Broken English

It is fair to say that my time at school was largely uneventful and this was fine by me. In the lore of the playground you learn quickly the dos and don'ts and the people best avoided. I hung about with my friends and mostly did my homework, throughout my time there I only made two real enemies. spelling and grammar.

I am not sure what happened on the day we learned grammar, perhaps I was ill because I truly have no recollection of anyone ever telling me this is how it is. Grammar was a hard lesson learnt through pages and pages of corrections. At the time I had nothing more than a vague interest bought about mostly through a late developing aversion to red ink. Books and I were well acquainted but even at the end grammar was no friend of mine and we parted ways with the certain knowledge that we would be forced together at a later date. Something has happened in the interim period, maybe we have both mellowed over the years. Where once we would cross the street in order to avoid each other now we say a passing hello. I have seen a whole different side to grammar in recent years that for some reason I was blind to before. The syntax of words and the insertion of punctuation I once saw as nothing more than a chore. The English language is blessed with such flexibility that as long as the correct words are there their meaning is usually not to difficult to construct. Where as I used to view grammar as a secret that I was not party to I am now starting to glimpse at its function.

There is a trend in education backed by statistics for boys to choose subjects such as mathematics, the sciences and design technology. To me these subjects are black and white because they conform to strict rules, there are formulas and ways or doing things, rules that I never saw or took no interest in when it came to English. But now the hieroglyphics have been translated and I cannot say I am fluent but I find this new language fascinating and not the chore it used to be it is now a challenge with rules and boundaries, not so unlike the sciences I once liked. There are things to discover and knowledge to to be gained a chance for self improvement and greater understanding. Anyone with half a notion of the correct deployment of grammar will instantly see this monologue littered with red ink. It is not uncommon for the Big Cheese to put more than a few things right but I can add this to the rules I have learned and move on. I never hated linguistics but now I like it more and think this could be the start of a good friendship.  

This will come as no surprise to those who did not miss that day at school but I don't really think that grammar's job is to police, grammar is the icing on the cake. Cakes are good but frosting makes it funny or poniente gives it a pace and a voice. Grammar frosting takes it from a sponge to a birthday cake and if it is really good a piped message on top.

Grammar and I may even go for a beer later, he was even talking of bringing a friend. Comma, full stop, even semi colon are all fine by me but if it's spelling, forget it. We still have issues.

Kryptonite brunch

I think it is true that everyone is good at something, everyone has their own power, something they are good at. But if we have learnt nothing more from the Superman franchise it is that there is no such thing as perfection. A flaw is not always obvious and even if it was would you tell. If we can believe the movie Clark Kent was in his mid thirties before anyone even knew the effects of Kryptonite. I say this because it seems pretty obvious now that even the dumbest of the many bad guys and henchmen now doing time could not have put two and two together and come up with something like "lets get some of that stuff that brings the unstoppable man to him knees." even if they could not see through a disguise consisting of a pair of glasses and a pot of hair gel. I am no Lex Luther but I have now discovered my sisters Kryptonite. I did not mean to it just appeared.

When it comes to cooking little L is pretty good. She has served dinners for 15 consisting of two sittings, cooked banquettes for Easter, Christmas and every other significant annual event. She has baked cakes for birthdays, christenings and weddings and I have never known a person to leave her house without complaining of eating too much. She does not cook in blue Lycra and does not need to change in a phone box before turning on the oven, but she is pretty good at cooking, thats (one of) her power(s).
I was expecting good things when I invited myself round for a late breakfast, or brunch if you want to be all American about it. When I arrived things were boiling and bread was primed for toasting. There was a great spread on the table and just a few things to finish off. We all sat down and the last of the bounty was presented. It was great, I started with some toast covered it in beans a few mushrooms on the side then some scrambled eggs. Now I do a bit of cooking myself and I am pretty much positive that the black and crispy extras did nothing to enhanced the overall taste and texture of the side dish, burnt scrambled eggs, must have been an off day. I invited myself round again about a month later again a great spread and again scrambled eggs avec black and crispy bits. I had to check, for a moment I thought that maybe little L had for all this time lived under the false notion that this was the correct manner to cook them. No they were just burnt and she knew it.

I do not wish to trivialise the scrambled egg for within its simplicity is contained one of the true wonders of breakfast. They should be light, moist and creamy but have the firmness to just stay on your fork, great scrambled eggs are an art that only a few people ever master.  But such is the greatness of scrambled eggs that even an adequate effort, easily achievable by almost anyone who puts their mind to it is still delicious and something to look forward to. We can therefor only reason other forces were at work, how else could you explain a complete loss of cooking ability for one of the simplest dishes known to man by a cook with credentials. A combination of an everyday frying pan and free range medium size eggs had combined and formed a Kryptonite substance which like Superman was harmless to everyone else on the planet except her. Unlike Superman she did not fall to the floor in a quivering heap I guess the hearty brunch gave her the strength to carry on.

It took Eve Teschmacher to save the great man of steel from a watery grave and to give us all the happy ending we had hoped for. With this is mind I worked tirelessly on an antidote until I found it.

Next time we had brunch I did the eggs.

Ticking Boxes

The coffee I am holding in my left hand is making it slightly more difficult than usual to type my blog, a byproduct of multi tasking I hear you cry well maybe but the truth is this coffee is formulated to perfection and today I will share that recipe with you.

 I would like to say it has been pain staking work researching all the permutations available, factoring in the many options and gruelingly consuming endless cups of the stuff but the reality was nothing like that. There was no scientific research no lab involved no samples or controls in place just paid my money and drank. This is then the distillation of a few years of coffee at the weekends random samplings of various chains each with their own blend of beans and extras. If we were being objective about it I probably should have kept some kind of tally maybe given them a score much like a restaurant critic but this was never an exercise in highlighting the good from the bad it was purely selfish in order that I could get the best I could so the knowledge stayed locked up inside my head but now I feel I have reached the end, it is time to share.

I feel slightly annoyed to say it and it took me a while to get over it myself for I am no fan of chains and even less of multi nationals but there are times when you have to look in to the abyss and say do I want a good coffee or not, suck it up and get on with it. There are plenty of smaller independent places which if they were more prevalent I would probably go to more frequently. I am a big fan of the Ape vans they do good coffee but I think I am more smitten with the actual vehicle, then there is Monmouth's legendary coffee. The very thing that makes these smaller places so good is their scale so they cannot be considered a staple supply. I found Costa's blend to be a little bitter for me and I loved, for a while, collecting the little stamps from Nero but in the end it was clear it was Starbucks that stood out.

For me the perfect order is more than just the end product. There is this whole bit in between it allows you to show your credentials. It is a sort of game, on the one side you have your experience on the other thier skill as a barista. You should know your order already but I like to play a poker face, I spend I little time looking at the board then when asked I pause a moment longer. The delivery is all important, without hesitation or deviation you must deliver your order leaving no margin for a return question. If this goes well your part is done, one of two things happen next. The barista takes your order passes it on to the next machine operator and no other questions are exchanged other than pleasantries, it is a draw. Or they look like a rabbit in the headlights and have to ask you to repeat the order, you're the winner. 

So here it is my perfect Starbucks coffee order 

                    Grande-Decaffee-Hazelnut-Latte-With 2 pumps not 3 to take away.

The coffee should be hot to the point that you cannot drink it for at least 2 mins but I don't take a cardboard wrap around (doing my bit for the planet).  The size needs to be Grande for the ratio of Hazelnut (2 pumps) to coffee to be correct and if you pay with your Starbucks card you get the extra stuff free. Then to top it all off you get a load of the boxes down the side of your cup ticked.

The muffin is not necessary but always nice.

Aerials big reception

There are times when I am convinced the state is controlling me in Orwellian style, other times I think I am just being paranoid, often it is just plain annoying but most of the time I have no control over what I watch on TV.

The aerial and I have a tempestuous relationship to say the least, over which I have no control. It decides what I should watch and what channels are available but with little or no consistency. Every channel has its own position ranging from on top of the television to laying on its side in the doorway. There is a tendency for the most inconvenient places and the most precarious sometimes it just wants to see another part of the room but you can never predict where it will be. What is BBC 1 on Monday will be channel 4 on Wednesday with no way of telling. There there are just too many variables to factor in to make educated guesses everything from the occupants of the flat above being home to the whether we are cooking in the kitchen all play a part. I would like to think that if you could possibly list all the variants you might be able to create an equation to determine the optimum position but then you discount the ghost in the machine. There are times Aerial likes to play little games where reception is perfect until you are two thirds of the way back to the sofa when it mysteriously looses all signal or the one where the only place is 2' off the ground leaving the person sent to fix the situation with the king Solomon type decision of the other persons enjoyment and their own aching arm and my personal favorite is where Big Cheese will play around up to the point of complete frustration only for me to take over placing it in the exact place it was first positioned and gain (for about 15 minutes) reception of unparalleled clarity.

This never used to be a problem in the good old days of analogue technology. There were many times I would watch the same episode of 'Jamie an home' in black and white which would take on an all together different dimension allowing me to watch without the knowing familiarity you get from seeing the same thing twice. The picture would crackle the sound would dip but these were all just endearing quirks that I grew to love. I think that Aerial was a little put out when I introduced it to the digital box. Maybe it was its boasty ways of being able to pick up hundreds of channels or its sporting of green and red LED technology that meant this was never going to work, as they now seem to want to be as far apart as possible. It was right from the start the two never really got on leaving me to pick up pieces of the broken relationship.

So why don't I just get rid and maybe invest in something flat and 30" wide with stuff built in. Well I would be lying if I said the thought had never crossed my mind, but we have been through so much together. Three seasons of Lost, practically every Jean Claude Van Damme movie (on channel 5) and how we loved those crazy characters on Top Gear. To get rid now would be like kicking out your loyal dog because it's old and started to pee on the carpet. There have been good times and as long as you're the spectator watching the other person scramble, with a desperation only someone missing the show they have waited all week to see can muster it is pretty funny, while not being able to get reception on a channel showing that chick flick is no bad thing.

There is no doubt Aerial is more than an aerial and the ghost in this machine has all the personality you could ask for but if you want to watch TV don't mention the D word.

DIY Wonderland

On your classic 1-10 scale of DIY it is difficult to rate yourself. I know which end of the hammer to use, have not yet drilled through a pipe and own a tool box. Most of what I have attempted I have pulled off or filled in to look acceptable, I defy any man to be honest enough to give below 5 but neither am I a 10 so I am happy to settle on a solid 7.

We went to Homebase at the weekend I was like a kid in a sweet shop. There was an agenda but as soon as the automatic door slid open to reveal the magical DIY wonderland inside that went out of the window. There is a force like that of dark matter in the universe that is not full understood, that you cannot feel but are aware of it's presence, bought on perhaps by the smell of cut wood and solvents mixed with the testosterone from men around power tools. I can only imagine it's the same force that compels women when high street shopping as it has the same effect on me and I stood staring at the great wall of spanners. A 7 does not mean you like DIY and although I do not hate it I do not love it, what I do love is using the tools. Where else in our world of health and safety can you use 3 extension leads trailing over counter tops in order to drill in to a wall your 90% sure does not have anything else behind it with a pair of old sunglasses and some gardening gloves for protection. The risk is all part of the fun and I think without it it would be like a job and nothing would ever get done. It was with this in mind that I tried to imagine scenarios in order to justify buying a pack of 3 pliers, a set of spanners and some miniature screw drivers.

What we had actually gone for was an end cap to screw on to our recently removed radiators but by this time I was sucked in. In a clever trick of marketing DIY stores always put the best stuff (tools) right as you walk in, in fact it would not surprise me one bit if the cut wood and solvent smell mentioned earlier was not pumped through the ventilation, they then put the dull stuff (radiator caps) right at the back. It took us some time to get where we needed to be as the Big Cheese had to dismiss my attempts at justification as whimsical. With no new tools I had lost interest but with a job to do we looked at the plumbing section with no idea, measurements or bit to compare we did what pretty much everyone else does and guessed. On the way out we pick up some other stuff and took a route that conveniently took us past the tools section where the Big Cheese relented on the set of 3 pliers, £50 lighter we were leaving the shop.

There was no possible way to use my new pliers to fit the radiator caps, I tried, and the caps did not fit. It took another trip down the road to the best shop in south London (that is another post) to get the bit we actually needed, they fitted and we were full of triumph. It was not until we filled the water pressure back up that the water started leaking from another joint and despite the best efforts of me with my new pliers it was not going to stop. Well I can't very well do it I said I changed it the first time, so with a sigh the phone conversation went something like this.

Big Cheese
"Hi Connor, we know we asked you to come Friday but is there any chance you could come tomorrow"
Connor (plummer)
"Yes that should be fine"

Problem fixed.

Three legged bike

It didn't seem that bad on Friday night although I knew something was not right. I had the first warning signs a few weeks earlier but like a lot of things I chose to ignore them. It is possible if I had acted a bit earlier things might have turned out better. But they didn't, now my bike may have ridden it's last.

My bike can only be described as a part of me and not just an extremity like a finger, which if it came to it you could loose, we are talking a big one like an arm or leg so fixing it shot to the top of my list of things to do, first thing Saturday I fired up the computer and consulted the oracle that is Youtube. Everything looks so easy on there. Just take off the pedals replace the crank and bearings then put it all back together in under 3 mins. What Youtube does not show you is the 5 takes and the 30 mins prep before hand. Filled with confidence I got out my tools only to find I did not have the right ones. In my experience when things start out like this they rarely get much better especially when it comes to fixing things. I photographed the broken bit on my phone patting myself on the back for the inginuity I had just shown and set off down the bike shop. They are a very helpful bunch and when I explained the problem using words like round bit on the turning thing they kindly showed an interest and when I showed them the phone picture I think that was the icing on top. Even with the 2 inch x 1 inch phone screen image they had no idea what I was going on about I was going to have to go back and fetch the bike.

The guy in the workshop was performing surgery on another ill bike when I returned. His rubber gloves were covered in grease but the outlook was good on his patient. It only took him a moment to diagnose mine I knew it was coming, maybe it was a hollowness in his eyes "It's terminal". There was nothing that could be done. I tried to offer up a few solutions but he clearly knew what he was talking about and I was just in denial. In a nutshell the bearing and crank were stuck inside the frame as the bit (technical name) that you needed to screw it out had sheared off. I had lost a limb.

I needed a new bike, things are just so much more difficult with a missing limb, things take so much longer and the walk home was no exception. When it comes to used bikes in London anyone will tell you it's a mine filed of dodgy. the last thing I wanted was a stolen bike, it just perpetuates more crime and sooner or later it will be you (which it has been twice). I found a bike I liked the look of and phoned up. The conversation went something like this.
 "Hi I have seen your ad on the gumtree for a bike. is it still available."
"Bike, er yeah, yeah the bike I think I still have one left"
"What kind of condition is it in"
"Well the thing is yeah I am selling them for a mate who is well in to his bikes but lives outside London, but I have had a lot of em and everyone who's been round to me lock up has bought one."
"Are you around today, I might be interested in having a look."
"Well I could probably meet you later tonight at my lock up about 8."
"It would be nice to see it in the daylight, I will have a think about it."
 This was probably perfectly innocent but my spider sense was tingling. The thought of going to the far end of east London to a lock up in the middle nowhere with a guarantee I will be carrying at least a phone and a £100 to buy a bike I could not see did not add up to a good idea. It was not till I spoke to George that things started to look up, he had a bike, knew what he was talking about and I could see it this afternoon.

A cup of tea and a test ride later I had bought a new bike and with cliches blowing through my hair I was riding my new bike with a saddle set far to low causing me to adopt a paper gangster style where your knees are higher than the saddle. But what did I care I had my leg back.