Sunday, 24 May 2015

Bearly Discernable

This weekend we experienced an alien visitation. A strange QUASAR craft from the plantet IP Switch 9000 landed at the end of our village known as Crack Nell and two Ursine beings emerged blinking into the sunshine.


In order to give them a clue as to what life is like in 21st Century Britain we made them watch the entire Eurovision Song Contest and they nodded wisely. I explained that this is the only entertainment available because we as a Country are in straitened circumstances which is all the fault of the Banks.

Thursday, 21 May 2015

Parsley and Time

It seems to have been a spectacular year for Cow Parsley. I haven't taken much notice of it in the past and regarded it as just another weed, but the wonderful displays this year on the green and alongside the lanes have changed my view.



Apparently (Wikipedia tells me) it is not to be confused with Giant Cow Parsley, French Cow Parsley, Fool's Parsley or Poison Hemlock, so I'll be treating their advice that it is "edible ...sharper than garden chervil, with a hint of carrot" with a proverbial bargepole.

Last week I invoked the perk of the self-employed/semi-retired and took a spontaneous day off to cycle to the Coast and back. It happened to be the nicest day of the week for weather and my 73 miles were most enjoyable, particularly the yellow-green-blue section between Halesworth and Harleston through the rolling Suffolk hills.


Here is my trusty Raleigh Stead parked outside the Community run village shop in Metfield where one can buy the most wonderful selection of cakes to ensure one's athletic prowess is undimmed through carbohydrate shortfall ("some chance - Ed").


And here we are at the aforementioned Coast where (if the sun is about) the sea is always twinkling in a very pleasing way.


Southwold always had a lovely faded Enid Blyton 1930's feel to it with tea shops, book shops and even a pre-digital camera shop. Now, sadly, it seems to have turned into an offshoot of Chelsea or Hampstead and the dour little seaside coloured shops have all become coffee shop chains or expensive faux-30's clothing shops or upmarket boutique hotels. It is really now a pastiche of its lovely former self and the only things left there for me are the amazing Tim Hunkin machines on the pier or the rowing boat ferry out to Walberswick.

I made an excuse and left down the treacherous main road to the A12 and back to the excellent little market town of Halesworth for my lunch. An old-fashioned pedestrianised place with "proper" shops and pavement cafes. However, even here the cold hand of modern ways has penetrated as my excellent quiche and salad was served on a plank of wood. The great scribe Sir Bruin once pointed out that the ceramic industry has now been around several hundred years so you'd think plates might be freely available to cafes and restaurants by now.


Tuesday, 17 March 2015

I'll put a Spell on Yoo

Now don't get me wrong, I love a good play on words and am very happy to see commercial enterprises do the same. In fact, they always bring a smile to my face and build a confidence that the business is being run by a real human being.

I'd be very happy to pop in here for my 5-yearly groom. I think they are based in Higher Barnett.

And I'd be happy to entrust Mr Spruce's Company to clean the upholstery knowing they weren't "Born to Ruin".

Or get some heavy lifting done by the muscles from Brussels.
Mind you, sometimes the pun may not be intentional and I was once stuck behind this local driving instructor:



Anyway, be that as it may. What I DO find infuriating is when Companies pick brand names which are simply mis-spelt on purpose using the theory that a badly-spelt name is a memorable name. They don't have the elegance or wit of the pun - just a lazy and annoying transposition of a letter or two which some 22 year old creative in London on £165,000 per annum has "blue skied" to a focus group.





In the olden days, people used to use the name "AAA Taxis" or "Aarvaark Security" to come up on the first page of the telephone directory. Now the Global internet market has made things so much more complicated the desire to stand out from the crowd involves eye-wateringly complex Search Engine Optimization algorithms. This results in a plethora of annoying brand names such as "Tumbr", "flickr" and "reddit" plus daft messing with capitalisation such as "iPhone" or "eBay". About as creative as tipping over a Scabble board.

In My Glorious Rule the use of silly spelling will be illegal (along with the non-use of indicators to change lane or writing the words "inbox me"). 

However, my theory is that this practice will knock itself out through over-use and it is the correctly spelled names which will stand out in the future. Two or three generations have now been born into a World where "CU Mund arvo hun lol xx" is a meaningful sentence and switching a "C" to a "K" or sticking a random capital in the miDdle of a wOrd will look positively dull. Then they'll be F.C.U.K'd.


Wednesday, 4 March 2015

Norman Wisdom

Following the Norman invasion of 1066, French Knights spread throughout England and built up strongholds in their adopted Country. One of these knights was William D’Albini who became very influential - his position as Butler to William the Conqueror’s son Henry was like that of another powerful Norman enforcer, Tebbitt the Chingford Polecat.

He built Castle Rising in West Norfolk and later established the moated Old Buckenham Castle on Abbey Road, adjacent to the site that would (much) later become a WW2 Bomber Base. His son, William D’Albini II wanted more and gave this Castle to Augustine monks to turn into a Monastry ("Let ze monks 'ave it", he shrugged). D’Albini II moved to a new site about 2 miles away where in 1145 he founded New Buckenham Castle, a stone and timber ringwork surrounded by a massive Bailey earthworks and moat. However, he built not just a new Castle but a new town to service it, and the unique surviving medieval street layout of New Buckenham is said to be the only one in England to retain its original pattern.

New Buckenham Castle was, like the Gherkin or Shard, built largely as a pure status symbol. By the time it was finished in 1176 it must have been an imposing sight with its huge circular keep (probably the earliest and largest of its type in England).

We’d walked past this strange earthen structure several times and been intrigued to see the large cast iron gates padlocked but a little googling revealed that the key is available for £3 from the owner of the local Garage, which, incidentally, is home to the largest collection of Reliant Robin three wheelers I’ve ever seen outside of Peckham.

It therefore seemed a good idea last weekend when we were experiencing a second French invasion in the form of my brother-in-law from France to go and get the key and show him what his ancestors had achieved. The Garage/Castle Gatekeeper, who I believe is called John (sadly not Robin) was there to greet us with enthusiasm and merry quip.


After a long discussion on medieval sewerage, heart disease in teenagers and the reason the population of Italy is so healthy (they shout a lot and relieve stress apparently), he sent us off with a final word of warning: “The local archery club are in there practising today and with this wind you need to keep your eye out for stray arrows”.




This turned out to be another hilarious quip – fortunately! We opened up the gate and revealed a truly massive internal keep and one can only marvel at the sheer physical toil which must have been involved to carve it out of the landscape sans JCB. Our Norman visitor was suitably impressed and we repaired to the Inn on the Green for their excellent Sunday Brunch. 

Saturday, 31 January 2015

Robots

I wouldn't like to calculate the number of hours I've spent during the last few years struggling to decipher the squiggly "RECAPTCHA" riddles in order to let me comment on people's blogs.
It's sometimes virtually impossible to achieve the required answer on a mobile phone and rather like the time I visited Diss and was beaten back by high winds, I've just given up in disgust. My fellow bloggers just don't realize the amount of pith (and wind) they have missed in their comment streams. 

But wait! The good Denizens of Captcha have now come up with a far more sophisticated barrier to robot picking of blog locks and it appears to be a masterstroke. This is what they say on their blog:

But, we figured it would be easier to just directly ask our users whether or not they are robots—so, we did! We’ve begun rolling out a new API that radically simplifies the reCAPTCHA experience. We’re calling it the “No CAPTCHA reCAPTCHA” and this is how it looks:


Yes! Now that artificial intelligence networked banks of computers can decipher the squiggly text, the brilliant new ruse is to ask the user to declare "I'm not a robot". Genius.

It makes commenting on blogs so much easier so let's hope the massive super-computers run by bandit Russian spamsters and that bloke in the US who doesn't like women don't catch on to the fiendish ploy and work out how to, er, tick the box.

Robots reminded me of this gem:


Monday, 26 January 2015

Social Strata of the British Aisles

At the weekend we decided to try something new in the way of grocery shopping and drive 10 miles to our nearest Waitrose. I had recently signed up for a Waitrose Card which sits alongside my Clubcard and Nectar card and needed trying out.

It has always fascinated me how supermarkets have replaced organised religion in this Country and how they have developed an image in the mind associated with their social ranking. Eg Waitrose - posh upper/middle class, Tesco - middle/working class, Aldi/Lidl -  working class etc. I realise this very British obsession with class is far more complicated than it appears and is possibly completely irrelevant in a 21st Century electronic economy where manufacturing and the use of indicators has all but died out.

However I walked into Waitrose expecting all my biased preconceptions and prejudices to be proven correct. I was prepared to be met by a melee of Teachers, Senior Administrators and land owning gentry calling things out to each other such as "Jocasta - have we got Hummus for both houses?" or "do come to supper, our Latvian au pair is presenting us with some authentic Aukstais galds and it'll be such fun". I had an Auntie Bessie crinkle cut home-style chip perfectly balanced on each shoulder.

Here are my observations:

1. Passing the tills, the "free" newspaper offer to Waitrose card holders had left large piles of Telegraphs and even larger piles of Daily Mails, whilst Guardians were long gone in a frenzy of early liberal left-leaning excitement. This was ticking my predictive boxes completely.

2. There appeared to be a long line of less-than-posh looking people queueing up for a free machine coffee near the front door. This wasn't fitting into my pre-cut mental jigsaw - where were  all the people with £900 Gaggia Machines and an obsession with grinding one's own beans?

3. The prices of everything were up to 15% higher than Tesco and a lot more than Lidl. I was able to verify this from my "Hello Lidlers" email which arrives weekly.

4. The general standard of dress of Waitrose clients was above average. The pinchy-faced teachers and glum cash-rich pensioners were all out in force.

5. Gravitating to the "reduced items" shelf, we purchase a pack of two "Charlie Bigham's Steak & Mushroom Pies" reduced from £7.00 to £5.85.  It was "Made in our kitchens at Coriander House, NW10". This is what it suggested on the side of the pack:

"Perfect for two - serve with a wink (sic)

Turn off the phone, dim the lights and crack open a bottle. Steal back some time by letting Charlie prepare you a truly delicious meal. All you hace to do is relax and enjoy each other's company"

When we got this package of marital delights home it transpired that each pie (although "pie" was surely an inadequate word for these little marvels) is in a ceramic ramekin. But surely Charlie, this is very non-green and bad for our lovely planet?

Charlie had already pre-empted our concerns and put a special card inside the box to allay our liberal sensitivities.

"Donate Your Ramekins! Don't throw your ramekins away - take them to your local charity shop instead. They'll sell them for £1 or £2 each, so you could help raise £££'s for charity!"

The pies were actually very nice and we have been truly comforted by the fact that poor people and council house dwellers will be able to benefit from our largesse by buying the empty dishes from charity shops with their state benefits.