This is really starting to piss me off, I wake up this morning expecting a lovely hot day (granted, I might add) but I turn on the tube to find that another suicide bomber has thought it would be a good idea to blow himself up amongst some pilgrims in Baghdad escorting countless people to the 'gates of heaven'. This just added to the general craziness from Sunday's bombing in Istanbul (at the time of writing this was blamed on PKK but that's not really important).
The thing that really got my goat with the bombings on Sunday was the fact that they set off the first bomb on a busy street at a time when they knew people would be about. Killing innocent civilians for reasons I still can't comprehend is unforgivable, these people knew what would happen when the bomb went off, they've seen it countless times on the news, they knew people would run to help, they knew the emergency services would rush to the scene. With people dead or dieing on the street, with blood spilling everywhere, the perpetrators knew that ten minutes after the bomb the street would be infinitely more crowded than it was before the blast. It's at this point, they chose to blow another, much bigger, bomb in the same place!
This is a method that was pioneered by the IRA in the late 80s or early 90s (more recently employed by ETA) and to me it say just one thing: “we want to kill indiscriminately, in cold blood.” It's no longer about making your voice heard, what possible statement are they making by deliberately setting off a bomb amongst people why are trying to help?
I can't be the only one who thinks this isn't the best way to drum up sympathy for a cause. If a cause has access to explosives and the expertise to plan and carry out such an attack I can't imagine how they seem to lack the intelligence to understand that blowing up innocent civilians won't endear the public or the media to their cause.
Say hypothetically, you've gone through the processes of making a bomb or two, you've rallied the troops, you want to be heard and you ignore the fact that there are millions of better ways of getting your point across. It really doesn't take much planning to focus that energy into, off the top of my head, blowing up a relay or sub-station or two, plunging a city into darkness. Ok, I'm not in any way shape or form, condoning terrorism but if you can make your voice heard without killing people whilst still causing disruption, than why not?
Unfortunately we are not seeing any evidence of logical thinking here, nothing is likely to change, terrorists will continue killing innocent people, governments will pour more and more money into there intelligence services as well as giving them a freer hand (I'm sure at some point it was just about gathering intelligence but that's not the case any more).
All I ask is that terrorists give an iota of thought to the question “is this really going to help?”
Monday, 28 July 2008
Saturday, 26 July 2008
Deliverance
The other night, through circumstances beyond my control, a friend and I walked into a pub. Over the years this has become a fairly normal action for me to preform but rarely this turns into a somewhat surreal experience.
A few years ago another friend and I walk into a pub in New Cross, the pub becomes completely silent as we notice that it's mail clientèle are skinheads. We go to the bar and order a couple of pints (yes, I know the correct thing to do in that case was to leave and find another pub). As we stand by the bar chatting, drinking and trying ever so hard to ignore the dozens of piercing looking being burned into our backs. Finally, a half a pint into our drinks, one of the regulars finds the courage to come up to us and says “I know you're new here so I'll forgive you but you're going to finish your drinks than you'll get the fuck outta here”. Suffice to say we took his advice.
Going back to the other night, I'll admit the pub we went to wasn't as bad and was probably a bit more welcoming but it was just as surreal. Walking in, we were presented with a large group of people, non of which would have looked out of place on the set of Deliverance. We weren't out in a small Cornish village (sorry to all the Cornish people but this is the first place that springs to mind) or anywhere where 'inbreeding' is the done thing but looking around this pub, I could almost guarantee that most of them would have been related to a lot of the others in more ways than one.
An utterly surreal experience, as the evening wore on and the small talk got smaller and smaller, we both walked out wondering “what th hell happened back there?” but all was not lost as just up the road, I discovered a place that does great pancakes stuffed with chocolate chip ice cream....
A few years ago another friend and I walk into a pub in New Cross, the pub becomes completely silent as we notice that it's mail clientèle are skinheads. We go to the bar and order a couple of pints (yes, I know the correct thing to do in that case was to leave and find another pub). As we stand by the bar chatting, drinking and trying ever so hard to ignore the dozens of piercing looking being burned into our backs. Finally, a half a pint into our drinks, one of the regulars finds the courage to come up to us and says “I know you're new here so I'll forgive you but you're going to finish your drinks than you'll get the fuck outta here”. Suffice to say we took his advice.
Going back to the other night, I'll admit the pub we went to wasn't as bad and was probably a bit more welcoming but it was just as surreal. Walking in, we were presented with a large group of people, non of which would have looked out of place on the set of Deliverance. We weren't out in a small Cornish village (sorry to all the Cornish people but this is the first place that springs to mind) or anywhere where 'inbreeding' is the done thing but looking around this pub, I could almost guarantee that most of them would have been related to a lot of the others in more ways than one.
An utterly surreal experience, as the evening wore on and the small talk got smaller and smaller, we both walked out wondering “what th hell happened back there?” but all was not lost as just up the road, I discovered a place that does great pancakes stuffed with chocolate chip ice cream....
Thursday, 24 July 2008
Joe Franklin Raped Me
I'm not sure how it happened but while watching The Aristocrats on DVD the other night, it was a run-of-the-mill random play.com order, I saw it, remembered a friend said it was good so ordered it. It turned out to be better than good, it's great!
The premise is a simple one, I didn't know this but there is a joke called the aristocrats which is supposedly a 'green room' joke, shared amongst comedians, rarely, if ever, preformed in front of an audience yet every comedian seems to know it. It all starts with a guy walking into a talent agency and saying “have I got an act for you!” it then descends into an ad-libbed description of the act including anything and everything the comedian can thing of, the dirtier and more shocking, the better.
After describing, in depth: incest, pedophilia, scatting, bestiality, homophobia, sexism, racism, necrophilia and pretty much any taboo you care to think of, the talent agent says “what do you call and act like that?”, “the Aristocrats” boom boom. The great thing is, every comedian they interviewed (they had some of the biggest names in US comedy) had their own unique take on the ad-libbed bit and it was great watching them share their own view on this common experience.
The film did make me think about how easy it is to offend someone with a joke, I've always believed that there should be no boundaries with jokes, I know this isn't a very political correct thing to say but so long as what you say is not motivated by ignorance, people should not be judged on the grounds of a tasteless joke.
One of the great moments of the film was Sarah Silverman, I never thought the line “Joe Franklin raped me” would have my laughing so hard but the build up to this 'punchline' fantastic and delivered with a completely straight face! The fact that the joke was completely tasteless hit home perfectly, hilarious and I think is a good case-in-point.
I would highly recommend this film, it's worth a watch if only to see the mime (I have a healthy fear of mimes) preform the joke.
For now, I'll leave you with the classic song, I'm fucking Mat Damon, how do you like them apples?
The premise is a simple one, I didn't know this but there is a joke called the aristocrats which is supposedly a 'green room' joke, shared amongst comedians, rarely, if ever, preformed in front of an audience yet every comedian seems to know it. It all starts with a guy walking into a talent agency and saying “have I got an act for you!” it then descends into an ad-libbed description of the act including anything and everything the comedian can thing of, the dirtier and more shocking, the better.
After describing, in depth: incest, pedophilia, scatting, bestiality, homophobia, sexism, racism, necrophilia and pretty much any taboo you care to think of, the talent agent says “what do you call and act like that?”, “the Aristocrats” boom boom. The great thing is, every comedian they interviewed (they had some of the biggest names in US comedy) had their own unique take on the ad-libbed bit and it was great watching them share their own view on this common experience.
The film did make me think about how easy it is to offend someone with a joke, I've always believed that there should be no boundaries with jokes, I know this isn't a very political correct thing to say but so long as what you say is not motivated by ignorance, people should not be judged on the grounds of a tasteless joke.
One of the great moments of the film was Sarah Silverman, I never thought the line “Joe Franklin raped me” would have my laughing so hard but the build up to this 'punchline' fantastic and delivered with a completely straight face! The fact that the joke was completely tasteless hit home perfectly, hilarious and I think is a good case-in-point.
I would highly recommend this film, it's worth a watch if only to see the mime (I have a healthy fear of mimes) preform the joke.
For now, I'll leave you with the classic song, I'm fucking Mat Damon, how do you like them apples?
Tuesday, 22 July 2008
Another Gratuitous Cycling Post
At about 8:30 Saturday evening a group of six to seven hundred people set off from a pub by London Fields and headed, generally, north east. The destination: a beach in Dunwich, the purpose: well no real reason but I was amongst these people feeling rather out classed but knowing that I would give it my all to reach the destination.
The story goes that on a balmy night in 1990, a group of cycle couriers had finished the day's work and were having a quick drink at that very pub when they decided that it would be nice to ride to the east coast to see the sun rise. Off they went and, 120 miles later, as they reached the end of the line at Dunwich beach, they had no idea that they had just started an annual tradition that would attract more and more people to grow to the event that is today known as the Dunwich dynamo.
Three snickers bars, a few pro-plus pills and a cup of soup had past by 8am the next day as I arrived at the beach well after sunrise. Granted the time I covered the distance in was not a great one but I was over the moon just to see the 'finish line' but at this point, all I could think about was food, I was starving. First thing's first, as you can see here (at 4 minutes, 10 seconds), I scoffed down a full English fry-up. I know, I look like an escapee from Guantanamo bay but at this point, I really didn't care, my body ached all over, I wanted to sleep and I would have killed for a massage but I had made it!
After a quick snooze on the beach and still feeling completely spent, I had to set off on the four mile journey to Darsham station, I managed, at most, 8 miles per hour with my knee reminding me that is wasn't going to play on every peddle. Finally getting to the station and seeing 20 other cyclists waiting at the platform, I was told it was ok as someone had called ahead and the conductor would let us on.
The train arrives only for the conductor to evoke sod's law and say “no cycles”, a few minutes of arguing and we knew we were fighting a lost fight. Everyone, including me, who had a connecting train at Ipswich would miss it. At this point, one thing was apparent to me: there was no way in hell I would be able to cycle the thirty miles to Ipswich station. “You're looking very calm” one of the cyclists said to me as we sat in the car park, I figured we had missed the train, missed the connecting so there was no point worrying about it.
My first thought was to call a 'friend with a van' to pick me (and some others) up, and though this would have been really lucrative for him, I would imagine asking someone to drive from London to Ipswich and back was a bit too much for a Sunday morning so I called that plan 'B'. After a few phone calls, we got a cab to take us to Ipswich station and the rest of the journey was a breeze.
Home, slept, ate, slept some more, ate some more and slept again, before long, it was Monday. The knee still hurts and I don't think I'll even consider riding for the next two weeks but I'm already looking forward to next year, July the 4th when I can do it all over again.
The story goes that on a balmy night in 1990, a group of cycle couriers had finished the day's work and were having a quick drink at that very pub when they decided that it would be nice to ride to the east coast to see the sun rise. Off they went and, 120 miles later, as they reached the end of the line at Dunwich beach, they had no idea that they had just started an annual tradition that would attract more and more people to grow to the event that is today known as the Dunwich dynamo.
Three snickers bars, a few pro-plus pills and a cup of soup had past by 8am the next day as I arrived at the beach well after sunrise. Granted the time I covered the distance in was not a great one but I was over the moon just to see the 'finish line' but at this point, all I could think about was food, I was starving. First thing's first, as you can see here (at 4 minutes, 10 seconds), I scoffed down a full English fry-up. I know, I look like an escapee from Guantanamo bay but at this point, I really didn't care, my body ached all over, I wanted to sleep and I would have killed for a massage but I had made it!
After a quick snooze on the beach and still feeling completely spent, I had to set off on the four mile journey to Darsham station, I managed, at most, 8 miles per hour with my knee reminding me that is wasn't going to play on every peddle. Finally getting to the station and seeing 20 other cyclists waiting at the platform, I was told it was ok as someone had called ahead and the conductor would let us on.
The train arrives only for the conductor to evoke sod's law and say “no cycles”, a few minutes of arguing and we knew we were fighting a lost fight. Everyone, including me, who had a connecting train at Ipswich would miss it. At this point, one thing was apparent to me: there was no way in hell I would be able to cycle the thirty miles to Ipswich station. “You're looking very calm” one of the cyclists said to me as we sat in the car park, I figured we had missed the train, missed the connecting so there was no point worrying about it.
My first thought was to call a 'friend with a van' to pick me (and some others) up, and though this would have been really lucrative for him, I would imagine asking someone to drive from London to Ipswich and back was a bit too much for a Sunday morning so I called that plan 'B'. After a few phone calls, we got a cab to take us to Ipswich station and the rest of the journey was a breeze.
Home, slept, ate, slept some more, ate some more and slept again, before long, it was Monday. The knee still hurts and I don't think I'll even consider riding for the next two weeks but I'm already looking forward to next year, July the 4th when I can do it all over again.
Saturday, 19 July 2008
Running on Empty
It's been a week of next to no sleep and rather than having me tapping on my laptop as I usually do, it's left me with no energy or inspiration at all, hovering through life like a shadow of my usual self. Ok, it's not that bad, in fact it's not bad at all I guess I'm just feeling a bit lethargic is all.
Moving on, I have a busy weened ahead, the time of the long anticipated Dunwich Dynamo has come and, this evening, I'll be peddling for all I'm worth in an attempt to get to the coast before they stop serving breakfast. I'm both apprehensive and looking forward to it at the same time, the weather doesn't look too bad, it might rain but with a bit of luck it should all clear up before I set off.
In other new, I experienced cold stabbing looks from a number of strangers yesterday. Paying homage to the Thai man once again, I took the orders from an number of people in the office. As per usual, a large queue had formed by the time I had got there and he was starting to run low of food when I had made my way to the front. I roll out my order and notice how the people behind me looked at me as the Thai man gave me the last of the red and yellow curries. I think this was bad luck on my part as if I was five minutes earlier, I would not have depleted his reserves with my order but, as it happened, I walked away with two full bags as everyone looked at me with shear hatred. I'll make no apologies for this though as it was a great lunch.....
Moving on, I have a busy weened ahead, the time of the long anticipated Dunwich Dynamo has come and, this evening, I'll be peddling for all I'm worth in an attempt to get to the coast before they stop serving breakfast. I'm both apprehensive and looking forward to it at the same time, the weather doesn't look too bad, it might rain but with a bit of luck it should all clear up before I set off.
In other new, I experienced cold stabbing looks from a number of strangers yesterday. Paying homage to the Thai man once again, I took the orders from an number of people in the office. As per usual, a large queue had formed by the time I had got there and he was starting to run low of food when I had made my way to the front. I roll out my order and notice how the people behind me looked at me as the Thai man gave me the last of the red and yellow curries. I think this was bad luck on my part as if I was five minutes earlier, I would not have depleted his reserves with my order but, as it happened, I walked away with two full bags as everyone looked at me with shear hatred. I'll make no apologies for this though as it was a great lunch.....
Tuesday, 15 July 2008
Adventures of Babysitting
A few years ago a friend invited me to a week of climbing and camping in Fontainebleau. His wife gave birth to their first child six months earlier and they were going on their annual camping trip with a group of friends, I love Fontainebleau so I jumped at the chance.
On the day of the trip I arrive just in time to help load the car, at this point, I thought nothing of the fact that there didn't seem enough luggage for a couple and a baby, I just figured they are good packers. With his six month old daughter asleep in the child seat and him at the wheel, it hit me.... his wife was standing outside waving goodbye to us!
“What the hell?” I felt the need to ask; he went on to explain how the mother felt like a week off (and, I guess, deserved it) and how we have everything we need for the week, it shouldn't be that hard for the two of us to look after a six month old. Reluctantly, I agreed mostly because we had already set off but I did remind him that we would be camping and I know nothing about children!
Over the next ten odd hours as we drove, sailed and drove some more, I learned some important lessons: babies don't sleep in cars for long, a baby who's wide awake expects to be entertained, a teething six month old will reserve the right to change her mood and become irritable without prier notice. Also, I learned the following will keep a baby amused for hours in a car: blowing your cheeks up to make a 'fish face', blowing a 'raspberry', teaching her to clap her hands, reading from a textured baby book but I'll confess, that was more for my benefit.
The climbing could not have gone better, one of us would entertain baby while the other would climb (very short routes, no need for ropes so we moved around quite quickly) and then we would swap. The camping wasn't too bad either, in fact I would go as far as to say that taking a six month old baby across to the Continent is well within the grasp of two men, all fears I had at the start about not having the mother with us were gone.
When deciding where to eat in the evening, rather than going to the cheaper cafés (which is what we would usually have done), we would go to the more mid priced restaurants which I figure would have a more 'middle aged' clientèle. The cynical thinking behind this is they would have had children who would now be grown up and have flown the nest; so when presented with an irritable, teething, baby, they would not be as annoyed by her, rather they would reminisce to a time when their own kids were like that. It worked, we got nothing but smiles, in fact one lady even offered to watch the baby while we ate!
Overall it was a great trip and I'm glad I didn't back out; the only thing is, I'm sure there are a number of French people in the are we were staying in that now think we were a weird mixed race gay couple, there was no avoiding the fact that we did get some odd looks....
On the day of the trip I arrive just in time to help load the car, at this point, I thought nothing of the fact that there didn't seem enough luggage for a couple and a baby, I just figured they are good packers. With his six month old daughter asleep in the child seat and him at the wheel, it hit me.... his wife was standing outside waving goodbye to us!
“What the hell?” I felt the need to ask; he went on to explain how the mother felt like a week off (and, I guess, deserved it) and how we have everything we need for the week, it shouldn't be that hard for the two of us to look after a six month old. Reluctantly, I agreed mostly because we had already set off but I did remind him that we would be camping and I know nothing about children!
Over the next ten odd hours as we drove, sailed and drove some more, I learned some important lessons: babies don't sleep in cars for long, a baby who's wide awake expects to be entertained, a teething six month old will reserve the right to change her mood and become irritable without prier notice. Also, I learned the following will keep a baby amused for hours in a car: blowing your cheeks up to make a 'fish face', blowing a 'raspberry', teaching her to clap her hands, reading from a textured baby book but I'll confess, that was more for my benefit.
The climbing could not have gone better, one of us would entertain baby while the other would climb (very short routes, no need for ropes so we moved around quite quickly) and then we would swap. The camping wasn't too bad either, in fact I would go as far as to say that taking a six month old baby across to the Continent is well within the grasp of two men, all fears I had at the start about not having the mother with us were gone.
When deciding where to eat in the evening, rather than going to the cheaper cafés (which is what we would usually have done), we would go to the more mid priced restaurants which I figure would have a more 'middle aged' clientèle. The cynical thinking behind this is they would have had children who would now be grown up and have flown the nest; so when presented with an irritable, teething, baby, they would not be as annoyed by her, rather they would reminisce to a time when their own kids were like that. It worked, we got nothing but smiles, in fact one lady even offered to watch the baby while we ate!
Overall it was a great trip and I'm glad I didn't back out; the only thing is, I'm sure there are a number of French people in the are we were staying in that now think we were a weird mixed race gay couple, there was no avoiding the fact that we did get some odd looks....
Sunday, 13 July 2008
Rock On
It's been quite a long time but today, I managed climb on real rock. Yes, it was only in Kent and not very high but it was certainly high enough to remind me of the fear and adrenalin associated in climbing without a crash-mat.
After a short drive from the single platformed train station, past 'quaint' villages and windy roads, we get to the place I've not seen in over eight years. Things have changed in that time, some of the trees have shot up, I saw a number of mountain biking tracks that weren't there before and, most shockingly, the local pub has an extra story!
Finally getting to the rock, get the rope out and we start on that ongoing battle against gravity. I'm a few feet from the top, high enough for a fall to hurt but on a rope so am perfectly safe, I'm not entirely sure what happened next but I reached up to a bit of rock that's just slightly beyond my grasp and something in my shoulder just gave way. It didn't dislocate this time, it was more of a strain but it was incredibly painful! The rest of the day was plagued with a slight flinch every time I raised my left arm but other than that it's been a great day.
I saw a friend I haven't seen in a while which is always interesting as he reads the Economist so there is alway some difference of opinion on pretty much any subject we discuss. This leads to a slightly surreal sight for the people around us as climbing areas are usually filled with meaningless friendly banter and lots of encouragement towards whoever is climbing at the time. With us it's slightly different as we talk about whatever crops up while one of us is on the rock and the other is on the ground holding the rope. For one thing, it's not unusual to hear a brief debate on a political subject followed by a world war II battle followed by “you're fat and old, that's why you can't get up there!” with maybe a bit of science thrown in for good measure.
It would seem our bantering technique raises a few eyebrows (but more often than not, smiles) but it works for us, the main thing is, it takes my mind of the physical action of climbing and frankly, I'm better that way. The end result: it's been a good day, I know this because I'm tired and in pain....
After a short drive from the single platformed train station, past 'quaint' villages and windy roads, we get to the place I've not seen in over eight years. Things have changed in that time, some of the trees have shot up, I saw a number of mountain biking tracks that weren't there before and, most shockingly, the local pub has an extra story!
Finally getting to the rock, get the rope out and we start on that ongoing battle against gravity. I'm a few feet from the top, high enough for a fall to hurt but on a rope so am perfectly safe, I'm not entirely sure what happened next but I reached up to a bit of rock that's just slightly beyond my grasp and something in my shoulder just gave way. It didn't dislocate this time, it was more of a strain but it was incredibly painful! The rest of the day was plagued with a slight flinch every time I raised my left arm but other than that it's been a great day.
I saw a friend I haven't seen in a while which is always interesting as he reads the Economist so there is alway some difference of opinion on pretty much any subject we discuss. This leads to a slightly surreal sight for the people around us as climbing areas are usually filled with meaningless friendly banter and lots of encouragement towards whoever is climbing at the time. With us it's slightly different as we talk about whatever crops up while one of us is on the rock and the other is on the ground holding the rope. For one thing, it's not unusual to hear a brief debate on a political subject followed by a world war II battle followed by “you're fat and old, that's why you can't get up there!” with maybe a bit of science thrown in for good measure.
It would seem our bantering technique raises a few eyebrows (but more often than not, smiles) but it works for us, the main thing is, it takes my mind of the physical action of climbing and frankly, I'm better that way. The end result: it's been a good day, I know this because I'm tired and in pain....
Saturday, 12 July 2008
Downtime
For a number of reasons, I've been keeping myself busy this week, as a result, I've not been home much so I've not been overly visible here. I was hoping for a weekend to myself where I would have nothing to do as I have a number of DVDs in my 'unwatched' pile and wouldn't say no to getting out the pop-corn, putting my feet up and pressing play.
That being said, life is all about priorities and as I have a (now rather pregnant) sister joining me for lunch and as I haven't seen her in quite a while I'll gladly DVD another day. An old friend is getting married this evening so, at some point during the day, I have to make myself look presentable.
Tomorrow, assuming the weather holds, I'm planning to head out to deepest darkest Kent to see a friend I've not seen since he uprooted and moved his family out there and, with luck, I'll get a spot of climbing done out there. First thing's first though, I have cold and a splitting headache, I'll get some lemsip....
That being said, life is all about priorities and as I have a (now rather pregnant) sister joining me for lunch and as I haven't seen her in quite a while I'll gladly DVD another day. An old friend is getting married this evening so, at some point during the day, I have to make myself look presentable.
Tomorrow, assuming the weather holds, I'm planning to head out to deepest darkest Kent to see a friend I've not seen since he uprooted and moved his family out there and, with luck, I'll get a spot of climbing done out there. First thing's first though, I have cold and a splitting headache, I'll get some lemsip....
Monday, 7 July 2008
Carrots In My Radar
For years I (as I'm sure many others) have been told “eat your carrots, they'll help you see at night” but than I would reply with “so why do cats see better than rabbits?”. I must have been horrid to raise as a child, I would have to know, I needed the answer to everything and even than, I would question the answer! All I can do now is doff my hat at my parents' patience as despite the unquenchable thirst for knowledge that I had, they did their best not to tell me to shut up!
It was a number of years ago while watching a Discovery channel documentary on something that an almost throwaway comment about 'on-board intercept radar' made me realize the years of lies that I've been fed with carrots. So here it is, carrots don't help you see at night! Yes, it's true, unless you suffer from a Vitamin 'A' deficiency, carrots won't improve your eyesight one iota.
Like most things like this, it started during the second world war, the boffins at the MOD thought it would be a good idea to take the newly invented 'radar' and place it on fighter planes so the pilots detect ze Germans as they flew over the channel to bomb the cities during the blitzkrieg. This left the 'propaganda machine' with a problem, on the one had they wanted to brag about how many German planes they shot down before they had a chance to bomb anyone but, on the other hand, they didn't want Herr Flick to find out about this simple advantage that the allied forces have.
The solution was simple, it was a plan of disinformation, they got some more boffins to tell the newspapers and the public that the Vitamin 'A' in carrots allow allied pilots to see at night, genius! The plan was put in motion, RAF stations everywhere fed their pilots more carrots. Parents would stuff their kids with carrots for the 'black-outs', the government even published data to 'prove' the vast improvement in eyesight this gave. They did all this to hide the little 'beep-beep' boxes on planes.
Unfortunately this great plan to misinformation worked a little too well as, to this day, you can still hear the sincere sound of a parent saying 'eat all your carrots, they'll help you see at night'.
Oh and as a bit of a post script (thank you Ariane), if you eat too many carrots, they make your skin turn orange (sort of like a bad tan).
It was a number of years ago while watching a Discovery channel documentary on something that an almost throwaway comment about 'on-board intercept radar' made me realize the years of lies that I've been fed with carrots. So here it is, carrots don't help you see at night! Yes, it's true, unless you suffer from a Vitamin 'A' deficiency, carrots won't improve your eyesight one iota.
Like most things like this, it started during the second world war, the boffins at the MOD thought it would be a good idea to take the newly invented 'radar' and place it on fighter planes so the pilots detect ze Germans as they flew over the channel to bomb the cities during the blitzkrieg. This left the 'propaganda machine' with a problem, on the one had they wanted to brag about how many German planes they shot down before they had a chance to bomb anyone but, on the other hand, they didn't want Herr Flick to find out about this simple advantage that the allied forces have.
The solution was simple, it was a plan of disinformation, they got some more boffins to tell the newspapers and the public that the Vitamin 'A' in carrots allow allied pilots to see at night, genius! The plan was put in motion, RAF stations everywhere fed their pilots more carrots. Parents would stuff their kids with carrots for the 'black-outs', the government even published data to 'prove' the vast improvement in eyesight this gave. They did all this to hide the little 'beep-beep' boxes on planes.
Unfortunately this great plan to misinformation worked a little too well as, to this day, you can still hear the sincere sound of a parent saying 'eat all your carrots, they'll help you see at night'.
Oh and as a bit of a post script (thank you Ariane), if you eat too many carrots, they make your skin turn orange (sort of like a bad tan).
Sunday, 6 July 2008
Still Not Smoking
A fairly uneventful day dogged with moving furniture (not mine) and generally driving around on this fairly gray day. It got me thinking about not smoking for the last two weeks....
Not smoking has been a bit of a trial, but not the sort I was expecting. The last time I attempted this, I noticed many things but the one thing I didn't notice was the hunger. I know nicotine is an appetite suppressant so when you stop smoking, it stands to reason you eat more, this has never been the case with me before.
But last week, I was hungry all the time, I was eating more than I can remember eating in recent years. I felt the need to have something to graze on all the time and I would still feel hungry! This was quite an extreme reaction and I didn't really expect it. Last weekend I calculated that I spent twice the amount I would have spent on cigarettes on extra food.
This newfound hunger has all but died down and I feel fine, it's true I still get the occasional craving, mostly when I see someone smoking but this is easily killed off by someone refusing to hand me a cigarette (I know I'm fickle) which, thankfully, is exactly what my friends do. Overall it's not going too badly, last time I remember people telling me that I was 'irritable' but this time around that doesn't seem to be an issue, in-fact only once over the last two weeks has anyone even mentioned a negative change in behavior (which, in the grand scheme of things is above average for me.)
So far, so good but it's early days yet, last time I managed nine months before falling off the wagon which goes to show that the psychological addiction far out lives the physical....
Not smoking has been a bit of a trial, but not the sort I was expecting. The last time I attempted this, I noticed many things but the one thing I didn't notice was the hunger. I know nicotine is an appetite suppressant so when you stop smoking, it stands to reason you eat more, this has never been the case with me before.
But last week, I was hungry all the time, I was eating more than I can remember eating in recent years. I felt the need to have something to graze on all the time and I would still feel hungry! This was quite an extreme reaction and I didn't really expect it. Last weekend I calculated that I spent twice the amount I would have spent on cigarettes on extra food.
This newfound hunger has all but died down and I feel fine, it's true I still get the occasional craving, mostly when I see someone smoking but this is easily killed off by someone refusing to hand me a cigarette (I know I'm fickle) which, thankfully, is exactly what my friends do. Overall it's not going too badly, last time I remember people telling me that I was 'irritable' but this time around that doesn't seem to be an issue, in-fact only once over the last two weeks has anyone even mentioned a negative change in behavior (which, in the grand scheme of things is above average for me.)
So far, so good but it's early days yet, last time I managed nine months before falling off the wagon which goes to show that the psychological addiction far out lives the physical....
Friday, 4 July 2008
Never Shop When Hungry
This is a tip as old as time. It makes sense, if you shop when hungry, you by the sort of things you would like to eat then and there, in my case, crisps and chocolate. Wondering through my local 24 hour supermarket on a full stomach isn't a great idea either, I came back with next to nothing.
I can't shop when hungry, I can't shop when full, was I to eat something, wait a few hours then go shopping? I'm just not organised enough to plan my life to that level. I had to find a solution before I whithered away to nothing (ok so that was unlikely to happen but let's not underplay this).
For a while I would make out a shopping list over a few days and stick to it, this way I would have a list of items balanced out over varying degrees of hunger. This, of course, didn't work as I shop after work and I never had the foresight to take my shopping list with me in the morning.
To the rescue comes Tesco online, it's great, I figured I can book a delivery slot three days into the future as late as possible so that I will be home by then, put a few essentials into the basket then checkout. Now for the twist in the plan: over the next three days, I add things to the basket so come delivery day, I have food, ingredients and junk!
This worked well for a bit, I was even willing to offer the benefit of doubt over two missed deliveries. One day they made a really bad delivery with a whole heap of substitutions, a few basic notes:
Plastic bottles of Coke are not the same as glass bottles!
Potato croquettes are not the same or even the least bit similar to chips.
If you have no rechargeable batteries, send me regular batteries of the same size, not rechargeable batteries of a completely useless size.
I can (and did) forgive them for all this but the last order I received had broken eggs in it. I wanted to make an omelet and everyone knows you can't make an omelet with broken eggs. It was more the fact the driver made a quick exit as he clearly knew what had happened to the eggs and rather than telling me, he thought it best to offload and go.
Last week I switched to Ocado and frankly it's better! Courteous customer service staff and drivers he even offered to put over socks on so that he would not damage my carpet! (I should note I declined the offer as my carpet isn't that great).
A few more weeks and we'll see how it goes but so far, I'm impressed.
I can't shop when hungry, I can't shop when full, was I to eat something, wait a few hours then go shopping? I'm just not organised enough to plan my life to that level. I had to find a solution before I whithered away to nothing (ok so that was unlikely to happen but let's not underplay this).
For a while I would make out a shopping list over a few days and stick to it, this way I would have a list of items balanced out over varying degrees of hunger. This, of course, didn't work as I shop after work and I never had the foresight to take my shopping list with me in the morning.
To the rescue comes Tesco online, it's great, I figured I can book a delivery slot three days into the future as late as possible so that I will be home by then, put a few essentials into the basket then checkout. Now for the twist in the plan: over the next three days, I add things to the basket so come delivery day, I have food, ingredients and junk!
This worked well for a bit, I was even willing to offer the benefit of doubt over two missed deliveries. One day they made a really bad delivery with a whole heap of substitutions, a few basic notes:
Plastic bottles of Coke are not the same as glass bottles!
Potato croquettes are not the same or even the least bit similar to chips.
If you have no rechargeable batteries, send me regular batteries of the same size, not rechargeable batteries of a completely useless size.
I can (and did) forgive them for all this but the last order I received had broken eggs in it. I wanted to make an omelet and everyone knows you can't make an omelet with broken eggs. It was more the fact the driver made a quick exit as he clearly knew what had happened to the eggs and rather than telling me, he thought it best to offload and go.
Last week I switched to Ocado and frankly it's better! Courteous customer service staff and drivers he even offered to put over socks on so that he would not damage my carpet! (I should note I declined the offer as my carpet isn't that great).
A few more weeks and we'll see how it goes but so far, I'm impressed.
Tuesday, 1 July 2008
Gone Postal
Royal Mail tends to get a lot of bad press, people say first class mail is too slow, parcels don't get delivered on time, if at all! Naturally, when sending a parcel, this is a consideration.
Some people may have noticed that of late, the dark clouds have disappeared and it's generally been a bright and sun-shiny day. Unfortunately this recent blessing in the weather has coincided with the arm (or leg) of my sunglasses detaching itself from the body thus rendering them useless (yes I could balance them on my nose but that would look ridiculous).
A quick call and a nice American lady (“I love your accent” she tells me, “why thank you, your's isn't too bad either, now about my sunglasses...”) gives me the address of the UK service center in Hertfordshire, all I have to do is put the glasses in a box and send it off, brilliant! I should get them back in ten days just in time to see the clouds come back.
Yesterday, after risking numerous paper cuts and going through a roll of tape, I take my box to the post office and send it on it's merry way, waiting, with bated breath for the day I can once again protect my eyes.
This evening when I got home, any and all doubts I had about the post office were banished from my mind as on my doorstep sat my sunglasses all boxed up and nowhere to go.
Thank you, Royal Mail, for knowing the difference between a freepost destination address and a return address!
Some people may have noticed that of late, the dark clouds have disappeared and it's generally been a bright and sun-shiny day. Unfortunately this recent blessing in the weather has coincided with the arm (or leg) of my sunglasses detaching itself from the body thus rendering them useless (yes I could balance them on my nose but that would look ridiculous).
A quick call and a nice American lady (“I love your accent” she tells me, “why thank you, your's isn't too bad either, now about my sunglasses...”) gives me the address of the UK service center in Hertfordshire, all I have to do is put the glasses in a box and send it off, brilliant! I should get them back in ten days just in time to see the clouds come back.
Yesterday, after risking numerous paper cuts and going through a roll of tape, I take my box to the post office and send it on it's merry way, waiting, with bated breath for the day I can once again protect my eyes.
This evening when I got home, any and all doubts I had about the post office were banished from my mind as on my doorstep sat my sunglasses all boxed up and nowhere to go.
Thank you, Royal Mail, for knowing the difference between a freepost destination address and a return address!
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