The House Husband

As the old joke goes, it’s all about the timing. Of course, that only works when you say it. I was trying to work out how to make it work by writing it down but it’s just not possible. Like this:

ME: You know the secret of great comedy?
YOU: Wha-
ME: Timing!

See? Doesn’t work.

However, it is not the timing of great comedy that I wish to blog about today, it is the timing required to get home feeling at ease and smiling. I feel I can comment on this today because I was a victim of awfully BAD timing this evening.

At work I started a new project. I have to collect record cards (which may or may not be there), scan the images (which may or may not be there), give them an increasingly difficult file name (which only makes sense to Kevin and the computer), fill out two spreadsheets and, eventually (well, after Kevin has resized them because I do not have Photoshop on my machine) drag and drop them into MIMSY. It took a good two hours to get a handle on this.

To be fair, Kevin isn’t the greatest trainer in the world. He tends to get sidetracked by irrelevances. This is fine when you’re writing a blog, I hasten to add, but can be annoying when you’re trying to hang onto the last instruction, waiting for the next one to appear beyond the comma. It goes something like this:

So you scan the image and save it on the M drive…hang on, I don’t think you have access to the M drive…maybe you should save it…actually when we did this before it was all saved locally and anyone could pick it up…no, that’s no good because…anyway, I’ll work that out later, for now save it to the J drive…

And so it goes. What could have taken about half an hour was effectively stretched for two hours. I didn’t mind. It gave me a chance to formulate a system that would helped me work my way through the list of objects, cards and MIMSY records.

The first thing I had to do was go into the store and gather up some cards. This is not so easy. I had to make a group on MIMSY first, in order to know which record cards to pull. Then I had to get Kevin to let me into the stores which are kept securely locked at all times. Then I had to wade through the millions of filing cabinets in the store, searching for the record cards.

While they are in numerical order, it’s not so simple as looking for 23, 24, 25, 26 and 27. Oh no. There are two types of record card: the older ones numbered with the year to begin with (1987-2536) and then the newer records which start with an ‘A’ followed by up to six digits. OK, that seems easy. BUT NO! It gets messier. Computers being pedantic means that the number 1235 will come before 527 in a sorted list – because the sorting starts with the first digit – so when looking for an ordered list of records, you find yourself going backwards and forwards along the filing cabinets looking for the records rather than one after the other in the same cabinet.

But there’s more! The first filing cabinets have the old numbers that haven’t any photographs and the second lot have some that do and some that don’t. Along with finding the ones with photos, I also have to note down the ones that don’t, which means going through both these filing cabinets when I can’t find a record in one of them.

OK, so let’s assume I have a pile of record cards and have made my way back to the desk. Now I have to scan the photograph on the card, save it to the appropriate directory, then enter the relevant information on two spreadsheets – one is for Kevin (and me so I can keep track) and the other is for MIMSY (for automatic upload which we probably won’t use). When I have gathered together a group of images (separated in folders for landscape and portrait) I send them over to Kevin for re-sizing and, upon being given his nod, I drag and drop them into MIMSY. Then it all starts again.

Naturally this all took a bit of getting used to but I soon had a fairly reasonable system going and was (sort of) flying through them. Lunch came and went (outside today because of the half term hordes) and I was back into it again. When I next looked at the clock, the time for leaving was very close at hand.

This is where the timing starts to come in. Because I had a stack of cards that had to be replaced in the filing cabinets and because I’d not performed this delicate task before, I took longer than anticipated so I ended up leaving ten minutes later than usual.

Ten minutes? Ha! What’s that…nothing, surely. Well, not at half term! My God! The crowds at South Kensington Tube were horrendous. I managed to walk behind a couple of workers who steamrollered their way through the tight knotted crowd of parents, squabbling kids, strollers and babies. You didn’t know where to look. Look down to avoid the tiny little people or look up to avoid running into the exhausted parents.

Finally our little group of exhausted workers reached the barriers. The woman in front of me, who had been huffing and puffing with fury all the way across the thoroughfare, asked the guard why the crowd was there; what the problem was. His answer was short, crisp and spoken with the skill acquired from repeating the same phrases for the past few hours and the knowledge he would continue intoning them for a few hours to come.

“Half term. Free museums,” was all he said.

Getting through the barriers was only half the battle. The stairs down to the platform were awash with bodies. It was difficult to know when the stairs actually started. At least if you tripped you would never fall down but be swept along onto the platform and, hopefully, deposited near a door for the next train. I managed to keep my footing to the bottom of the stairs and headed for the only bit of the platform not populated with strollers and balloon clutching, chocolate covered little hands. I was not alone. This was where most of the other peak hour travellers, just wanting to get home, were standing as well.

The Tube train wasn’t too bad, if I ignored the noise of thousands of little voices trying to be heard over each other, at the same time. Mind you, it did mean I couldn’t hear any bloody, tinny music bleeding through cheap headphones – always a silver lining somewhere. Somehow, I managed to get a seat at Victoria as a lot of them left for the peak hour trains home. At Embankment, the rush for the Northern Line took on the appearance of WWI soldiers heading over the top, trying to dodge the bullets of tiny bodies racing around corners and bounding down stairs with frantic parents screaming names out after them.

Waterloo wasn’t much better with more screeching, more strollers, more war weary parents trying to get to the main station. By this time I knew I had no hope of catching the nice 4:30 train so I strolled over to Nero’s for my coffee – one of the best things about half term is that kid’s don’t drink coffee so Nero’s was deserted – while I fumbled with my mobile because I had a text.

“What time is sunset tonight?” the text read.

I stood for a moment, stunned. The text had arrived at 4 but there’s no reception in the Tube so it had taken half an hour, chasing me through the tunnels, before finding me at Waterloo. It took me a moment to take this in. Sunset? How…what…why…SUNSET?

At Waterloo there is a big screen, just above the train indicators, which gives news, sport, show business headlines and the weather, with interspersed ads. It’s quite a handy distraction if you’re waiting for your train to be indicated. For some reason, I was convinced that the weather segment had the sunrise and sunset information included in it. Of course, this is the last update I saw so I had to wait a good five minutes for them to scroll round. To say that I was sadly mistaken, would be an understatement.

I took out my phone and did what I should have done in the first place. I went into http://bbc.co.uk/weather and read it off the screen there. (Really, I’m a bit simple sometimes.) Of course, while I was doing this, my eyes remained glued to the train indicators, in case my platform was announced. There were still strollers and frazzled parents milling around and I HAD to get a seat home or I would kill someone. I quickly texted off the time of tonight’s sunset (17:48 if anyone’s interested) and waited impatiently.

Suddenly the platform number appeared and, in a solid mass, 500 people, all without children and desperate for a seat, surged towards the barrier to platform 9. I knew my ticket wouldn’t work because it hadn’t on my morning journey (I don’t why but this happens sometimes and is very frustrating) so I went to the manned barrier to be let through. Of course, the guard there was chatting to some loser who didn’t have a ticket. There was no hurry. They discussed the weather, the cricket, the problems in Libya. Eventually, the guard let me through by moving his arm as slowly as possible until it reached the unlocking mechanism, allowing me egress. My thank you may have been slightly sarcastic.

This put me at a distinct disadvantage but I managed to get the last good seat by knocking out a few holiday makers and kicking aside their children. I sat and sighed and thought about timing. I then sent off another text, apologising for the shortness of the sunset time one which consisted of just the time.

Timing. Had I left work at my normal time, things would have been vastly better but this one little detail snowballed into an absolutely awful journey. It wasn’t until I walked through our door and the puppies slobbered all over me that I felt any type of relaxation.

In the early hours of this morning, an idiot from West London decided it was fine and dandy to walk along a Tube tunnel (I assume he’d missed what he thought was the last train). He stepped off the station at Bayswater and was not seen again until a maintenance/cleaning crew came through at 2:30am and found his body. Police think he was trying to walk home.

While this is an incredibly stupid thing to do at any time, it threw the Tube into a massive mess this morning. The police closed off the Circle line completely and a large section of the District line. And then, to compound the problem for this morning’s commuters, there was a signal problem on the Northern line and it was also stopped.

I watched as a train full of passengers, heading north from Waterloo, disgorged as the announcement was made. I joined the huge flow of humanity, heading for the Jubilee line, hoping it was running.

As I stood waiting for the next train (along with about 28,000 other disgruntled travellers) an announcement came over the tannoy. A man with a voice that dripped of inevitability, read off the various lines that would be closed on the weekend. As usual, the Jubilee line was one of them. As the next train pulled in, I thanked the Roman god of transport and squeezed on.

Getting off at Green Park (where the King lives) I walked the 32 miles to the Piccadilly line for the short trip to South Kensington. I wasn’t alone as I shuffled along in the grumbled mass.

After all of that, I managed to get to work on time if somewhat rattled. This is one reason why I’d NEVER work full time at the Science Museum. This would only have to happen a few times before I quit.

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The day was rubbish again so, after lunch, I wandered around the Energy Hall and took a few educational pictures. Firstly, here’s a picture of Old Bess, built by Boulton & Watt…well, the top bit, anyway.

Old Bess by Boulton & Watt, 1777

While Old Bess was a very important move in the development of steam power, she was, apparently, not very reliable and, in the words of Boulton & Watt, probably the worst thing they ever built. She was so unpredictable that people called her Beelzebub. She was only called Old Bess when she was used for removing water from mines.

And here is a drawing of all of her.

Drawing of Old Bess

If you’d like to read more, there’s a Science Museum piece about it here.

Here is a child looking up in wonder at all the amazing things in the entrance hall of the Science Museum.

Science Museum Energy Hall

I love it when they do that. The museum has things hanging from the ceiling as well as all around the walls. At one end is a big rocket. I think that’s what he’s looking at.

There’s always a lot of kids at the museum at lunchtime. I think it’s great and they all seem to have a wonderful time.

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I heard on the news that a stranded luxury liner had run out of food and a navy helicopter flew them out some emergency rations. They gave them Spam and pop tarts! Is that all they could manage to find?

So, the sun now goes down at 4:30. Yesterday it went down an hour later. 5:30 didn’t seem quite so bad but 4:30? Feels far too early. Somehow, though, it feels about right for Halloween.

Last year I noticed that houses along our street put little pumpkins leading to their doors to indicate they were happy to chocify little ghouls and goblins. While I purchased the necessary ‘just-in-case’ Celebrations, we were shunned by the roaming groups of children. While generally quite glad, I was a bit disappointed not to get the standard visitation as I heard the shrieks up and down the streets.

This afternoon I had to journey down to the Londis for an onion and noticed a big lack of pumpkins and a couple of printed signs saying ‘No Trick or Treaters!’ boldly in pumpkin orange. I figured I’d probably get a haunting tonight. Upon hearing Mirinda’s experience earlier in the day, and wanting to make sure I was ready, I once more purchased a big container of assorted chocolates and planted them strategically on the junior Jali and waited.

At 6:30 there was a knock at the door. Of course, the poodles sprung into attack mode, their tails wagging furiously, tongues ready to lick to death any intruder. I opened the door to a group of young witches. None of them green. Sadly. They loudly threatened “Trick or Treat!” and the dogs were out and at them as I handed out chocs to them all.

They ranged in sizes and ages. The first was about 13 and the fifth was about 6. As I was about to call the evil attack poodles back inside, one of the witches said “Go on Max!” and a little chap stepped forward out of the shadows. Max was a bit shy…or was it embarrassment at having to accompany the witches? He looked about 8 and was wearing a ripped school shirt with splatters of blood on it, his face angelic and shy. I gave him an extra chocolate and a wink, saying he was lucky to be with so many pretty witches. He gave me a smile of sufferance and they all left, almost taking Carmen with them.

A little later (fortunately after The Archers) another gang of witches knocked at the door and were rewarded. Rather than a Max, this lot had a mum with them. The littlest witch was a bit scared of the poodles, particularly when an excited Carmen put her paws on the witch’s shoulders (she was quite small). Of course this made everyone laugh…except for the littlest witch who basically sobbed as she was led away.

So I’ve done my bit and spread dental decay a little further through the neighbourhood teeth. As I sit typing this I can still hear the sounds of haunting abroad. I’m glad I have the hounds to protect me.

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The day was far too awful for any nice photos of the park or the garden so, having thrown myself into cleaning up my study, I present the evidence that there is, in fact, a desk. I think it’s pretty close to pristine. Which is what I promised Mirinda.

My (almost) empty desk

Dear God. It was awful. Working in the museum district at half term is bad enough but you can multiply that a thousand fold when it’s a glorious day. Ailsa warned me on Friday. Don’t eat at the cafe in the museum, she said. I just had to look at the masses of tiny heads to realise she had been right. I decided to forego my usual lunch and wander round a bit.

But even this was plagued by little people. They were everywhere. And so noisy with it!

I decided to eat and drink at Starbucks and ended up stuck behind a man with a wife and two boys who didn’t know what they wanted or how things work in Starbucks. (Which reminds me of something that happened yesterday. I was standing at the cash register, waiting for the barista to serve me and this little old lady confidently walked up to the end of the counter where the drinks are delivered. She stood there a while. Eventually the barista asked her what she’d ordered. The little old lady was quite indignant, claiming she hadn’t been asked for her order yet and she’d been waiting for ages – it was about 2 minutes. The barista then told her she had to line up like everyone else to be served and that the drinks were delivered at that end of the counter. The little old lady suddenly went all huffy and stormed out!)

Anyway, back to today. The family in front of me couldn’t make their minds up. When I walked in, I was second in the queue; by the time I was served, there was a line of people stretching out the door behind me. Most of them looked like people on their lunch break with limited time. They must hate half term more than me. At least I only have to go through it twice this week.

Walking back to the museum I thought the Natural History Museum looked quite nice in the sun so I snapped a shot of it. I was going to blip it but thought I’d post it here instead.

Natural History Museum looking pretty in the sun

I realise I’ve posted a shot of the NHM before but I think this is a better shot.

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Months ago I had an email from Lynden saying he was coming over in October. I wrote back to say he might like to come over on a Tuesday night, stay over then go into town on Wednesday. I heard nothing further. And then, yesterday, I had an email to say he was here and wondering how to get to me in Fulham. I’d forgotten it was this week. So he’s coming over tomorrow (Nicktor is in Switzerland) and I thought I’d share the delights of the 6 Bells with him.

Obviously I told him that we don’t actually live in Fulham…

Had a rather busy day today. It all started with Carmen licking my face at 6am to tell me it was raining…which it wasn’t. I let the poodles out and went back to sleep for another hour only to be woken by the recycling truck. I gave up and just waited for the alarm to go off at 7. I drifted in and out of consciousness until it did. I then rang a bleary sounding Mirinda so she could enjoy the morning as much as I had so far.

After coffee and toast I hitched the girls to their lead and took them on a good, long walk around the park. We met a few other intrepid early morning walkers. Fortunately I had built in an FSI buffer because Carmen decided to collect some particularly delicious samples to bring home with her. I needed the buffer because the taxi was arriving at 10.

After bathing Carmen and having a shower myself, the taxi arrived and took us to the kennel for the poodles’ holiday treat and then drove me back. I was going to repeat my last trip by taking the taxi to Frensham pond and then catch the bus back home but last night I received a phone call from someone on the Talking Newspaper to ask if he could swap times with me for today. Originally I was down for the 2pm slot which would give me heaps of time but he wanted to take that and give me the 12pm one instead. I actually preferred this, though it does mean a rather late lunch, but it meant I had to get the taxi both ways in order to get home in time to leave again.

I made it in plenty of time and set off along the path towards Farnham reciting my limited French in my head. I do this sometimes because I’m weird. Mind you, it doesn’t take very long. By the time I reached the end of the path, I had gone over my entire vocabulary about 150 times.

Standing at the end of the path were two chaps and a stroller. Standing beside the stroller was a child with blonde hair and blue eyes (about 2, I think) who smiled up at me and said “Bonjour.” Normally this would have caught me somewhat on the hop but I just naturally replied “Bonjour” with a smile and kept walking. It wasn’t until I reached the end of the lane and a woman said “Hello” that I realised I wasn’t actually in France. Very odd.

Anyway, the Talking Newspaper went well though I did have a bit of trouble saying “Liphook United under 10s…“. I had to say it four times! I kept missing out the ‘United’. That’s the problem with cold reading. You never know what particular bits are going to trip you up until they manage to do it successfully.

Back at home I finished testing yet another database, missing the dogs. I was engrossed in the screen when I heard a noise in the house. I turned the music off and listened. A tiny tinkle could be heard. It sounded like Carmen – the way her name tag hits her collar. I was stunned. Perhaps she’d managed to walk back from the kennel on her own after re-enacting the Great Escape! I stood up and quietly walked into the bedroom. Sitting looking at me was the crazy screechy dog from next door, smiling and cheerful.

I took it back home, meeting the neighbours as they were coming over to look for it. I then spent half an hour blocking up the hole under the fence where it had managed to crawl through.

Eventually I had dinner. Because of the lunch time Talking Newspaper, it means my lunch is at 4pm so dinner is at 9pm. What a crazy life!

It is very difficult concentrating on a Philosophy for Digital Libraries with kids in the same carriage of the train. It doesn’t help that little kids seem to only speak at great volume for the simplest of things. The most annoying thing (ignoring babies that just cry and scream for the entire journey) is the kid that keeps asking the same question, over and over again.

“Look mum! A cow. Mum! Look! A cow! Mum! Look mum!…” and on and on. Each time the volume increases until ‘mum’ says something dismissive like “Oh yes, isn’t that nice” half an hour after the cow has disappeared. Surprisingly this kid today looked out the window and exclaimed “Look mum! A caterpillar! Mum! Look!” It did get her attention immediately. I assume he has the eyes of a hawk.

But it’s not something you get annoyed at. Unless the kids are actually misbehaving and sometimes not even then. There is a rule in civilisation that states that it is expected and therefore mandatory. Very different to the Victorian’s ideas! And I’m not advocating a return to such times. I think it’s important for kids to express themselves as they experience the world.

What I’m wanting is a train carriage where parents with children are not allowed. Like height restrictions on fairground rides, there should be a ‘sitting quietly and reading’ level that must be adhered to. And it should not be optional like the laughable quiet zones presently on trains. To show how this works, I’m in one now but sadly the parents and the kids cannot read the sign above their heads.

And so, instead of putting in a good hour of work on my essays, I am reduced to typing up the beginning of my blog entry for today. Of course, it does mean I can now get an extra 15 minutes of essay work when I get home, so I guess all things level out somewhat.

However, a lot of the disruption is to the impossible to retrieve flow. I had a lovely quiet four stations and was happily climbing into the writing zone when the carriage was invaded. I tried to concentrate on what I was doing but the sheer force and volume of the under 5 year old and the screeching of the baby slammed the brakes on my brain which simply shut down, losing the thread. Very annoying when I was hoping to get a substantial amount of work done during my two journeys today to see Mirinda for lunch.

They left the train at Clapham Junction which gave me 10 minutes before Waterloo. I decided to just do some reading.

I have become a bit bored with wearing a baseball cap and so I have changed my style somewhat. I am going for the ‘mislaid artist living happily in Tahiti’ look.

My new straw hat

I spent a lot of this afternoon wishing I was 4 years old. Watching a load of little kids throwing themselves down a giant inflated slippery dip looked like such great fun but all I could do was watch. The age limit was 3 – 10. I drank coffee and tried to smile.