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Showing posts from September, 2014

Any diet you want

I am now an expert on dieting, based on extensive research carried out in the office kitchen, whilst trying to make a coffee with two sugars. I say ‘research’ – what I actually mean is ‘listening’. And when I say ‘extensive’, what I really mean is ‘I heard some colleagues talking about dieting on a couple of occasions’. Having said that, I suppose that is quite rigorous, when compared to the level of analysis done by some people before giving up any food that starts with the letter ‘B’, or surviving for a fortnight purely on grapefruit skins, because that’s what their favourite celebrity supposedly did to “lose 3 stone and look a million dollars!” Office kitchens are a fabulous source of information. You only have to loiter in the doorway for a couple of minutes to pick up all the facts you need about who is leaving, why something won’t work, what your colleagues did at the weekend and (this is the relevant bit, by the way) their latest way of losing some weight, before their b

New vacuum regs really suck/All in a spin

Two fantastically daft technology stories for the price of one! It’s been a great couple of weeks for white goods madness. I’m not even including Apple having to release a ‘fix’ to allow iPhone6 users to uninstall their free copy of U2’s new album. If this has happened to you, try and remember that you deleted the files, or you might wind up searching for them, only to find yourself saying “I still haven’t found what I’m looking for”. Panic buying gripped consumers recently, as they rushed to their nearest vacuum cleaner-retailing emporium (or it’s virtual equivalent) to buy devices that really suck, before its too late. Every man-in-the-pub’s favourite baddies, the EU, have decreed that our lovely, British, vacuums (probably made in Korea) can only suck to the tune of 1600 watts, meaning new ones have the potential to be as effective as the wheezy kid at school in the 100 yard dash on sports day. If that wasn’t bad enough, the Brussels Bureaucrats will only allow us 900 p

Time to get haughty-cultural

If you own an allotment, eventually you will succumb to the terrible emotional blight that is Vegetable Envy. Hello. My name is Peter, and it’s been a week since I looked at another man’s courgette and felt ashamed, yet strangely exhilarated. I tried to check myself into the ATC (Alan Titchmarsh Clinic), but autumn is a very busy time for them, and they were fully booked. If you happen to be a sufferer of this debilitating problem (usually brought on by your neighbour’s beautiful plump brassicas, or perfectly shapely peas), then going to your local horticultural show is definitely a bad decision. So, there we were, in the quaint village hall (portrait of the Queen on the wall, vintage upright piano covered up in the corner) marvelling at how anyone managed to make a onion grow quite so large without the use of steroids, or by staying up all night softly calling it “big boy” whilst gently stroking it’s silvery surface. There’s only so much a proud man can take. When I found

Farewell to the sorcerer’s apprentice

There are saints who wouldn’t have the patience to put up with me for more than half an hour, but an amazing apprentice has just survived a whole year. I’ve never had the word ‘Manager’ in my job title, and for a very good reason – I’m the kind of anally-retentive, OCD-ish, sociopath that tends to alarm people at a distance so great, you can only just make out my threatening scowl using binoculars. And that’s before the true extent of my shirt collection becomes apparent. Imagine my surprise when I suddenly found myself with ‘staff’ just before Christmas last year, after the departure of my own manager. True, I had been doing a large amount of the training involved in having an apprentice, but I’ve spent the vast majority of my adult life letting someone else tell me what needs to be done, attend meetings, talk politely to others about priorities, deal with the paperwork and smile at me tolerantly whilst I point out what’s wrong with everything and why it’s all not fair. And ti

Suffering from natural obsolescence

You know you’re getting old when it dawns on you that you’re outliving technological breakthroughs. You know the sort of thing – something revolutionary, that heralds a seismic shift it the way the modern world operates. Clever, time-saving, breathtaking and life-changing (and featuring a circuit board). It’s the future, baby! Until it isn’t any more. I got to pondering this when we laughed heartily in the office about someone asking if our camcorder used “tape”. Tape? Get with the times, Daddy-o! If it ain’t digital then for-get-it! I then attempted to explain to an impossibly young colleague that video tape in a camcorder was indeed once a “thing”, requiring the carrying of something the size of a briefcase around on your shoulder, containing batteries normally reserved for a bus, and a start-up time from pressing ‘Record’ so lengthy, couples were already getting divorced by the time it was ready to record them saying “I do”. After explaining what tape was, I realised I’d