High drama at the Barn, plucky feathered survivor joins the Woodland Eggery
Chums from a neighbouring village joined us for a little supper recently and during the conversation mentioned a moonlit raid on their chicken coop. The suspect, possibly something stoatish, left but one survivor, "Dead Hen Squawking" amid a scene of poultry carnage.
Well, one bottle led to another, and another and another and before I knew it I'd offered to bring the bereft hen into our little flock. Before the hangover had faded "Chocolate Thunder" was introduced to Jessie, Cassie and Dollie, cultural mismatch seemed inevitable.
Our three hens, already proven to be very stupid now showed their very unkind side making the bereaved newcomer as welcome as a Mexican pig in outpatients.
Matters wer
en't improved, for me at least, when, displaying many of the attributes of a feathery Steve McQueen, the new girl made a break for it and engaged me in a forty minute game of hide and beak as she avoided capture. Luckily carnivore cunning won out and a momentary lapse of attention allowed the supreme hunter gatherer to grab her scrawny neck (not the approved method of chicken wrangling). It was very nearly a "one for the pot" moment but she's obviously tougher than she appears and surviving involuntary throttling, was restored to the run and the (frankly brutal) ministrations of her sisters-in-lay.
Hopefully she'll make peace with the other inmates and settle in, I hope so but I've a suspicion that one more attempted escape might result in her being, as the poultry mafiosa so quaintly term it "being left to play wid de foxes".
London to Brighton - A heartfelt thank you
Thank you to all those who sponsored me in the London to Brighton Bike Ride on Sunday. It was a lovely day, a super ride and between us Graham and I raised over £1,500 for the British Heart Foundation.
It took me a mere 5 hours of blood, sweat and cursing to cover the 54 miles, stopping for nothing but the 4 or 5 places where sheer weight of cyclists made trudging inescapable, my moving average was nigh on 15 mph so I was pretty chuffed with that.
It should be noted that Graham had time for a sandwich, a drink, a full body massage and a quick flick through the Sunday papers before I Hove :) into view in Brighton.
Special thanks to Graham, for talking me into it, to Vicky and Craig for transport and to Jim and Richard for their invaluable coaching and encouragement.
It was a great way to spend Fathers Day and I really appreciate all those of you who put your hands in your pockets to make a difference.
Heart and circulatory disease is the number one killer in the UK and whilst trying very, very hard to get up Ditchling Beacon under pedal power I felt very close to the cause.
If you'd still like to contribute, please feel free to click here
Thanks again
Movie Review - The Hangover........................ yes, of course there's a haiku !!!
There are, oh my gentle readers, some films where, having seen the trailer, you find yourself thinking, "th
at's probably all the good bits mashed together to entice us to part with our hard earned pennies".
I confess I had The Hangover pegged as one of those films, superficial laddish toilet humour with a couple of good gags, telegraphed remorselessly in the ads and the trailers. However, encouraged by an enthusiastic review in the FT (ooh get him! film reviews in the Financial Times forsooth!) Mrs Stuffy and I gave it a chance, and I'm so glad we did.
A very funny, constantly surprising movie, great acting from a largely unknown but ever-so-well-casted cast, good writing and a cleverly directed story.
Despite appearances and marketing it's not just a boy's flick, Mrs Stuffy laughed out loud, the first time in a cinema, she assures me, since Life of Brian.
Me? I chuckled, quite a lot.
As Basho might have said...
Unexpected fun
This film is one, long, chuckle...
surprises abound
A request for your support ...
I've just been emailed by the British Heart foundation to tell me that I'v
e picked up a late place for the London to Brighton Charity ride in two weeks, apparently someone came to their senses and wimped out so I get to take their place.
The more folk who sponsor me the harder it will be for me to make excuses so I'd appreciate it if you could find it in your hearts to ...
Click here ---> to Sponsor me
Thanks a million (or however much you can afford)
Movie Review - A 3D walk in a very odd world - Coraline
I've long been a fan of Neil Gaiman (@Neilhimself for the twitterers amongst you) who wrote Coraline and of Henry Selick (who directed the Nightmare before Christmas) so it was with a joyful spring in my step that I, Mrs Stuffy, ChaCHa and Tatty toddled off on the hottest day of the year to sit in the air conditioned dark and enjoy Coraline 3D.
Bowing (as always) to Mr's Stuffy's bullying I'd not only taken the hit of a couple of quid extra per ticket for the 3D experience but she also cajoled me into an extra six of your English pounds to sit in the "superior seating" (colloquially, fat folk seats). This was a pointless expense in my humble opinion, skinny as they are Tatty and ChaCha could fit comfortably into one of the standard seats in the Vue at Camberley and still have room for all their popcorn, drinks,sweets and probably Mrs Stuffy as well. Hey ho, £48 out of pocket before they'd even hit the pic'n'mix like a swarm of sugar seeking locusts, but enough of my parsimony, on with the show.
Opinion, as so often, was divided, I loved the look and feel, the colours and action, the delightful details, the jumping mice, the constant need to shift gear, finding yourself accepting the weird and wondrous world on the screen and adjusting to it's rules.
Mrs Stuffy, (to select another opinion at random) found it visually attractive and very clever but not one to rush to see again. The girls found themselves, (I was going to say very,very scared but I've been corrected) "seriously disturbed and weirded out". either way, not one for the teeny weenies.
There were a few strong messages that came through, notably, parenting is tough,
if it looks too good to be true it probably is,
kids have lives too and
cats are the very best thing to have on your side when it gets seriously weird.
a tricksy one to haiku but ...
Henry, Neil create
spindly, spooky, spiky state
a web of beauty
The Lake District, a beautiful place but .
Mrs Stuffy is a black belt in the arranging of short breaks, brief respites to boldly go, to discover strange new lands and cultures ... you get the idea. She has, in the past, scored notable success with the delightful Riad Meriem in Marrakech and the superb Bourgondich Cruyces in Bruges.
Imagine my joy then, on receiving, for my recent birthday, a pair of hiking boots and a couple of days accommodation (with my lovely spouse) a rambling break in the Lake District, an area I'm pretty fond of, resulting from a childhood passion for the works of Arthur Ransome and from my climbing days when, living in Yorkshire, it was easy-peasy to pop across the Pennines with Mountain-Mate-Mike and scare ourselves nigh to death on the lovely Cumbrian crags (as opposed to scaring ourselves nigh to death on more familiar Yorkshire crags).
Our drive up was only marred by
- the need for every inbred bottom feeder in creation to sit in the middle lane of the M3,M25,M40,M42 and M6 having a fag, sending a text and discussing Coronation Street with their ugly halfwit passengers
- Knutsford
- a large chunk of the M6 disappearing into a hole and being replaced by all the cones in the world
Still, we eventually got to Windermere and the
Hillthwaite House Hotel, billed on t'interweb as overlooking
the lake, which it did, in much the same way that The Great Wall of China is overlooked from space. There was a definite hint of Fawlty Towers about our lodging, faded 60's decor, elderly clientele and staffed entirely by well meaning and enthusiastic East European teenagers with no evident catering experience.
We arrived, thanks to the Great British Transport Infrastructure only 2 hours later than we planned so a quick grimace, a G&T and we were whisked into the dining room.
Dinner, (included in the not inconsiderable price) was a 5 course affair best summarised as beautifully presented blandness. Someone, possibly the Head Chef,"award winning John Kelly" or one of his brigade of highly skilled drizzlers of jus and coulis had a good eye for a stack of raspberries but it appeared that, tragically, no-one in the kitchen had a taste bud. Mrs Stuffy's "Goat cheese on Mediterranean couscous with new potatoes and carrots" still causes her to leap up in the night weeping with the sheer beige horror of it all.
We retired to bed, it wasn't the least comfortable bed I've ever slept in, it was pretty close though.
Up and at 'em the next morning. The bathroom was, evidently, recently refurbished and all the fixture a
nd fittings were new and of a very reasonable quality, sadly the water pressure was such that I effectively put in a 5 mile run jogging around the rink-like surface in an attempt to catch enough precious but desperately scarce water to get wet enough to ablute.
I got off lightly, Mrs S still bears the technicolor bruises caused by a reckless attempt to walk across the slightly moist tiles to open the bedroom door. She's a little prone to opening hotel doors in a state of undress, I'm in favour of it, saves tipping and the staff always seem to enjoy it.
Breakfast was a revelation, whoever does the breakfast should be put on the evening shift at once, great ingredients, well cooked and delicious. Refreshed, reinvigorated and fortified we donned our new hiking boots and set off for the first leg of our trek, from the hotel to Lake Windermere.
To be honest, once we'd got that far we'd pretty much broken the back of it and the next few hours passed in a cordial blur of boat, trek, beer, boat,trek, ice cream (30p for a flake !) trek,beer, yomp, boat and the fruitless search for a pleasant pub or restaurant.
Windermere, Bowness and Ambleside all seemed to be a little bit "lowest common denominator touristy" if you know what I mean, and if you don't then I heartily recommend that you take a weekend at the Hillthwaite Hotel, you'll love it.
Me, I'd rather gouge my own eyes out with a spoon,
a blunt one.
Signs of the times.====================== whatever are they thinking ?
Driving through the delightful lush tropical paradise that is Bracknell today I spotted a couple of high-visibility jacketed gents strimming the verge, that made sense, grass grows, men from the council come along with mowers on a regular basis and cut it down.
Simple's yes ?
No, I was taken aback to see that the van belonging to these fluorescent green-fingered civil servants was boldly labelled " Incident response vehicle"
Which raise the obvious questions:-
- If grass growing qualifies as an incident, what the heck doesn't? and
- Who reported it ?
Movie review - Boldly going where many have boldly gone, boldly ...
It's a little known fact that Mrs Stuffy is a bit of a trekkie, not in a sad dressing-up way, but she is a fan and thanks to her astounding memory will happily watch the same episodes over and over again. I also have to admit to a certain affection for the franchise (in all it's incarnations) so it was with high hopes that we transported ourselves to the moving picture palace.
The new Star Trek movie is directed by JJ Abrams director of Lost, (Mrs S and I hold diametrically opposing views on Lost, she thinks it's great). The Star Trek movie is, let's be honest, a delight, a fast furious (not entirely logical) special effects roller-coaster interleaved with some fine acting, (also some less fine acting but Leonard Nimoy is 167).
Particularly impressive were the Spock and McCoy characters, they've really nailed the mannerisms and mindset of the originals and that, along with some super set design made it work as a believable prequel. (obviously I don't literally mean believable, you know what i mean)
There's just enough humour, plot and characterisation to to stop it being purely a special effects extravaganza but make no mistake it is a special effects extravaganza, we liked it a lot !
And a haiku version ...
Ten series and films
but this makes me say, "Star Trek
live long and prosper"
would you like that in Klingon ? of course you would ...
wa'maH series je films
ach vam chen jIH jatlh Hov Trek
yIn tIq je chep
Movie Review ... State of Play
A visit to the magical moving picture emporium to enjoy this remake of a BBC production (which I've not seen, for television is the devil's own idiot box and will suck out your immortal soul with it's drivel and mind numbing soporific apologies for entertainment, oooooh that's better).
Anyway, sound acting, as ever, from 
Russel Crowe (who has apparently been filming locally and done nothing to diminish his arrogant git reputation), but the boy can act and that's his job.
Unlike Ben Affleck. I've no idea why Ben Affleck gets work, he's the movie equivalent of tofu, bland, unsatisfying and pointless.
Mrs Stuffy liked Helen Mirren's sweary editor but the rest of the cast seemed to have been coached by Affleck in advanced drabness. The story is very twisty and requires attention, it's well told but I was interested, not involved and we lost Mrs Stuffy to the arms of Morpheus a couple of time s in the last 20 minutes.
Still, a haiku review might look a little like this...
State of play
Makes one think and doubt
Working the connections out
passionless puzzle.
Yet more flippin poultry related drivel ...
Sorry to keep blathering on about the newest arrivals at the barn but I promised ChaCha I'd post this.
One of our three hens (now named, see the photo for the nom(h)enclature) h
as been laying increasingly larger eggs for a week now, yesterday it became evident that one of her sisters had joined the productive workforce with her own teeny weeny offering, I'm thinking a little salad with a lightly boiled egg is called for, Oh the gourmet joys of the gentleman poulterer.
My initial intent was, you may recall, to be able to produce perfectly poached eggs and I have to say that the freshness does indeed make all the difference. In other news I observed a fox sitting outside the run with a cunning expression on his face yesterday. (To be fair, in his defence, that expression does really come with the face, ... if you're a fox)
Labels: oakwood chickens eggs Stuffy
Chicken update ....
They all laughed when I said we could be self sufficient in eggs but, great news, here we are, after only three weeks, a small fortune spent on accommodation, chickens, food, medicines, accessories and with a compost bin full of poo and it's already starting to pay off.
We have an egg!,
tiny, perfectly formed and delicious.
PS:- and the stupid black one is now officially named "Cassie", thanks Rhett.
Now I be officially a farmer... so get off moi laaaaand
Amongst the many wonderful things with which I was blessed on my recent Birthday was a huge cardboard box containing an Eglu and chicken run. I've long harboured a desire to join the poultry keeping
classes (mostly driven by a realisation that the road to perfect poaching is a very fresh egg).
My lovely in-laws therefore decided to make it happen and Good Friday saw Mrs Stuffy and myself selecting three pullets from hundreds of identical birds and transporting them to their new home. We selected three different breeds, there's a real need for muticulturalism in Surrey and it does make them easier to tell apart having them colour coded.
Naming is officially on hold since Mrs S promised Rhett (Currently away on business in the Caribbean) that he will get to choose and name the first one but they seem to be bearing up under the strain of anonymity and are affectionally known as the stupid white one, the stupid black one and the stupid brown one. By the way, they're 
not bright.
So far they've appeared to settle in well. Despite sharing the wood with the incumbent family of foxes, (3 new cubs) my strict regime (defined by repeated viewings of Shawshank) of supervised exercise and an enforced dusk lock-down along with the cunning design of their polycarbonate coop has resulted in happy chucks and vulpine disappointment.
The design of the coop is really very clever and makes it easy to collect and compost the prodigious amounts of poo they produce pretty much constantly.
Guano is the only output so far, I'm assured that eggs will arrive soon, to encourage this I've pinned a recipe for coq au vin up in the run, "p0ur encourager les ouefs"
A taste of the 50s ..
There can be few experiences as downright unpleasant as stopping to eat or drink at a motorway or trunk road service area (Heston Blumenthal's A303 Little Chef experiment is, I'm assured, an exception). 
Whilst making my regular cross-country treks taking ChaCha from paternal to maternal custody I've been tempted, (but never succumbed) by the retro attractions of Nelsons, an American style diner at Kingsclere on the A339 twixt Basingstoke and Newbury. Recently ChaCha and I, both peckish and with time to kill decided to check it out.
There's something deeply attractive for me, (a huge fan of American Graffiti and Happy Days) in the deep red of the leatherette booths, the pastel blues and pinks, the jukebox soundtrack and the idea of pulling up in a white
T'bird and ordering a $5 shake.
The experience at Nelsons didn't really stack up to my dreams, (how could it?) but it was kitsch retro fun, good food, well and visibly cooked, smiles with the service and a really pleasant alternative to the drab conglomerate ubiquitous corporate pitstop.
It must be tough to make a living out of somewhere like Nelson's Diner, it's been through 4 incarnations since I first noticed it and I suspect that reflects ownership. If you get the chance to break a journey there I'd recommend it.
Labels: Stuffy Oakwood Nelson's Diner
Watching the watchmen................................ Movie Review
It's fair to say that Mrs Stuffy did not share my enthusiasm for sitting through 3 hours of dystopian Sci Fi, based on a comic (I refuse to play the "graphic novel" card, it's a comic!).
The first few bone-crunching minutes did little to reassure her but, as the tale unfolded both of us were neatly lassoed and drawn into the very human world of the Watchmen. It's a tough tale to tell and the story skips around in time and place like a time-travelling skippy thing but despite this and (contrary to the opinions of some other reviewers) we had no problem keeping on track, and intrigued.
I was astounded by the visual impact, (shades of Blade Runner in the city-scapes) and captivated by the dialogue, particularly the Rorshach segments, painfully well played by Jackie Earle Haley (with echoes of Bogart's Phillip Marlowe, or Marv in Sin City).
The acting was good throughout and occasionally great, Billy Crudup deserves a mention as does the aforementioned Jackie Earle Haley who, on losing his mask, turned in a compelling performance. I loved the cruel humour of the prison scenes, the sheer imagination and beauty of the CGI on Mars, the wit and twists of the montage showing how history moved away from our own familiar timeline.
It's a hell of a story, beautifully told with a sad inevitability about it's resolution. I understand that the author, Alan Moore, has distanced himself from the film, that's a shame, based on our reaction it's his loss.
I commend it to your eyes and minds.
Would you like a haiku?
A tale for dark times
Sweeping, brave and intense
black, bloody and bold
Labels: Films haiku Stuffy critic, Oakwood, Watchmen
A fine example of growing old gracefully, Clint Eastwood does it again
Clinton Eastwood Jr is now 79 years old and based on Gran Torino is still right at the top of his game. This 
is a well-crafted film, Clint's iconic performance is compelling and thought provoking, the supporting cast, mostly unknown to me, play it perfectly, Thao vang lor in particular shines.
I'm not sure why I found myself identifying so strongly with a misanthropic old bloke with an aptitude for self-righteous violence but I enjoyed it muchly. It's a moving film, it made me laugh and it made me think. It's rumoured that this is Clint's last film, if so he's taking his final bow to a very well deserved standing ovation, (and a tear or two from Mrs S)
A Haiku you say ?
oh very well
The man with no name
has made a film with no flaws
sweet, sour, tour de force
NB: For the benefit of Angelica who does pick me up on the occasional discrepancy with the syllable count in these efforts, I should perhaps explain that I compose them in Japanese then translate the Kanji into English, my apologies for any errors, for Angelica's delectation here's the original.
名前無しの人 欠
陥の甘く酸っぱい離れ業無
しでフィルムを作った
Signs of the times - on understanding the customer
I spotted this the ot
her day, methinks someone needs a little help in understanding either the meaning of the word loyalty or the meaning of the word customer.
Yes, it was in a Costa Coffee outlet.
...
Movie review ....... will she? won't she? did he? should she? Woody - Vicky Cristina Barcelona
There are times, admittedly few, when even a simplistic chap like myself desires a little more from the movie experience than gratuitous nudity, spectacular stunts, more gratuitous nudity and pic'n
'mix.
I found myself delighted by this film, a subtle and intelligent movie which will surprise anyone who thinks that Woody Allen has forgotten how to write superb dialogue and direct clever films.
I've been to Barcelona, it was beautifully portrayed, and I fell in love with it all over again.
As the male lead, Javier Bardem was just right and his three leading ladies beautiful, perfectly cast, well acted and intriguing. It's a rare joy to sit, smiling, occasionally chuckling and find that for once Mrs Stuffy and I are as one.
A must see.
Would you like the haiku ?
Captivating tale
Woody reminds us why we
once thought him so good
There'll be Bluebird over ...
The Bluebird, a restaurant created in an art-deco racing garage in that there London's trendy Kings Road, an iconic Conran creation as I recall. You'd expect this to be an ideal Stuffy venue, fine food and wines, in an historic building for me and for herself, a plethora of bijou boutiques and purveyors of expensive clothes. We were the guests of chef and cycling chum Winston and the lovely Anna, keen to check out the offerings from the Bluebird chef Mark Block.
It's an attractive building in a super location, albeit, as I breathlessly discovered, a fair old hike from Sloane Square tube. The building is now a curious mix of late sixties furnishings (rarely a good idea) in an Art deco building. Opinion was divided, much to my surprise I thought it worked well, howsoever, as no-one agreed with me we must assume that once again my sense of style is something I fondly imagine that I possess rather than a real thing.
The food? well, the food was very well cooked, very nicely presented and very pleasant, but, (you knew that was coming didn't you) for me it didn't quite get to where it wanted to be, it was just missing a little extra something, the flair, the tang, the secret ingredient. ( In fairness it should be noted that Mrs Stuffy was so delighted with her blood-orange jelly that I spent the next three evenings, skinning citrus and squelching gelatine until I was able to replicate it at a dinner for her school chums).
All in all a very pleasant place for a relaxed supper with good friends, groovy place, nice unobjectionable food, great service.
An agreeable blast from the past and worth a visit.
Labels: Stuffy oakwood bluebird "mark block"
21st Century 3D movies, it's like a Bolt from the red and green ...
It's been a long while since I saw a 3D film (with the exception of the "in your face' experiences at assorted Disney resorts in LA, Florida and Paris).
My last cinematic recollection was "Spacehunter-adventures in the forbidden zone " back in '83 which still makes 
me extremely nervous when anyone suggests flying through an asteroid field.
The headache caused by that film has finally subsided so it seemed appropriate to take Rhett and Mrs Stuffy and see what the technology can do now. The answer is that the technology has come a long way and now works very well but I was more impressed by the use of it in the trailers for forthcoming attractions than in the main feature itself.
The 3D in Bolt is used in a very understated way. It's possibly too subtle, I felt that the film really needed something a little more over the top. It's an OK film, don't get me wrong, Rhett enjoyed it and CHaCHa thinks it's great but after the initial frenzied 10 minutes it became very predictable.I didn't feel particularly involved (although I did quite like the pigeons).
I fnd myself looking forward to the upcoming Coraline, (Neil Gaiman's writing and a surreal world that looks like it's perfect for 3D silliness), Ice-age3 (1 and 2 were superb) and Monsters v Aliens (Not sure about that one).
I know what you're thinking, "that's all fine and dandy chum but where's the Haiku?"
Here
Incredible Journey
for three D cartoon critters
this one wonders why?
A sadness
My apologies gentle readers for the lack of posting, it's been a weird couple of weeks, and I debated the value of sharing this with you, but, you're all (barring the occasional wandering blog tourist) people I know and care about, so indulge me if you will.
A friend of mine chose to end his days a couple of weeks ago, I was going to say an old friend but tragically he was five years my junior, a lovely man full of laughs, full of life, full of energy. I'm at a loss. The funeral service was astonishing, so many people, standing room only, I couldn't help wondering, if he could have seen all the people who cared for him, in one place, at one time, of one mind then maybe ...
So, indulge me in this rare moment of seriousness. if there are people in your life who matter to you, take a moment, let them know.
Thanks.
The blog continues
Forthcoming attractions-watch this space
Movie reviews - Bolt 3D and Vicky Cristina Barcelona
Restaurant opinions - Bluebird in the Kings Road
Winter wonderlandy
As the country grinds to a halt and the UK infrastructure collapses under one of the less typical symptoms of global warming the barn is wrapped in snowy loveliness.
The fire is lit and the coffee machine is primed and perky, today I shall mostly be working from home.
Slumdog Millionaire, the definitive haiku movie review
It's been a little while my loyal army of blogees, my apologies. It appears that our political Laurel and Hardy, (Messrs Darling and Brown) have decided to pay banks for incompetence which means sadly that I've had to do lots of work to generate the tax income to fund this farcical exercise.
However it's not all bad news
Slumdog Millionaire, the definitive haiku movie review .
From rags to riches ?
a tale told, so very well
I'm lost, for once, for ...
Labels: Films haiku Stuffy critic, slumdog
A happy new year to all my readers .
A splendid (and thanks to the strength of the Euro vis-a-vis the pound, nice one Gordon and Alistair, hardly horrendously expensive at all) break in Val D'Isere for family Stuffy over the new year has set me up for a splendid kick off to 2009, encouraged by the general air of optimism and well-being I find as I peruse the media and chat with the shakers and movers of our booming economy.
Sadly it's not all cheer and positivity, one of my most forthright and erudite critics, let's call her Angelica (for that is one of the many things I call her) has taken me to task over my glowing haiku review of Wall-E. She was, she assures me so irritated by the movie that she spent a large part of it composing a Haiku rebuttal of my praise. In the interests of balance and free expression I'm delighted to share her thoughts with you.
This Disney movie
Is pure Green propaganda
Brainwashing by stealth
copyright Angelica 2009
Hey kids, don't take the word of two emotionally-opposed, pedantic, smart-ass, cynics for it, go see it, and judge for yourselves.
The Christmas traditions ............... No 1 ............... Trial by Ice
Robert Frost wrote
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
And ice can be an awesome thing to behold, especially when it's under an inch or two of torrential rainwater and littered with the wobbling, unstoppable carnage of 50 or so of West London's finest flashing blades...
Every year, as Christmas approaches, the Yuletide fairy (Mrs S) drags us all, kicking and screaming, in the rain and the sleet, to the Cromwell Road in lovely London Town.
The Natural History Museum erects a skating rink in the forecourt, a festive rain-drenched "Xmas Fayre" springs up in the drizzle and we all enjoy the nice ice followed by a choice slice of seasonal pizza. Click the pic for the video experience.
Getting into the festive spirit
Customer Service, ha ha ha only joking, Esporta responds - ish
Those of you captivated by my earlier post and correspondence (click here) with the management at my friendly neighbourhood gymnasium might be sitting, waiting, breathlesssly expectant of the next missive...
So (lightly edited for clarity and comic effect) here's my latest epistle ...
Dear Mr Name changed to protect the guilty, A number of events have occurred since I wrote directly to you on 24th November.
- I received a poorly written letter from one of your staff, dated the 30th November, assuring me that the membership of my daughter ChaCha had been cancelled with immediate effect.
- You then withdrew £263:00 from my bank account on 3rd December (as you do each month), indicating that despite the aforementioned assurances her membership is still costing me money.
- I received a “one size fits all” mail-merge letter bearing your signature telling me how much you hoped I appreciated all the effort that Esporta put into enhancing my gym-going experience.
- Your letter, (although it did offer me a free cup of coffee) also informed me that my fees would be rising from £335 monthly to £345, hard to reconcile with the £263 you’re already erroneously charging me.
- I spoke with your reception staff and offered a conversation (over a free cup of coffee?) with you to address some of these issues and provide a little constructive customer feedback. As someone who makes a reasonable living advising companies on their approach to Sales and Marketing I thought that might be attractive to you. If not, that’s fine, however, I was told that you’d ring me. You haven’t, that’s not good.
To help you to reconcile the ongoing series of administrative errors and customer relationship mismanagement I enclose the correspondence to date. I’d really appreciate it if you’d take some positive action to rectify the impression you’re generating.StuffyThis was sent on the 5th of December,
still waiting ...
7th December still waiting
8th December still waiting
9th, 10th and 11th December, yup, still waiting...
Labels: esporta poor customer service royal berks oakwood stuffy
By public demand (that's right, you've no-one to blame but yourselves) - more Haiku movie reviews
Well folks, having launched the Haiku juggernaut on it's ponderous path I'm now, (in response to literally a brace of requests), having to put my minimalist money where my massive mouth is.
Heretofore and therewith, the miniaturised critiques of the latest offerings from Messrs Forster and Eastwood.
Quantum of Solace (slightly more substantial review here)
Sony and Aston
What was missing ? a story
and a sense of fun.
The Changeling, (a Mrs Stuffy selection)
A tragic tale, told
enthralling as the cold, red
slash, Angelina's lips.
Customer Service - Health and Efficiency........ or maybe not
My gym is apparently the flagship of the Esporta chain of health clubs. They're currently for sale, as they seem to be every six months or so. As a business it is one of the finest examples of bungee management I've ever seen with weekly management initiatives, management changes and management communications, indeed the only thing lacking is some management. Howsoever, although Mrs S and I are regular users of the establishment I realised a few weeks ago that neither of our lovely daughters were visiting the place often enough to justify the exorbitant amount of money I was forking out monthly to keep them on our membership. Accordingly I resolved one morning to have a chat with the nice ladies on reception and get the girls removed from my bill.
I waited until the steady stream of complainants and protesters had dwindled then approached and explained my request. " Ooooooh you need to speak with Sales" I was informed. Ok I thought (although un-sales would seem to be more appropriate).
I waited, a young lady sashayed out from the recesses of the management suite. I explained my need, she identified that this was way outside her remit, (mostly sashaying apparently) and telephoned someone else.
I waited, I love waiting, I don't get grumpy at all waiting. Another personable young lady arrived, smiling, well that made one of us. I explained my requirement, that I simply desired to remove my daughters from my membership.
"Oooooooh, you need to speak to (let's call her Sharon)".
"Do I?, do I really?"
"Oooooooh yes, I'll send her out"
I waited, I was getting better at waiting, but I noticed that my smiling skills seemed to be waning. Not all bad news though, my tutting and foot tapping were coming on apace.
The 'Customer Relationship Manager' appeared, a pleasant lass with an attention span shorter than her job title. I explained "my daughter, ChaCha, 13 years old, yes, membership, cancel, now"
Her fingers danced across the keyboard, "that's done" she announced.
"Super" I said, "and the same for her 20 year old sister please"
"I'm afraid I can't do that, you need to go and send an email to a girl who works for me and she'll do it"
"HaHa, very amusing, no seriously, please cancel her membership"
I can't, you have to write to us, she's over 18, it's head office policy"
"OK, you write the letter now and I'll sign it."
"I'm afraid you have to write or email it to us, I'm sorry"
She scribbled the e-mail address of her underling on a scrap of paper and proffered it to me as if it were the missing piece of the Da vinci code. Those of you who know me well will be, I hope both surprised and impressed to hear that I smiled, thanked her for her kind asssistance and left. I'd lost the capacity to fight, the system had ground me down.
I lost the piece of paper, no worries, 2 weeks later I received a letter, a real one, headed paper and from the General Manager of the gym no less.
This misbegotten missive informed me that since ChaCha was now 18 I would be charged an extra £75 a month for her continuing membership. Although I was a little upset that I'd apparently missed 5 years of her life it didn't stop me enjoying the irony of the line assuring me of the club's desire that I keep getting best value from my membership.
I attach the essence of my reply, I'll keep you posted...
Sir, I note with some alarm your letter informing me of your intention to increase my membership fees by £75 a month to cover the membership of my daughter ChaCha who you assert is, “now over 18 years of age”
My concerns are twofold:
1. My daughter ChaCha is 13 years old, not 18
2. In a meeting some two weeks ago with your Customer relationship manager I was informed that, as I requested, ChaCha had been removed from my account and that I would not be charged for her membership from the end of this month.
I’m sure that there is some simple explanation for what would appear to be administrative incompetence and I do look forward to receiving your clarification.
Labels: esporta poor customer service royal berks oakwood stuffy
Movie review – "Burn after reading"
I’m not an absolute fan of the work of the Coen brothers, I find them a little “curates egg” but I do, always, make the effort to see their movies as the upside invariably makes it worthwhile.
The best surpri
se in this film, (and it is full of surprises) was the way in which they’ve got actors who (to me at least) have always seemed watchable but limited, to convincinly play characters many miles removed from their typical role. Francis McDormand, Clooney and Pitt are not at all what one would expect and are fun, Malkovich, as he so often does, plays a blinder and the chaps running the CIA (JK Simmons and Davis Rasche) deliver a deadpan performance that had me chuckling out loud, very rare.
Mrs Stuffy, who found it ho-hum asked me (as we wended homeward our weary way) why I enjoyed it and after a moments reflection I was forced to conclude that it neatly captured my world view, people are mostly shallow, inept and driven by all the wrong things but that does make them very funny to watch.
and
The latest Bond outing - Quango of Solipsis (or something similar)
first things first, up against a very tough field, the worst, (by a long way), Bond theme ever. Really really bad, no seriously, I mean it, I think the Spice Girls could do better.
The movie...
Opinion is divided at the Barn over this latest offering from Aston Martin’s biggest customer. Mrs Stuffy is an unthinking, drooling, swooning fan of Mr Craig but I must confess that I prefer my Bond like my martinis, a little lighter, with a dash of humour and a twist of self-mockery.
I like, and miss, the gadgets. I think that Matt Damon is the better angst-ridden killing machine trying to reconcile his own personal demons. I understand the market forces but I'm unhappy seeing Bond try and compete with Jason Bourne.
I found this movie less convincing and far more confusing than Casino Royale. I’m also of the opinion that a Bond villain needs to be a little 'over the top'. Msieu Amalric failed to impress me and my view of his number one henchman was that he could have been effectively taken out by a disgruntled Christopher Biggins. It's also not right that Judi Dench had the best one-liners. Still taken in context (as an extended advertisement for Sony) this was a pleasant outing and it will be interesting to see what they do next to keep the 007 energy (and revenue) flowing.
In Bruges, revisited
The more retentive amongst you will recall that both Mrs S and I enjoyed the film 'In Bruges' enormously, it was beautifully filmed, very atmospheric, had great writing and some fine acting.
Bruges looked gorgeous in the movie and Mrs S was so impressed that she arranged a few days for us to take a little trip there. Since I'm growing increasingly hostile to (almost everything to be honest but especially) air travel we gave the Eurostar a whirl, it was, in fairness, a pain-free experience, indeed quite pleasurable and quick despite a recent fire in one of the tunnels which slowed everything down to the pedestr
ian crawl of a normal commuter train.
Our hotel (her ladyship had gone so far as to book us into the same hotel used by the protagonists in the movie) was (as you can see) picturesque, furnished exquisitely and priced accordingly.
We did the whole touristy thing, museums, galleries, boat trip, breathless staggering up the 366 steps of the belfry all surrounded by a small sea of beige crimplene and grey hair, I suspect that it may be a bit of an 'oldie' destination.
This was driven home as we lingered over our coffee at 10:30 pm and realised that every other restaurant in the square was closing and the staff in ours were patiently waiting for us to bugger off so they could do the same.
For those who've not been there, I heartily commend Bruges for a short break, good food (if calories and cream are your thing), superb beers, nice folk and a beautiful town. We captured a few snaps, I've put a few on Youtube with some music to try and make them a little less tedious, click on the image on the left and (hopefully) enjoy.
It's late September ...
My little brother is an accomplished and experienced cyclist, spending many hours wending his way around the highways and byways of Munich, He does, it has to be admitted, have the occasional mishap, his latest involving a set of tram lines, some enforced lying down quickly in the road, a lot of pain and subsequently the removal of most of his original elbow and its replacement in shiny new titanium.
Since he has therefore been forced to withdraw from the Alle bayerischen Armes wringenden Schlüsse (All Bavarian Arm Wrestling finals) he an
d Jan joined us for a quiet relaxing recuperative weekend at the Barn, luckily for them this coincided with a two day sleepover for a number of ChaCha's chums, a specialist team of high pitched noise machines. The British weather, predictable as ever, delivered "Summer in a Weekend". It was, for us, a fun filled weekend oscillating wildly between mellow meandering and tooth-rattling maximum decibel high jinks. There's real joy in nice weekend filled with fun, family and friends, here's a few snaps ... click on the Schwäne (swans).
And then the stars came out, De Niro, Pacino, Stuffy, 50Cents ...
There are a number of things in life which should probably be thought of as a "tick in the box" event, something to be enjoyed at least once before one shuffles off the mortal coil. I've ticked a few of those in my life so far, (I remember a particular rainy weekend in Yorkshire with a pair of twins from the Harrogate beach volleyball team), however, as a film buff it was a great treat yesterday evening to be ticking off the "attend a full-on film premiere" box.
Clutching our invitations to the first UK showing of Righteous Kill, suited and booted, (although Mrs Stuffy ve
toed the electric blue Boateng suit) we made our way to London's heaving Leicester Square and stepped onto the vast expanse of the red carpet.
As we'd arrived late-ish, (heavy traffic and the thronging star-watchers) it was only occupied by a plethora of security chaps, one Mark Ronson (who is apparently adept at changing the discs on a gramophone), Robert de Niro and Al Pacino, how splendid !
The hordes of paparazzi make it a very weird experience but I did my best to look as if this is something one does every day as we trundled past the thespians and the proferrers of autograph books. The press, focused on the diminutive and drably dressed actors (oh how I wish I'd gone for the luminous suit) did not call for me to smile for them and our promenade into the cinema was over all too quickly. Once inside, we were herded (past the corralled media types) seat-ward, pausing only to snaffle popcorn and sweets.
The audience spent the next 20 minutes incurring whiplash and neck strain trying to spot someone more famous than "that girl from the Bill!" to no avail. The cinema full, we were introduced to a couple of suits from the production company who thanked their mums and introduced the director, Jon Avnet who thanked his mum, then introduced Bobby and Al (as I've come to know them). A wave, a smile and on with the show.
It's a very good film, but not a great film. Al and Bob are really getting the hang of this acting thing and play well off each other. There's not the intensity of the famous scene (only 6 minutes!) in Heat but there is a nice subtlety in the relationship and the roles. Interestingly (contrary to type) de Niro plays the apparent hothead and Pacino the cooler, more controlled character. Brian Dennehy is wasted and 50 Cents adds nothing but Carla Gugino makes a believable and attractive contribution.
The story is written by the chap who wrote 'Inside Man' and there are echoes of that excellent film. I also had deja vu moments from 'The Usual Suspects' and 'Basic Instinct' as the writer suggested clues, deployed red herrings and misdirected the unwary audience. Full of twists, some obvious, some less so, it makes for an enjoyable movie experience as I'd have said to Bob and Al if they hadn't naffed off after ten minutes to get to the after-show party before the unwashed masses arrived.
So, a big tick in the box marked "walk the red carpet" and a thumbs up from myself and Mrs Stuffy (who stayed awake and quite alert throughout).
Dreaming of drowsy, delicious, delightful, diving, dysentery-free days in dusty, Dahab
I mentioned here, briefly, the recurring injuries sustained whilst holidaying in sunny Egypt, We've been back a couple of weeks now and I've assembled a brief video scrapbook of the trip. click on the image of the hotel view for the You-tube experience.
My apologies for the poor quality of the underwater shots, I'm still learning how to use the lovely underwater camera which I was given for Christmas, no amount of time spent snapping away in the bath prepares one for the real thing.
Highlights of the trip would include, completing my PADI advanced dive course with an ace instructor at a great dive centre, Sinai Divers at Dahab.
I got to dive some classic sites including the lovely Bells and Canyon and the notorious Blue Hole. It's a little off-putting to trudge past the memorials to those who've died on the site as you're he
ading for the water.
Other notable firsts included my little girl having her first scuba lesson and also, after a number of attempts, getting up on water-skis, albeit briefly.
This getting up on water-skis is something that her dad still finds a bit of a challenge, I seem to be unable to stop trying to pull the boat backwards, which very rarely works.
ChaCha's cousin Tatty, who also appears in the vid, is a splendid water-skier and would have been mono-skiing by the end of the week if Mark Warner had a mono-ski for such a tiny person, she's a bit of a wake-blasting prodigy is our Tats.
Low points of the holiday include the flights, courtesy of the now defunct XL (I'm glad I didn't waste any time on the feedback form now) and a distressing (and apparently ubiquitous) intestinal disorder.
There may be those among you, gentle readers, who think that one lone male holidaying with seven gorgeous women would be an attractive prospect, but here's a clue...
I spent six days underwater .
Sweating profusely for a good cause
Spare a thought for young Mark and Mary, our chums over at Gullibles travels who are cycling (presumably through torrential rain) to Paris in aid of the Stroke Association. If you've not made the e
ffort so far do please pop over to Mark's justgiving page,
http://www.justgiving.com/markmclellan
he's only a couple of hundred off his target and 'tis a fine cause. Failing that, send industrial strength talcum powder and sudocrem.
2 Movie reviews
and not in the Haiku form,
why?
I'll tell you why,
because Guillermo del Toro uses 6 syllables before I've even started to say anything...
Hellboy 2,
Guillermo 
del toro, he of the aforementioned polysyllabic monicker makes very, very, beautiful films, Pan's Labyrinth is a gorgeous thing. I was not surprised that Hellboy 2, featured some exceedingly stunning scenery, effects and filming, I was surprised that the characters were so rich, that he managed to imbue a cloud of smoke with an instantly recognizeable, complex and likeable personality. As an action film with some depth, this one really works, it's lovely to look at and Mrs Stuffy stayed awake and laughed a few times. It's a great film, I commend it to you.
Kung fu panda
Dreamworks have made impressive, clever beautifully executed, well written animated movies, I'm thinking of Shrek, maybe Shrek 2, they've also made many (shark tale, flushed away, over the hedge) that don't come anywhere near Pixar's finest, (The Incredibles, Finding Nemo, Ice age 2).
This is another of those 'just doesn't get there' movies. It's well produced and technically neat but the story is rubbish and seems to express the philosophy that working very hard to achieve something is worthy but not as effective as being lazy, obese and greedy because " it will mysteriously and suddenly all work out fine".
Doesn't seem like a particularly appropriate message for the increasingly indolent and corpulent youth of our nation. You never saw (still skinny) David Carradine turn down the opportunity to do a little hard graft for a bowl of rice.
Messages aside, it just felt like a formula movie, I watched it on a plane and then found watching the Incredibles for the 4th time on a 2 inch ipod screen infinitely more pleasurable.
2 snores on the Mrs Stuffy scale .
Back from the desert, flat on my back
After a week in sunny Egypt accompanied by seven women, (assorted wives, daughters, cousins, friends of cousins and nieces) and having spent a week hauling 15 litre tanks of nitrox and my neoprene encased body in and out of the Red sea, I discovered (not surprisingly) that the stress and exertion had scrunched a number of muscles in my shoulders and back.
A quick trip to the physio and the lovely Debbie spent an hour manipulating and acupuncturing my knotted tendons. I must say that the treatment was much more effective than the Thai lady who had a crack at me
last week, (Her approach to massage was very combatative and her conversation, with the notable exception of "Pain ? - Good !" was unintelligible.
I do always find that acupuncture leaves me feeling a little deflated though ...
I used to be treated by a voodoo acupuncturist, I'd be walking down the street, she'd stick a pin in a wax model 10 miles away and I'd say, "Oooh that's better"
Haiku movie reviews are the new black, it's the cutting edge of a roller-coaster of a bandwagon chaps, climb aboard while it's still fresh
Nice try by Mark with his Haiku review for the Dark Knight but he's letting his Adam West show through ...
herewith
The Dark Knight
Oscar for Ledger
Christian Baleful, Caine is class
Ferry, very good
and a stunning cgi effort from Pixar
Wall-E
Robots find love in a
funny fantastic future
a vast fast treat
(Kudos to Katie for being better at counting syllables than I am)
It's a while since I mentioned poor customer service... there's a retailer called M&S ...
Why has a major retailer, (let's call them Manky Spinster to preserve anonymity) seen their public credibility tumble in the last year or so?
Based on recent experience I have a theory. I suspect that, in common with many employers, they are so terrified of litigation relating to diversity, discrimination or bias that they're offering customer service roles to any drooling bottom feeder who turns up for interview and proves capable of opening the door and finding the chair.
What's apparent is that there is no level of testing or training applied to ensure that staff have the ability to string together a big complicated word like customer let alone get their tiny jobsworth brains around the complex idea "that might be good for the customer".
A case in point...
I popped into a local M&S to purchase a little fruit around 2:00pm on a weekday, I'd not lunched and I had developed a hunger for a banana. I picked up said yellow curvy fruit and walked towards the express tills, where three (count them) assorted M&S folk were serving two (count them) customers.
I was however prevented from reaching the available teller by the sudden (substantial) physical barrier of a large dandruff ridden specimen of femininity of indeterminate age sporting a grubby M&S uniform and an expression of hostility. "I'm closing these tills" she announced.
"But" quoth your gentle correspondent " I just want to purchase this delicious fairtrade banana"
The witty riposte of the malodorous harridan was unarguable, " I'm closing these tills"
"Yes", I observed, "I believe that you mentioned that intention earlier in our delightful chat, however I can't help noticing that yonder young fellow is presently unoccupied, I am hungry, I am here now and I'm hoping to become a customer, I do assure you that I'm good for the price of a banana".
She trashed my carefully thought-through chain of logic with an incisive, derisive and decisive "I'm closing these tills".
Defeated by this powerful combination of repetition and halitosis I retreated, trudged, a broken man, to the alternate, and very busy bank of tills where I tagged onto the line of three elderly ladies buying all the catfood and biscuits in the world.
Imagine, dear reader, if you can, the joy I felt as I arrived at the front of the queue and observed Hagrid's little sister, replacing the lass on the till with the same vacuous young fellow to whom I'd been denied access only 12 minutes earlier. I was so overcome with the delightful, delicious, painful and bizarre symmetry of the situation I was almost tempted to demand assistance with my packing.
So, dear recruitment staff at Monks and Spankers, here's a clue, if someone is too stupid to wash and brush their hair, eat a sensible diet, clean their teeth or accurately find their mouth with a handful of food it's unlikely they'll have the appropriate attitude or skills to be the ideal ambassador for goodwill and customer satisfaction that your once-excellent organisation presumably still aspires to.
Take note, Sir Stuart Rose, I remain unimpressed by your self-imposed crusade to save our flaming planet from your flaming carrier bags, I just want you to sell me a banana, nicely.
Labels: oakwood rant Marks Spencer customer service
Haiku movie reviews, No, I'm not giving up on this one
Indiana Jones and the temple of the kingdom of the monkey of crystal doom and skullness.
Formula story
Ageing star, silly ending
but, it works! well done.
Wanted
Skinny Ange with guns
matrix meets da vinci code
sweary fighty fun
I'm not in any way like Bill Oddie ...
... who seems to be an opinionated and aggressive stout person who was funny once upon a time, hey wait a minute, it appears that I am a bit like Bill Oddie.
Never mind, my dear old mum was fascinated by birds, she was an enthusiastic spotter and painter of our feathered friends and I inherited her need to identify the avian occupants of our woodland and lawn. I spied an unusual bird the other day as I was working my way through two trees worth of Sunday Times looking for the elusive piece of news that they hide amongst the dross, drivel, puff, padding and adverts to keep me buying it.
This small brown spotty thing was diving from a branch, skimming across the lawn, grabbing a fly and returning to the perch, 'that's unusual' I thought, 'that spotted bird catching flies, I wonder what it is'?
Astonishingly it turns out to be a Spotted Flycatcher Muscicapa striata, (I guess i should have seen the clue in the name). It's a visitor to the UK and this one and it's mate, it now turns out, are responsible for all the guano around our front door. They've been slaughtering our native insect population and delivering the corpses to the nest where they've raised 5 young-uns on the support struts at the top of our big glass windows.
For the benefit of my ornithologically aware readership and just for confirmation from the assorted twitches and spotters that I've got it right, I'm attaching a very brief clip, (click on the image to view) obtained through the very professional "video camera duct taped to a fishing rod" technique.
Things that one is really too old to be doing - No 17 - Paintball
Noun
I may have acquired 14 spectacular bruises and a pulled hamstring but I did capture the last flag, delivering ultimate victory to the Reds and humiliation to the Blues but this was little thanks to our team, 5 of Callum's young friends and ChaCha who (whilst James and I relived scenes from our past,
I guess neither of us will ever get over Nam!) mostly huddled together in relative safety, spraying pellets, £10 for 80 !!! in all directions.
The military lessons these kids seem to have learned mostly address 'spray and pray', 'friendly fire', 'collateral damage' and 'plausible deniability'.
I may possibly be judging the little ones harshly, I distinctly heard James advising them during the briefing to take full advantage of the cover provided by large, stationary objects, " You know, like Stuffy"
It's an expensive days play, the pellets are extortionate and the site sells them for 8 times what you can pay on the web, the food is execrable and there are a disturbing number of people who take it all a little too seriously, however as an adrenaline rush and an occasional laugh it's great sport and many thanks to James and Callum for taking ChaCha and I along.
On the institutionalised incompetence of businesses, yes Vodafone YOU !!!!
Start Rant...
So, for the second time in three months my mobile ceased to function, nothing, nada, zip, zero, a plain white screen with red words telling me to "contact service". Well, I'm nothing if not obedient so after 10 minutes of pressing the 2
8 appropriate buttons on a conventional phone (does anyone else feel a little like an experimental chimp ringing these helplines, shouldn't one at least get a banana or a biscuit if we get the sequence right?) I got to speak to some lovely young lady in Utter Pradesh.
Using all her diagnostic skills she ascertained that the problem must be the sim card, how? "because 9 out of 10 times it is".
She advised me to turn it off, leave it for ten minutes then turn it back on again. This is now standard operating procedure for all helplines, if my name comes up, they give me a ten minute task then take their lunch break, very quickly.
Astonishingly the simple reboot didn't fix what was clearly a major fault, the young lady was away from her desk (told you so) and there would be nobody available to organise a replacement until 09:00 Monday morning, why? Because Vodafone have outsourced their replacement service (to a team of the aforementioned lobotomised chimps I suspect).
You'd think that if one of the world's leading telecoms companies was dealing with the replacement of a non-functioning mobile phone they'd find a better way to communicate with the unhappy owner of the phone than by sending text messages, (which can't be received) or having the delivery driver telephone the non-functioning mobile for directions.
Still he found me OK, probably by heading for the source of the wailing and gnashing of teeth and the rhythmic thud, thud, thud of a forehead hitting a brick wall.
Vodafone's fault resolution used to be superb, (indeed I was complimenting them in this very blog only a few months ago) however as cost cutting starts to make it's presence felt I'm afraid they've made their way alongside British Airways, Custodian MonitoringServices and the tight git who canceled the complimentary Financial Times at my gym onto the Stuffy List of Institutional Nincompoops.
...End Rant
Return of the Haiku review by public demand
And when I say 'public demand' I am of course referring to the small sad band of those of us who maintain the fiction that our blogs are read by anyone other than we who produce them and a few other delusional like-minded souls.
I was lunching with the world's second worst navigator (no offence Tricky),
Izzy is a long term buddy, and fellow blogger and during a brief visit to Blighty helped me eat a small cow at the delightful Gaucho Grill in London's fair City. During the conversation she asked why my promised deluge of Haiku film reviews had proven to be a mere trickle.
I patiently explained that there is no simple answer, it's quite hard to do and I'm great at procrastination. OK, there is a simple explanation.
So let's try again, and I urge my fellow bloggers especially Izzy and Mark to turn their considerable wordsmithing talent to producing examples of their own.
Haiku movie review - Juno
There is a good rule
If it's got Alison Janney
it will be good, 'tis.
And ....... In Bruges
Farrel, Fiennes, Gleason
compel, Bruges looks great as well
Dark laughs, sad small smiles.
I never got around to reviewing God of Carnage after our dramatic and disastrous attempt to see it the first time. We revisited the scene of the crime a week or so later, and, herewith my thoughts in traditional Japanese verse form ...
Why must acTORS shOUT ?
and wave their arms abOUT ?
"theatre sweetie !" PAH !!!
OK, I'm on a roll now, a quick restaurant review, (the beauty of this exercise is that you have to think really hard to capture the essence, the few critical things that (for the reviewer) make or break an experience).
The Gaucho G
rill, Bell Inn Yard
Pretty waitress smile,
if the meat was not perfect,
would still be enough.
Enough already, have a great Bank Holiday weekend...
"Customer service" yes they're scary words but let's not be alarmed
Let's take a hypothetical* situation, let's say that a certain gent of advancing years has an alarm system installed in his house, a state of the art system. In the event of a burglary, a power cut or a particularly podgy spider passing in front of a sensor the alarm uses Vodafone (no wires for the bad guys to cut) to alert the ever vigilant boys and girls of a monitoring company, let's call them Costudian* who contact either the local Old Bill, the keyholder or "Spider-watch with Bill Oddie" as appropriate. Let's suppose that lucky Mr Stuffy only pays about £500 of your English pounds, every year, for this service.
Let's suppose something goes awry with the Vodafone bit, well, the clever old system uses the house phone to contact our eagle-eyed chums at Custardian* to let them know there is a fault.
Enough background, on with the tale ...
I got a phone bill, from BT, hundreds of calls to a premium rate 0870 number, well, there are three women resident in the Barn, two of them teenagers, but no, they all had alibis.
I rang the number from the phone bill, it squealed at me, being trained in the art of detection, I observed that it was very close (numerically) to the Customer service number of Casturdian*, the world renowned alarm monitoring company, so I rang them.
Stuffy says (after 15 minutes of proving his identity) "Tell me fair lady, is this one of your numbers ?"
The fair lady "Yes it it"
"Why would my alarm system be ringing this number ?"
The fair lady "Oh it wouldn't Sir, that number is nothing to do with your system, that number is not even in use"
"So it isn't monitored by your excellent selves?"
The fair lady "No Sir, there's no need"
"except that it's racking up revenue for you and your chums at BT?
The fair lady "Oh, I wouldn't think so Sir"
"Would you like 57 pages of phone bill evidence that you're wrong?
The fair lady "If there's a fault I'm afraid we can only talk to your installer"
OK ...
I told my installer the story, he tested the Vodafone link, dead as a digital dodo. the alarm system was still trying to tell the alarm company about this, every 2-5 minutes, at 20p per shot, and failing, a still, small, electronic voice crying in the wilderness................. at my expense.
We cut the wire
We mentioned this to Crosstoadyan*.
Week 2 they asked for the alarm system, we sent it to them.
Week 3 Nothing
Week 4 They wanted the phone bill, we sent it to them
Week 5 Nothing
Week 6 They destroyed the alarm system while testing it.
Week 7 They lost the phone bill, we sent it again
Week 8 the technicians sent a report to Customer Services
Week 9 Customer Services couldn't find the report, and they lost the phone bill, again ...
Week 10 Mr Fielder* (Customer Service Director) made the mistake of answering my phone call
Mr F "Ah, it appears that there may have been a fault, we're trying to resolve it now"
Mr S "By resolve you'd better mean 'repay me all the money you've accrued through your error and reimburse me for the 5 weeks when I had no alarm cover and was just wasting time and energy every time I or my family bothered setting the alarm".
Mr F "Um, I'll call you back"
Week 11 Nothing
Week 12 Nothing but "Mr Fielder is off-site today"
Mr S " Well you can inform Mr Fielder* that he's got a very unhappy Customer who needs to see some sign of some 'expletive deleted (might be flipping, might not)' Service.
Week 13, A snotty email from Mr Fielder (still not his real name) explaining that he couldn't possibly take my call as he was engaged in a workshop with his team about improving 'Customer Service'"
He didn't really appreciate me explaining, (at some length) the concept of irony.
Week 14 Assured that compensatory payment had been authorised
Week 15 Nothing
Week 16 Assured by Mr Fielder that "it's with the people who authorise these amounts of money"
Mr S " Let me get this clear, you're a Customer Services Director, who can't authorise £200 ?"
Apparently it's not just irony, Mr Fielder* doesn't appreciate sarcasm either
Week 17 Nothing
Week 18 "The payment went out today, it should be with you tomorrow"
Tomorrow - it wasn't
Day after tomorrow - it wasn't - again
Day after the day after tomorrow, "Hello, this is Mr Fielders voicemail, I'm taking a well deserved holiday for the next couple of weeks but if it's something urgent please feel free to talk with one of my colleagues, or, for all the good that will do you, just stand alone in a darkened room and scream and bang your head on the wall until I get back ...
and don't forget,
your call is important to us"
Week 20 "Hello Mr Fielder*, I hope that your holiday has left you feeling refreshed, invigorated and back in the business of bringing unalloyed joy to your lucky clients."
"Ah, Mr Stuffy, it appears that your cheque was sent to me by mistake, I posted it myself by recorded delivery yesterday, I sincerely apologise for any delay."
It appears I was wrong ... he does appreciate sarcasm
*not really very hypothetical at all
*not really CustodianMonitoringServices
* not a pseudonym for Mr Chris Fidler
The long and winding road to pop stardom .
Young Tatty was recently the lucky recipient (thanks, allegedly, to a drunken bid at a charity auction) of a recording session at a professional sound studio. Since every pop diva needs an entourage, or posse (as the kids would possibly say) ChaCha was dragooned to provide moral and vocal support.
Possibly due to my long association with the world of Rock'n'Roll ( I have, after all, discussed barre chords with the bassist of Wishbone Ash) I was offered the role of Roadie. I accepted with enthusiasm and alacrity not realising that the road in question was about 110 miles long and the studio was in a place called Essex, which appears to be somewhere near Croatia.
Anyway, it was an amusing Saturday, the girls each took away a cd of their efforts and I put together a brief promotional video for your delight and delectation. Click on Amy to see the vid.
PS: If you're an A&R man for EMI, don't forget my 10% once the kids make it big.
Labels: amy winehouse, ChaCha, Oakwood, studio, Stuffy, Tatty, valerie, Witham
My Birthday treat
(it's a long one folks, get a coffee and a biscuit)
I was delight
ed to find that as a special birthday treat my dearest wife had booked tickets for us to see a performance of "God of carnage" a play that she was keen to see, recently opened in the west end and with a stellar cast of actors that she rated highly. Lucky me...
The plan was simple, we'd catch a train up to town, 
take a leisurely lunch, enjoy a glass or two, see the play, dissect the performance over a cocktail or two then meet up with the rest of the family for a delightful supper at the Bombay Brasserie, (my first 'proper London restaurant' as a young man and still a favourite for it's ambiance, food and sense of history).
We arrived at the railway station, we had plenty of time, and were delighted to find no queues at the ticket machines, less thrilled to find them all out of service which explained the huge queues at the ticket office.
The happy throng were delighted to engage with the gloomy, monosyllabic ticketing team who had the additional joy of informing the aspiring travellers that "there ain't no train going to Waterloo change at Clapham!"
Still, we had plenty of time..
Eventually we got our tickets, we went to the correct platform, the train didn't come, then it didn't come again, then a train came, going in the wrong direction, then another train didn't come.
Still, we had plenty of time...
Inquiries of the helpful platform staff simply stirred them to look up at the illuminated works of fiction above their heads and proffer the official South West Trains slogan "dunno".
Still we had plenty of time...
Eventually we were enlightened, a train to Clapham had been sitting on another platform for some 20 minutes and was about to depart, "run, run like the wind" we ran, we made it.
I glared at the mixed pair of podgy, spotty adolescent troglodytes who felt that they had a right to rest their weary trotters where I was about to sit. I embarked on a brief but well practised rant about the "ill bred behaviour of certain common strains of pond scum" I was fuming (and Mrs S was trying to pretend she was just passing by) as we sat down. Some 20 minutes of embarrassed silence later the train lurched and crawled from the platform on our 20 minute journey to the capital.
Still, we had plenty of time ...
The shambling couple opposite, (once their terror had subsided), tried manfully to alleviate the boredom of the next 2 hours by describing their adoration for each other with graphic demonstrations, they then moved onto a detailed character assassination of everyone they knew or had ever heard of during their brief but colourless existence.
By the time the train stalled in Barnes station I was fully prepared to gnaw my way through the doors to escape, the guard informed us that he had no idea what was happening, (bit of a bombshell that one) and the peasants revolted, stormed the doors and hit the streets running. Well, walking actually because Transport for London (Ha!) had decided to temporarily (Ha!) suspend bus services from that particular station.
We no longer had plenty of time...
We walked town-wards, (quite briskly for an elderly couple in high heels), I spotted an off-duty black cab at some traffic lights, he had no escape route, I was bigger and I threw money at him till he agreed to take us to Shaftesbury Avenue.
We recouped in the cab, we caught our breath, we assessed the chances of arriving during the interval and thus catching the second act, of recovering a little pleasure from this voyage of distress.
We arrived, angry, frustrated, sweaty, anxious
to a suspiciously quiet theatre ...
In hindsight it was almost inevitable ...
"sorry, there is no interval, it runs right through".
What next ? 10 minutes of mutual recrimination and distress in Shaftesbury Avenue, putting on our own little bit of street theatre for the benefit of passing lovers of domestic drama, then a cunning plan...
Off to the bar at Harvey Nicks, to soothe our nerves with a glass or several. Three and a half hours later we staggered out, very soothed, just in time to cab it to the restaurant, some more wine, some excellent food, an appreciative audience for our tale of woe.
Birthdays just don't get any better than this.
Update : She's booked more tickets for the play ... lovely
Labels: Oakwood rant Stuffy south west trains birthday
It's that time of year again .............................................. Chocolaty eggness to everyone
We were egg-ceedingly lucky this year in that ChaCha joined us for the Easter festivities. Sadly it was a miserable weekend weather-wise so rather than secrete the cocoa-based bounty in various wet and windy locations I spent the Saturday evening creating a mix of pictorial and textual clues to make a treasure trail around the farm leading to a warm and dry stash of Mr Cadbury's finest creations.
Rhett was egg-cited and on fine form although a little frustrated that ChaCha often took several seconds to work out where they needed to look next. He was happy just shooting around in random directions like a tiny sweet-chasing dervish. The subsequent video (click on the picture) suffers from the mechanical malfunctioning of my camcorder, which having worked for about a year has presumably done all that Mr Sony could reasonably expect.
As a seasoned technology victim I (of course) ignored all the lessons I could have learned from this marvelous technological mayfly and leapt straight on the web to buy it's most recent descendant, which I'm sure will deliver many minutes of high-priced, high-tech fun before going the way of all it's predecessors and passing it's final days in the "doesn't work but was way too expensive to just throw away even though it's of no value whatsoever box".
A last despairing fling down a snowy slope
To sunny Geneva with old chum Tricky for a late ski weekend with Elaine&Roy at their lovely home near Annecy. Navigation is a recurring theme of these jaunts, largely because Tricky and I are unable to agree on anything as simple as "this road" or "that one".
In my defence I have
to say that my (intractable) position on this matter is based upon Tricky's unquestioning faith in his archaic hand-held satnav ("Mr Garmin's excellent and ingenious locationing and directioning calculation engine") which is so old that asking it for directions often involves the use of rune-stones, the I-Ching or the entrails of a small expendable mammal.
This year our orienteering incompetence exceeded even our own very high expectation.
No doubt the Swiss customs folk have an event-filled life but I suspect it's rare for them to see the same vehicle pass the border five times in ten minutes and in 3 (yes really) different directions. I knew we were in trouble when we saw them looking for the car-stopping attachment on their official penknives. Still, we must not grumble, Geneva is a large and interesting city and few travelers can afford the time to explore it fully, as we did.
Since we were celebrating Roy's birthday on our arrival we had, in addition to smuggling chocolate cake into Switzerland (how very coals-to-newcastle) developed a cunning present plan.
Roy is a major wine buff and we were both aware of the folly of trying to impress with our own selection of beverages, we therefore resolved to discover and acquire the cheapest bottle of wine we each could and see how well they delighted his finely tuned nose and palate. Tricky sourced a £2.25 Spanish red called, if my translation is accurate, "fetid blood of the rotting scorpion", my own effort was the minimalist charm of Tesco £2.49 French vin de table. Astonishingly a blind* tasting identified that:-
- The extra 24p is worth the investment and the Tesco red was drinkable and not at all unpleasant.
- The Spanish contender was:-
- the first wine we'd ever seen that frothed when opened
- and
- absolutely revolting
So, another win for Tricky.
*technically more of a blind drunk tasting
With the notable exception of these two bottles the weekend contained many other food and drink related high points, great company, some fun skiing and a thoroughly well-deserved two days of splendid snow and perfect sunshine, much to the surprise of the meteorologists and the delight of your humble correspondent.
Another highlight, of course, was the comprehensive thrashing of the French by the Welsh rugby team.
Altho
ugh we were watching the game in France, due to the miracle that is Sky+ and my slightly extended shower routine, (a little stiffness making it hard to reach some of those out-of-the-way places) we actually watched the game some 5 minutes out of synch. This meant that I was forewarned of every moment of Welsh brilliance or French fumbling by a series of increasingly depressed text messages from another long time ski chum Fredi El-Ribo who was watching the game a few valleys away in Val D'isere.
And so, back to Blighty, our Sunday morning drive back to Geneva involving only three major detours, two as a result of the sat-nav and one for me to commit an anachronistic piece of 17th century directional technology to the nearest ravine, thus saving Tricky the problem of whether to store it next to his Betamax video, his 8-track stereo or in the garage with his Sinclair C5.Labels: Oakwood, satnav, ski, Stuffy, tricky, wine
Signs of the Times
I was quenching my thirst a couple of days ago and noticed a curious thing about my bottle of Volv
ic mineral water, firstly that it had been filtered through the volcanic rock of the Auvergne region of France for thousands of years thus ensuring a very special mix of minerals and trace elements.
The second thing I noticed was that it carried a sell-by date of 2010.
Which made me think, weren't Danone really lucky to get this out of the ground just (geologically speaking) before it became undrinkable...
Annoyance and Pester (spot the thinly disguised building society) keeping customers happy
7:15 in the evening, and my mobile rings, number withheld, a private number, must be a problem.....
Good evening, this is Geoff from Annoyance and Pester, is this Mr Stuffy ?
Possibly... (6 months in the Foreign Legion teaches one the dangers of saying yes without understanding the consequences)
I need to just run through some security questions
Why ?
To ensure that I'm talking to Mr Stuffy
But you just rang me, on my mobile, and now you want me to prove that I'm me ?
Yes, if I may...
I don't want to tell you how to do your job Geoff, but isn't that the wrong way round, surely I've no way of knowing who you are, you could be a psychotic-killer-maniac-stalker, or a world class cyber-criminal?
I'm sorry?
What's your mother's maiden name, Geoff ?
I'm sorry...?
Don't be sorry Geoff, If you are indeed Geoff, what's your favourite chocolate bar ?
Pardon ?
Geoff, did I ask you to call me ?
Err..... No
Is this an unsolicited call to an existing, valued and now, quite grumpy, customer of your esteemed financial services business?
Err ..... Yes
Are you selling something ?
I.................... err
Are you ? ...... Geoff ?
yes
Do I sound likely to buy whatever it is ?
err ....... No ?
Goodnight, Geoff
Lean mean racing machine ? no... not really...
It seems many months ago (it was) that James convinced me to strap my size 11s into the clips and take a ridiculously fragile bicycle up a Mallorcan mountain. Inspired by that success (trans. did not (quite) die) I foolishly suggested to my loved ones that a racing bike might be something for Santa to consider around Yuletide. Sure enough, come Crimbletide ChaCha and Mrs Stuffy conspired to present me with a shiny, lightweight cycle constructed, apparently from filigree, cobwebs, fairy wings and and a sprinkle of pixie dust.
Sadly it was not until late January that the desired combination of circumstances occurred to enable me to take to the tarmac. The requirements were... not raining, snowing, freezing or dark.
I strapped myself into my fetching black leggings and cycling gear and paused for a moment in front of the mirror, I've been looking for an image which might give a sense of the full awesome effect of wrapping 100 kilos of curry, bacon sandwiches and fine wines in nylon, lycra and spandex, 
this was the closest I could find. (Incidentally 'Meet the Robinsons' from which this comes, is a much underated movie in my view).
I can't pretend that I felt entirely comfortable setting off on my maiden voyage, the majority of road users seemed oblivious to the risks to life and limb of driving too close to a nervous, wobbly, wide-load but the longer I survived the more I enjoyed the workout. At times I attained speeds approaching those of an asthmatic sloth and I had a nice rest when I managed to acquire my first road-bike puncture, the result of trying to jump the kerb, thinking like a mountain biker not an elite member of the peloton.
Hey ho, a fun first outing and as the springtime sun starts to make it's presence felt after our delightfully dank and drizzley winter perhaps I'll try it again. Now, where's that puncture repair kit ?
A logic puzzle for those who enjoy such things ...
Here's the scenario, there are two people in a bed, in the wee small hours of the morning, one of these people is asleep, you can tell this because he is gently snoring. The other person is awake and not happy being so. In essence we have one bed with a sleeping efficiency rating of 50% and a grumpiness quotient of 50%.
In such a situation, if you are the grumpy non-sleeper which makes most sense?
A - To maintain the status quo and try to go to sleep yourself, despite the gentle but deeply reassuring susurration of your spouse?
or
B - To wake the sleeper, increasing the grumpiness quotient to 100%, (the maximum possible in most bed-based situations) and causing a sleep efficiency score of 0% to be recorded ?
I suggest that if your answer is B you are either,
1 - Mrs Stuffy
and/or
2- An envious and selfish person with an emotional and totally illogical approach to the business of getting some shut-eye.
en't improved, for me at least, when, displaying many of the attributes of a feathery Steve McQueen, the new girl made a break for it and engaged me in a forty minute game of hide and beak as she avoided capture. Luckily carnivore cunning won out and a momentary lapse of attention allowed the supreme hunter gatherer to grab her scrawny neck (not the approved method of chicken wrangling). It was very nearly a "one for the pot" moment but she's obviously tougher than she appears and surviving involuntary throttling, was restored to the run and the (frankly brutal) ministrations of her sisters-in-lay.
