For weekends, everywhere

One from the very, very, early days of a mis-spent youth. Full volume. From one of the classic albums of all time.

Todays earworm is....

This.....


Hits you when you're perusing seven and eight year old photo albums. Still can't find the one of Mrs S and I in the brand new motorcycle leathers I'd just bought for us. It's in here somewhere, dammit!

Oh yes, and I took this mornings test with a stinking head cold and still scored over 90%. Another one for the CV.

Saturday musical interlude

Just a little time warp to the mid 70's / Early 80's with the Moody Blues.


And this video of their classic, 'The Voice', which never fails to raise the hackles on the back of my neck.


"Make a promise, take a vow." I did, and it's paying off for me. Superb.

They don't make 'em like this any more

Back in late 2002, I traded in my Nokia 9210 Communicator for the lighter, sleeker lines of a Nokia 6310i. The 9210 was bought on a whim and I must say I regretted the purchase sometimes. Especially with such issues as short battery life, bulkiness and weight. Although I could run my life off the 9210 and receive faxes, which used to be important, it needed near constant charging after a day on site even after a day of comparatively light use. The 9210i was a monster that required constant feeding. I used to carry two fully charged extra life batteries and change them at lunchtimes, putting the Communicator on charge in my car whenever possible. There was a secondary charger cradle for the extra battery which was handy.

Then I bought the 6310i and was delighted. Battery life was splendid, needing a full charge only once every three or four days even with relatively heavy usage. During downtime when I wasn't using it much I could expect a full week without charging being necessary. A bluetooth headset sorted out any hands free issues. Signal reception was better than average. Call quality was excellent and it did precisely what it said on the can; it was a mobile phone. I made phone calls with it, and left the e-mail, faxes, and music stuff for my laptop. My 6310i worked, and still works. Although I must confess the casing is showing its age with many scuff marks. Like the well crafted tool it is, it still fulfils the function it was created for, almost eight years on. Mrs S has one too. Despite being dropped, nearly crushed, and bounced around in my pockets with keys and other assorted contents it still works.

To me it's a design classic. Anything more is a toy. Although the sheer signal reception on a Blackberry is sorely tempting. Yet my ageing Nokia still outperforms much newer models. What can I say?

I've owned several Motorolas and Samsungs etc, but no phone has ever been so good to me as the 6310i. Which leads me to the inevitable question; is it the best mobile phone ever designed?

Those were the days

HOT BUT COLD

Pathe Newsreel clip of the 1935 eruption of Mt Vesuvius, Italy. Never heard a volcano referred to as 'virile' before.

Then there's this from 'Trick of the tail'. Dance on a Volcano. Best thing Rutherford, Banks and Collins ever did.


Ah, nostalgia. Not what it used to be, eh?

A pause for a word from our sponsors

Still suffering slightly with the lurgi. Will be back up and sarking shortly. Until then, Greg Lake 'I believe in Father Christmas' and Mike Oldfield 'in Dulci Jubilo'.




Have a good one. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

News and thoughts from afar

Another gorgeous BC morning. Rang Ma Sticker this morning for our usual familial transatlantic chat and found she had a couple of my cousins visiting. Apparently business is still fairly poor for one of them (Distribution) but they've survived. The tone of my one cousins voices spoke volumes. Although he sounded envious of our life over here, which isn't totally brilliant and carefree, but we don't do badly, he was not a happy bunny. My siblings likewise. 2009 will be a year they'd all rather forget, economically speaking.

Made a bit of a production of Saturday breakfast, as I will tomorrow. Mrs S is jetting off Eastbound shortly and leaving me to take care of the house move. Tomorrow will be the last Sunday breakfast we will share for a while. This bothers me somewhat. We've worked so closely together as a team over the past two years that the thought of our parting is quite discomforting. The bed will be too big without her for one.

Odd that. I've been alone for much of my life. No big reason, just too damned busy and preoccupied to do much dating. Unsocial hours, long commutes, that sort of thing. I got used to being a solitary male. In my home town the usual gossips' self fulfilling prophesies were applied to me, so no real social life; until the lady who was to become my wife came along. I suppose you could say we both came to one another's emotional rescue.

In a way I do miss the time for contemplation and concentration that being single brought to me, there were always so many things to do; but I don't miss the single nights. I don't miss the chill hollowness of bedtime. Your only companion an applications manual. Waking up to find the TV and lights still on, with the banality of breakfast TV itching maddeningly at your consciousness. The need to get out of the door for eighteen hours to earn a crust.

Mrs S changed all that. Now she's going away for six weeks. I am not going to be a happy camper I can tell you. All ahead Sarcasm Factor twelve. Misanthopy on full. My vorpal sword will be singing.

Fortunately the mind has a way of overpainting unpleasant experiences. Almost as if the unpleasantness in life were wounds which never really heal but simply develop a crust protecting the inflamed tissue beneath. Knocking off the scab only makes the unpleasantness livid and raw once again. Constantly 'picking' at the wound simply inflames it more. Only times ablation of memory seems to help. I've found it often takes years before truly bad memories can be looked at in the clarity of experience. You only relive the experience when a specific trigger dumps a cascade of ancient guilt / remorse / sadness on your head and you're almost back in the bad old days. You know the sort of thing; losing friends and family. The guilt of screwing up badly and having no opportunity to make it right. Stuff like that. Happens to us all.

Thus it is that I'm having trouble recalling the UK apart from the real high points. Riding empty early morning A-roads in Summer (Not possible now). Spring mornings when the blossom breaks. The heady muskiness of Maythorn in late May. The thrill of my first Shark. A Pilot Whale spouting and diving right under the boat I was on. The triangle of dirty slate of a Basking Sharks dorsal fin jutting out of the water as we puttered by. Sunny Summer days with your hat tilted over your face while the boat gently wallows on a lapping light chop. Wild Autumnal nights as the sweat boils through your body and hair after a long run. Watching the almost snakelike flight of an arrow as your bow releases a perfect shot; the recoil giving your shoulders that tiny rebounding jolt of rightness. The smell of Autumn bonfires. Fecund wet earth after summer rain. The sharpness of frost.

On the upside I'm going to go and have a look at that old PBR Catalina down at the airport with camera in hand. Send the pics off to Delcatto. Get my head down on the second book of my trilogy, finish the first draft mid January. Move house. Work. Sit on my new porch with a beer and some neighbours to enjoy the easy talk and the view of the Islands. Enjoy the quiet. Practice stalking Deer in the woods. Feel the heat of the Winter sun on my back. Smell the resinous freshness of Spruce. The crispness of new fallen snow and impossibly bright blue skies. Fill the unforgiving minute. Yeah.

Until my beloved is home in my arms I'll make busy. Good idea.

A little bowdlerisation

Have become a little jaundiced of late (Well, more than usual) about the state of the world and the futility of trying to get through to some people. Am taking a little time off topic to focus on the things I like. In particular, this 1980's number;


And after a few minor liberties with the lyrics;

After light, before dawn,
Behind you another blogger is born,
Don't look back,
Ask for fees,
Feel the pressure as fingers hit keys,
Your mind dancing in the moonlight,
Write the words,
And you're fisking in the moonlight,
Thoughts are blurred,

And you will blog your mind,
Showing the world that you aren't blind,
It is yourself that you will find......

Pass on the flame....

(Next chorus, adapt as appropriate)

Just as an afterthought, I have a distinct memory of this Manfred Mann's Earth Band number being included in the soundtrack of one of the two Philadelphia Experiment Sci-Fi movies. Just can't remember which.

Ah yes; also reminds me of the anthemic 1970's "Davy's on the road again"

Yes...... and not forgetting this one;

I feel strangely better now.