film crews were.
So if anyone catches me watching Tom Daley's new TV programme about diving that starts next week, it's purely to appreciate the diving, not his muscular young body.
(How the hell does he keep those swimming trunks up when he hits the water? I broke my bikini straps once diving in.)
I looked up George online the other day, and found that he wrote some books on diving that are still available.
What surprised me, however, was that he had also introduced another water sport to the UK:
I suppose our wheelie swimming was an elementary form of synchronised swimming. Never occurred to me till now.
George will be long gone now, but I remember him fondly, and I imagine everyone who had dealings with him will feel the same.
So when options became available, I went for it. Ice skating and horseriding were great, but I only made it on to those lists at 15. So I opted for diving. It took place at the National Sports Centre at Crystal Palace:
There was a dedicated diving pool (much warmer than the swimming pool), 10ft deep at the edges, 16ft in the middle.
I was already scared of heights, so I could just about jump from the 5m board, but couldn't dive from it. I limited myself to the 1m and 3m springboards. Pikes, backward and inward dives were as advanced as I got.
We had a tutor for these classes, whose name was George Rackham. We came to realise he was actually an Olympic diving coach. As a warm-up he had us shoot ourselves feet-first down to the bottom of the pool. We would have to lie first on one side, then on the other, and do pedalling motions that made us turn round like wheels in the water.
If there were due to be televised diving competitions later in the day, we helped them set up the cameras by diving down past the round underwater windows where the film crews were.
So if anyone catches me watching Tom Daley's new TV programme about diving that starts next week, it's purely to appreciate the diving, not his muscular young body.
(How the hell does he keep those swimming trunks up when he hits the water? I broke my bikini straps once diving in.)
I looked up George online the other day, and found that he wrote some books on diving that are still available.
What surprised me, however, was that he had also introduced another water sport to the UK:
I suppose our wheelie swimming was an elementary form of synchronised swimming. Never occurred to me till now.
George will be long gone now, but I remember him fondly, and I imagine everyone who had dealings with him will feel the same.
Cadaver - Day 2
How does a grown man in a responsible job manage to look like a naughty boy so often?
