Random Notes

This journal terminates here

2007-10-21T15:00:57Z

Cybersofa died peacefully after months of illness, on 21st October, 2007. See callmemadam's journal.

That Magnificent Man

2007-04-22T09:11:59Z

Today is the first day of the Nevil Shute conference, held this year in a town not merely like, but identical to, Alice Springs in Australia's Northern Territories. Much to my regret, I am here, and not there. The air fare, hotel bill, conference fees and incidentals add up to an amount that the sensible person would prefer to spend on something of longer-term benefit to both themselves and callmemadam.

My friend Mike, of my visit to Bournemouth Air Museum fame, isn't there either. In his case it's for health reasons. He's well, but barred from long-haul travel, following a trip to Oz last November for the cricket, which nearly killed him. We can't have that.

But we're both at Alice in virtual form. Our mutual friend Phil – my agency-bossing, bike-riding, music-loving Evil Twin – is there to give a presentation on Sir Alan Cobham, whose aerial exploits in the 1920s and 30s did so much to promote air-mindedness in Britain. Cobham and Shute had a lot in common. Both began their careers at De Havilland's. Before starting Flight Refuelling (now Cobham plc), Cobham joined Shute on the board of Airspeed Limited, and his ~~flying circus~~ National Aviation Day was the launch customer for the Airspeed Ferry.

Phil has made a recording of Mike reading the opening chapter of Shute's novel Round The Bend, in which Cobham makes a cameo appearance. At his request I've added some clips from the BBC/Open University Nation on Film programme about Sir Alan, and some images from books, creating an audio-visual experience to introduce the presentation. I hope the delegates will enjoy it. And now, through the wonder of YouTube, so can those of us regrettably unable to be in Australia this week!

First Second Sunday

2007-04-08T23:18:53Z

Today was the first of the bike club's Second Sunday Runs – a regular monthly social ride with a definite leader and destination. But with the programme for the rest of the season already complete, no-one had yet stepped up to lead today's. Hats off to Nick who volunteered at the last minute to guide us to the bacon sandwiches of Yeovil Junction.

Immediately after setting off we were embroiled in a traffic jam of Ashley Heath car boot sale enthusiasts. We made better progress than they did, but it was still painful. And pointless: callmemadam had been there two hours earlier. There were no more bargains to be had.

Once clear, the minor roads of Dorset – Horton, Witchampton, Tollard Royal - were a sheer delight in the warm sunshine. That's what I call a social ride, miles away from cold weather gear and serious A31 congestion. This year's first ride in me leathers, and first descent of Zig Zag Hill, officially Britain's twistiest road.

Much of the route was familiar but Nick knew an excellent back road from Sherborne to Yeovil via Thornford, Yetminster and Ryme Intrinseca. Why anyone would want to travel on the mundane A30, when for just a few extra miles they could visit these delightful spots, is a mystery. What's more it took us to our destination without passing through the town. Or most of us ... a few SMS messages rounded up the final stragglers including huskyteer.

Yeovil Junction has numerous attractions including a charming steam locomotive that shunts up and down, but the buffet was closed. As were Pen Mill station's on the other side of the town, and the Sherborne establishment. Having left quite a few by the wayside, at this point we final four hardcores headed South via Cerne Abbas for guaranteed coffee at Dorchester's Top O'Town. At home I rounded off a suitably relaxing Easter day with Robert Aldrich's Flight Of The Phoenix – a favourite since I saw it at the Embassy, Chesham in 1965.

Good for him

2007-03-24T11:54:29Z

Guinness is everywhere at the moment, not just in callmemadam's blog and our store-cupboard. In the throes of his acrimonious divorce, Paul McCartney is being "comforted" by heiress film-maker Sabrina Guinness. As callmemadam points out, at least he knows she's not just after his money.

According to the Torygraph they like to sit and talk about Al Gore. I suppose they have long exhausted the topic of her cousin Tara Browne who blew his mind out in a car (he didn't notice that the lights had changed).

A groovy weekend

2007-02-27T16:41:48Z

Riding one's bike on to a train and parking it, how groovy is that? Nearly as groovy as a train that travels under the sea at 90mph. That was my weekend getting off to a groovy start. I'd ridden up from Dorset with my friend Roger, huskyteer had fortuitously joined the convoy on the M20, and we'd rendezvous'd with the two other members at Maidstone Services. It had been nine months since my last trip abroad, wheels were getting itchy and baccy supplies running low - huskyteer's proposed weekend in Flanders was well timed. Pleasant company too - among the five of us, smokers, scooterists, and old gits, in various combinations, formed the majority.

From automated check-in to formality-free disembarkation the Eurotunnel crossing was quick, easy and comfortable. On the other side, a short motorway hop followed by a quick look at a Route Nationale took us to our base at St-Omer – attractive old town although I didn't like the cobblestones much. A little GPS assistance located the hotel which welcomed us to its garage, charging us only for one parking space for all five bikes. The rooms were fine, and so was the restaurant, from whose menu du terroir at €14 I chose potage aux poireaux and gratin d'endives followed by chocolate mousse.

The following morning we set off in light rain for a look around Flanders. The first stop wasn't too far to travel: the St-Omer aerodrome where the British Air Services Memorial commemorates the British flyers who'd been stationed there in WW1. (The RAF's 16 Squadron was formed here, and its Jaguars have a cartoon figure of The Saint on their tails for this reason, but they're going out of service soon.)

Next stop was La Coupole, a gigantic bunker built by forced labour, intended to manufacture and launch the V2 rocket bomb, Hitler's secret weapon to destroy London from space. Despite pounding from Barnes Wallis's 6-ton Tallboy bombs, the dome-shaped roof remains approximately intact. Under it today, as well as displays of the V2 and other secret weapons of WW2, is a museum of the Nazi occupation of the Pas-de-Calais. Hitler expected this to be the site of the Allied invasion in 1944 and its people suffered privation and humiliation perhaps even worse than those in Normandy.

From here we rode through the Flanders countryside past hipped-roofed farmhouses and mansard-roofed village residences, via the only sizeable town, Arques. We didn't stop there as we didn't need any more Asterix- or Tintin-themed glassware. huskyteer had chosen excellent routes, avoiding all main roads and showing us plenty of the country. The place-names clearly showed the Flemish influence. As we approached the town of Kassel the route began to ascend, and we stopped at the highest point in Flanders, 167 metres. Here a monument commemorates the times the strategic town was captured, sacked, and rebuilt. Notable also were an equestrian statue of Marshal Foch, and an estaminet offering typically Flemish fare for our lunch – andouillette with mustard sauce – and excellent Belgian beer.

More Flanders fields as we wended our way to the day's next attraction, a village distillery where gin has been made from malt, oats and rye for nearly 200 years. For only €5 a head, including dégustation, Madame the owner showed us the entire process from shovelling the grain, to triple-distillation in copper stills, at France's only remaining craft-based distillery. Under attack not only from the decline in digestif drinking and the globalisation of brewing (there are no longer any maltings in France), it's also no longer allowed to sell the fermentation residue as pig food – today's choosy porkers require a full analysis and Certificate of Conformity for their menu.

Returned to St-Omer via a scenic route along the river Aa, in plenty of time to relax for an hour before stepping out to dinner at one of many restaurants around the elegant town square. Never seen such large portions – when I ordered a starter of Camembert rôti I wasn't expecting a whole one. Didn't manage to finish my Carbonnade Flamande either, but the flavour was delicious.

Sunday morning saw an even more leisurely start, but quite a lot of rain. We set off for Boulogne via the minor routes, pottering through villages, up hill and down dale, hardly seeing another vehicle. In need of some coffee, we stopped in the small village of Quesques and found its café open, though empty, and most hospitable. The TV in the family kitchen, through which we passed en route to the external toilette, was showing a church service, while the actual church across the road was deserted. When we left, the family turned out to wave us on our way.

Boulogne-sur-Mer seemed like the big city after our countryside meanderings. Down by the water are plenty of restaurants with easy parking outside. I was tempted by a bucket of moules, but with an afternoon's riding ahead, settled for sausages and chips. We set off on the final leg of 20 miles to the Eurotunnel terminal, taking the twisty coastal minor road which was extremely enjoyable with its bends, inclines, views, and lack of other traffic. Stopped for a few minutes at Cap Gris-Nez, the closest point to England, just about visible through 28km of murk, and admired the large radar installation that helps regulate the traffic through the world's busiest waterway.

Soon afterwards, we were rushing under that waterway again, and not much later, encountering heavy traffic on the M20, M26, M25, M3, but not the M27 which was mysteriously closed. It would be nice to think that road pricing, which France has always had, would bring French-style traffic levels and surface quality to UK roads. In the meantime, a big well done to huskyteer for the opportunity to use a properly managed road network for a weekend, as well as agreeable rides, interesting visits, and gourmet meals.

Several Pieces of Luck

2007-02-21T23:00:00Z

After the bike-related aggravation of recent weeks, something good to report. When I got home from the bike club meeting on Monday evening, my laptop was missing from the back seat where I'd secured it with a bungee. (This isn't the good part.) How annoying that I'd previously travelled hundreds of miles in this configuration, and it had failed on a two-mile trip in a 30mph limit. I retraced my route, but no sign. Rats! Not that it was a laptop of value: old and slow, long since retired from the office, no irreplaceable data or embarrassing secrets. Its value was in being set up how I wanted, with the software I needed. More, inside the case had been a pad with my notes from the meeting, for newsletter editing purposes.

Then this afternoon I got a call from an ex-client of five years ago. They'd had a call about a laptop that had been found. Of all the coincidences, the case had contained a mail message printed on the back of one of their old letterheads, now used as scrap paper chez nous. A couple of phone calls later I was heading for Blandford to meet the gentleman who'd kindly stopped his car at the roundabout to retrieve an object lying in the road, and whose acute detective work had led him to me via the ex-client. And now I'm typing this upon that very laptop – still old and slow, but intact and fully functional.

So, at least four pieces of luck there.

The vehicle following me home on Monday hadn't been a bus or an artic (or indeed a bicycle whose rider might easily have come to grief)
Its driver had been a person of resource and sagacity, not to mention integrity
Someone at the ex-client's remembered me and knew how to get in touch
The computer had been robust enough to survive the tarmac interface (thank you, Dell)

My luck seems to be IN – perhaps I should buy a lottery ticket. But first I think I'll get myself a new bungee.

Pond Life

2007-02-18T14:17:24Z

Well, both the bike and my heated clothing managed to hold themselves together this morning for 60 miles of rural Dorset and Wilts, on a ride from Avon Forest via Verwood, Cranborne, 6d Handley and Ebbesbourne Wake, up to Ansty for a look at its charming pond, and home via a cuppa at Compton Abbas airfield.

Things are looking good for huskyteer's ride to Flanders next weekend.

Motorpsycho Nitemare

2007-02-15T22:59:40Z

The bike went in for its 24,000-mile service yesterday and the shop lent me an F800S for the day. Brand new, and a cute little thing – I called it a mini-moto but BMW prefers "entry level sportsbike". Having enquired, I'd been assured that it featured an accessory socket, and plugged myself in before setting off home. Before the first traffic lights it was clear that my heating circuits weren't working, but in the pitch dark and hammering rain I didn't feel like diagnostics. It turns out that the socket's current limited, while the heated gear has a duty cycle controller, demanding full power for short bursts. So no go. Dreamed I was an Eskimo.

It also hasn't got a top box. Loan bikes never do, and so I took my cargo net with me. Stashing my lunch-box, I lost grip on one of the hooks, and it sproinged up and hit me in the eye. Ouch.

I handed over the best part of a fortnight's wages for the service, new battery, new starter-motor, oils, gaskets and what-not, and headed for home on my own bike in warmth and comfort. From enjoying good progress along the Bere Regis by-pass, it suddenly lost power and started vibrating. After an hour's wait in a cold lay-by, the shop's service manager arrived with a van and my third bike of the day, an R850R. This one's socket might have worked, but it was too dark to transfer the connector and controller from my bike. So for a second day, I arrived home shivering.

Off to work on it this morning, two pairs of gloves and the grips on full chat, and that cargo net again. Could anything else go wrong? Yes it damn well could. When I arrived my lovely yellow Banana Guard (not to mention its contents) was missing, believed fallen off somewhere along the A31. That'll have to be replaced - we post-war kiddies can't live without our bananas, preferably unbruised.

Now I've heard from the shop that the RT has a burned-out exhaust valve – burned-out exhaust valve 2 of 2. Stand by for another massive bill, even though they'll kindly charge me only half the labour, and nothing for yesterday's rescue or the loaner. I love my Beemer, it's superbly comfortable and satisfying in every way, but not sure whether I can stand the cost (and the pain) of ownership. As I've said before, and hoped not to say again: none of my Yamahas ever broke down.

C'est tous les jours fête

2007-02-15T11:07:20Z

Today a special guest joins me in wishing sloopjonb the happiest of birthdays!

May I be the first ...

2007-02-14T09:16:51Z

... of the many, many people whose love and admiration she deservedly receives, to wish callmemadam a happy birthday, and one or more years of health and happiness to come.

Valentine schmalentine, that's what we say.

On Show

2007-02-03T14:18:35Z

I love a bike show, but the NEC's a long way to travel, usually in bad weather, and getting there by train's an expensive luxury. This year the London bike show's moved from the Ally Pally – theoretically nice, but inaccessible and impractical – to Excel, the purpose-built Docklands exhibition centre implausibly named after a spreadsheet. Yesterday I took a day off work and went along with huskyteer and our friend Howard.

Leaving home at 8:45, it was dull and grey and the local rush hour congestion was miserable. (I'm still working on a rant about the realignment of Canford Bottom Roundabout.) Half an hour later I was on the M3 in bright sunshine, and when I stopped for a coffee at Winchester services, the Mondeo driver in the next parking space expressed his jealousy of my vehicle. "No roof", I pshawed, "no heater". But he said it was a lovely day to be out on a bike, and I couldn't disagree.

The M25 was back to damp greyness, and while taking on more coffee at Clacket Lane I was moved to clean the headlamp as well as my visor. It was sunny again on the A2. Emerging from the Blackwall Tunnel, I quickly located Excel, parked for free (cars £3/hour) and entered the show on the dot of my noon ETA.

The absence of the big four Japanese, and the one and only British manufacturer, was a disappointment for many, not least the organisers, and probably accounted for the pleasantly uncrowded show. But it let the Europeans shine. Best looking bike in the show was the Ducati 1098. Having lost their way with the previous model range, Ducatis are once again looking like Italian bikes should – sex on wheels. I especially admired the space-age brakes. It's not exactly a commuter though, and six-foot-four Howard (who's in the target market) complained that as well as being uncomfortable on it, he couldn't see the clocks.

I had a sit on a KTM Adventure – comfortable, great view, and on days when Mountbatten Way was excessively congested I could off-road it along the central reservation. But the bike that really took my fancy was the BMW R1200RT. After nearly a year on my 1150RT I seem to have been assimilated. It fitted me like a glove, and ticks all the boxes. It's gained a few 'osses, benefited from BMW's weight reduction programme so that it's actually lighter than my previous FJR, and has a new smooth gearbox and balancer shafts to cut vibration. Seemed like a lot of bike for the money, if you can get past the idea that a bike can cost five figures, although the display model with radio, CD player, cruise control, electronic suspension adjustment and colour-matched luggage was well into that bracket. Have requested a test ride. A year from now will be soon enough.

I made sure to visit the Gerbing's stand to thank them for the swift replacement of my failed glove last week. They have a new electric neck-warmer – mmm. First time exhibitors were our friends John and Jen from Bike Normandy, doing well, fully booked already for June and July. Perhaps I'll visit them again soon, but not for their Dangerous Tour, thanks.

The route back to huskyteer's place took in the Woolwich Ferry, which was pleasant, and a load of South London congestion, which was less so, apart from making me glad to live in Dorset. More traffic hell on the M25, of course. Back home I was glad to take my boots off, after 250 miles and plenty of walking in them, but well pleased with the day out.

Bye Bye Johnny

2007-01-31T16:29:22Z

I've just had mail from my router, advising that some 1337 h4xx0r had been trying to login, and it had banned them at the firewall within less than 30 seconds. Plonk!

One can't really be too careful. They might have set the video to record Richard and Judy or something.

Midweek bullets

2007-01-31T12:09:11Z

The shop was unable to repair my puncture without sending the tyre away to HQ, which would have defeated the object. But they supplied and fitted a new pair in only just over 24 hours from ordering. So once again I'm now shiny, round and black, and riding with confidence, or will be once I've scrubbed-off the wax. Although the nail held out fairly well, for a nail, covering at least 250 miles with minimal loss of pressure.

The new tyres are called Battlax, the old ones were Road Attack. I'd prefer them less aggressive, really. They are supposed to be sport-touring, not race tyres.

Media watch: speaking of Alex Harvey, as sloopjonb and I recently were, Radio 2 commemorates his tragically short life in a Music Club documentary on Saturday. Trailers abound but I had to dig hard to find this on their Web site.

On the buses: seminal 1962 Cliff Richard musical Summer Holiday featuring one of London Transport's AEC Regents as well as the delicious Una Stubbs, gets an airing on BBC4 a week on Sunday (11 Feb) at 23:00. Yes, I've set the video.

Adrian Belew, a 1977 Mother (producing an outstanding Dylan impression on Flakes as well as important stunt-guitar in the film Baby Snakes), before joining King Crimson, touring with Bowie, sessions on Graceland etc etc, has a blog, syndicated here as elephantblog. Pictures of guitars! Which he's selling on eBay!

Riding on Air

2007-01-28T15:40:50Z

Fancied giving the new gloves a road test today, but spotted whilst doing my weekly checks yesterday that the bike had a puncture in the rear tyre. Pressure was down to 15psi instead of 42, but not knowing when it had happened, I couldn't tell how severe this was. I left the nail in the tread, rather than make things worse by removing it. This morning I found it had lost about 8psi overnight. I decided to test it under load, and with gauge, pump, and kneeling mat in the top-box, and RAC Recovery as a long-stop, headed off.

Stopped at Avon Forest, after eight miles, and found the pressure was now 2.5psi higher than when I left home, because the tyre had warmed up. Whether it should really have been higher still, I didn't know, but at least it had gone up, not down. Thus encouraged I joined other club members on a ride to Sparkford via Salisbury and Shaftesbury. It was lovely to be out and about on uncrowded roads, plenty of overtakes to be had, fingers nice and toasty.

75 miles later, after a cuppa at the Haynes Motor Museum, the tyre pressure was a mere 2.5psi below normal. I decided this was OK, re-pumped it up, and headed for home via Sherborne, Sturminster Newton, and Blandford.

The puncture's in the centre of the tread and looks as though it might be repairable. On the other hand, the tyre was due for replacement within the next 1,000 miles or so anyway – was planning to get it done at the next service. Glad to know it'll probably get me to work tomorrow. I'll see whether the shop will repair it but contact the mobile tyre replacement people as well.

ETA Nice pic by Roger - thanks!

Say goodbye to frigid digits

2007-01-27T15:58:41Z

Hooray, it's time to praise a supplier for customer service beyond the call. Riding to work in Thursday morning's bitter cold, my sensors quickly detected that all was not well in the cosiness department. My left hand was freezing. It seemed as though my £100 investment in a pair of Gerbing's heated gloves, two years ago, had come 50 percent unstuck.

Heated grips just don't do the same job. Perhaps it's my poor circulation, but boiling palms and freezing knuckles and fingertips, ouch. I had to stop half-way for a warm. And continually changing hand position to try and optimise heat transfer does nothing for safety or concentration.

Got out the multimeter in the evening and, sure enough, the left glove was open-circuit. Perhaps not too surprising – flexible heating elements are notoriously hard to achieve, and all that clutch work - but still disappointing.

So yesterday – fortunately not quite so cold - I phoned Gerbing's UK distributor to report my plight. Imagine my surprise at being told the gloves would be replaced immediately, and for no charge. This morning I was even more surprised to be asked to sign for a parcel containing a brand new pair. Well done, Gerbing's! (And well done, the Post Office.) The words "lifetime guarantee" mean just what they say, and make the gloves excellent value. Chilly mortals like me need look no further.

The sound of one hand clapping

2007-01-13T00:48:58Z

If a person composed a heartfelt diatribe against a well known TV personality who used to be married to Des Wilcox - but omitted to post it to their LJ so that no-one could ever read it - then I suppose it could be described as a Zen Rant.

Selling punk like some new kind of English disease

2007-01-04T00:36:59Z

The BBC4 documentary The Old Grey Whistle Test Story was well worth catching, reeling in the years when we were young and music really mattered. It reminded me of some of my own favourite Whistle Test moments:

Sha Na Na being interviewed after their awesome performance of high-speed doo-wop, in character as New York hoodlums. I really thought Whispering Bob was going to get knifed (I may have been stoned at the time)

Roxy Music. They blew me away, and the very next day I made the effort to find out where they were playing and get tickets. This turned out to be the Rainbow, supporting an act I wasn't too keen on, but went along anyway. And that, kids, is how we got to see David Bowie débuting Ziggy

Anne Nightingale interviewing FZ in about 1980, accusing him of not being punk. I like to think she inspired the quote about people who can't write interviewing people who can't talk for people who can't read

None of this was included in the show, apart from about ten seconds of Roxy Music, and all the music clips were way too short. No worries though: upcoming are five 40-minute programmes of musical excerpts, one of which is part of Four's California-themed thread, and Beefheart's in tomorrow evening's. If that doesn't provide musical satisfaction then I'm a Dutchman (possibly Jan Akkerman of Focus).

Where the Cider Apples grow

2006-12-31T00:27:55Z

"Brace yourselves", advised Met man John Hammond last night, "for a wet and windy weekend." But it looked as though today might provide a bit of a window. After a very stormy night this morning was bright and sunny, though with lots of surface water on the way to the Bere Regis rendezvous. Fields were under water and stretches of the A31 were flooded. No complaints, for light traffic allowed plenty of overtakes before entering the 40mph limit at the World's End.

I was miles too early, but spent time fuelling bike and self, and attending to other bodily needs including vanity. The bike would shortly become a great deal less shiny. huskyteer and our two companions arrived, and we set off for a mystery destination in Somerset, starting with a minor road to Milborne St Andrew and cleverly by-passing Dorchester via Piddlehinton and Charminster.

The A356, passing close to quaintly named Toller Porcorum and alongside the ~~government~~ VT Communications World Service transmitter at Rampisham Down, is a pleasant upland route with countryside views and plenty of bends. Many of these were under water, mandating circumspect progress, especially for the small of wheel among us. Crewkerne was enjoying Saturday morning shopping in the sunshine: we pressed on to Stoke-sub-Hamdon nestled at the foot of Ham Hill. But the pub was shut, and so our coffee stop was the mundane Cartgate Roundabout lorry park near Yeovil. Here it started to look as though we'd seen the last of the sunshine.

Hestercombe Gardens, the other side of Taunton, was selected as the lunch stop. As we headed off there via the A303 and A358, it started to rain, and we reached Taunton in a steady downpour. It's a much larger town than I'd thought, and navigational difficulties increased our exposure. Upon arrival we were in no mood to appreciate the Lutyens design or Jekyll planting, but a plate of lasagne went down well while my gloves dried on a radiator. Well done to Hestercombe for its hospitality and for being the Somerset Fire Brigade HQ as well.

Perhaps after lunch the rain would have stopped. No such luck, but there was enough blue to make skimpy hipsters for a lightly built matelot, and as we re-re-navigated Taunton the sun reappeared. Just like the morning, but now with even more surface water, we rode through charming Somerset villages: Thornfalcon, Hatch Beauchamp, Curry Mallet, Fivehead. At Curry Rivel we were admiring a rainbow straight ahead, when a navigational glitch required a 180 and heading back into the sun's glare instead.

But we soon arrived at our destination, well chosen to suit huskyteer's tastes: the Somerset Distillery at Kingsbury Episcopi. Below the farmyard, orchards stretched away, the source of the Stoke Red and Kingston Black apples among the 40 varieties grown there. In the shop surrounded by barrels, vats and presses, samples of cider and apple brandy were on offer, tempting had I not been on wheels. As well as these and sparkling cider (méthode champenoise) they provide apple juice – cox, russet, or bramley – and fortified wines blended from juice and brandy. It's more than 30 years since Coates stopped coming up from Somerset, but a fine tradition lives on.

After a very windy ride home I stuck my nose in a glass of Five Year Old and agreed: autumn leaves, ripe fruit, wild flowers. It's less fiery than Calvados, with a spicy aftertaste, smooth and satisfying. A storm's raging outside and the bike's going to need a good clean tomorrow, but for now ... mmm, sippers.

An old man said to me "won't see another one"

2006-12-24T23:56:37Z

Having earlier enjoyed Some Like It Hot I'm now seated on the Cyber Sofa with a small libation and some great sounds, specifically what should be the Nation's Favourite Xmas Song (D. Tel). Time to wish a happy, peaceful and stress-free Christmas to everyone who reads this, including but not limited to you and yours, and me and mine.

How Radio Works, by Bob Dylan

2006-12-16T21:43:46Z

When Albert Einstein was asked how radio works, he said: "You see, wire telegraph is a kind of very very long cat. You pull its tail in New York, and its head is meowing in an alley in Los Angeles. The radio operates in exactly the same way. The only difference is that there's no cat."

More next week!

Black Tuesday

2006-11-29T13:27:26Z

Last night I succumbed to Microsoft's pestering and upgraded the home PC to MSIE 7 – not that I ever use it myself, except for cross-browser testing via Firefox's IE View extension. But the anti-malware and other security fixes seem to be worth having, and we don't want to be using legacy software on our still-shiny new PC.

I'd thought that from now on the whole world would be enjoying the benefits of tabbed browsing, like we Firefox users have been since forever. Unfortunately the M$ implementation seems cockeyed - dragging a URL on to the tab-rack doesn't seem to do what Firefox users, at least, are expecting.

Also unfortunately, it starts up in a mode that looks strange to existing users, with no menu or Explorer bar. I can see M$'s dilemma here: they want users to love the great new features, but that means an unfamiliar look-and-feel which many will find off-putting. If the application were to start up in compatibility mode (activated by, er, clicking on a cog-wheel icon) then no-one would ever see the improvements.

I must say it looks dead cute though, especially in the menu-free default mode. If this is a preview of Vista, then bring it on. Nearly as nice-looking as MacOS.

Round the Island

2006-11-12T21:21:33Z

There's inevitably something holiday-like about parking one's bike on the car-deck and climbing all those stairs to the passenger accommodation, and today this was reinforced by the bright sunshine in which we sat to enjoy the crossing. (And indeed by the fare: it costs nearly as much to get to the Isle of Wight as it does to cross the Channel.) Perfect day for a ride - hard to believe it's November.

While we'd waited for the ferry after a lovely ride through the Forest in its autumn colours, a little train had clattered into Lymington Pier station - slam doors, Southern Electric green. The station signs were of the old British Railways style, too. I wondered whether the operating company was going all-out for the nostalgia market, or whether 30 years of rail modernisation had managed to by-pass this outpost.

The scale of the IoW landscape encompasses a great variety in a small area: rolling farmland, charming (if over-developed) villages, faded resort towns, dull housing. I was content to follow the leader and enjoy the roads, varying from cart-tracks to fast sweepy A-roads (some of them as much as two miles long). We stopped for lunch at the Wight Mouse Inn, a portion-controlled mass catering outlet cleverly disguised as a pub. The service was efficient and the food hot, no complaints there.

A well-made fast scenic coastal A-road joins the place to Alum Bay, a major resort close to The Needles. Fine views across Bournemouth Bay to Purbeck and Old Harry Rocks, but everything was closed except for the monument to Signor Marconi's Wireless. I'd seen its complement last year on Cape Cod … even more of a dump.

The return trip to Yarmouth stopped briefly at Calbourne to gawp at Winkle Street, a picturesque row of houses by a stream, which would be a major tourist-trap if it had anything with which to entrap the tourist. We arrived at the port just as the ferry ramp banged shut. With an hour to wait, tea and cakes were located and enjoyed. The half-hour crossing back to Lymington was just as pleasant and ended an excellent 100-mile day out.

Never Mind the Bollards

2006-11-07T23:09:19Z

Apparently there's a street in Manchester that's open to buses, mail-vans and other official vehicles (and bikes of course) but closed to members of the public in their cars. Enforcement is automated ... hilarity ensues.

Soul of a New Machine

2006-10-30T12:29:55Z

The pace of computer advancement seems to have slowed down, at least for me. In 1983 I had one of the first 16-bit (ACT Sirius 1) and in 1988 one of the first 32-bit machines (Atari 520ST), but it's taken another 18 years to redouble my word length. The new PC has an AMD Athlon 64 X2 processor. Dual-core might be useful when the operating system and applications catch up with CPU development.

It's quite a bit smaller - I beg its pardon, more compact - than most current PCs, but still too big. Nice and quiet, for now - experience says the heat sink will get coated with dust in a year or two, and then the fan will run continuously. The 19in monitor's pretty groovy (I don't think our TV's as big as that) and so's 2Gbytes of RAM.

Being a fuddy-duddy old stick-in-the-mud I declined Windows Media Center Edition™ in favour of XP Pro, and have now completed downloading the 47 Critical Security Updates (to Service Pack 2, FFS!) from Microsoft. It says 'ere it's Vista Capable, but as a Firefox user I can't check.

Annoyances so far: no wireless card option, and I had to take a hacksaw to the one I bought, to make it fit. The laser mouse (what?) has many features, not including the auto-double-click which was so convenient on its predecessor. The rear panel boasts four USB ports, but two are occupied by the keyboard and mouse. There's no Firewire port either, and so I'll have to use slow old USB for the iPod.

Hopefully it'll scream through CPU-intensive stuff like re-encoding Film4's DVD-incompatible MPEGs (the old one took nearly a week, on and off, to process four hours of sand). Last night it transcoded and wrote Russ Meyer's Beyond the Valley of the Dolls in under ten minutes - good going I thought.

Frank Zappa's Wild East

2006-10-18T15:54:50Z

Surprise! James Baker III is back in the news. Last heard of in 1991 when an earlier Bush despatched him to newly independent Czechoslovakia, to inform president Vaclav Havel that ongoing trade relations with the USA would not be compatible with the appointment of FZ (of whom Havel was a fan) as the country's trade, tourism, and cultural ambassador to the West.

But that was a long time ago. This time - great googly-moogly! - Baker seems to be on the right side.