Going fast, getting nowhere

Another day, another IAM poll ...

2012-02-02T08:26:00.003Z

This time it about the perennial SMIDSY ('Sorry, mate, I didn't see you') accident, so familiar to cyclists of both the motor and pedal variety.

You don't have to be a member, etc etc. Responses from as wide as possible, pass it on, etc etc.

Here it is. Fill your boots.

Benefits

2012-02-02T04:41:00.005Z

The BBC is not the Daily Mail. So if the BBC publishes a story about people on benefits, it will be sympathetic and supportive, and ever-so-slightly designed to make those of us in work feel a little bit harsh and guilty for our knee-jerk 'get a job' attitude, right?

Well, wrong. Either the BBC has had a sudden change of heart, or someone in their research department hasn't had the memo yet. They have published an article entitled "Family Life on Benefits", and in it they have sneaked some very pro-Coalition propaganda.

The article concerns Raymond (not his real name) who lives with his wife and seven children. No-one in the family works, and they receive benefits totalling £30,284.80 per annum. Now this is the money they actually receive in their hands, so it will be the equivalent of a pre-tax income of around £40k. Now this interests me. I don't have seven kids (I took the 1970s mantra of 'Stop At Two' seriously), but that income is way, way more than I have ever seen. I have been Head of Department and Faculty in a large comprehensive school, I have worked as a commercial trainer, and I have been Health and Safety Manager for a medium-sized company - all good, solid jobs requiring qualifications, skills and experience. I have worked hard all my life, paid all my taxes and been a loyal and conscientous employee. And the most I have ever earned in one year has been £25k. So when I read that the average income in the UK is £26k I start to wonder where I have been going wrong. And when I hear of someone receiving substantially more than that for doing nothing (and when the taxes from my earnings help to pay for it), my ears prick up.

The BBC article could be calculated to raise the hackles of any working taxpayer. Here are some of the reasons:

Why isn't Raymond working?

Ray says: "The market for my skills dried up 10 years ago - there's a total lack of work in my area of expertise."

He was a writer of educational software, but he hasn't worked since 2001. Was there no work he could have taken on to tide him over until he got himself retrained?

Why isn't his wife working?

His wife Katherine suffers from bipolar disorder with an anxiety disorder and is unable to work.

If she's genuinely bipolar, than of course I am very sympathetic and I wish her well. But why do I see the words "anxiety disorder" and see someone who has managed to talk an overworked GP into signing her off for a vague condition which can't be disproved?

The impression is that of two people who have decided long ago that they don't want to work, and have managed to convince the system that they would be better left alone and fed, clothed and housed by the rest of us. I could be wrong there, but I doubt it.

Where this gets really Daily Mailish is when the family give a breakdown of their spending, and claim that the proposed benefits cap will force them to choose between "heating and eating". The breakdown includes the following items every week:

200 cigarettes
Large pouch of tobacco
24 cans of lager.

Let me see. 200 Sterling King Size cigarettes, £56. 50g Samson rolling tobacco, £13. 24 cans of Carlsberg, £18. Total £87.

Add the Sky TV that they say is essential

because we're stuck in the house all week - otherwise we wouldn't have any entertainment.

and costs another £15 a week. (I used to have Sky, the minimum package just to get the 'free' box and dish. I stopped it years ago because I never watched it, but I couldn't afford to start having it again even if I wanted to.) So the work-free family feel that the rest of us ought to stump up out of our own earned income to buy them booze, fags and 'entertainment'. (Entertainment is no longer something you make for yourself; it's something you buy. Says it all.) And an expensive £60 per month subscription to Sky is not necessary, even if you are a telly addict. You can get a Freeview box for under £20 these days - a one-off payment - and have between 50 and 100 channels for nothing.

So that's a total of £102 per week of what even the most bleeding-heart lefty would not describe as essential expenditure.

And, for comparison, there's a total of £82.40 per week which they claim would be snatched away from them if the benefit cap were introduced. Less than they spend on booze, fags and telly. So when they say they are going to be forced to choose between heating and eating, what they mean is that both heating and eating are less important to them than their ciggies and beer. Good priorities to be teaching those seven kids, don't you think?

As an additonal bit of what-the-fuckery, listen to Mrs Raymond's reason for continuing to smoke:

On the cigarettes, my wife tried to give up, but she missed one appointment on the course and they threw her off it.'

You see, we really want to be good, but NHS bullies keep stopping us.

If this story had been in the Daily Mail, I would be discounting it as an extreme example, polished and honed to cause the maximum apoplexy in the slightly-dim middle-aged. But not when it's presented by the BBC. Not because I trust the BBC to be unbiased and factual - I don't - but because the BBC's agenda is usually exactly the reverse of the Mail's.

The benefits cap is proving massively popular with the general public, and this article is the reason why. Last word to Raymond:

But, says Raymond, "If these proposals go through we will take a massive hit to our finances - and it's not as if we could move into a smaller or cheaper premises. I see eight people here having to choose between eating or heating."

I'm going to borrow Julia's 'World's Tiniest Violin', if she'll let me.

Cold

2012-02-02T02:22:00.002Z

Last winter, we had about ten days when the temperature dropped to -12° at night. For Pembrokeshire, stuck out in the Gulf Stream, that's unheard-of levels of winter coldness. In my current job, I am commuting either to or from work at around 5.30 and 6.00, both morning and evening, so I was out at the worst times. And with snow for the first time in many years, and widespread black ice, I admit to leaving the bike on the driveway and taking the car for those bitter days. Yeah, I'm a wimp.

This winter has been much milder, and so far I haven't really been cold on the bike at all. But last night the winter bit with a vengeance and I got caught out. It was a very cold night here (I am on nights this week) and by the time for home came round, it was -3°. Regular readers may remember that I bought new riding kit for this winter - a jacket with some hi-viz panels and some trousers that didn't let water in. The problem with the new kit is that it is much closer-fitting and has less insulation. Better on the fashion runway, but not as good at 5.30 am when the bike is a uniform crystalline white when I go to start it up for the ride home. And, lulled as I was by the last few weeks' mildness, I didn't have inner gloves and had left the thermal liners out of the pants.

I kept to sensible speeds for the journey home, never going above about 50 mph. Consciously, this was because of the risk of ice patches, but unconsciously I think I was also aware that going faster would mean much quicker heat loss. By the time I got home, I was as cold as I have ever been. I turned the central heating on, got a bowl of cereal, and leaned on a radiator. It was an hour before I was warm enough to go to bed.

There's a phrase I sometimes use with non-biking friends: You've never been cold until you have been cold on a motorbike. Pain in the extremities, illusions of heat in the coldest parts, and whole-body shivering are not unknown if you don't dress for the ride. I had all of those last night. Out of curiosity, I did a little research into wind chill. It would appear (for example from this site), that a temperature of -3°C and a wind (i.e. a forward speed on a bike) of 50 mph combine to give an equivalent still-air temperature of -17°C. No wonder I was cold.

It hardly seems worth it for my 20-minute commute, but if I were planning a long journey in these conditions I would definitely be considering electrically-heated clothing.

There is a weather station on a roof about 50m from here and I have a link to the readings. At the moment (it's 3 am) it is -3°C again.

And where the bike is usually parked is a car. Mine. With a heater, and Cream's Wheels Of Fire album in the CD player. If I take it easy, I will be able to listen to the whole of Ginger Baker's magnificent drum solo in 'Toad' before I get home.

Sometimes, being a backslider is quite pleasant.

That Moment When ...

2012-01-31T16:20:00.002Z

... you realise that the world is spinning off into some misty and inexplicable future, and is leaving you far behind.

What the fucking fuck are 'treggings'?

BBC Spin The Stats - Again

2012-01-30T21:36:00.005Z

I wrote recently about a game the whole family can play, in which the BBC's output makes perfect sense: just mentally title every programme "Why the government is consistently wrong on everything". I mentioned Huw Edwards (the newsreader) as a particularly useful player.

Tonight, I watched the 5 o'clock news where the BBC was headlining the 'decline' of '9%' in 'applications' to 'Universities'. It was fascinating. Here's a précis, and it's from memory, so don't quote me on the figures, but the direction of the conversation is right.

HE: Disaster as UK University applications are down by almost 10% on last year. Everyone's blaming the Coalition's imposition of massive rises in tuition fees.

Reeta Chakrabarti (Education Correspondent): Actually, it's not as bad as that. The 9% is only for England. Scotland and Wales are more like 1-2%.

HE: Aha! So our headline about a catastrophic UK-wide decline is a bit inaccurate, yes?

RC: Yes, it is a bit. And if you strip out mature students, the English figure is only about 2%, too.

HE: Let me bring in Nicola Dandridge from Universities UK. So, Nicola, pretty bad, but perhaps not as bad as all that?

ND: Yes, not as bad as we feared. And of course mature students tend to apply later than 18-year-olds, so the picture isn't final yet by a long way.

HE: So, to sum up, students are being put off in unprecedented numbers from applying, by the tuition fees issue. And yet the Coalition have been saying for months that no-one need be put off by the fees, as the loans need not be repaid until they are earning at least £21,000. The Coalition have had every opportunity to make this clear, but no-one seems to be listening. How can the Coalition have got it so badly wrong?

And on the BBC website, as of 23:00 tonight:

Of interest to iPhone users?

2012-01-26T20:10:00.003Z

Recently I had cause to record a meeting. I started up the Voice Memo app on my iPhone 3G and two hours later I switched it off. When I checked the phone later, there it was - a voice recording of 1h 48m 0s. But it wouldn't play. I clicked (sorry, tapped) the 'play' button, it turned into a 'pause' button and a progress bar appeared. Just as you would expect, except that the progress bar ran from 0.00 to 0.00 and no sound came out. I recorded a short memo (should have entitled it 'me coughing') and that played back fine. Off to Google, then ...

Turns out it's a common problem. The solution which worked for most people on the forum I was reading, and which worked for me, was as follows:

1. Go to http://www.macroplant.com/iexplorer/ and download the program iExplorer. This allows you to read the contents of the iPhone memory (also works for iPad and iTouch) as if it were a normal external drive, and copy, move, rename etc. files as required. There are separate versions for PC and Mac.

2. Connect the iPhone to the PC and Launch iExplorer.

3. Go to Media and then Recordings, and your files will be there. There will be two files per recording, both with the filename of the date and time, such as 20120116 184403. One will have the extension .m4a, and the other .mov. You need both of these, although I don't understand why. Don't be surprised at that. Copy them to a convenient folder on your PC.

4. For me, the .mov file (200+MB) played fine in Quicktime Player. The .m4a file, still almost 100MB, was silent in any player I tried it with. A lot of people save the .mov file as an .mp3 to make it more useable. I may do this.

No matter - I have the file I need, and I can listen to my saved copy. There are a lot of other possibilities with iExplorer, such as file management directly on the phone device, using the phone as a USB pen drive, and so on. It's free, it's a small download, and it doesn't have any annoying toolbars and popups that so much 'freeware' comes with.

Highly recommended. No connection except as a satisfied 'customer', of course.

New Element

2012-01-25T23:58:00.005Z

This has done the rounds before; I remember seeing it several years ago. But it seems to have undergone a kind of cyber-renaissance, and no bad thing that it has. It's as relevant and funny today as it ever was. The latest resurgence was at Jo Nova's place:

New Element Discovered

The CSIRO announced the discovery of a perverse, perplexing atom

The new element is Governmentium (Gv). It has one neutron, 25 assistant neutrons, 88 deputy neutrons and 198 assistant deputy neutrons, giving it an atomic mass of 312.

These 312 particles are held together by forces called morons, which are surrounded by vast quantities of lefton-like particles called peons.

Since Governmentium has no electrons or protons, it is inert. However, it can be detected, because it impedes every reaction with which it comes into contact. A tiny amount of Governmentium can cause a reaction normally taking less than a second to take from four days to four years to complete.

Governmentium has a normal half-life of 3-6 years. It does not decay but instead undergoes a reorganization in which a portion of the assistant neutrons and deputy neutrons exchange places. In fact, Governmentium’s mass will actually increase over time, since each reorganization will cause more morons to become neutrons, forming isodopes.

This characteristic of moron promotion leads some scientists to believe that Governmentium is formed whenever morons reach a critical concentration. This hypothetical quantity is referred to as critical morass.

When catalysed with money, Governmentium becomes Administratium, an element that radiates just as much energy as Governmentium since it has half as many peons but twice as many morons. All of the money is consumed in the exchange, and no other byproducts are produced.

Classic.

New Game

2012-01-25T23:21:00.003Z

Here's a game the whole family can play.

1. Watch any BBC News bulletin - recent broadcasts with Huw Edwards in the chair have been especially good.

2. Pretend that the programme is called something like "Why The Government Is Consistently Wrong On Everything".

3. Enjoy the feeling of calm as everything starts to make perfect sense.

Funerals

2012-01-24T09:43:00.002Z

Things will be quiet here today, as I will be at the funeral of a close family member. I was speaking to the guy at a family occasion in November and he was not well. Investigations were under way. By Christmas he was in hospital, and he died last week. It seems that the medics were so intent on finding what was wrong with the first complaint that they missed the cancer that was poised to rage through him somewhere else. The speed of his decline has been utterly shocking for everyone.

That's two in a month. And it's starting to be 'my' g-g-g-generation.

In Wales, solemn black is still de rigeur for funerals. It is quite a shock to attend a funeral in England and to see the men dressed in pale lounge suits and bright comedy ties or, even worse, patterned jumpers and chinos. "It's what he would have wanted."

High Standarts

2012-01-23T16:20:00.004Z

Seen in Tesco recently:

Click for bigger

I 'did' Russian at school (failed with O-level grade 8, but it was a hard language with three genders and more cases than the carousel at Terminal 5, was my excuse), and it has left me with a few basic words and an ability to read - slowly - Cyrillic script. So if I ever see Russian written down I always try to read it out, even if my understanding of what it means is very limited. I like having a John Cleese moment.

I was drawn to these bottles straight away for this reason, amongst others. The script says "Russkiy Standart" ("Russian Standard" - Russian borrows heavily from English). But it was the prices that brought out the camera phone.

Tesco Value - 500ml for only£12, and 750ml for £11. Do you think they ever sell the little bottles? Don't answer that.

Sprint Down!

2012-01-23T14:13:00.004Z

It's OK, I'm still here ...

Last night I decided to take the Sprint to work instead of the XT. The Sprint has a slight problem with a sticky head bearing, meaning that steering is not as smooth as it might be. Main roads are fine, but roundabouts become threepenny bits (or should I say 50p pieces?) and slow-speed manoeuvring is a bit of a jerky and imprecise affair. No matter: the night was dry and I felt like giving the old girl a run out. Mistake 1: I should have fixed the steering first.

I got to work and, as it was dark, took a naughty short-cut which ended with having to get the bike through a pedestrian gate. It's quite passable on a bike, provided you meet it at 90° - narrower angles don't work. And the surface there is loose earth and gravel. Mistake 2: I should have gone the long way round, on tarmac.

As I approached the gate, I realised that I was at the wrong angle for it and needed to straighten the bike up a bit to get through. Easy-peasy, but the steering decided at that moment to become reluctant to turn and I found I was heading for the gatepost. No problem - stop and realign. But my feet were already down on the floor (I was doing about 3 mph at this point) and nowhere near the rear brake, so I reached for the front one. Mistake 3: never touch the front brake on a loose surface.

The front wheel shot from under me (amazing how quickly it happens) and, when the bike got to 45° from the vertical, I realised that I was not going to be able to hold it, so I stepped off. Sound of scraping paintwork on gravel and cracking plastics as the not inconsiderable weight of the Sprint came to rest on a few square centimetres of flimsy bodywork. I killed the engine and then stood for a while watching petrol slowly dripping onto the ground and listening to the engine ticking in remonstration.

I was totally unable to pick it up. Every time I took the weight and tried to roll it onto its wheels, the wheels slid in the soft surface and the bike just scraped another few inches sideways, causing even more damage. Even the time-honoured method of putting your back to the bike and using your legs (by which an 8-st female can lift a Harley, seen it on Youtube) did no more than displace the bike sideways. In the end, a mate was clocking off the day shift, and with his help we got it back upright. The one bright candle in the surrounding darkness was that I remembered to put the side-stand out before we lifted it. Nothing worse than getting it upright and then doing the damn same thing on the other side!

Looking at it in daylight, it's not so bad. A lot of scratches in the paint like a rash (red over white primer, so it shows), a crack in the side panel which can probably be ignored, and minor scuffs to the mirror and exhaust can.

Looks better here than in the flesh/plastic/metal

Crack and scrapes

That was a lovely curve, once

Decals always take a hit

That bike is going back in the garage until the steering is fixed.

Moral 1: never put off essential maintenance. Moral 2: if in doubt, take the XT.

I am unharmed except for a few aching muscles from my dead-lift exertions. The bike is hardly a wreck, but it has gone from 'ten-year-old bike in remarkably good condition for its age' to 'ten-year-old bike in rather average condition for its age', and that's a big disappointment. It would cost a lot to have it professionally repaired, so I will probably live with it. Sick Transits, and all that.

Bugger.

An Atheist's Epitaph

2012-01-21T16:48:00.004Z

I get great pleasure from reading Greg Ross's Futility Closet, which never fails to surprise, challenge and entertain me. I don't like pinching other people's posts wholesale, but this was too good not to share. It's the text of an inscription on the monument to one George F Spencer of Vermont, who died in 1908:

Beyond the universe there is nothing and within the universe the supernatural does not and cannot exist. Of all deceivers who have plagued mankind, none are so deeply ruinous to human happiness as those impostors who pretend to lead by a light above nature. Science has never killed or persecuted a single person for doubting or denying its teachings, and most of these teachings have been true; but religion has murdered millions for doubting or denying her dogmas, and most of these dogmas have been false.

I'd call myself an agnostic rather than an atheist*, but this message rings very true for me.

*In this I follow my father, who answered my question "what religion are you, Dad?" thus: it is not that we do not know whether God exists (which can be resolved one way or the other, given time and/or sufficient evidence), but that we can never know.

I am reminded in this of J B S Haldane's famous remark: "My own suspicion is that the universe is not only queerer than we suppose, but queerer than we can suppose. "

Dangerous chemicals

2012-01-21T12:40:00.003Z

Microdave points out, in comments to a recent post, that there is a website detailing concern about a chemical which, although in widespread industrial and domestic use, has been found to have unexpected and dangerous side-effects.

Each year, Dihydrogen Monoxide is a known causative component in many thousands of deaths and is a major contributor to millions upon millions of dollars in damage to property and the environment. Some of the known perils of Dihydrogen Monoxide are:
Death due to accidental inhalation of DHMO, even in small quantities.
Prolonged exposure to solid DHMO causes severe tissue damage.
Excessive ingestion produces a number of unpleasant though not typically life-threatening side-effects.
DHMO is a major component of acid rain.
Gaseous DHMO can cause severe burns.
Contributes to soil erosion.
Leads to corrosion and oxidation of many metals.

Go and read more here.

Thanks to MD for the tip. I shall stop drinking DHMO forthwith.

Deep Clean

2012-01-21T11:15:00.003Z

From the BBC:

The neo-natal ward at Belfast's Royal Jubilee Hospital is undergoing a deep clean this weekend, following the deaths of three babies from a bacterial infection.

There was a time when hospital wards had a deep clean every day. It was called a ... well, a 'clean'.

And people worried about the complaint they went in with, not the infection they might come home with.

Dog Beer

2012-01-20T10:53:00.007Z

Yes, really. While on the hunt for something suitable for Anna in the final hours before the Christmas shut-down, I bumped into this in a local 'everything' store, and I had to get it for Bonkers Dog.

It's non-alcoholic, which is a relief. He's mad enough without adding beer-rage to his kitbag of moods.

Complementary food for dogs.
Best served at room temperature.

Small to medium dogs ½ bottle per day. Medium to large dogs 1 bottle per day. Shake before use. Contains no alcohol. On opening, keep refrigerated and use within 3 days. Do not store below 4°C. Do not expose to direct sunlight.

The ingredients list would curl the hair of any Righteous control-freak:

Composition:
Meat and animal derivatives, Cereals.

Analytical constituents:
Crude Protein 0.8%, Crude Fat 0.18%, Crude Fibre 0.18%, Crude Ash 0.5%, Moisture 98.3%.

Not sure what the remaining 0.04% is - poison, probably.

It's made in the Netherlands, and the company even have a website, www.dogbeer.eu.

He loved it.

Spelin

2012-01-19T20:02:00.004Z

OK, I'm going to boast now. I am very good indeed at spelling. It's not a great achievement, and it's not half as important as those people who can't spell like to think it is, but it's what I do well. It's about the only thing at school that I was actually good at, as opposed to being good at seeming to be good at. Lousy at sport, average in all the subjects, B-stream throughout, moderately well-behaved, not bad at music - but if there was any spelling to be done, I creamed it. I could spell better than most of the teachers, which did not win me many favours if I pointed it out. I learned to keep schtum.

Ask me to spell any word, and I will tell you. And I will be completely and utterly confident that I am right. It's possibly the only area of my life where I can say that, which is a bit pathetic really, but there you are.

Good spelling is not a mark of intelligence, any more than the ability to ride a bicycle is. But it is one of those things that people take as evidence of education, and I can't say that I am not happy to have the talent. It's one less thing* for people to beat you up about, if nothing else. I'm sure it's mainly a visual thing with me, as I am fairly good in tests that involve shapes, patterns and sequences. If I am ever unsure over which of two or three spellings is the right one, I just write them down and the correct spelling leaps off the page at me, shouting "Pick ME! Pick ME!" The right one looks right; the rest just look odd. No intellect involved.

There are a couple of problem areas. With words like 'weird' and 'shield', I can never remember whether they follow the rule or the exception. 'Sheild' always looks wrong, but 'weird/wierd' are about 50/50. I just have to remember that 'weird' is a bit weird, like Neil and Sheila. But there is one word I always have to look up. Always. And that is ...

fx: Goons-style retreating footsteps
fx: rapid riffling of dictionary pages
fx: Goons-style approaching footsteps

... Diarrhoea

It's a horrendous word - letters hardly relating to the sounds they represent, consonant and vowel clusters that are decidedly foreign (and, while we are at it, the American spelling missing the letter 'o' - diarrhea - improves matters by exactly three-fifths of bugger all and serves merely to confuse things**). The word is a speller's nightmare.

No longer. Tonight I was browsing through Sickipedia in an idle moment and I came across this gem:

Doesn't It Always Run Really Horribly Over Each Ankle?

Problem solved. I will never forget that.

Does anyone else have a spelling bête noire and a way of conquering it?

* That should be 'one fewer thing', I am sure, but that just sounds wrong.

** Yes, strictly it is the replacement of the 'œ' ligature or digraph with a single letter 'e', but let's not get testicle, shall we?

Teaching Language

2012-01-17T07:44:00.003Z

I see OFSTED are changing the way they describe what they see in schools. Apparently, what they used to describe as 'satisfactory' will now be categorised as 'requires improvement'.

In my internal dictionary, if something requires improvement, it is not satisfactory.

In other words, satisfactory will now be unsatisfactory.

Thanks for that.

Picked clean

2012-01-16T21:10:00.004Z

Today, I was on the day shift. Work was quiet and, unusually, we had more people on duty than were necessary. So I took myself off on a couple of long foot patrols. Away from the seething resentment at the office and into the cold but fresh January day. The sky was a clean duck-egg blue and the air was sharp and bitter.

There are parts of the site where I work which, although I have worked here for nearly four years, I had never seen. I decided to put that right. How long might I still have the chance? I walked for half an hour towards a distant corner of the site and crossed a field ready ploughed for a new stand of trees. I was out of radio range and no-one knew where I was. I liked that.

Click for embiggeration.

In some neglected woodland nearby there is a mediæval manor house. The woods are steadily encroaching, and have been since it was abandoned in the C17. It's hard to get to, as there are no roads or even proper pathways nearby, and I got proper muddy. The upside of that was that no-one had thought to surround it with chain-link fence and festoon it with Keep Out signs. It's just there, for anyone who cares to look. I spent a while in and around it, just soaking up the atmosphere.

There is a woodland ride nearby. Well, maybe not a ride: just a wide passage through the trees and undergrowth that has clearly been a major route passing the manor house at some time in the past. Plenty of delicate fallen twigs and dry leaves - and totally undisturbed by human footfall. It was eerily quiet and magically lonely.

And then I found the skull of a fox.

I left it there.

Apologies

2012-01-16T19:57:00.003Z

I have taken down (temporarily) the previous two posts. This is because I am entering a tricky situation with my employment and I don't want to have anything 'out there' that might compromise the negotiations that are due to happen over the next few days. I have no idea if my employers or colleagues know of the existence of this blog. I doubt it, but I don't want to take any chances.

The only way I could find to do this was to make the posts 'draft' again. I suspect that I may have lost any attached comments by doing so. If that's the case I will be mightily pissed off, and I apologise to those who took the trouble to write.

More as soon as I can speak freely. One thing I can say - things are worse than they first looked.

The posts will be reinstated as soon as I am able to.

Posting on the normal stuff will continue in its usual fitful and risible fashion.

I like this

2012-01-11T14:56:00.002Z

Things are getting pretty grim at work, and we are all having fantasies like this:

Probably 'shopped, but who cares?

H/t a blog reader who prefers to remain anonymous. Thanks!

Message

2012-01-09T07:02:00.002Z

A friend sent me a text message last night. Just the one word: Gnab.

I reckon that's bang out of order.

In other news, on my way home from work this morning, I almost head-butted an owl. He pulled another six inches of altitude just in time, and we missed. I'm glad he did, because he was quite big.

Jury Service

2012-01-06T10:33:00.007Z

A comment on my recent post about the Stephen Lawrence trial made me think. Derf:

It is still a mess. It will remain a mess. I am glad I wasn't on the jury.

Yep, me too. Trying to sift actual hard evidence out of the morass of hearsay, political pressure and 'that' video footage must have required the wisdom of Solomon. I'm sure they have done it right, and I congratulate them for it. It reminded me of some jury service I did many years ago. It must have been in about 1976 or 1977, so I expect that I won't get into trouble for talking about it if I don't mention names.

The jury system is one of the foundation stones of our civilisation. Anyone who is accused of a crime has a right for the evidence to be heard by a jury of his or her peers, and they - and only they - decide on guilt or innocence. Not the judge, nor the police, nor the newspapers, nor the Home Secretary. It's not a perfect system, but it's better than anything else yet invented. Balanced with the right to a jury trial is the duty to perform jury service when asked to do so. Most people use every trick in the book to get out of it, but I was in my early 20s and was quite happy to do my jury service just for the experience.

The case concerned a couple of young men who had been badly beaten up by some local thugs. The young men were in court, nice chaps, good families, well-spoken. The thugs were there too, and suitably shaven-headed, tattooed and thuggish. The young men had been involved with a Sealed Knot re-enactment of a Civil War battle near to Leeds, and in the evening they had strayed into the Kirkstall Road area to find a pub and have a drink. In full Cavalier dress: long, flowing hair, floppy hat with feathers, thigh-boots. When you live in a city, you get to know where you can go, and where it is not advisable. I would definitely have been in two minds over going to this pub dressed normally, never mind in fancy dress. Inevitably, a bit of name-calling started. I'm pretty sure the word 'poof' was involved, but in 1976 this was just a low-grade meaningless insult, not a crime against humanity. A fight ensued in which the young men, for all their Civil War bravado, were soundly thumped. Cuts and bruises, nothing major, but the Police got involved and quickly rounded up the local talent. Eventually, it ended up in court.

The judge was very keen to point out that we should try the case on the evidence before us, and not on anything we might think about the accused, or have heard from others, or might assume from their appearance and demeanour. That is absolutely right and proper: anything else is the stuff of mob rule, witch-hunts and lynchings. But it does raise a problem - common sense has to take a back seat.

In the case I was sitting on, this was indeed a problem. For one thing, the young men had been involved that afternoon in a battlefield enactment, and admitted that they had received some of their injuries from that. They were trying to argue that this cut was from an opposing halberd, whereas this one was inflicted by the defandants; this bruise was got in a ruck with some Roundheads, whereas this bruise was not. It was a flimsy case from the outset. Also, it seemed from the evidence that the police had been told of an assault and had immediately gone out and arrested three of the most likely candidates. In this they were probably right - the three defendants seemed a nasty lot and, if they weren't guilty of this assault, it is likely that they were guilty of others. But that's not evidence. The behaviour of the police witnesses in court was appalling. The Sergeant came in and gave his evidence and sat down. The Constable who gave evidence next positioned himself so that he could see the Sergeant, and paused before answering every question until he had seen whether the Sergeant nodded or shook his head. It was blatant collusion, and every single jury member noticed it. Added to the fact that there was no direct evidence to link the three to the assault, other than their general nastiness and being in the area at the time, and we had no option but to find them not guilty. Common sense said they probably did it; the evidence, such as it was, did not support it. The police Sergeant snorted in disgust and it didn't help when the biggest of the three, who had to file out of the court past the jury box, nodded at me in passing and said "Thanks, mate". I had been elected jury foreman, and it was me who had to announce the verdicts. An uncomfortable moment.

In retrospect, the police were doing their best to nail some pretty unpleasant characters, and they probably knew that the three had committed the assaults, or had been involved in similar offences which had not got as far as a court appearance. But the police's opinion is not enough to convict in a British court, and rightly so. No doubt the police were mightily pissed off with the jury and felt that we were stopping them doing their job, but that's the way our justice system works, and I'd rather live under this than any other system. Get the evidence, persuade a jury, convict. No evidence, no crime.

I have been reminded of this by the Stephen Lawrence trial, and the criticism of the police in their apparent tardiness in searching and then arresting the racist thugs that committed this dreadful crime. An anonymous tip-off isn't evidence, and we are so quick to blame the police for heavy-handedness when it suits us. Perhaps they were just aware that the case needed to be strong, and that arresting and searching people without sufficient cause would make a successful prosecution less, not more, likely.

Music mystery

2012-01-06T00:49:00.004Z

OK, have a go at this. Well-known band having a bit of a larkabout.

Name the band.

For bonus points, name the singer, the year and the flip-side.

No Googling!

Sparkbright Products Voltage Monitor

2012-01-05T21:12:00.007Z

I've been meaning to do a post about this for a while, but tomorrow always seemed a good time to do it.

A few months ago, on the advice of someone on an internet forum (yeah, I know) I bought an LED voltage monitor on eBay. The reasoning was this: a couple of years ago, both bikes died on me in the same week. Curiously, for the same reason - a failed regulator/rectifier. The Honda ST1300 died on the lane up to the house after a 50-mile ride (phew) and the Yam failed a diagnostic session with a multimeter after it had only just got me to work and back one day. In both cases, the reg/rec had failed and either no charge or a wildly varying charge was getting to the battery. In both cases, the components were replaced and the bikes ran normally afterwards, without even toasting the batteries. But it occurred to me that I had been lucky, and if this had happened a long way from home I would have been in a right pickle. Early warning of a failure could have prevented a lot of grief.

I started to look for a dial-type voltmeter when someone suggested this indicator LED. It's made by a guy in Glasgow, and everyone on the forum who had bought one raved about it. It's hard to find a place for a dial-type gauge on a bike anyway, so I punted a tenner on one (actually a twenty, cos I bought one for each bike - and I haven't got round to fitting it to the Sprint yet).

Link to the product here. Sparkbright Products shop here.

It's a three-colour LED (red, amber and green) and it displays the bike's system voltage as follows:

Voltage	Output
>15.20	Green/Red alternating (over-voltage)
>13.20	Green (charging)
>12.45	Amber (75% plus)
>12.25	Red slow flash (50% approx)
>12.00	Red 2 flashes, repeat
>11.80	Red 3 flashes, repeat
<11.80	Red 4 flashes, repeat

I mounted it on the bike next to the instruments, but (as it is constantly on when running) out of my direct line of sight. This is the position:

And this is the light when it's working (it's red because the engine isn't running and the battery is half-dead after a lot of circuit testing):

When I fitted it, I just fastened it to the clocks with insulating tape and pushed the wires into a switched live and the indicator earth - a temporary arrangement to see if it would work. It did.

In fact, it is very reassuring. It stays green for 99% of the time, and shows amber for a couple of seconds every so often. So I am in the golden 13-15V area for most of the time, and the voltage dips into the 12V area occasionally. I anticipated that this might happen, as the connections to the bike's electrics are hardly robust and may well be a bit flaky. And, let's face it, the XT is a shed - 99% good is 50% better than I have the right to expect. But the key thing for me was that it stayed green even with the lights on. It's an old-skool thing, from the days of dynamos, but I always have the sneaking suspicion that having the lights on is draining the battery. It isn't.

Today, I have been checking all the wiring and the earths on the XT to try to locate an intermittent and peculiar fault, and I decided to make an honest component of it and wire it in permanently while the tank and the plastics were off. A longer earth wire was soldered on and connected to the battery negative, and I used a Scotchlok (yeah, I know) to tap into a switched live at the ignition switch.

All seems well, although a true test will be the commute to work tomorrow night. Will it stay green all the way? Watch this space. In fact, I suspect it has already proved itself. On the two journeys between home and work before the intermittent fault appeared, it was going to amber far more often then usual, indicating that the voltage is dropping lower than it should. The bike's performance remains the same with no cause for concern, but perhaps this little device was giving me an early warning of trouble?

As far as the product itself goes, I would recommend it wholeheartedly. It's well-made, robust and waterproof, and the wires to connect it are neatly tinned. It seems to work perfectly. Running along with the light showing green is reassuring, and (hopefully) I will know about any charging problems before they leave me by the side of the road. The maker, Dr Andrew Ferguson, is a helpful guy, and his communication is personal and friendly. I will probably fit one to every bike I own from now on, as a tenner is not much to pay for peace of mind. The only thing I would do differently is that next time I will get a smaller unit. The 10mm standard bulb is a bit too big for something that is on all the time, when all you need is a speck of light in the corner of your eye. When I mount the other one to the Sprint, I will be careful to mount it well out of my line of sight, as it can be distracting, especially at night. Next time, I will probably go for the 5mm version.

Highly recommended.

Shirt Potatoes

2012-01-05T12:43:00.004Z

... being the most polite way of saying 'tits' in a blogpost header.

Specifically, plastic ones. Or 'enhanced', to use a term the owner and her surgeon would probably prefer. I'm sure no-one can have missed the furore about the implants provided by the French firm PIP, which are full of industrial silicone and apparently prone to popping while in situ. Latest from the Beeb here.

Part of the debate is about whether the state should pay for their removal, if this proves to be the recommended solution. My view is that they should not be. If you are stupid enough to undergo a non-essential major surgical procedure for the sake of your vanity, that's up to you, but if it goes wrong, I am sorry, but it's down to you to put it right. I would hope the clinics involved will fund the procedures out of sheer guilt and a desire for good PR, but if they won't or can't, then you are like any other consumer of a defective product - sue or walk away. I most expressly exclude from this opinion anyone who has had reconstructive surgery, augmentation or reduction for genuine medical purposes. For those people I have the deepest sympathy and I believe the NHS should step in. If that means I am guilty of dividing women into 'good' and 'bad' recipients of breast surgery, then so be it. If anyone thinks that a woman who has lost a breast, or part of one, to cancer can be compared with a woman who just wanted bigger norks 'cos it gives me confidence, innit', then they are either stupid or not paying attention.

I don't know anyone who has fake boobs, and I certainly have never knowingly, er, fondled one. I do know someone who had breast reduction surgery on the NHS, though. She was blessed/cursed from an early age with the most colossal basketballs known to medical science. They made her utterly miserable, she couldn't wear normal clothes, they gave her backache, they stopped her taking normal exercise, and they attracted the bully at school and the dinosaur jokester at work. She loathed them, and her doctor supported her in having them drastically reduced on the NHS. Today, she is a pleasant and proportionate C-cup, roughly (that's a Mk 1 eyeball observation, by the way, not a confirmed measurement), and she is a confident and happy woman. She's also a very pretty woman, and now when you look at her you think 'what a pretty girl' rather then 'how does she stand up?' I have no problem with that at all.

But getting bigger/firmer/perkier bosoms because the man in your life demands it/you think you're 'worth it'/you lack confidence with your modest chest configuration/you think it will help your career are most definitely NOT sound reasons to have major non-essential surgery. Your body, your choice - if you want to have it done, don't let me stand in your way. But don't expect me to pay for it to be done, or to fix it when it goes wrong. (And I'll cut you the same deal on the penis enlargement that Russian bloke keeps writing to me about.)

I've seen those ladies on the internet with their fake grapefruit-shaped bazongas, and frankly they are a massive turn-off. Nice, firm, gravity-defying boobs are one thing, but when they keep their identical shape even when you lie down, something looks amiss. And when they are spherical, rather then the natural teardrop shape, than I am afraid it tickles my giggle-gland and all desire goes out of the window.

Ladies, I will let you into a secret. We chaps don't really care. We like you small or large, pert or saggy, firm or squishy. Braeburns or spaniels' ears, bee-stings or bazongas, pointing at the sky or knocking your kneecaps, no worries. We are so glad you have them, and are so delighted that you have chosen to share them with us, that we really aren't bothered about minor details like that. Please don't think we would be anything other than disturbed if you decided to alter them.

And if your man thinks that your body is so unacceptable to him that you ought to undergo surgery, then you are with the wrong man.

Justice? Maybe, but at what cost?

2012-01-04T14:09:00.004Z

I am deeply uneasy about the outcome of the latest Stephen Lawrence trial.

The manipulation of the Lawrence family by a host of vested interests, from Imran Khan making his name as a 'human rights' lawyer, to the involvement of various members of the racism industry, which turned a grieving couple into footsoldiers for the Left. And much as I try to sympathise with her loss, I found Doreen Lawrence's statement to the press after the trial rather graceless and confrontational.

The results of the McPherson Inquiry, which branded the police for evermore as 'institutionally racist' and introduced a concept that which is both illogical and destructive, and yet suits the climate of the times.

The publication on national television of covert videotapes showing the accused behaving in a racist and violent manner in their own homes (is it even legal to do this?) which, while causing revulsion in anyone who saw it, was not criminal in itself, and was not evidence of their guilt or innocence, and yet virtually ensured that they could never have a fair trial in this country.

The abandoning of the ancient rule of double jeopardy, which has ensured for around 800 years that the state could not oppress a person by prosecuting them over and over again for the same offence. I think natural justice demands that this is justified if substantial new evidence comes to light that was not available at the original trial, but it seems here that the 'new evidence' was minimal at best, and making the change retrospective so that the Lawrence murder was specifically included looks highly manipulative to me.

The craven and cringing response of the Police to any criticism of their actions, when a robust defence would have been warranted - although aspects of the inquiry were incompetent, I have seen nothing to suggest it was anything worse than that - and would have left the Met with some self-respect. But listening to Cressida Dick on the radio last night, apologising humbly and 'admitting errors' like some Soviet prisoner, and then hearing someone (Trevor Phillips?) praising her for her 'humility' and 'ability to learn from her mistakes' (I paraphrase) was sickening.

As usual, others have articulated this far better than I can, so I urge you to go and read possibly the best post on the subject that I have read, and one which sums up my unease better than I can.

That they are guilty, there is little doubt – yet I am left with uncomfortable feelings surrounding this case, which feels more like a political show trial than an unbiased search for justice.

Exactly.

My contribution to the revolution

2012-01-04T11:55:00.004Z

I've been a bad boy. Really bad. I know I have a reputation as an easy-going, rather raffish gangster type, sort of Kray Twins with added charm and charisma, but this time I have done something really appalling. Even the criminal underworld which is my natural métier will be outraged and probably shun me for ever as an outcast, too dreadful even for their flexible morals.

If the thought of clubbing baby seals to death and raping the rain forest is too much for your sensitive Western mindset, then please unsubscribe from this blog immediately. Close this window and go to visit Casual Acquaintances Of The Earth or something.

I have purchased a product which, while not actually illegal (yet) is certainly disapproved of and deliberately unavailable through 'official' channels. Before long, buying it will be illegal and, soon afterwards, even owning one without a Government licence will bring fines and imprisonment, like firearms. It's going to make my life better, even though some will say that it will do so by making life for others far worse. All it took was a simple decision, and a visit to eBay, followed by a wait for the Christmas rush to die down and the postal service to return to normal.

Cocaine? Dynamite? Enriched plutonium? Nope. Here it is:

Genuine 100-watt light bulbs, bayonet fitting, clear, General Electric, dark spaces for the lighting of. Cheap as chips, four quid for ten plus postage. Should last me a few years.

I've had a couple of revelatory moments recently. The CFL bulb in the bathroom I use went phut (they seem to do this with depressing frequency, despite the 'long life' label) and all I had to replace it was an ancient 60W traditional bulb. The difference was astounding. Not only did it give a light you can easily read by (not that I ... never mind), but the light was instant. No more fumbling around in the semi-darkness until the bulb had reached its full, if modest, output. Just bright, cheerful light at the flick of a switch. Just how electricity ought to be, in fact.

Then the kitchen fitters smashed the 60W standard bulb that had been lighting my garage for the last ten years, and all I could find to replace it was a 100W version (amazing what you can find when you have to clear out the airing cupboard). Again, just 'wow'. All the dark and dingy corners of the garage are now lit up as if by searchlight. I have found tools I had forgotten I owned.

These bulbs are the way forward. I won't be using the 100W bulbs in many places, but my next move will be to buy several boxes of 60W ones. Then, as the current crop of CFL crap fails (as it will do, and with depressing rapidity), I am going to replace them with PROPER bulbs. If it puts a couple of pence on the electricity bill I will take the hit, although with the relatively short life of CFL bulbs I am not sure that the overall effect might not be a positive one. But we are children of the post-war era, and therefore pretty good at turning things off when we don't need them, so I don't feel particularly profligate about using a product that works well instead of one that works badly.

I will never buy a CFL bulb again. Traditional lightbulbs for the win!

He knows when you've been good ...

2012-01-04T09:36:00.001Z

Sent to me by a friend. Brilliant!

You WHAT?

2012-01-01T11:11:00.004Z

From the Grauniad:

The Labour party has made a "serious complaint" to the BBC about a lack of political balance in its news coverage as it attempts to reinvigorate Ed Miliband's leadership and counter what it sees as widespread media bias in favour of the David Cameron-led coalition.

I have no words.

Good Start

2012-01-01T09:08:00.004Z

I'm commuting by sports tourer at the moment, as the little Yam has developed an annoying habit of losing its electrics at random times, and until I find and fix the fault I can't rely on it to get me to work and back on unlit roads.

This morning, I had the most amazing run into work. The roads were dry and clear (two cars, one bicycle in the entire journey, which is no big surprise at 5.30 am on New Year's Day) and visibility was excellent. Although not exactly warm, the temperature was mild enough to be unnoticed. So much high-speed tomfoolery was to be had, even in the pitch-dark with the standard crappy Triumph lighting.

Dry road, clear air, warmish, sparse traffic. Let's hope it's an omen for 2012.

Sink One For Me

2011-12-31T19:42:00.004Z

I have just got in from work and eaten. Shortly I will be going to bed ready for a 4.30 am start tomorrow. I have debated staying up and seeing in the New Year, or even just setting an alarm for 11.55 and doing ten minutes, but at my age lack of sleep is paid for dearly the next day, so I will sleep through the whole thing and miss the drunks and the breathalysers and the forced jollity and the morose staring-at-the-wall self-examination jags. It feels a bit wrong, though. I was brought up in the North of England, and up there we take the New Year seriously, with first-footing, lumps of coal and the whole thing. But I have never been all that committed to the idea of celebrating the clicking over of another mile on nature's odometer. Once it stopped being an excuse to snog all those girls who wouldn't speak to you for the other 364, it kind of lost its shine.

So, before I go to bed, allow me to wish you, and all of those you care for, a very Happy New Year, and all good fortune and good health for 2012.

And to all motorcyclists, may I wish a safe, prosecution-free and utterly bend-swinging 12 months. Especially those who are still riding in December.

You know who you are.

Need my head sorting out

2011-12-27T16:39:00.003Z

Yep, it's confirmed. A few days standing out in the rain in November have wrecked my head.

I'd better clarify. While I was under orders to keep the garage clear so that the kitchen fitters would have somewhere to leave the flat-packs (after first getting it clear, in comparison to which the Augean Stables were a bit of light dusting) the poor old Sprint had to sit outside in the wind and rain. When the flat-packs were unflatpacked and installed, the garage became a kind of dumping-ground for bags of grout, fractions of floor-tile and odd bits of plastic whose purpose was never quite clear. This situation lasted for about six weeks in all, during which the weather was proper Welsh wet. The XT suffers this treatment all the time, of course, but seems to be able to shrug it off. This is one of the great advantages of using a trail bike as a drudge - they are built to get wet and mucky, and to fall over a lot, so a bit of rain and rough treatment is hardly going to upset them. Bearings are sealed, O-rings are everywhere, cables have little rubber boots on to keep the water out, and everything is designed to be as weatherproof and durable as posible. A two-wheeled Land Rover, if you like. It isn't that the Sprint is delicate (people I talk to in the forums run them year-round and to astronomical mileages) but it doesn't shrug things off like the XT does. It needs looking after.

And after six weeks of not being looked after, the steering had virtually seized. Moving the bars from side to side was like stirring a bucket full of stones. A bit of gentle toing-and-froing got it to move a bit easier, but it was clearly in need of attention. Rumour has it that the steering head bearings are not over-lavishly lubricated from the factory, so it's a failure that is waiting to happen. The schedule says to dismantle, clean, lubricate and adjust the head bearings every two years. The bike is 9 years old and there's no evidence it has ever been done, so it's not a surprise that things have gone wrong.

It was a dry afternoon here today, so I took it out for a gentle ride. Well, it started gently, anyway. It wasn't as bad as I had feared. The bike was quite rideable, but every corner was threepenny-bitted (should that be fifty-penced these days?) and cornering at speed felt none too secure. Even straight line riding was a bit weavy, but not bad enough to prevent some checking of the power curve. All in order there. So there's no putting it off or hoping it will get better on its own - something must be done. It's bang-on due for its 12,000 mile service now, and dealing with the steering head is part of the schedule, so it is now in the garage again and when I get a bit of time I will make a start. 12k is the big one, and there is lots to do. Luckily the XT is romping round like a teenager at the moment, so it's no hardship - and in fact a considerable luxury - to take the Sprint off the road and give it some proper attention while the XT continues its winter duties.

I suspect that cleaning and lubing the bearings won't be enough. They feel too far gone, so I will be ordering up a new set shortly.

What Santa Brought

2011-12-26T23:43:00.004Z

Well, blow me down, I'm the owner of a Kindle. Like this:

Despite misgivings since I first heard of them (I'm a lover of books - just look at my spare room - and that's the books themselves as well as the contents of the books), I'm getting on pretty well with it so far. The Kindle came with a voucher for my first purchase, so I treated myself to a book that has been on my wishlist but overlooked by my family and friends for ages now: These Are The Days That Must Happen To You by Dan Walsh. Endemoniada_88 will know it; in fact, I think he recommended it to me.

I'm already half-way through it, and the 'reading experience' is a little unusual but perfectly acceptable. I'll post a bit more when I have had the thing a bit longer, but first impressions are very good.

Oh, and the book is a cracker.

Pope berates Christmas 'glitter'

2011-12-25T02:28:00.004Z

According to the BBC.

Says the most glittery man on television.

'Glittery'. Hmmm. No comment.

Grease and Seatings

2011-12-24T13:34:00.004Z

I'd normally be asleep now ready for tonight's night shift, but something woke me at 11 am and I can't get back off. Presents to wrap, things to do and a 'see you soon' post to write for the blog. Back to work tonight at six, home tomorrow by about nine, and then I am off for three days. That's good.

I doubt if I will get near a keyboard until the festeringitivities are over, so here's this blog's Official Christmas Message:

To everyone who has read this blog, and especially those who have taken the time and trouble to comment and contribute to some lively, humorous and (occasionally) intelligent debate, and even more especially to those bloggers who are kind enough to include me in their blogrolls and bring me much-needed visitor numbers, I would say Thank You. And for the next few days, I hope you all say No to the world and its demands, and spend a bit of time doing things that matter to you with people who matter to you. If that means a big traditional family Christmas, or getting pissed and having athletic and risky sex with your next-door neighbour, or going off for a ride into the hills by yourself, or just reading a book, then I wish you well in the doing of it. And I'll see you back here when it's all blown over.

Someone at work gave me a black-and-white Santa hat with 'Bah Humbug' embroidered on the rim. I will be wearing that constantly until told to take it off. And, since I can't find a worse image for my Christmas Post, here he is again:

Happy Christmas!

Thppppppppphhhhhhhhhht!

2011-12-19T19:29:00.001Z

Leg-Iron owes me a new keyboard.

These days, clearing up after motorway crashes is a breeze. The police close their eyes and count to ten and when they open them, a Romanian gang has nicked all the wreckage.

I thought he already was ...

2011-12-19T08:53:00.003Z

... dead, that is.

A triumph of the enbalmer's art. But they can never get the hands right.

Footwear for Christmas Shopping

2011-12-18T14:14:00.002Z

What Not To Wear:

Grandma wearing Crocs with socks, grand-daughter wearing Tesco Value Ugg Boots.

Crocs are a horrendous crime against taste in any event. They look like those ghastly jelly sandals you had for the beach when you were a kid, but without the carefree style, panache and pretty colours. Not only do they look awful, but they make you think of sweaty, scaly feet and horn-like yellow toenails. Yuk. But to wear them with socks? Dear oh dear.

Ugg boots are an uggly shape and make the wearer look flat-footed, like a cartoon drawn by someone who has difficulty with the human form. But at least the real ones look well-made and like they might last more than ten minutes. These were from a pound shop, I think, and looked profoundly uncomfortable.

(Before you think I am making fun of people who are too poor to afford proper clothes, I should say that this was in a queue for the most expensive knicky-knacky shop in the area and they arrived in a newish 4x4. I was there merely because I knew what I had to get for my Secret Santee at work, and there was only one place to get it. Honest.)

How to do it better?

This wasn't a bad effort:

Apologies

2011-12-18T13:39:00.003Z

... for lack of posting this last week. I have been working 12-hour shifts and trying to fit in extra days to make up my quota for the year, and there hasn't been time to do more than read the blogs and think 'wish I had said that'.

Today, tomorrow and Tuesday off, then it's back on nights. All my Christmas shopping to do in between. I am working Christmas Eve and will finish on Christmas Day at 8.00 am. I'm even working a couple of extra hours so that a colleague who has young kids can spend a bit of time with them on Christmas morning. I'm soft like that.

Meanwhile, radios at work have all been tuned to something called 'Smooth Radio'. I'm suspicious of any music described as 'smooth', because that usually means easy listening - something I do not find easy. They seem to be playing the same 10 or so songs (you all know which ones I mean, Bing Crosby to The Pogues via Slade and Wizzard) over and over again. It is driving me absolutely fucking mental.

I don't find Christmas very easy to deal with at the best of times, and I'd prefer to ignore it if at all possible. So the next time I hear "Feed The Waa-aaarld" will be imagining feeding Geldof his own eyeballs in vinegar.

So this is Christmas. And what have you done?

Buried an axe in your forehead, you hypocritical old wife-beater.

I will be issuing an Official Christmas Message just as soon as I find an image pornographic or scurrilous enough to make it worth while. In the mean time ...

I know it's adolescent, but ...

2011-12-18T13:36:00.002Z

I did have a chuckle at this:

He was comforted in his final moments by his wife Dagmara and several nuns, his secretary was quoted as saying.

Great man, poor choice of words.

Spelling does matter

2011-12-10T13:46:00.003Z

The BBC are usually fairly rigorous in at least one thing - they get the spelling and grammar of their output right most of the time. Pity they aren't as rigorous over their duty to be impartial and unbiased, but never mind.

But then I spotted this howler in an article on the follow-up to the 'cheating examiners' scandal:

Ofqual is to look at the issue - and that of companies linked with exam boards selling text books and study aides.

This is illegal. Selling people was made unlawful with the end of the slave trade. Although if the aide concerned was cute, I might overlook it.

From Merriam Webster:

AIDE, noun : a person who acts as an assistant
AID, noun : tangible means of assistance

I think study guides come under the second definition.

The sad thing, or course, is not that nobody pays much attention to this any more, but they don't see that it matters at all.

~~~

Extra bad-taste humour insert: apocryphal graffito in Boots The Chemist -

AIDS FOR THE DISABLED
Don't they have enough to put up with?

Exam Cheats

2011-12-08T20:31:00.011Z

I have been scandalised by the revelations from today's Telegraph that the exam boards are actively colluding with teachers to help children pass their exams. Scandalised, but not surprised. This is only the final stage of a process that has been going on for 25 years.

Declaration of interest: from 1977 to 1995 I was a teacher of English in several state schools, the last 5 years as Head of Department and Head of Faculty, where I had a lot to do with exams and exam boards. In mid-career, I was also an Assistant Examiner for one of the big Northern exam boards. I sat all their exams as a student in the 60s, and they were then known as the Joint Matriculation Board or JMB. With the introduction of GCSE in 1986 they merged with the regional CSE boards to become the Northern Examining Association or NEA and later, in a set of moves that would grace a City boardroom, merged with other boards to become their current incarnation, the Assessment and Qualifications Alliance or AQA (pronounced 'aqua' to those in the know, apparently). My involvement was for four years over the introduction of the GCSE in the late 80s, where I examined about 1000 scripts a year in English Language and Literature.

When I was a wee nipper in the 60s, the exam board/school/pupil relationship was simple. You wanted to pass; your teachers wanted you to pass but were terrified of the exam board; and the exam board apparently hated everyone and wanted all but the brightest to fail. They ruled. Well, that's what we thought, and it kept everyone on their toes, and the schools were kept honest. These days, the kids still want to pass, and so do the schools, but the difference is that the exam boards are now leaning over backwards to get their pass rates as high as possible too. I can see three reasons for this:

One, the exam boards are stuffed from the top down with left-leaning right-on types, who are desperate to make sure that 'the kids' are encouraged to be successful, and never (or hardly ever) fail at anything. There is a distrust of the old 'standards' and a view that strictness is 'inappropriate' and 'elitist'.
Two, there has been a move from norm-referencing (where a certain percentage of the cohort get an A grade, the tranche below get a B, and so on) to criterion-referencing, where a candidate gains marks by demonstrating certain knowledge or skills, and if they demonstrate the qualities of an A grade, then an A grade they get, no matter how many others in the year do the same. Hence the difficulties the top universities have in discriminating between the merely good candidates and the excellent (see the Laura Spence débacle), and the necessity of the introduction of the A* grade.
Three, the exam boards have moved from being the dominant partner to being the customer of the schools. Unless they keep the schools signing up year after year, then they go out of business - and the easiest way to do that is ... well, it's not to be the strictest kid on the block, that's for sure. The move towards boards who were known to be 'easier' was well under way between 1985 and 1990, so it's nothing new.

And we all know where these things lead, don't we? Every year, results are better, standards have been 'proven' to have risen (after all, exam results don't lie, do they?) and everyone feels happy. The students for getting the grades they want, the teachers for having more proof of a good job done, and the government for presiding over a system that produces ever-rising standards.

Except it doesn't. No-one who has looked at an O-level paper from the 1960s and compared it with an equivalent GCSE paper from the last ten years can be in any doubt - in those days, exams were far, far harder, and asked much more from the candidates. I will give you just one example from my own experience, although there are thousands. (Incidentally, teachers will tell you that the exams today aren't easier, they just test different things. Well, yes they do, and that's the whole point.)

When I was an Assistant Examiner for NEA, I had to attend an examiner's meeting in the weeks prior to the exam date. We looked over the paper and, with the help of the Chief Examiner, decided on a mark scheme. It was at one of these meetings that I realised the way things were going. I can't remember the exact work in question, nor the exact questions asked, so you will have to rely on my memory to give the flavour of the paper. It was the Practical Criticism section from the Literature paper. In this, the student is presented with a poem or passage they have (in theory) never seen before, or at least have not prepared in advance. The poem or passage is therefore kept highly secret until the day of the exam. The candidates are asked to write a response to the work, to demonstrate the critical skills they have acquired over the course. For me, it is an excellent test of the candidate's ability. It's a bit like spending a year learning how to repair cars, and then being given a non-starter and told "fix that!" You're on your own, sink or swim.

I'll take as the poem one that I posted a while ago (The Convergence of the Twain by Thomas Hardy) so you can play the game along with the children. Go and read it, I'll go to the loo, back in five, OK?

~~~~~~~~~~~

You're back in the room.

OK, here's my imperfect recollection of the type of question that was asked:

Read the following poem by Thomas Hardy, a Victorian writer who (blah, blah etc, bit of background). It is about the sinking of the ship Titanic, which was (blah, blah, bit of history). You are advised to read it at least twice, and concentrate on working out the bits you find harder to understand. Then write a criticism (an essay in which you analyse the poem carefully from your own viewpoint), bearing in mind the following points:
The poet's use of rhyme in the poem, and its structure
The length of the lines, and the pattern they make
Why do you think Hardy chose to write in short stanzas (verses or sections)?
His use of words like "grotesque", "dim" and "slimed" - what is he trying to convey?
The contrast between the seabed landscape and the interior of the ship - what is Hardy trying to say here?
Why do you think Hardy uses capital letters for Immanent Will and Spinner of the Years?
Explore the different meanings of 'hemispheres' in stanza XI
What comment do you think Hardy is trying to make on the way people think of themselves and how important they are?
* Pyre - funeral fire
* Salamandrine - relating to a mythical lizard that was able to live in fire
* Opulent - rich
* Immanent - existing within something, inherent
* Consummation - a fulfilment or finalisation

This question is worth 20 marks, and you should spend approximately 45 minutes on it.

And, for comparison, the type of question set on the same poem in 1964:

Write a criticism of this poem. (20)

OK, I was exaggerating the first one, but not by much. The examiners were so keen to give every child the chance of saying something about the poem, that they virtually wrote the answer for them. It became a tick-the-box exercise. Rhyme, check. Rhythm, check. Imagery, check. Difficult word, look at the glossary. No need for the higher critical skills of close reading, wide vocabulary, mature understanding, comparison with other work after wide reading, or marshalling the thoughts into a cogent and structured response, or saying something fucking original in response to a great writer. Of course, some candidates impress you, even after this amount of spoon-feeding. The problem was that the dullard who merely followed instructions and remembered a few basics was getting 17 marks through sheer persistence. You could reward the outstanding candidate with 19 or even 20, but the difference between the average and the excellent could only ever be a couple of marks.

I questioned this at the examiners' meeting, to be told that all children needed to be given the chance to succeed, and that I was being elitist and unenlightened to complain. Some of them come from homes without books, you know, and we have to give them a fair chance. (Yes, we do, absolutely we do, but the way to do that is to teach them properly in the first place, not make the exam easier.) It was made clear that one did not question the wisdom of the Board, so I got on with it and did the best I could. An extra £500 a year when you have two small children to support is not to be sneezed at.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is why standards are 'rising' year on year. We are testing different things, to be sure. We are now testing the ability to remember something when prompted. We used to test the ability to think critically. There's a big difference.

And that is why I am not surprised to hear that it has gone one stage further, and that examiners telling teachers "We're cheating. Probably the regulator will tell us off" and you should choose us because "you don't have to teach a lot".

And, of course, what happens at GCSE level trickles down to the infants eventually. The whole system has become corrupted. It needs root-and-branch reform.

The rot started under the Tories, of course - Mark Carlisle, Keith Joseph and Kenneth Baker. If another Tory, Michael Gove, can sort it out, he will be a hero to the likes of me. People who believe in education.

Bravo Telegraph for blowing it apart.

The Lion Sleeps Tonight

2011-12-08T20:19:00.002Z

Rescue Cat has found the warmest place in the house.

"Grotesque double standards"

2011-12-08T10:48:00.002Z

One. A gang of Muslim girls kick a white girl, who is lying on the ground, repeatedly in the head and pull her hair out, leaving a bald patch, while shouting "kill the white slag" and "white bitch". As the court deems the attacks out of character because the girls were "not used to drinking", they are given suspended sentences. The attack, which was caught on CCTV, was not held to be racially-aggravated. The victim has since had to give up her job due to panic attacks and flashbacks.

Two. A white woman on a tram delivers a foul-mouthed and ignorant tirade against "blacks" and "Polish", which is captured on video by another passenger and out on YouTube. Although her remarks were hostile and unpleasant, no-one was physically harmed during her outburst. She is currently being held on remand until 3 January - effectively already serving a sentence of over a month's imprisonment- and has had her child taken away from her. She is being held in a prison with the highest security rating, along with the most serious female criminals.

I'm trying to make sense of this. It would seem, in the words of Dr Sean Gabb in an excellent summary of the situation here, to be an example of "grotesque double standards". The perpetrators in both cases were young and female, so there are no 'gender issues' to take into account. Both cases involved racist attitudes, expressed openly - one as the justification for the attack and one as the basis of a verbal tirade.

There are only two differences between the cases to justify such disparate treatment, as far as can see. One is that the first case involved physical violence, whereas the second was merely a verbal rant. In any sane society, the violence would be punished far more severely than the verbal attack, but this appears to be reversed in these cases. The second is that one set of perpetrators were Somali Muslims and the other was a white working-class woman. Apparently, your racial origin is a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Which is racist, but never mind that.

We're in a looking-glass world, folks.

Is iGoogle borked?

2011-12-08T09:49:00.004Z

I have iGoogle as my homepage. I rely on it for news headlines, Google Reader, bookmarks, mail headers and a whole lot more. In modern terms, it's an important part of my 'online browsing experience'. Today, I get the page top (themed currently to a Gibson SG Special as played by Slowhand, nice) and the bottom bits with half a dozen contacts, and that's it. No middle, no gadgets, no nuffin. If I reload the page, the gadgets appear briefly and then disappear again.

Is it just me, or is Google temporarily borked?

Another thought-experiment

2011-12-07T16:54:00.002Z

Here's a truly shocking story from the Mail:

A gang of Christian women who attacked a passer-by in a city centre walked free from court after a judge heard they were ‘not used to being drunk’ because of their religion.

The group – three sisters and a cousin – allegedly screamed ‘kill the black slag’ as they set upon Ambaro Maxamed as she waited for a taxi with her boyfriend.

Miss Maxamed, 22, was left with a bald patch where her hair was pulled out in the attack and was left ‘black and blue’ after suffering a flurry of kicks to the head, back, arms and legs while motionless on the pavement.

Rhea Page, 24, students Tracy Page, 28, and Chelsea Page, 24, and their 28-year-old cousin Shaznay Smith each admitted actual bodily harm, which carries a maximum sentence of five years’ imprisonment.

But Judge Robert Brown gave them suspended jail terms after hearing mitigation that as Christians, the women were not used to being drunk. The Bible prohibits Christians from consuming alcohol, although Christian teachings permit its use for medicinal purposes.

After the sentencing, Rhea Page wrote on her Twitter account: ‘Happy happy happy!’, ‘I’m so going out’, and ‘Today has been such a great day’.

Yesterday Miss Maxamed, a care worker, called the sentence ‘disgusting’ and said the gang deserved ‘immediate custody’.

‘It’s no punishment at all,’ she said. ‘And for them to say they did it because they were not used to alcohol is no excuse. If they were not supposed to be drinking then they shouldn’t have been out in bars at that time of night.

‘Even after the police came and they all ran away, one of them came running back to kick me in the head one last time.

‘I honestly think they attacked me just because I am black. I can’t think of any other reason.’

None of the defendants was charged with racial aggravation.

Speaking at her home, Tracy Page said: ‘I’m not proud of it, it’s not something I want to talk about. I just want to get on with my life.’

When asked if she wanted to apologise, she replied: ‘What, to the public? I really don’t care.'

Yes, I've played around with the detail, like I did here, but the story is the same. The words quoted above make it clear to any fair-minded person that this was a racially-motivated attack. It does not help the cause of racial harmony (something I am very much in favour of, lest anyone wishes to call this post racist) when the law only sees racism coming from one side. People get the message - the charge of 'racism' is a tool to punish whites and no-one else - and they draw their own conclusions. Those conclusions lead to the rise of organisations like the BNP.

Ahead of the Bookies

2011-12-06T09:19:00.003Z

I am possibly the only person in the UK who has gambled and has made money on it, to the extent that I am ahead of the bookmakers, and always will be. Here's how I did it:

I was about 13 years old, and hanging about at a friend's house one afternoon, doing nothing in particular. Probably smoking (his parents didn't mind) and eating those chocolate eclair things you got from the sweetshop. Another friend called round, accompanied by his 18-year-old brother. They said they were - gasp - going to the bookies and did we want to put a bet on?. This was such a wonderfully grown-up thing to be doing (it went along with other adult skills like going to the pub or carrying a cigarette in the corner of your mouth while doing something else) that we jumped at the chance, while appearing completely nonchalant.

"Yeah, might do."

Friend's friend's brother got out the newspaper and showed us the list of runners. Towards the bottom was a horse (at least I assume it was a horse, not being very au fait with the details) called Midnight Marauder. The name had a certain ring to it, and I gave him a shilling to put on the beast on my behalf. Odds were 14 to 1, not that I understood what that meant.

The best thing for me would have been for it to have come last, but it didn't. It romped home ahead of the field, and the 'big boy' gave me fourteen shillings and - to my astonishment - my original stake back. It felt like a million dollars.

I went home and told my Dad. This was a mistake, as I should have remembered that he was from the clean-living, temperance end of working-class culture and despised gambling in all its forms. But he didn't tell me off. In what was a remarkably far-sighted response, he merely said "well, that means if you never gamble again, you will always be ahead of the bookies, and there's not many in England can say that".

I didn't, and I am, and I can.

I don't have the moral objection to it that he did, although I haven't seen families ruined and put out on the street as a result of it as he had done, and maybe I would feel differently if I had. No, my objection is purely practical - gambling is pointless, because you will always lose in the long run.

The secret is not doing it in the long run.

(There's a huge fuss going on at the moment about teaching children about gambling. If that teaching involves explaining how it all works, and that it is a zero-sum game, with the money flowing from the punter to those who own the game (bookies or, come to that, city traders) and never the other way round, then I am all for it.)

Sweet! (or should that be 'suite'?)

2011-12-05T12:21:00.006Z

I wrote recently about getting a new larger Givi topbox to match the small one that came with the Sprint. I now have two bikes with identical mounting plates, and two differently-sized* boxes. This is majorly convenient and adaptable: short trips and commutes on either bike, and longer trips or shopping expeditions on either bike. It's working well.

One thing remained: the keys. I usually attach the topbox keys to the ignition keys, as I would always be forgetting them otherwise. Swapping boxes over would therefore mean a lot of struggling and broken nails with swapping the keys to the other ignition set, and that just looks like a hassle too far for a system that was meant to be easy and convenient. Having the box keys on separate rings with a carabiner clip would be easier, but would mean labelling it all, and a lot of metalwork clanking about while the bike was in motion. No, that won't do either.

The other issue was the lack of a spare key for the small box. The Sprint came with one set of keys and a promise that the spare set were with the previous owner and would be found as soon as possible. I get a bit nervous if I don't have a spare set somewhere, so I pressed the dealer to get them from the previous owner (I was assured they were there and 'just forgotten'). However, after a lot of nagging and a series of variably-plausible excuses, I have come to realise that the spare set are not recoverable. A spare Triumph ignition key is on order and should be easily sorted, but a spare Givi key is not so easy. After a fair bit of research, it seems that Givi no longer sell individual keys. You have to buy a new lock.

You know that cheesy inspirational thing about when life gives you lemons, make lemonade? Well, I think I have just produced a pint ot two. For fourteen of your Earth pounds (£17 including postage), you can get a two-lock set: two barrels, two lock housings, two circlips and four keys. I ordered some from Motorcycle Planet after checking the part number of the set I needed with Givi - part number Z227, if anyone's interested - and a few days later they arrived. I was a bit nervous about fitting them. After all, it's locks, and that means deliberately difficult with some designed-in gotchas, doesn't it? But in the end it was simple, and I changed the locks in both boxes in about half an hour. The first one took 25 minutes, the second five, so that shows how easy it was after you have worked out what to do. And that included cleaning out road muck from the attachment mechanisms as well, and a quick lube of the relevant bits.

I'm not going to detail the procedure here, for obvious reasons. Suffice it to say that once you have the box off the bike and open, it's completely logical. I needed a cross-point screwdriver, a small electrical screwdriver (for the E-clip holding the thing together) and a pair of needle-nose pliers to snap it all back. You will need strong hands, too. Both for re-assembling the lock and for re-attaching it to the box, you need to hold things together against spring pressure, and on each lock I had to re-attach the lock to the box twice (lining it up better the second time) to get it to work.

Two words of warning:

Before you take the E-clip off to release the lock mechanism, memorise how the thing looks, or even better take a photo. It can go back in at least 8 different orientations, and only one of those will work.
Check the mechanism clamping the lid down, and the operation of the lock and attachment release before closing the box to check your work. If it closes and you have got it wrong, it's likely you will need to drill the lock out to open it again.

So now I have a set of keys for each bike, each with a Givi key that will open either box. Oh, and two spares. I believe that the modern term for this is 'suiting' the locks, but I just think it's sweet.

*See how I avoided giving offence there?

You've been Clarksonned!

2011-12-01T19:54:00.004Z

I choked on my polenta when I was listening to BBC News over supper and heard some grim harridan talking about the offence she had taken (on behalf of her members, as I think she was something to do with a union) at Saint Jeremy's comments on The One Show.

I was going to write a foaming and angry post about how some people just need to get a life and see a jokey remark as just that, but then I saw this post by The Heresiarch and decided not to bother. He says it all far better than I could, and fillets UNISON's press release mercilessly.

I didn't think anything could make me think worse of trades union leaders than I already did, but their response has proved me wrong.

IT. WAS. A. FUCKING. JOKE.

A bit like those the left makes about dancing on Thatcher's grave, or blowing up schoolchildren in the cause of climate change. Those were humorous, weren't they?

Weren't they?

How I got into all this

2011-12-01T14:26:00.004Z

Via Sonja, I learn that Gary France has a post up describing how he got into motorcycling, and throws out the challenge for other people to do the same. So here's my tuppence-worth.

I think I've always treasured mobility. I had a tricycle very young, and then got onto two wheels as soon as I was able. I can still remember the moment I took to my wings on a bicycle. My Dad had his hand under the saddle as we wobbled along the road, then the coins in his pocket started jungling as he ran faster, and then the noise stopped. He had stopped running and I was still going - therefore, I was riding under my own steam. The feeling of euphoria and sheer bloody joy when I realised I could do it by myself was overwhelming, and I have never looked back. I cycled everywhere as a child (even running away from home on it once, and getting down the A1 and into the next county before I realised that I was hungry - I think I was 9) and getting a powered two-wheeler was an ambition from the age of about 12.

Parents forbade it, of course (and, looking back, rightly so), but I had plenty of friends with scooters and Cubs and C15s and Honda CB72s, so I got plenty of 'goes'. It was only a matter of time, and money, before I had my own.

The first bike was a Honda C70 in banana yellow, bought new from Watson Cairns in Leeds with a loan from my Dad. I was at University at the time, and the excuse was that it would save him all those tedious car journeys to take me there and back, but really it was just a chance to fulfil an ambition. I loved that bike, and it took me all over the place, but I hankered after something bigger. I passed my test on the C70 and soon afterwards traded it in for the only 'big' bike that I could afford, a Jawa 350 two-stroke twin. That bike deserves a whole post to itself, but suffice it to say that it got me a lot of places for three years and broke my spirit with its unreliability and general shittiness. One good thing was that it left me with a complete lack of fear about taking things apart to mend them, and the ability to strip a two-stroke and fit new crank seals, pistons and rings in a dark room with my eyes shut.

I haven't always had a bike since then. Like many others, marriage meant a proper car and I did without a bike for a year or two. And a period of serious illness later on meant that making monthly repayments on a bike I was not using was unsustainable, and at that point I truly believed my biking days were over. My balance had gone, and I didn't know if it would ever come back.

But I did get better, slowly, and soon I was back at work, this time in a training role for an advertising paper. The company acquired a biking website and installed a die-hard rider as its head honcho. Via company email, he asked for anyone with the vaguest interest to post bike reviews on the website, just to generate some much-needed content. I posted one, then two, then many more, and as I did so, I realised that I was missing motorcycling more than I could have imagined. A vague, hands-in-pockets, whistling-at-the-sky visit to my local dealership ensued, and a week after that a 3-year-old Yamaha XT660 was on my driveway. It had been ten years since I had last ridden, and that first ride was a strange affair. After ten years in a car I felt very vulnerable and small, but I soon got over that and was riding every day. Even so, I reckon it took me about a year to get my 'bike head' back on.

So here I am today, with an old scrapper of a trailbike for the commuting duties and a nice shiny sports-tourer for the faster days and longer rides. And I won't be giving it up again so easily.

Cold, dead hands, and all that.

Insert joke here ...

2011-11-29T08:29:00.004Z

From the Beeb:

M1 shut after 'Marmite' lorry crash in South Yorkshire

A large-scale clean-up operation is under way after a tanker carrying more than 20 tonnes of yeast extract overturned on the M1.

The lorry, which was believed to be carrying Marmite, crashed and spilt its contents onto the carriageway at about 22:15 GMT on Monday.

I suppose you like this or you don't. Insert your own joke into the comments.

Another Evening with Lois Pryce

2011-11-26T22:19:00.005Z

Lois, sitting on a fully-kitted XT550, owned by my mate Alun.

I wrote back in February about going to a talk by the two-wheeled adventure rider Lois Pryce, which was highly enjoyable, and ended up with my getting a wet arse when it rained during the evening, and I had vainly gone out on the XT clad only in jeans and a leather jacket.

Tonight I went to Garlands Motorcycles in my car. Well, it was drizzling, and the XT is freshly serviced, and it was late, and ...

OK, I was lazy.

The talk earlier in the year was about Lois's ride down the Americas from Alaska to Ushuaia at the southern tip of Argentina, the subject of her first book, Lois on the Loose. This time it was the second big trip, from London through Africa to Cape Town. I had read the account of this trip, Red Tape and White Knuckles, but it was good to hear all the stories first-hand. I was particularly taken by her account of being ordered to take a train through part of her journey through Congo, because the road to Brazzaville was over-run with bandits. She spent nine hours on a flat-bed railway carriage with her bike, surrounded by wild teenage Congolese soldiers, all drinking whisky and smoking cannabis, and trying to avoid their attentions. It's a truly chilling passage, and she admitted tonight that it was the most terrifying experience of her life, but brushed it off as a life-experience thing ... you know, "every time I have to make a difficult phone call, I think ..." But she's not very big, and she's pretty, and she was totally alone on that train (apart from the soldiers, drunk, stripped to the waist and carrying Kalashnikovs), and I dread to think how that night could have turned out.

If you ever get a chance to listen to Lois, make the effort and go. She's not the most polished speaker (a bit breathless and chatty for a good delivery to a large room), but she's highly entertaining and you will be in awe of her sheer persistence and good humour.

And you'll be thinking if you could possibly get six months off work, because we only live once.

Quote of the Week

2011-11-26T18:01:00.002Z

Via Canajun, I found this quotation which I thought worth sharing, as it explains something that is hard to put into words. It's from Patrick Symmes' work Chasing Che: A Motorcycle Journey in Search of the Guevara Legend.

There are moments on a motorcycle when all the glory of motion is distilled into one purposeful package. Chasing curves over a swelling landscape, a motorcycle enters the pure expression of physics and is bound to the road in a way no car will ever know. The rider and machine are literally balanced on the infinitely thin line where centripetal force meets gravity. Despite this state of suspended disaster, the sensation of risk is largely a sensation; the motorcycle is in harmony with the road, and risk comes overwhelmingly from other drivers. Any moment of travel on a motorcycle is a light and essential moment, an agile rebuke to a life conducted in one place. The raw force of the engine is not hidden beneath a hood, but alternately purrs and growls a few inches from the knees, demanding the consciousness of power. Sealed behind glass, insulated by climate control systems and music, the driver of a car knows nothing about the directions of the wind, the lay of sunlight, the small changes in temperature between a peak and a valley, the textured noise of differing asphalts, or the sweet and sour aromas of manured fields or passing pine forests. Engaged in all the senses and elements, balanced in the present tense, a rider on two wheels can taste moments of oneness with the road.

I'm not a fan of Che Guevara, who had a very murky history and does not deserve the adulation given him by the ignorant and naive. And I haven't read the book, so I don't know what Symmes' take on his 'hero' is. But that passage says something that resonates with me.

Pink Elephants

2011-11-25T19:22:00.002Z

Anna sent me this, and it's too good not to share. A prize* if you can get through it without laughing.

* Your name inscribed in gold-effect magic marker on the Nowhere Towers Honour Board of Humourless Twats.

Boxing Clever

2011-11-25T17:11:00.003Z

Glossary for the uninitiated:

Topbox: a plastic box mounted to the rear of a motorcycle, behind the seat. Varies in size from tiny to huge. Possibly the ugliest accessory one could ever fit to a bike, but the sheer utility dwarfs all other considerations. Shopping, commuting, leaving your kit with the bike when you want to walk around- a topbox makes all that easy, and is both secure and waterproof. Beats rucksacks or bungeeing stuff on by a country mile. Most are detachable, so you can leave them off if you don't need them that day.

Givi: Italian makers of high quality motorcycle luggage. Best quality is the Monokey range, which is double-skinned and very robust, but very expensive. More affordable is the Monolock range, which is sold as suitable for scooters and light bikes, and is equivalent to the Monokey range built lighter. Both share the same excellent one-key, one-handed locking and latching system, which is an icon of simplicity and good design. I have had a lot of Givi stuff over the years, and I haven't regretted buying any of it.

Oxford: British maker of middle-market motorcycle gear (luggage, clothing and accessories). Reliable stuff that won't break the bank, and that's it.

I hope you've got all that. There will be questions at the end.

When I bought the Sprint back in July, it came with a tiny little Givi topbox. Only 26 litres, it looked a bit like a large sandwich box and, frankly, a bit daft on the back of the sleek and muscly Sprint. But it was big enough for my work bag and also for my helmet, provided I didn't want to store a packet of Rizlas in there as well. So I kept it on there, at least while I was commuting on the big red thing.

When I was in the middle of negotiations over the change-over price of the Sprint against the Bonnie, I was offered a 44 litre Oxford topbox for half-price as an additional sweetener, as I had mentioned the pathetic size of the Givi box as a negative in the deal. I took the dealer up on that, as I knew the box on the XT (a horrible, cheap eBay special) was on its last legs. I fitted it to the XT and used it for commuting until this week. It's good enough, it holds two helmets and a lot of shopping, and it looks decent. But at the back of my mind was a niggle. The mounting plates for the two boxes are different, and they are not interchangeable. It's more-or-less definite that daughter No. 2 will be coming with me on a continental trip next year (the ostensible reason for changing the Bonnie for the Sprint), and that little Givi box was just not going to be enough.

Shoes, amongst other things, if you must know.

What I needed was a larger Givi Monolock box to go with the little one. Last week, I sold the wonderful Hepco and Becker panniers for a good price, so with some money sloshing around in my Paypal balance I pulled the trigger on a Monolock box of 47 litres. That's about as big as I am prepared to go. Today, I fitted the baseplate for the new box onto the XT after taking the Oxford one off. So now I have two bikes, fast and slow, and two topboxes, large and small, and each will fit on either bike. So I can have the little one on the XT for the commute and the large on the Sprint for touring:

Or the large one on the XT for shopping and the small on the Sprint for sandwiches/first aid/toolkit for a day ride:

Perfect.

The Oxford box is now on eBay and has two watchers already. As I got it for half-price, I might even make my money back. Out of the money raised by the sale of the H&Bs, I have been able to afford a pair of throw-over panniers as well. I'm hoping these will arrive tomorrow. Nothing can beat hard luggage for convenience and durability, but for something I will probably only use a couple of times a year I think it's a good compromise.

I got the XT serviced, too, and that's running like a happy little motorbike now, so it's been a good couple of days.

Must paint that garage door ...

Change and Decay, In All Around I See

2011-11-25T09:02:00.003Z

From this week, bin collections have been changed from Tuesday to Friday.

This is going to take a while to bed in. After 20 years, my body clock (in 'weekly' mode) had just about got used to Tuesday.

Foggin' Stupid

2011-11-24T21:14:00.002Z

I was commenting on a fine rant over at MajorGav's PetrolBlog where he rails against the use of fog lights when it isn't foggy (an amusing and timely article) when I realised that I had banged on so much in my comment that I had virtually written a new blogpost. So, with necessary amendments, here it is:

---

It's that time of year again, when both morning and evening commutes are in the dark, the weather is turning wet and chilly, and the road surfaces are getting trickier. I'd like to say a word to all car and van drivers on behalf of motorcyclists. Please, please, please make sure your headlights are adjusted properly and don't use fog lights, either front or rear, unless absolutely necessary. I know that some of you have them angled forward and call them 'driving lights' (what else would they be? Knitting lights?) but the result is the same.

We - bikers - don't have windscreen wipers, and what for you is a hard glass windscreen is, for us, a bit of soft plastic that scratches almost without touching - and costs 30 or 40 quid a pop to replace. Proper rain, paradoxically, is OK, as the water beads up and is blown off as long as you keep up a decent speed. But light rain or, worse, mist leaves a coating of cloudy droplets on your visor and cuts both visual penetration and contrast. Double that, treble that, if you have followed a lorry or bus which is sucking up a mist of road muck in its wake. 100 yards is enough. Bad enough when wet, but then it dries opaque.

Add an unlit road, and an approaching car with main beams on (or squinty dipped beams, or macho 'fog' lights) and you are literally riding into a black hole. You can see nothing, not the edge of the road, nor the surface, nor if there are any pedestrians tucked away in the shadows. The only answer is to pile on the brakes, slow down to a crawl and hope for the best.

The blazing rear fog light when it isn't foggy has the same effect (although the red is easier to deal with, and it's 21W x 2 rather than 60W x 4). In proper fog, a life-saver; in light rain or clear conditions a painful and annoying added hazard. But they are 'safety features', so it's OK to leave them on, right?

One thing about misused rear foglights that MajorGav didn't mention is the brake reflex on busy roads and motorways. You get attuned to the brightness level of everyone's rear lights, and when you see a much brighter one you assume someone up ahead is braking. You look, you react, and are ready to brake. When some muppet with a fog light on is up ahead, you keep seeing this between the other cars and the brain keeps twitching the brake reflex. That's annoying enough (the brain constantly going onto high alert for nothing) but it's also dangerous - after a while you become acclimatised, and then when somebody does brake in a genuine emergency, you just think "oh, it's that twat with the fog light again" and fail to react. Cue massive pile-up when nobody reacts in time.

Please just remember the Highway Code, Section 226:

You MUST use headlights when visibility is seriously reduced, generally when you cannot see for more than 100 metres (328 feet). You may also use front or rear fog lights but you MUST switch them off when visibility improves.

It's not difficult: switch them on when the fog makes it hard to see, and switch them off when visibility gets better. Everybody's happy.

And having four lights at the front does not make your car go faster, or give you a bigger willy.

Turkeyburger

2011-11-24T04:33:00.003Z

To my American friends ...

A very Happy Thanksgiving ...

And may all your turkeys be single-term ones ...

More on swearing

2011-11-23T02:10:00.005Z

Last night, I wrote a post about the rights and wrongs of swearing, and I have had some interesting and thoughful responses. I ran out of time (and didn't want the post to be over-long), so I kept some things back for a later post. Tonight is quieter, so I'm back on the topic. Two anecdotes, both perfectly true and from my own experience, which amused me greatly at the time and which I hope will provide a small distraction for my readers, although any great further insight into the difficulties of the topic is vanishingly unlikely.

1. Leeds, 1972

I was working in the summer as a hospital porter in St James's Hospital. My first proper, paid job and, curiously, one that I would happily go back to if circumstances decreed it. I was part of a portering team of about ten men, all much older than me and, on average, rough as fuck. I loved it.

One was called Ray, a gentle six-foot Yugoslav with a massive frame and huge, sad, cavernous eyes. He had come to England during the war as a refugee, I think, and on his arrival spoke no English. He immediately got a job in the hospital and learned his English there - amongst the portering team. Bad mistake. He swore like a sailor on shore leave, but there was no logic to it.

Hey, fucking you lend me that trolley, bloody.
I not coming fuck to work tomorrow bastard am I?

I liked the guy and we had many long conversations on the long night shifts, and gradually I worked out what had happened. He had picked up the meaning of most English words and could use them successfully. But he had also picked up that there were some words - perhaps 8 to 10 - which were essential to meaningful speech (at least as far as he heard it) but which appeared to have no semantic content whatsoever. I reckoned he worked on a quota system - shovel them in at random points in the sentence, and if there weren't enough, take a few on the end.

Looked at logically, from a language-learner's point of view, this is completely reasonable. Here we have some words that carry meaning and people understand, and here we have other words that seem to have no actual meaning (OK, what does the 'fucking' in 'fucking hell' actually mean?) but which everyone uses with great regularity. What to do, but put them in with the approximately correct frequency and hope for the best? Oops, I didn't use enough this time, fucking.

2. Hull, 1983

Teaching English in a very rough comprehensive, in the shadow of Hull Prison. Parents' Evenings were a quiet affair, as 90% of them never came within a mile of the school gates. But one night Darren told me that his parents were coming in to see me. Oh good, I thought, perhaps I can have a quiet word about Darren's language. Darren was 13 or so, and swore enough to make a docker blush. Nice lad, rough diamond, etc. His parents come along at the appointed time and were equally pleasant, not quite forelock-tugging, but certainly a little deferential, which was a rare treat.

I told them about his work and what progress he was making, and as they were about to leave I told them there was something else I wanted to mention. His swearing. Now it's OK, not a big problem, boys will be boys and all that, but he does it quite a lot, and at the most inappropriate times. He'll find it a problem when he starts going for jobs and so on. Can you ... er ... have a word?

The response was muted. The mother looked embarrassed, and the father crestfallen. "We know he does it, but we're decent people and we don't know where he gets it from. I mean, if I ever hear him swearing at home I fucking belt the little fucker, but he never seems to learn."

He caught her eye, they both caught mine, and we all laughed for a good five minutes.

Colorless green ideas sleep furiously

2011-11-23T01:46:00.002Z

Chomsky's famous sentence, published in his Syntactic Structures in 1957, which shows that a human utterance can be both completely nonsensical and grammatically correct at the same time. In other words, syntax and semantics are distinct and separate. It's part of a much larger and highly technical debate about the nature of language and our human capacity for communication, but I am not going into that here, because it is late.

I came across the sentence while studying linguistics in the 70s, and it has occupied a small and dusty crevice in my brain ever since. I was reminded of it while looking through Wikipedia for something related to a comment I was making on another site, which contained a reference to it, and I was drawn into reading the whole article.

Over the years, there have been several (usually unsuccessful) attempts to cast the five words into a sentence that would give them genuine meaning, but of course it is very difficult - impossible, in fact, unless one uses the words metaphorically. Stanford University held a literary competition in 1985, in which contestants had 100 words or 14 lines of poetry to make it meaningful. One entry, which may not have been the winner but should have been if it wasn't, was from one C M Street. I found it utterly charming and uplifting.

It can only be the thought of verdure to come, which prompts us in the autumn to buy these dormant white lumps of vegetable matter covered by a brown papery skin, and lovingly to plant them and care for them. It is a marvel to me that under this cover they are labouring unseen at such a rate within to give us the sudden awesome beauty of spring flowering bulbs. While winter reigns the earth reposes but these colourless green ideas sleep furiously.

Public profanity

2011-11-22T04:40:00.003Z

This post contains swear words. Be warned.

I'm very ambivalent about swearing. On the one hand, I do it all the time: the amount and the severity depends on whom I am with, from merely the thumb/hammer thing when in extremis, right up to potty-mouthery with certain characters at work, who wouldn't understand a word I said without regular interjections of oaths and curses. On the other hand, I was brought up not to do it, and I feel slightly cheapened whenever I find myself cursing. I suppose that's the point: swearing is intentionally transgressive, but in a harmless way, so from letting off steam to emphasising one's point in an argument it's a handy tool in the linguistic locker. I try to limit swearing on this blog to times when nothing else will do, as I simply don't know who might be reading it, and I have no desire to offend anyone unintentionally. But I don't buy the old headmaster's line that swearing is evidence of a poor vocabulary. A heartfelt utterance, laced with some ripe profanities, can be very expressive and also extremely funny.

I have no problem with swearing when it's done amongst people one knows will not be offended, although the degree will change with the audience. But I have to say that I find swearing as it is practised in 2011 - i.e. mouthing off like a docker no matter who is within earshot - pretty uncomfortable. The other day I walked by a car in a supermarket car-park, which had a sticker in the rear window saying (in a very jocular script) "Shit Happens". My first reaction was one of despair - it's such a banal thing to say, and I imagine is what passes for philosophy in the minds of some people. And the child seat in the back of the car made me depressed too. And then I wondered how I would have felt if my late mother has been with me. She wasn't a prude by any means, but she was a decent person and seeing that would have made her day that little bit worse. That's quite a mild example. I saw a youngish man the other day in town with a t-shirt that said, baldly, "Fuck You". I wouldn't be likely to approach him to ask the time, that's for sure. And perhaps that was his point.

Maybe he was a nice guy, and he wore the shirt as a joke. But that, in a way, is even more depressing. If I spoke to him and said that I found his t-shirt hostile and unpleasant, it's likely he wouldn't have a clue what I was on about. I should lighten up, learn to take a joke, perhaps even learn to let people 'express themselves'. I'm glad that we are a freer and less uptight society than we were in the 1950s, but people shouldn't confuse civility with deference, or good manners with emotional frigidity.

I was prompted to write this by an article in the BBC online magazine, entitled "Should swearing be against the law?" It's quite a good one, and delighted me because one of the commenters used the word 'phatic', which was an unexpected treat.

The problem with swearing is that it is highly dependent on context. What is said by a friend while chewing the fat over a pint can become very hostile, even threatening, when said by a stranger. And people don't like to feel threatened by strangers. It spoils your day.

It seems that people no longer realise, or even care, how their actions affect those around them. This issue of public swearing is only one example.

Hell, and a Rigby

2011-11-21T02:40:00.003Z

"Durr, whut?" comment of the week comes from a Mr Rigby, who was stranded at Heathrow Airport due to the fog which persisted there all day.

Matt Rigby, from London, spent the day at Heathrow having seen his midday flight to Moscow delayed and then cancelled.

[He] said: "We weren't even told it was due to fog, but I was able to figure it our for myself because it was pretty foggy out there."

He can probably tell you whether it is day or night without looking at his watch, you know.

Formatting Horribleness

2011-11-21T00:16:00.003Z

An apology. When I post from work (as with the previous post), I am in a strange limbo, half-in and half-out of Blogger. I can sign in and create a new post, but as soon as it is published I am presented with the sign-in screen again. I can't comment here or anywhere else under my own identity, and I can't edit my own posts. In this limbo, Blogger takes liberties with my formatting (about which I am usually quite careful, as I like to keep the blog looking clean), putting several paragraph breaks on one side of a quote and none on the other, and line breaks in the middle of lines where there shouldn't be any at all. Worse, I can't get back in to edit or correct any of it. The infelicities have to stay until I get home and can access the blog on my regular machine (modest though it is) to put them right.

So if you see a post on here with odd formatting and lots of stupid errors, please accept my humblest, and I will be tidying them up later.

If I am awake.

Upholding Standrads of Litersy

2011-11-20T23:40:00.005Z

From the BBC's online coverage of the results of the Spanish elections, i.e. after the polls ...

Are you in Spain? Are you be voting? How do you intend to vote? What are the key issues for you? Send us your comments using the form below.

Great copy-editing. And is it just me, or are these requests for 'your views' getting more common? Almost every story on the BBC website has this at the bottom. It seems like lazy journalism to me, or an over-reliance on the opinions of 'ordinary people'. If I want the opinions of ordinary people I will go to the pub - that is not what the BBC is for.

But it's a more general malaise within the Corporation. By the time a story has its quota of vox-pops from 'real people' and its 'correct' interpretation by BBC 'experts', there seems rarely to be time for the people involved to say their piece. The real news - the people involved speaking in their own words - takes a back seat.

Ask yourself - when did you last see an interview where the person just spoke their piece, or a story where the facts were laid out, without either a) Nick Robinson popping up to tell us what is really going on, or b) some Person on the Clapham Omnibus being asked what they think of it all?

5% story, 95% commentary - and half of that ignorant and half politically-biased. The BBC is an old warhorse that needs putting gently to sleep. It's lost its mission and its integrity.

"Are you be voting?"

No, I baint.

Beautiful Numbers

2011-11-19T12:10:00.003Z

I hated maths at school. I think my brain wasn't ready for it, but the sheer abstractness of it put me off. I was bright enough to survive it, but I didn't love it. Now, of course, I think it is brilliant. I can't fill the car or bike without spending the next ten miles working out in my head the mpg figure from the miles recorded and litres put in. My mathematical understanding is at a very basic level, of course - arithmetic, algebra, 2D geometry, a bit of statistics, a bit of calculus - but I suspect it is better than most, and these days I find the subject both intriguing and compelling. (If it tickles you too, have a look at a book called Nature's Numbers by Ian Stewart, where he delves into the maths behind all kinds of natural phenomena from dripping taps to the arrangement of cells in a sunflower head. Amazing book.)

I was therefore mildly thrilled to find this clip over at Rosie's place. It's a series of 15 unconnected pendulums (OK, Latin scholars, pendula) with monotonically-increasing lengths. (I looked this up and the explanation was way beyond my comprehension, but I suspect if the lengths were metal bars instead of pendula, there would be a musical relationship between them. Maths and music are intertwined. But that's a guess.)

"The period of one complete cycle of the dance is 60 seconds. The length of the longest pendulum has been adjusted so that it executes 51 oscillations in this 60 second period. The length of each successive shorter pendulum is carefully adjusted so that it executes one additional oscillation in this period. Thus, the 15th pendulum (shortest) undergoes 65 oscillations."

Set them going, and watch the patterns. Absolutely beautiful.

Farage: "What gives you the right?"

2011-11-18T11:55:00.003Z

While I quite like Nigel Farage, I sometimes wish that the anti-EU movement had picked someone less like a golf-club lawyer. He can sometimes come across as a bit glib and superficial. But this one (h/t to Guido) is a stormer.

"What gives you the right?" indeed.

Memo to Self

2011-11-16T22:50:00.003Z

Richard, when you go out to eat, take your reading specs. You really can't do without them any more, especially in dim light and with a fancy foodie script on the menu.

All that shit about "my eyesight's fine, it's just that my arms aren't long enough, ho ho" doesn't wash any more.

Ordering the wrong thing because you can't be arsed to carry them with you would be silly, wouldn't it? And relying on your companion (who remembered hers, women, eh?) because "my God, the light in here is very poor" is neither manly nor exciting.

Ring of Kerry

2011-11-15T22:10:00.005Z

We fully anticipated a day of driving rain and bitter cold, this being the Atlantic coast and mid-November. Instead, we had balmy weather and, if not bright sunshine, then at least high cloud and good light.

From the island of Valentia, looking seawards ...

About 8 miles out are the rocky outcrops of Skellig Beag and Skellig Michael, the latter the home to some very hardy monks between the 6th and 12th Centuries. There was a lot of sea mist. To the eye, this meant that the islands were distinct but black silhouettes, appearing to float eerily above the surface of the sea. Unfortunately, cheap Samsung optics were not able to capture this adequately, but you can see them if you squint ...

Protecting one of the passes since 1994 was Our Lady Of Grace Coomanaspig, who had a small receptacle for offerings ...

... but it would be more in hope than expectation, I think ...

Another breath-taking panoramic view among hundreds ...

... and another ...

The lakes in Killarney National Park, as the light was fading in the late afternoon ...

... and the day was drawing to a close ...

The weather was unreasonably kind, and we had a very satisfactory day. Not only was it mild and dry, but being mid-November we more or less had it to ourselves. I can imagine in Summer it could be appalling, as many of the roads are barely wide enough for a single car, never mind a coach tour, and apparently it gets packed, but for us it was a beautiful and uplifting place.

Tomorrow, the lakes again in good light, and a trip round the South-West corner to end up in Kinsale. The forecast, not unreasonably, is for lots of rain.

Bring it on - we have the kit, and haven't worn it yet.

Clifden Farmhouse

2011-11-14T22:51:00.005Z

I'm not going to bore you with every B&B I have stayed in on this trip, and every meal I have photographed before eating, but I want to post a recommendation for the first B&B we stayed in after we left Dublin, as the experience was really special:

Clifden Farmhouse
Hospital Road
Clifden, Co. Galway
00 353 (0) 95 21263
clifdenfarmhouse@hotmail.com
www.clifden-farmhouse-connemara.net
N53.490441
W10.013886

It's situated on a hill on the edge of the town, about 10 minutes' walk from the fleshpots of Clifden, as part of a working farm. That means it isn't pretty-pretty, but the views are spectacular. Here's the view one way ...

... and here's the other ...

Don't expect IKEA furniture and Laura Ashley curtains. It's clean and modern, but far from trendy. Just how I like it, in fact. Everything worked*, the bed was comfy, and the 'Full Irish' breakfast (same as a Full English, but further West) was an all-dayer. Best of all, the welcome was friendly, genuine and fulsome. I had phoned the owner, Mrs Coyne, the day before to book, but by the time we got there she had wisely decamped to Lanzarote for a well-earned break, leaving the operation in the charge of her daughters.

In the hospitality trade, there is a fine balance to be drawn between over-familiarity on the one hand and over-formality or, worse, unctuousness on the other. I'd rather be called 'mate' than 'Sir', I suppose, but rather than either of those I like to be greeted with polite but genuine friendliness. As if I matter, but not too much. The girls managing the B&B delivered this in spades, and we left with genuine regret.

I mentioned to Mairead that I wrote a blog with a mainly motorcycling audience, and asked if they had any objection to motorcyclists as guests. Not at all, not at all, was the response, so I asked if they minded if I gave a recommendation to any bikers touring the area. They said they were happy with that.

So, if you are touring the West Coast of Ireland and need somewhere to stay in the area NW of Galway, you would not be disappointed if you stayed here. Fabulous, remote and beautiful scenery, and a great place to lay your head and let the bike cool down a bit.

We'll be visiting the area again, and where we will stay is a no-brainer.

*I'm lying again. I couldn't get the iPhone or the lapdog to connect to the free wi-fi, although this has not been a problem elsewhere. However, since one of the brothers set up all the IT in the house and it works for everyone else, I'm sure this is something that could be resolved if it really mattered. For me, it didn't matter enough to make a fuss about.

Some Views of Ireland 2

2011-11-14T21:59:00.006Z

Some stunning scenery, making me wish I had brought my Nikon DSLR. I'm having to make do with the iPhone (rubbish) and a finders-keepers Samsung P1000, worth about £20 if it was working properly, which it isn't. So any moody, muted colours and creative soft-focus shooting are not down to any talent of mine, but crap optics.

We drove from Dublin to Galway and then up a long and challenging road across some wonderfully remote bog and moorland to Clifden. I was happy on that road up to about 50 mph, but the White Van Man behind clearly wasn't, so I pulled off into a layby to let him through, nearly wrecking the front suspension on two huge concealed potholes in the process. The mountains were starting to close in.

The many small loughs here often have little islands in the middle, often with ruined buildings hidden in the scrub, and I had a pleasant fantasy involving a lottery win and complete retirement from the human race.

That evening, Anna expressed (or, rather, re-expressed for the ninetieth time) her desire to see the sun go down over Galway Bay and the Atlantic Ocean. This, and the shortened day, was the reason we took the motorway from Dublin rather than the pretty and winding option. However, a good look at the map persuaded us that this was not possible - not without a 30-mile walk, anyway - but we set off for an evening stroll in any case, just as the light was fading. For one thing, we found that Irish estate agents had not lost their sense of humour ...

... and that the Irish are protective of people's rights to walk a pretty walk without getting mown down by cars (the sign advising of a €150 fine for dog mess wasn't quite so photogenic) ...

We ended the walk with this view, the nearest we got to a Galway Bay Sunset. It was good enough.

Tomorrow will see us driving the Ring Of Kerry, and more moody, out-of-focus photo-opportunities, so keep checking back. This B&B has awesome wi-fi. The router is literally a foot from the bedroom door, and it's waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay better than what we have at home.

I think I'd rather just be a Baroness, thanks all the same...

2011-11-14T17:42:00.004Z

If this is what they call you in Ireland...

Some Views of Ireland

2011-11-14T17:25:00.007Z

A walk in the pouring rain around Rush Harbour ...

Down soaking wet streets to the Harbour Bar ...

And a pint in front of the fire.

Alfie (11 years) and Dot (5 months) ...

Window display at Connemara Tweeds, Clifden ...

Detail -

No wonder polar bears are the poster children for the greenies. I had to forcibly stop Anna from breaking in and stealing them.

EUrodemocracy

2011-11-12T17:31:00.003Z

Funnily enough, I had to go to the Irish Times for this gem. Angela Merkel, in an interview after the Cannes summit:

"What we got in Cannes was the feeling that there is no such thing any more as domestic policy making. Domestic is what's inside the currency area. Greece can no longer decide all by itself the issue of whether it should hold a referendum or not."

So now you know.

Irish spelling

2011-11-11T19:28:00.004Z

Always baffling.

For all its apparent difficulty to English eyes, Welsh spelling is pretty logical, and the pronunciation is directly related to the letters you see. It's almost 100% phonetic, and far more so than English, for example.

Irish spelling - nope. To someone not brought up there, the relation between spelling and pronunciation is often almost comically indirect. I have been collecting a few examples for the amusement and edification of chums, but last night I saw one that takes not only the biscuit, but the whole McVities factory.

Cill Chomhghaill

Pronounced

Kilcoole.

You could never have guessed that. Unless you were Irish, of course.

Stena Plus

2011-11-11T19:05:00.003Z

A recommendation for you, if you are ever crossing between Fishguard and Rosslare on the Stena Line ferry: pay the extra and travel Stena Plus. For an extra 16 quids per person per crossing, you get:

Access to a quiet lounge
Comfy chairs (those aircraft-type things, but also proper armchairs)
Free red or white wine, soft drinks, coffee, tea, chocolate etc
Free pastries, nibbles, fruit, etc
A steward to look after you
A restaurant in the quiet area so you can eat in peace and quiet
Papers, TV and free internet and wi-fi
(cough) A slightly more exclusive class of fellow-traveller.

You turn up, you are greeted and treated as a human being, couple of glasses of wine, you can rest or sleep, you can fill up on biscuits and cakes, and read the papers or watch TV or surf the net until you arrive. For £16 a head it is a complete bargain. The Ireland ferry has a reputation for being a drinkers' special, and this way you avoid all that.

We have done this for the last two crossings, and have decided that we will never travel any other way. Highly recommended.

A Bike A Day

2011-11-10T08:32:00.005Z

Helps You Work, Rest and Play.

Here's a challenge thrown out by Trobairitz:

If you had unlimited funds and could have one bike for every day of the week, what bikes would you choose?

OK, after some thought (about ten seconds' worth), here is my selection.

1. Yamaha XT600E

All-purpose commuter/trailie. Old enough to be easily fixed on the driveway, and also old enough not to grieve the owner if it's dropped or (God forbid) stolen. 55 mpg and will keep going through anything. A post-holocaust bike. Also cheap. Of the seven, this is the one that would get ridden every day.

2. Triumph Sprint ST 955i

Yes, my other bike, which only goes to show that I am happy with my choices. So far. Comfortable for long rides, handles well enough, can take pillions and luggage. 150 mph performance is substantially in excess of anything I would ever use, but that's a comforting thought in itself. But best of all, that triple motor - torque in massive gobs from idle to redline, and that howl when it gets on the cam ...

3. Harley-Davidson 1200 Sportster

For sunny days when I don't need to be anywhere in a hurry. I've never really 'got' the cruiser thing, but it would be a shame not to dip a toe in. I'd have the standard model with the centre controls, though - my back wouldn't stand the feet-forward position of the Custom, and I don't get that whole splayed-out thing.

4. Yamaha XT660Z Tenere

The modern version of (1), with a bulletproof 660 water-cooled single motor and a small screen. This is for 'adventure touring', by which I mean anything off the beaten track. These bikes have circled the world and been up the Himalayas, and seem to be, if anything, tougher than the 600 they replaced. I had the 660R briefly (the trailbike version) and the motor is just about enough. Fit it with huge panniers and strap a tent on the back, and off you go.

5. Moto Guzzi T3

A big, lazy 850 from the 70s, here to indulge my love of Italian bikes and retro at the same time. Not fast, but lazy and long-legged (the Italian nickname is Gambalunga), and an addictive vibe. But not, in any sane world, one's only bike.

6. BSA B30 rigid

My 'classic', and something to fettle when the other bikes are all running well. A true Brit.

7. Suzuki GSXR1000

Insanely fast. Just for the giggles. I would probably sell it after three months and indulge my love of strokers with a Yamaha RD350LC, which would be about as practical and twice the fun, but everyone needs to own a Gixxer at least once. Perhaps.

Ask again in a week's time. I will have changed my mind. Probably.

All pictures nicked shamelessly from the web.

Peace

2011-11-09T21:12:00.006Z

The house refurbishment that has been dominating our lives for the last eight weeks is now almost over. Everything now works as it should. The windows wind, the kitchen kitches, the heating heats, the bathroom baths, and the hot water pipes pipe hot water. All we have to do now is move everything from its random and chaotic distribution round the few unaffected parts of the house and we will be back to normal. No workmen, no Radio Fucking One, no endless coffee-making (sixty-three sugars, love!), no dog getting covered in paint and no cat cowering in the woodstore.

Peace.

And.

Quiet.

If we still smoked, we'd be sharing a cigarette.

Tomorrow, we go to Ireland for a few days. Play nicely.

The ATTAM* Party

2011-11-08T14:38:00.002Z

*All Things To All Men

So, the Labour Shadow Cabinet is full of policy wonks, people who have never held down a real job in their lives. And the Conservative Cabinet is much the same, albeit slightly more encouraging with a few Directorships. So, how is the party that will promise anything to anybody faring?

Nick Clegg, Deputy Prime Minister
Journalist
Aid co-ordinator
Lobbyist
European Commission
Policy adviser
MEP
Lobbyist
MP

Vince Cable, Business Secretary
Lecturer
Special adviser
Chief Economist for Shell
MP

Chris Huhne, Energy and Climate Change
City entrepreneur
Director of ratings agency
Journalist
MP

Danny Alexander, Treasury Secretary
Press Officer
Director of Communications, Britain In Europe
MP

Bit too much Europe there for my liking.

Time was, Parliament was full of ex-miners on one side and ex-businessmen on the other. Yes, I exaggerate. But you knew that Parliament was filled with men (and some women) with experience of life - struggling to feed a family, hard physical work, taking risks, balancing priorities, managing money. Looking back over these three posts, the most common occupation is 'policy adviser' or 'political researcher'. Overwhelmingly, politicians leave University, get a job at a low level in a political organisation, and rise to the top of that before being selected (for their loyalty to the cause more than anything else, one would imagine) as candidates for election. The only risk there people have taken was whether to support Brown of Blair on their way up.

It is no surprise that Parliament is spineless and weak (unless it is to bully and coerce its citizens into 'appropriate choices'). They have all lived in a world where what matters is who you butter up and who you spin against, a comfy office world where risks are theoretical and discomfort is a Nokia between the shoulderblades.

No-one there who has queued for the bus before dawn on a misty November morning to earn their daily crust. Pampered lapdogs, the lot of them. Even, or especially, Labour.

The Toffs' Party

2011-11-08T14:33:00.003Z

As with the recent look at Labour's real-world experience, here's the same for some of the Conservative cabinet:

David Cameron, Prime Minister
Political researcher
Special adviser
Director of media company
MP

William Hague, Foreign Secretary
Management consultant
MP

George Osborne, Chancellor
Political researcher
MP

Kenneth Clarke, Justice Secretary
Barrister
QC
MP

Theresa May, Home Secretary
Bank of England
Financial consultant
MP

Phillip Hammond, Defence Secretary
Director of medical company
Various directorships and partnerships
Consultant to World Bank
MP

Iain Duncan Smith, Work and Pensions
Scots Guards
General Electric Company
MP

Andrew Lansley, Health Secretary
Civil servant
Political researcher
MP

Michael Gove, Education Secretary
Journalist
MP

Eric Pickles, Communities and Local Government
Local councillor
MP

Justine Greening, Transport Secretary
Accountant
MP

Better, but still nothing to give confidence that our Lords and Masters have lived much in the real world.

RoSPA response

2011-11-07T15:23:00.002Z

I posted recently about the horrific M5 crash, in which I criticised RoSPA for a bit of apparent shroud-waving in the aftermath of the events. It seems that RoSPA have been trawling the blogosphere for criticism of their stance (now why would they do that?) and are doing a bit of damage-limitation. Today, I received an email from Jo Bullock, their Head of Press and Campaigns, which gives the background to the interview I saw. It is certainly an eye-opener, and I am happy to publish it here in full. It seems as if the agenda was the BBC's, not RoSPA's (no surprises there), and that the interview that I saw was a highly-edited extract of a much bigger corpus of material. Here's what she wrote:

Hi Going Fast, Getting Nowhere

Further to some of the points made on your blog, I wanted to fill you in on the background to media coverage related to the horrific accident on Friday.

The pre-recorded clip shown by the BBC was only a very small part of what I discussed with BBC journalists throughout the day on Saturday and also with other journalists across the weekend.

At RoSPA, we did not proactively share our views on the 80mph limit, or, indeed, any aspect of the awful tragedy on the M5 - we only responded to direct enquiries from the media, and we, like other road safety/motoring organisations had many enquiries. The 80mph speed limit proposal, and also the issue of potential distraction, were the two most common lines of questioning from both broadcast and print journalists, and this is continuing today. I’m sure you will have seen comments from other organisations on these issues too.

Before recording the BBC TV piece in question and also during some of the recorded answers I gave to questions, I spoke at some length with the journalists about how I was in no way happy or able to link the M5 tragedy directly to the proposal to increase the motorway speed limit to 80mph. I actually told the journalist who recorded the piece that RoSPA would in no way seek to gain “political mileage” in such a way, not just because of the massive insensitivity of doing that but because it was also far too early in the investigation to even begin to speculate about the contributory factors to the crash.

The BBC, however, was doing a backgrounder piece on general motorway safety to accompany its breaking news coverage about the accident and this was the package they wanted RoSPA to be part of, not the breaking news to talk about the actual accident. As well as talking about motorways being the safest roads in the UK, supported by the national road casualty figures they shared, the journalist felt it important to mention the current big issue that people were talking about with regards to motorway safety - the proposal to raise the limit to 80mph. That’s why she asked me directly about this issue. In my answer, I was very clear to stress that RoSPA’s view on the proposal was one that we had held before the accident and that it was in no way prompted by the crash. Also, in no way did I urge the Government to reconsider its 80mph proposal “in light of the accident” - as has been suggested in a couple of places. I’m not sure if other organisations have done that or not, but that line has certainly not come from RoSPA.

It’s important that people talk about whether the motorway limit should be increased, and blogs are a great place to do this (I’m sure there’ll be a lot more discussion when the Government issues its consultation), but I am sorry if on this occasion people thought RoSPA was seeking to gain something in the aftermath of a horrific crash.

Best wishes

Jo

Jo Bullock
Head of press and campaigns
Royal Society for the Prevention of Accidents

Tel: 0121 248 2134
Out-of-hours media enquiries: 07785 540349
Fax: 0121 248 2001
jbullock@rospa.com

For what it's worth, I have always had the highest respect for RoSPA. Their system of advanced motorcycle testing, leading to the coveted RoSPA Gold, is way ahead of anything else in the UK as far as road riding goes, and I was very disappointed to see their approach in the BBC interview. Having read Jo's explanation, I have had my faith somewhat restored. I have emphasised certain bits above to illustrate what I mean. The formatting of her email (removed in version above) suggests that the message was pre-written and then individualised and sent to a lot of people. I suspect they got a lot of flak that they weren't expecting over this.

BBC promoting an anti-car, anti-speed agenda? Who'd-a thunk it?

The Workers' Party

2011-11-07T04:52:00.002Z

Just a few of the Shadow Cabinet:

Ed Miliband, Leader of Opposition
TV journalist
Researcher for Harriet Harman
Adviser to Gordon Brown
Lecturer
Treasury adviser
MP

Harriet Harman, Deputy Leader of Opposition
Legal Officer for NCCL
MP

Ed Balls, Shadow Chancellor
Journalist
Adviser to Gordon Brown
Treasury adviser
MP

Douglas Alexander, Shadow Foreign Secretary
Researcher for Gordon Brown
Solicitor (6 months)
MP

Yvette Cooper, Shadow Home Secretary
Political Researcher for John Smith
Policy specialist for Bill Clinton
Policy Adviser to Harriet Harman
Journalist
MP

Sadiq Khan, Shadow Justice Secretary
Human Rights lawyer
MP

Rosie Winterton, Shadow Chief Whip
PA to John Prescott
Parliamentary Officer
MD of PR company
Head of Office for John Prescott
MP

Andy Burnham, Shadow Health Secretary
Researcher for Tessa Jowell
Parliamentary Officer
Administrator with Football Task Force
Adviser to Chris Smith
MP

Stephen Twigg, Shadow Education Secretary
NUS President
Local councillor
Amnesty International and NCVO
MP

Any real jobs there?

Nope.

Is it any wonder we are in the state we're in?

I'll do a similar exercise shortly with the Tory and Lib Dem front benches as a comparison. I don't think it'll be very different.

They haven't gone away ...

2011-11-07T03:47:00.004Z

... those hypocritical economic illiterates on the Labour benches.

Theresa May is reportedly 'furious' about allegations that border controls were relaxed this summer, allowing non-EU nationals in without identity checks, and not checking entrants against 'watch lists' of 'people of interest'. Three officials, including the head of the UK Border Force, have been suspended while an investigation is carried out.

For Labour, of course, this isn't enough, and Yvette Cooper (Mrs Balls) is asking some pretty searching questions.

Shadow home secretary Yvette Cooper has written to Mrs May to ask how many terror suspects or illegal immigrants may have arrived during the period covered by the claims.

That is a question to which there can be no answer (if no-one was looking, how can anyone tell who got through?), and she knows it, but it doesn't stop La Balls from trying to score a petty political point.

This, from the party who relaxed border controls from 2001 to 2008 as part of a deliberate plan to encourage mass immigration, in order to "rub the Right's nose in diversity". As a result of that policy, we simply don't know how many illegal immigrants got into the country, nor whether they were terrorists or tourists. But to question the policy was to be branded a racist bigot.

Labour: stinking opportunistic hypocrites, the lot of them.

Progressive?

2011-11-07T01:39:00.004Z

I don't think I know what this word means any more.

Call me an old fuddy-duddy, but the dictionary definition seems about right:

Progressive, adj.
1. Moving forward; advancing.
2. Proceeding in steps; continuing steadily by increments: progressive change.
3. Promoting or favoring progress toward better conditions or new policies, ideas, or methods

So, there's the basic notion of change, and the implication that the change is towards something better. I can agree with that.

So what the heck are they talking about here?

The Welsh government says it plans to have a new law in place for presumed consent of organ donation by 2015.

The legislation would require people to opt out of donating their organs when they die, rather than opting in by signing the donor register.

Interesting that the BBC has now started referring to the Welsh Government (originally conceived as the Welsh Assembly) in the same way that it transmuted the Scottish Parliament to the Scottish Government a few years ago. No agenda there, by any chance? No? OK, back to the topic:

A spokesperson said: "We believe we should be progressive on this issue and follow the example of those countries with excellent records on organ donation, where an opt-out system is a key element.

That wasn't coincidence, either. Roy Thomas of the Kidney Wales Foundation said this:

"I believe the Welsh government has got this absolutely right and are progressive. Indeed I think the rest of the UK will follow."

We heard it all at the last election, with Gordon Brown's talk of a 'progressive consensus', by which he meant 'anyone who isn't a Tory'. But what does this new use of the word mean? The idea is to assume that people will give their organs for transplant after their death, unless they specifically state that they do not so wish. The State is assuming ownership of your body, or at the very least assuming you will agree with it, and its priorities and projects, unless you tell it otherwise.

That's progressive? It's change, certainly, but whether that change is towards something better is a moot point. What's better for you may not be better for me, but under the 'progressive' banner, the person who uses the word is the person who knows best.

In simpler days, it used to mean listening to Yes rather than the Bay City Rollers. How times change.

Seasonal Quiz

2011-11-06T21:45:00.005Z

Here's one for you pub quiz fans:

Name two dates from English history:

One where everyone knows the date, but not the year, and

One where everyone knows the year, but not the date.

Clues:

1605

14 October.

You can tell I am work, can't you?

Blaming the Bonfire

2011-11-06T21:04:00.007Z

It's starting to look as though a culprit has been found for the M5 accident on Friday evening - a nearby bonfire.

Police probing the M5 crash which killed seven people have said a firework display next to the road is the "major line of inquiry".

Assistant Chief Constable Anthony Bangham, of Avon and Somerset Police, said he was focusing on the event held on Friday night.

He said "a bank of smoke" was across the M5 at the time of the crash.

This may well be true. Fires have a habit of making a lot of smoke, and the wind has a habit of taking that smoke where it is not wanted. Sometimes this causes problems. It does not mean that fires should be banned.

I lived for a long time in North and South Humberside, an area of predominantly arable farming. At certain times of year, the farmers used to burn off the stubble in the fields, which caused massive thick clouds of yellow-white smoke to hang over the landscape. Often, the wind would blow it across roads - even major routes - and the traffic would come to a near standstill for a while. It was like a very thick fog, only it made you cough as well as blinding you. People grumbled, obviously (especially if you had a load of clean washing on the line when they set it off), but no-one suggested that the burning should be banned. It was a seasonal thing, part of the way of life in those areas, and you accepted it.

I have a feeling that a different view will be taken over the bonfire smoke from Taunton Rugby Club. Even if the smoke is not found to be a primary cause of the accident, I am sure that there will be calls for bonfires near major routes (and how many are not?) to be banned. After all, if it saves just one life ...

Sorry, no. Bonfires are part of our tradition, going back thousands of years. Never mind recent history like the Gunpowder Plot - our Celtic ancestors were burning the old year away back in the Iron Age, and I'm sure their Neolithic forebears were doing something similar. The smoke from a bonfire is just something that we have learned to deal with, even as motorists - back to that old rule about 'being able to stop within the distance you can see to be clear'.

Sometimes I think our roads are too good. Because of the regulations surrounding motorway construction, we expect good surfaces, shallow bends, consistent road marking and signage, control of joining traffic, and so on. In short, we expect them to be an ideal environment in which we can go fast and not have to think too much. We feel 'entitled' to a certain standard, and when something unexpected comes along, we can't cope. More, we are annoyed, because that kind of thing 'shouldn't be allowed to happen'.

I think we are going to see a curtailment of bonfires "for everyone's benefit". That would be sad, but it's easier to do than, God forbid, expecting people to think for themselves.

And, for a bonus point, in the coverage of this over the next few days, look out for the climate change argument to be added to the mix - all that nasty CO2 being pumped out for no good reason every year. It will be there, mark my words.

Well, durr ...

2011-11-06T20:57:00.003Z

Apparently, Kent has been fairly quiet:

Kent Fire and Rescue Service said there were no major incidents in the county on Saturday night.

"We went to a few false alarms which turned out to be bonfires, which happens every bonfire night," said a spokesman.

Yes.

M5 crash

2011-11-06T02:27:00.005Z

Let's get one thing out of the way: the M5 motorway crash was horrific and dreadful, and my heart goes out to those involved - perhaps especially to the loved ones of those who died, as it seems that some perished in an appalling manner, trapped in their cars while a firestorm went on around them. Living with the knowledge that this was how someone you loved ended their life sounds like a lifetime's heartache to me. This is not the time to be making contentious statements based on a partial understanding of what happened. There was a lady from RoSPA on the BBC News this evening trying to get the Government to 'think again' about the proposed raising of the speed limit from 70 to 80. No-one knows what caused the crash, not even the policemen dealing with it, so how anyone can go on the telly and use the dreadful events to promote their agenda as if the causes were all laid out and understood by everyone is a mystery - and leaves a pretty unpleasant taste in the mouth.

But this won't stop the hard of thinking from posting their incisive analysis. COLIN's response on the Yahoo News site is typical:

horrific crash on M5 many DEAD and they want to increase speed limit from 70 to 80 God help all of us

Here's the logic: for cars to run into each other on a motorway, they must have been going too fast. Therefore, lower speed limits are the answer.

Right; and wrong. On a motorway in thick fog, 30 mph is suicidally fast. On a clear day with light traffic, 90 mph is a safe speed. Any general speed limit is, by its nature, arbitrary. It's the speed in relation to the conditions that either avoids or causes accidents. And getting that right is all about training, not arbitrary enforcement of a number on a stick.

All the witness accounts that I have read say that the cars involved were travelling below the speed limit in any case, so how a higher overall limit would make accidents like this more likely is not obvious.

But watch for the usual suspects (I haven't seen Brake commenting yet, but I am sure they will) coming on the airwaves to call for speed limits to be ratcheted down yet again. Despite the fact that this is nothing, nothing, to do with this awful event.

I suspect that the outcome of any investigation of the crash will conclude that some people were travelling too fast for the conditions, which is so obvious it hardly needs saying, sadly. What will be more interesting is the way that various vested interests will use the incident to further their own agendas.

Effects of the US recession

2011-11-06T00:36:00.000Z

The recession in the USA has hit everybody really hard…

My mate got a pre-declined credit card in the mail.

Wives are having sex with their husbands because they can’t afford batteries.

CEO’s are now playing miniature golf.

Exxon-Mobil laid off 25 Congressmen.

A stripper was killed when her audience showered her with rolls of pennies while she danced.

I saw a Mormon with only one wife.

If the bank returns your check marked “Insufficient Funds,” you call them and ask if they meant you or them.

McDonald’s is selling the 1/4 ouncer.

Angelina Jolie adopted a child from America.

Parents in Beverly Hills fired their nannies and learned their children’s names.

A friend had an exorcism but couldn’t afford to pay for it, and they re-possessed her.

A truckload of Americans was caught sneaking into Mexico.

A picture is now only worth 200 words.

The Treasure Island casino in Las Vegas is now managed by Somali pirates.

Be careful, Dublo Seven ...

2011-11-04T07:37:00.005Z

You'll enjoy this, even if you don't like model trains. Sit back and enjoy the next five minutes.

When I was clearing out some old stuff recently, I came across a faux-parchment document that brought a smile to my face. My Mum must have kept it and it came to me in a box full of her personal effects when she died. No scanner, so here it is, word for word, minus the elaborate curly script:

HORNBY RAILWAY COMPANY

At a Directors' Meeting at the Headquarters in the City of Liverpool, County of Lancaster, on the ...FIFTH... day of ...NOVEMBER... 19 ...57... Richard Xxxx of ...DARLINGTON... was elected a Member of the Company and is entitled to the full benefits of Membership

In Witness Whereof, this certificate has been issued.

Roland G Hornby
Chairman

Membership No.
305487

I was almost four years old.

Sniff.

TomTom Rant

2011-11-03T08:36:00.006Z

If there was a World award for Companies-with-a-great-product-who-nevertheless-treat-their-customers-like-dirt, then TomTom would win it. Little-red-hands-on-a-bongo-drum down.

A few clarifying things first. I have owned a TomTom since 2005, and I have also owned two Garmins. I like the TomTom product. It is easy to use, the graphics and software are good and, with the usual caveat about applying common sense to everything a machine tells you, very accurate and reliable at routefinding. Many people say the Garmin range are technically better, but my Garmin (bought to tide me over while my original TomTom was in for repair, see below) had me doing a U-turn while on a dual carriageway in Oxford, and it was only because it was early on a Sunday morning that I wasn't squashed by a juggernaut as I nervously extracted myself. The software on the Garmin is less intuitive, too.

My first TomTom GO was one of the old square-screen ones with a deep back like an old television. I think the storage was a mini-hard drive, and I believe that this was the problem, although TomTom never admitted it. The hard drive just wasn't robust enough for the environment of the car. Interestingly, TomTom made sure that their next model was solid-state. The unit kept locking up, and either failing to shut down at all, or going into a loop on startup, where it cycled endlessly through the splash screen and the rest, without ever getting to navigation mode. I first noticed it when it 'forgot' my destination half-way through a journey and had to be reprogrammed by the side of the road. After a while, it started looping and freezing, and eventually I contacted TomTom tech support through their website. Most of the time you are dealing with a machine here, where you are presented with a list of responses, none of which say "the fucking thing doesn't work and I want it mended". Three times I negotiated my way through this, and three times it was sent away (to a location in Fife IIRC) for 'repair'. Each time, they simply reflashed the chip and returned the unit, which lasted another month or two before collapsing.

And, of course, each time they did this I lost all my 'favourites'. This is one of the great things abouyt satnav units. You can save any location on the surface of the planet as a 'favourite', and the unit will faithfully guide you back to it from anywhere. So all my regular destinations (family addresses, bike shops in distant cities, certain remote petrol stations, and so on) were set into the machine. And each time the unit was re-flashed, it went back to factory settings and I lost the lot. (Before anyone says I should have saved a backup, by the time the unit locked up, connecting to the PC was an impossibility.) I put up with this when it happened, mainly because I could re-enter most of the places I wished to from my (paper) address book.

In 2006, we went for a holiday in Italy, to the area of Tuscany just South of Florence. We had a fantastic time, and found a lot of superb places that we might wish to return to one day - spectacular views, nice little trattorias, nooks and crannies off the beaten track - which were all entered faithfully as 'favourites' in the TomTom. And then, half-way home through France, the unit packed up for good. I went through the usual website routine, and got them to take it back for 'repair' once more, this time with the plea that they save the favourites as I was unable to back the unit up to do so myself. Of course, it came back squeaky-clean and I had lost the lot. At no point in the process was I able to speak or even write to a human being.

I went utterly ballistic, but of course there is no option for that on the customer service web script. So I found the name and address of the MD in the Netherlands and wrote him a long letter. I didn't hold back; he had a three-page, blow-by-blow, dates and locations, case reference numbers, the lot. I didn't expect a reply, and this was when I bought the Garmin, as I had made the decision to bin the TomTom. A couple of weeks later, I received a gracious and very apologetic reply from someone high up in TomTom BV, with the offer of a brand-new, top-of-the-range unit free of charge. This was the GO720, which I received in 2007 - solid state electronics and a wide screen. He also admitted that they had had 'issues' with the service centre in Fife, and that they were no longer using it. Little comfort for me, but interesting.

This new unit has been superb and totally fault-free for five years. It has rattled around in the car's glovebox for all that time, it has been glued to the Honda and taken to Denmark, has been dropped and abused, and it has never failed me. But after five years, the maps were totally out of date. Bristol, especially, might as well have been another planet as far as the unit was concerned, and nearly every journey had me apparently travelling through green fields whenever there was a new road. So I decided to splash out and update the maps. It was £60 for the update and another three updates over a year, which I didn't think was too bad.

Big mistake.

What TomTom don't tell you while you have your credit card out is that, not only are the new maps so huge that you will need to buy extra storage if you want them all on the unit at once (luckily I had a spare 4GB SD card floating round), but by uploading the new maps you will lose all of your favourites. Yes, I had done a backup, and yes, I had the favourites stored in a secure location. But the new maps use a different file format, and the old favourites file won't work.

The new Western Europe map is vast - over 2GB - and took all afternoon and half the evening to download. Then it said I didn't have enough memory, so I used the SD card. Then it said I still didn't have enough memory, but I carried on anyway, and it seemed to be OK with that. Then I found my favourites were gone - I had loads, five years' worth, some irreplaceable - and I spent the evening on the web looking for solutions. Here's the deal as far as I am able to ascertain it:

There is a file in the Western_Europe folder called MapSettings.cfg. This contains all the user-defined information, such as favourites, recent destinations, the 'home' setting and so on. Loading a new map has always meant (for those in the know) saving a copy of this file to the desktop and copying it back to the new map folder afterwards, as the map installation process will delete it from the unit. First question for TomTom: why did I have to do my own research to find this out?

However, with the newer maps, this won't work. The unit doesn't recognise the file; it's apparently in a different format, although the name and extension are the same. There is a well-known workaround, which involves converting your MapSettings.cfg file to an ov2 file using shareware called Poiedit and then loading your favourites as a new category in Points of Interest, but this is fiddly and inconvenient, both to do and in subsequent use. Second question for TomTom: why did I have to do my own research to find this out?

Third question for TomTom: why the fucking fuck didn't you warn me about this before I gave you my sixty quid? If I had known I would lose all my favourite locations I would not have bothered. I would have paid a bit extra and got a new unit. Keeping the favourites was the main reason for upgrading, rather than renewing.

I assume that TomTom are concerned more with getting the mapping right and the software good than with the individual user's personal experiences. This is OK as far as it goes, but when we use technology like a satnav, we personalise it, and that personalisation is an important part of the experience. If there are technical constraints which necessitate changes that impact on users' personalisation (such as the deletion of a 'favourites' file), then at least warn the users first and suggest ways round it. Otherwise you just piss people off. And they have pissed me off, big style.

This poses me a problem. I am going to get a bike-specific satnav at some point when funds allow. Because of my good experiences with the GO720, I had pretty much settled on the TomTom Rider: cheaper than the Garmin Zumo, comes ready with a headset, and I know and like the way it works. Now I am not sure. I'm pretty much at the point of saying that I will never buy a TomTom product ever again, just because they obviously care so little for their customers. Automated tech support and email-only customer service do not make you feel as if you matter.

Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to sit down with a coffee and my address book, and start re-entering all my favourites to the TomTom.

Manually, for fuck's sake. In two-thousand-and-eleven.

Winter is icumen in ...

2011-11-02T17:26:00.005Z

Lhude sing o-fukkit!

I've been commuting on the XT recently, and the Sprint has been waiting patiently behind the house. In fact, it hadn't moved a wheel for about three weeks until last night, when I wanted to take it to the Triumph Owners' club meet. The brakes were sticky and the head races had gone rather stiff. The first was easily solved with a few hard stops, but the head races kept me threepenny-bitting the roundabouts until it eased itself. That's an item on the 12k service which will be due soon, so perhaps I will see to that properly when I tackle the big 'un.

The run out and back was in the dark and, bloody hell, but the Sprint headlights are dreadful! Dipped beam isn't too bad, with a decent spread, although there is a gap in the straight-ahead position, like a missing tooth in a smile, so you are constantly riding into a black hole. The main beam, however, is strong straight ahead but has nothing to the sides, so if the road bends or you lean the bike (neither being infrequent occurrences), you lose everything. I have adjusted the lights patiently (you need to take the effing bodywork off to do this, grrr), but they are still poor. How poor? Well, the XT is a trailbike with a small headlight, more for legality than actual night riding, and the XT's lights are actually better then the Sprint's. That's how poor.

My run to the pub takes me through a small village and I noticed a tractor with some kind of brushing attachment behind it coming the other way when I was going to the pub. On my way home, I realised what it was: for the space of about a mile, the road was covered from edge to edge in a thin layer of field mud, damp and very slippery. I dread to think what it was like before the clean-up. I kept the speed right down and made it without incident, but it made me think that in a situation like that the XT is much the better mount. As this is Wales, and a rural area, and with more of the same rapidly approaching, I think it's time to give the Sprint a good clean and polish, and put it away for a while. It's a main roads bike, happiest on a charge and with a long journey in prospect. The XT is happiest on back roads, at lower speeds, and on a bad surface gives a lot more confidence. Sliding it around is fun; sliding the Sprint is an underwear-changing experience.

And if I drop it, it will suffer less damage and be fixed cheaper. Not that I plan to.

Go to bed, one of you.

Serge Trousers

2011-11-02T15:44:00.004Z

OK, sorry, I'm in a Bonzo Dog mood today.

I had a lovely email from a chap called Serge today. He wants to advertise on my blog. Here's his letter, together with the reasons why I won't be taking him up on his offer.

Hello!

Er, hello.

I just want to thank you for your wonderful blog goingfastgettingnowhere.blogspot.com.

The last bit isn't part of the blog title, Serge. It's what happens when you copy and paste from the address bar.

I read the post "No-one will notice, no-one will care ..." and then I spent another hour on your blog by reading your posts with pleasure :) Every article is interesting and easy to read. I really like the "'Tis the old wind in the old anger...".

Good formula: I read the post [insert random post title] and then I spent another hour on your blog by reading your posts with pleasure :) Every article is interesting and easy to read. I really like the [insert different random post title]. Note how doing this without proof-reading it afterwards produces some infelicities which a native speaker would have spotted and amended.

I work for xxxx [name redacted] company, we aggregate job adverts around the world.

My job is to persuade bloggers to link to our site.

Aha, now the pleasantries are over we can get down to business!

I really love my job! We have a friendly team and good management,

You didn't say you had a 'passion' for your work. These days, not good enough.

but unfortunately I have no idea how to convince a blogger to link to us, I'm afraid I might lose my job because of it :(

Yes, and your mother in Azerbaijan is dying because she is too poor to have the operation. If I could only wire you some money ... Nah, I am being cynical. That 'frownie' is totally genuine.

And that is why, instead of sending letters to thousands of different blogs, I am reading yours.

And my message only appears to have been mass-produced and minimally tailored to make it seem personal.

Honestly,

Still not won over ...

I am not really sure if the link to our website in United Kingdom - xxxx.com [url redacted], will be appropriate for your blog, but if you believe it will and it is possible to add it, I would be really grateful to you! Our site is really cool, it can greatly help hundreds of people to find jobs.

Please explain how a job-search website would be appropriate for a blog concerned with motorbikes and the custard-ready properties of the Duck-Billed Platypus. Oh, it's 'cool'. That makes all the difference.

I wish you to have a good day and excellent mood!

And I am in wish reverse same for you, thank your mine already, goodness gracious.

Thanks again for your nice blog. Write more! Thanks!

I will! Thanks!

Best regards,

Serge Trousers
Account Manager
(telephone)
(email)
(skype)

Funny, he spent a whole hour reading the blog (even I don't do that!) and he missed this:

Commercial spam will always be deleted. I don't need the few pence that advertising would bring me, and I don't need new friends. If you are interested in an exchange of links, email me and we can discuss it. If you want me to host a link to your Chinese shoe-selling operation or your wonderful source of replica watches, don't bother.

He's not even offering money, not that that would make any difference. Nothing in it for me, so in the bin it goes. Sorry, Serge - nice try.

Another day, another IAM Poll

2011-11-02T14:47:00.004Z

This time it's about MoT tests. The Government is considering bringing MoT testing into line with the minimum European requirements, which would be:

First test after four years from new (currently three)
Subsequent tests every other year after that (currently annual).

Personally, I have no problem with MoT testing. I'm glad to ride around knowing that there is a scheme in place to make sure that other vehicles sharing the road with me are at least of a minimum standard of roadworthiness. I know the system is fallible and can be got around, but it's better than nothing. Also, I'm glad to put any vehicle of mine to an independent test every twelve months. Two sets of eyes are better than one, and occasionally an MoT tester has spotted something that I either hadn't seen, or had underestimated the seriousness of. In those circumstances, I have been very glad to be told.

I use any one of three testing stations, and all of them know that I will be taking the car or bike away, doing the work myself, and re-presenting it, so there's no danger of the make-work brigade finding faults that aren't there, although I appreciate that this is a problem with some places who might see a gullible or non-technical customer as an opportunity to get some workshop time when things are slow.

As for reducing the fequency of testing from 3+1 to 4+2, I am not sure. Most modern vehicles will still be in as roadworthy a condition after four years as they are after three. The regs were brought in when vehicles were much less reliable than they are today, and I doubt if that extra year will make much difference. Once a vehicle gets to 5-6 years old and has perhaps 60-70k miles on the clock, however, my instinct tells me that an annual check is a good idea. That's when things start to fail, and some of them are safety-critical.

Anyway, go and have your say. Unlike Mr Cameron, the IAM are keen to get the opinions of as many people as possible. You don't have to be a member, etc.

UPDATE: Having done the survey, and learned that 27% of cars fail their first MoT at three years old, I am inclined to say keep things as they are. Getting a 3-year-old car tested, and then testing every year thereafter, is hardly onerous.

Speechless

2011-11-02T14:33:00.003Z

Via Bucko, in the course of reading a much longer article, I came across this snippet from the Daily Wail:

It is illegal to set up a national lottery to rival Camelot.

I mean, just ... why?

That's a serious question. Why would you go to all the effort and expense of setting up a National Lottery and then shut the door behind you to make sure that no-one else could set up in competition? The National Lottery was John Major's idea, and I assume that this rule dates from then. So Tories don't believe in free markets either?

The State: always ready to ban something when it doesn't suit them.

Lorry delivers popcorn to Nowhere Towers

2011-11-02T10:30:00.004Z

This is getting interesting.

I really don't care whether Mr Papandreou is a visionary leader, infused to his very core with the principles of demoracy, or a weak and vacillating coward who is looking for an opportunity to hold an election and retire from the fray. Both viewpoints are on offer depending on where you look.

No, what I like is that the Eurozone leaders are shocked by his decision (now backed by his cabinet) to hold a referendum on the EU bailout proposal. Shocked, I tell you.

Stock markets recorded big drops amid shocked reactions in eurozone capitals to the referendum announcement.

All because one national leader clearly hasn't read the script.

On Tuesday President Nicolas Sarkozy of France said Mr Papandreou's decision "surprised all of Europe".

That's the understatement of the week. Even his own finance minister wasn't forewarned. And, we are told, even David Cameron learned of the referendum from the television news. Gasp.

The French and German governments said they wanted "full implementation" of the agreement "in the quickest time-frame".

Well, of course they do. Every day that the agreement is delayed is another chance for it to unravel. And that isn't in the script.

The delicious part of all of this is that a crisis has been created because one national leader thought it a good idea to ask his people for their opinion before taking a major decision affecting the country's future.

Yet more evidence that the EU is not about what the people want, it's about what the elite have planned for us. And when someone questions that, they don't like it one little bit.

Whatever Papandreou's motives, his actions have exposed one thing very clearly: in the EU, asking the people their opinion is NOT ACCEPTABLE.

Ask Cameron.

Only Connect

2011-11-01T11:20:00.004Z

... and other brain-dead hypocrisy. Courtesy of Rosie, here's an image I think needs spreading around a bit (click to enlarge):

Cradle of Democracy?

2011-11-01T09:44:00.002Z

It seems the Greeks are to be offered a referendum on the EU bailout offer and the austerity measures they are having imposed on them.

Greece will hold a referendum on a new European Union aid package intended to resolve the country's debt crisis, Prime Minister George Papandreou says.

Last week eurozone leaders agreed on a 100bn-euro loan (£86bn; $140bn) to Athens and a 50% debt write-off, in a effort to tackle the euro crisis.

But there have been large-scale protests in Greece against austerity measures demanded by the EU.

Don't get me wrong here: the Greeks have a debt crisis and someone has to do something about it. The Germans are rightly getting pissed off about paying gazillions into the EU so that the Southern nations can continue their siesta lifestyle, and it all had to come to an end. There is a debt to be paid, and whether it is paid in cash or in lost confidence is something that will have to be decided. But it seems that Mr Papandreou feels that the decision must be made by the Greek people.

Mr Papandreou told a meeting of his governing Socialist party that Greek people would have the final say on the package, which is designed to reduce Greek debt by about 100bn euros.

"The command of the Greek people will bind us", he was quoted as saying by AFP news agency.

Nice that at least one Euopean leader feels that the people are the best judge of their own situation.

And in other news, the second e-petition for a British referendum on the EU has reached 11,783 signatures.

Which will also be ignored.

Quite a queue!

2011-10-31T18:32:00.004Z

Apparently, I am the 76,014,082,892nd member of the species Homo Sapiens to be born.

On the day I was born, the world's population was 2,772,772,874. Today it has just passed 7,000,000,000.

Crikey.

Things That Go Bump In The Night

2011-10-31T16:35:00.004Z

A rationalist post for Hallowe'en.

Are you a believer in the supernatural? Sorry, [gravelly voice]The Supernatural[/gv]? I'm leaving religion out of this for the moment, as it's a special case, and talking about ghosts, manifestations, telekinesis, telepathy and the like.

To most people, it's an either/or situation. Let's say you have a slightly unnerving experience - someone pops into your mind and you think about them, and ten minutes later the phone rings and it is that person, to whom you haven't spoken in ten years. (This kind of thing happens often to Anna.) Most people would respond in one of two ways:

It's all quite explicable. You think about people all the time and don't dwell on it, but when someone calls you soon afterwards (as statistically they must occasionally) that's the one you remember.
The mind has powers we know not of, and did I tell you Aunt Doris says she's happy and she forgives you for the thing with the hairdryer?

In other words, most people either believe (fully or tentatively) in the supernatural or dismiss it absolutely. There's no middle ground. Anyone who tries to suggest that there may be something in all these things (which, after all, have been reported throughout history and across the known world) is derided by the sceptics as a gullible fool and by the believers as a sceptic who needs to open his eyes to the truth.

There was an interesting interview with a photographer called Graham Morris on BBC Radio 5 Live recently, who attended and photographed an alleged poltergeist manifestation in Enfield back in 1977. His photograph of the girl apparently flying through the air screaming became a brief sensation. (Photo and link to the interview here.)

To me, the photograph shows nothing more than an 11-year-old girl jumping off a bed, but apparently there were things flying about the room, and there were a number of solid witnesses. Morris says something in the interview which struck me as very wise.

You had to see it to believe it. I mean, I am just as big a sceptic as anybody else; in fact, I now still refuse to believe that it's hauntings and ghosts and all the rest of it. I think it's down to something that we just don't know, as we didn't know about gravity and magnetism or all sorts of other things hundreds of years ago, so we just don't know about this.

To me, it is stupid to believe everything you are told; but it is also arrogant to believe that we know everything already, and that everything that we observe must be able to be explained in terms that we already understand, or alternatively dismissed as hogwash. Healthy scepticism is good, but let's also have room for the notion that, although something may be inexplicable today, it will not always be so, and should not be dismissed as fiction just because we haven't got round to understanding it so far.

Man (sorry, Person) is a very clever creature, and our understanding of the world is improving all the time. Where fire was once considered miraculous, and then thought to be the result of the unseen element phlogiston, we can now explain it very readily in terms of widely-known and well-understood chemical and physical processes. There's no reason not to suppose that one day there will be entirely rational explanations for sightings of ghosts and other paranormal phenomena - explanations which conform fully with the state of scientific knowledge at the time.

In other words, there is no mystery about these things; it's just that we don't understand them yet. I fully expect that in the future people will be able to say something like:

"Of course, I knew my cousin in Australia was pregnant before she did, and my congrats card arrived on the same day she got the results. The old Binks Effect can be quite useful sometimes."

Call the Cops!

2011-10-30T22:37:00.004Z

Tip of the Shoei to Joe Public for the link to this. The bugger thought it was me*. I'll get him back.

Got to say it's a pretty special outfit. I want one.

* Couldn't have been. the guy in the clip is much better-looking.

UPDATE: This isn't appearing very well in my browser. Sometimes it's there, sometimes it isn't. Blogger doesn't like links to LiveLeak, I see. Direct link is here.

Going fast, getting nowhere

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