I think that, should Tim Henman ever win Wimbledon, everyone who has ever knocked him out should be awarded a commemorative medal inscribed with the phrase "Maybe next year".
I don't know quite why I think this or how the idea ever entered my head, but it's there now, so merely leaving it there would be something of a waste, really.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Monday, June 20, 2005
Seasonal Variation
It's a beautiful bit of organisation that, just as the time of year for good hearty stews and crumbles gently slips away, the time of year for strawberries rides over the hills on a magnificent steed of loveliness.
I think that people who think the world is wired up to annoy because of things like it always raining unless they carry their umbrella just aren't paying enough attention.
I think that people who think the world is wired up to annoy because of things like it always raining unless they carry their umbrella just aren't paying enough attention.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
And This One Doubles Up As A USB Flash Memory Drive!
Well, I was in my headmaster's office today for a short meeting which turned into a long meeting thanks to his ongoing habit of quickly converting all such discussions into a forum dedicated to the improvement of the school, and, of course, a small amount of revelling in how much better it's got since he showed up. Anyway, all was well for the first fifteen minutes or so, but then I completely lost the ability to concentrate on what was being discussed. My mind was occupied, you see, by a far more important matter. Specifically, that of why on Earth he has a book on his shelf entitled "Novel Diarrhoea Viruses".
Not for him the old, trodden paths of those staid, traditional diarrhoea viruses. No, he is as some bold frontiersman, casting aside any virus he deems too dull and taking note only of the particularly odd ones. No, I just don't see it.
Of course, in truth I'm not too sure what makes such a virus "novel". Possibly they're pink and spotted, or do somersaults, or play the fiddle. Now that would be a virus worth studying.
Not for him the old, trodden paths of those staid, traditional diarrhoea viruses. No, he is as some bold frontiersman, casting aside any virus he deems too dull and taking note only of the particularly odd ones. No, I just don't see it.
Of course, in truth I'm not too sure what makes such a virus "novel". Possibly they're pink and spotted, or do somersaults, or play the fiddle. Now that would be a virus worth studying.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Crossed Lines
Well, I opened the page for that last post just before replying to an e-mail, and inadvertently typed a small chunk of my reply into Blogger, which was rather silly of me. I feel that I should mention this because if I do this again and don't notice for some reason, it will probably be rather less confusing for you all if you have enough prior knowledge of my foolishness to guess that what you're reading is meant to be an e-mail to my girlfriend and not a blog entry. Let's face it, that could lead to significant befuddlement for all concerned.
I can multitask, honestly. I just can't do anything else while I'm doing it.
I can multitask, honestly. I just can't do anything else while I'm doing it.
Who Gives You Extra?
Not so long ago, I finally decided to get off my arse and apply for a 16-18 bank account, with debit card and so forth for convenience's sake. I then decided that, what with the Internet being so very helpful, I would instead stay on my arse and apply for a 16-18 bank account, because frankly there was no good reason to walk to Morley when I could have a glass of water and a Big Bowl of Fruit and Yoghurt and do it online.
Once I'd worked my merry way through the forms, which were all very simple except for the one on which you had to come up with a security question (a task which I'm certain is actually more difficult than fraudulently accessing someone else's account), I was informed that my application had been accepted and I would now just have to mosey on down to my local branch and provide them with some proof of identity. So, having already got all this to hand, I did.
The more observant among you, and indeed the less observant, will no doubt have noticed that at this point in the proceedings I have had to get on my arse anyway. I should therefore note that in between those last two sentences, a day or so passed. Super.
So, very shortly I had my identity confirmed, my balance transferred and my old account closed, and just had to wait for my card and PIN to arrive. Not long afterwards, I got an envelope from the bank, which I assumed was one of those things, simply because when I registered for online banking I also requested the paper-free banking service, which would get all my statements sent by e-mail. In the envelope was a statement from my old account, containing one withdrawal, my interest, and my balance transfer. So I waited.
After a couple of days, I received a further envelope from the Halifax which, lo and behold, contained my card. I was told to ensure I memorised my PIN and advised on how to change it, which was valuable advice but would have been rather more use in a mailing containing my PIN. So I waited.
A little after this, I got not one, but two envelopes from the bank. The first contained another statement, entirely identical to the last but with the addition of "Account Closed" to the end. The second contained a pleasant letter explaining that they had found me in their records thanks to my previous account and there was no longer any need for me to take my proof of identification in. I was, of course, already aware that there was no longer any need for me to do that because I had already done it. I'd also, by way of the transfer, deposited more than the £10 required to activate my account, so its reminding me of that was also rather unhepul, particularly as they had apparently made a mistake concerning what kind of account I was opening and told me to deposit £50. So I waited.
Today, my PIN arrived. Now, these things used to come in a little paper envelope-within-an-envelope, covered with a mess of numbers so you couldn't read it by holding it up to the light and could tell if it had been tampered with, which was sensible. That's changed somewhat. Now, you get the same classic scrambled mess, but it's covered by a single paper tab, beneath which is a piece of cloudy see-through plastic with your PIN printed through it. You are advised to turn the letter over and put it on a piece of white paper to get your PIN.
This is not necessary.
In fact, you can read your PIN perfectly well without paper. In fact, if you're capable of reading mirrored numbers, which is hardly the most challenging of tasks, you can read it without turning the letter over. In fact, the only thing that this change achieves is to make it so that, once you remove the tab, anyone nearby can not only read your PIN through the conveniently transparent plastic, but, thanks to the fact that it's reversed when viewed from the side with the tab on, can actually do so more easily than you can. Now that's secure.
Since signing up for paper-free banking about a week ago, I have received approximately three times as much paper from my bank as I did in the whole of last year. In fact, their only concession to actually reducing paper was in replacing that tiny scrap of the letter containing my PIN with plastic, that it might be easier for people to steal from me. I should have never strayed from my children's account. At least with that one they sent me birthday cards.
Once I'd worked my merry way through the forms, which were all very simple except for the one on which you had to come up with a security question (a task which I'm certain is actually more difficult than fraudulently accessing someone else's account), I was informed that my application had been accepted and I would now just have to mosey on down to my local branch and provide them with some proof of identity. So, having already got all this to hand, I did.
The more observant among you, and indeed the less observant, will no doubt have noticed that at this point in the proceedings I have had to get on my arse anyway. I should therefore note that in between those last two sentences, a day or so passed. Super.
So, very shortly I had my identity confirmed, my balance transferred and my old account closed, and just had to wait for my card and PIN to arrive. Not long afterwards, I got an envelope from the bank, which I assumed was one of those things, simply because when I registered for online banking I also requested the paper-free banking service, which would get all my statements sent by e-mail. In the envelope was a statement from my old account, containing one withdrawal, my interest, and my balance transfer. So I waited.
After a couple of days, I received a further envelope from the Halifax which, lo and behold, contained my card. I was told to ensure I memorised my PIN and advised on how to change it, which was valuable advice but would have been rather more use in a mailing containing my PIN. So I waited.
A little after this, I got not one, but two envelopes from the bank. The first contained another statement, entirely identical to the last but with the addition of "Account Closed" to the end. The second contained a pleasant letter explaining that they had found me in their records thanks to my previous account and there was no longer any need for me to take my proof of identification in. I was, of course, already aware that there was no longer any need for me to do that because I had already done it. I'd also, by way of the transfer, deposited more than the £10 required to activate my account, so its reminding me of that was also rather unhepul, particularly as they had apparently made a mistake concerning what kind of account I was opening and told me to deposit £50. So I waited.
Today, my PIN arrived. Now, these things used to come in a little paper envelope-within-an-envelope, covered with a mess of numbers so you couldn't read it by holding it up to the light and could tell if it had been tampered with, which was sensible. That's changed somewhat. Now, you get the same classic scrambled mess, but it's covered by a single paper tab, beneath which is a piece of cloudy see-through plastic with your PIN printed through it. You are advised to turn the letter over and put it on a piece of white paper to get your PIN.
This is not necessary.
In fact, you can read your PIN perfectly well without paper. In fact, if you're capable of reading mirrored numbers, which is hardly the most challenging of tasks, you can read it without turning the letter over. In fact, the only thing that this change achieves is to make it so that, once you remove the tab, anyone nearby can not only read your PIN through the conveniently transparent plastic, but, thanks to the fact that it's reversed when viewed from the side with the tab on, can actually do so more easily than you can. Now that's secure.
Since signing up for paper-free banking about a week ago, I have received approximately three times as much paper from my bank as I did in the whole of last year. In fact, their only concession to actually reducing paper was in replacing that tiny scrap of the letter containing my PIN with plastic, that it might be easier for people to steal from me. I should have never strayed from my children's account. At least with that one they sent me birthday cards.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Join My Dairy Band
There can be few better impromptu percussion instruments in this world than the foil-topped yoghurt
Trick Photography
Up until now, I thought that my passport photo was relatively sensible. There wasn't really anything all that offensive about it. However, having just got it out so I can go and prove to the bank who I am, I've realised that I really look very short on it. Now, I know some of you might be thinking that you can't really look short on a photograph that takes in only your head and shoulders, but rest assured, you can. (And look how tiny my head seems, it is barely an inch across.)
Whenever I have hold of my passport I am struck by the sudden desire to leave the country. Is that odd? I suspect that it may be. I guess I just like to use things. That or I'm supposed to be fleeing the authorities and I just forgot.
Whenever I have hold of my passport I am struck by the sudden desire to leave the country. Is that odd? I suspect that it may be. I guess I just like to use things. That or I'm supposed to be fleeing the authorities and I just forgot.
You Could Have Someone's Eye Out With That
I have just peeled the pointiest banana in the world. Lord above. I opened this page in the hope that something to mention would come to me, as I generally do when I haven't updated in a while, because I promised not so long ago that I'd try not to let this thing stagnate too much (this, of course, explains the quality of many of my posts). It's almost as though the banana knew what was going through my head and remoulded itself just for my sake.
My. I'm looking at it, and it's not getting any less pointy (I considered "blunter" there, but I think this way's for the best.) It really does look quite lethal. You could knock it through a particularly soft vampire if you wanted rid of him. I'm half-tempted to attempt to impale other foods on it and make some kind of extremely fruity kebab. I really am quite startled.
For a little while, I considered photographing this frankly amazing banana and posting it for your delectation. Then I saw sense, so I'm eating it instead.
My. I'm looking at it, and it's not getting any less pointy (I considered "blunter" there, but I think this way's for the best.) It really does look quite lethal. You could knock it through a particularly soft vampire if you wanted rid of him. I'm half-tempted to attempt to impale other foods on it and make some kind of extremely fruity kebab. I really am quite startled.
For a little while, I considered photographing this frankly amazing banana and posting it for your delectation. Then I saw sense, so I'm eating it instead.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
It's A Sort Of Red Sort Of Colour
My never-ending research into trivia has just revealed to me that the theme tune to Mr Bean, as sung by a very serious-sounding church choir, translates into English as "Behold the man who is a bean."
As if that wasn't good enough, the closing theme translates as "Farewell, man who is a bean."
Against this wonderous background, somehow the fact that the advert breaks allowed us to hear a very serious-sounding church choir singing "End of part one" in Latin manages to be disappointing.
As if that wasn't good enough, the closing theme translates as "Farewell, man who is a bean."
Against this wonderous background, somehow the fact that the advert breaks allowed us to hear a very serious-sounding church choir singing "End of part one" in Latin manages to be disappointing.
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