grumpyf1

Just a handful of days left until Christmas – the tree is up, presents are wrapped, and the eggs have been nogged. That means it’s time to revel in one of the season’s greatest joys... When I say “Presents are wrapped”, I’m obviously excluding any virtual vouchers, which are currently wafting through cyberspace and probably disrupting Santa’s sat-nav, so don’t blame me if you’re a 48 year old, burly, man who gets One Direction’s latest album and a Barbie Doll on the 25th. Whilst the remaining turkeys on the farm are just starting to realise that their friends haven’t gone “on holiday”, we are now firmly into the timeframe reserved for one of the most indulgent moments of the festive season – going through the bumper Christmas & New Year TV guide to plan what we’re going to watch. It is a vitally important exercise, and not one to be undertaken in a rush. Without this military planning, how will you know what to watch whilst seeing off your own body weight in mince pies, cho

You might remember that I’m attempting to learn something (other than where the best cat videos are on YouTube, obviously) and took up studying in the summer. If going back to education after a 30 year gap is like riding a bike again, then I’ve fallen off, scraped my knees and had several punctures whilst wobbling around violently. The last six months have seen me careering without brakes towards an exam, which seemed fairly scary until last Wednesday, when I travelled to Manchester to take it, and it became really hideously scary. Apparently, exams aren’t nearly frightening enough on their own nowadays, and some initiative tests have been introduced to ensure maximum stress levels before you pick up your pen. On arrival, the main entrance had a notice on it, saying that exam victims needed to use an entrance on another street. After eventually locating that, it was time to find the hall on floor K. After a few long seconds of blinking rapidly at an array of buttons, it turne

Christmas – a fleeting, wonderful, time of year.  Jam – fruity deliciousness for your toast. Neither should be spread thinly. So why does the festive season start so early now? Black Friday may have turned out to be notable mainly for the absence of commotion in physical shopping emporiums, but it did have one worrying development that you may not have been aware of, and the Evening Mail seems to have missed – our new, young, neighbours got a Christmas tree, decorated it, and have clearly forgotten where the off switch for the lights is ever since. At the risk of being accused, again, of getting my Scrooge flag out and waving it vigorously (and possibly a bit aggressively) from the rooftops, that’s a whole sleigh-load too early, with nigh-on a month to go until the jolly chap in red is due to show up with presents (and I don’t mean the postie with your Amazon delivery), and Grandma gets a bit squiffy on the cooking sherry. Unless you happen to be a shop (in which case your st

You're right - I'm a bad person. Just vanishing like that for weeks on end. And with this blog celebrating it's 6th anniversary, too. And with Christmas just around the corner. And after November was my 2nd best month ever for views, with more than 2100 of you taking the time to visit. Sorry. I've got three newspaper columns to post, and I'll do that over the next couple of days. Fairly weak excuses include; studying, writing Christmas cards, buying last minute Christmas presents, going out and drinking cappuccinos, having to work for a living, and being a lazy sod. Must try harder... (Attempting to mask the guild with a Def Leppard CD - Hysteria, to be precise.) 

God bless America – Their citizens’ inventiveness gave us the lightbulb, the washing machine and the microwave oven. But they can have Black Friday back. No thanks, y’all! Without their inventions, I would be unable to see the washing machine into which I need to put my shirt after spilling my reheated curry on it. They really did think of everything. Unfortunately, they also came up with Black Friday, which (unless you’ve shut yourself in a windowless void, free of the internet, TV, and all human contact) you can’t fail to have noticed is happening right now, all around you, and possibly involving you. Not so very long ago, life was simple when it came to the sales; you hung on until after Christmas, or even the New Year, and shops sold excess stock cheaply. Then some started having sales at other times of the year too, DFS decided to throw the regular prices handbook in the bin altogether, internet retail got all clever and suddenly we’re being invaded by Black Friday, Cyber

The atrocious weather of just a week ago brought home the pressing need to come up with an economic and effective way to prevent flooding.  Fear not – I have a solution! To say it was a bit damp last weekend would be an understatement similar in magnitude to me saying I’m receding a teensy bit. So heavy was the rain that it wouldn’t have been a surprise to hear a report of otters calling it a day and heading for somewhere dry indoors, preferably with under-floor heating. Whilst many people and their homes were affected, it appears that overall we had a very near miss, with towns such as Kendal escaping serious flooding by a matter of a few watery inches. Although it seems we are temporarily through with the intense liquid onslaught, the now waterlogged ground once again leaves us at the mercy of any impending low pressure wandering into the area with prolonged downpours on it’s cloudy mind. In an attempt to try and come up with a solution to this problem, I had a brainsto

Now and again, it’s good to reaffirm that you’re a (relatively) normal human being. One excellent way of doing this is to go to a business exhibition. Despite what you might have surmised from reading my previous columns, I am employable, and even capable of acting like a regular person most of the time, even joining in the Monday morning conversation about the weather over the weekend, and why (insert name of footyballs manager here) should be fired immediately. The mug! True, there are times, often involving a caffeine deficiency, where it is like having the distilled essence of ten moody teenagers in the room, but I try and get that out of the way when people I genuinely like aren’t around to see it. As part of my ongoing experiment with what others call ‘working’, my ‘job’ involves me occasionally needing to go and see what some of my colleagues get up to outside the office, and what our competitors do to try and make sure that they do whatever my colleagues do better than

Hard to believe I know, but there is actually something out of this world and popular with nerds that is older than me - just.  Star Trek hits 50 next year and will be beaming back onto the big screen and TV. Apart from the building excitement about me arriving, 1966 had another major event that resonates through to today and still gets talked about in pubs, with its devotees reminiscing about the good old days and comparing their favourite moments and heroes. Yes, the first episode of Science Fiction TV show Star Trek aired (There was some footbally-thing too, I believe). Only moderately successful first time around, the adventures of Kirk, Spock, Bones and the rest of the Starship Enterprise’s crew were the creation of Gene Roddenberry, who marketed his multi-cultural story of humans, aliens, and their peaceful, humanitarian, exploits amongst the stars as a kind of Western set in deep space. The original three series reflected the moral, cultural and political themes of the

It’s been a calamitous week for the carnivorous, with the alarming news that processed meats can cause cancer. According to the World Health Organisation, processed meats such as bacon (Ooo, yum), sausages (Mmmm...) and ham (Yes, please!) do cause cancer. Oh – suddenly, I’m not quite so hungry. This news is worse than discovering that the love of your life has been cheating on you – you can get another ‘significant other’, but bacon? That’s irreplaceable. Still, I can have a burger, right? No? Damn. I think I just heard some vegetarians sniggering. ‘Processed’ means anything treated to extend it’s shelf-life, including smoking, curing, or adding salt or preservatives. Frighteningly, the WHO says that 50g of processed meat per day increases the risk of colorectal cancer by 18%. That’s a measly two rashers of bacon. At the weekend I had a bacon sarnie for breakfast, a ham sandwich for lunch and sausage casserole for dinner – I’m surprised I’m still around to write this column (

Is it still light out?  Well, enjoy it while you can because at the weekend gloom time arrives, and there’s nothing we can do about it until Spring. If you were looking for a nice, cheery, introduction, then you’re in to the wrong place. For the next four months or so, I’m declaring this column a sanctuary for those affected by WIMPEY (Winter Irritates Me Practically Every Year) Syndrome. For fellow sufferers, the impending clocks-going-backness that occurs this weekend is a depressing alarm call, ringing in the debilitating fact that it’ll be dark at 5pm until March, Halloween is lurking ominously round the corner in a cheap mask from Tesco, and it’s mere days away from the Daily Mail carrying a “Weather Bomb/Worst Winter For a Generation” headline to make us feel even more forlorn. Thanks to the brilliant decision to shove the clocks back by an hour, those afflicted by the unfortunate problem of a 9-5 job will no longer get to see the beautiful autumn colours. No, thanks to

It’s been said that history is written by the winners.  That may be true, but if you pop to South Korea, you’ll soon find it has been penned by the government. I didn’t really enjoy history lessons at school. Well, it was all a very long time ago (History, and school, now that I come to think about it). So much so, that I can’t even remember the name of the teacher who attempted, in vain, to get me interested in stuff that happened before Multi-Coloured Swap Shop, or (at a push) The Beatles. In my defence, If you’re going to put the dingy portakabin used for attempting education right next to the playing fields, that’s a sure fire way of guaranteeing a lack of attention that would make the recently deceased seem keen. Nearly four decades later, I can see why having an office with the structural potency of a shed next to a field might still not be the greatest idea for keeping my... uh... mind... you know... Ooh! Sheep! Where were we? South Korea, that’s right. You would be

Rock!  Loud, vibrant, visceral, finger-on-the-pulse stuff, performed by angry young people with several chip shops on their shoulder. Yeah! Apparently not... You know you’re no longer riding the wave of popular culture when you realise that some of your favourite new-fangled CDs are significantly older than family members attending university. That, and time spent styling what’s left of your hair before a night out takes less time than shaving your ears. Just me then? Oh. Moving swiftly on, I seem to remember that pop music was pretty slick, syncopated, brilliant stuff, performed by beautiful young people who were so achingly cool they probably slept in fridges (but don’t try that at home, kids.) For me, rock royalty and perfect pop bestrode the late 70s and early 80s in a heady blur of big hair, glossy MTV videos, enormous gigs and record sales that today’s acts can only dream about - when they aren’t autotuning themselves or trying to out-shock each other for another intern

On Monday evening, I had the pleasure of listening to the fascinating story of a uniquely Cumbrian business, as told by one of it’s founders. Way back in time (2007, in fact), I was working at Touchstone Interiors, in Skelwith Bridge. Interesting new products were selected regularly, and one day I noticed a particularly striking style take up residence on a shelf in the store. There were only two items on display; a keyfob and a mug, in a selection of bright colours, all with a very simple, but striking, graphic-designed Herdwick sheep’s face on them. I thought they were great, and my niece got one for Christmas. I was unaware at the time, but Herdy, the company behind the unique design, had just started up. During the course of an enjoyable 90 minutes at Kendal College, Spencer Hannah explained how he and wife Diane have developed their company from a potentially disastrous start at the Westmorland County Show (where the Foot and Mouth Crisis left them attempting to launch t

After the week they’ve just had, it seems VW might need to prefix the name of the cute little “Up” car with the words “Royal Screw”, following the shock revelation that they rigged emission tests. Senior Executives of the beleaguered Volkswagen have this week been using phrases like “endlessly sorry” and “totally screwed up” as they desperately attempt to minimise the damage caused by the scandal over the rigging of car emission tests for some of their diesel models in the US. The figures are staggering, with 11 million vehicles worldwide involved, seemingly containing a device in their engines that can detect when a test is being carried out (compared to normal road driving conditions), and change performance to improve the figures. Assumingly this device simply detects if there’s an argument taking place, someone had just spilt a coffee in the footwell, is singing badly along to the high bits of Bohemian Rhapsody, or the repeated phrase “are we there yet?” is audible, and goe

Studycat says: "Sod this for a game of soldiers!" A productive day off work studying ; enjoying the solitude, researching on the internet, peace and quiet to concentrate.  Well, that’s what I’d imagined it would be like, anyway. It was a good idea – give my new studies a turbo boost by spending a day away from the office. Gentle music, a chance to really get under the skin of the subject and immerse myself in the intricacies and details, uninterrupted. The elderly lady next door isn’t prone to loud bursts of heavy metal head-banging, or DIY shenanigans, and the house the other way up our terrace is empty. It was to be me, several home-made cappuccinos, the computer and my little head being pumped full of big ideas, challenged by concepts and ultimately enriched ahead of an exam later in the year. The universe had other plans for me, though. A double-technological whammy meant I spent a large part of the morning looking at my computer screen with a puzzled expres

I went to a stately home at the weekend. This just might have been my favourite thing. You're right - it IS entirely unrelated to the rest of this post. This isn't the bleedin' Guardian, y'know. It's a funny old game, this blogging lark. I do wonder sometimes what I'm achieving by doing it, but it turns out I've clearly not thought about it too hard, as I recently passed 600 posts! That's an awful lot of randomness I've subjected you to, so thanks for sticking with me, and please accept my apologies. August was a particularly successful month if the blog views counter is anything to go by, with a figure of nearly 2000 for the month, making it my best month since way back in July 2012. Will I carry on doing it? After 600+ posts, this blog is now more an extended remix of my weekly newspaper column, as opposed to the stream of conciousness flow of random content that first appeared on here when I started out - much of it to do with Formula

Pass the salad dressing... Have you arrived home to find your house has been burgled, but all the invaders have taken is salad from the fridge?  I think I know the culprits... Another season of allotmenteering is gently drawing to a close. True, thanks to a very cold spring it hardly feels like it got going, but the half-dozen very small, stubbornly green, tomatoes on the withering plant are evidence that we did have a growing season. Sort of. All that’s left now is to see if eating any of the rather small apples causes our heads to implode, pick the last few alarmed-looking courgettes before the frost gets them, and look forward to trying to get up there to poke a fork in liquid mud before it all freezes completely and it’s only light for an hour just after lunch. After that, winter will come. Still, even if the nicely mulched compost and bucket of chicken poo you could smell from Scotland didn’t provide us with a bumper crop, the years of experience, closely guarded trick

Yum Yum! Rocky Road! Financial reports on the news can be pretty dull.  If you don’t give a FTSE about stock market movements and are uninterested in the interest rates, only one man can help... The BBC’s Economics Editor, Robert Peston, can enliven even the most dreary of financial updates, injecting his own inimitable presentation and personal styles into the subject matter in a way that leaves you smiling, so clear is his enthusiasm for the subject at hand. A recent report on the likelihood of a future interest rate rise could easily have been a by-the-very-low-numbers snooze-fest, but some footage of a conveyor belt of chocolatey produce zipping by and Pesto enthusiastically saying “Yum Yum, Rocky Road!” over the top certainly got my attention (although I now have a semi-permanent hankering for cake). So effective was this introduction, that I’ve now adopted it as my new favourite phrase for describing anything good. Congratulations Rob – my wife thinks I’m now even mor

Yesiree – If the internet is the information superhighway, I’m currently parked up on the hard shoulder with four flat tyres. When I moved to my current South Cumbrian abode, less than a decade ago, I used to have to unravel a very long phone extension cable from a reel and stretch it from a socket upstairs all the way to the back of the house where the computer hung around, sulking at being kept away from all the good stuff online. This process was bad enough (the windy handle on the reel had broken off from over-use, so ‘browsing blisters’ were a distinct possibility), but even when the cables were all connected, the dial-up modem allowed a pipeline of data to rush into the house at a speed so great that being emailed a photo meant I could comfortably watch all the Star Trek movies back to back before going back to see if it had finished downloading. That’s assuming the connection hadn’t dropped out just before it finished, then started all over again, of course. How quickl

Twins? Looking pleased? Holding results? Jumping in the air? Must be GCSE results time again... At this point in the week (give or take a day or two due to my ineptitude and laziness) I'd usually be posting my weekly newspaper column here, in all it's unedited, and unedifying, glory. Right up until Thursday afternoon, things were going pretty normally on that front. I'd subbed my 500 words first thing Thursday morning, rather than the usual Wednesday night (more on that next week - was that a 'spoiler'?!), but assumed I'd hear no more until Friday. At that point it might have shown up on the paper's website but, if not, I'd know when the post came on Saturday or Monday for definite. For the previous 169 submissions this had worked pretty well, with a couple of exceptions involving me forgetting to actually attach it to the email one week (thankfully rectified just in time) and penning a column considered libellous by the paper's editor and l

"You WHAT?" Yesterday saw the funeral take place of the wonderful George Cole. A talented actor, he will probably be most fondly remembered for his portrayal of Arthur Daley. A long time ago, I occasionally had the surreal experience of walking home from school and passing a very familiar character, sat in his car. George Cole’s daughter was in my younger brother’s year, and he used to pick her up just like any other dad – except he was in a Jag, and as far as every kid at school was concerned, he was Arthur Daley, the ‘dodgy geezer’ who would do anything to make a spot of dosh, even if it wasn’t entirely legal or scrupulous, on hit ITV show ‘Minder’. Running from 1979 to 1994, the show initially focused on Arthur’s ‘Minder’, Terry, played by Dennis Waterman (fresh from his success in ‘The Sweeney’), but it soon became clear the interplay between the two, and Cole’s comedic genius as the double-dealing, cowardly, cigar-smoking Arthur (complete with trademark Tril