The House Husband

In an extraordinarily stupid bit of news today, it seems the people of Malawi will no longer be able to break wind. Well, in public anyway. Remarkable. Read this for a jolly good chuckle. It’s interesting how a lot of nations are rioting for democracy while Malawi seeks to correct the real world issues.

Meanwhile back in merry old England…the weather continues grimly. I was all set to collect the poodles today but then a few things occurred to me so I extended their tripe quotient by a day. My reasons are:

1. I wanted to repair some electrical problems in the house and whenever I lie down on the floor, both of them think it’s a game and jump all over me. This could be a problem when it comes to changing electrical junction boxes on the skirting board. I also needed to pop down to Homebase for a bit of kit, which they hate me doing.
2. I’m off to see Aldershot play tonight which would have meant a lonely night for them both just after a stay away for the weekend and I thought they’d prefer if I didn’t go out.
3. I want to walk them home after I pick them up and with no rain today and sun promised tomorrow, it seemed a better option to walk them home tomorrow.
4. I needed to go shopping for supplies, which, obviously, I had to do before picking them up which would have meant picking them up in the afternoon, washing them then leaving them for a few hours (see reason 2).

And so, tomorrow, nice and early, I shall set off on the bus then return across country for the five mile tramp home and, hopefully, get it right this time.

As well as the electrical work, I busied myself in the garden seeing as it wasn’t raining – though it was cold today…it didn’t get above 5 all day.

One of Mirinda’s big jobs for me was getting rid of the golden hop. In the heights of summer, this is beautiful as it spreads somewhat haphazardly up, down and across the fence that divides us with the Crazies. In the winter, however, it is a different story. It looks awful. Like so many dead tentacles, wound tightly around flimsy bits of green wire. Here is what it looked like after lunch:

Dead golden hop on the fence

I cut away at it, machete in hand, slashing and sparing nothing in my frenzy. I was a whirlwind. I had no idea of the time as I bent to my task, picking the reluctant branches away, untwisting them from the green wire. The day grew older as I worked backwards into the garden, picking up the detritus that once was old growth. I stuffed it into the barrow, winding it around like some giant blue tit nest and flung it, triumphantly onto the stick pile. I’m expecting a pelican to take it away in the night and set it up as an exclusive Dural residence. The fence now looks like this:

No golden hop any more

But I didn’t stop there. I was flushed with success and my blood was still up so I grabbed the branch shears and attacked the butterfly bushes with renewed gusto, reducing them to pollard like structures, reaching for the sky with twiggy fingers. The branches eventually joined the hops on the twig pile.

I stood back and admired my handiwork and I saw it was good. I rested for a day before creating the seas.

I feel a great sense of achievement. The hops are gone and the stairs now have a working light. Life is good. Now, as long as Aldershot beat Gillingham tonight, all will be perfect.

That’s who the Shots are playing tonight. And, yes, it’s another Nicktor Night. I thought it was dinner down the pub and a couple of movies but, no, it’s football! Let’s hope there’s no fog tonight and the rain goes away.

After yesterday’s lovely weather, it was back to grey and gloomy today. So, apart from the usual trip to the shops after chatting to mum & dad, I’ve been busy with the housework, only opening the door for Day-z to go to the toilet.

She actually understands the word ‘toilet’. I open the door. She looks up at me. I say “toilet” and she trots outside and goes. Amazing. Handy with her incontinence though. Mirinda calls her Miss Pissy Wissy, for obvious reasons.

Speaking of Mirinda, she was shmoozing with the elite today, having breakfast at the House of Commons (mum asked if she was mixing with the Lords until I reminded her that they are in the House of Lords…the clue is in the name, mum). For work, obviously. Her ex-boss was there. I’ve not yet heard what happened.

I posted mum’s present today using the automated post office machine. I much prefer the machine as there’s always a queue in our post office. You touch the screen, answer some queries, pop the item on the scales and then pay. You then stick bits of paper all over the item then pop it in the Post & Go box. It’s all over in next to no time. For some reason (techno-fear, I assume) most people prefer to queue up. I laugh at them as I leave.

The same at Sainsbury’s. They have automatic scanning things so you can pick and scan your own groceries. Of course, I’d never do that in Waitrose as I do enjoy my chats with Julie (and the other Waitrose ladies) but at Sainsbury’s…well, I don’t know anyone and rarely shop there anyway. I like pretending I’m a check-out chap. Naturally I get irritated when the barcode doesn’t read, just like the professionals. The thing is, it’s a lot quicker. If I’m going to spend time waiting, I’d rather do it in my lounge room.

An automatic machine I’m not that keen on is the coffee machine at the Science Museum. The coffee is ok, I guess, but it takes forever and sometimes only dispenses drinks I don’t want because the coffee bit is being deep cleaned by some internal machinery. It’s quite frustrating. Still, a small price to pay, I suppose.

And so, it’s off to the Rec tonight to, hopefully, cheer the Shots to victory. Here’s hoping I don’t get too wet.

Another Nicktor Night was taken last night and we were off to see Aldershot battle Barnet. Generally, Nicktor arrives at about 6pm and we get to the Crimea as soon as his wheels can get us there for a few pre-match pints. However, this week he had a telecon (basically a telephone call) with Switzerland scheduled for 4:30pm and another at 5:30pm so, rather than stay back at the office and not get to me until after the match had started with no chance of beers, he came over early.

I busied myself with the usual housekeeping while he nattered away, growling and griping occasionally as the Swiss insisted he add another 48 tasks to his already over loaded work. He has his Blackberry on speaker so I got to hear a load of tinny voices.

Eventually he was off the phone and we were off to the Crimea where he decided to pour his pint over the guy standing next to us. Actually, I think it was intended for me but I was way too quick for him. A sad waste of 6X if you ask me. The barman was very philosophical, mopping up and replacing the bar mat with one he’d prepared earlier. As Nicktor said, “This happens a lot, eh. Though possibly not during the first drink.” What jolly wet fun!

After making friends so convincingly, we then had a football inspired chat to the guy next to us. This involved the usual Aldershot moans at losses and cheers at wins. The appalling Crawley Football Club and their nefarious dealings also made a big appearance in the discussion. But very soon, the kick-off was almost upon us so we left the pub for the ground.

We’ve been standing on the Slab for a while now having eschewed the glories of the East Bank for some unknown reason. Actually, it started when we had the kids with us and we’ve just stayed on. Besides, Nicktor knows a few of the old timers. The Slab (or South Stand) is where ‘serious’ non-singing fans congregate and discuss the game seriously. Well, that’s how it appears to me, anyway. There is seriously little singing.

The first half started with a bit of promise and flair, though, for some reason known only to the players and manager, the Shot’s players were back to playing their hoofing game. This calls for players to hoof the ball from one end of the pitch to the other without any particular player targeted for the ball. It never works and tends to result in giving away possession over and over again. They play much better when they keep the ball on the ground and make snap passes to each other. After the game we heard an interview with the manager who thought they played really well in the first half. I’m not sure what game he was watching. Perhaps a video of an earlier match.

About halfway through the first half, a light fog started to appear at the other end of the ground, slowly engulfing first the goal and then the players. Barnet were wearing white so they disappeared first but then, as the fog grew heavier, the Aldershot players, in red and blue, also started fading away as they charged up-field.

Barnet scored quite early on and we managed to draw level quite late on. We didn’t know we had equalised until the East Bank roared with pleasure which prompted us to echo the cry. This actually happened twice but the first one was considered offside and, therefore, disallowed. By the time the first half drew to a close, the far end of the pitch was invisible.

We went to buy tea, as we normally do, and stood around waiting for the second half. During the break, there is a competition where two lads (one from the away supporters, one from ours) have to try and hit a board suspended from the crossbar of the goal with a ball from the penalty spot. They win money if they manage it. They clearly had very good fog sense because one of them managed it and took away £75. They guy with the microphone praised their ability to kick into the white hole that the goal mouth had become.

Half-time was drawing to a close when the announcement we dreaded was made. The game had been abandoned on health and safety grounds. Health and safety? How can fog endanger health and safety? Snow and torrential rain, lightening or terrorist attacks I can understand, but fog? I appreciate that the linesmen possibly couldn’t see each other or the ref…or the players and for this reason I’d accept an abandonment but health and safety? It’s a bit sad.

Nicktor tells a story of a game he attended when he was but a lad. he was sitting on the grass by the half way line, surrounded by about 10,000 fans and the fog was so thick he couldn’t see a thing except ghostly figures whenever the players went back and forth. That game wasn’t abandoned! We are really getting to be a sad old risk averse society.

Anyway, we joined the disgruntled ranks streaming out of the ground, checking we still had our tickets in order to gain entry at a later date for the rescheduled game. A chap near us was not impressed. He’d been at a conference in Birmingham and had driven all the way down in order to see the game only to arrive about 10 minutes before half time. He actually missed the equalising goal, though that could have been because of the fog. And then, 20 minutes later, he was having to leave. Poor thing.

We reclaimed the car and completely devoid of any sort of emotion (joy at victory or sorrow at loss) we drove back to the Farnham. Fortunately the whisky cheered us up.

Farnham Park is just a covering for a massive underwater lake. The rain sits on the ground and gradually seeps down, through the chalk, purifying as it goes, and slowly drips into the lake. The lake is then slowly emptied through openings into the land. These openings are (generally) the beginnings of streams and rivers. If memory serves me right, I think this is how the Thames starts. This is all very good and ensures an excellent supply of freshly cleaned water to the surrounding countryside.

In winter, when there’s a lot of rain, the ground is very squishy under foot and there’s a lot of mud. This is because the ground is saturated, meaning the rate of absorption is too slow to allow all the water through at once. And so there’s a lot of it left around. Eventually this does seep through, leaving lush green hills and solid ground.

It is a very important part of nature’s cycle of life, ensuring that rainwater is spread out across a greater area rather than just drench one spot. However, the wonder of the aquifer is what causes it’s greatest annoyance.

Today, Carmen decided we would visit the oak tree walk. We were unable to walk up it directly due to the fact that, where it wasn’t knee deep mud, it was flowing streams of rainwater. All three of us were very muddy by the time we returned home. Combine that with Day-z’s FSI (which I think was ‘baby’ rather than ‘fox’) and you can imagine our bathtub.

Still…the avenue of trees looked good:

Avenue of Trees, Farnham Park

I always like this view, knowing there’s a castle at the other end. It’s always regardless of the season. It invites you in. Just like the Hop Blossom pub!

The Hop Blossom, Farnham

Given the beautiful blue sky behind it, I couldn’t resist taking this photo this morning. Farnham was well known for its hops. They were first introduced shortly before 1600 and by the 1800s were considered the best in the country! This pub is one of the few reminders remaining.

But enough about Farnham! I need to talk about Aldershot.

Last night, of course, was the first Nicktor Night for ages and, to celebrate, we went to see Aldershot play Bradford. I did not have high hopes. The Shots have not had the best of seasons so far and only last week they sacked the manager (Kevin Dillon) and replaced him with a new one (Dean Holdsworth).

Clearly this was the thing to do as they came out fighting, completely dominating the first half. They played like a team that wanted to rise above being third from the bottom of the table. At half time it was 1-0 and Bradford didn’t look like getting a look in.

The second half, Aldershot slipped back into their sloppy habit of the wayward passes to anyone wearing an opposition shirt. Fortunately (for us, not Bradford) our back line held strong and managed to defy anything Bradford tried to throw at us. Even the 70 foot giant they had on their team.

It was a satisfying game and we enjoyed the win. Back at home, we watched one of the worst movies I’ve seen in a long time. It’s called…actually, I don’t think I’ll even bother naming it. It was appalling. The writer/director/editor wanted to recreate a 1980s horror flick (you gotta ask why) and did so very effectively. So effectively, it was just crap.

Although the film was rubbish, we had a lovely Nicktor Night, consumed too much whisky and went to bed far too late. Poor Nicktor had an important day of meetings and presentations after very little sleep. I haven’t heard how he went. Hopefully he managed.

It was a foggy old start to the day. Actually, it was still foggy at lunch time. It was a classic English fog where everything was shrouded in a murky grey cloud. Here’s how the park looked:

Foggy Farnham Park

By about 2:30, the fog had lifted and the rest of the day was gloriously bright. Well, for the short while before the sun went down. Still, the park looked lovely when we all went for a tramp.

Fog-free Farnham Park

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Tonight was a Nicktor night, possibly the last for a while (unless he can come out to play next Tuesday, of course) and we went to see Aldershot play Brentford in an FA Cup replay following their draw a few weeks ago – while I was in London studying the Book of the Dead, in fact.

It was an excellent game. Although Brentford are a league above us and seem to be a more organised team, we scored early on (after 8 minutes) with a blinder of a move that surprised both teams, and then held on for the rest of the match. They had a few shots on goal but nothing to really test our keeper and we came close to increasing our lead a few times. It was a good game and we enjoyed it for a change!

Back at home we watched Kick Ass. When this came out there was a bit of a furore surrounding it because of the fact that it features a little girl who beats up and kills people and swears like a trooper. You can read something about it here. The film is a hoot. We both enjoyed it a lot and the girl who plays Hit Girl is a fantastic actress.

The thing that I found interesting is that, although it contains a lot of swearing and violence, it only has a 15 certificate. Put alongside Reservoir Dogs, which has an 18 certificate, is it really very different? I guess the reason it isn’t an 18 is because there’s no sex in it. For me, this conjures up an interesting moral dilemma. Is it ok for a 15 year old to be subjected to lots of violence masquerading as entertainment but not to see naked bodies?

Reservoir Dogs also features no sex, so why is it any different? The film is about a jewellery robbery that goes horribly wrong and a bunch of ruthless men who kill a lot of people and do not seem to consider anyone but themselves. Kick Ass, on the other hand, is about vigilante crusaders, taking the law into their own hands, to, ultimately, bring down an evil drug baron who kills people when they get in his way. He has absolutely no compunction with beating up the 11 year old Hit Girl and is about to put a bullet into her when he’s interrupted by a bazooka.

I can see no moral difference between the two, so I really do not understand the difference in rating. As far as I’m concerned they should both be 18. Nicktor said there’s no way he’d let his kids watch it.

However, it is a great film and we both enjoyed it a lot. What we also enjoyed is the fact that Aldershot are through to the next round of the FA Cup. Next it’s Dover, away. C’mon you reds!

We had a lovely Nicktor night spent watching The Usual Suspects (Nicktor had never seen it and loved it) and The Business (a Brit gangster film we’d never heard of but was ok and had an excellent 80s soundtrack).

Next door (not the Crazies, but the other side) had the daughter’s usual birthday party which always ends with fireworks, so I knew the dogs would get spooked. Nicktor was amazed. Apparently Basil & Polly just bark at them. I had both Carmen and Day-z pressed hard up against me, making me pat and calm them. They kept this up all the time the fireworks were going on and for quite a while afterwards. Eventually Carmen moved but only as far as the back of the lounge and within patting range.

Of course, being a party, they played music (the Triumphal March from Aida for the fireworks – a bit posh!) which inspired us to spin a few metaphorical disks ourselves. We sang on into the night, long after the party fiends had left. We battered Bat Out of Hell, stunned Stairway to Heaven, wallowed in Wish You Were Here. It was gloriously tuneless and lots of fun. We even had a go at out-ruining Sid Vicious’s version of My Way using candlesticks for microphones.

When parting this morning, Nicktor suggested we go to the Aldershot game at the Rec. We would be properly chaperoned by the boys so there’d be no beer or terraces. Pity. It may have been helped with a few pints.

James brought his mate Harry along, who is one crazy kid! A real card. Poor Nicktor had no idea what he was saying half the time. I thought he was very funny. Cracked me up, anyway. However, as for the game…

The ref was a bit sloppy and inconsistent, if you ask me. He sent two of our players off and didn’t send off a Bury player for a worse foul on one of our players. He also sent our manager to the stands but this decision he managed to get right.

Still, although we lost 3-1, we were playing with only 9 men and fought to the bitter end. The last few games I’ve been to, Aldershot have not played very well but today they should be proud.

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I took the poodles up to the park between showers today. It was one of those odd cloudless raining days. The kind where everything is sun drenched with streaks of rain falling through it. Quite odd but, thankfully, not heavy. I took a few photos to show the real autumn colours we are getting now.

I’m quite pleased with this one:

Farnham Park in autumn

This is the cherry tree in our back garden. Every time the sun hits the leaves, they are like fire. Gorgeous.

Our cherry tree

Last night I went to the Rec and watched Aldershot for the first time this season. In not entirely a night of surprises, they lost, 3-0, to Watford in the first round of the Carling Cup. We were totally outclassed by a much better team. I guess that’s something. It’s not like we played really badly just not well enough. And, really, what did we really expect? Watford is two leagues above us after all.

What was a surprise was who I went with. I thought it was just going to be Nicktor, James and me until the car pulled up outside with Frank driving. And his son and Matt in the back. That was odd for a start. James loves Aldershot but Matt is less than enthusiastic at the best of times. Still, we drove to the car park and started walking to the Crimea for the usual pre-game pint of that perfect of all beers, 6X.

Along the way we collected a few more people. Two guys from Nicktor’s road and their sons and James. Five kids, five adults.

Five pints and five cokes later, we crossed over the road and headed for the Slab. I’d already assumed we’d not be in the East Bank because we’d have James with us so it wasn’t a surprise when we headed that way.

Nicktor’s re-flared gout was causing him to limp a bit so that caused some hilarity, which grew in direct ratio to the increase in pain. He’s a medical anomaly. It’s far too soon for a relapse. It’s a good job he wasn’t called on to run around the pitch. It was noticeable his discomfort increased dramatically over the course of the evening. By the time we were ready to walk back to the car, he looked like one of the walking wounded from the Charge of the Light Brigade. Or perhaps his body was unhappy it wouldn’t be spending the night at our place.

A bit of an unexpected treat awaited us as we entered the ground. The young guy who bashes the drum relentlessly during every home match was standing against the fence having a few tentative thumps as the rest of the raucous orchestra met up with him. It was observed by one of our party that he looked rather menacing, presumably on the lookout for rival drummers.

The day had been wet throughout, off and on, so standing on an exposed slab of concrete for a couple of hours was bound to attract a certain amount of damp. I’m pretty sure this is one of those immutable laws, like the one that Murphy came up with. Something like: “If there’s a chance of rain and a large gathering of people all stand on a big slab of concrete, they’ll be rained on.” And we were. A number of times.

Not that it was very wet. It was a series of English showers, the type of rain that doesn’t actually make you wet. I like to think of it as thick mist. It was quite noticeable on the pitch, though. Sprays of water came off the ball every time it was kicked and the ground was rather slushy.

The one good thing about being on the Slab is that you’re really close to the action, albeit only one bit near the southern touch line. The boys all lined up against the fence and shouted rude things at the opposition players as they pummelled our goal mouth in the first half. By the time Watford had finished us off at the beginning of the second half, the boys were telling jokes and talking to me about games.

It’s amazing how kids (make that, boys) react when someone tells them I tested games for a living. They get all excited and suddenly you’re the coolest adult they know. They then insist on comparing notes on the newest and most violent games on the market. Fortunately Stevie keeps me in the loop about these things so I can generally manage to keep up with them. Though it did make me yearn a bit for my old job. Though not with Cowabunga, of course. I should add that the other part of my job is generally drooled over by any male adults who find out.

Anyway, the game dribbled away as we chatted about Ultimate Assassin (the comedy version) and GTA – I managed to get a plug in for Smuggler’s Run, a particular favourite that Stevie and I spent many hours completing. It’s a bit Old School these days but still a great game, nevertheless. The final whistle gratefully blew before Watford could humiliate us further and we headed for home.

Actually, Aldershot managed a bit of a late flurry but to no avail and they remained with no goals. To be absolutely fair, they didn’t play badly. I have been at some games where they seemed to have sent a load of replacements on the pitch, possibly the local limbless darts team, but this was not one of those. We were, quite simply, outclassed. So, no need to be miserable, lads! At least it’s one competition we don’t have to worry about for the rest of the season.

The company was fun and it’s always good to go and watch football. It was also a chance to catch up with Nicktor who I’ve missed over the last couple of weeks due to the temporary suspension of Nicktor Nights. The Cansfields are off to France next week (entirely coincidental, I hasten to add) so we organised for our next NN to be the 25th. He told me about the positive slew of gory, bloodletting films he’s managed to amass since our last viewing so I’m hoping for a welcome return to relative normality, fairly soon.

The boys, ready to heap abuse on the Watford players

We had a reply regarding the smoking train today. Here it is:

Dear Ms XXXXXX,

Kind Regards
Emma Cruize

Thank you, Emma, now all I have to do is remember what time train we caught…

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Off with Nicktor (and James who is chaperoning us) to see Aldershot tonight. I’m hoping the rain stops soon.

So I’m busy getting together information for essay number three. It’s quite dull. Actually the dullest of the four. Still, it has to be finished in just over a week so that’s not long to be bored. It’s strange but this time last year I was getting my marks for my BSc and here I am almost finished my MSc! Life is mad sometimes.

For a break today I had to book train, ferry and hotel for Mirinda who is off to Dublin on Monday. Rather than me tell you about it, I’m going to make her post an entry! Were I not writing two essays, I would be on the train and ferry with her.

More important is that Aldershot beat Lincoln today 3-1. We are edging ever closer to the play-offs which means a game at Wembley. Every player’s dream. Every fan’s hope. Of course they have to go through the first round play-offs first but I’m confident. Clearly I’m also a bit simple.

Mirinda watched about 10 minutes of the snooker tonight – it was on while I waited for Match of the Day to start. During some amazing safety play where the tension kept rising, Denis Taylor said something about how exciting it was. I was nodding sagely, completely agreeing. Mirinda sat up and said, completely mystified “You have to be joking! Are we watching the same thing?” She then went to bed.

Speaking of the snooker…tomorrow sees the beginning of the final between Graeme Dott and Neil Robertson. Neil is the first non UK player to reach the final of the World Championship in 27 years. He’s Australian.

A few updates:

The Dead German
I have since found out that it costs £5,000 to send a body back to Germany if the person dies when away from home. The man concerned was visiting his daughter in England and on holiday. Clearly it would be cheaper to use the return half of one’s plane ticket. Not that anyone is saying they knew he was dead. They haven’t been to court yet. I still like the idea they thought he was asleep.

Joanne
Joanne is my cousin on my mum’s side. And yes, Heather took the photo. Joanne then made her take a photo of all three of us. But that was on their camera.

CRB Check
Yes, we have the same thing here when you have any interaction with children. It’s called a CRB Check. I had to have one when I volunteered to help primary school kids to read a few years ago. Because I’ll be ‘working’ in the back office and not coming into contact with any children, I didn’t need to have one for the Science Museum. I think they’re a great idea. When they work.

Aldershot
The game last night was terrible. The Shots lost 2-0 and fully deserved it. The other side was much hungrier and worked hard for the win. Not very entertaining for us. We actually left 5 minutes before full time, something we rarely do.

The fact that Chelsea won against Bolton more than made up for it though. It puts us 4 points clear at the top of the table with only four games to play. We only need to win three of these last games to be League champions! Ah, memories of 2006.

Nicktor
Nicktor didn’t stay last night. Dawn and the boys have been away in the New Forest (Remember that sign to Sandy Balls, Claire…well that’s where they’re staying!) and he had to clean up the mess he made constructing his Ikea bookcases in the ‘Good Room’. He was sad but resigned. He also spent a large part of the evening telling me about his bookcases. He even showed me photographs.

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Tonight I’m meeting Stevie for a few drinks and a huge catch-up. We haven’t seen each other since last December! He has since managed to pass his driving exam and is keen to drive me somewhere. I’ve missed him and I’m really looking forward to it. Seeing him as well as being driven.