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Last One

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As mentioned in the previous post, I went to the last of this year’s Xmas parties on Friday.

It was a good do – free bar and free food, etc. I really quite enjoyed it.

Thing is, there weren’t that many people who I knew. The company has such a high turnover of staff that, of the sixty or so people there, I probably only knew about a dozen of them – just the old stalwarts.

But it was great to catch up with those that I did know and haven’t seen since I retired.

There was Football Freddy; Doroffee; The Big Boss and The Other Big Boss; The Legend that is… ; Moany Eric; AC/DC and Steve… amongst others. And let’s not forget Scrubs Up Well Julie, who always looks fantastic at parties, in her low cut, little black dress with the split up the side (Phew!)

The DJ was a bit rubbish, I thought, playing some modern shite that no-one had heard of, apart from half a dozen young girls with impossibly short skirts covering their ridiculously small bottoms, dancing away in one corner of the room by themselves.

Eventually, he put some decent stuff on and I was able to strut my stuff. It was like John Travolta had just stepped onto the dancefloor.

Probably.

But – under strict orders from the current Mrs Masher, not to return home like I did last week – I refrained from drinking too much of the free booze and I left in time to make sure I caught the train so that I would get home at a reasonable hour  (2am wasn’t too bad, methinks).

So, that’s it now: no more festivities until the big day, when we celebrate the birth of Santa.

My liver will appreciate the break, I’m sure.

Nuts

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Last night, I attended a webinar – a seminar carried out online.

Our local doctor’s surgery often do these and I regularly receive texts inviting me to attend. The topics vary, but mainly tend to be around mental health and wellbeing.  As I have no issues in that area, I usually just discard the text.

But, my phone beeped with an invite the other day, inviting me to attend a discussion on Prostate Awareness.

Now, I’ve got one of those and whilst it isn’t giving me any problems – that I’ve noticed – I am of an age where these pesky, walnut-sized glands can start to cause some grief.  So, I thought maybe I should give this one a go.

The event was quite well attended, with about 25 to 30 men on there, all of a similar age to myself, by the looks of it (I actually turned my camera off, as this event lasted over an hour and fell right in the middle of dinnertime – I reasoned that nobody wanted to watch me chow down on a Southern Fried Chicken Burger and Chips, whilst they were talking about this particular part of their reproductive system).

But the event itself was actually pretty good. I came away at the end of it with a better understanding of what this paticular part of the male anatomy does and the issues it can cause.

The big takeaway for me was that some research suggests that there may be a potential prostate health benefit, by eating Brazil Nuts.  OK, all a bit wishy-washy, but with Christmas just around the corner, I think that’s as good an excuse to stock up on chocolate covered Brazils as any.

But, shall I tell you my main bugbear about this particular little gland – aside from the fact that it can cause all sorts of problems… including death?

It’s when people pronounce it wrong and call it the prostrate gland.

I don’t know why, but that annoys me so much.

And I’m not going to take it lying down.

Skynet

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This week, I found myself in need of a new motorcycle helmet and so yesterday, I took a drive over to the nearest decent motorcycle shop, which is in Milton Keynes.

As I drove along the A421 in the rain – because it is seemingly going to rain for the rest of our lives – I spotted a little robot making its way along the pavement.  Like a large coolbox on wheels, it trundled along at a fair old pace, taking its package (or packages or whatever) from point A to point B.  “That could never happen in Luton”, I mused, “They’d nick it… or push it over and set fire to it”.

It was doing a mundane task (as robots are meant to do), but nonetheless, I couldn’t help thinking that someone, somewhere would be more than happy to do that delivery job.

Similarly, when the current Mrs M and I went to Prague, earlier in the year, we had an early flight from Heathrow and when we arrived at the airport it was almost deserted, save for a dozen or so passengers who were on the same flight as us.  As we stood, in an untidy line waiting for the Check-In desk to open, a robotic floor cleaner rounded the corner and headed in our direction.  Detecting something in the way, it stopped a few feet away from us. Several of us stepped aside and after a few seconds it continued on its journey.

It didn’t get far though, as a woman a little further along, hadn’t seen it, because she had her eyes glued to her phone screen.  The cleaner stopped a few feet away from her and waited.  After a minute, it started up again and turned its wheels to the left… its internal algorithm deciding that it could go around the obstacle in front of it.  At this point, the woman looked up and saw that she was in the way. She picked up her suitcase and stepped aside…. back into the path of the robot cleaner, which took evasive action and turned again.  Realising what she had done, the woman once again moved out of the way… straight back into its path.

At this point, the cleaner gave up and shut itself down and there it stayed, motionless in the middle of the gangway, until a human operative eventually came along and took it away.

I think we are still a long way from the rise of the machines.

And, as amusing as it had been, watching this lady dance with a robotic floor cleaner, again I couldn’t help but think that someone, somewhere would be appreciative of such a job… even if they didn’t get to tango with the passengers.

At our hotel in Prague, the restaurant had a robotic trolley, which would navigate its way around the tables at breakfast time, stopping for people to place empty plates etc onto it, which it would then take into the kitchen, emerging several minutes later, emptied and ready to collect some more. It was fun to watch this little motorised cart going about its business, but again, it was effectively taking someone’s job.

Robots have long been touted as being the future, of being able to free us all from the drudgery of having to do mundane jobs, but for some people, the chance to do a job – any job, no matter how mundane – is all that they want.

I’m all for technological advancement, but I do wonder if it should be at the cost of those who are already struggling to find any kind of gainful employment.

Sunday, Sunday, So Good To Me

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As Sunday’s go, yesterday’s was a pretty good one.

The weather was perfect – if maybe on the slightly chilly side, early on – as I rode up to Bletchley Park to meet up with a couple of mates for our annual Nerds Day Out. It was a lovely morning and the ride was most enjoyable – tempered only by some irritating roadworks that I should have known to avoid, as they’ve been there for ages.

Despite having visited many times, one of our little group had never been, so we had a good excuse for us to go again.  Not that I need an excuse: I must have been a dozen times already, but I still always learn something new whenever I go.

We looked around many of the huts and also made the obligatory (for us) trip to the National Radio Museum, before grabbing some lunch in Hut 4 and then going to see the Bombe.

After several hours, we’d seen enough, bade our farewells and we each went our seperate ways.

Back home, I had time for a quick cup of tea before I took the dog out and then Mrs M and I jumped in the car and headed to Milton Keynes.

We had just enough time time to shove a Nando’s down our necks before quickly heading to the theatre to see Ben Elton in his Authentic Stupidity tour.

He was this: fucking excellent.

I won’t write a review here, because many others can do it so much better, so I’ll just say: he didn’t disappoint.

That phrase could similarly sum up my Sunday as a whole.

In the words of every failed contestant on Bullseye, “I’ve had a lovely day”.

Ahoj Zlato, Jsem Doma

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Yesterday afternoon, myself and the current Mrs M arrived home, after spending a few days visiting the lovely city of Prague.

It’s a great place to visit if you like art galleries and bookshops. There are SO many art galleries and bookshops.
It’s also great if you are into old churches, because there are plenty of those too.
And, if differing styles of old architecture are your thing, then Prague needs to be on your list: Gothic, Renaissance, Baraque, to name just a few, are in abundance.

However, Mrs M and I aren’t into any of that rubbish – one Gothic church looks exactly the same as another, to me.

What it did have for us though, was some good weather, cheap food, cheap beer and lots of history – I don’t mind a bit of history, me.

Unfortunately, our last day there was marred by me picking up some sort of bug – possibly from the overcrowded Hop ‘n’ Stop buses, that we used so much to get around.

So, I have returned to Blighty, feeling absolutely shite and am currently missing the club BBQ that I was so looking forward to.

I have looked up my syptoms on Dr Google and it looks like I have contracted a dose of Spanish Flu – not the mild one that lays you low for a few days, but the one that killed about 50 milion people at the turn of last century.

Mrs M is constantly dosing me up with Paracetamol, so I’m sure I’ll be fine.

Flutter By

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Whilst channel surfing t’other day, I happened across an episode of Butterflies on… BBC3, I think it was.

I’d not seen this programme since it’s original airing back in 1978 so, despite having missed half of the show, I sat and revelled in its somewhat dated humour.

In one particular scene, Ria – the main protagonist of the show, played by the wonderful Wendy Craig – was moaning to herself about the state of her humdrum life, as she was doing the housework.  She complained about how bored she was, doing the same thing, day in, day out. And then she indulged herself in several flights of fancy:

“I want to run naked through Harrods, shouting Woolworths!’”

“… and I want to run barefooted and knickerless through fields of buttercups”.

That sort of thing.

And then she shouted something that shocked me – and I don’t shock easily when it comes to watching telly. She shouted, “I want to be raped!”, before falling down onto the sofa with a harumph.

Of course, she didn’t mean what she said: she was obviously making the point that her romantic life was just as boring as the rest of it. And we the viewers didn’t believe there was any truth to it either, because her frustration – sexual or otherwise – was quite evident.

But say it, she did.

A line that assuages, almost, what is widely considered to be one of the most abhorrent acts that can be committed against a woman.

“Well, she was literally asking for it”.

I can’t imagine any actress saying such a thing today, even though TV is far more sexually permissive and promiscuous nowadays, compared to what it was forty-odd years ago.

And I’m surprised that the Beeb – so nanny-ish in the seventies and early eighties – even allowed such a line to be said.  They’d have had Mary Whitehouse all over them, surely?

I wondered whether, because the line was also written by a woman – Carla Lane (Liver Birds, Bread, etc) – does that make it more acceptable?

No, I don’t think it does.

TW3

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It’s been a busy seven days.

On Tuesday, Mrs M and I went to see  Mind Mangler.
A comedy theatrical show with some magic thrown in.   It was pretty good and we both enjoyed it.
A good night out

On Wednesday I was walking the dog in the woods, when I happened across two young men setting fire to a pushbike.
They were using several aerosol cans of deodorant as flame throwers, to set light to this bike which they had propped up against a tree.
It was well aflame by the time I came across them.   I questioned them as to their actions and told them to put it out, which they tried to do, but the tyres were stubbornly alight and took some extinguishing. Nonetheless, I stood with them until it was done and then continued to berate them, explaining  just how stupid they were. They looked somewhat abashed at my dressing down of them. Thing is, they weren’t kids, these were grown men of about 19 or 20 years old, I’d say.  A sudden police siren from just outside the woods had them scarpering off, however, it wasn’t a police car but rather, a big red fire engine: someone had seen the smoke rising and had called the Fire Service. I explained to the fire men (people) what had happened and they thanked me for making sure it was put out, but I sensed they felt a little annoyed, having driven halfway across town to find just a smouldering bicycle.

On Thursday, upon discovering that I’d been somewhat remiss with my weekly grocery shopping and hadn’t got us anything to eat, Mrs M and I went to dine at our local pub. Turns out that Thursday night is Build-A-Burger night, and so we built ourseves a couple of fantastic burgers, served up with a side order of chips and onion rings.  We left the pub feeling absolutely stuffed.   And all for a fiver each. Can’t complain at that. We’ll probably go again this week!

On Friday night, we went out to the pictures to see the new Bad Boys film.  It was alright.  I quite enjoyed it, actually… despite missing all the previous Bad Boys films.
Even better, though, was the Nandos we had beforehand.

Saturday evening saw us driving down to Basingstoke for a family function.
I won’t go into the details of that, here.

And on Sunday, Son and I went down to (what was) the Olympic Stadium – but is now home to West Ham FC – to watch some American men playing rounders. Major League Baseball (MLB) came to London for the weekend and as Son is a bit of a baseball fan – and a fan of the Phillies (Philadelphia) in particular –  we went along to watch them play against the New York Mets.  I have to say, it was a fun, friendly event and everyone seemed to enjoy it… even fans of the Phillies, who ultimately managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, right at the last… er, innings(?)  (I really had no idea what was going on).  But it was a good day out and everyone had a great time and there was no trouble… despite the copious amounts of alcohol being consumed in the stands.

I had a chilli dog.

It was enormous and lasted me all day.

 

Big Weekend

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This last weekend saw the Radio 1 Big Weekend come to town.

Held in Stockwood Park – the largest bit of greenspace in town – and attended by approximately 100,000 people over the course of three days, it was – by all accounts in the local and national press – a resounding success.

Which I am pleased about: we normally only get in the news for bad shit.

I didn’t attend the festival, of course, but I could just about hear it sometimes when I was walking the dog and the wind was blowing in the right direction.

The Radio 1 Big Weekend (as an aside, I own a Shure microphone that Noel Edmonds used, back when it was called The Radio 1 Roadshow.) isn’t something I would normally take any notice of, but as it was in my home town my interest was piqued and I watched snippets of it over the course of the weekend, as it was being shown live on iPlayer.  I’m not ashamed to say that I didn’t recognise any of the acts or any of the Radio 1 DJ’s (are they still called that, or is it just ‘presenters’ now?) as I stopped listening to Radio 1 many, many years ago.

The one act that I did recognise, was the headline act that closed the festival on Sunday night: a band called Coldplay. Whilst I’m aware of them, I’ve not really paid any attention to their work. But as we watched, I found myself saying things like “Oh, I like this one” or “Ahh, didn’t realise this was one of theirs”.  By the end of the night, I found I was becoming a bit of a Coldplay fan… especially when Chris Martin sang a short song he had composed, just for Luton Town FC fans, which he called Orange.

The next morning, I found myself perusing YouTube videos of Coldplay songs, when I stumbled across this one. If the sheer look of joy on The Doctor’s face doesn’t brighten your day, I’m not sure anything will!

 

Le Grand Weekend

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Friday evening saw me catching the train into St Pancras and then taking a five-minute walk in the direction of the British Library.

No, I wasn’t heading that way because I had an overdue book to return, but because it was pretty much opposite a pub that I was to be frequenting, that night.

To recognise a successful year of hard graft and achieving targets at work, our contractor company threw a big party and – as ‘The Client’ – I was one of the few from the Water Board invited along to help them celebrate.

They laid on a free bar… it would have been rude of me to not go.

Despite the free drinks, I left the bar in a reasonable state of sobriety, I thought.  This was proved not to be the case, as I then went on to catch the wrong train and found myself heading toward Peterborough.  Fortunately, I realised my mistake and got off at Hitchin, where a phone call to my son elicited a free taxi ride home at one in the morning. I knew I’d had kids for a reason.

After completing my normal Saturday morning chores, The Current Mrs. Masher™ and I caught a train back down to St Pancras and then jumped on the tube down to Hammersmith, where we took in a show.  Now, I’m not sure where or when ‘Minority Report – the play’ entered my consciousness, but as soon I I heard about it, I knew I wanted to see it. I think I read the book many years ago (by Philip K Dick) and I certainly enjoyed the cinematic interpretation starring Tom Cruise, but I was keen to see how they could successfully transfer this to the stage.

Not very successfully, it would seem.  I enjoyed it, but it’s not one I would recommend.

Afterward, Mrs M and I had a couple of drinks in the pub across the road and were delighted to be entertained by the security staff trying to eject a young girl for not having ID.  There were four burly men, all afraid to physically touch this young girl for fear of later repercussions. She and her friends were filming them on their phones and the security guys were filming them back on their phones and bodycams. Many of those seated at tables around all this, were filming it on their phones. Everyone was filming everyone and no-one was making a move.  This went on for about fifteen minutes, before one guy – who was obviously the head of the security personnel – decided that he’d had enough and  forcibly ejected her from the pub.  The girl made no effort to resist and allowed herself to be dragged through the pub like one of those passive protesters you see on the news, all the time holding her phone to her ear, pretending she was talking to the police. There was a small cheer from the pub’s clientele, as she was thrown out the door.

Sunday morning, Mrs M and I grabbed a late breakfast in the hotel and then caught the train back to Luton.   Well, we tried to, but we were turned away by the ticket turnstile. Seems Mrs M had bought the wrong tickets!  Instead of the London to Bedford Thameslink train, she had – for some reason – bought an EWR ticket to Corby.  And it didn’t leave for another hour!

We sat outside a Costa, drinking coffee and watching the Eurostar trains coming and going.  To be fair, it was a most pleasant way to while away an hour.   I marvelled at the tall impressive roof and googled some information on the station itself.  When it was opened in 1868, it was reckoned to be the largest enclosed space in the world.  It survived two world wars – albeit with some damage – and was due to be knocked down in the late 1960s, but was saved just ten days before demolition was due to start, with a Grade 1 listing being placed on it.  I’m so glad it was saved – it’s a fantastic building.

We caught the train, but it didn’t call in at our stop, so Son (who now has the nickname Uber) was drafted in once again to pick us up.

Sunday night, Son and I went to the pictures to see Fall Guy (Mrs M was too tired).  A thoroughly enjoyable film with lots of action, comedy and relatable characters. Those of us old enough to remember the original TV series on which the film is based, will enjoy picking out the many easter eggs embedded in the film.  I got most of them I think.  In one scene, I heard the Wilhelm Scream, but I can’t find any reference to it in any of the websites that are talking about this picture and its various nods to film lore, so maybe I’ve found one that no-one else has… or maybe I’m just mistaken.  If you catch it, let me know, please. And make sure you catch the mid-credits scene at the end!

Afterwards, we grabbed a bite to eat and I treated Son to a Five Guys.  We both had a cheeseburger and chips and a fizzy drink.  Forty quid!  Yes, the meal was very nice and was a big step up from a McDonalds or a Burger King, but… forty quid?

As I write this, it’s pissing down with rain, which makes it a proper Bank Holiday Monday with nothing to do except sit down in front of the telly.

I think we might watch Minority Report.

Nicked Nanas

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I went to our local Sainsbury’s supermarket yesterday morning, to do the weekly grocery shop.

At the Self Service checkout, I was randomly selected for a trolley scan.  “Helping you make sure you haven’t missed anything”, it said on the handheld device. Or words to that effect. Obviously, what it was really saying was “We’re checking that you haven’t nicked anything”.

As I don’t nick stuff, I wasn’t concerned.

I waited – with my red light flashing on the till – until the lone girl working that section (and totally run off her feet) eventually managed to get to me. “Sorry about this”. I said.

She smiled. “No problem. I just have to scan… ” – she looked at her handheld device – “… fourteen items”.  I had quite a trolley load.

She started scanning a few items.  “You need to scan the items at the bottom of the bags… that’s where I put the stuff I’ve nicked”, I joked. She threw a withering smile at me, having never heard that before.

By now, there were a couple more people awaiting her attention and so I decided I’d help, rather than just make sarcastic comments.  I passed her a few items from the  Pets At Home bag that I always pack the fruit and veg into… hey, everyone has their own system.  “These aren’t on the list”, she said, as she scanned the bananas that I’d just passed her.  I was a bit perplexed by this. How could that be?  And then I remembered that just as I had weighed the bananas and stuck the ticket on them, Mrs M had phoned me to ask if I could get some chicken, some mayonaise and some bread rolls for lunch. Distracted,  I’d obviously forgotten to scan the bananas.

“Oh, sorry about that. Can we just add the bananas retrospectively?” I asked, feeling a bit embarrassed, as the waiting customers were standing there watching what was going on and were probably assuming I was trying to nick the bananas.

She shook her head. “No, sorry, we can’t”.

“OK, don’t worry, we’ll put them to one side and I’ll buy them seperately”.

She shook her head again. “Sorry, but because it found an item that you hadn’t scanned in, we need to re-scan the entire trolley”.

WTF!

There was nowhere to do this, other than where we were standing, so right in the middle of the SmartShop section – in front of everyone – I had to empty all the bags out onto the floor, and then the girl scanned everything back in, one by one.  There were even more people waiting now and some were getting quite agitated because some bloody idiot had tried to steal stuff and had been caught, and he was now slowing everything down by monopolising the only check-out assistant in a five-mile radius.  I could feel daggers raining down on me as I bent over the bags, throwing stuff into them as quickly as I could. My system was in  complete disarray, with everything going into the wrong bags, but I didn’t care, I just wanted out of there.

After a few mins – which felt a lot longer, I can tell you – we were done and the new total was 46 pence higher than my original. Funnily enough, 46p was the price showing on the ticket stuck to the bananas.

I then had to do the walk of shame, past all these waiting people, pushing my trolley – with its obligatory squeaky wheel – past all these annoyed people.

One woman glowered at me as I walked past.

I smiled at her and shrugged my shoulders in an apologetic manner. “It was the bananas”, I said.

She didn’t smile back.

Hi Honey… I’m Home!

/ masher / 7 Comments

Not that you’d know I’d been away.

But I have.

We have just returned from a few days in the Big Apple… and we are knackered!

So much walking.

So much queueing.

So bloody expensive.

The current Mrs Masher and I have been several times before, but it’s been a while since we were there last.

2001, to be precise. The same year the towers came down.

Since then, not only has the pound dropped substantially against the dollar, but prices have risen dramatically.

For instance, for the four of us to have breakfast in the hotel – and trust me, although it was a posh hotel, the breakfast was exactly the same as you’d get here in a Premier Inn – it cost us $235.   That’s 186 pounds at today’s exchange rate.

A hundred and eighty-six quid!

For breakfast.

Jeez.

But – money aside – we had a great time and took in as many of the sights as we could, in the time we had available.

And we did some shopping – because it’s New York and you have to.

And we took in a show on Broadway(ish).

And we got lost on the subway.

But, we are back home now.

On the way home from Heathrow last night, Mrs M dropped me off in town and I met up with some of my old BT pals for the regular drink and a curry night.  “Just flew in from New York”, I told ’em.  “You can’t say I don’t make the effort.”

But it amazed me to think that only 18 hours earlier, I was in the Hard Rock Café in Times Square, and now, here I was in a Weatherspoons in Luton.

Long-haul travel and different time zones can really mess with your head.