The title is not a reference to yesterday’s amazing win by the English cricket team at Cardiff…although it was pretty amazing and I wish I’d been there on the last day. No, the title refers to the anniversary of the launching of the Titanic.

100 years ago today, in Belfast, the completed SS Titanic was set adrift, ready to sail the world. It was an incredible achievement which would be herald for at least 11 months before it ended up…well, we all know where it ended up.

Actually I read a book about marine archaeology years ago when I was studying for my undergrad degree, written by the guy who found the Titanic. His name is Robert Ballard and the book is The Eternal Darkness. I recommend it as a jolly good read, if you enjoy explorers reaching places where man has not yet trod (or sunk, in this case). I should add the warning that I have heard unfavourable reviews about it as well. Not that I care. I enjoyed it.

Anyway, according to a reporter on breakfast this morning, when quizzed about the sinking of the great unsinkable Titanic, Irish workers all shake their heads and say “It was fine when it left here!”

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬
Most of today was spent completing the mowing strip around the new, extended bed which now links the hot border with the rest of the garden. Here’s a before and after photo of it:

Mowing strip before & after

It was a long hard day but the finished product made it all worth it. And I didn’t have to do it all alone. Naturally the poodles helped me by guarding the hornbeam from marauding squirrels. To be honest I’m not really certain how this is supposed to help me but they assured me it was necessary.

I’m not actually sure why but the pair of them stood (and sat) beneath the hornbeam for most of the day just looking up. I tried to spot the offending beastie but, if I know the poodles, it had already gone and they were waiting for nothing. I think I heard distant laughter coming from the conifer which may have been a squirrel.

I also promised mum and dad a picture of our giant, mutant lavender so here it is:

The giant lavender in our front garden

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬
!!!!!NEWS FLASH!!!!!
Just before the 7 o’clock news on Radio 4 tonight, a very solemn man came on and announced that the ‘pip’ machine, which had been ‘pipping’ the hours before the news for years, had died and would ‘pip’ no more. He claimed that the BBC had thought about using an alternate sound (like a chime or a mobile phone tone) but had decided on a respectful silence instead to mark the passing of the revered machine. And so a moments silence and then the news. Genius.

Apparently there was a problem at 5pm. Hear about it here. And they are so much a part of this country that there was immediately a column about it. You can read it here.

Today I trundled off to the Globe to join the Weasels in our usual Gentleman’s Box, this time to see Shakespeare’s comedy, All’s Well That Ends Well. Not that the day started so well.

My plan was to catch a train into town, pop over the flat to drop off a change of clothes and then hightail it across to Bankside to meet the Weasels at the Anchor Inn, as usual, ready for the opening. South West Trains thought this plan was very silly and, in keeping with their practices of not particularly catering for their passengers, they changed the Sunday timetable, eliminating half the trains.

I’m sure they did this a while ago as the timetable poster quite clearly has one train an hour into London rather than the two an hour of old. Subsequently I had the pleasure of sitting on Farnham station for half an hour, wondering how fine I would be cutting it at the other end. It’s not like I could change the plan – I had a bag of clothes and my netbook, neither of which I really wanted to cart around the pubs of London.

For once, the Jubilee Line was working on a Sunday and I managed to get to the flat at 12, texting the Weasels that I would be late and would meet them at the Globe. Lorna responded by sending me a picture of my beer which they were forced to share out and drink between them.

Time was ticking frantically away – it always ticks faster when you haven’t much left – so I opted for a taxi. The rather pessimistic driver informed me that it would take about an hour to get to the Globe because of roadworks and diversions and general mayhem in the City. He reckoned the best option was to drop me at Southwark Bridge and I could walk across.

He wasn’t wrong about the traffic. It was horrendous. Southwark Bridge had become the favoured route across the river for everyone and appeared to be one long, single lane of parked vehicles. I walked across while they sat and waited. I sent my silent thanks to the god of taxi drivers.

I arrived at the Globe with minutes to spare, meeting the Weasels as they approached. They reiterated the fact that they had to drink my beer, which was very considerate of them. We took our place in the Gentleman’s Box and settled in for the performance.

We were nine Weasels – we should have been ten but Dawn decided to go to the Orkneys instead. John, Rob (who had been steadily drinking for 24 hours with a brief nap break in a corn field), Bev, Darren, Lorna, Lindy, Tottie (John’s niece, Lindy’s daughter who is an actor and who took Dawn’s ticket), Tom and me. Matt was also supposed to be there but for reasons not disclosed to me, didn’t turn up. I can’t say I was disappointed.

Our box, unlike other times, had no table. We were tempted to steal the pone in the box next to us but it was being used by the technical guys responsible for the subtitles so didn’t think we’d get away with it like we have in previous years. Given we were one short, it was easy to utilise the high stools for a food delivery surface.

The groundlings during interval at All's Well

I’m not a big fan of Shakespeare (as most people are well aware) and this play goes a long way to explaining why. I really have no idea why the characters did what they did. I could look up the plot but I think it preferable that I should try and explain it from where I sat and watched. Tottie said it was one of the ‘problem plays’ which means people have no idea whether it’s a comedy or a tragedy. I think Shakespeare was asked to write it in a hurry – maybe for a quick couple of quid or as per contract – and didn’t bother with the sense of the plot. Anyway, here is Gary’s version of All’s Well…

Some important guy (a count, maybe) is dead and his son (I didn’t catch his name so I’ll call him Boy) is off to the French court. In the house is a girl (Helen – though John seems to think it was Helena) who has grown up with Boy although she is not related to him. Maybe she was an orphan or they found her by the road…I couldn’t work that out. And, of course, she is in love with him and is rather dismayed that he’s off to Paris.

Then we meet the best character in the play. A rather dashing, foppish chap who I shall call Eddie (because he looked and sounded like Eddie Izzard and I didn’t catch his name either) is seen flirting outrageously with Helen, discussing the pointlessness of virginity. For me this was the funniest scene of the whole play and Eddie was superb. Actually he was excellent throughout the play.

So Boy and Eddie leave for Paris and Helen is all upset and distraught. She then has an idea. Someone has given her a miracle drug for some reason and she intends to cure the King of France in order to gain a request from him – Boy’s hand in marriage.

This all goes according to plan except Boy isn’t enthused. The King however, insists and they are married. Boy, however, refuses to consummate the marriage and, instead, goes off to Florence to fight in the war. Helen hatches a plan to follow him and ends up in, I think, a nunnery. She leaves a note behind intimating that she is dead.

She somehow manages to get Boy to bed one of the nuns during which there’s a lot of ring swapping between them. However, the nun tells Boy she will not speak during the act and it must be dark. This all goes according to plan and, I think, Boy was going to marry the nun.

Back in Paris everything comes out and the King discovers the ring that Boy has is the one he gave to Helen (I don’t remember this happening but clearly it did). Helen appears and says she isn’t dead and that Boy didn’t sleep with the nun but with her and she’s now pregnant with Boy’s child. Boy breaks down and they live happily ever after. I guess.

Somewhere in the middle of this, Eddie is kidnapped and tricked into thinking he’s been captured by the enemy and confesses lots of things about his master (Boy) and various other chaps – this was a wonderful scene played superbly. I’m pretty sure Shakespeare meant us to despise this fop but the actor was so good and so likeable that I actually liked him far more than the rest of them.

Because of his confessions he is left a sad, scruffy chap, stripped of his garish clothes. I’m not sure what else happens to him.

So, all in all, a bit confusing and, if you ask me, pointless. If you want to know the real storyline, I’ve found this link which may make things clearer.

After the performance, which we all agreed was quite enjoyable – some more enjoyable than others and at least it was better than last year’s Macbeth – we wandered across Blackfriars to the usual pub for a few pints before making the long trek across the City to the Bavarian Beer House at Tower Hill.

Weasels mincing on the way to the beer hall

Tom found out about this place while searching for Bavarian beer and, it was thought, we could relive the delights of Munich therein. Which we happily did. Big jugs of beer and white sausage. Fantastic!

White sausage and pretzel - doesn't get any better than this

After a few gallons of Bavaria’s best brew, we staggered across to the Anchor for a final pint before I bid them all farewell at London Bridge station. I was rather drunk but was back in the flat half an hour later and asleep about 10 minutes after that. What an excellent idea that was.

Last of the sun over the Thames

If you’d like to see John’s photos of the day, they are here. And I should give credits for the mincing and sausage shots, which were Lorna’s.

It was a plug that had been put in the wrong slot by the engineer on Monday. The engineer who arrived today at about 8:30 found the problem by eliminating everything bit by bit and replacing each bit with another one that worked until all he had left was the cabinet in the street. And that’s where he found it.

Why it worked at all is a mystery to everyone but, finally, it’s all working again. And it does seem faster. The TV is back as it should be as well. But I don’t care about that. I’m just happy I can get back online. I felt like I was in Venice again! ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I feel like I have to play a bit of catch-up. Yesterday’s post was in a hurry at work, between researching various people and places and was, therefore, rather short. It forgot to mention the fact that I went to the Farnham Maltings on Thursday night with Dawn to see Tom McConville, the Newcastle Fiddler.

He was fantastic. I’ve never seen someone play fiddle and sing at the same time but he manages it with ease. A very talented musician and very entertaining man. Although, as Dawn pointed out, he did bear a striking resemblance to Victor Meldrew.

Playing guitar next to Tom was a young guy who looked a lot like Keanu Reeves. His name is David Newey and he was fantastic. He has that amazing skill whereby the guitar sounds like it’s playing two different tunes at the same time. And it works. The both complimented each other very well.

They played in the Riverside Cafe at the Maltings, a very intimate venue which serves TEA, as Dawn’s blip shows clearly. It was an enjoyable evening, one which I hope to repeat in the future.

I’m off to the Globe with the Weasels tomorrow to see All’s Well That Ends Well or As You Like It…I can’t remember.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬
I made this short video at the beginning of the week but haven’t been able to upload it. So here it is now:

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬
I can’t believe someone searched the Internet for this: can sheep climb trees. Jolly funny.

Still without any Internet at home. I was called by the escalated level person yesterday afternoon and was told an engineer would come out on Saturday morning and fix it. Although I told the guy that someone had already ascertained that the issue was with BT and not in our house, he insisted that an engineer needed to visit. So now someone has to remain in the house from 8am-1pm on Saturday.

What really got up my goat was the fact that I returned home yesterday to a total of six messages from them. Three of them were celebrating the fact that our Vision TV was now happily transferred to the new Infinity drive and should be working.

These messages were not appreciated as the Vision box is still dead and will not show any sort of sign of life before the hub is working. I don’t know why. I’m beginning to think that once I have the Internet working, I’ll have to phone them about the Vision box.

Apart from my BT woes, a load of bricks arrived today, in preparation for the new mowing strip I’ll probably start on the weekend. I ordered 100 and they sent 108 – can’t argue with that! And the guy who delivered them was a lovely chap.

During the day I watched Oh, Brother Where Art Thou by the Cohen brothers. What a fantastic film! It’s a retelling of Homer’s Odyssey in the American depression. A highly recommended film for anyone who likes a clever, funny film with George Clooney in it. It has entered my top films list.

As I walked across Hungerford Bridge, I was greeted by the unusual sight of a row of beach huts extending alongside the Thames on South Bank. It all looked very summery with miles of bunting and hordes of people taking advantage of the weather. As I returned via Waterloo Bridge, I noticed an improvised beach continuing on from where the beach huts ended.

Beach huts outside the Royal Festival Hall, South Bank, London

I’m sure there’ll be people who say this is just copying the French with their beachifying the sides of Seine but I don’t care. I think it looks fabulous and I’m certain the people enjoying it would agree.

Of course, being a normal Wednesday, I was in London to have lunch with Mirinda. I had left home at 9 (an hour early) so that I could logon in Starbucks seeing as our Broadband connection hadn’t miraculously returned while I slept. Anyone who read the previous entry would realise that I had been assured BT would ring before 9. Naturally this didn’t happen and I left.

I was standing in the queue at Starbucks, waiting to be served when my phone rang, making everyone turn around, wondering why the theme tune for Curb Your Enthusiasm was blaring out of my bag.

I quickly unzipped the front compartment and extracted the phone, answering it within three rings.

“Hello?” I asked, knowing from the display that it was BT.

Nothing was the stern reply. They’d already gone. After three rings. What an amazing effort for a valued customer.

As I put my phone away I noticed it was exactly 9:20. It occurred to me that this could indicate two things. Either BT had fixed the problem and was letting me know or BT had forgotten to call me and was anxious to let me know they hadn’t fixed it. Call me cynical but I favoured the latter.

I think what annoyed me most (after all I’m getting used to the inept service) was the fact that they only held on for three rings. Do they think everyone holds their phone, just in case some service company might ring? Or that everyone has those stupid Borg devices welded to their head?

I’m beginning to wonder why we pay them so much money every month. OK, generally everything is fine but whenever I’ve had a problem, it’s been a bigger problem getting it sorted. It’s not like they have a monopoly. There are other companies we could use. Given the tough competition, should I assume that they’re all as bad? I mean there was the Optus Incident in Australia in December to bear in mind.

So I went to lunch with Mirinda, having no idea what sort of response I had coming from BT. I figured that I’d just have to spend another couple of hours on the phone when I returned home.

We met at Embankment Gardens as usual (although my cloak of invisibility was working very well and she didn’t see me for a while…well until I started jumping up and down and waving my hat at her) and wandered down to a lovely sandwich place near Heaven (where I was thrown out of – that just never gets dull) run by a rather jolly chap who seems to like everyone to indulge in a bit of butter. He tried valiantly to convince Mirinda that her toasted sandwich would be much better infused with it but to no avail.

With or without butter, the sandwiches were lovely and cost about a third as much as they would have in Venice. In the heart of London. I’m glad we don’t lunch in Venice every Wednesday.

After lunch we continued wandering around, enjoying the sights in tourist filled Convent Garden, before dropping Mirinda back to work. Given the fact that I’m probably going spend an extended amount of time on the phone, I decided to go straight home rather than finding a museum to visit.

The beach on South Bank

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬
I realise I haven’t reported on the most recent Nicktor Night. I shall, of course, rectify that immediately. However, there is a proviso; an injunction, if you will. Certain parts of the evening have been ‘zoned’. This means, in essence, that I am not allowed to discuss them. This has nothing to do with secret men’s business or private jokes or footballers having affairs with reality show contestants. Sadly it’s more to do with Nicktor’s choices in alternate viewing. But more (or not) about that later.

We have taken a bit of a fancy for revenge movies lately. To be fair, I LOVE revenge movies (it’s so Jacobean) but I think I’ve convinced Nicktor they’re jolly good fun. So our first film was Hard Candy.

An amazing film. It was filmed in the producer’s house and, basically, has a cast of two. It was filmed for under a million dollars. There’s no real action – it’s not an exciting movie – as it’s character and dialogue driven. There is no gore or ‘bloody violence’ as DVD sleeves love to say. But it is frightening and thrilling.

What excited me most about the movie were the performances of the two leads. Truly superb. If the Oscars were really about great acting then the 14 year old girl playing Hayley (Ellen Page) would have one. An extraordinary performance which I would liken to a young Jodie Foster in Taxi Driver. She could be an amazing talent if she continues to grow as a performer although her skills now are already equal to much older actresses who have fallen into the habit of playing one dimensional characterisations of themselves.

The guy, Jeff (Patrick Wilson) was also excellent. You were never quite sure whether he was a bad guy or a good guy. There were times you believed him and times you didn’t. Nearly all the time you knew you shouldn’t like him at all but he was a sympathetic character in a lot of ways. A wonderfully crafted and nuanced performance.

The other stars of the movie are the script (Brian Nelson) and the direction (David Slade). They are both sharp and minimalist, giving the audience just enough while not descending into unnecessary repetition, violence or shock graphics. It should be noted that I liked this movie very much.

The second film we watched was the first major film by the Cohen brothers, Blood Simple. Half an hour into the film, Mirinda rang so we paused it while I chatted for a bit. Up to this point, the film had been slow and measured, creating the perfect platform for what comes in the last hour. Not that Nicktor is ever likely to know this. When I hung up the phone he wanted to stop watching it, claiming it was slow and dull (or similar). I watched the rest the next day over lunch.

In fact, upon my ejecting the disk he was up on his feet and racing upstairs to what he terms ‘his room’ saying he had just the thing to watch. It is at this point that I have to tread very, very carefully in order not to breach the aforementioned injunction.

He returned with the first season of a sitcom which, to put it bluntly, hasn’t been seen on television for quite a few years (decades). We enjoyed it thoroughly going so far as to watch two entire episodes before calling it a night and retiring happy.

One other thing I should mention about the Nicktor Night is the fact that we didn’t drink any whisky. Not a drop. Amazing as this seems, it is entirely true. We did, however, drink half a bottle of 50% proof schnapps that he’d very thoughtfully brought back from Germany.
¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬
BT Update

As soon as I arrived home, I took the pesky poodles for a much needed run up the park, for which they were suitably grateful, if somewhat over exuberant and then I picked up the phone to call my arch nemesis.

Meanwhile in India some guy whose name I couldn’t hope to repeat informed me that he knew of my problem (which stunned me into silence) and that he had to run a few more tests and would ring me back. This he did 20 minutes later. He then informed me that in order for my problem to be ‘escalated to the next level’ he had to run one final test. Clearly I failed this final test because I was immediately escalated. Actually, thinking about it, maybe I passed.

One might think that being ‘escalated to the next level’ means some sort of urgent appeal to a higher power which would then swoop down and fix whatever the problem was (which would beg the question “why not go to this higher power in the first place then?”). One would, however, be completely wrong. Being ‘escalated to the next level’ means I will get a phone call tomorrow between 9 and 11. I don’t know what about because I couldn’t understand the guy on the phone.

A very interesting fact has just occurred to me. BT is a communications company. The acronym itself stands for British Telecommunications. The clue is in the name, after all. So why is it that when I talk to someone at their so called Help Desk, I can’t understand half of what they’re saying? If you ask me, their communications are failing them.

And another thing, while I’m at it. When you call them you have a few options to go through. I’m not moaning about that, it tends to make things easier if you can filter your calls to the right area so I’m in favour of it. However, one of the options is to select whether the problem is connected to your broadband, phone or Vision TV. Each time I’ve selected broadband and the very next thing they suggest is going onto their website and downloading their self help software.

Call me simple but I can’t think of a problem you’d be ringing them about that would allow you to access the Internet, let alone their website. It’s a bit weird. If I could go on to their website, I’d have a broadband connection and, therefore, not need to ring them. Even if you’re calling because your connection is slow, the last thing you’re going to do is try and download a piece of software because it would take forever. Though, by my reckoning, it sort of takes forever anyway.

I had a wonderful time on the telephone after returning from the shops. In case it’s not obvious, I’m being sarcastic.

It happens all the time when I have to ring BT – fortunately not something I’ve had to do very often – and I’m very confused why. I ring up with a problem and the person on the other end (generally in India) asks what the problem is. I explain, cheerfully enough and give as much detail as I can – having worked on a Help Desk I realise how important detail can be.

Today the person was trying to be helpful but couldn’t solve any of my problems (no TV, no broadband) and put me onto a Scottish woman. This seems to always happen as well. From India to Scotland. Sometimes the accent is just as hard to understand but not this time.

The Scottish lady was very helpful but, again, I had to tell her everything that had happened. This information included everything from when the engineer visited on Monday, connecting us up to the new Infinity broadband (it keeps reminding me of the Infinite Improbability Drive and I like to think, when it works, that I’ll be able to view every webpage at the same time whenever I go online).

As I say, she was quite helpful but only to the extent that she had to talk to lots of other people with no concrete results. Eventually she put me on to the most useless person I think I’ve ever had the misfortune of dealing with. When he asked me what the problem was I have to admit that I was bit annoyed. I asked him why I had to repeat everything for the third time. He said he had to check what the problem was. I gritted my teeth and repeated everything again.

And then came the clincher. This useless guy asked me if I had a pen and then gave me a number to write down. I thought it was going to be some sort of reference number but it turned out to be the phone number I’d originally dialled to place the problem call. My annoyance bubbled over a bit at this stage.

I asked him why I had to ring the same number I’d already rung in order to go through the whole ridiculous farce again. He continued to insist I had to call the number and choose option…it was at this stage that I became somewhat unreasonable. I managed to convince him that I’d already called the number (I’m sure he didn’t believe me) and that there was no way I was hanging up and calling again. I’d already committed nearly two hours to the problem and didn’t feel I should commit another two.

Mr Useless went silent and then asked me to hold while he spoke to someone. I sat fuming and listening to Edvard Grieg’s Morning for the umpteenth time. And then another chap came on the line and I prepared to tell my story again.

It was relief that this final chap didn’t ask and simply asked me to carry out a few tasks on the hub and the modem. None of these worked and he told me he’d run a few tests on the line. Sensibly he asked me to hang up and he’d call back after the tests had run their course. He rang back 20 minutes later to say the problem was external to the house and he’d be running more tests and getting an engineer to fix it. I thanked him and hung up.

I then saddled up the dogs and went to the park for a lovely walk.

Later in the day I was happily ploughing the backyard when BT rang back just to let me know that our broadband still wasn’t working – I assured her I knew – but that I shouldn’t call them again as they were working on it. She told me that someone would call me before 9am on Wednesday to let me know what was happening. And that was how it was left.

We were still without broadband or TV at 10pm. Why, oh why, did I change to a faster yet non-existent broadband connection? Clearly I’m an idiot.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬
I heard a wonderful update this afternoon on the rapture that didn’t happen last Saturday. Apparently it did happen but on a spiritual plane. The physical rapture will be happening on October 21. That doesn’t help the people who sold up everything and quit their jobs.

Yesterday I had to stay in from 1 to 6, waiting for the man from BT to come and upgrade our Internet connection to the new super fast model. When he did arrive he was more boy than man. He seemed to be very competent but he looked about 12. Seriously.

In the morning I’d purchased a wireless doorbell so I could happily work in the garden and still hear when he came to the door. He surprised me by calling on the phone to say when he’d be with me. The phone I would not have heard in the back garden and it was sheer luck that I was walking by the phone when he rang.

The morning in the garden was spent digging a new bed. I say new but actually it is an extension to the existing beds, joining the border by the back door to the hot border by skirting the holly tree. It was hard work but at least the weather was kind – just very windy. I managed about half of it and will finish (hopefully) today. I have a load of bricks arriving on Thursday for the mowing strip so that’s, more or less, my deadline.

Anyway, the BT guy was in and out in half an hour, assuring me everything was up and running and working fine. He told me he loved jobs like mine. He’d had one last week that took five hours. I think maybe he should have taken five hours doing ours!

Still, at first all was fine with the Internet connection. I changed the computers to recognise the new hub and there was a significant increase in speed, even on the PC upstairs which suffers from the lead flashing in the fireplace.

My first problem was apparent at around 6pm when I put the TV on while waiting for Nicktor to arrive – it was our first Nicktor night for ages. The Vision TV box refused to work. I rebooted it but this merely confirmed that it wasn’t going to do anything productive. I considered calling them straight away but with Nicktor due in 15 minutes, I figured I could live without it. The aerial still worked and we only watch DVDs so it wasn’t a major disaster.

But then, this morning, everything went Pete Tong. I picked up the phone to ring mum and dad and had no dial tone. The light on the Internet hub was orange (it should be blue) and the TV still didn’t work. I was effectively cut off from the civilised world.

It’s times like this that I think how lovely it would be living in a cave with a long beard and absolutely no reliance on any technology beyond a stone axe. This feeling never lasts very long because it suddenly occurs to me that I’d also have to give up beer, whisky and Nicktor Nights. And coffee. I then shiver and move on.

Of course, I still had my mobile so I wasn’t really cut off. And then the phone decided to make a come back. I quickly rang mum and dad and we had a lovely chat though I was a little concerned that the phone was suddenly cut out in the middle of a sentence. It didn’t but the Internet light was still orange when I left to go shopping.

Fortunately my Starbucks card means I get free wifi, which is where I typed and entered this post. Thank you, Starbucks.

Tonight was our second Humanist meeting. I can report that it was about a million percent better. In fact, I’m pretty sure my wife would say that there’s really no comparison. Actually, she even asked a question! Great stuff it was too.

Our speaker was James Thomas from the Winchester Skeptics in the Pub and he told us about how the Skeptics started and flourished. He was terribly excited about everything and his passion was obvious.

I’ve read about and listened to the Skeptics already so I wasn’t completely in the dark. Reading Ben Goldacre and his Bad Science column in the Guardian helps as well. Basically, they debunk things. Generally dangerous things but also things that people just accept as true because they’re told by someone in authority that they are. It’s all very healthy and the whole Skeptic movement tries to keep the big boys honest. It’s not easy and generally not very successful but at least they meet in pubs.

Speaking of pubs…earlier in the day we popped up to Odiham to find out if St John’s has closed. And sadly it has! It looks like they’ve gone bankrupt. Heavy hearted we went across the road for lunch at Next Door at the George and watched the windows in the window…if you know what I mean. ‘Tis indeed a sad day. We will need to find somewhere else to eat well.

Lamb is easily my favourite roast. Of course it has to be accompanied by roast potatoes and my own special gravy. As a celebratory dinner it’s pretty high on the list.

Of course, we were going to visit St John’s to celebrate my graduation in style but all week no-one has answered the phone. Generally they have an answering machine where you can leave your booking and they ring you back but even this has disappeared. We are facing the awful truth that our favourite restaurant has closed.

Given the Awful Truth, we decided I’d cook a celebratory dinner instead. Mirinda immediately opted for my signature dish of camembert parcels followed by venison and fig tart. I need a day’s warning to make my brulee so we went for syllabub for dessert. Sadly Waitrose did not agree with our choice. They had no venison and no figs! This sort of destroys the dish somewhat so the second string option was called in and I cooked a roast.

In the morning Mirinda had her first guitar class for ages (she was a bit rusty but her teacher said it could be part lesson, part practice) while I went for supplies.

After lunch Mirinda studied while I marked out the new bed extension in the garden in preparation for the load of bricks that are arriving on Tuesday. I’m quite keen on anything that reduces the mowing but I have a feeling that the constant weeding required with this bed expansion may just outweigh the benefits! Still, the mowing strip will be a great improvement. It also sorts my week out very well.

While I prep’ed for dinner, Mirinda took the poodles up to Hankley for a lovely if somewhat soldier ridden, walk. She returned to a delightfully lamb scented house. Like baking bread, the smell of roast lamb is wonderful and always makes me wonder how vegetarians can resist the power of the odour.

The meal was delish and afterwards we settled down to watch Made in Dagenham, a wonderful movie in the same vein as Calendar Girls; the sort of movie the English do so well. Highly recommended for anyone who likes a feel good movie with great performances. Sally Hawkins shines as the main character, the woman who brought out the machinists at Ford’s Dagenham branch in the late 1960’s. Miranda Richardson has a wonderful role as Barbara Castle, Minister of State, an amazing woman in her own right.

So, a lovely relaxed day with no downs and many ups.

Today was my first day back at the Science Museum after a month. And quite a few things have changed. Actually, if I was to avoid any exaggeration, two things have changed.

Firstly Exhibition Road. The pedestrianization has progressed to the front of the Science Museum, cutting off the Director’s Entrance and causing mayhem with the general entrance/exit to the museum for visitors. Fortunately I only use the group entrance which is unaffected. Although I do now need to cross Exhibition Road to the V&A before crossing back because of the single lane of traffic, driving a slalom between the witches’ hats. In fact Barbara almost came a cropper there this morning, running into an immovable pedestrian as a wing mirror attempted to maim her.

The second change, which has a lot more impact on me is the new caterers. For some reason the Science Museum has decided to switch to a new lot (money, presumably) and they have changed things about, including staff by the look of things.

Ostensibly, it all looks the same but on closer examination, and when you’ve visited as many times as I have, the changes are immediately apparent. The baguettes are better and the coffee is situated in a much better place. It’s also prepared by a human rather than a machine and therefore tastes a lot more like a coffee based beverage and less like something that needs a pound of sugar to make it even approach palatable. It even comes in a china mug!

After a delightful lunch (it wasn’t too crowded) I popped up to inspect the shipping gallery. They have an amazing collection of model ships. I’m thinking the Maritime Museum has more but this would have to go a close second.

They have a wonderful model of the SS Great Britain, which we visited in Bristol (here). I took a few photos, attempting to replicate images from the real one.

The SS Great Britain at the Science Museum

OK, it’s not nearly so impressive inside a glass display case. I can see that.

The other night I watched a TV programme about the saving of the canals in the early and mid 20th century. It was a great (if somewhat anoraky) piece, showing home movies of people who were witness to the state of decay the canals had sunk to as well as the restoration. Of course it featured quite a few painted barges.

As the cost of transporting cargo became unsustainable, most of these boats were crewed by the man who owned it and his wife (with any kids resulting from the close quarters living, helping). The barges became their homes as well as their livelihood. They worked as an efficient team and in most cases, never left the river for any great amount of time.

One man told how, as a child, the barge would pull in at a particular town and his father would tell him to jump ashore and get off to school. He’d only be there an hour and it was time to leave as the boat had finished loading/offloading and had to set off again. As he said, he didn’t learn anything from school.

You might be wondering what the connection is between this programme on British canals and my day in the Science Museum. Well, here it is:

The How a Lock Works display at the Science Museum

It shows how a lock works by using a narrow boat, a lock keeper, his wife and the couple on the boat. This is the back section (clearly).

Anyway, after wandering the display cases of boats and more boats (no gondolas though) I returned to work, researching a few chaps and learning about the stocking knitting machine, invented in the late 1500s by a guy who has slipped out of history as if he was never there and the guy who subsequently invented an attachment that went on the front of it in order to make ribbed stockings, who is not only remembered for it but is very famous for designing a few bridges across the Thames as well.

Nick was full of praise for my work and I left work with a bigger head than I arrived with.