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.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Is Your One Brain Better Than His None?
"Sport is an abomination. It's a total waste of time, effort and money." Those were the words - well, actually, they might not have been quite the exact ones, I can't quite remember, but I'm writing it as a quote anyway because it's much, much easier - of a gentleman named Chris Thingy. Well, actually, his surname isn't "Thingy", though I'm sure like anyone else he would love it to be. And I'm not positive he's called Chris. But anyway, there's this bloke who's probably called Chris, and he has a surname of some description - well, I assume he does, but let's not get picky - and he said something to the effect of "Sport is an abomination. It's a total waste of time, effort and money."
Right. Now. The point. The Chris in question - if he is indeed a Chris - is the International Mastermind Champion. Because of that, he's also one of the Eggheads on the popular - well, it might not be popular - quiz show called, er, Eggheads. For those of you not familiar with the show, this essentially means that he's on it every weekday, answering questions in an attempt to foil the contestants. This man appears on an early-evening quiz show five days a week! It takes a certain arrogant bloody-mindedness to spend that much time sitting in a box answering trivia questions and still have the nerve to say that sport - just, you know, in general - is an abomination and a waste of time, energy and money.
Although come to think of it, CJ could probably manage it too.
Right. Now. The point. The Chris in question - if he is indeed a Chris - is the International Mastermind Champion. Because of that, he's also one of the Eggheads on the popular - well, it might not be popular - quiz show called, er, Eggheads. For those of you not familiar with the show, this essentially means that he's on it every weekday, answering questions in an attempt to foil the contestants. This man appears on an early-evening quiz show five days a week! It takes a certain arrogant bloody-mindedness to spend that much time sitting in a box answering trivia questions and still have the nerve to say that sport - just, you know, in general - is an abomination and a waste of time, energy and money.
Although come to think of it, CJ could probably manage it too.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Human Nature
If people had time machines they would be used primarily to go back to their childhood and watch children's television programmes.
And Now For The Next Installation Of Our Mini-Serial, Dead Ringer
With a Krypton Factor immeasurable with our rudimentary number system, it's the BBC.
Well, that's if this actually gets off the ground. But let's hope so. Then we can get back to the golden times of rubbish observation-round acting, hilariously squiggly flight approaches, and people who break their ankles at the start of the assault course and not only finish anyway but don't even come last.
(I was enormously disappointed when that woman didn't win her heat, or semi-final, or whatever it was.)
Well, that's if this actually gets off the ground. But let's hope so. Then we can get back to the golden times of rubbish observation-round acting, hilariously squiggly flight approaches, and people who break their ankles at the start of the assault course and not only finish anyway but don't even come last.
(I was enormously disappointed when that woman didn't win her heat, or semi-final, or whatever it was.)
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Some Condemned Men Don't Fall For That One
This week, the Scouts were knotting. Knotting's a good, wholesome activity for a Scout troop. The older ones can teach the younger ones and everyone comes away having gained something from the experience. Trouble is, when you're dealing with the Scout troop who can endanger lives washing up, what they tend to come away with is rope burns, a tinge of blue in the extremities from the cutting-off of circulation, and at least one choking-based near death experience.
I reckon that as long as I still have the patience to step in and prevent them from killing themselves, I'm doing as well as can be expected.
I reckon that as long as I still have the patience to step in and prevent them from killing themselves, I'm doing as well as can be expected.
Smoke-Filled Rooms
For a little while now, I've been on the campsite management sub-committee for Bradley Wood, a delightful little campsite in Brighouse that, if you're reading this, you probably know a little of that's chock-full of groovy things and nice people (we also have a great many bluebells.) I can't say with any degree of precision how long I've been on this committee because I never really agreed to be on it, but I wouldn't want to mislead you with such information anyway, as committee meetings have no regard for the usual laws of time. Anyway, I was rather hoping to get away from this meeting in good time so I could get to bed in preparation for an exam today, but that wasn't to be. I don't intend to bore you with the details - not even those of the particularly fascinating discussion of the various applications of JCBs that took place shortly after we'd decided unanimously that it was too late in the year to start digging things up with one - but I feel I ought to mention one particularly signinficant episode by way of a warning to anyone else who might get dragged onto one of these things over the course of their lives.
Last night, the Bradley Wood Campsite Management Sub-Committee spent fully ten minutes, if not more, discussing, analysing and generally mulling over a proposal that we continue to do things precisely as we always have. Quite what would have happened if we had rejected this particular proposal I'm not sure, but I like to imagine that it would have left us free to actually get something done down there without all this vein-bulgingly dull mucking about with committees.
Last night, the Bradley Wood Campsite Management Sub-Committee spent fully ten minutes, if not more, discussing, analysing and generally mulling over a proposal that we continue to do things precisely as we always have. Quite what would have happened if we had rejected this particular proposal I'm not sure, but I like to imagine that it would have left us free to actually get something done down there without all this vein-bulgingly dull mucking about with committees.
Friday, May 20, 2005
Join The Debate
Thank goodness The Times hasn't dumbed down since moving to its new tabloid layout.
('Pologies for the rubbish blurry photo, I am exceptionally lazy sometimes, and besides, it gets the message across.)
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Born To Be Wild
I am planning on spending almost all of this weekend writing essays in preparation for my English exams. Mostly for the literature one, simply because I have a bigger pile of practice questions. It's looking like a long, hard slog of making many a point and explaining many a quote and doing a fair deal of thinking, over and over and over again. My question to you is this: quite how sad is it that I am actually quite looking forward to it?
Interactive Television
Apparently ITV's Celebrity Wrestling, which goes up against Doctor Who every Saturday night, is being pulled due to a lack of viewers (the result, of course, of it clearly being utter rubbish and yet still trying to compete with Doctor Who). I'm mentioning this here really only because it feels good to be able to. With luck, nobody will watch Celebrity Love Island either.
Come to think of it, I suspect that Celebrity Love Island may be the result of the same process as Domino's Pizza's new Cheese Steak Pizza - that is, making a big list of words and sticking three pins in it. If that is the case, I think the lists really should be combined. Then perhaps we could tuck into a nice Celebrity Spice Waffle while watching Hidden Omelette Beach. Now that's what I call civilisation.
Come to think of it, I suspect that Celebrity Love Island may be the result of the same process as Domino's Pizza's new Cheese Steak Pizza - that is, making a big list of words and sticking three pins in it. If that is the case, I think the lists really should be combined. Then perhaps we could tuck into a nice Celebrity Spice Waffle while watching Hidden Omelette Beach. Now that's what I call civilisation.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
A Troubling Development
The world, it seems, has stopped turning. The illusion of day and night is now maintained only by Clever Trickery. This may cause problems.
(See, now, if you were Doctor Who you wouldn't need me to let you know about this.)
(See, now, if you were Doctor Who you wouldn't need me to let you know about this.)
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