Me me me

It Was A Riot

/ masher / 4 Comments

I didn’t mind doing football duty, as there was usually some excitement to help the afternoon pass by. We would often have to escort visiting fans from the train station, walking the mile or so to the ground and then back again after the match had ended. Of course, the bulk of these fans were well behaved: fathers and sons, husbands and wives, all proper football enthusiasts. But some of them were just idiots, who had come along for the chance to cause some bother.

Back in the eighties, Millwall’s fans had a reputation for just that and we were all pretty nervous about them coming to the town for an FA Cup match. We expected them to be trouble.

They didn’t let us down.

Patrolling the streets before the game, in groups of three or four, I remember my colleague suddenly falling to the floor right next to me. He ‘d been hit on the head by half a brick that had been lobbed from a group of Millwall fans standing outside a pub, drinking beer. There were four of us (now down to three) and about twenty of them, all jeering at us, so there was little we could do except drag our unconscious colleague round the corner and out of the way whilst we waited for backup.   By the time it arrived, they had all disappeared.

My job was to patrol the streets during the game (along with many others – I wasn’t on my own!) to provide a level of law enforcement outside whilst the majority of the force were inside the stadium. But trouble started inside and the police were losing the battle, so we were redirected into the ground to help.

I arrived just as the second half was starting and was told to stand on the edge of the pitch with my back to the Millwall crowd along with a couple of dozen other coppers.  I’ll readily admit that I was pretty scared. We stood there – a very thin blue line – as the crowd threw abuse at us. Then they started throwing missiles: small stones, pens, sweets, anything they had to hand. The recently introduced pound coin had enough heft for it to make a perfect missile and several of these bounced off the back of my head. Of course, as policemen, we couldn’t pick them up, but I remember seeing one of the stewards doing just that, the pockets of his yellow hi-vis coat bulging with thrown money.

At the end of the match, things worsened as the fans rioted, breaking down the barriers and invading the pitch. Seats were ripped from the stands and hurled at us.

We ran away.

As the battle ensued inside the ground, a small group of us were redirected outside, to ensure the safety of the real fans as they tried to make their way home. Pockets of trouble kept appearing all over the town centre and we were run ragged as we legged it from one side to the other. Usually, by the time we got there, the troublemakers had scarpered, leaving behind a trail of broken windows and whatnot.

It was a long night. When I got back to the station I took off my coat only to see the back of it plastered with dried spittle and slimy phlegm, and I questioned myself as to whether I really wanted to be doing this job anymore.

The Clock Of Life

/ masher / 8 Comments

At one of a our nerdy amateur radio rallies a couple of months back, a mate of mine bought a box of old crystals.

Of course, I am not talking about a bowl of crystals used for aligning your chakra, or shit like that, but quartz crystals that have been cut and shaped, such that they will resonate at a particular frequency when a voltage is applied to them, making them useful for making accurate oscillators for clocks and watches… and radio transmitters, of course.

My mate was bemused when he found a crystal in the box that was stamped with his date of birth… or near enough, anyway.

He also found one that had my birthday (month and year) stamped into it and he sent it to me.

And so, I made a simple oscillator with it. That’s it in the above picture.  The yellow LED is set to flash at 1.2Hz. That’s equal to 72 times a minute – the average human heart rate at rest.

It’s battery powered and I’ve added a trickle charger to it,  using two small solar panels (the black rectangles behind the battery), so, in theory, it should be able to just sit on my windowsill, flashing away almost indefinitely (well, within reason).

The idea is to see which gives up first… the crystal or my heart… bearing in mind they are the same age.

Rather like Liz Truss and the lettuce, it’s just a bit of fun.

Email Overload

/ masher / 4 Comments

You know when you order something from Amazon or eBay (and many other sellers, it has to be said), you generally receive an email confirming your order.

A while later you might get another email saying that your order has been dispatched.

And when you eventually receive your order, you might get a final email confirming that it has been delivered to you.

Well, a couple of weeks back, I ordered some items from AliExpress… because they are so bloody cheap compared to the UK.

I ordered four items. If you must know:  a pack of MOSFETs; An Arduino Uno board; some blue LEDs and a multi-ganged 12-way switch.

Once I had completed the order – four items but in one order, paid with one payment – I received a confirmation email.
For each item. So I received four emails.

This was followed a short while later with another email saying “Order ready to ship”. For each item.  So, another four emails.

An hour later, yet another email: “Order shipped”.
For each item.
Four more emails.

This was followed up the next day with another four emails: “Package in transit”.

A few days later, another four: “In your country/region”.

Then: “Cleared Customs”.

“Out for delivery”.

And then finally “Delivered”.

Except, it wasn’t the final one.  Another four arrived a couple of days later: “Awaiting confirmation”.  This means they are waiting for me to go on to the website and confirm that I have received my order.  So I did.

That then generated four more emails: “How did it go?”  Basically asking me to go online and review how well the ordering process worked.   All in all, I received 40 emails regarding the four items that I ordered.

I was tempted to actually do the review, complaining that they sent too many emails.

But I thought I might have to do it four times.

 

Parking Idiots

/ masher / 6 Comments

I do my grocery shopping as early as I can on a Saturday morning: 1. To make sure I get a parking space and 2. To get there before they sell out of toasted tea cakes.

On point 1: I always try to park considerately.  If I get out of the car and find that it isn’t square in the bay or the back end is hanging over the line, I’ll get back in the car and correct it. This makes it easier for those parking next to me and allows the maximum amount of room each side for people to open their car doors without hitting mine.

Sadly though, some people just don’t seem to care about such things and will just park their car at whatever jaunty angle takes the least amount of effort.  And, if their door hits the car next to them, so be it. Can’t be helped.

Which is why I found yet another dink in my door this week, when I cleaned the car.

I’ve tried parking away from everyone else abut this still happens.

People just seem to want to park next to me, for some reason.

When I went to the National Archives a few weeks back, I parked in a retail park just a few minutes walk away, as the parking was free for up to 4 hours.  Although there were plenty of spaces available, I parked right at the far end, well away from everyone else, in a row of bays that were completely empty.

When I returned about an hour or so later, I found that someone had parked right next to me – as can be seen in the picture above (my car is the blue one).

All those empty bays and he/she chooses to park as close as possible to me.

Maybe my car is just particularly attractive.

Recommendations

/ masher / 6 Comments

A couple of days ago, I moved some money out of one of my savings accounts and into my current account.

As both accounts are with the same bank, this was a very quick and easy thing to do, taking less than two minutes from start to finish. An ‘everyday’ transaction, I would imagine.

So, I was surprised when yesterday, I got an email from the bank, asking me to take part in a survey regarding my recent transaction.  As I had nothing better to do for five minutes, I clicked on the link and was taken to a page which asked all the usual stuff: Male/Female/Other; Age, etc.  And then it asked me to rate on a scale of 1 to 10, how easy it was to make the transaction.

I gave it a 9 (I’m like Craig Revel Horwood when it comes to giving out 10’s).

The next question caused me to just give up on the survey and close it:  Based On Your Recent Money Transfer, How Likely Are You To Recommend Us To Friends And Family?

WTF?

I cannot imagine a single scenario, where a friend – or family member – tells me about a problem they had transferring some money at their bank and I say to them “Oh, you should try HSBC… they’re very good at transferring money between their internal accounts. I scored them 9 out of 10, y’know.”.

This sort of question appears on so many surveys and every time I just back out of it, because I no longer recommend anything to anyone.

This is partly because, some years ago, a neighbour was having problems with their internet connectivity. I looked at it for them and deduced that their broadband provider was the issue.  I recommended that they switch to Virgin Media, which they did.

All was well for a while and they were well chuffed, but then they started having problems. Big problems, both with their connectivity and with their billing. It went on for months and it caused them a lot of grief and they  told me that they wished they had never signed up.

At that point, I wished I’d never told them to.

I felt bad, even though I had suggested it to them in good faith.  I was a VM customer for 25 years or more and I never had a single issue or problem with them.

But maybe not everyone is so lucky.

So now, I don’t recommend anyone, or any service, to anybody.

Frugality Seems To Be The Hardest Word

/ masher / 7 Comments

It’s oft said, that two can live as cheaply as one, and I’m sure that has a ring of truth to it.

But only where Two and One share a common view on saving money, surely?  And is that common view prevalent amongst most couples?  I don’t really know, but, let’s take a look at Masher Towers – as an example – to see if this phrase applies there.

One is often trying to save water. Not just because of the cost, but also because One has worked in the water industry and understands what a precious and finite resource it actually is.  Limiting showers to 4 minutes and turning the tap off during teeth brushing are 2 well known water-saving devices that One employs on a daily basis.  Two, on the other hand, doesn’t give a toss about such things and likes to luxuriate in a bath full of hot water, several times a week.

Two is a cold morsel, who will sit on the sofa, wearing a fleece and a dressing gown, shivering and complaining about how ‘bloody freezing’ they are, whilst One sits next to them, sweating in a T-shirt because the central heating has had to be cranked up yet another couple of degrees.

One does the grocery shopping, because, when Two does it, the fridge ends up stuffed to the gills with more food than One and Two can actually eat in 7 days, and so, much of it goes in the bin at the end of the week… much to One’s annoyance.

So, it seems, in this household at least, Two cannot live as cheaply as One.

Not even close.

Prime Idiot

/ masher / 6 Comments

Like so many of us, I use Amazon.

A lot.

Probably too much.

Thanks to  Amazon Prime, we have what seems like a constant stream of delivery drivers coming to our door on an almost daily basis.  And, I know I spend too much on Amazon.

But that’s because they have made it so easy.
On purpose.

Next day delivery; Single click purchasing; Recommendations.
It’s just all so simple.

So simple that a complete idiot can get it wrong, it seems.

A little while ago, an electronic project on t’internet took my fancy. “I’ll build meself one of those!”, I thought.  Handily, the project author had not only listed all the parts required, but also links to where they could be purchased from.  A lot of it was from Amazon.

I merrily clicked away, adding items to my Amazon basket. At one point, it asked for my password. I thought this strange, as my password is normally stored such that I don’t need to enter it. Anyway, I did enter it – which it accepted – and I carried on ordering my bits and pieces.  Something was subtly different about the site, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

And then I realised the links had actually taken me to  Amazon’s .com website in the US.  It seemed like I now had two accounts: one on the .co.uk site and one on the .com site. D’oh!

I didn’t want two accounts, so decided to delete the .com account.   I went through the very convoluted process of cancelling my account.  “Are you sure?” it said, when I finally got to the end.

Yes.

“Are you really sure? This will delete everything in your account.”

Yes… do it… there’s nothing in this account.

“OK, if you say so… Account Deleted.”

Disaster!  What they failed to mention was that the .com account and the .co.uk account were linked… or they were one and the same thing, I don’t know.  So, I lost everything: details of previous orders; wishlists etc.

OK, that’s annoying, but it’s not a big problem, is it: just create a new account.

I created a new account.

Then I had to get myself set up on Prime, once again.   A bit of a kerfuffle having to recreate the wishlists and boxsets that I had saved on there, but again, not a real problem.

And then I had a thought. I checked my Kindle.  My library was empty!  I’d had about a hundred books in there and now they were all gone.  OK, yes, I’d read most of them, but that didn’t mean I wanted to empty my virtual bookshelf. Plus, there were half a dozen unfinished books and several that I’d recently bought and hadn’t yet got round to reading.

Bugger.

I contacted Amazon on their webchat thing and was assured that this could be resolved  and that they could get all my books back. I was told the relevant department would contact me within 48 hours.

Of course, no-one contacted me.

I got back in touch with them several times in the days that followed.

A week later, after many emails and more phone calls, I was told that it was gone… all of it… and none of it could be retrieved.

I’m bloody annoyed.  Mainly with myself, because this was my doing, after all.
It was my mistake.

But I’m also annoyed with Amazon for not making it clear that my .com account and my .co.uk account were actually the same thing.  Also, you’d think with the amount of server space they have, they could have a procedure in place to hold the data from a closed account for a short period of time, to allow for idiots like me mistakes like this.

Choc Full Of Choc

/ masher / 6 Comments

Like most people, I like chocolate.

Dark chocolate is my preference, but milk chocolate or white chocolate won’t get turned away.

Fruit & Nut? Well, now we’re talking!

But, whilst I like a bit of chocolate every now and then, I’m definitely not a chocoholic… unlike The Current Mrs Masher, who can easily devour a whole bar of Galaxy in a single sitting.

But that’s a girl thing anyway, isn’t it?

Bournville is probably my favourite and I’ll usually have a bar sitting here in the shack with me, which I will nibble away at, maybe one square a day, or so.  On average, a single 100g bar will last me about a month.

But, I’m also partial to a bit of Toblerone (who isn’t?), which is why, fed up with buying me socks for Christmas, Son decided to get me a big Toblerone.  That’s it in the picture up above.

The damn thing weighs 4.5kg.  If I eat that at the same rate I usually eat a bar of chocolate, it’s going to take me about 4 years to finish it!

And I think, by then, I’ll probably never want to see another Toblerone again.

The Future’s Bright, The Future’s…

/ masher / 4 Comments

I do like a glass of orange juice with my breakfast each morning.
Just a small one.
150ml is the recommended daily intake according to the NHS and I have just under that amount. Why? Because the 1 litre carton that I get from Sainsbury’s when I do my weekly grocery shop on a Saturday morning, will only give 6.66 portions (1L divided by 150ml). So I have just slightly less, so that I can get 7 equal glasses of juice out of the carton, thereby getting a full week’s worth.

Normally, I will purchase Sainsbury’s own juice, because I find it’s pretty good. Tropicana definitely tastes that little bit better, but is much more expensive. So, last week, when I saw it on offer for almost the same price as the cheaper supermarket brand, I snatched up a carton.

They are pretty similar in size and appearance, as can be seen in the above photo.

Except that they’re not.

On Friday morning I poured myself a glass of juice as usual and was surprised to find the carton was then empty – I would have none for the following morning.  At first I suspected that someone else in the family had been at my juice, however, I knew that wasn’t the case as no-one else in the family drinks it. Looking at the carton, I noticed that despite looking like a regular 1 litre size, it was actually 10% smaller!

So, what’s going on here, Tropicana? Not only more expensive than the supermarket juices, but you actually get less, too?

Another example of shrinkflation in action?

And putting 900ml in a carton that looks like a 1L one, is just being sneaky and devious, I reckon.

Tyred

/ masher / 4 Comments

A couple of months back, a warning appeared on the dashboard in my car.

“Unable to read Tyre Pressure Monitor Sensors”, it said.  Oh great, something else to pay out for!

But then it disappeared. Then it came back. And then it disappeared again.  Eventually, it came back and it stayed there.  I thought I’d better look into it.

It turns out that what I thought was probably something only featuring on higher end cars, has actually been fitted to all new cars in the UK since 2012.  In fact, not just in the UK: Tyre Pressure Monitoring Systems (TPMS) have been mandatory in all new cars sold in Europe since 2014 and in the United States since 2008.

Well, I never knew that.

Further research showed that the most likely reason I was getting the warning was that the battery had probably failed on one or more units. There is one fitted into the valve on each wheel and the battery should last between 8 to 10 years, apparently.

My car is 9 years old.

A couple of weeks back, I phoned my local tyre fitter and he quoted me 110 quid to replace the sensor in each wheel. That’s 440 quid!  I decided that I could live without TPMS… you know, just like we did in the old days. We managed to get by without such technology for decades, didn’t we?

But, apparently, it’s now an MOT fail.

In the end, I decided just to replace the one that had died so as to get rid of the warning on the dash.  I shall likely have to go again in a few months when another one dies. Maybe it’s time for me to look at buying a new car. Hmmm…

So, be warned, if your car is coming up to nine or ten years old, you may well have some unexpected expense coming your way.

Radio Ga Ga

/ masher / 8 Comments

I spent several hours last night, camped out in my car atop Dunstable Downs… the highest point in Bedfordshire.

An Amateur Radio contest happens at the beginning of each month and I am taking part.  As we are operating at VHF frequencies, the higher we can get the aerial, the better.

So, armed with my radio and homemade aerial (constructed from some plastic piping and an old clothes horse that I cut up) and a flask of coffee, I made my way to what I hoped would be my regular parking spot, just outside the car park barriers.

There are several car parks up there and at night they drop the barriers across the entrances. However, there is generally room to squeeze a few vehicles in.

To my dismay, every spot was taken: there were loads of cars up there.  It seemed to be some sort of gathering.  It was too late for me to search for another spot, so I parked up on the grass verge and set my aerial up behind the car.  It was a bit dodgy, because it was very close to the unlit road and it was quite scary with these idiot drivers haring round the corner towards me.  Throughout the entire event, I kept my lights on so I could be seen.

I could also be seen by the occupants of all the cars squeezed in front of the barriers.  They watched me, as I sat in the car speaking into a microphone and as I got out several times to repoint the aerial.  They looked at me curiously and chatted amongst themselves through their open car windows.  I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was probably along the lines of “Look at this fucking idiot. What’s he up to?”

Despite being in my car – with the doors locked – I didn’t feel comfortable. I didn’t feel safe.

I’m going to have to find a backup location for next month.

Or take a bodyguard with me.

I Can See Clearly Now…

/ masher / 6 Comments

… Lorraine has gone.

About twenty years or so ago, I started wearing spectacles… for reading.

Over the years, though, my eyes got worse and about ten years ago I became a full-time Speccy-Four-Eyes .

I bought my first pair of glasses from a well known high street opticians – who I won’t name here, but it ryhmes with Pec Shavers – and I have been going there ever since.

The last couple of times though, I didn’t feel I got the level of service that I should be getting.  And I always felt like I was on a conveyor, being passed from assistant to assistant to optician to assistant with lots of waiting on hard plastic chairs in between, but always, ultimately, with a rush to get me sorted and out of the store as quickly as possible..

I mentioned this to a mate of mine and he said he’d had the same experience and so had changed to a small independent optician. He highly recommended them, so I thought I would give them a go.

A couple of weeks ago, I phoned and made an appointment. The lady at the other end was super polite and helpful and she gave me instructions on where best to park.

On the day, I parked up in the supermarket car park as instructed, with plenty of time before my appointment and started the six-minute walk that Google Maps was displaying on my phone. After a couple of minutes, I realised the map on the phone wasn’t changing – it did this once before, I think the GPS has gone faulty – so I gave up with it and put it away. I wandered up and down the high street but – try as I might – I couldn’t find the opticians.

The irony of that wasn’t lost on me.

I asked several people for directions, but no-one could help.  My appointment was now overdue and so I phoned the opticians and the super nice lady gave me directions.  A few minutes later, I arrived to find them smiling and waving to me out of the window. A very friendly bunch.

Once inside, a few  details were taken then the optician took me through to a room at the back.

She checked my eyes with the usual “Is it better with this… or this?  This… or this?”. She photographed my retina and checked my peripheral vision and all the time we chatted about this and that. All very pleasant and relaxed.

Afterwards, I sat down with the owner and we discussed several different options for my glasses. Again, we chatted and laughed as we tried different frames and at no point was there any sense of a rush  – they seemed to have all the time in the world for me.

Yes, it was more expensive – but only slightly – and it was such a different (better) experience to what I’d had before, that I think it was well worth paying that little extra.

In fact, I’m actually looking forward to my next visit.