Sweltering

The problem is, it's so hot I can barely think. I'd like to say this is my excuse for not blogging for several days, but alas, evening swelter has only been afflicting us for three nights. Seriously, how can it be this warm when it's dark outside?

That's it. I'm done. I was going to write more but I don't know what when where or why. Can I have a swimming pool, please?

Ironing is dangerous!

I write this one handed, since my left thumb is currently throbbing with a shiny iron-shaped burn, and is so currently occupied with an ice cube.

Ironing is now added to my list of things that should come with a health warning. It's right up there with the internet, except it doesn't have the redeeming feature of allowing me to procrasinate spectacularly. I only managed to procrastinate for about twenty minutes by ironing, and most of that involved getting out all the necessary equipment and putting it away again.

All in all, household chores are a pretty dangerous business. Nobody should be allowed to iron without first completing a thorough safety course, a course hard enough for me to fail and therefore never have to iron ever again. As it is, I manage to do it remarkably infrequently. Managing to wear creased clothes without looking like a lazy article is surely a skill in itself, a skill perhaps even more valuable than being able to iron without burning your thumb.

I may never iron again - it's just not worth the risk. And what about vacuuming? There's another household task that could be dangerous when undertaken by unqualified individuals. Like me.

Harry Potter and Bluenettle's shame

After the ambling through The Da Vinci code, I finally sucumbed to persuasion and picked up a copy of another book I've been resisting for a while. Years, in fact. Yes, Harry Potter and the philosopher's stone has finally made it onto my bookshelves. After being unimpressed with the films and uninspired by all I've heard so far, a copy was ultimately thrust upon me, and I gave in.

All done and dusted in fact, since the first in the series is remarkably thin compared to later offerings. I imagine if J.K. Rowling had gone along to a publisher with a six hundred page long children's novel a few years ago they would have laughed in her face. Fortunately for me, this makes HPATPS (people call it that, right?) a fairly short-lived affair.

So, what can I say? I firstly must congratulate the author for managing to use an apostrophe of possession correctly, because I don't think I could have got past the first page for worrying about it if she hadn't. As for the story... ultimately I'm left feeling cold.

I really hate to admit that, because generally I find things are never half as bad as I think they're going to be. That's not to say I think the book is bad; it was well written, had a well thought out plot, and was reasonably humorous to boot. It just it did nothing for me. Much as I try, I'm can't raise any enthusiasm for a story about a gang of children waving wands about and chasing monsters.

Don't get me wrong here - I'm not an unimaginative dullard immune to fantasy. I think I crave something more intelligent than this, which I suppose is more than I'm entitled to expect from a children's novel. Now, if you spiced up the plot a bit, made the main characters over eighteen and threw in a bit of gratuitous allegory that I only half get, then I'd probably be raving. Some morally ambiguous characters would be great too. The whole good versus evil storyline is overhyped and overated.

Cast a spell on me if you like, curse me forever and condemn me to the dungeons until the next full moon, but I'm just not a Harry Potter fan. Is there something wrong with me?

Keep thinking about poverty

On the same day as G8 leaders apparently reach a deal on relieving debt in third world countries, I read a news story about diamond encrusted dress worth $1.5 million. The dress was ruined when its celebrity wearer spilt red wine on it at a glitzy showbiz party. Apparently the diamonds can be salvaged though, so a major disaster was averted.

What would we all do without our diamond dresses? I must go out and buy myself one right now - I'll just stop by on the way and rob several million of the worlds poorest people of the money they earned today. That might just be enough.

Something is wrong somewhere. Can you tell what it is yet?

Superfluous soliloquy

Words are fantastic things. A jumble of letters on a page in the right order have meaning, and not only meaning but a corresponding sound, which also has meaning. Sometimes, it's the sound that gets you, a tantilising rhythm of syllables. So, here's a list of some of the best sounding words in the world. In my opinion, in no particular order, the best sounding words in the world are...

...soliloquy
...flotilla
...cosmos
...mediocre
...fortuitous
...serendipity (not very original, I know)
...soporific
...superfluous
...melancholy
...omnipotent
...melancholy

...and probably many others that my late night brain has neglected to remember.

This post was brought to you by the letter O and the letter S.

Twenty years of washing

Yesterday, my Ecoballs went for their first spin. Pun indended. Well, initially not indended but quickly realised, giggled at and deliberately kept, which is pretty close to being intended. Am I straying from the point?

I have to say, they did their job. Stick three weird round balls in the machine with your washing, and hey presto your clothes come out clean. They don't have that artificial outdoorsy flowery smell that detergent gives you, but who cares, really? Tomorrow I may try them on something tougher, just to test their mettle.

I also did some maths and realised that at one wash per week these things are going to last me twenty years. Twenty years. I'm going to be in my forties before I have to buy new ones. Think about that next time you're lugging home a box of powder.

Invisible queuing

In the pub there is an invisible queue. I say so and so does Kate Fox in her book Watching the English.

Everybody waiting to be served in the apparently random cluster of people knows who was there first, and the staff behind the bar know it too. Any person who tries to jump the queue by smiling, gesturing or otherwise trying to attract the bar person's attention will recieve nothing except a polite smile in reply. A polite smile means wait your turn, you impatient so and so. Thus is pub harmony acheived.

A similar system operates in the travel centre at Oxford train station. That jumble of people in chairs is really a queue and everyone in it knows it, everyone joining it recognises it and anyone attempting to jump it will be politely smiled at.

The moral of the tale is this: no one ever said queues have to be a straight line. No one ever said anything.

Finding my white band

The mystery of the missing white band has been solved! I found it stuffed up the sleeve of a pair of pyjamas, which of course is the obvious place I should have looked. Except said pyjamas were two hundred miles away from where I was looking, but let's not get bogged down in the details.

The important thing here is that I now have two white bands, which makes me twice as committed, obviously. For a while there I even wore them both at the same time. Now one is languishing as a spare, ready to be called into action the next time my wrist proves too skinny to keep a simple white band attached. Note to self: never wear expensive bracelets. Another note to self: never wear expensive jewellery because there are much better things to do with your spare money. If you ever have any.

Ecoballs

No, this isn't a post about saying bollocks to green issues, because I wouldn't do that. Nor is it a post about environmentally friendly testicles, as amusing as that might turn out to be. This is a post about every one of us contributing in our own small way to make the world a better place.

Yesterday, I discovered Ecoballs. These are nifty little things that you stick in the washing machine instead of using nasty detergents. Of course, it's easy to think that one person changing their habits will make little difference to the earth, so why bother? But imagine the difference if all of us made this one little gesture; change has to start somewhere. Did I mention they'll also save you money? So, really no excuse then. Mine will be on order soon and I'll keep you posted.

Mahatma Ghandi famously said you must be the change you wish to see in the world. Well, I'm always a bit slow to get off my backside and do stuff, but this will be a start. Who knows where I'll end up. I always did fancy a composting bin.

Where's the health warning?

You know that feeling when you're so tired you can hardly keep your eyes open, yet you still can't stop surfing?

I think if I sit here any longer my puffy eyes will disown me and my aching right wrist will go on strike. It's not like I'm even doing anything. How long before ISPs come with a health warning?

Warning: Excessive internet use can make you incapable of doing things that actually require effort. Remember to take a break every thirty minutes to remind your brain that it's still alive. 'The Internet' takes no responsibility for any sleepiness, irritability or sloth that may arise from the use of its services. Please take responsibility for your own laziness and don't sue us.

Yes, I think it's time to turn off the computer and do something less boring instead. Like sleep.

Macs, NewsFire, and simplicity

Macs are the best things in the world ever. Don't run away screaming now; a quick glance around will show you that this isn't the sort of topic I usually write about. Technophobes may want to look away, but those seeking enlightenment should stay and share in my joy.

I love my Mac. But last night I had a moment of sheer revelatory bliss that may never be acheived again in my life time. It all started when I was trying out some new rss readers. All the technophobes gone now? OK, I'll continue...

I was trying out new readers because the software I was using couldn't read atom feeds, and that was annoying. I felt like I was missing out on all the gems of wisdom being generated by other Blogger users (those who haven't discovered Feedburner, anyway). So I downloaded a new one, thought it looked pretty good, and started the process of transfering my favourite feeds. I did this by going into the feed details, copying the url of the feed and then pasting it into the url field in the add subscription window of my new reader.

However, when I'd finished the process I discovered a fatal flaw in the new software. It's icon in my dock didn't display the number of new items waiting for me. Grrrrrrr. So I found another piece of software and started the process again. Then, as I was in the middle of the second round of cutting and pasting, I thought to myself, Wouldn't it be cool if I could just drag each feed's title from the feed list in this reader and drop it into the list of feeds in the other one? So I tried it.

And it worked.

I've heard it said so many times about Macs and I'm going to say it now myself: they just work! Years of PC use clearly led me to overlook the most simple and intuitive way of doing things. I'm still astounded that it could be so simple. So astounded that I was inspired to write this post and share my experience with the world.

To top it off, I also discovered NewsFire. Everything about it from its functionality to its icon just oozes brilliance. It's fantastic, I'm even tempted to say perfect.

It's also only for Macs.

Judge me by what I say

Someone recently told me that they'd taken a dislike to a person they didn't know because "she didn't look like she sounded on the phone." This seemed absurd to me, because surely you can tell more about a person by having a conversation with them than you can just by looking. A rational person, I thought, would realise in that situation that any snap judgements they had been tempted to make on the basis of the person's appearance were in fact erroneous, because they already knew something more real about that person from talking to them. You would hope this would then transfer into a realisation that any similar judgements they might make about people in the future could also be wrong.

Then it dawned on me. How she "sounded on the phone" was a reference to her accent and manner of speaking, not what she actually had to say.

Think of all the interesting people you'll never get to know (or vice versa, I suppose, be disappointed in) if you go around making judgements about them on the basis of the colour of their hair, their taste in clothes or what sort of accent they have.

A teacher at school once told us a true and telling story about someone he knew. Said respectable person, another teacher if I recall, was out shopping in busy city centre when he saw a sight that appalled him. Across the street, a punk, complete with brightly coloured mohican and black leather jacket (I can only assume this was sometime in the 1980s) was kicking and stamping on a little old lady who was lying on the ground. Naturally, being a good, upstanding citizen, he ran over to rescue the poor woman from the viscious beating she was receiving at the hands of the leather clad thug. Imagine his shock when he discovered that the old lady was on fire and the scary looking punk was doing what any good and decent person would do. He was trying to help her.

Judge people by their actions and their opinions, not by the style of their clothes.

The train of thought that led to this post was started, believe it or not, by this site. Basically, you have to look at pictures of two cats side by side and click on which you think is the cutest. After clicking, you can see what percentage of people agreed with you. There are also links to see which are the "winningest" kittens and which unfortunates are the "losingest". It it incredibly addictive, if I tell the truth. But as I was I was clicking merrily away, a nagging voice was telling me that if this was about people - and I know there are such sites - I'd be disgusted and start ranting about not judging others by their appearance. So I had the rant anyway.

Stealing time

Procrastination is the thief of time. Many people have said this before, and they have spoken the truth. He just sneaks in there and takes away hours, nay days, of your life without asking and without apology.

What does procrastination do with all this time? Perhaps he's a chronological Robin Hood, taking hours from those who have too much and giving them to those with deadlines to meet. The next time you manage to complete something that there's no way in the world you thought you could get finished on time, ask yourself if there's any way procrastination could have snuck in through the back door and left you someone else's extra time. In particular, if you think you have anonymously received any of my time, please let me know. That'll be procrastination getting his sums mixed up. I think he's left me with less then my fair share.

What do you mean, he's been stealing your time too? Is that true for everybody? Come on, hands up.

Hmmm, it appears I may have overestimated the intentions of our little friend. He's clearly just taking from everyone and keeping it all for himself. Even now, the last two hours have just disappeared. I must go and look for them; perhaps he just hid them under the bed.

Worst day of the week

The worst day of the week is Tuesday. Every other day of the week has something going for it, while Tuesday languishes in nothingness.

Wednesday is halfway through the week, so we feel some kind of symbolic acheivement when we reach that far. The last hours of Wednesday also have the added benefit of being nearly Thursday.

Thursday is a good day by association, because it sits right next to Friday. Friday's glory ebbs over backwards into it. When it gets to Thursday, we can start asking work colleagues about their plans for the weekend.

Friday is the last day of the working week. Do you need any more explanation than that? In fact, I've heard it said that Friday isn't a real working day at all, but that attitude won't get you anywhere. Except a three day weekend.

Saturday is the best day of the week, because it's neither a work day nor the day preceding a work day. Saturday also comes bearing football matches, for which we must ever thank it.

Sunday suffers a bit from being before Monday, but I can forgive it that for still being a day off.

Then Monday, the first day of a brand new week. The day that you arrive at work in bright optimism because nothing has had chance to go wrong yet.

And Tuesday? On Tuesday there's still more of the week in front than behind you. The weekend is still three days away, and a new week is nearly a week away. Tuesday may be next to Monday, but these things don't work in both directions. The worst day of the week.

Right now, it's nearly Friday. I don't think I need to explain why I'm smiling.

Piano man

Found wandering around Kent in wet clothes over a month ago, traumatised and seemingly mute, yet able to play beautiful music. You've probably heard about the "Piano Man" and his mysterious and silent arrival from nowhere.

Me and Piano Man have a lot in common. He plays the piano very well, I play it very badly. He has blonde hair, I have almost blonde hair. He doesn't speak, I work in a library where no one's allowed to speak. He wears a suit, I own a suit. We're practically twins. Not identical, obviously - he's much taller than me.

Despite my obvious affinity with the man, I'm afraid I haven't been able to acheive a telepathic connection to ask him who he is. Actually, I haven't tried, but since I've never displayed telepathic tendencies before, I'm assuming a no. Let's hope more conventional methods reveal his identity soon, so that the film of his story can have a happy ending. It's going to be called Piano man - you saw that here first.