Barry Bulsara spotted at rock concert

Trust me, it did look LOADS like him.

As if coldly murdering Tombolablog's favourite ex-girlfriend of Rob Curling wasn't enough, he's now also indirectly responsible for the death of CP's mobile phone which suffered fatal injuries trying to get a picture. Bastard!

Roots manoeuvres

Sometimes it feels like this blog is just an excuse for me to have a solo pun-making competition.

My runner beans continue to grow at an impressive rate. The longest are now over a cubit long (thanks SPMG for teaching me about the forgotten measures of cubit and span). This would be great but I still haven’t put them in the grow bag and they remain in the spare room. It’s like Day of the bloody Triffids in there!
















They’ve started bursting out of their pots and everything. I need to get them planted properly soon or I’ll wake to find their tendrils dragging me from my bed.

A cubit, yesterday.

Mr Beans

Yeah yeah. Someone else would have said it if I hadn't.

On Wednesday morning I knew I had to get a move on and do something with those beans. So here's my handy step-by-step guide to a fun Wednesday evening.

1. Choose a patch of garden that gets plenty of sunshine.

2. Carry a heavy grow bag home from New Cross, possibly doing yourself an injury. Position in the spot chosen in #1.

3. Buy a pack of 7ft bamboo canes and have fun taking them home on the bus from Camberwell [gardener's note - this wasn't done in the same journey as the grow bag. Only Dr. Octopus or that 4-armed Goro dude from Mortal Kombat could manage that]. Push 5 of the canes down into the soil between the wall and the grow bag.

4. Attach wire to the top of each cane and tie the other end around a brick, or around a nail that can then be smacked into the ground. Doesn't come out too well on photos that, but do it anyway.

5. Rather unnecessarily, use your landlady's stanley knife to cut 10 holes in the top of the bag - one for each plant. Realise that you've got the knife full of soil. Plant your indoor-reared runner bean plants in two rows of 5, so that each is next to either a cane or wire.

6. Water and surround with what is probably way too many slug pellets. Spend some time trying to bend the plants around the wire/cane. Snap a leaf off by accident. Curse. Stand back and admire your handiwork.

My, haven't you grown!

Well whaddya know, another entry about horticulture!

A week ago I got carried away and created a runner bean rearing centre in the spare room. Seven days on, it appears to have been a great success:

The tallest of them is about 16cm (the tallest sunflower we have at the moment is 20cm). Time to crack open the grow bag....

Plug-in baby

Now for a letter from regular reader, Charles Wymer...

"Dear Tombolablog,

On my way to work every day I get the bus from the stop on Gresham Road. One day I noticed something that made me go hmm... There was a plug socket on the wall by the bus stop. A plug socket. On the outside wall. I couldn't recall seeing it there previously. Look, here's a picture:

I think you'll agree, that's an odd place to find a plug socket. What's it for? Charge your phone while you wait for the bus? Maybe new-fangled electric cars can top up their batteries as they cruise around town? And I wonder what Health & Safety would make of it, being exposed to the rain like that?

But as abruptly as it appeared, it was gone. But not only gone, there was no sign that it had ever been there. No holes, marks, wires...nothing. Here's the same patch of wall, yesterday:

What's that all about then eh?"

Garden state

Time for an update...

Since getting involved with sunflowers, we've also started with tomatoes and runner beans. I've also got adventurous and tried to grow a buddleia from a cutting. I picked up some rooting powder and then went on a mission to get some cuttings, dragging CP along as my accomplice. She stood looking embarrassed while I hacked at a shrub in the garden of someone else down our street. I've tried about 10 separate cuttings, and at the moment, I'm hopeful of some success. A few are pictured (below left) and although a couple are now looking very sorry indeed, another one or two are doing pretty well.


It's now 4 weeks since the first sunflower seeds were planted. Sadly, the brave seeds planted directly into the flowerbeds didn't fare too well. Despite daily watering and a nice bed of fresh compost, it must be assumed they never germinated as there remains no sign of them.



Thankfully, several other seeds were planted in pots inside. And they're going really well! We've even started naming a couple of them. 'Senior' (pictured right) is the older brother of 'Junior' (their names inspired by the 'Move your feet' hitmakers). He's going well, measured today at about 16cm.

Back outside and I tried planting some in the flowerbed once they had toughened up a bit indoors. These brave souls have been christened 'the twins'. There's probably no room for sentiment in the tough realm of the

garden but I'm a bit of a sap and my inability to ruthlessly thin out the seedlings could seriously hamper our chances of victory in this competition. The twins are now a few cm apart and doing pretty well (left) but loads of our seedlings remain together as I don't like separating them and breaking their roots. Ah well, I guess I'd be happy with a garden with twice as many stunted flowers as I would with a few lonely giants...

Things that make you go hmmm

While inspecting the garden yesterday, I noticed a group of flattened plants (we planted seeds there but they are most likely weeds). Looking more closely, the area in question was footprint-sized.

Hopefully it belongs to the kid from next door, coming over to rescue his footy. If it's not that, then, well......as I said, hopefully it belongs to the kid from next door.

But if he goes stepping on my sunflowers....

CP and I are turning the spare room into a nursery

.





Don't panic parents! Not that kind of nursery!

I'm being overwhelmed by my urge to plant stuff at the moment. I bought some runner beans at the weekend and have set them up in front of a sunny window to give them some strength before transferring to a grow-bag outside.



That was the scene at about 8.15 this morning. They will get more sun than that as the day goes on.

Petite shoots and leaves

We're now just over a week into the sunflower contest. Venturing into the garden on Monday evening I was greeted by a rather beautiful sight...

I'll soon be needing the tape measure!

I say, I say, I say...

...have you heard about that new Morgan Spurlock film? He decides to live as a Jew for 30 days.



He has to follow Hebrew ways for that month, and Hebrew ways only.

It's called 'Circum Cise Me'.



Cheers.



Garden update (and this is also a few days old now) - how do you know if a shoot is the flower you planted? or just yet more weeds?

We plough the fields and scatter...

This is a week out of date unfortunately but if I'm going to do this sunflower thing properly I should have an entry from the beginning. After Friday & Saturday's shenanigans, we recovered from post-birthday hangovers with an afternoon of intensive gardening.


Sunflower seeds were planted in beds and pots (along with a few in indoor pots in case of any freakish late frosts).

Last summer I waged a one-man, largely unsuccessful campaign against local pigeons. This year my targets are sighted on bindweed. Man, that stuff is incredible! I expect that I'll return to that topic again before too long.

And how better to end the day than with a bonfire! Splendid. Bay leaves go up a treat. Not sure my neighbours were too impressed though - I only noticed after lighting it that they had some washing out....oops. I think CP was a little concerned at one point too - she had a bucket of water on standby in case things got out of hand.

The age old dilemma....I've a free evening, do I finish that scientific paper, or try and wrap my scarf around my head?

Earlier this week I had a brief conversation with a fellow blogger. "Why have you stopped blogging?" I asked the erstwhile blog chum. "I don't feel I have anything to say," came the reply.
It's a good job that there is no such strict criteria enforced here at Tombolablog. There'd be a lot fewer than 116 entries if there was.

Some might say that I should have taken that comment on board, perhaps spending time to read, mark, learn and inwardly digest it. However, instead of reflecting, and maybe realising that I, too, have nothing to say, I've decided to embrace the 'nothing to say' content of most of what's on here by continuing to mine my usual themes. Beginning with a knitting update. My scarf has been 'on the needles' since January 2006. A bit shameful that really. However, it's now long enough to do this, perhaps in preparation for a Himalayan trek:


or this, the arctic combat/woolly ninja look:


Look, it's as big as me! Yes, well done, but isn't it really about time it was finished?

Hang the pigeon

It's been brought to my attention that the recent picture of bizarre pigeon death wasn't very clear. Ok, sickos, if you really do want to see an avian corpse, we've delved into the pigeon detective files and come up with this. Any better? As ever, click on it to make it go big.























The investigation remains open.

Flower power

Last summer's projects included modified birdfeeding devices, failed lawnmowing attempts, and knitting (I just reflected on my adventures in June 2006 here). That scarf still isn't finished you know, though it is pretty lengthy now.



So as summer 2007 approaches, Tombolablog is pleased to announce a new activity.

Ladies and gentlemen, fellow bloggers, we hereby introduce the 2007 Blog Sunflower Challenge!



Seeds have been purchased and the garden weeded. We're ready to go. But better yet, we're inviting YOU to play along too. Two fellow bloggers have already accepted the challenge so come join the fun. The progress of the Tombolablog sunflowers will be reported here over the coming weeks and months.


Rules:



There aren't any really. Just plant some sunflower seeds and hope to grow a whopper. We'll be planting ours before the weekend. Don't be evil and cheat with chemicals. Go organic!

EDIT:
Within minutes of this going up one competitor asked about slug prevention. Good point. Slug pellets are allowed.




Bring me sunshine.....

Doctor, doctor....

my envelope won't stay sealed."

"Stick a plaster on it."

We're doing a mailout of questionnaires and I'm opening the replies at the moment. This one stood out, ahem, like a sore thumb.

As I write I'm beginning to question whether standards have fallen on here recently.... there are several ideas in the pipeline, I just never get them completed.

Not been on Eggheads yet.

Pigeon detectives

Here's one for CSI: Notting Hill, a pigeon hanging from a branch high up a tree.















Weird. It was in a churchyard off Ladbroke Grove. It's not very easy to see from the pic, but somehow the unfortunate bird has ended up hanging by the neck from a piece of thread that's ended up in the upper reaches of the tree. It's neck was properly broken and everything. Rubber neckers can click on the photo to make it all big.

Detectives at the scene admitted that they had few leads. However, conspiracy theorists were already discussing several possibilities. One interested observer person (who wished to remain anonymous) told Tombolablog:
"It has to be a revenge attack for the slaying of Cock Robin. That's the only explanation." The Police have been quick to dismiss this theory though. A statement released earlier said: "Although we are at an early stage of our enquiry, there is no evidence to suggest that this death is in any way associated with that of Cock Robin. As we all well know, the Sparrow confessed immediately to that crime, and that investigation is closed. As per his sentence, the Sparrow continues to do bird. We would also like to take this opportunity and calm local residents who may be afraid that this is the work of the Coo Klux Klan."

Smack my bitch up

I was in Paris over the weekend. Sure, the boulevards were nice, the Eiffel Tower stunning, l'Arc de Triomphe awesome. I might get around to putting up a picture or two. I think you'll agree though, the highlight had to be getting my mitts on these bad boys:

Admire the way that the photo makes them look almost as if they have beamed down from Heaven.

I've got a strange fascination with Smacks. As far as I'm aware, you can't get them in England (though I must confess my efforts couldn't really be described as exhaustive) but I remember eating them on European holidays as a kid. Last year in Australia & New Zealand I spent a lot of time nosing around the cereal aisle of various supermarkets and grocery stores. No joy. Happily though, the first supermarche I tried in Paris came up trumps. Hoorah! And best of all, they still taste good.

By the way, I've just learned that the Smacks frog is called 'Dig 'em'.

Hog's eye

Animal cruelty is no laughing matter. A previous occupant of our house was evidently very concerned about it as we regularly get post for her from The Dogs Trust, the RSPCA and a pony sanctuary in Devon.


However - let's face it, there's always an 'however/but' in these blogs isn't there? - this one that dropped on the doormat late last year (I've been a bit slack blogging recently - there are loads of them all backing up like planes above the airport in Die Hard 2) was a new one on me.

There's no reason why pigs should receive worse treatment than dogs or donkeys, so let's hear it for the mother pigs and their babies in 2007, which is the Chinese Year of the Pig after all.

Dude looks like a lady

Like all the best stories, this one is set in a male public toilet. A few weeks ago, I was in the Cotswolds. We had a walk up Cleeve Common (outside the village of Bishop’s Cleeve – which instantly got me chuckling about wizard’s sleeves) and on the way back down I needed to spend a penny (it was a cold day). I’m not a qualified expert yet, but the toilet was much like any other public one in a remote part of the countryside: pretty grotty, smelly and obviously popular with a certain demographic. For those familiar with the Viz Profanisaurus, there was a fine example of ‘Bosch’ on display in there. After inspecting the graffiti (which won’t be repeated here, but for anyone interested, Winchcombe public library seems to be the place to go) I washed my hands. Next to the sink was a brochure publicising ‘The Ultimate TV Experience’. I glanced at it, was a bit confused and wanted to learn more. And I did learn more. A whole lot more. It took a good amount of time for the penny to drop and the realisation that 'TV' did not refer to television....






























Tombolablog's favourite part is the line about sleeping and dreaming 'perchance a female dream' (point 9) . Beautiful!

For more info, click here, though it's pretty much everything that you get in the brochure.


Gentlemen, when the time comes, consider my stag do booked!

Poor taste link to previous obscure and poorly understood blog gag

Investigators have just announced the cause of that train derailment in Cumbria. Apparently they've found a tomahawk embedded in the side of one of the carriages.

to see the original unacclaimed piece, click here, scroll down past the big poo story until you get to the entry titled 'Gon-ads'

and here is the strange advert that is unlikely to be appearing on TV again. Incidentally, in searching for this clip, I found that this ad had caused much annoyance on cycling messageboards - the bit with the cyclist getting knocked off at the start had made them very irate. A gratuitous poking of fun at cyclists apparently. And watching it again, I found the "First class only" disclaimer at the bottom quite amusing. Don't worry, standard class passengers - you won't be attacked for your big ideas! But you probably will have to stand up all the way from London to Manchester and pay vast amounts for the privilege.

My grandmother and mother taught me

Put a camera in front of me and I go all well-spoken it seems.

So yesterday I was on Eggheads as part of the I Knit London dream team.

I'm afraid I can't tell you if we won or not - you'll have to wait and see. The tension! There was a fairly hefty cashpot up for grabs....

Thrupenny bits

This is how how some people think of London:



For me, rhyming slang should have been included in that list. One of the things I was most looking forward to when moving down here was hearing the cryptic friendly banter [what, not the sky-high rent and beer prices, crime and dirt? London Ed.]. To my disappointment, until last week I don't think I'd heard any. Admittedly, I don't think that there are any Pearly Kings working in my research unit and I need to get down the East End more to boost my chances. But anyway, one evening last week I heard some casual slang. And not only that, it was directed at me.

I'd been playing 5 a side and was walking back to the house. I only live a few minutes away from the sports centre so hadn't bothered getting changed out of my footy kit but it was a cold night so I had my coat on over the top. This meant that my fine legs were on broad display (and from the back it might have looked like I was wearing nothing under the coat. Nice image eh folks?). So I'm walking down a dark street in Brixton and there's a group of guys at the other end. Head down Willis, walk quickly by. As I approached, one of them shouts, "Here, I'd think about covering up your fackin' bacon 'n eggs mate!". How rude!

Community service

The short walk from Brixton tube to my house is usually pretty interesting, whatever the time or day. My favourite regular character is undoubtedly the lady who sits outside Iceland selling homemade artworks. She plays the comb (a dying art!) and has a tube of Pringles with beans in or something for percussion. Her works are all brightly coloured pictures of animals, often incorporating use of reflective silver paper. She's great. When we were tidying up our house recently we found one of them that was presumably bought by our landlady - I'll put a picture up on here.

Then there are the many regular preachers out spreading the word. One woman in particular is very impressive - the volume and projection that she manages really is something. A one-off highlight was the topless gentlemen who had a snake coiled around the top of his head. There is also of course the most widely known feature of Brixton high street: the drug dealers. A walk home isn't complete without at least a couple of whistles or mumbled "Skunkweedpills?"

But last night was pretty memorable, even for Brixton. It was about 2130 and I'd popped out to the shop. On my way back I got the usual and predictable offers of illegal substances (I often wear a hoodie on purpose - it's amusing to see how many more offers I can get when I am wearing it). But I was also stopped three times by:

1. a guy telling me he had run out of petrol and could I give him 85p to get some? No, sorry, I could not.

2. 100m further on another guy stopped me. I said I had no cash and he looked really offended. He just wanted to know where he had put his beer. I said I'm sorry, I don't know. He then spotted that the church was open and told me he was going in there. Ok. Bye.

3. Not again - I just want to get home! This time a woman crouching on the floor calls me over. Oh God...what kind of trap am I being lured into here? What kind of fuckery is this? As I had rounded the corner I had got my phone out of my pocket and the front was lit up. She asked if I had a torch. "No, it's my phone" [Great work Willis - why not just hand it right over now?] "I need a torch. I've lost my nose stud. Help me look for it". As it turned out, she really had just lost her nose stud. So we both ended up crouching down looking for it in the feeble half-light provided by my phone. And I found it! Well done me.

I got home with no further escapades.

Forest Whitaker is a great actor. The way he gets his eye to do that thing is amazing.

Happy New Year etc etc.

All go around here at the moment isn't it?

For wont of anything new to write about, I'll continue flogging the lookalike donkey. As I entered the rather excellent Clapham Tandoori on Friday, a waiter said 'It's the guy from Oasis!' I think he meant Bonehead.

Every loser wins.... aka 'Don't be a sinner, be a winner'.....aka Zero to hero

I feel that in January, my move south didn't get off to the best of starts. Within a couple of weeks I mislaid my wallet and the police made their feelings about me very clear indeed:

















Well, 12 months have passed and now perhaps the balance has been restored. This parcel came for me last week:
















I may not write again before the end of the year, so Happy Christmas one and all.

With my feelings of self-worth restored, here's to a great 2007!

The Tombolablog Christmas Campaign

Today we launch our Christmas campaign. Charity shops are seen as a benign, welcoming component of our high streets and shopping centres. They provide essential funds for continued charity work, while at the same time allowing thrifty shoppers to pick up bargains and possibly even something underpriced that is actually worth far more.

However, Tombolablog today highlights the darker underbelly of these apparently innocuous shops. Our children and pensioners must be protected from being exposed to the filth on open sale in these establishments. We hereby launch a campaign to clean up Britain's charity shops.

Confused? We present Exhibit A, picked up by our undercover reporter in the Barnado's store in Brixton:

















They should be ashamed.

Available now from selected newsagents

Mauschwitz

The battle goes on....CP's arrival in the big city heralded an increase in activity in the war on rodents. We recently had five (count 'em) traps primed and ready in the kitchen: two humane box traps, two spine busting snap traps, and an innovative use of a bucket, a piece of card, and some peanut butter that I thought was a sure-fire winner:










But it was not to be. The mice flatly ignored it, along with the two peanut butter smeared snap traps. Damn them and their evolved intellect!


However, they aren't completely smart. In the space of four days, we caught two of the little b*stards in the humane traps (again baited with peanut butter). They were both taken for a little walk across Brixton and deposited on a patch of grass.

For a short time we started to believe that maybe, just maybe, that was it. But no, a few dropping-free days later, the signs were back. Yeah yeah, perhaps those few days were just the time needed for Chester & Fievel to make their way back to the house. Last night I got angry. And angry meant thinking more inhumanely. I hit upon the following idea: next time we catch one in a humane trap, we could position it directly in front of a snap trap, and then open the humane trap up, giving the unfortunate incumbent two options: starve, or snap. A bit like an animal version of 'Saw'.

If you're having girl problems I feel bad for you son, I got 99 blogs and here's the ton

That's right, 100 blogs. One hundred. What a year it's been. Time for a real life blog party:




Drinks were consumed....

...jokes were shared...

...and a great time was had by all!







As the night wore on, Tombolablog got rather amorous with the toaster. He should watch out, he'll only end up getting burned.








Alas, rather too many drinks were imbibed by Tombolablog, resulting in the inevitable:

Chin chin! x