This should pretty much explain itself. To Customer Service at AO.Com
How do you do? Having purchased cookers, washing-machines and tumble-driers from ao.com we naturally went straight to the ao.com website when our elderly Amana integrated american fridge/freezer started to misbehave. We selected a glossy black Samsung model, specifically, this one… Having selected our appliance we spoke with your team and scheduled disconnection, disposal, delivery and installation for Thursday 2nd of June. We were informed that ‘expert logistics’ in the shape of ‘Rob’ would be delivering the fridge freezer. We’d notified ao.com that the bridge near our property was closed by the Highways Agency and that the driver would need to approach from the village of Windlesham. I’d also confirmed that plumbing would be required to install this unit On Thursday morning it was a surprise to get a call from your driver informing me that the bridge was closed. I knew that, I’d informed you. I’d explained the alternative route. I gave directions, again. On arrival there was much head-scratching muttering and eventually a series of heated phone conversations between your staff in the call-centre and the two delivery gentlemen in my house who repeatedly expressed their disbelief that the existing unit could ever possibly be extracted. This, despite the evidence that it had obviously, some 16 years ago, been installed. The bulk of their effort seemed to be spent in taking many, many photographs, of the fridge/freezer, the doorways, the floor, the plumbing and informing the dispatcher that this was no job for mere mortals and the AO.com equivalent of special forces needed to be dispatched. I spoke with a dispatcher who seemed to be quite confused but asked me to re-schedule. Naturally I was unhappy to do this having dedicated a day of my time simply to accommodate your delivery schedule. I should explain at this point that I charge £1,250 a day for my time so I was less than thrilled to lose that revenue simply to spend a pointless 30 minutes trying to understand why your folk didn’t want to do their job. Your driver seemed to think I would enjoy having a brand new, shiny and exciting, but effectively surplus fridge/freezer sitting in my hallway over the weekend but I declined this offer and insisted that they take it back with them. They, in their turn, declined my generous offer to disconnect and extract the existing unit (and thus prove the viability of the delivery) on the grounds of “having more deliveries to do” and disappeared while I was talking to your dispatcher. Your dispatcher re-scheduled for the following Monday, the 6th of June and I resigned myself to another day of lost income. I was assured that the next team would be highly skilled, very capable and fully briefed on all the relevant facts and your dispatcher cheerfully accepted my offer to disconnect and extract the existing unit. As a ‘courtesy' she offered to commit to an afternoon delivery to allow me to do this part of your job for you.
I was bemused by ‘ as a courtesy’ but had, by now, lost the will to challenge her understanding of the word 'courtesy’ in this context. On Monday morning I removed all the contents and then removed the doors from the existing Amana fridge/freezer. It took about 15 minutes to single-handedly remove the doors and shift the item into the kitchen, making it easily accessible from the front door, conservatory or french windows. I hoped this might make things easier for your staff. More importantly I wanted to provide no excuse or obstacle to the installation of the new appliance. This is not what I do for a living so I was still a little baffled by the lack of confidence of your original team in their ability to remove and install on the original, scheduled date. I waited for your delivery. Bearing in mind that I was expecting that the new crew, (allegedly the equivalent of the AO.com A-Team), would have been fully briefed about all aspects of the previous abortive farrago I was a little surprised to get a phone call telling me that they were on the wrong side of the bridge, obviously ignoring the advice of their comrades, my advice and the relevant notes you’ll find printed (by your staff) on the attached delivery instructions. Once they arrived I was also a little discomfited to find that they were not an elite crack team of AO.com problem solvers, they were simply another delivery team, mine was but one of 30+ deliveries, and, annoyingly, that they’d been given no information at all relating to the previous visit. It did make me wonder what the point was of all the measuring, head-scratching, ‘sharp-intake-of breath’ ing and photography that Rob and his chum had engaged in the previous week and indeed, the subsequent assurances given to me by the dispatcher that AO.com were very unhappy with the inconvenience (and presumably the cost of missed work) caused to me. The first piece of good news from Trevor was that they would be unable to connect the water inlet as it was an 'old style connection', apparently their 'plumbing skills’ don't actually include doing any plumbing. I was, again, intrigued. Young Rob had photographed every aspect including the plumbing of the existing installation, how was it that this, presumably, useful and relevant information had never been shared? However Trevor and his chum removed the old machine to their van, and over the next thirty minutes, removed the doors from the new Samsung unit, put it in place, replaced the doors. Trevor then discovered, much to his surprise that Samsung had included an external in-line water filter and non-return valve on this item, thus allowing connection to the existing inputs. How we smiled. The team connected everything up and assured me that all was functional, they were apparently unable to demonstrate that either the power, the water or the ice-making could be demonstrated as the machine needed four hours for 'the gas to settle' before I could turn it on. I was told that I then needed to then leave it a further hour or so before using it in earnest. I signed the paperwork, painfully aware that I was signing for a big shiny metal box and had no idea whether it did anything useful. They left. After four hours, I turned the power on and after clearing all the packing material from the inside of the unit I set the temperature as per the instruction manual, which, luckily, I found inside the fridge. All seemed fine until I attempted to use the water dispenser a couple of hours later (again, as instructed by the manual) to clear any residual muck out of the system. All that happened when the dispenser was activated was the sound of a pump, no water, just the sound of a pump.
I checked the ice maker, I tested it using the test button, (lucky I’d found that manual), nothing, no ice, no water, nada. Once again I pulled the machine out of it’s alcove and got behind. Guess what? They’d only installed the non-return valve the wrong way round. I know, I was surprised too.
I’m guessing that they’d installed it using the pipe colours (Which didn’t match the instructions) rather than the actual water-flow. No longer a valve to stop the water coming back from the machine, it was now a valve to stop water getting to the machine. Excellent. Despite not being one of AO.com 's highly skilled technicians I was able to (once again) turn off the household water supply at source, disassemble the non-return valve and reconnect it according to the huge arrow and picture of a tap on it’s case. As near as we can tell, all is now, finally, working well with our new fridge/freezer.
Great But I can’t help thinking, one of the reasons we selected AO.com was your claims (and to be fair, in the past, justifiable claims) to offer a highly-effective disconnection, disposal and connection service.
That’s why we chose you.
This experience however, was, on two separate occasions, shambolic, frustrating, incompetent and (for me at least, expensive ). So what are you going to do about it?
Update: so far they've refunded all the connection, disconnection and disposal service costs, I still think they owe me a days billing though.
Set the bar low, enjoy the surprise, a movie review of Kingsman
One of the inevitable outcomes of living in a polite, democracy, and many social commentators seem to gloss over this, is that one often finds oneself watching a film which would not have been ones first choice.
So it was that I found myself, my wife and some really decisive friends watching a class cast, Michael Caine, Mark Strong, Colin Firth and Samuel L Jackson hamming it up in Kingsman. I was not looking forward to this, the spy parody has been done badly (The execrable Avengers) and very well, Austin Powers and True Lies leap to mind.
I feared the former based on reviews and trailers.
However, as it went on I started to enjoy it, the lead character played by Taron Egerton developed in a predictable but well-judged way, Colin Firth never looked comfortable but kept on trouping, manfully. There are some nice touches, the blade-runner assassin played by Sofia Boutelle is a great concept, I bet the James Bond producers are kicking themselves for not thinking of her.
The violence was cartoonish but hey, that's what one expects from Vaughn and Goldman. I particularly enjoyed the Busby Berkely-like fireworks, I'll not spoil it for you but you'll see what I mean,
Kingsman doesn't take itself too seriously and I'd caution anyone who sees it to take a similar relaxed approach. I think the message is that it's surprising how low expectations can set the scene for a surprisingly enjoyable experience.
A parodical paradoxical Haiku
Justice is dealt out
With colour, style and panache
Foolish,fancy fun
There's an annual thing we do, every year as it happens, where I, the missus and a couple of chums pop off to stay in the South of France with another couple of chums and we all put on matching cycling jerseys and we then pedal around for a couple of days alternately cycling (not the missus, she's part of the support team), drinking coffee, drinking wine, drinking beer, drinking more wine, well, you get the picture.
We call it the Team Tuxedo Tour, last year we journeyed from lovely Vence in the Alpes Maritimes to delightful San Remo in Italy, an excellent and deeply enjoyable trip despite the presence of some seriously hilly bits.
Some excellent meals, good wine, good companions and a great way to spend a long weekend.
This year we needed a new challenge. But where to go?
The 2013 Tour de France had kicked off on the lovely island of Corsica and I, nay we, had all been impressed by what a delightful cycling venue that island looked, the prospect of effortlessly cycling through majestic gorges and into ever-opening vitas of beautiful azure seas and delightful fishing villages.
Well, it had to be done.
We did some research (although somehow missed the bit about all the uphill stretches) planned a four day trip, the ferry ride from Nice to Bastia is about 5 hours, we ordered fresh jerseys, we polished our bikes.
Deepest thanks to our Support team, Elaine, Mrs Stuffy and Marie-Pierre.
And serious Kudos to the cyclists,
Myself (l'ours volant), Dicky Bird (l'oiseaux),Chris our (Chef de l'equipe) Roy (Le Roi) and Ricardo (Le Facteur-he always delivers)
We headed for Heathrow, fluttered to France and enjoyed a delightful trip around the Cap Corse.
I'm not going into too much detail because there is a video so do feel free to click on the handsome folk in the photo and enjoy the ride, or not, as you wish.
A fixation, a fixie, a flirtation with fashion,, a folly?
I am, as many of you will know, one of those folk who seem to always need a project.
Over the last year or two I've been intermittently fixing, modifying, rustically pimping and mechanically restructuring my Series 3 Land Rover and despite my best endeavours it's now currently running smoothly and my list of things to resolve has 98% of its boxes ticked.
The joy of a Land Rover is that it won't stay fixed for long. But, O best beloveds, "a project" is a very different thing than fixing. There are always demands at the barn for my dubious repair skills, some triggered by chickens, foxes or bees. Some by garden activity, trees falling down, the occasional exercise in electrical, the inevitable plumbing challenge.
I always have a few bike maintenance jobs on hand but again that's not a project, bikes break and I fix them, that's just the circle of life.
So, a project...
For no good reason I found myself looking wistfully at an old bike I've had hanging around for a bit and deciding that what it needed was everything extraneous or superfluous stripped off, cleaned, painted and rebuilt as a single speed or fixie bike. Fixies are very much the 'now' thing in cycling in our cities, single speed, (no complex heavy gears) lightweight, minimalist bikes built to cut through heavy traffic and designed to go quickly along flat city streets rather than up and down hills with much puffing and panting. As I live miles from the city, with plenty of ups and downs not only an impractical but a downright silly idea.
I started browsing the web for inspiration and ideas and was checking out prices of various components on Ebay when I came across a listing for a single speed bike, the right sized frame but with a number of mechanical problems, mostly around buggered up (technical term) wheel, bracket and hub bearings, damaged wheels and defective brakes.
There was little bidding activity on this bike which I put down to this terrible photograph used to portray it but the text did mention that the builder was a chap called Alf Webb, a name I knew. He's a bit of a bike maintenance legend and a little research on various cycling forums identified a number of comments, criticisms and photos of similar bikes, apparently Alf specced and commissioned 250 track bikes a few years ago as "a project" and to promote his wheel building service. So, the original plan paused and I put in a very low offer in to try and win this bike.
No sooner bid than done, the bidding never really heated up and I won the auction for £60. An apologetic mumble to Mrs Stuffy that I'd 'accidentally' bought yet another bike, a quick drive to delightful Didcot and I was delighted (relieved) to finally see what I'd bought and discover that it was pretty much what I'd hoped for. Result!
I bought the bike back home and stripped everything off it. An exchange of emails and conversations with Alf and with support from the twin resources of Wiggle and the helpful gents at my Local Bike Shop, (Wellington Trek in Sunningdale) I spent a couple of evenings, rebuilding the bearings and wheels.
Then it was back onto Ebay to find cheap replacements for the pedals, handlebars and brake system. It's a flip-flop hub so I can either run it with a freewheel or fixed, (fixed means using backward pressure on the pedals to make the back wheel skid and hopefully stop before impact). I've not tried it fixed yet but I shall.
The frame cleaned up really well, has little damage and is a lurid dark blue/purplish/black effect, it looks a little as if it was painted by dipping it into an oil bath but I quite like the effect and decided to try and stick with a blue theme for handlebar tape, pedals and chain.
The saddle was well past it so (thanks Ebay) I sourced a replacement and I really didn't want drop or straight handlebars, the bike originally had some nice Deda drops but I'd decided I definitely wanted bullhorns.
Again Ebay was my friend and I managed to find some really nice ones (Deda again) for a tenner including postage.
I've added some additional touches, some tensioners designed for BMX bikes to help keep the chain working effectively and I like the blue mountain bike pedals, this velo doesn't need clips, I'm not racing it and I do want to be able to hop on it in a pair of ordinary shoes and pop to the pub or pick up the papers without all the lycra/lubrication and gear that invariably accompanies the annual Tuxedo Team tour (this year watch out Corsica) or the weekly road or off-road exploits of the group of my chums collectively known as the Breakfast Bike Buddies (motto, "it's not about the bike, or the ride, it's all about the breakfast").
So that's the Alf Webb fixie project, pretty much done, I'm happy with the result and thought I'd share it with you, the only question now is, what's the next project?
Well I've still got that original bike hanging around, I wonder ...
Wes does Grand Budapest, a movie, a madness, a mess? yes and well worth it...
So the film drought has ended and we've emerged, blinking and shaking into the watery spring sunshine, we've stretched, yawned, scratched ourselves and shuffled off to the cinema. I'm sure you're agog to hear what lured us from our movie hibernation. Now then O best beloveds, there are movies we (Mrs Stuffy and I) view because we've read a great review, there are some movies that friends are keen to see so we go along from a sense of kinship and fellow-feeling. There are movies that one or other of us are obligated to attend simply for the sake of continuity (why else would one keep indulging the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise?) and there are a few actors and directors who rarely let us down, (there are no bad films with Ed Harris in for example) And there are films that fall into the "we haven't been to the movies in ages and that's the least bad choice" box.
So, guess which category The Grand Budapest Hotel fell into? Well you're wrong, we like Wes Anderson, we don't necessary understand him, but we like what he does when he's near a camera, I love the stop-motion weirdness of Fantastic Mr Fox, the seemingly un-related and irrelevant bits, I have no idea what was going on in The Darjeeling but it made me care, even if I didn't understand it. We really liked Moonrise Kingdom, the serious kids, the childlike adults, the extraordinary beauty of the filming, the stillness, the frenzy, the retro colours, costumes and scenery, the inexplicable sudden appearance of a narrator, the self-indulgence of the director and (as in all his films) the cast list of assorted stellar mainstream acting talent mixed with the young, fresh, naif, newbies. I was going to mention that this is an odd offering but it's evident that's to be expected. This film defies pigeonholing, it's a recounting, in flashback, of the extraordinary life of a concierge in an unreal Europe, on the verge of an unreal world war, with unreal totalitarianism raising its ugly head, I'm not sure what, if any, political points are being made. It's a tale worth telling for whatever reason. It's the visualisation I really love in his films, the way Anderson mixes live-action, broad surreal shots and panoramas with so much detail, so much happening in them, the occasional model, not trying to convince that it's real, it's patently a model but it's charming nonetheless. This movie made me smile throughout and occasionally chuckle, it demanded constant attention, many, small subtle things happen, there's no telling what is or is not significant. The appearance of a big-name movie star may be hugely significant or a throw-away cameo. There's no telling what might be a red herring and I've come to expect no clear outcome, resolution or meaningful message. It seems to me that Wes Anderson makes very attractive, clever films to amuse and surprise and that's just what they do. Is this a self-indulgent movie? Probably but it's also an indulgent film and I really did enjoy being indulged. Did you miss the Haikus? Pastel retro tale Anderson does not fail to muse, bemuse, amuse
A celebration of Scottishness, we Celts have to stick together
We've a chum called Gerry, he's the landlord of the excellent Inn@WestEnd, a delightful hostelry about one village over which serves fine food ale and wine at (he assures me) very reasonable prices. Each year, on or around the 25th of Jan,traditional celebration evening of Scotland's premier poet, Robbie Burns, Gerry hosts a Burns night. They normally manage to include all the traditional elements, a piper, smoked salmon, haggis, venison and cranachan, neeps, tatties, wine, whisky, women and song, whimsical poetry dedicated to cooked offal and a little speechifying from some of the guests. We, Mrs Stuffy and I, have attended for the last few years and always enjoyed the evening, (any excuse for me to break out the kilt) and this year we found ourselves booking and hosting a table for twelve. It would appear we'd made it sound very appealing to some of our chums. After we'd made the reservation I received a text from Gerry asking me if I'd be prepared to deliver the toast to the lassies, a teasing but appreciative paean of praise to the fairer sex.
How could I decline? I sat down and sketched out a couple of pages and Cha, as a professional actress, coached me with delivery and "that's not funny" feedback.
Steve, Dean and Glenn, in various stages of inebriation and varying degrees of fake Scottishness.
It went well, it was a fun evening and in response to a host of requests I agreed to post the speech here, enjoy, or not, as you wish. To the lassies
It was very brave of Gerry when looking for a warm-hearted Scottish chap, able and willing to speak well of womanhood, to choose instead to recruit a grumpy,semi-articulate Welsh misogynist... ...but who am I to challenge his judgement? Maybe he was thinking " we need someone with lots of experience of the fairer sex" but, as my dear old mum said at my wedding " he could have had any woman he pleased, sadly he never pleased any of them". Maybe he was thinking of my technology background, the Scots are of course an engineering nation but that's traditionally the Scottish men, and today, according to the (Scottish) (male) Minister for technology apparently we're now entering a period of rapidly moving forward, which can only be good news for the fairer sex, who some might say have never really got the hang of reversing. Some might say that, not me, obviously. Indeed when we're talking of exemplary women, many folk apparently see Margaret Thatcher’s " the lady is not for turning" speech as less of a statement of political intent, more a lament for a lack of parking skills. Oh yes, it's all too easy when talking of the ladies to take the easy route and criticise women drivers, but that's not for me … ...because I'm pretty sure there's many a lady here who has, this evening, mysteriously found herself in sudden possession of the car keys as Gerry's notorious generosity with the wine bottle starts to kick in. Here's today's made up fact, The kilt, as we see it so beautifully modelled here was an invention of a Manchester cotton mill owner, intended to use up surplus cloth. But for all that, there's no doubt that the Scottish male has adopted the kilt, they're a proud nation, but I can't help thinking it's an unconscious admission that it's very rarely the man of the house that truly wears the trousers. In the last few decades our society has evolved enormously in terms of equality for the working woman but we still hear, all too often, of the barriers to their advancement, we hear of “the glass ceiling:, seen by many woman as an insurmountable obstacle to career advancement but, to be honest, a glass ceiling is equally threatening to a man in a kilt. Particularly to those of us who practice the "true Scotsman" approach to underwear. I mentioned the lack of woman engineers but women, of course, have invented many things, the concept of re-washing up, the curious ritual of re-getting dressed to go out, and of course they excel in the realms of philosophy. Many male philosophers have spent years trying to comprehend the level of abstract thought required to come up with " I shouldn't have to tell you what's wrong, if you loved me you would know what I imagine you meant when I invented the conversation you didn't have with someone I don't like" or indeed, the awesome simplicity and genius innate in the philosophical concept of the totally unanswerable question, " does this dress make me look fat?" But it's their ability to accommodate our tiny little flaws, that offers the true picture of womanhood, and in the real world we should not classify the ladies by reference to so-called female role models whether they be Margaret, Miley or the blessed Nigella. We should look around this room, at the wives and the girlfriends, (may they never meet) the mothers, the sisters, the grans, the daughters, it's the lassies that complete us, that torment us, that make, and break, our hearts. For, as Rabbie Burns said But to see her was to love her; Love but her, and love for ever. Had we never lov'd sae kindly, Had we never lov'd sae blindly, Never met-or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted. Gentlemen, to the lassies. .
Holiday challenge, it's unusual for me to be happy returning to places. There are many obstacles, in some cases restraining orders and in others, angry hoteliers with long memories. If I've really enjoyed somewhere I irrationally fear that it will be disappointing on a second visit, and, if I've not enjoyed myself, well, why would I return?
It's different for Mrs Stuffy, annually she and her chums swan off on a girls trip to the Greek islands, recently returning thrice to the same hotel in Mykononos, and that's fine for her but would make me most uncomfortable. We do however agree that the multitude of choices of island in the Maldives works for both of us. We both love the casual shoe-less sandy laid-back ambiance of most resorts, the staff are invariably great and enough of the guests well mannered and pleasant to be tolerable to the ageing misanthropes among us (me). She gets to lie on a beach or a veranda and Kindle away the days with occasional breaks for fine food, snorkel and swims. I tend to jump on a boat and get underwater for extended periods of time and I've found nowhere in the world that I prefer to dive.
The 'not going back syndrome' means that we've been, in the past to Kuramathi and Komandoo, but this time we decided to throw caution to the winds and visit an island that does not start with the letter K. We flew off to Hakura Huraa in the Meemu atoll, a 10 hour BA flight and a 45 minute seaplane hop. Again, opinion is divided on the matter of seaplanes, He "isn't this fun?" Her "no". The island, as one would expect, is very lovely although the weather was changeable and occasionally very damp as the rainy season started to flex its muscles. We had booked a water villa, a very pleasant setup on stilts over the lagoon with a private deck and steps into the sea, a glass floor and all mod cons. We've always been on land before and her ladyship found the constant susurration relaxing whilst I, inevitably, found it difficult to sleep as the tides and waves played a never ending symphony of imminent maritime disaster. The food was fine, the wine quaffable, we ordered a bottle of nice wine one evening and found it about as average as the all-inclusive plonk served nightly, It's the overall relaxing pace of these places that make the islands a delightful place to spend a few days, relaxing evenings with cocktails in the bar, critiquing the singers and the clothing choices of our fellow travellers. I should mention the swim/snorkel/dive situation. The lagoon here was bigger than we've experienced elsewhere (maybe it's a K island thing) but it did mean a long swim to the house reef and against a strong current which meant her ladyship didn't enjoy the quality of snorkelling she was used to. On the up-side, for me the diving was excellent. I've always enjoyed every dive centre I've used in the Maldives (unlike occasional disappointments in the Caribbean, and that prat in Mallorca, deep breath, move on). The Dive team in Hakura were great and a joy to dive with. Interestingly some 60% of the 170 or so guests were young Chinese who apparently are not greatly enamoured of swimming although they are hugely in favour of taking millions of photos of each other every thirty seconds. This meant that on many occasions the dive boat with its crew of three was at the disposal of myself, the dive master/instructor and at most two other divers. An excellent and rare ratio and made some stunning diving both more relaxed for all of us and a very personalised experience for me as for three of my six days I was the sole client, spoilt rotten. The biggie for me was to finally break my Manta ray virginity, it's long been a wish and was finally achieved. I won't write too much as I'm linking to a film produced for me by the very lovely Sylvia from Maldives Dive and Sail. I'd also like to offer a huge thank you to Basti, Bjorn and Achmed and if you're looking for a holiday with some world class divers they are, without a doubt, the biz.
Click on the photo of the porky chap in a wetsuit to see the brief movie...
I would have some photos of my own but, for the second time my "waterproof dive camera housing" failed to live up to the first word in it's name and this enabled me to bring back to shore a camera sized sample of Indian Ocean water and $300 dollars worth of camera-shaped scrap metal. Would we go back to Hakura Huraa? No, of course not, read the intro. Would we go back to the Maldives, yes, of course, like a shot.
Sunday, ah Sunday, a restful day, a late alarm, a cup of tea, a gradual emerging from the snug cocoon of well-deserved rest, an amble to the paper shop, a leisurely and indulgent breakfast, a late lunch with family and friends, a glass or bottle or two, a recuperative, restorative, indulgent day.
So why was I up at 6:00 making up water bottles of electrolytes and energy, cramming croissant and banana into my mouth, squeezing my protesting body into snug lycra and meeting up with 70 or so whippet-thin cycling obsessives to ride 50 miles up hill and down dale across Southern England and 35 miles back.
There's a fine charity run by some lovely people, the 'Children with Special Needs Foundation'. Our chums, Gordon and Ann run it and they'd put an event together with the local Foxhills golf club near us to run an organised fund-raising 'sportive' (bike ride).
We'd assembled an equipe of nine bicycling friends and myself. I sorted out some team kit, branded long-sleeve jerseys (it is September) and we huddled at Foxhills at unearthly o'clock for coffee, danish and nervous laughter.
Our team, as you can see, was a good looking group and all in fine fettle as we set off with our ride guide 'John, a man who obviously has cycling coursing through his veins, (veins very evident on a man carrying nothing that remotely resembled body fat).
We set off well and passed a couple of the earlier groups, all was going well for the first ten miles until your humble correspondent, (who traditionally only shines on fast downhill stretches for some reason) had a bit of a 'coming together' with another of our team. He was mercifully unscathed, I however managed to buckle my front wheel, bend my chainring and pulverise my lower back. Our guide, John, was phlegmatic and parried all my attempts to get a ride back in the van, by summoning a spare bike and ensuring that all my many and varied excuses came to naught.
The remainder of the fifty miles to Farleigh, near Croydon passed pleasantly and with much challenge but I can't deny that I arrived at the lunch stop with a spring in my step, a spark in my eye, a quip on my lips and sadly, a twisted wrenching muscular mess of excruciating pain across my lower back.
Along with the other, "that's quite enough for me" retirees I made my way back on the team bus while most of our team survivors set off on the 35 mile return leg. Luckily by the time they arrived back I'd done a serious quality investigation of the complimentary prosecco and was poised to attack the excellent hog-roast.
Special mentions for my colleagues in the team should go to Dean, who was 2nd over the finish line, bro-in-law Graham who rode his mountain bike the whole way and now "never wants to see that bike again, ever". Chef Winston had an 'orrible fall at 50 miles, minutes from lunch, lacerated a leg (his own) but manfully bled the 35 miles home. Steve C and Dave B who kindly called it quits and came back on the bus to stop me feeling lonely, Anna, (Mrs Shouty) rode an excellent ride and Richard and Glen, (the other XLshirts) who were a delight to ride with, kept me motivated and only ever slagged me off when they thought I was out of earshot.
All in all a fun day for a worthy cause
and as I lie here, wracked with pain, supine and suffering, I'm really looking forward to next time, if I can get my bike fixed, and get a bit fitter, and find anyone willing to ride with me, etc. etc. etc.
I tend to choose movies that have an element of escapism about them, the unreal, the surreal, the hyper-real. I have chums who get annoyed when something takes place in a film that wouldn't work in the real world. Myself, I'm the opposite, I can (often reluctantly, grudgingly and with poorly disguised ill-humour, sit through a rom-com, an historical drama, a heartwarming tale of everyday folk but secretly I'm yearning for the aliens to arrive, for the housewife to be unmasked as an ace assassin with awesome ninja skills. "Let's go and see 'Rush', that film about James Hunt" she exclaimed, my lovely wife. "Yes let's do that" I replied, feigning enthusiasm whilst inwardly ticking off the pointless counter arguments. I know the story, I lived then, I know what happens, Formula 1 is formulaic, the 70s were tedious, etc. etc.
No matter, we hooked up with some chums for a pre-movie supper and "away my beauties, hie thee to the multiplex". You'll not hear this often but "I was wrong". Ron Howard has produced a thoughtful, engrossing and entertaining film. It flows well, the storyline, although we already know it, is delivered with precision and pace, the period detail is extraordinarily well captured. The actors are all great, Chris Emsworth plays hunt very well but this is really a film about Nikki Lauda and the actor who plays him, Daniel Bruhl looks very much the man that Lauda was, a driven perfectionist with dodgy social skills but ultimately a man who earned much-deserved real respect for his drive tenacity and ultimately his humanity. I believe that Lauda was a consultant to the film but it certainly doesn't see him through rose-tinted racing goggles. The closing minutes are real news photos and footage of the actual protagonists and I must admit left me a little misty-eyed and Mrs Stuffy quite moved. A Hubris Haiku? The Hunt for success James drove, and lived, to excess Lauda was prouder
Saga, not holidays for old folk, an update on the Landy
Yes it's a saga,
I can't complain, (but I probably will anyway) I bought the Land Rover a couple of years ago to practice my rusty engineering and mechanical skills and both my skill-set and wallet have been stretched as I've sought to identify and rectify the many challenges presented by a thirty year old semi-agricultural lump of corrosion and attitude. Thanks to dozens of spare parts dealers, (many of whom are now close personal friends) and the awesome power of eBay to locate and purchase, well, everything really, we've gone through a couple of thermostats, a new battery, two starter motors, a new heater valve, a de-coke kit, a new radiator, half-shafts and bearings, brakes, brake piping, an exhaust, new electronic ignition set-up, plugs, leads, air cleaner, a new coil, two thermostats, four gasket sets, CV joints and as of last weekend a new water pump, well I met this chap and he said, "overheating? that'll be your water pump mate" it wasn't but it is nice and shiny, and very, very hot. That's another nice thing about the Landy, every other man in the world knows what's wrong with it. I must say that it now does run beautifully for the thirty minutes it takes to approach the sort of temperatures found at the heart of the sun. I may have to get onto ebay and buy a drawing board so that I can go back to it.
But I have a plan ... it's not very manly, I'm going to ask for help ...
Branching out, a new blog, Simply Stuffy Cooking, tell me what you think
If you're one of those who enjoy what I write (and if you're here, reading this I guess you must be) you may be interested in my new blog. I've been nagged for some time by various (presumably) well-meaning folk to write something about cooking, as you know it's something I really enjoy and something I like to inflict on others. With that in mind I've bowed to public pressure and started a simple blog of stuff I've done in the kitchen, how I did it and how it turned out. I'm planning to point to interesting stuff both on the web and in the real world, and my excited thoughts generated by some of the mountain of cookbooks I get through in a year. There's a smallish amount of content at the moment, it's early days and I'm still seeking opinions, (including yours, yes, you!) but I'll endeavour to stock it up over the coming months. I hope it doesn't come across as instructional, I don't have the skills and anyway I'd like it to be a communal effort to share stuff so if you've your own recipes and thoughts you're prepared to share just send 'em over and I'll add them to the mix. Yes? excellent! Have a look here (click-on-the-pic)
and if you like what you see click the follow button or keep an eye on Twitter or Facebook for updates. And do share your culinary calamities, cogitation and celebrations. Thanks, Steve
A Springtime synopsis, colony collapse, cars and cubs, not necessarily in that order
So, my dear readers it is way past time for a bit of a catch up, I've been remiss for many reasons, all, if I could be bothered to explain them to you, would be both valid and understandable so just take my word for it ok?
Anyway, pull up a chair, open a bottle and let's run through the news from the barn.
We've sad news for my bee-keeping followers, it's been a horrible winter and a worse spring for the little honey monsters but they seemed to have coped until the recent false spring which triggered a colony collapse, despite my best efforts to supplement their foraging with sugar syrup and my desperate attempts to deliver 5000 failed attempts at resuscitation.
I've now cleaned the hives and burned all the existing frames, (and many, many tiny corpses) and have built new frames and moved the hives to a new location where they sit awaiting the delivery of two new colonies, one from my local chum Ian and one from a breeder in Gloucestershire. Let's hope for a bee-friendly summer.
Tennyson assured us that springtime triggers a young mans fancy toward love, mine, sadly, tends more to thinking about fixing the Land Rover. I've tried everything to prevent the constant overheating problem, well, everything except the solution prescribed by my friend (and ex-Land Rover project manager) Keith.
He advised replacing the radiator, but I, of course, being very wise, tried everything else, several times in many cases. Finally I bit the bullet, launched myself into the steamy bazaar of Land Rover spare parts one finds on eBay and sourced a "very similar to" from China by way of Dunstable.
The radiator sat in a box for a month as I manfully prevaricated but finally, spurred by the faint glimmers of sunshine through the trees I embarked on a couple of hours of sustained wriggling, spattering, hose coupling, draining, clipping, flushing, binning and bracing and the old girl is now running sweet as a nut and we're roaring about the farm on the first day of summer (official). I've also found that, as you can see in the photo, lowering the windscreen can triple the number of slow-reflexed flies trapped in my welcoming teeth and eyes.
The chickens and I, well, enjoyed isn't the right word but we've built a healthy loathing for our cunning near neighbours over a series of fox-related adventures recently.
We've repelled incursions, thwarted tunnels and as the girls snooze in snug if odiferous safety I've passed many an evening, shotgunned up, and wrapped around a glass or two, waiting for Brer Fox to slink into the designated combat zone.
Fortunate timing and a German-made fox-trap have promoted a couple of predators to vulpine heaven but I suspect that the German fox may be a good bit smaller than his Surrey cousin. Looking at the imagery from the infra-red camera it seems that our enormous UK based Wonder-Füchse are looking at the trap and thinking, "ooh dear, that looks a bit snug."
So the trap has been most effective at delivering square meals to the young cubs who disturb our repose nightly with their merry chorus of yipping and yapping.
Frankly they are too damn cute at the moment for me to do the sensible thing and dispatch them to foxy-purgatory. Six times now I've had to release a snarling but dewy eyed little bundle of grey cuteness. Foolish I admit but what can I do? as they get rangier and mangier I'll rescind my cub-friendly policy.
The mantra of 'build a better mousetrap' seems to be appropriate here so project big-fox-trap was launched last week.
I've been converting a large dog cage (for transporting pooches to vet and show) into a state of the art fox-box. A weekend with angle-grinder, cable-ties, bike gear cables and a 250 piece Meccano set (thanks again eBay) has resulted in the production of a home-made varmint trap which now sits in the wood awaiting its first not-so-lucky visitor.
So that's you all caught up dear reader. I'm penning this on the second day of sunshine this year, really penning it too, sitting in the sun with paper and pen, how terribly retro.
As the unfamiliar yellow orb in the sky beats down on my milky-white extremities and bronzes them to a livid summer pink I wish you all well.
... an aimless wander through the dusty and moth-eaten corridors of a once beautiful mind, alternating between grumpy optimism and cheerful misanthropy...
Ramblings from the dusty and neglected corridors of a once beautiful mind, alternating 'tween cheerful misanthropy and grumpy optimism, enjoy, or enjoy not, as you wish ...
How do you do?
I’m guessing that they’d installed it using the pipe colours (Which didn’t match the instructions) rather than the actual water-flow.
