Two Wheel Training

/ masher / 4 Comments

Today, Son has taken his Mod1 motorcycle test.
In the bloody freezing cold!

I’m pleased to say that he passed.

He has his Mod 2 later this week. Assuming he passes that – and his instructor is confident that he will – he will then have a full motorcyle licence… sort of.

To get to this stage, he had to pass his CBT (Compulsary Basic Training) first.  He did this on Saturday. This then allowed him to take his Mod 1 (Module 1), which he did today.  Passing that then allows him to go onto Mod 2 (later this week) and passing that will give him what’s known as an A2 licence.  This allows him to ride bikes with a limited horsepower.

He has to hold this licence for two years, before he can go on to apply for his full A licence, which then allows him to ride unrestricted.

This is a good thing, I think.

Back in my day (I took my test in 1979), we booked a test, passed it and then went straight out and bought the biggest, most powerful bike we could afford.  As a result, plenty of guys, unable to handle such powerful machines, or not fully understanding that a mix of youth, testosterone and high horsepower can be deadly, sadly ended up as roadkill.

The new system, though possibly infuriating to some, allows them time to get to know how a bike handles on the road and how, as a motorcyclist, you need to treat every car driver as a potential idiot who is going to pull out on you.

It would be interesting to see how much of an impact this new (well, it’s new to me) system has had on reducing the number of motorcycle accidents.

The Dog That Cries Wolf

/ masher / 8 Comments

Saber – our 8 year-old German Shepherd dog – has always had incredible hearing and still has so today.

She can hear someone walking past the house.

She can hear someone walking past the house with a dog.

She can hear a cat or a fox in the back garden.

She can hear the postman pull his van into the next road.

She can hear someone trying to break into our garage.

Problem is, all these noises that she hears, causes her to go on a barking rampage. “WUH WUH WUH WUH WUH WUH WOOF!”

And, because she does it all the time, we tend to ignore her or shout at her to shut up. I’ve lost count of the number of times I have gone to the front door because she is standing there barking her head off, only to see someone who’d had the audacity to walk past our house and is now sauntering off into the distance.
“WUH WUH WUH WUH WUH WUH WOOF!”

Which is why when someone tried to break into our garage some years ago, in the middle of the night, I told her to shut up.
“WUH WUH WUH WUH WUH WUH WOOF!”

“SABER! SHUT THE FUCK UP, WILL YA!”

Finding the damage to the garage door the following morning, made me resolve not to ignore her again.

But we do. Because she does it all the time.

This morning at 04:30: “WUH WUH WUH WUH WUH WUH WOOF!”

I dragged myself out of bed and looked out of the bedroom window. Nothing.  I went to the back bedroom and looked out into the garden. And there I saw it: a cat.

A cat, just slowly and silently walking along the top of the garden fence, minding his own business and causing no harm.

“WUH WUH WUH WUH WUH WUH WOOF!”

The downstairs blinds are closed, so she can’t even see the cat.  How does she even know it’s there?

I know German Shepherds are very loyal and very protective, but even so…

Anyway, I suppose we feel a bit safer, knowing that should the postman try to burgle us in the middle of the night, we’ll know all about it, even if he parks in the next road… assuming I can be arsed to get up and look out of the window.

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.

Whilst we are on the subject of the local council…

/ masher / 6 Comments

Today is “Bin Day”.

I don’t mean Bin Day in the form of a national holiday or anything, it’s just that today is the scheduled day that the bin men (and/or women) come round and empty our large black general waste bin.

If they can be arsed.

They might come round tomorrow, instead. That sometimes happens.

In the ‘old’ days, they used to empty it weekly, but for years now – in line with pretty much everywhere else, I believe – they empty it fortnightly.  Not always easy: there have been plenty of times where I have had to physically climb into the bin and jump up and down on the rubbish to compact it so that I can get some more in.

And I have seen talk in the news that some councils are looking to make it a monthly collection! To be honest, I don’t know if our council is one of those, but even if it isn’t, it’ll probably follow suit if it sees that savings can be made.

I really don’t think that we could cope with our rubbish only being taken away every four weeks.

Today is also Bin Cleaning Day.   Again, not a national holiday.

I pay a man to once a month stalk the bin lorry and once our bin has been emptied, he jet washes the inside and then deodourises it.  It sounds an extravagance, but it’s only a few quid and you wouldn’t believe the pong that comes from that bin in the Summer months!

And… I have just sent 48 pounds to the council to get a permit to have my brown bin collected.  Forty eight sovs, for a bin that is only used during Summer and Autumn to take my grass cuttings away!

Ridiculous.

We should be getting a letter from the council soon, to tell us how much our Council Tax has gone up.

I look forward to that.

Draining

/ masher / 4 Comments

In the road outside our house, is a drain.  Nothing exciting there, I know.

About ten years ago, some pikeys nicked it. Well, they nicked the grate. It was a good solid grate and probably worth a fair bit of money down at the dodgy scrap metal merchants.

I returned from work, that evening, to find a hole in front of the drive.

I reported it to the council and they said that there had been a spate of them in the area, but that they would fix it as soon as they were able.  Sure enough, within a couple of days, I returned home to find a nice new drain grate had been fitted.

I was a little disappointed though. This grate wasn’t as hefty as the previous one and it hadn’t been fitted flush to the road surface. It was about an inch below. And they hadn’t made a particularly good job of concreting it in. All in all, it was a bit shoddy.

Due to the drain’s location, when driving on and off my drive it’s pretty impossible not to drive the wheels over the drain and, now that there was a bit of a drop, it meant that the weight of the car dropping on top of it just pushed the drain down further and further through the shoddy concrete, until it was a good few inches down.

Consequently, the drain has never been cleaned out by that big tanker thing that comes up the road with a giant hoover attachment, because they have never been able to get it open, jammed into the concrete as it is.

I’m sure they must have reported it back to the council and I myself have reported it several times, but nothing ever happens. Sometimes, someone comes out and looks at it, sprays some orange paint around it and then buggers off.  The paint eventually fades away and the following year someone comes out and paints around it again.

Well, it was a lovely bright day, yesterday, and so I cleaned the car. When I went to pour the dirty bucket of water down the drain, I noticed that there was barely any drain visible, as the grate was completely clogged up with leaves and detritus. I got a mahoosive screwdriver and a hefty brush and I spent ten minutes cleaning everything away. I was quite pleased with my handiwork, as it looked so much better with all the crud removed and it also meant that if it rained, water could actually flow into the drain, as it was supposed to. It was now functional again.

And then, this morning, two flat-bed trucks sporting orange flashing lights pulled up outside the house and four blokes got out, dug up the road and replaced the drain.

If I’d known that to get it replaced all I had to do was clean the bloody thing, I’d have done so years ago!