Boxing Day Rituals

Unfortunately the annual tradition of the 'four men of the family' having a festive bacon sandwich and hot mug of tea on Boxing Day morning, could not take place this year as the cook at the food kiosk (on the 9th hole of the local golf course) had the medical complaint "CNBATGU" - commonly known as Couldn't be Arsed to Get Up!

Nevertheless, given that we had already played 6 holes of golf before discovering this disturbing fact we carried on playing regardless.

We were playing "better ball" (it was just as well that Barkley wasn't with us, as he may have taken offence at the terminology, given that he is soon to lose both of his, 'better' or otherwise) rules, and "The Young(er) Ones" managed to win on the last hole!

The Perfect Present

It is perhaps unfair to single out one present as “the best present received” this Xmas, especially as I wouldn't want to cause upset to all others who bought me such interesting, useful or, in many cases, tasty gifts.

However, the perfect present in question, bought by my nearest and dearest is pictured below...
To receive the last Rollo in chocolate form is great, but in silver it is even better.

More "wee" problems at Christmas time

It has been reported that the Nintendo "Wii", is malfunctioning in people's homes this Christmas due to flashing Christmas tree lights interfering with the game's infra red sensors. This will no doubt cause even more upset, arguments and tears amongst the land's "little people", but then, isn't that what Christmas is all about?

I also discovered last night (well very early this morning actually) as we sat chatting after Midnight Mass, that I also had some "wee" problems when I was a young child.

Apparently, when I was 5, and living in Cummersdale, Nr Carlisle, I was not used to the local dialect, and the fact that the word "we" was used instead of the word "who" in certain situations. Having spent an age with my sister gathering wood from around the village to build a bonfire, I was approached by a group of small boys who said "...we built that bonfire?", to which I replied "...no you didn't, we did!"*

Looking confused the group slowly backed away.

* for the 'slow of brain' the above conversation is translated as follows: - "Who built that bonfire?" - "...no you didn't, who did!".

Happy Christmas!

A very happy christmas to all, and best wishes for a happy and healthy 2007!

Bah Humbug!

One would have thought that at this time of year, the church would allow a certain amount of latitude in Yuletide festivities.

I refer to the attached invitation from our local church for children to "...Come and join in!" with the Xmas nativity play. Now, if you ask my mother and father if they have any children they would say "Yes, two", of which I am one. Therefore, I still consider myself to be a child and therefore eligible to take part.

As the "invite" said, children were invited to bring their own costume.

So, I turned up in a (rather stretched) Kermit the Frog outfit, left over from an unhappy experience when I was 12!. (See Blog entry of 25th August 2006 - "Is there anything worse than coming fourth?") The vicar strangely, refused to let me in, on the grounds that he considered me to be neither a child, nor dressed in appropriate attire - obviously not having heard of the 'Bethlehem Frog'. As I sadly trudged - OK hopped! - down the church path back to my car, a six year old dressed as an octopus passed me and was welcomed into the church by an effusive vicar.

Double standards or what! *

* Please note - the truth of the above story has been stretched as much as the Kermit costume!!

More Christmas confusion

No known species of reindeer can fly. BUT there are 300,000 species of living organisms yet to be classified, and while most of these are insects and germs, this does not COMPLETELY rule out flying reindeer which only Santa has ever seen.

There are 2 billion children (persons under 18) in the world. BUT since Santa doesn't (appear) to handle the Muslim, Hindu, Jewish and Buddhist children, that reduces the workload to 15% of the total - 378 million according to Population Reference Bureau. At an average (census) rate of 3.5 children per household, that's 91.8 million homes. One presumes there's at least one good child in each.

Santa has 31 hours of Christmas to work with, thanks to the different time zones and the rotation of the earth, assuming he travels east to west (which seems logical). This works out to 822.6 visits per second. This is to say that for each Christian household with good children, Santa has 1/1000th of a second to park, hop out of the sleigh, jump down the chimney, fill the stockings, distribute the remaining presents under the tree, eat whatever snacks have been left, get back up the chimney, get back into the sleigh and move on to the next house.

Assuming that each of these 91.8 million stops are evenly distributed around the earth (which, of course, we know to be false but for the purposes of my calculations we will accept), we are now talking about 0.78 miles per household, a total trip of 71.604 million miles, not counting stops to do what most of us must do at least once every 31 hours, plus feeding etc. This means that Santa's sleigh is moving at 650 miles per second, 3,000 times the speed of sound. For purposes of comparison, the fastest man-made vehicle on earth, the Ulysses space probe, moves at a poky 27.4 miles per second - a conventional reindeer can run, tops, 15 miles per hour.

The payload on the sleigh adds another interesting element. Assuming that each child gets nothing more than a medium-sized lego set (2 pounds), the sleigh is carrying 321,300 tons, not counting Santa, who is invariably described as overweight. On land, conventional reindeer can pull no more than 300 pounds. Even granting that "flying reindeer" could pull TEN TIMES the normal amount, we cannot do the job with eight, or even nine. We need 214,200 reindeer. This increases the payload - not even counting the weight of the sleigh - to 353,430 tons. Again, for comparison - this is four times the weight of the Queen Elizabeth. (The ship, rather than the reigning monarch that is).

353,000 tons traveling at 650 miles per second creates enormous air resistance - this will heat the reindeer up in the same fashion as spacecrafts re-entering the earth's atmosphere. The lead pair of reindeer will absorb 14.3 QUINTILLION joules of energy per second each. In short, they will burst into flame almost instantaneously, exposing the reindeer behind them, and create deafening sonic booms in their wake. The entire reindeer team will be vaporized within 4.26 thousandths of a second. Santa, meanwhile, will be subjected to centrifugal forces 17,500.06 times greater than gravity. A 250-pound Santa (which seems ludicrously slim) would be pinned to the back of his sleigh by 4,315,015 pounds of force.

Therefore the only logical explanation - given the above scientific information - is that Santa is.....MAGIC!!!!

Unanswered questions at Christmas-time

The following story appeared in the Guardian yesterday, and left me a little confused. The story started: -

"...Children watched in horror as a Santa Claus collapsed and died as he handed out presents at a Christmas party on Sunday."

Tragic as this news was, the following sentence seemed to be totally unrelated to the first and read: -

"...Andrew Robertson was taken ill as the excited youngsters received their gifts. The 82-year-old was taken to a side room and attempts made to revive him,but he was pronounced dead when medics arrived."

Clearly the newspaper editor, struggling with the enormity of the news regarding the death of Santa and what this will mean to the children of the world, let his standards slip and mixed two different stories which were only linked by a theme of "untimely death".
The third sentence didn't clarify anything: -

"...Mr Robertson, from Dundee, had played Santa at the city's Broughty Castle bowling club Christmas party, held for the grandchildren of members, for several years."

What do they mean "played"? Did Santa actually play bowls? How many people died?

The last word!

Christmas is a time when all sorts of relatives tend to descend upon you, and some of them always want to have the last word in any discussion, debate or argument.

Well to save a lot of time, let them have it!

The word (that is, the last word in the Oxford English Dictionary) is "Zyxt".

In the manner of that TV favourite "Call my Bluff", 'Zyxt' is either: -

• a Malaysian word for the outer skin of a citrus fruit such as an orange or a lemon,
• an obsolete Kentish word that is the second singular indicative present form of the verb see.
• The Hungarian word meaning 'Seven', (pronounced 'Sev-urhn!') following in numerical order from the word 'zyxst', meaning 'sixth'.

If you have any American visitors (especially ones that think that they're smart! - although I guess that would be just about all of them!) - the last word is actually 'Zyzzyva' - a tropical American weevil (or George Bush as he is now known!).

Christmas Memories

Whilst the old brain cells don't seem to function quite as well as they used too, I still seem able to recall events from when I was just a lad!

One such memory is from 1971. For some strange reason I was shopping with my parents in Bridport, Dorset, (if you've ever been to Bridport you'll understand this comment & I'll bet real money that you didn't stop there longer than was necessary to realise your mistake in stopping in the first place!) when we wandered into a Bicycle shop called 'Revolutions'. It was there that I spotted the bike of my dreams - a brand "spanking" new, 'drop-handlebar', 10-speed, racing bike!

If only I could have this bike now, I would stop having to ride the one that I'd had since I was 6 years old, and which by that time (I was now 10) was too small for me to actually pedal, and so was only any use as a small seat on wheels, if, for example, I ever wanted to go down (but not up) a hill fast.

However, the new bike in question was rather expensive, and so I was told that I could have it for Christmas, but that it would need saving up for! Now, I can't recall whether it was me or my parents who needed to save up for it, but at that time I didn't care...because very soon I would be having THAT bike.

Now when I say very soon, it was not actually that soon, as it was only FEBRUARY, and Christmas was still 10 months away!

Anyway, wait I did, and when Christmas eventually arrived I was finally able to unwrap the present that I had waited (as far as I can remember) so patiently for.

After waiting so long for this 10-gear, machine of speed, I couldn't wait to get it out on the road to try it. As I set off my dear old mum, stood on the doorstep and waved me goodbye and with a smile said....

"...If I see you going fast on that bike it'll go straight back to the shop!"

Christmas Greetings to a "politically correct" world!

I met with my lawyer yesterday, and on his advice I wish to say the following:

Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low stress, nonaddictive, gender neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced with the most enjoyable traditions of religious persuasion or secular practices of your choice with respect for the religious/secular persuasions and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all.

I also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2007, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make our country great (not to imply that the UK is necessarily greater than any other country) and without regard to the race, creed, colour, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee.

By accepting this greeting, you are accepting these terms:

This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for her/himself or others and is void where prohibited by law, and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher. This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings for a period of one year or until the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting, whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher.

Disclaimer: No trees were harmed in the sending of this message; however, a significant number of electrons were slightly inconvenienced.

Why buy a peerage?

There has been much media attention over recent days, weeks and months concerning the issue of 'cash-for-honours', but today I discovered that none of it had been necessary at all.

It transpires that one can simply assign "titles" to oneself when completing the Personal Details section whilst shopping over the Internet. When the post is eventually delivered, the postman (and then very soon after the entire neighbourhood) will think that a title has actually been bestowed upon you, and will soon start addressing you in the appropriate (OK, well inappropriate!) manner.

It also appears that the level of "title" depends upon where you shop.

Whilst you can be a Doctor in many stores such as Argos; or a Lord, Lady, Sir or Dame in M&S, perhaps unsurprisingly one needs to shop online at Harrods to get the highest level of title.

At Harrods one can become either a Sheikh, Sheikha, Prince or Princess!

However, one word of caution - if your name is Phillip and you fancy the title of Prince this may not be the site to try it!!

However, if your name is Jim go right ahead, and arise Prince Jim!

Some Christmas shopping advice (for men!)

Today I learnt three things about Christmas shopping: -

1. Apparently, the saying "It's the thought that counts..." doesn't work in isolation. Lots of good thoughts don't look too good around the bottom of the Christmas tree, along with more - how shall I put it - "physical" presents.
2. Women do NOT like domestic presents that can be plugged in or used in the kitchen!
3. Women do not like being bought fancy underwear

However, I do know that they like presents that are small and sparkly......so.....

....where does a small, sparkly electric Wok, that cost a "knicker" in 'The Pound Shop' fit? Good or bad?

OK, so I'll take it back!

What a coincidence!

With reference to my comment at the bottom of my blog for 28 November 2006 (Oh how we laughed!), I could not believe what I saw when in WH Smiths today. Browsing through a copy of Jamie Oliver's latest cookbook, I spotted this amazing 1 million to 1 coincidence.

It's half time!

Following legal advice and the recent passing of the 'Employment (Equality) Age Regulations 2006' I have been asked to refrain from telling you how old I was today. However, thank you to all who contributed cards, presents money and cakes (not to mention a celebratory toasted teacake with a candle in it!) and helped to make an old man very happy!!

A lesson learned...?

Two strange things happened today after Moog and I had finished an enjoyable 9 holes of golf. One highlighted the fact that it is best not to judge a book by its cover whilst the other showed that one shouldn't immediately react to what is said without understanding what is meant.

As we headed off for a post-game offering of an 'All day breakfast', we walked past the Driving Range and noticed one strange looking golfer who was clearly new to the game. Possibly in his 50's, with a big bushy beard, an old looking set of clubs, & boots instead of golf shoes, he started some “practice swings”. Whilst the golf we had just played demonstrated that neither Moog nor I were in no place to pass judgement, as usual this didn't stop us. Everything about his swing was wrong; he swayed from side to side, his head moved up and down and the plane of his swing as it stiffly approached the general (although not specific) proximity of the golf ball meant that there was only going to be one disastrous result....that the ball would fly straight and true for over 200 yards. What a fluke! As was the next shot and the one after that and the one after that etc etc. However wrong it looked, I hope that nobody ever gives him a lesson, because it obviously works for him.

As we headed on to breakfast considering our (relatively) more perfect swings and our less than perfect end results, the Moog said that he “...wanted a wee!”. Thinking that he had regressed to his childhood, (when we would often spend Saturday mornings on a driving range near Corsham, partly because he seemed to like golf, and I seemed to like the cheap breakfast that came with the lessons!), I became a little concerned. This feeling increased when he asked if I had "...seen it", and also when he said that it would be great if "...all the family could play with it at Christmas! "

It then became clear that he didn't want a “wee”, but he did want a “Wii”, the new Nintendo games console.

What interesting marketing. How long will it be before Nintendo are sued by parents with “psychologically disturbed offspring” who keep wetting themselves and wonder why, when in supermarkets and shops across the globe they call out to their parents that they “...want a wee!”, only to be told that they can't have one because there are no Wiis left and that even if there were, they're too expensive!!

Enterprising student to boost Cornish economy

An interesting, but confusing, story appeared in recent days concerning a young English student who in an effort to “...raise some cash”, set up a website to sell Pixies.

When I first overheard this story I was surprised on two counts. Firstly, the proximity of the word “student” to the word “enterprising” was unusual, and far less common than its usual association with the words “drunk”, “partying”, “desperate” or “comatose”. Secondly, despite our recent visit to the Cornish River Area (we stayed close to the River Fal), I was still of the belief that 'Pixies' were imaginary!

Well the student in question's plan was to sell not one, but one million Pixies for a dollar each. Now I would have thought that the going rate for a live Pixie would have been much higher, and would personally have sold one Pixie for one million dollars. But to be fair, I didn't have the idea and however flawed the original plan, this week the millionth Pixie was sold, and the young student is one million dollars to the good.

What is to become of the Pixies I don't know, although if anybody wanted to put them to good use, I'm sure they could help out on the rail network (see A return to the Age of Steam) as a new type of PPE - Polish - Pixie Enterprise.

Anybody wanting to read more about the student's web page should visit the following link.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/4585026.stm

"4m are still in debt from last Christmas"

The above headline appeared in this morning's Metro newspaper, describing the 4million Britons who are still paying off debts from last Christmas. For some reason (and for no other reason I can assure you) this made me think of George Michael. I think that following his "Christmas" hit (?), he possibly owes a debt to society, so I have amended the lyrics in tribute to those that are currently worse off, either as a result of overspending or just as a result of Wham!!!

Last Christmas, I paid with my cards
The very next day, more interest to pay
This year, to save me from tears
I'll have to "make" something special

Last Christmas, I paid with my cards
The very next day, more interest to pay
This year, to save me from tears
I'll have to "make" something special

Once bitten and twice shy
I keep my overdraft but you still bleed me dry
Tell me Mr Banker do you recognise me?
I've changed my ID, hope it will surprise thee

(Big pile of pooh!) I wrapped it up and sent it
With a note saying "Please F*** Off" - I meant it
Now I know what a fool I've been
But if I'd paid you back I know you'd fool me again

Last Christmas etc etc

Mixed metaphors

In a match of two halves, England's cricketers rose like a Phoenix from the Ashes and managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory!

Australia win by 6 wickets

A return to the Age of Steam

There are a number of things about commuting that give me pleasure and satisfaction - and the number I'm thinking about is 0 (zero).

To be fair, (in contrast to the actual fares, which are anything but)throughout the summer, the service was tolerable. That is partly due to the fact that during the summer nights, gangs (Warning - the use of these three words in succession may, somewhat confusingly, see this Blog entry appear in Google searches relating to the film 'Grease'!) of railway workers were employed to carefully polish (and many of these night workers were Polish!) the rails of the entire network to ensure that they were in pristine condition for the following days activities. The plan was largely successful, as long as the sun kept shining, and nothing other than the Polish polisher's polishing cloth touched the rails - the trains kept running.

But then the summer ended. First rain fell, then leaves fell, then an occasional frost fell (?). Each left a residue that had to be removed, thus increasing the workload of the aforementioned Polish polishers such that they couldn't keep up, and often simply gave up, leaving their tasks to go for a traditional cup of tea. Birds (2nd Google warning) migrated south as winter approached but Southern commuters found it increasingly difficult to migrate north and east into work.

It was at such times that our dear, dear friends in the railway announcement department would warmly announce that...

“We apologise for the current delays and are making every effort to restore services to normal".

NO!!!! We don't want “normal”, we all know what that's like! We want “fantastic” or “superb” or “extraordinary”. Normal, we can certainly do without.

Another announcement that is equally infuriating, is when you are half way to London and have to change to another train at which point the announcer states....

“We apologise for this morning's delays and would advise passengers to allow more time for their journeys...”

How helpful is that! This is no different to saying...

“Oi, you lot on the platform! I know you got up at 5.45 am this morning, but you should have anticipated that there were going to be problems on the rails. Didn't you see the forecast for very mild and occasional drizzle? You should have all got up at 5 am for us to stand any chance of getting you into London by 8!!!”

At least this approach would get them marks for honesty.

This may not be so much the Age of Steam, but it is fast becoming the Age of 'letting off steam'.

A matter of intonation

Whether or not life mirrors art or vice versa, to a degree the local high street mirrors English society.

Increased affluence is mirrored by the rise in the number of 'Travel Agents';

Increased need for an immediate response via mobile forms of communication has been mirrored by the rise in the number of 'mobile phone shops';

Increased size of the girths of the nation is mirrored by the rise in the number of 'Fast Food' establishments, although both of these 'descriptors' (i.e. Fast & Food)are generally open to challenge under the Trade Descriptions Act.

The increased desire to place our children in the best state schools has led to a rise in house moves, house prices; and 'Estate Agents', (exactly what 'Estates' are they 'Agents' for?).

The reason to get closer to the better schools is to stand a better chance of "the offspring" eventually getting to University, and helping Tony, Gordon and their “pals” achieve their goal of 50% of children going to institutions of academic excellence such as East Grinstead University of Fine Arts or the Solihull University of English (?).

If you were to remove all of the estate agents, travel agents, fast food agents, and mobile phone shop agents from the high street, what would you be left with? A few dress shops, 13 shoe shops, Robert Dyas and an Ann (apologies for the slight stutter) Summers shop.

Now take away every current High Street shop that sells items that can be bought over the Internet, to see what will be left in 5 years time...and you can see that all that will remain is 'Fast Food' establishments and coffee shops!!

The remaining space in the high street may have to be transformed into a giant parcel collection depot for people to pick up (and then return because they invariably won't be “as described in the catalogue”) their “Internet” purchases.

Whether or not it is true that the most common phrase that newly qualified and employed graduates use is... “Would you like fries with that?”, it remains questionable whether or not there will be enough “challenging”, “non-retail” jobs to go round, but also whether there will be any “retail” jobs of any description either.

So when your friend tells you that their son or daughter is going train to be a Barrister, it may be (especially if they're a Geordie) that they are actually going to train to be a Barista. But with competition for jobs growing at an inversely proportional rate to the future number of opportunities, who knows, such jobs may requires a degree, training contract, 'Bar' exam, and graduation from the Starbucks University of Coffee Excellence!

Don't blame it on the 'Sat Nav'!

A recent advert for a paramedic described the job as follows: -

"...Paramedics deal with emergency cases, as well as complex non-emergency hospital admissions, discharges and transfers. Paramedics work as part of a rapid response unit with support from an ambulance technician.

Emergencies can range from minor injuries to serious casualties in a major road or rail accident.

The role of the paramedic can include:

• providing all aspects of pre-hospital emergency care
• assessing a situation and making decisions quickly about emergency treatment and movement of the patient
• using advanced life support techniques
• carrying out certain surgical procedures
• administering a range of drugs for the emergency treatment of a number of medical and trauma conditions.

They are trained in advanced driving skills and can work on traditional ambulances, as well as rapid response cars and motorcycles. They are also responsible for checking the efficiency of the vehicle and equipment. Accurate record keeping is an essential part of the job."

If the above advert accurately describes the skills of paramedics how was it that one ambulance crew ambulance crew transferring a patient to hospital were sent 200 miles in the wrong direction by a faulty satnav.

The paramedics were transferring a patient 12 miles across Essex but ended up near Manchester before they realised the mistake!

The London Ambulance Service crew were asked to take a mental health patient from King George's Hospital in Ilford to a specialist hospital in Brentwood, a journey that should take about 30 minutes.

However, the fault on their on-board navigation system meant they were sent north and ended up on an eight-hour round trip.

Whilst I admit that I have on occasions set the Sat Nav in my car to show me the way to my local station, (I journey that I do twice every day!) I do not rely on it totally. If I set it to show me the way to the local corner shop, I would start to think that there was a problem with it, if I was still driving 15 minutes later, let alone 7 hours later!!

The news item reported that "...The crew are understood to be new to the job and had never been to the mental health hospital."

I think that either they had been there previously - but as inmates - or that they may be going back there in the near future, but on a one-way journey!