Hi, I'm Ed Winchester...

While perusing the latest issue of Viz earlier, I suddenly remembered something from my recent trip to Ireland*. On the flight from Heathrow - Dublin, I had a flick through the in-flight magazine and out of it fell a slip of paper. The slip of paper looked like this:
















and on the other side it looked like this:
















How intriguing! Who is this mystery lady? And why does she want to know where I was going?

I love things like this! Flashmobs, Join Me, secret gigs... At the time I remember being quite excited and comparing it to Charlie Bucket finding a golden ticket, or perhaps some kind of global treasure hunt/mystery. Then I had the idea of leaving an invite to Tombolablog's forthcoming nuptials (thanks) in a similar place and seeing if a mystery guest showed up on the day. CP was less keen on this idea. Rightly so, some might say.

I'll email the address now and report any further developments...


* I remembered it because I had a copy of Viz with me on the flight and put the paper in there for safe-keeping.


EDIT (12/5/08)
The email address written on that paper doesn't work - it bounced straight back. So I tried hotmail.co.uk instead. That didn't bounce, but I haven't heard anything back either. Ho hum.

Yeah I traded laughs/in for chartsengrafs

The Tombolablog weekend

Feathers fall around you, and show you the way to go

It was a warm, sunny Spring day on Monday so I went for a wander at lunchtime and explored Lambeth Cemetery, which is just behind where I work. It was bigger than I had expected and a pleasant area of calm away from the fairly manic streets of Tooting and Colliers Wood. While there I spotted three jays, a squirrel, and a couple of parakeets, as well as hearing the call of a green woodpecker. I also got to hear some gospel music from a sizeable funeral taking place at the other side of the cemetery.

On returning to the office I told two colleagues I'd been for a walk and mentioned seeing two parakeets.
"What?".
"Parakeets?".
They looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. "You know, green, noisy...parrots!"
"What, like escaped pets?"*
"No, there's loads of them all over the place."
They continued to stare, disbelievingly, at me, one asking if I'd maybe seen a tiger as well. It was only when I got on the internet and showed them a story from the BBC about London's booming parakeet population that they realised I wasn't a mental. I know that I have often gone out of my way to look for birds, but I was still genuinely surprised that they were completely unaware that these creatures existed in such close proximity to them. They're bright green! They're noisy! There are 30,000 of them in London! Of course not every one is going to be interested in them and other wildlife, but to have no idea that they existed really did stun me.

I guess that this is a piece about keeping your eyes/ears open really. Just looking around - there's loads of amazing stuff, even in the city (I saw a kingfisher not far from South Wimbledon at the weekend). I'd like to take this opportunity to link to the site of my friend David Lindo, the Urban Birder. Last year, David generously introduced me to Kensal Green cemetery and showed me where to spot green woodpeckers. Since then I've seen/heard them at three more locations around the city. The Urban Birding mantra is spot on: anything can turn up anywhere, anytime.

_____

I originally wrote this on Monday but just hadn't got around to posting it. As a post script, this lunchtime I ended up leading a bit of an expedition (four workmates) to Lambeth cemetery to spot parakeets (probably cementing my status among my colleagues as a geek). Predictably, they were not to be seen, so they probably still think I'm making it up. We did see a few jays and a green woodpecker though, which for me was more exciting.



*There are various stories about how the parakeets got to London, with my favourite being that, back in the 60s, Jimi Hendrix released a couple of them on Carnaby Street and the rest have descended from there.

Pink eye for the old guy

Tombolablog's recent N.Ireland break included a very enjoyable stopover in Carlingford. We ended up taking part in a village quiz, raising funds for the local community. CP and I were all set to enter as a 2-man team, when we were approached by an elderly gentleman who was in need of a team. We were happy to welcome him aboard (figuring that he could fill in the massive gaps in our knowledge of Ulster current affairs). We didn't win (despite full marks in the music round, get in!) and our hopes of having the Irish bases covered didn't come to fruition either (it was me, not our Irish teammate, that spotted Bertie Aherne in the picture round). However, we had a brilliant time chatting with our new friend, Paddy Small. He was great! He told us lots of stories about the village, his life, his family, and the history of the old watchtower that he lives in, and he very kindly invited us to take a look the following morning. We took him up on the offer and it was a pretty amazing place: several hundred years old with super thick stone walls containing slots for firing arrows.

Here's to Paddy. Sláinte!


Eagle-eyed readers might spot that Brer Smalls is an albino. He specifically asked that I switch off the red-eye reduction when taking that photo, as using it would make him go blind.

Ha ha this a-way

While enjoying my lunch I noticed that my tasty Blackcurrant yoghourt looked very much like the character Squidgy Bog from Paul Daniels' 80s children's TV vehicle, Wizbit.



After much searching, I only managed to find one picture to allow a comparison. Perhaps I shouldn't have bothered.


What I did find during my searching though, is that Wizbit is making a comeback as an animated TV series. Bizarrely, here's the all-new Squidgy Bog talking gibberish.

Gaz usually likes this sort of thing

Had to stop and take a pic of this hair cuttery I spotted in Bushmills, N. Ireland:

















If at the end they offer you any 'product' for your hair, just say no.

Things that make you go hmm

Just a couple of questions to ponder over the weekend:

1. How come all pizza delivery people are Learner drivers?

2. This one frightens me: how do TV news presenters always know where I am? I thought I must have beaten them last week, being in the outer reaches of Ulster. But no, George Alagiah came out with the usual line, 'Now, the news from where you are' and they bloody got me again! It's Big Brother!

What's new, pussycat?

I was saddened to realise yesterday that March 2008 was the first month with no new entries since Tombolablog was conceived. I'll have to make amends in April.

So what better possible way to return, than with a video of a rabbit pooning a kitten?




The cameraman on that intrepid piece of nature reportage? Yours truly, while on hols in Ireland last week. When we looked out of our chalet and saw the two animals approaching each other we wondered if they might have a fight or something. The result was truly unexpected. Gonna give you some sweet lordosis, baby.

The holiday was great and, just like that big, eager rabbit, I fully enjoyed the craic!

Pip pip!

PS
If you can hear the sound on that clip you my have noticed what appears to be a cheeky parp a few seconds in. I honestly don't know if it is me trumping or not. It could well be the sound of the door as an appalled CP goes back inside.

Celebrity washing lines

Now there's an idea for a celebrity panel show...

Last night, something else struck me about that B*Witched washing line*.



Do you think that towel was white when it entered the washer?





* It more than likely isn't really B*witched's washing line

B-I-N-G-O, and Bingo was his name-o

Munch has recently spotted some examples of BBC news correspondents having names that fit the story they are reporting on e.g. Jonah Fisher, the BBC's whaling correspondent or how about Mark Avery, bird behaviour expert?

Well, now I can contribute one of my own. Here's the contents of an email I received earlier today:

Gender Reassignment Surgery

Approximately 300 'sex-change' operations are carried out in the UK every year. Half of these are performed within the NHS. What does this type of surgery involve? And is NHS funding justified given the monetary limitations we face?

Lead NHS Gender Reassignment Surgeon, Mr James Bellringer, Charing Cross Hospital, performs approximately 100 procedures a year. He discusses the complex nature of his work, both surgical and psychological. Come along to hear what should prove to be a very interesting talk and discussion.

All welcome.

She always, always eats her greens...

Picked this up in a charity shop last week:



3 for a quid, including the White Town 'Your woman' single. It's now 1996/7 every night in my house.

Without cheating, can anyone* tell me what the 12 reasons were on Jake Shillingford's off the cuff, shopping list of love?


* I say 'anyone', but really it's only going to be Munch isn't it?

Yo, Moon!

Oh my!

Where are they now? #356

Late 90's pop poppets B*Witched can now be found keeping a very low profile in the tiny North Yorkshire coastal village of Staithes. Washing day appears to be Saturday.

Some people say I look like my dad...

Why was I Great Uncle Bulgaria? I really should have been Tomsk!

It's the story you couldn't make up....I've briefly mentioned on here the time when three of us got a bit of a shoeing while minding our own business, dressed as wombles, and anyone who knows me will no doubt have heard the tale several times. I nearly got to tell the nation when I used it as the 'amusing' story about myself when auditioning for Eggheads, but Dermot decided against asking me about that and enquired about my knitting education instead. Fans of our justice system will be saddened to learn that the miscreants involved remain free and nobody has ever been arrested in connection with the case. But perhaps all of that could now change, as new evidence has recently come to light. A routine inspection of the files has revealed unseen footage from that day in April 2003. If anyone can help, feel free to contact West Yorkshire Police*.



* and while you're at it, why not politely ask them why they miserably ignored my written request to obtain from their archives a copy of the statement that I made at the time?

Altogether now, one last time: Der-ner doww doww!

Some sad news I've just spotted that links to yesterday's entry. I might have to make a pilgrimage up to the Central Line stop later on to lay a wreath.

Anyone got a fave GH moment? Danny Kendall kicking the bucket would be the most memorable for most of our generation I'd guess. Or maybe Zammo and the whole 'Just say no!' thing. I was a fan of Ziggy the scouser and Gonch the ginger and the various scrapes that they would get into, often ending up being chased by Mauler McCall in his American football gear. There's a street two along from mine called Bronson Road that always raises a smile. Stream-of-consciousness trivia time: I think that actor holds some kind of record for playing Adolf Hitler on film.

Still, it'll probably come back in a few years time, like Coco Pops, or Wispas. Actually, have Wispas gone again? I was really chuffed when they came back and now I can't find them anymore. Rubbish.

It takes a nation of tossers

That reminds me, I wonder if I can track down the clip like this from Grange Hill where a teacher (Mr Parrott?) says "Get a move on, get a move on, get a m-m-m-m-m-move on".

[It's worth sticking with the clip until the end as well, and not just until the end of the song]

CARGIANT PROMOTES INFIDELITY

Remember that smarmy, smug-faced buffoon from the Underground poster? Well I'm sorry to bring the horror back all over again, but there is more that needs saying. CP and I were faced with the hateful ad over the weekend and while scowling at it, we took a moment to actually read the text. It's disgraceful!



Dirtbag!

It's lucky that he's thick as well as being a conceited, aloof love-rat. Once his wife spots the ad he's screwed. It may well be a short journey from long face to giant smile, but it's a not particularly long trip from smug face to Decree Nisi either Chris! Ha!

And with that I'm going to stop giving free advertisements to a company with zero morals and shocking taste in promotional material design.

How to lose friends and alienate people

Crikey, maybe I should have stayed away. Yesterday afternoon I was beginning to feel like a Danish cartoonist. Tombolablog wishes to emphasise that it does not support or endorse the bloodletting of anyone (particularly good friends), for the purposes of making them halal, or otherwise. And all of that before my parents read the one about self-abuse...


Let's move on. I finished my scarf!



I actually finished it back in October, meaning it was 'on the needles' for a shameful 21 months. Thanks to everyone who contributed to it's blue and white ribbed majesty - several mistakes were corrected by (in no particular order) Sue, Vanessa, Craig and Gerard. The next project is a hat for CP (using wool given to me by Moon - thanks). I started that one at Christmas and despite slow progress so far, I have high hopes of moving more swiftly this time. That really shouldn't be too difficult, but the Wii now provides an extra hurdle to overcome. Hey - there should be a Wii knitting game! Wiiknit London!

An Inconvenient Truth

I've been pondering putting this one up for some time, because it's not of the best possible taste.



Alright then, sod it. It's my blog.

Last year I grew my own vegetables and tried to buy things in season, and avoid items with massive food miles. I'm always very careful with sorting the recycling properly. But that's small fry really. If we're to have any chance of reducing greenhouse gases and avoiding the looming environmental catastrophe, it needs real effort and tough choices.

Luckily for the world, I think I may have cracked it.
The solution? Masturbate for the environment. Seriously. I've been wanking furiously for the past month and have already more than halved my nocturnal emissions.

I must be a contender for a Nobellend prize with that.

News just in: Emily converts to Islam

If I knew you were coming I'd have spat in your cake

Hi there, hope you've been keeping well. It's been too long. I almost got through an entire month there without adding a single entry so had to rectify that. I used to blog lots y'know.

Anyways, there's been lots happening down at Tombolablog recently and that partially explains the lack of anything on here. I'll tell you about it later. In the meantime, let's continue with a recurring theme (and easy target).

I know I've moaned about all of the adverts and general noise on the Underground, but if they all end up going on video screens, I'll definitely miss the standard poster ones. It'll be much harder to take photos of them for mocking on here for one thing. Like I did in October 2006. Here's the latest to be met with snorts of derision. It's about a man who has purchased a reasonably-priced automobile.











Is that the smuggest, most punchable face in the world? It actually makes me feel angry just looking at it. URGH! I never believed I would find a face that I would like to slap more than Richard Arnold's but, unbelievably, I think this pips it.



Incidentally, this is what 'Ukgameshows.com' says about Mr. Arnold:

Former DJ who did the "odd slot" (oo-er) for Radio Scotland. Now best known for stints on GMTV and gabbing about soap operas, although surely the peak of his career to date is, as imdb.com puts it so neatly, "Children in Need" presenter - East Midlands Airport.

I ain't saying yo' momma's fat, but....

....when she just bent down I thought I was in the Tate Modern.

Rolling news gathers no moss

There’s a famous episode of ‘The Likely Lads’ where the two chaps spend an afternoon attempting to avoid the result of an England football game so that they can watch it on TV that night. I was thinking about this recently while queuing in the local Sainsbury's. If it was hard to achieve the task then, it’d be practically bloody impossible now: the shop in question has recently installed a load of monitors above the queue. These are constantly – and noisily – displaying a mixture of weather updates and music videos along with a continual news ticker thing. Keeping up to date with events is all very well, but what about those of us who don’t actually want to know if Brad Pitt has pulled out of a movie, or the latest non-story from Praia de Luz?

A few days after grumbling to myself in the Sainsbury’s queue, I was on a train in Birmingham. The local train company have installed TV monitors in every carriage. Again, they display Sky News updates and announce the news – loudly – to everyone in the carriage, whether they want to hear it or not. Am I alone in not being totally happy with these developments? I’d like to watch the news when it suits me. I want to get a train or go shopping safe in the knowledge that I won’t be forced to listen to rubbish music or have to avert my eyes from news about celebrities.

There are two parallel processes going on, that to some extent conflict. While our surroundings become ever more loud and demanding of our attention, as individuals we are increasingly likely to try and drown out the noise and preserve our own environment. Instead of appreciating Sainsbury’s attempts to provide me with a relaxing and enjoyable shopping experience, I just turn my ipod up louder. I also need to do this on the bus to combat the antisocial idiots blasting out tunes from their mobile phones. Why is it always bloody Akon?? There was a feature on the local news recently about new technology that would allow moving video advertisements on the walls along tube platforms, gradually replacing the posters that are there at the moment (it’s already happening on the escalators). Advertisers must be rubbing their hands with glee, but for me it just signals yet another type of intrusive pollution to try and ignore on a daily basis.

Meandering further down this particular cul-de-sac, the insatiable demand to know EVERYTHING and know it NOW is removing the element of surprise from our lives. An example from last week: the BBC had plastered over its website that a past character was returning to the next series of Dr Who (if you don’t know who it is, I’m not going to be the one to spoil it, although there’s not a chance in hell you’ll make it as far as the broadcast date without finding out). Being a fan of Dr Who, I was initially quite excited by this development. Later in the day though, I realised that I was sad to have that surprise spoiled: it would have been far more exciting to have watched the show with no prior knowledge and then got a real shock as the story developed. I know TV companies etc. want to build interest and ensure high ratings, but I wish they would step back sometimes and think about keeping things under wraps a little more. Trailers are exactly the same: you can watch a trailer for a film or for the next episode of a TV show and completely ruin it for yourself.

I’m tired with the obsession with breaking news. Sky News proudly announce that they have won an award for ‘breaking news’. Well done them. My favourite type of breaking news right now would be when I put my foot through the TV.


A related PS
One Grand National day a couple of years ago, I was on the bus back home from watching the mighty Manchester City pulverise some unfortunate team [just looked it up: 2005, we beat Liverpool 1-0 with a great late goal from Kiki Musampa] and I wanted to get home and watch the National re-run without knowing the result. I had managed to avert my eyes when they put the result on the big screen at City and was hoping to get home and see if I had backed a winner. But the bus was packed and surely someone would spoil it for me, talking to mate or on the phone or something? The only device I had to block out the noise was my mobile phone and radio attachment kit. But it would have been very risky to put the radio on so I couldn’t do that either. A frantic search through my phone (all the while trying to block out all conversations around me) revealed that it had come with a sample piece of music to reveal its music-playing capabilities. Result! The song? “Strange Transmissions” by The Peter Malick Group featuring Norah Jones. Oh well, it would have to do. The bus took about 45 minutes to get home meaning that I must have listened to that song about 15-20 times along the way. On something approaching full volume. Nobody needs that. I doubt even Norah herself has done that. Every time it drew to a close, I would panic as the voices grew louder, hurriedly fumble for the restart button and relax once more into its aural duvet.

Another day in the hood

Back in July, I detailed an action-packed day in the Brixton 'hood. Scroll down to the first July entry. Last Sunday I had another eventful day which shared some of the homely niceness, but added a lot more gritty street realism. This time I:

1. Baked a cake. Apple and plum this time, following the same basic recipe as the blueberry and pear one from the summer. Tasty apples from the Bingley garden.



2. Witnessed a fight in Tesco. This was brilliant! I had only just entered and was choosing some bananas (must have a bit of green, no brown) when there were shouts from the entrance a few metres away. A big guy was shouting 'Don't slap me!' and was trying to hit a woman. She was screaming about something and trying to hit him back. Her son (I guess) was screaming 'HE HIT MY MUM! YOU F*CKER!' and trying to hit the first guy. The first guy then chinned him. Lots of shoppers were gathering to watch and the security guards piled in to try and stop it. They initially seemed to have done the trick and wrestled the three protagonists apart. Then the boy realised that he was surrounded by weaponry, grabbed a few pot plants from the aisle and started chucking them at the first guy. It all flared up again - lots of shouts, screams and swearing. In the chaos that followed someone actually threw a child's pushchair across the store. A child started crying (I don't think they were in the pushchair at the time). I stood gawping, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. The son was pushed outside and continued to yell about what he was going to do to the first guy. It all calmed down, 3 police cars, 1 police van and 1 ambulance rolled up, and shoppers eventually got back to their shopping. I went home and excitedly told CP all about it. Superb.

Sadly, a photo will not follow.

3. submitted a legal action against a shockingly incompetent / downright crooked* internet-based mobile phone company. I won't name them here, I'll wait until I have won my claim before I do that. I signed up for one of those too-good-to-be-true free phone contracts earlier in the year: send your bills in and if you adhere to our ludicrously strict small print we send your money back. Well the company in question haven't given me the money back, despite me adhering to their ludicrously strict small print, and have repeatedly bullshat me with excuses / lies* about problems with their computers, claim backlogs and bank complications. I realised that my polite, increasingly firm emails/phone calls were just being ignored and it was time to get legal on their ass. Smell my writ you mothers!

(* delete as applicable, but it's the latter)


Then I had a nice sit and a cup of tea.

"joke"

CP was very ill last week, totally wiped out by some evil virus. So poorly in fact, that our booked and paid for jaunt to Bruges had to be abandoned. She could barely move for much of the week, and felt nauseous when she did. I was genuinely quite worried at one point and called the GP to arrange a home visit. CP hadn't eaten or drunk anything for several days yet still felt sick for most of the time. I came home from work after the GP had visited and asked how things had gone. CP then began talking quite animatedly, but instead of answering my question she started muttering things like, "They're all the same you know...they control the world...always after money, looking out for themselves...weird customs...". I was baffled - what was going on? I picked up the bottle of pills by her side and it became clear - the pharmacist had given her a dose of anti-semitics by mistake. Well, you know what doctors' handwriting is like.


Thankfully, she's made a full recovery.

Hey, Blues Baby B!

Occasional Tombolablog cruiser Christophe turned 28 last Friday and I only realised today. Oops. If you're reading, here's a gift. And for everyone else, here's a gift that keeps on giving. It's probably worth fast forwarding through the first 30secs though.



This popped up on my ipod earlier and brought a big grin to my face. A timeless classic.

Cheap thrills...

This prompted a Beavis & Butthead style 'heheheheh' chortle when I spotted it on Brick Lane earlier today. You'll probably need to click on the picture to be able to make out all of the intelligent additions to the poster.

























[Tombolablog's lawyers would like to point out that Tombolablog in no way endorses the claims made in the above photograph. Legal ed.]

Hey, old St Pauls! ...when the grass is jewelled...

For several weeks I'd been searching for an opportunity to engineer an entry about a popular and memorable Primary School hymn. So imagine my delight upon reading this story on the BBC website last night, it also being the main story on the evening news.

If you're not sure what I'm getting at, here's the key quote:

"An MoD spokesman added: 'As a precautionary measure air-to-air refuelling has been suspended for all Nimrod aircraft, until the results of a full investigation have been considered.' "

Wonderful. I think it's accurate to say that the air was punched when I spotted that. All of those regular discussions about the song and its apparent glaring flaw can now be binned then. That third line is not there purely because nothing else rhymes with 'jewelled'. Jet planes DO meet in the air to be refuelled, and they DO do it in autumn. Well, they did until they started breaking.

So those lyrics in full. Get out your 'Come and Praise' and turn to hymn number 4 (Emily can probably correct me on that). All together now....

Autumn days, when the grass is jewelled,
And the silk in a chestnut shell,
Jet planes meeting in the air to be refuelled,
All these things I love so well.

So I mustn't forget
No, I mustn't forget
To say a great big thank you
No, I mustn't forget.

Clouds that look like familiar faces
And winter's moon with frosted rings
Smell of bacon as I fasten up my laces
And the milkman sings.

Whipped-up spray that is rainbow-scattered
And a swallow curving in the sky
Shoes so comfy though they're worn out and they're battered
And the taste of apple pie.

Scent of gardens when the rain's been falling
And a minnow darting down a stream
Picked-up engine that's been stuttering and stalling
And a win for my home team*.


*This is the version that you will have had in your hymn book, but 'a win for Man City' is the more popular line that can be heard in assemblies throughout the land.

I was going to stop there but now other school hymn memories have been stirred. Similar to the altered City line in 'Autumn Days', 'When a knight won his spurs' (Come & Praise, no. 82 [if '82' is correct then that's an impressive yet weird thing to have retained]) would be reworded thus:

'When City won Spurs,
and the score was ten-nil.
David White got six,
and Stevie Redmond got four'

[All I can remember of the original version is that the first line was 'When a knight won his spurs, in the stories of old'].

The other one that I remember well is about how there is loads of stuff in this world, and it's all due to one thing:

'There are hundreds of sparrows, thousands, millions,
They're two a penny, far too many, there must be.
There are hundreds of sparrows, thousands, millions,
But God knows everyone and God knows me.'

The other verses followed this pattern, with other things substituted for sparrows. 'Planets' is the only other one that I can remember. If it was written now then perhaps 'TV channels', or 'types of Special K' would feature. I'm not sure where this blog is going anymore to be honest. I meant to go to bed ages ago.

My final school hymn memory is also probably a good illustration of an element of my personality. In particular, the tendency to be awkard purely for my own amusement. At St. Paul's we'd occasionally have classes where we'd do some singing practice (probably a teacher had to do something else so a few classes got lumped together in the Hall). We'd cover the usuals, and then Mr. Hubbold (who played the piano) would ask for requests from the hymn book. Up would go the hands and without fail this would mean an airing of 'Autumn Days' (we never tired of singing about those jet planes!) or maybe 'All things bright and beautiful'. At some point in these classes, however, I twigged that it would be more interesting to pick one from the book that we NEVER sang. Not because I was interested in hearing a new hymn, nor that I liked the words and wanted to sing them. No, I knew that if I picked an obscure one then nobody would know how it went and that would result in an awkward, stunted farce. Even better, if I was really lucky I might pick one that Mr Hubbold couldn't even play, which would be brilliant. I'm pretty sure that if I was asked to pick a hymn on one occasion, my eagerly outstretched hand was ignored every time after that. I have a vague recollection that I did try the trick a couple of times and Mr Hubbold just said no. So we sang Autumn Days again.

BEASTIE BOYS ANGER AT PARKING RESTRICTIONS

"We often pop over to Brixton to see our boy Tombola. But now that these draconian restrictions have been passed, where are we supposed to park?", asked Ad-Rock, yesterday. MCA added, "Lambeth Council have not heard the last of this. Sometimes (you gotta) fight DUR DUR for your right DUR DUR DUR DUR (to park!). Kick it!"

Local VW owners were not available for comment, although they are believed to be pleased with the new regulations.

Hey, Old Blues!

If Pleasant can't see the top of the BT Tower from his window, we get sent home right?

Night of the sunflowers

Summer's gone...days spent with the grass and sun....

Apart from the Velvet Queen which is still battling away despite constant attacks from the ravenous goldfinches, the sunflowers are all dead now. Biggy Smalls...dead. Tupac....dead....maybe I shouldn't have named them after deceased rappers. Junior & Senior and the Twins gone too and now all just feeding the birds.

Who won the competition then? Who knows? Or even cares? Despite our glorious early burst, it wasn't me. We didn't pass 2metres. Moon appears to be the winner based on published evidence, but I know with mine own eyes that Ak's was bigger than that until it perished in the winds last week.

Time we got a new comp underway. Any one? I'll also need something else to write about on here through those winter months!

We're caught in a trap. I can't walk out, because my leg is all mangled like

A few weeks ago I had an unpleasant experience with a mouse. Well, this morning I was awoken by distressed calls from CP. This time her leg had been caught in a trap and so I was faced with a difficult choice.

Ha, of course not. No, CP was distressed because she had gone downstairs to find another mouse caught in a snap trap, but again not dead. Rubbish! We must have the least humane mouse traps ever! But as a now hardened killer, I began the process of mentally preparing for the next stage (the concrete flags I used last time had gone, so it was shaping up to be a case of Willis, with the spade, in the back garden). On went the gardening gloves and I was ready to go.

Last time the unfortunate occupant was clearly on the way out, but this new one was still scrabbling about trying to escape. Maybe this one could just hobble free? I took it a couple of streets away, passing a few people on the way ("Morning!") and put the trap down next to a wheelie bin. Should I kill it? See what it does when I let it go and decide from there. No bits of masonry lying about this time so I would need to strangle it. I opened the trap and before I could even get it in a headlock, it did a runner behind the bin.

It's a pity 'That's Life' isn't on anymore

Because my passionfruit's got plums!




(And those are not my elegant fingernails).

Harvest Moon: It's a wonderful life

Moon might have been better off using that title, but as far as I'm aware she's not growing her own crops. So there.

When I first moved to London I got back into my Gamecube and came very close to buying the game Harvest Moon. I was deeply attracted to the idea of coming home from work, after battling past the rest of the rush hour drones, and then spending the evening tending a computer-generated farm. In the game you grow crops to then sell at market, manage a herd of cattle, grow an orchard... whatever farming desire takes your fancy really. You can even court a local village girl, in the hope that your offspring will grow up to continue your farming legacy. What better to drown out the usual Brixton evening chorus of sirens and gunfire than immersing myself in a pretty, make-believe rural community?

Well....I decided that maybe, just maybe, real life might be ok after all. I may not have room to keep a herd of cows (and after seeing one being sick in Scotland I don't think that I would want to) but runner beans, tomatoes, and blueberries seemed a decent starting point.

And now we're reaping the rewards. We've had loads of beans (pick them when young - they're not good when they get big) and now we're getting tomatoes. Hopefully the blueberry will actually flower or something next year.

The television will not be revolutionised

Way back at the start of the year, the I Knit London heroes took on the combined brain might of the Eggheads. Click here and move down to the 2nd item if you want to read the small piece from February


Now, you too can enjoy the titanic struggle that ensued. That's right, the televisual event of the year is happening on Friday August 31, 6pm, BBC 2. Be there, or be C J De Mooi.



Laugh! at Dermot's clumsy knitting-based puns!



Gasp! at my heavily made-up face!



Be awed! by the knitting/general knowledge prowess on display!


If you look closely you might even see me winking flirtatiously at Judith Keppel.

How we used to live

You know that room in the home or workplace where you get drinks or prepare food? Chances are it will have a kettle in there, a sink, cutlery...perhaps even a microwave.

Didn't we used to call this room a 'kitchen'?

No, where I work it's a 'Tea Station'. I expect it's the same at NASA.

Reminds me a bit of when I did some work on the lights at the Johnson & Johnson plant in Hull (happy times!). We were required in the 'Wound Management Laboratory' which sounds pretty exciting right? It was where they made sticking plasters.

I fear that I'm spending too much time listening to Terry Wogan in the morning and becoming a TOG.

Tombola's photo album: the nation gives its verdict

While it may not look like it, I do occasionally spend time outside of the garden. A couple of weeks ago I paid a visit to Lambeth Country Fair. It was an impressive event: live music, some of the biggest bouncy castles I've ever seen, a dog show, small children on motorbikes jumping over cars

and through flaming hoops:

We particularly liked the assistant on standby with the fire blanket. I spent the rest of day singing the Junior Kickstart theme.

and.....as if all of that was not enough, I bumped into a legend. He actually said 'Lovely jubbly' as the photo was being taken. Brilliant.

It was a very hot day and he must have been baking under all of that leather and gold. Responses to this picture can be placed into two categories:

1.

Something along the lines of "Who is he?", or, "He looks like an alcoholic Tommy Lee Jones".

2.

"That is the most awesome thing I have ever seen"

"I hate you. Where was that?"

"That is possibly the funniest pic I have ever seen! Brilliant."

"Amazing work"

"You lucky git! We have a signed photo of Wolfie, but it's not the same."

The Constant Gardener

Surprised that I haven't used that one before. Hello, hello, it's good to be back etc.

May as well pick up where I left off, and give a garden update. Especially as Gaz enjoys them so much. When I left for my hols a couple of weeks ago, my sunflowers appeared to have all peaked, some distance short of the 2m mark. "Russian Giants" my arse. It was a pleasant surprise, then, to return to find that the Velvet Queen donated by Moon was making a late bid for victory. It was 180cm at the last check and is now the King of our garden. Better still, it has about a dozen flowers on it.

The title appears to be between Ak and Munch now, but until either of them displays any evidence that they have 2m+ flowers, and are not just growing bamboo, I declare myself the winner.

It's a good job that Stoke Newington doesn't have much of a Haitian population

This blog was written a few weeks ago and lay dormant in 'Draft' format. By popular demand (Cosmo, this one's for you), here it is.

***

Remember that crazy hat I had when admiring my runner beans? No? Look here.
The hat was purchased a couple of weeks ago, with a fancy dress party in mind. Here it is, along with the other items that made up my outfit. Can you guess what I went as.....






Any ideas?


So that's a top hat & feather.... bamboo flute.... raggedy pants.... threadbare shirt...voodoo doll... and black face paint (sounds like a nightmarish version of the Generation Game).


That's right: Baron Samedi, the voodoo high priest made famous by Geoffrey Holder in 'Live and Let Die'.



An obvious choice for any fancy dresser, right? I'd first considered dressing as this guy prior to the ill-fated Womble debacle a few years ago. Long story, but basically myself and two others dressed as Wombles for a fancy dress 70s party. At Leeds station, a group of drunken thugs took exception to this and, after trying to steal Mme Cholet's head, smacked us upside the head a bit. Instead of arresting some of the b*stards for assault, the police found this all rather amusing. Nice one.


You'd think I might have learned my lesson after that. If not, surely the message should have hit home a couple of years later, narrowly avoiding a beating dressed as Scooby Doo in Sheffield? Nope, last Saturday I was in Stoke Newington looking like this:



Making a shirt and pair of trousers go all raggedy was a lot of fun. Thowing a garden fork through the shirt resulted in an effect that you could easily pay big money for down the fashionable boutiques.

I was fairly paranoid from the start about causing offence in this costume. I'd been assured the day before that lots of people would be wearing odd stuff, including a Spiderman. This convinced me to go for it. Not so: approximately four people were dressed up. 'Spiderman' = a man in jeans and T-shirt with a Spiderman eye mask that he wore for the first 10 minutes. Great. To be honest, I did know that the party theme was 'Masquerade' so I really ought to have taken that on board. But once the prospect of wearing a top hat and raggedy pants got into my head, there was no stopping it!


Fortunately, all went well. Most people knew who I was supposed to be and sympathised with my retarded-childlike playing of my bamboo flute (some people who couldn't see me actually thought that there was a pre-schooler learning the flute in the house next door). I was in the toilet queue (you who do voodoo use loo too) when the wind left my sails. "Minstrels!" came the call a guy joining the line. "No! I'm the guy from the Bond film!" I anxiously responded, quickly turning my face left and right to display the painted/non-painted sides. The toilet became available, and that was the end of that. I didn't see the guy again. I don't know if he genuinely thought I was making some kind of racist statement or was just messing with me. Either way, I began to feel a bit awkward and got changed not long after (I'm not completely stupid - I'd never intended to get on the night bus to Brixton dressed like that).

Here's my voodoo doll, Clarkson:

Another kill and I get my '00'

It's been a traumatic day. Readers keen on animal rights might not want to read any more of this. Ditto anyone about to eat a meal. This blog can't be all sunflowers and knitting. I need to report the bad stuff too.


Regular readers may recall that we've had a long-running battle with mice in our house. Initially I ignored them, but then the battle became gradually more extreme, through humane traps, various baits, snap traps and then poison. Recently though, there's been no problem and they seemed to have got the message that they weren't really welcome. Until this morning. I came downstairs to find a mouse in the snap trap. Only it wasn't dead. Its back leg was caught in there and although it was alive, it certainly wasn't very well. While I agonised over what to do, it would occasionally make small pathetic movements with its other paws.


Two options then. Let it go somewhere, where it would most likely die a pretty slow death. Or complete a murine act of euthansia. I took it outside and to the end of the street where there was a big pile of rubbish. There, I released it from the trap. I was hoping that it might maybe give me a little wink, shake the cramp out of its leg, and skip merrily away. No. It dragged itself a couple of cm, and then gave up. Still breathing, but looking incapable of moving any distance. The old internal debate kicked in: I must do the decent thing, finish the poor animal off. But maybe it just needs a rest after its stressful experience? When it's recuperated it might be ok? Come on, look at its leg - it's practically detached. By now it was after 7am and a few people were walking past on their way to work. I had to make a decision.


In amongst this pile of junk were some paving slabs. I don't need to spell out what happened here. It wasn't pretty, and I felt pretty sickened afterwards. But at least it was swift.



*


A while ago Ak was griping about how freak storms were smashing up his sunflowers. I scoffed. Yeah yeah, just because your sunflowers are puny weaklings. But now I have some sympathy. This evening our garden was pummelled by hailstones. Leaves were shredded, and flowers smashed.











The pics show a sunflower leaf, and a nasturtium, as any fule kno. Ripped to pip, I tell you!

A day in the hood

Domesticated blog time. Jonze will love this. Today I have:

1. Baked a cake. Blueberry and pear. It's very tasty. I just followed CP's instructions really, but I'm proud of it. Mmm!

2. Measured my sunflowers. Here is what is probably our first entrant in the competition. It is approx. 165cm tall and now that it has a flower I'm guessing that it won't grow much taller. We'll see.

3. Admired my fledgling runner beans. Anyone know any runner bean recipes? I'll hopefully be needing them in the next few weeks.

4. Submitted a paper to Work & Stress (rating: 2.156 Impact Factor fans!).

Readers, watch this space for more action-packed blogs!