No.
Please, no!
Noooo!
Nooooooo!
AGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
AGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
aghhh
(cough)
(splutter)
(thud)
Monday 24 December 2007
Sunday 23 December 2007
Predictive Reporting Strikes Again
You may recall, if you've been around since the beginning of this blog, my rant against predictive reporting. It's where experts predict the worse case scenario to cover their backsides, and news reporters hype it up further still because there's no other news.
And so, Friday was going to be "Black Friday" - the day when 18 million cars hit the roads (at 3pm, according to traffic experts) and Britain would grind to a halt. The first thing news editors had to do was to make this news, since Britain grinds to a halt every Friday. Hence the "Black Friday" tag, ensuring in everyone's minds that this would be no ordinary Friday. And there was indeed nothing ordinary about it, because when I drove home on the A55 it was the quietest Friday traffic I'd seen in a long time. The hysterical reporting was exposed when, during the 6pm bulletin, the BBC cut to its reporter in a "traffic control room" (since when did a traffic control room control traffic?) for the latest, only for the bank of CCTV screens behind the admirably straight-faced reporter to show free moving traffic everywhere.
But wait! "Black Friday" wasn't finished yet! This was the night that millions of yoofs would drink themselves into oblivion, rampaging through our towns and cities in Santa hats, causing all manner of murder and mayhem. But lo and behold! in the early hours of Saturday morning there was PC Spokesman on Sky saying it had been no different to any other Friday.
Thank God for some more missing data discs today. Otherwise we'd be facing "Blue Monday", and certain death for us all.
And so, Friday was going to be "Black Friday" - the day when 18 million cars hit the roads (at 3pm, according to traffic experts) and Britain would grind to a halt. The first thing news editors had to do was to make this news, since Britain grinds to a halt every Friday. Hence the "Black Friday" tag, ensuring in everyone's minds that this would be no ordinary Friday. And there was indeed nothing ordinary about it, because when I drove home on the A55 it was the quietest Friday traffic I'd seen in a long time. The hysterical reporting was exposed when, during the 6pm bulletin, the BBC cut to its reporter in a "traffic control room" (since when did a traffic control room control traffic?) for the latest, only for the bank of CCTV screens behind the admirably straight-faced reporter to show free moving traffic everywhere.
But wait! "Black Friday" wasn't finished yet! This was the night that millions of yoofs would drink themselves into oblivion, rampaging through our towns and cities in Santa hats, causing all manner of murder and mayhem. But lo and behold! in the early hours of Saturday morning there was PC Spokesman on Sky saying it had been no different to any other Friday.
Thank God for some more missing data discs today. Otherwise we'd be facing "Blue Monday", and certain death for us all.
Tuesday 18 December 2007
Mission Impossible
Mission statements amuse me. They're well-meaning, and most businesses find them quite useful to keep a sense of perspective to progress. But there are some statements that just don't know when to stop. Such as this one, from a charity called David Lewis Centre.
Take a deep breath:
To establish and maintain homes where persons suffering from epilepsy, other allied diseases and associated problems may receive suitable medical treatment and may enjoy the advantages of regular life with healthy surroundings and where under the necessary supervision they may according to their age and sex and condition be individually trained and suitably employed and otherwise to assist those suffering from the afforementioned complaints with the object of improving their conditions of life by such means as are thought fit including the provision of facilities for recreation or other leisure time occupation.
Come on, guys. You're allowed to use more than one sentence.
Here's my personal mission statement:
To moan.
Keeps me on track, see.
Take a deep breath:
To establish and maintain homes where persons suffering from epilepsy, other allied diseases and associated problems may receive suitable medical treatment and may enjoy the advantages of regular life with healthy surroundings and where under the necessary supervision they may according to their age and sex and condition be individually trained and suitably employed and otherwise to assist those suffering from the afforementioned complaints with the object of improving their conditions of life by such means as are thought fit including the provision of facilities for recreation or other leisure time occupation.
Come on, guys. You're allowed to use more than one sentence.
Here's my personal mission statement:
To moan.
Keeps me on track, see.
Thursday 13 December 2007
While or whilst?
Right. This one scores a mighty 8.9 on the Thomas Rantometer.
So sit straight and pay attention.
Why do people continue to use the word "whilst"? Solicitors apart, who heretofore and hereinafter justifye theyre fees bye inventyng a new langwyge, shouldn't we use "while"?
Whilst is archaic. It's history. You'll never hear it spoken unscripted.
I can only think there is something phonetically more pleasing (to some) about whilst, compared to while.
For example:
Whilst walking the dog the other day, I bumped into my solicitor. "Thou shalt add that to thy tymesheet," he growled (the solicitor, not the dog).
What's wrong with:
While walking the dog the other day, I bumped into my solicitor.
And what's wrong with the non-passive, I bumped into my solicitor while walking the dog the other day.
In fact, the word "while" is a pile of pants. If you write a sentence and it contains "while", revise it and get rid of it ("I was walking the dog the other day when I bumped into my solicitor" is just peachy!) If you write a sentence and it contains the word "whilst", revision is unnecessary. Simply burn the page, or smash up your PC, and shoot yourself.
Amidst? Now we're touching 9.5 on the Rantometer...
So sit straight and pay attention.
Why do people continue to use the word "whilst"? Solicitors apart, who heretofore and hereinafter justifye theyre fees bye inventyng a new langwyge, shouldn't we use "while"?
Whilst is archaic. It's history. You'll never hear it spoken unscripted.
I can only think there is something phonetically more pleasing (to some) about whilst, compared to while.
For example:
Whilst walking the dog the other day, I bumped into my solicitor. "Thou shalt add that to thy tymesheet," he growled (the solicitor, not the dog).
What's wrong with:
While walking the dog the other day, I bumped into my solicitor.
And what's wrong with the non-passive, I bumped into my solicitor while walking the dog the other day.
In fact, the word "while" is a pile of pants. If you write a sentence and it contains "while", revise it and get rid of it ("I was walking the dog the other day when I bumped into my solicitor" is just peachy!) If you write a sentence and it contains the word "whilst", revision is unnecessary. Simply burn the page, or smash up your PC, and shoot yourself.
Amidst? Now we're touching 9.5 on the Rantometer...
Wi teengrs wd mk gd shrthnd rtrs...
Or, Why teenagers would make good shorthand writers...
It occurs to me (as things occasionally do) that the arts of texting and Teeline shorthand are similar. Both require spelling of words phonetically, or dropping vowels. 'Would' sounds like 'wud', and in Teeline shorthand you drop the vowel and simply write two joined symbols for the letters 'w' and 'd'. If you're texting, you write 'wd'. It's the same!
And as blogs go, isn't this the most unfathomably random and entirely pointless entry you've ever read?
It occurs to me (as things occasionally do) that the arts of texting and Teeline shorthand are similar. Both require spelling of words phonetically, or dropping vowels. 'Would' sounds like 'wud', and in Teeline shorthand you drop the vowel and simply write two joined symbols for the letters 'w' and 'd'. If you're texting, you write 'wd'. It's the same!
And as blogs go, isn't this the most unfathomably random and entirely pointless entry you've ever read?
Monday 10 December 2007
The Blake's 7 Bunker (see previous post)
The Blake's 7 Bunker. This is the sight that greets walkers making it to the summit of Snowdon.Who needs nature when you can have man-made?
This is the likely reaction of people on seeing the Blake's 7 Bunker. This is me, photographed by my brother. He lives in Cambridge, where the highest thing he has to climb is a kerb.
This is how Snowdon should look. The East Ridge looms on the left.TV Talent Show Script Template
To create your TV talent show script, rearrange the following phrases as appropriate:
"It's just amazing!"
"I've been on an incredible journey."
"It's incredible!"
"I want to thank my mum and dad."
"What would you like to say to the judges?"
"It's so amazing!"
"I've had a brilliant journey."
"In no particular order."
"Vote now."
That should do it.
I walked up Snowdon today. Started at Pen-y-Pass and walked along the East Ridge to the summit, then slithered down the ice and snow at the top of the Pyg Track before returning to the start. Snowdonia is stunning at this time of year. Forget summer. This is a winter wonderland. It's made for low silvery light and gushing streams and snow-packed hollows amid black rock. Of course, you have to put up with the gales and the knuckle-cracking cold. You also have scaffolding, workmen and machinery buzzing around the new summit cafe, which is currently under construction. The cafe looks like a bunker out of Blake's 7. More worrying is the fact that I'm old enough to remember Blake's 7.
What a journey I've had. It's been absolutely amazing.
"It's just amazing!"
"I've been on an incredible journey."
"It's incredible!"
"I want to thank my mum and dad."
"What would you like to say to the judges?"
"It's so amazing!"
"I've had a brilliant journey."
"In no particular order."
"Vote now."
That should do it.
I walked up Snowdon today. Started at Pen-y-Pass and walked along the East Ridge to the summit, then slithered down the ice and snow at the top of the Pyg Track before returning to the start. Snowdonia is stunning at this time of year. Forget summer. This is a winter wonderland. It's made for low silvery light and gushing streams and snow-packed hollows amid black rock. Of course, you have to put up with the gales and the knuckle-cracking cold. You also have scaffolding, workmen and machinery buzzing around the new summit cafe, which is currently under construction. The cafe looks like a bunker out of Blake's 7. More worrying is the fact that I'm old enough to remember Blake's 7.
What a journey I've had. It's been absolutely amazing.
Monday 3 December 2007
'Tis the season for bah humbug
December 1 has come and gone with its annual explosion of household fairy-light fanaticism. Every urban street has at least one devotee, busy unravelling miles of extension cables in readiness for six weeks of perpetual daylight.
No more so than in the tiny hamlet of Pantperthog, which nestles amid towering conifers in a deep river valley between Machynlleth and Corris. It's a place of outstanding natural beauty. All you can see is a rushing river and miles and miles of trees.
But not in December.
On an end terrace of three houses is a fairy-light spectacular that's surely visible from space. At the flick of a switch this weekend the Dyfi forest's entire squirrel population must have keeled over in shock. I wish I'd stopped to take a photograph, but the glare off the wet road meant I had to concentrate on where I was driving, and it's a long trip from Pembrokeshire to Anglesey. I wanted to get home.
The garden is reserved for reindeer and sleighs and waving Father Christmases, all consuming more amps than Live Aid 2. But then there's the house. Or at least, there was. Now it's just lights. Like the mother ship in Close Encounters, the house is coursing with so much power it's generating its own magnetic field. If you're orienteering in the Dyfi forest this December, stick to GPS - your compass is buggered.
Best of all, though, is that this wattage wonderland is no more than 200 yards from the Centre for Alternative Technology. I had to concentrate on the road again, because I was laughing. Then I thought: What better snapshot of mankind's dilemma over climate change than this?
I spent the weekend in Pembrokeshire, swapping Christmas presents with family, visiting and so on. On the way back I stopped at Ceibwr Bay, midway between Fishguard and Cardigan on the coast. There was a gale blowing, with bits of sea foam blowing up and over the black cliffs like drifting snow. I stood on the coast path and watched a grey seal sheltering in the bay, and I was warmed by the thought that right there, right then, Christmas meant absolutely nothing.
No more so than in the tiny hamlet of Pantperthog, which nestles amid towering conifers in a deep river valley between Machynlleth and Corris. It's a place of outstanding natural beauty. All you can see is a rushing river and miles and miles of trees.
But not in December.
On an end terrace of three houses is a fairy-light spectacular that's surely visible from space. At the flick of a switch this weekend the Dyfi forest's entire squirrel population must have keeled over in shock. I wish I'd stopped to take a photograph, but the glare off the wet road meant I had to concentrate on where I was driving, and it's a long trip from Pembrokeshire to Anglesey. I wanted to get home.
The garden is reserved for reindeer and sleighs and waving Father Christmases, all consuming more amps than Live Aid 2. But then there's the house. Or at least, there was. Now it's just lights. Like the mother ship in Close Encounters, the house is coursing with so much power it's generating its own magnetic field. If you're orienteering in the Dyfi forest this December, stick to GPS - your compass is buggered.
Best of all, though, is that this wattage wonderland is no more than 200 yards from the Centre for Alternative Technology. I had to concentrate on the road again, because I was laughing. Then I thought: What better snapshot of mankind's dilemma over climate change than this?
I spent the weekend in Pembrokeshire, swapping Christmas presents with family, visiting and so on. On the way back I stopped at Ceibwr Bay, midway between Fishguard and Cardigan on the coast. There was a gale blowing, with bits of sea foam blowing up and over the black cliffs like drifting snow. I stood on the coast path and watched a grey seal sheltering in the bay, and I was warmed by the thought that right there, right then, Christmas meant absolutely nothing.
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