Amateur Ramblings

Fail Safe

I am really enjoying the Fail Blog at the moment. It is a repository for unsuccess, and is incredibly funny.

Pleasing fulfillment of weekend tasks

The majority of the decorating is now completed. A second coat on the door today will herald the end of painting, then it's just the mural and the shelves to do and we're done. But the main work is now over, and because we have all our new wardrobes are installed we can start to clear all the stuff that has spilled out into all other rooms.

Another triumph over the weekend was that I managed to get the back gate open. This is one of those metal affairs that guards most back doors here in the ghetto. It is secured by a kind of barrel lock, which has always been a little stiff. On Wednesday, Gemma put the key in the lock and it snapped off. Wishing to avoid paying for a locksmith, I decided to try supergluing the remains of the key into the lock. I wasn't certain this would work, so I was pleasantly surprised when the lock popped out and we once again regained the freedom of our back yard. And not before time; on Saturday I had to drag our wheelie bins round the block to the front of our house so as to dispose of an extensive amount of wardrobe packaging and various other recyclings.

Pressing on

I always forget just how much disruption can be caused by the seemingly simple task of decorating a modest-sized bedroom in a mid-terrace house. I guess part of my surprise is that I didn't factor in that the change of use (spare bedroom to nursery) probably triples the amount of work involved. Although I wasn't completely in the dark about the task-list, I recall absent-mindedly thinking that a lick of paint on the walls and a spot of furniture self-assembly and we'd be done.

But no, it is not that easy. Painting has taken all week, and there's still the door to do. I'm grateful to Andrew for helping me shift some big furniture from the main bedroom. And timescales for converting a built-in cupboard on one side of the chimney breast had to be extended after tentative attempts to remove some textured wallpaper revealed a far from smooth wall underneath. I'm still confident that a big push this weekend should see us largely finished by Sunday evening. Only the job of paining the mural will remain outstanding.

As work has slowly but steadily progressed, so the chaos has accumulated around the house. There are piles of clothes in the bedroom, a workbench in the computer room, step ladders in the bathroom, an ex-cupboard on the stairs, a dismantled wardrobe in the lounge. Only the kitchen seems to have escaped relatively lightly.

Our two new bedroom wardrobes are due to be delivered today. No time has been specified, which leaves the possibility open that it will inconveniently arrive in the evening. They are larger than the ones we have now and so will take some construction.

Last night's attempt to dismantle a wardrobe we no longer want went wrong. The problem was that I bought it around five years ago from the Ikea bargain corner, and it was delivered to me fully constructed. Thus, I wasn't 100% certain how the thing was held together. Nevertheless I managed to reduce it to the base, but I couldn't quite work out how to remove the three large upright panels. Just as I figured this out and set about struggling with an allan key, the base split, rendering the whole thing useless. Annoyingly, I had already added the thing to Freecycle.

My Choice

Since when did Galaxy become a girls chocolate? Galaxy has always been my favourite brand of chocolate. I much prefer it to Cadbury chocolate. I enjoy Ripples, Minstrels, and sometimes Galaxy Caramel. And I remember Galaxy Counters, which were a kind of shell-less Minstrel aimed at kids, which vanished without trace some time in the 1980's, But my most favourite is a block of original Galaxy, taken with a cup of tea.

Recently though, some of my work colleagues have expressed concern about my masculinity, based on my choice of chocolate bar. Just because I once said I needed, rather than wanted, a bar of chocolate. They said I should be eating a Yorkie bar!

I don't know what it is about this advert but it puts me in mind of Peter Sutcliffe.

Anyway, I'd almost brushed off this slight, but then Galaxy decided to do a tie-in with that awful chick-flick Sex and the City. How their brand positioning has changed in just twenty-eight years...

Take Me Out

On Wednesday, Gemma received an email from the Faversham informing her that Franz Ferdinand would be playing there on Sunday. Taking our cues from the man from Del Monte and Danny Wallace, we said yes. And so, after a weekend chock-full of DIY, we headed to the Faversham and took our place in the rowdy Sunday crowd. Support came from Chile's Panico (who put me in mind of the Make Up and Jon Spencer, in a good way).

I had some reservations (not serious) about Franz Ferdinands live capabilities, based on the few times I had seen / heard them playing live on the TV and the radio. But these fears were fractured as soon as the band took to the stage, and smashed to pieces after a few seconds when the soundman remembered to turn on the PA. The Glasgow fourpiece (see, I done my research. I am a great journalist!) were fresh, tight, and generally on top of their collective game.

The venue was hot and smelly, and we slipped to the back for the encore, ready to make a quick getaway. As the last last notes of 'This Fire' rang out, we exited into the fresh air of a beautiful summer evening blue sky. Confusingly, we sighted the band were walking towards us in the car-park. I thiink I might have said a shocked 'Hi', had I realised in time it was them, I still don't quite understand how they got out ahead of us when they were still on stage as we left, just seconds before.

Watching paint dry

I've not slept well again. Gemma woke me up at four o'clock, but she was able to get back to sleep. I watched some TV, surfed some web, and inspected the first layer of paint in the spare bedroom nursery. Over the course of this week we will finish decorating and install furniture, and the transformation will be (nearly) complete - the finishing touch will be the cot, which will be delivered in due course.

Suits you

I went out to buy a suit last night. I realised that I was being optermistic in hoping to walk straight into Debenhams and find one that I liked and that fitted well. But find one I did. As an added bonus it was on sale, and at the checkout it rang up even cheaper than the price scrawled on the sale label.

From the suit department I had a choice of tills, left or right. I chose left. I chose wrong. Only one person was ahead of me, but when the cashier asked him whether he wanted to 'save an extra 10% today by taking out a storecard', he answered yes. I inwardly groaned. The process of setting up a storecard account takes ages. And so it came to pass - five minutes later the man was still fumbling with his driving licence and specifying his desired credit limits.

And after all that, computer says no. 'Sorry, it says your application has been declined at this time', simpered the till girl. The man offered up a lobotomised chuckle, as if he had been expecting this decision all along. I counted to ten.

The results of mindless vandalism on the innocent victims

A lady drove up to our house today. She got out of an almost identical car to the one we own, got into our car, and drove away.

Fear not, gentle reader, we have not fallen prey to theft. This lady in question works for the garage that was appointed by our insurance company to repair the scratch that mysteriously appeared last weekend. I tried to get a couple of quotes so as to avoid the need to claim, but one refused on the grounds that the damage was 'not one more than one panel' (oh sorry, I'll ask the vandals back to add to their handywork), and the garage from where we bought the car (less than four months ago) quoted nearly £600!

Even though we can claim through our insurance, there will be a financial effect. This will be felt as early as next week when I collect the car; I have to pay my £125 excess at that point. And when the policy renewal iquote is offered to me next January, this claim will be taken into account and reflected in the premium.

The police have looked at the tapes from the CCTV and apparently these show nothing of how the deep gouge came to be. Hopefully we'll get our own car back within one week, all shiny and new.

In a rut

I'm not long back from a stag do for my friend Dan. This was held in Oxford over the weekend, and required an extremely early start by us northerners. I'm glad we decided to get down in time for the go-karting, as I really enjoyed this and perhaps because I came second. The conditions were wet, the tyres were slicks, the grip was poor, the spins were many. The day proceeded to the traditional stag format of lots of different pubs visited in a consecutive manner (known in the business as a 'crawl'), a curry, and a rubbish nightclub.

The next day I was denied breakfast in the youth hostel in a particularly 'Falling Down' way by an over-officious man who informed that as it was 9.30 and 30 seconds, and breakfast ended at 9.30 prompt, all the remaining food was no longer available. He generously allowed me to take two pain au chocolat and a cup of tea. We then sat under a dangerous tree for a while, just long enough for me to burn my head. Gemma is currently referring to me as 'Lobster Boy'.

162 days down, 118 days to go

So, in a little under seventeen weeks, I will be a father for the first time. Gemma and I both consider this to be very cool and exciting. We've had the twelve- and twenty-week scans and everything appears normal. We have been told that we are having a girl (although I gather this is subject to confirmation at point of delivery).

I think struggling is slightly too strong a word to describe the name-approving process to date, as we have managed to semi-agree on one or two names. Luckily we both prefer fairly traditional names, so we are both in the same ballpark. On the material front, pushchairs and cots have been ordered and plans have been laid to redecorate the spare bedroom into a suitable nursery.

Gemma hasn't been overly impressed with her appointed midwife, and tonight we attended a homebirth information class at the LGI. We're now pretty certain we don't want a hospital birth (although both Leeds hospitals are a mere five minutes down the road, if required).