Pootle

Chinese whispers

2007-01-23T08:50:00.000-08:00

Now there's an oddly appealing thought.

The woman who cleans the telephones warns that there are mice as small as fleas that live in your computer keyboard if you don't clean it properly.

I think this probably refers to mites rather than mice, but suddenly I rather wish there were a family of tiny little mice with pink noses living under my keyboard.

Sadly, this blog entry would have just crushed several of them, so perhaps it's best not....

Head of Evangelical Alliance tells Christians to be nice to gay people.

2007-01-11T05:35:00.000-08:00

No, really.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/religion/programmes/thought/week.shtml

This morning I heard a deeply encouraging message on Thought for the Day, in which the head of the Evangelical Alliance advised Christians not to protest against the new anti-discrimination law. As I understood it, his message was that although the Bible does talk about sex a small amount, it talks more about serving others, and like Good Samaritans, we sometimes need to put aside what’s theologically important in order to serve others. So while we may have a right to, eg, refuse gay people married style accommodation in our bed-and-breakfast on faith grounds, Christianity is about serving others, not banging on about our own rights.

You can read Philippians 2 if you don't believe me.

2007-01-08T05:25:00.000-08:00

...alright, I'm back.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, I learnt that even good macaroni cheese can be made infinitely better by adding a few drops of Grandma Entwistle’s Lancashire Sauce to the cooking process. It’s available in a particular deli in Ramsbottom and possibly no where else, but I highly recommend it.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, I learnt that a man I have to telephone doesn’t have a answerphone. Consequently, he doesn’t know that I have been faithfully trying to get hold of him all weekend, and probably thinks that I am disorganized or lazy. Ah well.

And that was my Christmas, more or less. Now I'm in to frantic amounts of activity in order to get church accounts up to date, although I can't really finish that job until the bank statement arrives.
Too much working on the computer this weekend. Don't feel like I've actually had a break.

2007-01-04T05:41:00.000-08:00

I’ve been told off for not blogging.

So, you learn something new every day, and these are some of the things I learnt this festive season:
On the first day of Christmas, (25Dec) I learnt that Nigella Lawson’s recipe for turkey really is the best you can get. Although, she is quite patronizing on the telly, and annoys Husband by describing quantities in terms of ‘snow’ ‘bit’ and ‘glug.’ Obviously my sister in law’s effort and skill on cooking Christmas dinner deserves most of the credit.

On the second day of Christmas, I learnt that my new hiking boots cause worrying red lines on my ankles, due to either being too tight or simply because my socks don’t come up as high as the boots.

On the third day of Christmas, I learnt that writing thankyou letters is nearly impossible while the TV is on. Even if it’s the awful live action 101 Dalmations, and especially if you’re coming up with a sincere yet still polite way of saying thankyou for towels.

On the fourth day of Christmas, I learnt that I still do have the ability to lie in til midday or longer, and it’s very very pleasant so to do.

On the fifth day of Christmas, I learnt that buying two pairs of hiking socks can take forty-five minutes, although in fairness I am probably now kitted out with the happiest feet you could go walking on.

On the sixth day of Christmas, I learnt that while I might have the best intentions of going walking to test out the new socks-and-boots combo, bed is much more comfortable. Consequently nothing much happened on Saturday.

On the seventh day of Christmas, I learnt that there are eight or nine unexploded WWII bombs in Middleton, and that ex-Home Guard volunteers enjoy scaring the bejasus out of people digging holes in the road by telling them that.

On the eighth day of Christmas, I learnt that New Year’s Day is the perfect time to go to the gym, as it is deserted. I presume that the place will be fit to bursting from the second of January to about the twenty-eighth.

On the ninth day of Christmas, I learnt that a whole year’s season ticket to Macclesfield costs £1,800, and that I would have been more sensible to buy it in December, before the fares went up.
Ouch.

On the tenth day of Christmas, I learnt that Sanctus1 is suggesting all it's members give up Sanctus1 for Lent, and take up some other useful project instead. I think this is a brilliant idea, although others have expressed doubts.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, I learnt nothing new before lunch. I'll be back later to update the last two days...

Big boom

2006-09-25T07:57:00.000-07:00

It’s been a good week for kitchen explosions. First, Husband proved that a baked potato need fall from a surprisingly low height to cover all the kitchen floor in roast potato flesh, thus neatly making potato skins, ready scooped out and split in half. Then we bought some beer…
.. and so, sitting quietly at 9am on Sunday morning, chilling out, in an I-can’t-be-bothered-to-get-up-properly-yet way, suddenly I hear a terrible smashing sploshy sort of noise from the kitchen. I run in to the kitchen, and see nothing on the floor, no huge disaster, and come to the conclusion that the huge pile of washing up which was soaking in the sink must have somehow shifted, causing a sound of crockery splashing, but nothing seems broken, which seems odd considering the noise. Anyway, probably time I start doing last night’s washing up. Then I realize my feet are really quite wet. Funny, I think, I haven’t slopped that much washing up water around. I have a look and realize there’s a LOT of water down there, and begin to worry that the crash I heard was some kind of plumbing related pipe cracking sort of thing. And then I work out that my feet now smell of beer. Sure enough, when I open the cupboard next to the sink, that’s where all the beer bottles were stored. And one of them has exploded, sending glass right across the cupboard.
Of course, what I wasn’t sure of was why it had exploded, and whether the other ten were going to go at any minute, while I tried to shift them all out the way and mop up the delightful mixture of broken glass and Indian pale ale.

We think it may have simply been faulty glass. It doesn’t seem as if the rest are going to follow suit…
…but as they’re all sitting on the dining room table for the meantime, further explosions will get glass and beer into places we’ll never find til we move out.

Another new word

2006-09-20T03:06:00.000-07:00

It occurred to me that some expressions of emerging church are open to people from all church backgrounds, or in posh speak, pan-denominational.

That means they're permanently in a state of Pandenomium.
Doesn't it?

Beer, beer, glorious beer.

2006-09-20T03:05:00.000-07:00

The beer festival (sorry, Ale & Tapas festival) we attended in the Scilly Isles had five different types of cider, only one of which I didn't like. And of all the beers Husband wished to try, one wasn't tapped, but when we got home, we found our favourite pub has the same brand as guest beer this week, so he's a happy Husband. Even better yet, the Bull’s Head pub (your local in the heart of the city tm) is throwing a beer festival on the 20th – 22nd. Hurrah for beer festivals, so here’s some free publicity for them. They hope to have five different beers on at any one time, with several changes to the line up over the weekend. They’re not planning any ciders, though. Not that we really care, because with wonderful timing, we’ll be off doing Greenbelt socialising. At the other end of the country....

Arrived...

2006-08-08T08:58:00.000-07:00

I've landed. It's quite good here at the new job - bit chaotic, but it'll suit me down to the ground.
Already, I've had a negotiation with a sales person who thinks all accountants are trolls. Then again, I mainly consider all sales people to be drama queens.

I've also generated a pretty-coloured spreadsheet, already it feels like home.

Unfortunately, I've taken too much on, so have now to prepare for the shared service tomorrow, go to see S, and type up Sanctus1 minutes. Less urgent things are also hovering. But add eating and breathing, and it's all becoming mightily unfeasible.

Perhaps I won't be able to get past the husband's password on the computer at home. That would help me put some things off til tomorrow.

Going, going

2006-08-04T04:47:00.000-07:00

It' s my last day ever at TPBS. I even passed the exit interview.
Of course, I don't know what the web access will be like at my new job, or whether I'll have time to blog, so either this is goodbye or the start of me actually telling people where my blog is cos I've decided it's worthwhile having one.

Who knows?.....

It's also the 40th anniversary of John Lennon's famously ill-considered remark that the Beatles were more popular than Jesus. So think on.

Pass the parcel

2006-08-02T04:20:00.000-07:00

I got a card through the letterbox on Monday. One of those Royal Mail ‘we called but you were out’ things. On the back, it gave the address of the sorting office in Eccles.
Eccles? What’s going on there?
So I ring the number, and tell them I’ve got a card to say they tried to deliver, and can they deliver it to my work address? Is it in Eccles? Well, no.
It seems that someone has a bunch of cards from Eccles, and is using them in the city centre area, despite repeated appeals from put-upon staff at the Eccles office, who have to deal with irate people who’ve gone all the way out there in person, only to find the card is lying to them. The nice lady gives me a number to call for the Oldham Road office.
This gets me through to a rather confused person who does admit to being the Oldham Road sorting office, but tells me after a while that she doesn’t have my parcel because it’s not her department. She gives me another number, almost identical to hers.
I ring this number. It is the sorting office. A woman tells me that they won’t re-deliver to my work address. She asks for my address. I tell her. Then she wants to know the postcode for my work address. Having convinced her that it really is in the city centre, she relents, but before agreeing to re-deliver, she tells me that first she should check whether they’ve got it.
Given the way this is going so far, I am fully prepared to hear that it isn’t there. Fortunately, after what seems like ages, she comes back and agrees that they do have it, and will re-deliver. I then confuse her utterly by working in a building that has a name as well as a street number. I don’t mention that I’m leaving at the end of the week, as I presume they’ll try to deliver the next day.

Fortunately, I am right about this. I now have a parcel on my desk. It is quite large.
Originally, I ordered a skirt and top by mail order, which arrived in a packet small enough to be stuffed in the mailbox. Having returned one item for being elephant-size, the replacement has arrived in a box about four times the size of the original.
Perhaps it isn’t the skirt I wanted. Perhaps they’ve sold out, and it’s the other potential choice. Until I open the box, perhaps the skirt is both the cream a-line AND the flowered fifties-style.

It is: 2.5 working days til I leave. 24 days to Greenbelt. Getting closer!

More culture

2006-08-01T04:25:00.000-07:00

We went to the theatre last night. This did involve a fairly long saga about me phoning up for tickets, discovering that the best and also cheapest seats can only be booked on the day, so I splashed over there in the freak rainstorm last night (sandals, no coat, of course) only to find they’d all gone, and I ended buying almost exactly the tickets I would have bought when I phoned up last week anyway. Still, I was then able to get home, shower and cook before going out again, to drink execrable wine at the Royal Exchange, and watch Mirandolino, which promised to be a jolly good romp about one woman triumphing over several men. I quite liked it, but husband was less impressed, as he felt all the characters were unlikeable, and one in particular had a comedy stutter, which was a bit unkind. I on the other hand am quite happy watching a woman win the battle of the sexes, and a couple of really good laughs. The whole thing unravelled a bit in the second half, though.
On the way home, we went to a pub that should theoretically sell fine wines. My Pinot Grigio was a bit pants though.
And so to bed, full of too much bad wine, after spending some time trying to decipher the voice text left on our answerphone. Eventually we worked out that we did know the number, and got a real text message, which made much more sense.

Most bizarre things overheard through the window of a canal-side office:
Hey Patrick! I think we’ve just run over the dog!

It is: 3.5 working days til I leave. 25 days to Greenbelt.

Spontaneous culture

2006-07-31T04:47:00.000-07:00

Passing the Art Gallery on the way home from a spontaneous brunch at Cafe Rouge* yesterday, we decide to pop in and see the Miffy exhibition**. We ending up seeing all sorts of things, and having discussions about the sheer superfluity of a Victorian painting of a water nymph*** and whether the painter of the large Samson and Delilah scene had ever seen a naked woman's breasts****. We also try interacting with some of the Miffy exhibits, but find that we're probably too large to play dress-up. On the way out, after having raided the gift shop for Christmas presents***** we decide we can spare five minutes for a market research interview on whether we liked the experience. What did you find good about your visit today? I'm tempted to say: no one told us to stop touching the artworks, but caution prevails.

Incidentally, Manchester Art Gallery gift shop stocks a range of verging on the obscene household items shaped like little people. If you know anyone that likes that sort of thing.

I did well yesterday: I bought three christmas presents, all on budget and totally unexpectedly.

It is: 4.5 working days til I leave this job! Yay! 26 days to Greenbelt.

*Good toasties, too much vinegar on the poached eggs.
** I didn't specify high culture, now did I?
*** Remind me again of the difference between porn and art? There's just no call for that. It ain't even educational.
**** Conclusion: yes, but he wished they'd look more like how he painted them.
***** Forward-planning? Moi?

Small hillocks

2006-07-24T04:27:00.000-07:00

Now that I've handed in my notice due to being bored stiff 90 % of the time, I've been handed projects to do. This means that I am learning loads, and am rapidly becoming the main point of knowledge for how and where to find all the info one might require on an increasingly important tool for performance measurement. This week an uber-boss may teach me some basic macro programming for Excel.

Note that all this happened after I handed my notice in. You'd think they'd want to build all this knowledge in someone who's sticking around, wouldn't you? And anyway, if this is what happens, I wish I'd handed it in sooner, rather than playing 600 games of Freecell over the last three months.

It is: 10 working days until I leave. 32 days to Greenbelt.

Discovered

2006-07-20T04:17:00.000-07:00

I knew this was a bad idea. I've never yet managed to keep a diary beyond about the first week of Febrary, and so here I am, with a blog barely a week old, and nothing to say.
I’m still counting down to my leaving date (which will be the fortieth anniversary of John Lennon’s famously ill-considered comment that the Beatles were more popular than Jesus) and my new job starting (295th anniversary of the first race meeting at Ascot) and Greenbelt. (This year, beginning on the tenth anniversary of Sun Myung Moon officiating at the marriage of 35,000 couples in Seoul)

I’ve had an exhausting morning going to an extremely routine nurse appointment: the nurse was even running ahead of schedule, but when I returned to the tram stop, I found that there were no trams running at all on the Bury line, due to a problem with a stretch of track. By the time the slowest bus in the world had got me back to town, the trams appeared to be running again.

But I am looking forward to a nice evening in, complete with husband, and perhaps a little gentle dress-making, depending on whether or not I can be bothered to go and buy the thread I need at lunchtime. Or I could buy stuff for the Sanctus1 prayer space, which I’m running next Wednesday. Or I could exchange some shoes which I suspect I’ll never wear for some less sparkly but more professional looking ones. All of these options involve catching a tram to the Northern Quarter and then walking around in sticky heat and getting back to Castlefield in 45 minutes flat. This is not feasible in this weather. But then, if I'm late back from lunch, do I care?

It is: 11.5 working days til I leave. 36 days to Greenbelt

Verfification

2006-07-18T04:35:00.000-07:00

I've invented a new word.
Verfification.

It's for when you're supposed to being checking something is right, but you kind of go Errr, yeah, probably.
Like when they ask you to check the amount and sign for your purchases. Or when you should probably look up which terminal your flight departs from, but the tickets are at the bottom of the bag and it's bound to be the same one as usual, right? Or you're supposed to be analysing some data that you really can't be bothered with...

It is: 13.5 days til I leave my job. 38 days to Greenbelt....

2006-07-14T04:16:00.000-07:00

I’m currently trying to read: Rowan William’s The Wound of Knowledge. The first few paragraphs are fascinating, but I just can’t seem to get any further. Is there a burgeoning Christian marketing opportunity for someone who will translate his enlightenment into plainer English? I’m also trying to read In Memory of Her, only I can’t be bothered to look up what heuristics are. I never could, even when I was doing a sociology course at university and all reading matter kept referring to heuristic analysis. I’m pretty sure it’s a word made up by feminist scholars to make it look like they know something men don’t.
In fact, it’s just occurred to me it might be like “Herstory” as an alternative to History – her –istics, meaning the interpretation of something in the light of feminist theory.

It is: 15.5 working days til I start my new job. 43 days til Greenbelt.

2006-07-13T09:42:00.000-07:00

Which is worse?
Not being able to access your email because fish.co.uk is having one of its periodic bad hair days?
Or accessing it after several attempts to find there was nothing there anyway?

Time to go eat something before my fourth night in a row of rushing off to some kind of meeting. Next week there's going to be a Plan. It's going to involve: not doing everything. Seeing husband might be fun, too.

2006-07-13T04:40:00.000-07:00

Oh well. It does seem relatively easy to set up a blog. Now all I have to do is think of thrilling witty posts and find the time to upload them. This is likely to be much harder than the first part.
But for now, I'm off to have something to eat before I go and do some training on stuff that I'm not really required to know.
Still, I do have a big meaty project to get on with tomorrow, one that I, as usual round here, have no skills for. But I've been verbally promised training, so that is one up on the usual state of affairs.

It is currently: 16.5 working days until I leave. 44 days to Greenbelt.