Monday, April 23, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
I Fort So
As so often happens, one of JoJo's posts has inspired me to revisit a time from my earlier life. This time it was some slimey rocks in one of her beach photos.
When I was a child, we holidayed a couple of times at a place called Reculver, on the Kent coast. It was situated on top of a cliff from which large lumps had fallen on to the beach below over the years - actually, as it turned out, over the centuries. Near the cliff edge were the remains of a 12th century church, which had been moved inland early in the 18th century. Much of the stone was robbed out, but the towers remained, which always suggested to me that they'd been a bit premature in their removal of the church.
Behind the towers there were the remains of a Roman fort. It was great for a child to explore these ruins and climb all over them. I doubt you can do that today. Health and safety, you know.
The lumps of cliff on the beach became covered in seaweed and were very slippery and slimey. If you lifted them, there were little crabs and other sealife in the pools underneath.
A postcard from the 1930s shows that for some time there were makeshift wooden spires atop the towers. These were long gone by the time I visited in the early 1960s.
In the summer of 1999 my mother was in a care home run by the Salvation Army, and they took their residents on a trip to the nearest town of Herne Bay. I went with her. We used to spend at least one day there when we were at Reculver, but on this trip I saw something I'd never noticed before - a fort, not from Roman times, but from World War II, its legs firmly planted in the sea.
That very weekend there was an article about these forts in a Sunday newspaper magazine. Quite a coincidence. Wish I'd kept it.
Just as a footnote, to get from Reculver, which is not easily accessible, to Herne Bay or, indeed, anywhere else, you have to go through the village with (I think) the prettiest name in the English language - Beltinge.
When I was a child, we holidayed a couple of times at a place called Reculver, on the Kent coast. It was situated on top of a cliff from which large lumps had fallen on to the beach below over the years - actually, as it turned out, over the centuries. Near the cliff edge were the remains of a 12th century church, which had been moved inland early in the 18th century. Much of the stone was robbed out, but the towers remained, which always suggested to me that they'd been a bit premature in their removal of the church.
Just as a footnote, to get from Reculver, which is not easily accessible, to Herne Bay or, indeed, anywhere else, you have to go through the village with (I think) the prettiest name in the English language - Beltinge.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Friday, April 20, 2012
Thursday, April 19, 2012
A Bridge Too Far
As someone who, in my teens, twice walked 26 London bridges for charity, I know full well that crossing the Thames gets a bit tricky once you get east of Tower Bridge:
The first crossing you come to is the Rotherhithe tunnel, which was opened in 1908:
As you can see, it's rather narrow, and, scarily, it doubles as a pedestrian tunnel. Unfortunately, if you meet a large vehicle coming towards you, you have to mount the pavement to make room. Pity the poor pedestrian, then...
Yes, you have to walk through it. If you have a bike you have to push it. And the Thames is a very wide river.
The first crossing you come to is the Rotherhithe tunnel, which was opened in 1908:
As you can see, it's rather narrow, and, scarily, it doubles as a pedestrian tunnel. Unfortunately, if you meet a large vehicle coming towards you, you have to mount the pavement to make room. Pity the poor pedestrian, then...Next comes the Blackwall Tunnel:
This one is older, opening in 1897. It too is very narrow, and in 1967 it became the northbound tunnel when a new, wider southbound tunnel opened.
When you go several miles downstream to Greenwich, you will find this folly, marking the entrance to a foot tunnel constructed between 1899 and 1902:
Yes, you have to walk through it. If you have a bike you have to push it. And the Thames is a very wide river.Once you get to the bottom in the lift, this is what confronts you:
It looks like it could do with resurfacing, and is that a drain? I find it worrying that you get puddles down here...deep underneath a B-I-G river! I've only ever used it once. 
Well now, I dislike both tunnels and heights so, as you can imagine, the journey from Kent to Essex and back is not one I enjoy making by road.
It looks like it could do with resurfacing, and is that a drain? I find it worrying that you get puddles down here...deep underneath a B-I-G river! I've only ever used it once.A few miles further east you come to the Woolwich foot tunnel:
This one was opened in 1912, and I have never been through it. 
This is the Woolwich ferry, which takes cars, lorries and foot passengers. Never been on that, either. Though I'd like to.
This one was opened in 1912, and I have never been through it.Nearby is the only way to cross the Thames in a vehicle for some miles:
This is the Woolwich ferry, which takes cars, lorries and foot passengers. Never been on that, either. Though I'd like to.There's no other crossing at the eastern end of London, and it isn't until you get to Dartford in Kent that you can make your way to the northern side.
The Dartford tunnel was opened in 1963, and consisted of two tunnels, a dual carriageway in each direction. But it was so busy that eventually they decided to relieve the pressure with a bridge. Now both tunnels take traffic northbound, the bridge takes things southbound. The Queen Elizabeth II Bridge opened in 1991:
Well now, I dislike both tunnels and heights so, as you can imagine, the journey from Kent to Essex and back is not one I enjoy making by road. To add insult to injury, though the toll on the Dartford crossing was supposed to last only till the capital investment was repaid, they decided to carry on collecting it - and even increased the rate.
Today I went into Essex for the first time in ages, to take my ring made from my darling Shelley's ashes to be re-engraved (they'd misspelt his name, which I didn't notice at first as it was so small, and I couldn't bear to put it in the post to them).
The company is in a craft village, so while I was waiting for the ring to be done, I went for a stroll round the craft shops. I bought some earrings for which the woman had made the glass for the beads herself. I also fell in love with a clock with a skeleton mechanism surronded by an oak frame made by the seller.
I have to stop buying myself late birthday presents...
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
The Maritime Trail
When I was a kid, every sunny Sunday was spent in Greenwich Park, and I visited the National Maritime Museum often, both with my parents and with school. I don't think the significance ever sunk in, though.
For instance, the Queen's House (on the left in the picture below) actually dates to the 17th Century, but being a kid I just assumed it was our present Queen's house.
For instance, the Queen's House (on the left in the picture below) actually dates to the 17th Century, but being a kid I just assumed it was our present Queen's house.
Beyond the Queens House, to the left and right, are colonnades leading to the two wings of the museum. The one out of the picture, to the left, is the admin building; the one on the right is the museum proper. These buildings have some history as a medical school and an asylum, but I can't find a date for their contsruction.
I remember queueing for hours in the far colonnade for the first Titanic exhibition. It was very affecting, much better than the ones that came later.
Since my school days, there has been a lot of work on the museum, with a huge glass atrium throwing light on the exhibits. I took Alex there on Monday. There was some Nelson memorabilia on display, but I couldn't find the item that intrigued me most when I was a kid.
Nelson's long johns. The ones he was wearing when he died at Trafalgar, cut open to remove them, and covered in blood.
Best. Museum. Exhibit. Ever.
Purgatory - Day 10
Bobby just saved your arse, Stoat, and all you can do is tell him to get off you?
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Titanic Surprise
Just watched A Night To Remember for the first time in many years, and was surprised to find that the young radio operator who escaped with his life was played by David McCallum.
The film was made in 1958. And he's still in regular employment. That's what I call an acting career!
The film was made in 1958. And he's still in regular employment. That's what I call an acting career!
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Friday, April 13, 2012
Flogged It!
Today was the day my neighbour/friend and I went to Flog It at the zoo.
Her husband took us there in his van, as the painting wouldn't fit in their car. On the way we passed this amazing building in Camden that I have never seen before, and had no idea what it was.
Obviously it's Art Deco, and the name Carreras was carved in the stone over the entrance. Apparently it was a cigarette factory! It's now known as Greater London House.
At the zoo we were in a rather nice suite above the restaurant. We were glad not to be queueing outside, as it was threatening to rain - and Janet had a fall last night, which left her with a very painful leg. Half the room was full of chairs, in the other half were the valuation tables and cameras.
Everyone was very friendly, and much chatting went on. It was a bit sad to see some of the stuff that people hoped might be of value, such as limited edition "collectors' dolls". They've seen porcelain dolls on other shows and think they must all be valuable, even though they are neither old nor rare, let alone quality!
For the first time ever, they asked audience members to write limericks. No one seemed to know why. Given that we had entered the zoo by Prince Albert Gate and were in the Prince Albert Suite, I based mine on the Stanley Holloway monologue, The Lion and Albert, in which the lion at Blackpool zoo eats a little boy:
I called my offering The Lion and Prince Albert:
At the zoo in the middle of London,
There are tigers and camels and lions.
Folks for Flog It did wait
At the Prince Albert Gate
And Paul Martin was fed to the lions.
When I went downstairs to the loo, I saw Paul Martin on his way out of the Gents, we smiled and said Hello, and I just dropped the comment that in my limerick he was eaten by a lion. Not sure they'd even told him about that part of the proceedings yet, so he might have thought I was mad! I was told later that he'd read it, though, and enjoyed it.
Everyone shuffled along a few seats at a time, until we were next in line for a valuation. During the last wait, Paul Martin came over and chatted, signing pictures of himself (no I didn't get one, but Janet did) and he noticed my bright orange trousers. He said he'd bought some just like them the other day, and yesterday was filming in them with blue trainers and top. He is a bit of a dandy:
This one's for you, Eliza:
I'd taken a few things along just to be able take part. I had no intention of selling anything. But it turned out that the chain (or Albert, as they are known) of my grandfather's watch wasn't a tarnished piece of tat - it's 9 carat rose gold and worth £300-400. The little fob at the end could be worth £100-150 more all by itself. I felt equivocal about selling, but in the end they chose not to take it. I might now sell it (but keep the watch) at a local auction room, knowing what it's worth. My rings were not very valuable, so I don't need to up the insurance.
My friend's painting, however, got a lot of attention. The off-camera valuer went off to do a bit of research on the back of my own findings, and came back with the information that the painter sells for anything betwen £400 and £4,000. He thought Janet's picture was probably worth £500-700. We were ushered to the far end of the room, behind the valuation tables, to wait with light refreshments for Janet's turn to be filmed.
She wanted me with her for moral support, as she is very nervous and shy. She hadn't even had her picture taken since her wedding 40 years ago! But the painting was so big, there wasn't room for me alongside her, with valuer Catherine Southon on the other side, so I joined the "crowd" behind her (the others were all officials and helpers for the show) and didn't get to use my radio microphone.
The big surprise was that Catherine valued the painting at £800-1200! Janet was stunned.
Can't wait to see what happens at the auction on May 8th (I won't be there, sadly) and I really hope the painting sells, and at the top end of the estimate. It's too big and heavy to take back home, and she doesn't even like it. She also has 16 very destructive grandchildren!
This is the kind of painting the artist Jacques Deperthes does (he was born in 1936 and is still active) but this is not Janet's picture:
We arrived at the zoo at 10.20am and didn't leave till gone 5pm, with no lunch and just a drop of tea or water. Now I'm busily devouring everything in sight before collapsing into my bed at the end of a great day.
Her husband took us there in his van, as the painting wouldn't fit in their car. On the way we passed this amazing building in Camden that I have never seen before, and had no idea what it was.
Obviously it's Art Deco, and the name Carreras was carved in the stone over the entrance. Apparently it was a cigarette factory! It's now known as Greater London House.
At the zoo we were in a rather nice suite above the restaurant. We were glad not to be queueing outside, as it was threatening to rain - and Janet had a fall last night, which left her with a very painful leg. Half the room was full of chairs, in the other half were the valuation tables and cameras.
Everyone was very friendly, and much chatting went on. It was a bit sad to see some of the stuff that people hoped might be of value, such as limited edition "collectors' dolls". They've seen porcelain dolls on other shows and think they must all be valuable, even though they are neither old nor rare, let alone quality!
For the first time ever, they asked audience members to write limericks. No one seemed to know why. Given that we had entered the zoo by Prince Albert Gate and were in the Prince Albert Suite, I based mine on the Stanley Holloway monologue, The Lion and Albert, in which the lion at Blackpool zoo eats a little boy:
I called my offering The Lion and Prince Albert:
At the zoo in the middle of London,
There are tigers and camels and lions.
Folks for Flog It did wait
At the Prince Albert Gate
And Paul Martin was fed to the lions.
When I went downstairs to the loo, I saw Paul Martin on his way out of the Gents, we smiled and said Hello, and I just dropped the comment that in my limerick he was eaten by a lion. Not sure they'd even told him about that part of the proceedings yet, so he might have thought I was mad! I was told later that he'd read it, though, and enjoyed it.
Everyone shuffled along a few seats at a time, until we were next in line for a valuation. During the last wait, Paul Martin came over and chatted, signing pictures of himself (no I didn't get one, but Janet did) and he noticed my bright orange trousers. He said he'd bought some just like them the other day, and yesterday was filming in them with blue trainers and top. He is a bit of a dandy:
This one's for you, Eliza:
I'd taken a few things along just to be able take part. I had no intention of selling anything. But it turned out that the chain (or Albert, as they are known) of my grandfather's watch wasn't a tarnished piece of tat - it's 9 carat rose gold and worth £300-400. The little fob at the end could be worth £100-150 more all by itself. I felt equivocal about selling, but in the end they chose not to take it. I might now sell it (but keep the watch) at a local auction room, knowing what it's worth. My rings were not very valuable, so I don't need to up the insurance.
My friend's painting, however, got a lot of attention. The off-camera valuer went off to do a bit of research on the back of my own findings, and came back with the information that the painter sells for anything betwen £400 and £4,000. He thought Janet's picture was probably worth £500-700. We were ushered to the far end of the room, behind the valuation tables, to wait with light refreshments for Janet's turn to be filmed.
She wanted me with her for moral support, as she is very nervous and shy. She hadn't even had her picture taken since her wedding 40 years ago! But the painting was so big, there wasn't room for me alongside her, with valuer Catherine Southon on the other side, so I joined the "crowd" behind her (the others were all officials and helpers for the show) and didn't get to use my radio microphone.
The big surprise was that Catherine valued the painting at £800-1200! Janet was stunned.
Can't wait to see what happens at the auction on May 8th (I won't be there, sadly) and I really hope the painting sells, and at the top end of the estimate. It's too big and heavy to take back home, and she doesn't even like it. She also has 16 very destructive grandchildren!
This is the kind of painting the artist Jacques Deperthes does (he was born in 1936 and is still active) but this is not Janet's picture:
We arrived at the zoo at 10.20am and didn't leave till gone 5pm, with no lunch and just a drop of tea or water. Now I'm busily devouring everything in sight before collapsing into my bed at the end of a great day.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Going Flogging
Not S&M, fortunately (not a fan) but the making of a BBC programme called Flog It!
People take their unwanted treasures, where they are valued, and a few selected items taken away to auction.
I found out that they were going to be at London Zoo when a neighbour showed me a painting she wants to sell to raise money for her daughter's new flat. I looked up the artist and the programme venues for her.
Tomorrow we are going along, and I hope they will choose her picture, so that we don't have to lug it all the way home again!
I'm taking along a couple of rings and my grandfather's fob watch, but don't intend to sell them, even though the rings don't even fit my little finger these days. I would like to know how much one ring is worth, though, for insurance purposes, as the last time it was valued, 20-30 years ago, they valued it at £125.
People take their unwanted treasures, where they are valued, and a few selected items taken away to auction.
I found out that they were going to be at London Zoo when a neighbour showed me a painting she wants to sell to raise money for her daughter's new flat. I looked up the artist and the programme venues for her.
Tomorrow we are going along, and I hope they will choose her picture, so that we don't have to lug it all the way home again!I'm taking along a couple of rings and my grandfather's fob watch, but don't intend to sell them, even though the rings don't even fit my little finger these days. I would like to know how much one ring is worth, though, for insurance purposes, as the last time it was valued, 20-30 years ago, they valued it at £125.
Quick, while stocks last!
UK Vixens take note!
I went to a big M&S store today, where a large selection of t-shirts, sleeveless, short-sleeved and long-sleeved, is on special offer at 2 for £10. As some are actually £9.50 each, that means you get the second for just 50p!
I went to a big M&S store today, where a large selection of t-shirts, sleeveless, short-sleeved and long-sleeved, is on special offer at 2 for £10. As some are actually £9.50 each, that means you get the second for just 50p!
Stock up for summer and save!
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Bloody Spam
Thanks to those who pointed out the spam comments that had appeared in some of my posts. I've deleted them - and accidentally along the way one of Vikeau's, too, sorry!
What with the emails offering me increases in penis size, viagra, online casino games, local roofers (they always assume they are writing to men in the US!) I'm getting pretty sick of the lack of ways to deal with these cretins. As if any sane person would click on their attachments.
What with the emails offering me increases in penis size, viagra, online casino games, local roofers (they always assume they are writing to men in the US!) I'm getting pretty sick of the lack of ways to deal with these cretins. As if any sane person would click on their attachments.
What time? Whose time?
During a film of one of his descents to the Titanic, which was shown on TV last night, he steered his submersible into the suite of the Strauses, where this clock remains on the mantlepiece.
Though the face was covered in crud (technical term) he thought he could detect that it had stopped at 2.20 - the time the ship sank. It did appear that the minute hand mind be poised at 20 past, but no hour was discernible.
Though the face was covered in crud (technical term) he thought he could detect that it had stopped at 2.20 - the time the ship sank. It did appear that the minute hand mind be poised at 20 past, but no hour was discernible.
Looking through various websites, opinion seems to favour the clock's having stopped at 2.04. Perhaps it has since been salbaged and the face cleaned.
But in the middle of the night, I started to wonder whose 2.04 that might be. The ship had 5 time zones to cross. Were clocks on board routinely altered to show the correct time for the zone it was in? How was this co-ordinated? There was no public address system. Did servants or cabin staff take care of it?
At whose 2.04 did the clock stop? At whose 2.20 did it sink? For that matter, at whose 11.45 did it hit the iceberg? When did we start changing to BST for the summer months?
Another matter sprang unbidden into my mind as I lay awake at 5.20 am British Standard Time/4.20 am Greenwich Mean Time, the time(s) at which the BBC World Service hands one of its wavelengths over to BBC Radio 4.
The captain of the Californian had his reputation destroyed by being accused of ignoring distress calls and signals from the stricken liner. But another programme said he was exonerated 20 years after his death, when the wreck was found some miles away from where its distress call said it was.
Well, if it was so far from where it was thought to be, how on earth did the Carpathia find the survivors in the lifeboats, and the wreckage and floating bodies close by, just four hours after the sinking, and apparently sailing straight there?
I'm not a conspiracy theory fan, but this suddenly struck me as odd.
Monday, April 09, 2012
What's In A "The"?
Why is it that in the US folks refer to a famous sunken ship as Titanic, but a well-known supersonic jet as The Concorde, whereas Brits talk about The Titanic and Concorde?
Just wondering...
Just wondering...
"The most beuatiful woman in the world"
That's what this woman's husband has said in defence of his wife's assertion that women are jealous of her because she is "too beautiful". Her name is Samantna Brick.
Huh? Her bleached blond hair surrounds a face that is not just asymmetrical, it's just plain wonky, and I believe it's widely considered that symmetry is usually necessary to make people regard a face as attractive. Her teeth are not great either.
This is not just a bad picture, either - just google her and you'll find lots of photos that show that this one is pretty typical.
Is she delusional? Is her self-esteem so low that she has to pump herself up? Is it so high that she has no idea that she is not too beautiful, she is not so beautiful, she is not even quite beautiful? She simply isn't beautiful. She's not even particularly pretty.
I understand that her husband might find her beautiful, but I don't imagine many other people will. Am I mistaken?
And who is she? I don't have a clue. This madness is all I know about her. I have no interest in finding out any more.
Huh? Her bleached blond hair surrounds a face that is not just asymmetrical, it's just plain wonky, and I believe it's widely considered that symmetry is usually necessary to make people regard a face as attractive. Her teeth are not great either.
This is not just a bad picture, either - just google her and you'll find lots of photos that show that this one is pretty typical.
Is she delusional? Is her self-esteem so low that she has to pump herself up? Is it so high that she has no idea that she is not too beautiful, she is not so beautiful, she is not even quite beautiful? She simply isn't beautiful. She's not even particularly pretty.
I understand that her husband might find her beautiful, but I don't imagine many other people will. Am I mistaken?
And who is she? I don't have a clue. This madness is all I know about her. I have no interest in finding out any more.
Sunday, April 08, 2012
Aggro To Come
Computer To Go.
I thought that the reason my video captures on my current computer were dark and dismal was because of a problem with PowerDVD. I've been brightening them up before posting them.
But since I got the Season 7 DVD set, another problem has reared its ugly head. The dvds have been slipping and sticking, getting out of synch, and generally behaving badly. I assumed it was the fact that they were Dutch (sorry Netherlands).
But to be sure, today I've capped an episode on my previous machine.
Well, everything is almost teminally slow. But the dvds played fine, and the captures are beautifully vivid. So I guess the problem is the dvd player on the newest computer. I have been wondering why it's sometimes seemed so noisy.
I'm pretty sure I bought an extended guarantee, so I shall have to take the plunge and take it back for a refit. After carefully saving everything to the plug-in spare drive, of course. Mustn't take any chances.
I may also have to recap a whole bunch of episodes and films to get them up to this standard:
When the time comes, I may have trouble accessing your blogs (currently I can't get on the Animal Rescue site, for example) but that won't happen for at least a few days yet.
I thought that the reason my video captures on my current computer were dark and dismal was because of a problem with PowerDVD. I've been brightening them up before posting them.
But since I got the Season 7 DVD set, another problem has reared its ugly head. The dvds have been slipping and sticking, getting out of synch, and generally behaving badly. I assumed it was the fact that they were Dutch (sorry Netherlands).
But to be sure, today I've capped an episode on my previous machine.
Well, everything is almost teminally slow. But the dvds played fine, and the captures are beautifully vivid. So I guess the problem is the dvd player on the newest computer. I have been wondering why it's sometimes seemed so noisy.
I'm pretty sure I bought an extended guarantee, so I shall have to take the plunge and take it back for a refit. After carefully saving everything to the plug-in spare drive, of course. Mustn't take any chances.
I may also have to recap a whole bunch of episodes and films to get them up to this standard:
When the time comes, I may have trouble accessing your blogs (currently I can't get on the Animal Rescue site, for example) but that won't happen for at least a few days yet.
Saturday, April 07, 2012
Next One's a Ruby!
On this day in 1973, at the tender age of 20, I took the plunge and married my university sweetheart. Of course, I hadn't yet graduated, and he had another term to go, but we were in lurve!
We split in late 1977, just after buying the house I still live in. He moved back in with his mother, and a few months later she married the man who'd been pestering her for years and moved out! That obviously wasn't far enough, because they then moved to Kos (she was Greek).
We were finally divorced on Leap Year's Day 1980, just a couple of quick signatures on a form and a fee of £25 (I made him pay).
I subsequently went to his second wedding (which also ended in divorce) and his grandmother's and his mother's funerals, and he came to my mother's funeral. Then he phoned me in drunken state (not unusual) sometime in 2000 and asked me if I'd come to his next wedding, and be the only other person there who'd been at all three of his weddings!
A while later, when I was looking into my family history, I had some wonderful news that I thought he would enjoy sharing. I got his answering machine, and left a message. He didn't return the call. A week later the same thing again. The third time I told him to get stuffed, and that was how a relationship that had stood the test of 27 years was finally finished, all because he couldn't be bothered to return a call.
I'm pretty sure wedding number 3 never happened, so perhaps he was too embarrassed to call back. Whatever the reason, it was his loss.
We split in late 1977, just after buying the house I still live in. He moved back in with his mother, and a few months later she married the man who'd been pestering her for years and moved out! That obviously wasn't far enough, because they then moved to Kos (she was Greek).
We were finally divorced on Leap Year's Day 1980, just a couple of quick signatures on a form and a fee of £25 (I made him pay).
I subsequently went to his second wedding (which also ended in divorce) and his grandmother's and his mother's funerals, and he came to my mother's funeral. Then he phoned me in drunken state (not unusual) sometime in 2000 and asked me if I'd come to his next wedding, and be the only other person there who'd been at all three of his weddings!
A while later, when I was looking into my family history, I had some wonderful news that I thought he would enjoy sharing. I got his answering machine, and left a message. He didn't return the call. A week later the same thing again. The third time I told him to get stuffed, and that was how a relationship that had stood the test of 27 years was finally finished, all because he couldn't be bothered to return a call.
I'm pretty sure wedding number 3 never happened, so perhaps he was too embarrassed to call back. Whatever the reason, it was his loss.
Untethered - Day 21
Pressed up against the wall by Bobby...mmm. Reminds me of that scene in Entertaining Mr Stone. God bless Wendy/Portia.
Friday, April 06, 2012
Untethered - Day 20
Just give me that Chief of Detectives for five minutes, and he'll regret how he treated Bobby.
Thursday, April 05, 2012
How to deal with a drought
At midnight, an order came into force from several water companies banning the use of hosepipes. This is one of them, and it's the one that supplies my water:
Apart from a long period of low rainfall over the last two years (climate change? what climate change?) our water companies, sold off by the wonderful Mrs Thatcher (wait while I wash my mouth out with soap), have appalling records on finding and fixing leaks. It is said that up to 60% of the water that passes through the pipes leaks out before it gets to its destination. Thames is one of the worst.
Once a fortnight or so I pass a leak in the pavement, and until last week I assumed that before I passed that way again someone would have reported it.
Well, maybe they did, because last week I decided to do so, and STILL it is unreported. Two efforts to report it via their website failed, and a phone call produced a rather snotty assertion that I must have the post code wrong, as young Darren couldn't find either street on their system. (Sorry - Station Road? And its busy junction Loampit Vale, part of the A21 along which the Olympic torch will pass in a couple of months?)
Twitter has been as useless. It's taken me several days of insisting on an email address so I could write the problem out in full before someone finally tweeted me one that worked. Everyone else kept sending me links that either didn't work, or didn't include the option of "complaining about service when reporting a leak".
For this "service" they expect the average household in my street to pay in excess of £360 per annum.
Glad I've just had a meter installed.
Wednesday, April 04, 2012
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
Why didn't anyone else think of that?
This is our illustrious Secretary of State for Education, Michael Gove. Or it may be Mr Bean.
Anyway, he is meant to be in charge of education for England and Wales (though I think Wales has a bit more say in its own education these days; Scotland always did).
To get into university ove here you have to pass 18+ exams called A levels. Lots of people have been saying for years that they are getting easier, and that students arrive at uni needing remedial classes for their chosen subjects. I have no trouble with believing that, having seen the quality of learning of new teachers coming into the profession, and the ignorance of people in almost any walk of life you care to name.
So our genius boss has decided that the universities can assuage their doubts and remedy their complaints by having a say in the content of the exams and their teaching.
They don't want to know. They say, quite rightly, that A levels are not just used for university entrance. Plus actually putting your expertise where their mouths are might have unforeseen repercussions we cannot begin to imagine for these poor beleaguered academics in their ivory towers.
Thing is, although I've always taught in tough inner city schools where most kids even by 14 don't opt for languages, which is what I taught, I did have A level students on a couple of occasions. To make sure I did the best by them, at a couple of university reunions I asked my former lecturers (what in the US you call professors; for us professors are more illustrious experts who chair departments) if they could let me have a few essay questions for my students. They obliged. And when one student applied to my old university, then didn't quite get the grades they'd specified in their offer, I tried to save her a bunch of sleepless nights by phoning up to find our their decision - then found that my phone call was enough to tip the scales in her favour.
I have to believe that, just as they don't make students like they used to, they don't make lecturers that way either, 'cos 20+ years ago they played a part they seem unwilling to play today. Everybody's loss.
But Mr Gove, you weren't the first to think of it. Credit where it's due.
Monday, April 02, 2012
Not Forgotten
My beautiful boy Shelley would have been 21 today. He's been gone for more than 18 months, but I still miss him every day.
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