The House Husband

Yesterday the BBC news was all about the new Olympic stadium. It was exactly two years before the opening ceremony so they were looking at how it’s all going. Everyone is cheerful that it is all on schedule. There were lots of different people talking about the mounting excitement. There was a list of dates to remember – when you could sign up to volunteer, when you could enter the ballot for tickets, etc.

There was also a piece on female boxing, which will make an appearance for the first time in London. It’s beyond me why anyone would box let alone women. Still, each to his (or her) own. This thought struck me on the train home this afternoon. not the boxing, but the new events they introduce at the Olympics. I have one for them. I call it First Off The Train or FOTT for short.

The rules of FOTT are simple. It’s all about the strategy. How long to prolong the sitting down before standing in order to be first at the door in the carriage nearest the exit at the station. It’s a question of total points for various stages in the competition.

Some people are really pathetic; they really have no idea. Take this guy today. A total amateur. The train departed Aldershot and this guy immediately stands by the door, his finger already poised above the door open button. It’s six minutes between Aldershot and Farnham! Now, naturally, he’d get points for being the first off the train, say 3 points, but nothing for getting up so early.

Making the scoring as simple as possible, extra points would be awarded for the length of time before the station. So, on a six minute run, there’d be no points for six minutes, 1 for five minutes, 2 for four and so on.

The woman in the silver position performed much better. She waited until the on-board announcement before standing. This is generally about two minutes before arrival. She was closely followed by a steady stream of others. For this perfect positioning, she’d be awarded 4 points for waiting the extra four minutes. Receiving 2 more points for second place, she’d, in fact, win gold with 6 points in total.

Another 4 would go to the third person, giving him or her a total of 5 points and silver. And the loser who stood up for six minutes, tapping nervously away at the door release button would only receive bronze.

I figure some people are really, really weird.

I was in town today to have lunch with Mirinda, which I shared with one of her colleagues, and to take a penultimate load of stuff from Florin Court to the new flat. Interestingly, the cab cost exactly the same even though it was a busy, traffic laden trip on a Wednesday. Amazing. Love the London cabs, I do.

I spent most of today running test scripts against online databases for my dissertation. Truly dull.

And to cap it off, Nicktor is not coming over tonight. So I’ll have to run some more test scripts.

One light, however. A while ago I dropped an iPod Touch down a toilet and it stopped working – June 19, to be exact. After trying lots of ways to dry it and fix it I had almost given up when I decided to Google it. Apparently I’m not alone in my plight. Two suggestions I figured were worth a try. One involved putting the iPod in the oven at 50 degrees for an hour. This would be my last resort.

The other was simple. Leave it in the sun for a week. Don’t move it, don’t try and charge it, don’t even touch it. This one I tried. For a week it has sat on the dining table. Unmoved but, when it was sunny, bathed in sunlight. And today the week was up.

You have to remember this iPod has been completely dead; not a flicker of anything even remotely approaching life. As soon as I hit the power switch, it sprang back to life! It seems to be perfectly ok now. Astounding. I love the Internet. So much. Thank you, guys.

I left Mirinda to work at home today as I left for the Science Museum for my Monday volunteering. It’s been so long since my first day that I’d completely forgotten what I was supposed to be doing so I had to ask Kevin. I felt a right idiot! Still, it didn’t take too long and I was soon back into the swing of things.

The medical stuff I do on Mondays is not as interesting as the Art Project however, I did find out something I didn’t know. Apparently, in the late Victorian age, pewter nipple shields were all the rage. Dr Wansborough invented them in 1842. And they only cost 2 shillings for a pair. Dr Wansborough’s Pewter Nipple Shields. Just the thing for cracked and sore nipples.

The idea was that the pewter would prevent the cracking and irritation. The trouble is that pewter is mainly lead and there was a bit of a rise in lead poisoning among babies. Mother’s were advised to wash their nipples and the shield before feeding their tots but, it seems, some did not.

I found two interesting letters sent to the British Medical Journal in 1949. They were in response to an article condemning the use of the pewter shields. One was from RG Howatt who was concerned that the lead would poison the babies and should be banned. In fact, by this time, according to the doctor, they were a bit of an antique item anyway as he couldn’t buy one anywhere.

The second letter was from R McLaren Todd, a nursing mother who had used the lead shields while nursing her three babies and, just about to have her fourth, was concerned what she could use instead. She was very worried that they would be removed from sale without first giving nursing mothers another option.
Anyway, they were banned and these days they’re all plastic. However, it made me wonder about the weight and discomfort. I know they were only small but the part they were designed to protect would be awfully tender. Surely.

Besides, Maw’s came out with a glass one later in the 1800s so I’m amazed that Mrs McLaren Todd hadn’t heard of them. Maybe she figured the older one was best. Maybe she didn’t believe in doctors either. Possibly a gypsy told her what to do.

We have moved Mirinda into her new flat. I have to say that this has been the most painless move EVER. Though it took a little longer than both of us thought it would. This is mostly because of Transport for London but also because Mirinda has managed to acquire a lot of stuff in the short time she’s been at Florin Court.

Mirinda stayed in town Friday night so she could wash and pack, ready for me to arrive first thing. When I say first thing, I arrived at 11 but I was up early to take the poodles for a walk first thing. I was then on the train and then bus. And Mirinda had a surprise for me.

I had maintained that the move would take one trip in a taxi with two suitcases and a few bits and pieces. Boy, was I wrong. She’s already packed the two as well as having a whole collection of Hessian bags full of stuff. And the flat was still full of stuff!

Anyway, we took what we had and hailed a cab for the Isle of Dogs, arriving around 12. Mirinda collected the keys from the concierge, after a brief chat with a foul mouthed window cleaner who had a very original (ineffective) way of touting for business and we let ourselves in.

What a difference to Florin Court! In fact, the entire flat at Florin Court could probably fit into the new bedroom. There’s so much space that I’m sure it will take at least a month for Mirinda to fill it up. Here’s a picture of the lounge and kitchen, which is so much better than mine!

Lounge and kitchen of the new flat

After a short time emptying the bags, I left for another trip to Florin Court while Mirinda went shopping for essentials like sheets and food.

I walked across to the station at Canary Wharf to discover that the Jubilee Line was closed for maintenance. No problem, I figured. I’ll take the Dockland Light Railway to Bank then change for the Circle Line. This started well enough – a minute wait for the DLR train then an uneventful, though crowded, trip to Bank.

The thing with Bank station is that it involves a lot of walking. From one end to the other is about two miles through tunnels, up and down stairs and generally fighting people coming from both directions. I eventually arrived at the Circle Line platform to find out that the Circle Line is closed for maintenance all day as well.

I stood crying for a bit then tried to work out a way to get to Barbican without the Circle Line. Eventually I decided to walk. Fortunately the two suitcases I had with me were empty and on wheels.

It took me about 15 minutes and I quickly packed the suitcases with as much as I could then hailed a second cab to take me back to the Isle of Dogs, arriving at about 3. Mirinda had been busy, buying some lunch and visiting the world’s biggest Waitrose for some sheets and pillowslips.

After unpacking and planning the final move (on Wednesday) we left for home. This took four hours. Mainly because the Jubilee Line was closed.

We decided to take the ferry – big mistake! For a few reasons. It was the first Saturday of the school holidays, it was a Saturday in London and the Circle and Jubilee Lines were shut.

We only had a wait of 10 minutes for the next ferry but it was late and then didn’t pick anyone up! Ages later we finally managed to be among the 47 people who were allowed to join the next one.

The thing with the ferry is, after the first bit, it creeps along at about 1 knot for the rest of the journey. This is normally a pleasant little ride but not when you’ve been moving flat all day.

After a very long time we arrived at Waterloo and realised we’d just missed the 7pm train and had to wait half an hour. Mirinda went hunting for food while I waited with the empty suitcases.

We eventually walked into the house at 9pm and were attacked by two excited puppies. What a day. Personally, I blame Boris Johnson.

Just to end on a bright note, here’s the view from Mirinda’s new balcony.

The view from the balcony

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I see that Nicktor has starting making comments on the blog. Interestingly, he doesn’t seem to be able to spell his own name! Fair enough, I guess, he didn’t make it up in the first place.

Yes, we completed today. The Canary Wharf flat is now ours. Well, the bank’s really but you know what I mean. We were originally going to move Mirinda in on Wednesday but it was all too exciting and we couldn’t wait, so we’re doing it tomorrow (Saturday). Yay!

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I had a great time researching today at the Science Museum. I am constantly amazed by the number of incredibly obscure people there are. I shouldn’t be really, because there has been an awful lot of people on the planet at one time or another and they can’t all be well known. However, it amazes me that there are people who do one thing, are lionised for it then slip back into obscurity. One such chap was Samuel Crompton.

In 1779, Samuel invented the Spinning Mule. No, I’d never heard of it either but, apparently, it was really, really important during the Industrial Revolution. Crompton was a one-invention type of guy but this one invention revolutionised mechanised weaving. Trouble was, poor old Crompton was a lousy businessman.

The reason he created the Mule was in order for his business to spin muslin. It was very successful. So much so that other factories would send spies to try and work out how he did it. It drove him to distraction to the point where he was determined to either destroy it or go public with it. Sadly, he could not afford the £100 to take out a patent and, while factory owners said they’d give him a bit of dosh for it, once the machine was up and running, they sort of forgot. He only managed to get around £60 for it.

He went back to spinning and, somehow, managed to get a bunch of people to pay him £500 in 1800. but then a massive blow. Another inventor, Edmund Cartwright invented the power loom and parliament gave him a grant of £10,000! Poor Samuel was a bit miffed (he was from ‘oop north’ so he probably said something a little earthier than ‘miffed’) and set about trying to claim a grant for his Mule.

He set off on a tour of the north to collect evidence of how much his Mule was being used. When it came time to present the evidence he stuffed it up a bit and, after a long wait, he eventually received £5,000. Joyously he set up a bleaching business…which failed. Unknown to Samuel, his friends clubbed together and gave him an annuity of £65.

Interestingly, while it’s very easy to feel sorry for poor old Samuel, when he needed the £100 for the patent, he gave £100 to his church, which is somewhat short sighted. While one can laud his ill-judged philanthropic gesture, it could have been a lot bigger had he taken out a patent instead.

He eventually died in 1827, sad and miserable…actually I have no idea if he died sad and miserable but I thought it an appropriate image to end on.

I read with interest today (in The Times) that the inventor of the Black Box Flight Recorder died on Monday. He really had to work hard to get anyone to buy into the idea but he really believed it was the way forward. A way to record, not just the state of a planes instruments but also a record of the talk in and between the cockpit and the ground.

His wasn’t the first invented, though. In 1939 two French chaps made one that used photography. While their device was tested in France for 30 years, it was never used in commercial flights and it didn’t record any voices.

David Warren (his full name was David Ronald de Mey Warren) was an Australian. He was the first child of European descent to be born on the island of Groote Eylandt, off Arnhem Land. From here went to Tasmania then Sydney and ended up in Melbourne where he became established as an electronics expert.

Although Warren’s device was first created as a prototype in 1957 it wasn’t introduced into commercial planes until 1960 following a crash in Mackay.

It was originally called the Red Egg (because it looked like one) but, for some reason not known, it became the Black Box.

He lived a long and rewarding life, dying at the age of 85. I bet he was very pleased when, in 2008, Qantas named one of their Airbus A380s after him.

The reason I took to his story is the fact that he perceived how important his device could be and didn’t give up even though most people in the industry were not interested. A very important man who was awarded the Order of Australia in 2002.

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As well as reading The Times, I had lunch with Dawn today. We had a jolly good natter while Polly nattered to the garden fence and Basil relaxed on the lawn. Once the rain had fled, the day was sparkling and lovely.

Last night, being a Tuesday and seeing as Nicktor decided to stop his jaunting around Europe for a bit, was a Nicktor Night. He promised me a surprise. His text message said I would be excited. I thought, maybe, he’d bought me something memorable back from Italy…Spain…Amsterdam. But, no, it was far more exciting than that!

He was a bit later than usual because the traffic betwixt us was terrible (actually his words were far more graphic but I think this paints the picture accurately enough). We decided to have lamb burgers up at the 6 Bells because there wasn’t a lot of beer at home. Stocks have not been replenished due to the Brittany absence. My priorities were clearly all wrong…however, the Everard’s Tiger bitter went down very well and we were graced with the presence of Nicktor’s favourite acerbic barmaid. The beer garden was awash with early evening sunshine and beckoned us.

Nicktor has a problem with decisions. It is possible to stand for days in a bar as he makes up his mind what food to select (this isn’t a problem with beer, I should add). The lamb burgers were off the menu tonight so I knew we were there for the long haul. If I have a few weeks to spare, I’ll just let him phaff around a bit but I wanted to sit down and hear of his travels so I told the barmaid he wanted the first thing he said. Which was a curry.

Because he’d been ‘umming’ and ‘ahing’ all over the place, she asked if he was sure. This is a very dangerous thing to do as it upsets his equilibrium and amplifies his indecision mode to maximum. Fortunately I know this so deflected any chance of any lengthy waffling by telling her, emphatically, that he wanted the curry. I then, almost, dragged him outside.

We had a lovely dinner and he spoke of his European Sojourn with the reverence normally reserved for high Catholic mass. He said it was boring but intense. Apart from the World Cup games he managed to catch in various European bars, the meetings were pretty full on and the travel never really let up. He was particularly pleased with the four hour train trip to Milan. This is unusual for Nicktor as he normally hates train journeys longer than 10 minutes. It seems the power point next to his seat was a big plus. I guess the last thing you want is a flat laptop on a four hour trip to Milan. There are only so many safety brochures you can read.

Anyway, after a couple of pints and a good feed, we strolled back along the lane (talking to Mirinda on the way) and prepared ourselves for our cinematic delights. And my eyes lit up when he produced the delights we would be viewing. Saw V and Saw VI! Genius!

Finally, the mysteries would be cleared up, the loopholes filled and the motives become plain. I had read on the imdb, that Saw V was supposed to be the worst of the franchise and didn’t really tell the viewer very much but I disagree. While the blood and gore was worse and, if it’s actually possible, a tad more gratuitous, the story, through a series of well plotted and executed flashbacks, started making sense. Saw VI was more of the same while pushing the story forwards as well.

The review I read claimed the main character, Jigsaw, who had changed into someone else after the death of the original (in the movie, not in real life) was intent on battling the FBI guy in Saw V and the whole Jigsaw raison d’etre was thrown out the window. However, if the viewer sees the series of movies as a very long TV series, the fifth part would be the chase with the goodie closing in on the baddie so naturally the focus would shift a bit. Jigsaw, while trying to play out the games started by his predecessor (and mentor), is also contending with this annoying gnat of a detective who, to all intents and purposes, should have died. I actually enjoyed Saw V a hell of a lot more than III and IV.

Saw VI was a great ending to the franchise, bringing back characters and closing the remaining gaps in the story. It was also pretty intense. I note that production has just been completed on Saw VII!

But I did have a problem with all the films after the first, and this may be a problem with other franchise films when the creative control is taken over by someone else. The first Saw film was excellent. It had everything (apart from any laughs, I hasten to add) from plot twists to clever use of the camera to induce effects in the viewer. It also had a good cliff-hanger ending, leaving it open for a second movie.

This is all good but, sadly, the rest of the movies, apart from the basic premise and the guy who played Jigsaw, referred only to themselves and seemed to have forgotten the first one. Even to the extent that one of the characters says to the main cop (Hoffman) that he’d been on the Jigsaw case from the beginning. This was not true. Hoffman turned up after the first movie. It was as if the first movie was so good, it was impossible to mesh the rest of the story with it.

Our biggest beef was the fact that the doctor in the first film, while escaping, appears to have never returned despite promises by forum members of the imdb. This was very annoying. Nicktor thinks that with the movies coming out at the cinema with the distance of years between them, time would dull any recollection by the audience and they’d forget the minutiae, which I agree with. However, in a world of DVDs and crazy people who enjoy watching them one after the other, this can be a problem.

Even given the above, we totally enjoyed the two final Saw movies and I agree with everyone who says how brilliant they are. We started watching Dragnet afterwards but, while we were enjoying the playful satire, it put us to sleep. So we went to bed.

As a little side fact, I was watching an episode of The Sopranos during lunch and Chris, one of the main characters, was watching the first Saw movie in one of the scenes, which brought back sweet memories.

Anyway, ‘twas another great Nicktor Night, with beer drank, chat chatted and movies watched. Next week there’s the promise of a pre-season friendly at Aldershot so the horror theme of Nicktor Nights may just continue.

I waved Mirinda off to work this morning then had a day of running around. I had to go over to Fleet about the flat (we exchanged last week and should complete on Friday), which took most of the day.

Back home, after lunch, I took the poodles up to the park where we met a little chocolate cross between a cocker spaniel and a miniature poodle (‘cockerpoodle’ I assume). I spoke the owners for a bit as they wanted to know about our poodles. The puppy was called Polly and Carmen was a tad wary of her. Day-z just wanted me to pick her up as she’s nervous around anything she doesn’t understand…which is just about everything.

I mowed the lawn and managed some study. And that was my day.

Nicktor is coming over tomorrow night (first time in ages because of his Grand Tour) and has an enlarged hand because of an insect bite. I am calling it the ‘freak monster hand’.

This post is really for dad. Something that has been a thorn in my genealogical side has been extracted and I am rejoicing!

A bit of background. Sarah Jane Adlam is dad’s grandmother on his father’s side. She is the only person I have a lot of information on from that side. Even so, although I have a death certificate, seen her grave and have a rough date of birth, I was still very much in the dark regarding her. Mostly this was because of the name. Dad’s aunt Lilian (nee Cook) was the witness on the death certificate.

Where did Adlam come from? Logically, she would have been ‘Cook’, unless she remarried before she died. And it has been impossible to find either a death or birth certificate for dad’s father, which may have given me some sort of clue.

What I do have is dad’s father’s marriage certificate on which he states that his father’s name was Ernest Cooke and he was a general dealer. This was in 1926. His age is 21 so it puts his birth at around 1905. And this was the dead end I was sat facing.

I would occasionally return to the Adlam/Cook(e) problem and always leave frustrated. It was sticky. I found plenty of Adlams…I even found a Sarah Jane Adlam. She was born in Wiltshire. I followed her family back a loooooooong way. All to no avail as it was not her.

And then…I struck gold! I accidentally discovered an Ernest Adlam marrying a Sarah Cook. This, in itself, is not that surprising. The names are not that uncommon but what was uncommon was the combination of names. They were transposed.

Their marriage was registered in Kensington, another coincidence, which is where the whole clan came from. I decided to bite the bullet and send off for the certificate. It arrived while we were in Brittany.

It shows that Ernest Adlam, 41 year old Bachelor, greengrocer married Sarah Cook, 41 year old spinster on April 25, 1916. Both their father’s were deceased. The real clincher, however, is the address. At the time of the marriage, they were both living at 159 Kensal Road. This is where Sarah Jane Adlam died. So it had to be the same person. Or the coincidences were just ridiculous!

Now there’s a problem. Ernest Cook(e), dad’s father, was born in around 1905 but his mother (Sarah) was a spinster up until 1916 when she married Ernest Adlam. I have searched for his birth certificate under Ernest Cook, Cooke and Adlam but to no avail. This could mean that it wasn’t registered at all, something that happened a lot with the working classes, especially with unmarried mothers. Which makes it next to impossible for me to find anything out about his father! Of course, I shall keep looking for his birth and death certificates.

Sarah, however, may have the following story: She met Ernest Adlam sometime around 1905. They had a fling and she fell pregnant. Either her father or his, did not want them to marry and made provision of some sort for the child. By 1916 both father’s had died and the pair married. They were already living at the same address so it was just a formality, really. Ernest Cook(e), dad’s father, retained the name ‘Cook’ because it was his mother’s maiden name, or because he was bought up by his grandfather, or for some other odd reason (maybe he didn’t like Adlam!).

This all leads me on to greater heights which I am now able to scale. I have Sarah’s father and his occupation and I have a ‘Louisa Cook’, witness on her marriage certificate who is clearly a relation of some sort. The Adlam connection is a bit more tenuous, however, and I may have to drop it unless I finds some hard evidence to confirm it.

Anyway…a red letter day!!!