Ice Ice Baby

Regular readers of the blog may have noticed that I have a tendency towards cynicism. I enjoy a good moan. I like being a grumpy old man before my time. One of my particular passions is bemoaning the pace of technology. Even though I grew up alongside the developing internet, have owned a mobile phone for years and can navigate my way around a computer with reasonable ease, I am flummoxed by relatively minor technological wizardry such as apps, projectors, replacement phones, passwords, and Bulgarian shower fittings (see here!). One thing that I am dubious about is social media. I use Facebook but not Twitter. I write a blog but don't send texts in text-speak. Part of me is willing but part of me longs for simpler times. And so it is with Facebook.

Facebook has become unstoppable. Part of me resents that, because it forces us into using it by it's sheer domination. If I want to catch up with friends, I'm as likely to do so on Facebook than on the phone or email. I can see photos from their lives and people expect mine to be posted shortly after each event - events which I've probably been invited to on Facebook! Everything is instant; accessible anywhere, anytime. There's probably now a stat for the amount of time the average teenager spends on Facebook each year. 

But for all my ranting, it's addictive. And every now and then something happens through social media that simply wouldn't have been possible previously. I'm talking about Ice. When in the past has any single charity received so much publicity, free of charge, reaching such a huge global audience? The only thing that springs to my mind is when Barcelona FC wear the Unicef logo on their shirts. Presumably this reaches a sizeable global audience, but how many of them then look up the charity or make a donation? The Ice Bucket Challenge has gone global, and sparked debate from all quarters. 

First and foremost, I think an initiative that encourages charitable giving is generally a good thing. ALS is a worthy cause, and the challenge has, apparently, brought in over £50 million for the ALS Association or Motor Neurone Disease Association so far. I have read comments from some people suggesting that people carrying out the challenge have lost site of the original aims - raising awareness of a terrible disease. But if these people are simultaneously donating, how important is that? In some cases people have, apparently, donated to the wrong charity having misunderstood who the challenge was supporting. Again, if somebody benefits, how much does that matter? In fact, more people benefit!

I'm a firm believer that giving to charity should be a personal choice, but I can't knock the fact that many more people are giving money as a result of the challenge. I chose to give to a different cause, and to adapt my challenge to fit my ethics. And I was interested to see that some other people have used their challenges to highlight other charities, and Matt Damon challenged people's criticisms of wasting water by doing his with toilet water! Fair play!

So in this case I applaud Facebook and social media, and the genuine impact it might have for people suffering from ALS. I salute those who do not normally give to charity but have been inspired to do so in this case. I admire those who have used the opportunity to support their own choice of charity or highlight another important issue. And I even feel a tinge of pride that I, momentarily, managed to put my grumpiness aside for a worthy cause.

If you haven't done it yet, I can recommend it. Or take on my alternative challenge - there's still money up for grabs for your chosen charity. Get involved and get donating!

Travel Woes

Dear First Great Western,

I am currently stood in the vestibule end of carriage B, next to the toilet, on the 10:25 from Salisbury to Bristol. I couldn’t help noticing your polite customer services feedback sticker on the wall next to me, as my face has been squashed against it for the last eight minutes. On it you state that you would welcome comments on how my journey is going, so here it is.

I am stood here because your train is crammed full. Full of people, baggage, buggies, newspapers, iPads and headphones. Yes, it is a bank holiday, and we all love travelling on a bank holiday, but it seems odd that the first train of the day isn’t until 10:25, and only contains three coaches.

In the vestibule area with me are eight other people, three bikes (one collapsible), two suitcases, a dog and an axe. I have no idea why the lady in the black top is carrying an axe, but in our close proximity it makes me nervous. At least in the event of an accident we can use it to make our way to freedom. As a result, things are a tad cramped in here. There is very little air as the train doors are those ‘modern’ ones with no windows in, and there seems to be no air conditioning. That is particularly noticeable as the toilet is out of order, and some sort of dampness is creeping out from it onto the carpet, causing the two teenage girls stood there to move away into the busier section, and a moderately unpleasant smell to pervade the vestibule area.

I must say that, considering this situation, everyone seems in quite high spirits. It is a bank holiday after all, and the chap in the green jacket is chatting away to other passengers merrily enough, but I can’t help thinking everyone might have a slightly better journey if they could find a seat that they didn’t have to share in an area that didn’t smell of wee. I assume that is roughly what we paid for, though in fairness my ticket made no promises of urine-free seating arrangements.

The journey itself ran relatively to time, with the only major annoyance being that I was stood in the doorway that opened at every station. This necessitated me removing my bag from the floor and trying not to damage the elderly lady or rotund gentleman who were stood next to me, whilst I made space for those leaving the train to de-train, and those boarding to join us in the vestibule area. It was an unfortunate irony that, when the time came for me to get off, the platform was on the other side of the train for the first time, resulting in another battle through the crowd, over the bikes, to freedom.  

Finally, I applaud your braveness in locating the customer services sticker in the vestibule area. I suspect that a sticker located adjacent to a comfortable seat in the carriage is unlikely to generate much response, but one stuck at eye level in a cramped standing-room-only part of the train adjacent to a broken toilet is masterful.

Many thanks for listening to my feedback, and good luck with the rest of the bank holiday.

Yours sincerely,

Mildy perturbed commuter

Face Time

A couple of weeks ago our house living room clock stopped working. The batteries were fine, but the hands couldn't turn because the circular card which listed the numbers 1-12 in a clockwise direction around the clock edge, as is customary, had warped and cracked and now blocked the second hand from continuing on it's never-ending quest towards the end of time.

I managed to find a way to remove the front cover and then poke out the card, but it was flaky and looked odd missing just a 2, so I took the whole thing out. The clock was now a shadow of it's former self. Without numbers, it's surprising how difficult it can be to tell the time, despite the hands still being in exactly the same place. Confusion reigned. I started turning up late, overcooking my dinner, missing the headlines - all because of the faceless clock. After a week or two it was getting to me, so I did this:

It didn't help to tell the time much, but I found it very amusing. My housemate was, of course, delighted to be the new face of the clock. For a week or so she peered down at us while we dashed through the living room, trying to avoid her beady eye. Then after a week or so, this appeared:

I suspect I know who the culprit is. Her mug shot was plastered to the clock just days earlier. I am at least pleased that she captured my best side. I sense the clock war is not over. Time to go back on the offensive!

All the Small Things

Sometimes the little things in life entertain me. Take this morning, for example. As usual, I had gone to the bathroom to brush my teeth. But in a break from the normal toothpaste procuring routine, my blob of toothpaste, inspired by a small bubble of air nestled behind it in the tube, leapt forth into the air, neatly hopping over the outstretched toothbrush and landing with a thud on the bath mat. This could have been annoying, since the toothpaste cleaning function was wasted on the mat, and indeed made a sticky mess when I tried to clear it up. But for some reason I found this whole instance rather amusing. The initial hurdle and kamikaze dive by the toothpaste was sufficiently comic to raise a chuckle or two. And the sound it made when landing seemed to perfectly reflect my emotions during the routine morning ablutions. Having raised a chuckle, I then chuckled further at the absurdity of it all, and before long found myself giggling like a schoolgirl while standing alone in my dressing gown, gazing into the mirror. Before long I was a gibbering wreck, and could scarcely recall what the original instance was that had caused such hilarity. I find it’s good to be entertained by inconsequential, irrelevant moments such as this. It relieves the otherwise monotonous tedium of the daily rituals we all subscribe to.

Get Inspired

I've just spent a weekend catching up with some old friends. The friend's themselves aren't that old, but I've known them a while and have seen far too little of them in recent years. One thing that I enjoy when running over several year's worth of news is hearing about all the amazing things people have done in that time. Oddly it seems to be the one things that Facebook is good for. People don't tend to post statements or photos of mundane days in the office or food shopping trips, but instead reserve their home page space for travel, seeing friends and amazing adventures. It is possible to imagine, therefore, that all of your friends (or at least Facebook friends) are living adrenaline fuelled, adventurous lives of continual travel, excitement and intrigue. Whilst our own lives seem dominated by the dull, uninteresting tedium of everyday life. So it's no wonder that, from time to time, it feels good to be inspired by those around you. For no other reason than that I thought I would share a couple of videos with you. This one brings out the feel good factor and this one will make you want to pack a bag and head off into the unknown. If that's not enough for you, watch Walter Mitty.

Window Cleaning

Does anyone else find it strangely satisfying watching a window cleaner at work? There’s something hugely efficient about the way they clean the soapiness off the window using an implement that looks a bit like an upmarket windscreen wiper. I always wanted one of those tools, and suspect that I would have been considerably more inclined towards cleaning if I had one.

Our landlady has pre-paid a window cleaner to do our windows. So he just turns up and gets on with it. The first thing we know about his presence is a scraping sound on the window that wakes you up and gives you the fright of your life. If, in a dozy and confused state, you open the curtain’s to find out which particular assailant is trying to break in through the window, you are liable to get a nice jet of water and possibly soap suds squirted through the open window at you. He doesn’t worry if the windows are open. Water and soap comes flooding in over the curtains and any other household objects that happen to be located within splashing distance. The most impressive aspect of the ‘clean’ is that he has no ladders, instead favouring giant wobbly extendable tubes that reach my window on the second floor. Which means of course that he doesn’t get to use the windscreen wiper implement, and therefore all enjoyment of the process is gone.

Fashion

What determines when something comes back into fashion? Looking around today I see a lot of people harnessing the power of the 1980s in their clothing choices. But there must be a finite period of time during which something could be fashionable again, because you don’t see many people dressing like they did in the 1880s. Presumably this is linked to comfort and practicality. But how far back could we go before we become unfashionable again?!

On the way to work I saw a young lady in a skirt that appeared to be made entirely out of doilies. It was very tasteful really, but it reminded me of cake: my Gran’s cake to be precise. I used to love the days when a three-tier coffee cake would be wheeled into the living room on a trolley, sitting proudly atop a doily. And who doesn't love a trolley with cake on?! Mobile cake is, for some inexplicable reason, far more tempting than static cake. Doilies must be the preserve of elderly woman who bake, since I have never seen the in use anywhere else (except by some ladies’ skirt manufacturers perhaps). I’m not even sure what their function is. It must be entirely decorative since they contain enough holes to render their possible usefulness as a crumb collecting device null and void.

Incidentally, when did ‘hard’ icing go out of fashion?! I used to enjoy a bit of hard icing, though soft icing is equally delish, and does not flake and fall on the floor like hard icing when you bite into it. Sometimes pre-empting the flaking was the best thing about hard icing, since you could peel it off and eat it separately. Perhaps I need to dress as I did in the 1980s and eat hard icing again. Perhaps not.