2007 May | Head Rambles

Archive for May, 2007

Electricity is the spark of life

Grandad May 31st, 2007

The electricians called yesterday.

I had better explain [briefly].

Herself is an avid fan of those programmes on television that show houses being done up and given “Makeovers” [God, how I hate that word - it's meaningless and ubiquitous]. She keeps saying that “we must get something like that” or “that would look lovely here”. So she started on about the kitchen. After several belts of the frying pan, I relented, and said she could have her kitchen “makeover”. This involves a new ceiling and a new floor. And the new ceiling involves concealed lighting. Hence the electricians.

There were two of them – the Gaffer and his Jimmy.

I asked if they wanted the power off, and they looked insulted. They gave me that look as if to say “we are professional electricians. We are used to working on live wires. Only pansies switch the power off”.

So I left them to it.

The Jimmy shinned up onto the kitchen sink and began messing with the existing fluorescent tube. There was a very pretty blue flash, and the Jimmy ended up on the flat of his back on the floor.

The Gaffer and I stood looking at the Jimmy as he lay there.

“You’d better give him the kiss of life” says he.

“No f*cking way,” says I, “I don’t know where he’s been, and I’ve never kissed a man in my life”.

“It was your electricity”

“He’s your Jimmy”

We argued the toss, and eventually, the Gaffer decided he’d better do something. But in the meantime, the Jimmy had vanished. He returned shortly to say that he had thrown the master switch and all the power was off.

“Are yiz all right?” says the Gaffer.

“Grand,” says the Jimmy “it woke me up nicely.”

So I left them to it and went back to my work. But the computer of course was dead. And all my work was gone. Bugger!

They’ve gone now, and the ceiling is a spider’s web of cables hanging all over the place. There are a couple of naked bulbs hanging down so I keep hitting my head off them. The place is a mess until the carpenters can come to fit the ceiling.

I’m going to have to get rid of that damned television.

Thank you for nothing

Grandad May 30th, 2007

I just had a phone call.

I answered it on the first ring as I didn’t want the extension in the bedroom waking Herself. I’m considerate like that. After all, it was just after half eight in the morning.

“I would like to speak to the person in charge of training in your company”

She had a nice voice, with a slight foreign accent. Just foreign enough that I had to ask her to repeat her request. Which she did. It also gave me a chance to wake up a bit more.

Now as I am the only person in my company, being both boss and worker, I had to think for a moment. Had I done any training since I started the company? Well, I did a night class course a couple of years ago in photography, so I suppose that is a form of training. And I arranged it. So it can be argued that I am in charge of training.

So I told her that she was speaking to the right person.

“Thank you very much” says she in that tone of voice that you know she is about to launch into a long speech. I was intriged. Did she want me to train her? Did she want to train me?

I couldn’t wait for the next bit.

But she hung up.

So I’ll never know what the hell it was all about.

I hate that.

The future of the Internet

Grandad May 29th, 2007

I read various blogs because people write interesting things. Unfortunately, some of them get quite technical.

I just read a fascinating article by Donncha on his blog. I don’t really understand the technical side of it, but I think what he is saying is that our computers will be doing all the work soon, and the web server thingies won’t be doing any. This is amazing stuff.

But it got me thinking. And I have an even better idea.

Suppose I just download the Internet onto my laptop?

This will be brilliant because then I can cancel my broadband, as I won’t need to connect any more. I will have it all here. Maybe the idea will catch on and they will start to sell all computers with the Internet preloaded.

This means that we won’t need to use our modems or broadband or any of that expensive rubbish, because of course we don’t need to connect any more to get the information. Everything will be preloaded.

It means that you can browse the Interweb anywhere. Even down a coalmine. Or at the bottom of the sea. Or even up the road from me.

And there will be no more viruses or spam. Unless you send them to yourself. Security will be perfect because your credit card details will never leave your computer.

Just think of the speed. I won’t have to wait for ages because some prat sends me an e-mail with a picture that’s 500Mb is size, because it’ll already be there!

Of course people will say that the Internet is being updated all the time. That’s no problem, because those magazines you see in the newsagent seem to love giving out DVDs of stuff, so they can just give the latest updates each month.

I really think I could be onto something here.

Anyone for tee?

Grandad May 28th, 2007

By now you probably know I hate sport.

I have played a little tennis in my time. I played hockey once by accident, and they tried to make me play rugby at school.

The only sport I ever really took to was golf. Well, by golf, I mean par-3. Until a couple of years ago, I had never weilded anything bigger than a three-iron.

It’s an old cliché that retired [or semi-retired] people take up golf. It never occurred to me to do anything like that. It costs a lot to join a club and you need all sorts of things like golf clubs. But I quite like playing. It is a relaxing sort of game. There is no hysteria, like in football. You can talk golf without having to know the name and score of every player back to the 1940s. It is played in pleasant open spaces where you can enjoy nature, and it’s good exercise.

There is something immensely satisfying about a good tee shot. There is the crisp click as you hit the ball square on and then watch as it sails high off over the trees to be followed by the sound of breaking glass and a yell from some unfortunate.

Our K8 was here over the weekend. She told me she had bought some clubs for The Accidental Terrorist for his birthday. He had immediately gone out and completed the set. But he already had a full set which is now redundant. So she informed me that his entire old set is now in my porch. It’s mine.

All I need now is someone to play with and somewhere to play it. None of my pals around here play, so it’s a bit of a problem. I’m going to play around the garden a bit. I have enough space to play with putters and 9-irons and maybe even 7-irons. I’ll have to cut the grass more often though. I can practice my drives by aiming for the neighbour’s windows.

Our K8 is move to a new house close by soon, and she says we are going to play a lot on the course up the road. That sounds great, but I think they’ve closed the course down, which is a bummer.

My ambition is to be the first person ever to get a hole in one on a par 5 at the U.S. Masters at Augusta.

Does anyone know where I can get an application form?

Worker – know your place

Grandad May 27th, 2007

Working for yourself has its problems.

The syntax above gives the clue – I work for myself. Therefore I am both Boss and Worker.

Now, I [the worker] feel that I am entitled to a day off today, because it’s Sunday. But I [the boss] know I have urgent deadlines and therefore the work must be done.

I [the worker] have made my feeling plain to me [the boss] but in typical autocratic fashion, I [the boss] have put my foot down and demanded work.

I [the worker] know my rights are being infringed here, but I [the boss], being implacable, am refusing to shift my ground.

The only answer is to go on strike.

But now I have a problem. I [the worker] will be outside the gate with my picket, but I [the boss] will just cross it.

I [the worker] have considered bringing my case to the Labour Court, as I know I have a strong case. Unfortunately I’m not in a union, because I don’t know which one to join – the Employer’s or the Worker’s. I [the worker] tried to get a solicitor, but I [the boss] won’t entertain the idea.

It’s a conundrum.