Hmm. blokewhopredictedthatiamgettinglaxatwritinghhnposts' prediction seems to be coming true. One minute I am sitting at the keypad bursting with things to tell you. The next I am preoccupied with a cat saying "hello" on youtube. Where have my priorities got too?
How's everyone's summer?
Styx? Watching the cricket I imagine
Blokewho? Who knows?
Madame B? Hanging out with R Gervais (for which you get no brownie points with this crowd sweetie)
The Waunch? Busy painting his face purple for Friday night when he and I go to a Prince after show show
mrshousehusbandnot? Currently battling with me over her website copy (there is so much, and so little, that needs to be said about this one)
Bid? Oh, sorry dude, you don't read my blog do you
Prince? He's just waiting for me to take him to the bridge...
Yep, that's the six of you, and long may your loyalty be rewarded with...er stuff.
Me? Searching for Mr Right with the YMGs.
In other news, saw someone wing-walking over Herne Bay yesterday. Now that must be a trip. I actually met someone once who was introduced to me as Julie The Wing-Walker. I asked her what she did. "Take a wild guess," she said.
Jul 30, 2007
Jul 25, 2007
Badger Effect II
Just to continue on the whole butterfly/badger effect discussion - hey, I know it's not favourite sandwiches, but stay with me for a minute - I think I get it now thanks to Anon's explanation.
However, Anon also mentioned chaos theory, which has never struck me as anything other than bull, not least of all thanks to a friend who was working for an achingly trendy advertising agency in the USA a while back, and he called me one afternoon and was going on about how he and his colleagues were "really into chaos theory". I asked him how this manifested itself in and around the office, and all he could come up with was that they had scaffolding as banisters in the agency reception and he was allowed to date his researcher (who - unchaotically - eventually became his wife). Anyway, isn't there enough chaos around without having to theorise about it?
Some other proven theories:
The Badger Effect: If I write something about a badger on househusbandnot, mrs househusbandnot will probably be nice to me.
The Bad Effect: If I disappear mid-week to see Bad, I will be punished in some way or other by mrs hhn on my return.
The iPod Axis: Somehow, somewhere Apple have convinced us that fundamental design flaws in ipods should be acceptable, and that having to go to Ipod Lounge or some other site to find out what has gone wrong with my ipod is a cool thing to do. I don't have to do this with anything else I buy. If my new TV flunks out, I don't merrily head for my PC to look up The TV Surgery. If our new telephone isn't working, I don't think it is okay to go to The Phone Phactory to see how to fire it up again. If our fridge breaks down, I don't think Oh I must have a look on The Fridge Farm to see what I have to do to get it going again. I....could go on.
The Taxi At The End Of Our Street Theory: The first free taxi I see when I am waiting for one at the end of out street will always be taken by someone else further up the street. This relates to the Late Gets Later Effect whereby the later I am running the less likely I am to find a taxi or a bus or a horse that will take me to where I need(ed) to be 15 minutes ago. Both also vaguely relate to The Time Thang Theory which is the more time you have to prepare for something, the more likely you are to balls it up. My wedding speech is a good example of this.
The B Plan: However much I ever get to trying to anticipate Madame B's comments on hhn, I never get there. Not even close. (This makes either me or her a genius.)
The Oops: The more often I ask mrs hhn to record something on TV, the less likely she is to remember to do it. Once is best.
The DeDenny Dilemma: A dog or cat (I actually saw this happen to a bloke called DeDenny with a pig) will always head straight for the person least able to deal with its attentions.
There are many more. If mrs hhn says she is going to call me back in "one minute", she will call in an hour. If she says "five minutes" it will be five. If she says "later", she doesn't call at all. No big deal. Just mildly interesting in its inevitability. If I have lunch with Styx, I get wasted. Ditto Bad and The Waunch. If I share a taxi with my boss, I never have any cash, which makes me look like a ligger. The more important the reader, the more glaringly obvious the typos will be in what you are askign them to read. The pool at the hotel will probably be closed when you get there. If a bear attacks you, you're screwed.* Toasters don't work. Because I am scared of snakes, I see them regularly. (This includes an encounter with a python on a street in Moscow, and cycling straight into a man with a snake around his shoulders in Balham.) If you are in a real hurry, the printer will jam or stop working. The woman in the queue for the loo at the wedding that you try to have a joke with about the bride's previous choice in men will be her mother. And the smaller the lie, the more likely you are to be found out.
In entirely unrelated news, I read this morning that in a survey of skills they wanted to learn, 55% of Girl Guides said they needed to learn more about flat-pack furniture. How depressing.
* Or not http://www.kaniut.com/abtsam.htm (Thanks to The Waunch for this research. Must be busy at his office again today.)
However, Anon also mentioned chaos theory, which has never struck me as anything other than bull, not least of all thanks to a friend who was working for an achingly trendy advertising agency in the USA a while back, and he called me one afternoon and was going on about how he and his colleagues were "really into chaos theory". I asked him how this manifested itself in and around the office, and all he could come up with was that they had scaffolding as banisters in the agency reception and he was allowed to date his researcher (who - unchaotically - eventually became his wife). Anyway, isn't there enough chaos around without having to theorise about it?
Some other proven theories:
The Badger Effect: If I write something about a badger on househusbandnot, mrs househusbandnot will probably be nice to me.
The Bad Effect: If I disappear mid-week to see Bad, I will be punished in some way or other by mrs hhn on my return.
The iPod Axis: Somehow, somewhere Apple have convinced us that fundamental design flaws in ipods should be acceptable, and that having to go to Ipod Lounge or some other site to find out what has gone wrong with my ipod is a cool thing to do. I don't have to do this with anything else I buy. If my new TV flunks out, I don't merrily head for my PC to look up The TV Surgery. If our new telephone isn't working, I don't think it is okay to go to The Phone Phactory to see how to fire it up again. If our fridge breaks down, I don't think Oh I must have a look on The Fridge Farm to see what I have to do to get it going again. I....could go on.
The Taxi At The End Of Our Street Theory: The first free taxi I see when I am waiting for one at the end of out street will always be taken by someone else further up the street. This relates to the Late Gets Later Effect whereby the later I am running the less likely I am to find a taxi or a bus or a horse that will take me to where I need(ed) to be 15 minutes ago. Both also vaguely relate to The Time Thang Theory which is the more time you have to prepare for something, the more likely you are to balls it up. My wedding speech is a good example of this.
The B Plan: However much I ever get to trying to anticipate Madame B's comments on hhn, I never get there. Not even close. (This makes either me or her a genius.)
The Oops: The more often I ask mrs hhn to record something on TV, the less likely she is to remember to do it. Once is best.
The DeDenny Dilemma: A dog or cat (I actually saw this happen to a bloke called DeDenny with a pig) will always head straight for the person least able to deal with its attentions.
There are many more. If mrs hhn says she is going to call me back in "one minute", she will call in an hour. If she says "five minutes" it will be five. If she says "later", she doesn't call at all. No big deal. Just mildly interesting in its inevitability. If I have lunch with Styx, I get wasted. Ditto Bad and The Waunch. If I share a taxi with my boss, I never have any cash, which makes me look like a ligger. The more important the reader, the more glaringly obvious the typos will be in what you are askign them to read. The pool at the hotel will probably be closed when you get there. If a bear attacks you, you're screwed.* Toasters don't work. Because I am scared of snakes, I see them regularly. (This includes an encounter with a python on a street in Moscow, and cycling straight into a man with a snake around his shoulders in Balham.) If you are in a real hurry, the printer will jam or stop working. The woman in the queue for the loo at the wedding that you try to have a joke with about the bride's previous choice in men will be her mother. And the smaller the lie, the more likely you are to be found out.
In entirely unrelated news, I read this morning that in a survey of skills they wanted to learn, 55% of Girl Guides said they needed to learn more about flat-pack furniture. How depressing.
* Or not http://www.kaniut.com/abtsam.htm (Thanks to The Waunch for this research. Must be busy at his office again today.)
Jul 24, 2007
The Badger Effect
In one of the other things I do of a day, I have just been editing someone who was writing about the butterfly effect and how a flap of a butterfly's wings in Uruguay can cause a tornado in Utah?
I don't get this. I get responsibility (although mrs househusbandnot may disagree). I get cause and effect. I get how having a maniac in The White House* and a troubled preacher's son in Whitehall can affect many millions of peoples' lives. I get that me not recycling will affect other people before it affects me. I get that Steve Earle can move me with his music without even knowing who I am. But I don't get the butterfly thing.
How does it really work? A badger farts in Buckinghamshire, and a Mexican decides not to raid the local petrol station? A wolf howls in Italy, and somehow that affects Tiger Wood's stroke at the golf in Scotland? Can someone explain this butterfly thing to me? Hey, I'm down with my yang, but it just doesn't make any sense to me. A bit like that arrow being shot into Berkeley Square.
In not unrelated news, ended up really depressed last night, because I felt I had failed mrs hhn on some writing I was doing for her. Being me, this sense of failure looked around for someone to blame other than me, and lighted on mrs hhn, who is quite stressed enough at work at the moment without the added bonus of me being on her case at the end of the evening. Result was I sulked off to the sofa and watched crap tv all night, resulting in me with stiff neck and feeling tired this morning, just when I need to be sparky on a few work projects today. An hhn didn't deliver on some work for his wife, and he ended up sleeping on the sofa. See. I do get responsibility, if sometimes a little too late for any remedial action.
*Really interesting interview with Steve Earle in one of the Sunday papers btw, and how Earle says we must always treat and watch Bush as the addict that he is. (I read this article on Sunday and said to mrs hhn "Did you read this article?" and she said "Yes" and I said "It was really interesting about addiction didn't you think?" and mrs hhn said "I didn't read it. I was lying". I will never understand women, least of all the one I understand most.)
I don't get this. I get responsibility (although mrs househusbandnot may disagree). I get cause and effect. I get how having a maniac in The White House* and a troubled preacher's son in Whitehall can affect many millions of peoples' lives. I get that me not recycling will affect other people before it affects me. I get that Steve Earle can move me with his music without even knowing who I am. But I don't get the butterfly thing.
How does it really work? A badger farts in Buckinghamshire, and a Mexican decides not to raid the local petrol station? A wolf howls in Italy, and somehow that affects Tiger Wood's stroke at the golf in Scotland? Can someone explain this butterfly thing to me? Hey, I'm down with my yang, but it just doesn't make any sense to me. A bit like that arrow being shot into Berkeley Square.
In not unrelated news, ended up really depressed last night, because I felt I had failed mrs hhn on some writing I was doing for her. Being me, this sense of failure looked around for someone to blame other than me, and lighted on mrs hhn, who is quite stressed enough at work at the moment without the added bonus of me being on her case at the end of the evening. Result was I sulked off to the sofa and watched crap tv all night, resulting in me with stiff neck and feeling tired this morning, just when I need to be sparky on a few work projects today. An hhn didn't deliver on some work for his wife, and he ended up sleeping on the sofa. See. I do get responsibility, if sometimes a little too late for any remedial action.
*Really interesting interview with Steve Earle in one of the Sunday papers btw, and how Earle says we must always treat and watch Bush as the addict that he is. (I read this article on Sunday and said to mrs hhn "Did you read this article?" and she said "Yes" and I said "It was really interesting about addiction didn't you think?" and mrs hhn said "I didn't read it. I was lying". I will never understand women, least of all the one I understand most.)
Jul 23, 2007
Piracy And Pig Eyes
Apologies for the delay in reporting back from the lobster potting last week…which rocked.
Much fun was had with Bad, stealing other people’s boats, puttering around the river, hauling heavy pots from the water, being bitten by crabs, and eventually finding two fine lobsters in the second last pot we checked. (I’m still not clear on whether or not the pots we checked actually belonged to Bad, but hey we’d already stolen a boat so why curb the piracy.) The only down-side to this adventure was the baiting of the pots, which Bad had not told me involved stuffing half pig heads into the pots. I spent a good quarter of an hour on the boat with a half pig head staring at me with its piggy eye.
Anyway, after further bolloxing around, we eventually made it back to shore with our catch, and we headed back to Bad’s via the oyster shop – a quite normal day in the life of Bad – a lovely watery evening in Suffolk for me – and lobsters and oysters for tea. All very mellow, and a far cry from all things Londony and the usual urban routine. And Suffolk is so nuts too. No-one seems to actually do any work there. No-one ever knows when trains come and go. Everything smells vaguely of oil and water and fish and herbs. Everyone is related to the Bads. And everyone – well the men anyway - just arses around with lobsters and oysters and bread and cider.
On return to London, I was informed by mrs househusbandnot that I was in the doghouse for not bringing a lobster back for her, an idea helpfully lodged in her mind by the girls she works with (thanks, ladies). My ‘punishment’ (and please don’t try and deny this mrs hhn because you used that very word) was salmon in filo pastry for supper on Friday night.
In badger-related news, was rather pleased with myself that I got the badgers in Iraq story to you before Pop Bitch. In this lonely blogging world, there are small victories.
In boat-related news, have just been discussing the lack of information about how to get a boat in London with *&^. He and I are looking into getting a boat up to the O2 Arena for our Prince gigs in the coming weeks. But where do you get information on boats in London? Where do they go from? Where do they go? What does it all mean?
In hhn news, just noticed I have written 223 hhn posts since last year. What does it all mean?
Much fun was had with Bad, stealing other people’s boats, puttering around the river, hauling heavy pots from the water, being bitten by crabs, and eventually finding two fine lobsters in the second last pot we checked. (I’m still not clear on whether or not the pots we checked actually belonged to Bad, but hey we’d already stolen a boat so why curb the piracy.) The only down-side to this adventure was the baiting of the pots, which Bad had not told me involved stuffing half pig heads into the pots. I spent a good quarter of an hour on the boat with a half pig head staring at me with its piggy eye.
Anyway, after further bolloxing around, we eventually made it back to shore with our catch, and we headed back to Bad’s via the oyster shop – a quite normal day in the life of Bad – a lovely watery evening in Suffolk for me – and lobsters and oysters for tea. All very mellow, and a far cry from all things Londony and the usual urban routine. And Suffolk is so nuts too. No-one seems to actually do any work there. No-one ever knows when trains come and go. Everything smells vaguely of oil and water and fish and herbs. Everyone is related to the Bads. And everyone – well the men anyway - just arses around with lobsters and oysters and bread and cider.
On return to London, I was informed by mrs househusbandnot that I was in the doghouse for not bringing a lobster back for her, an idea helpfully lodged in her mind by the girls she works with (thanks, ladies). My ‘punishment’ (and please don’t try and deny this mrs hhn because you used that very word) was salmon in filo pastry for supper on Friday night.
In badger-related news, was rather pleased with myself that I got the badgers in Iraq story to you before Pop Bitch. In this lonely blogging world, there are small victories.
In boat-related news, have just been discussing the lack of information about how to get a boat in London with *&^. He and I are looking into getting a boat up to the O2 Arena for our Prince gigs in the coming weeks. But where do you get information on boats in London? Where do they go from? Where do they go? What does it all mean?
In hhn news, just noticed I have written 223 hhn posts since last year. What does it all mean?
Jul 19, 2007
It's In A
blokewho is right you know. All the feedback I got from anyone about yesterday's blog- and it was mrs househusbandnot - was a "Well you had time to write your blog" when I was complaining that I had had a busy day.
blokwho is wrong though about hhn falling into disarray with tumble weed drifting across the space bar because I am going to Suffolk for 24 hours. I only ever stop writing hhn when I have nothing to say, and I will be very surprised if there are no stories from four or five hours on a boat with Bad this evening.
In other news, had great BBQ with mrs hhn on the roof last night. We talked about everything and nothing, and I had a dream about Mick Jagger coming to me and saying that Keef just couldn't nail down the solo at the end of Sympathy For The Devil and would I like to have a go. This was after I had sat down to a banquet, and a half French half Indian woman had complained about how I had served myself the crab salad. It was at Richard Branson's house. Somewhere along the way, I had played a game of rugby, and a computer game on a screen the size of a wall.
On the lobster killing btw, I leave that to Bad who is versed in these things. Last time we had one, I think he went for the nail in the head option though.
blokwho is wrong though about hhn falling into disarray with tumble weed drifting across the space bar because I am going to Suffolk for 24 hours. I only ever stop writing hhn when I have nothing to say, and I will be very surprised if there are no stories from four or five hours on a boat with Bad this evening.
In other news, had great BBQ with mrs hhn on the roof last night. We talked about everything and nothing, and I had a dream about Mick Jagger coming to me and saying that Keef just couldn't nail down the solo at the end of Sympathy For The Devil and would I like to have a go. This was after I had sat down to a banquet, and a half French half Indian woman had complained about how I had served myself the crab salad. It was at Richard Branson's house. Somewhere along the way, I had played a game of rugby, and a computer game on a screen the size of a wall.
On the lobster killing btw, I leave that to Bad who is versed in these things. Last time we had one, I think he went for the nail in the head option though.
Jul 18, 2007
Check List
- Secure a day pass from mrs househusbandnot to go lobster potting with Bad in Suffolk tomorrow - check
- Find someone to come with me to the Prince after show party the week after next - check
- Don't fall asleep during Nancy Griffith gig last night - check (kinda)
- Buy Young Marble Giants album - check
- Eat healthy lunch after egg and chips last night as reward for going to Nancy Griffith's gig - check
- Download further billion tracks onto ipod for journey down to Suffolk - check
- Fire fight rebellion in office about my edits to the company website - check (kinda)
- Shave off beard for summer bald look - check
- Write website for mrs hhn for mates' rate fee aka four pence - check (half done anyway)
- Swim a mile - check (well shortly, or longly actually because I have not been swimming much lately, and it will take a while to crawl up and down the pool this afternoon)
- Fend off middle aged crisis-related desire to buy lots of band t-shirts - check
- Enjoy sister's gift of rainbow maker mobile making rainbows on sitting room wall - check
- Be rude to a chugger - check ("It is for charity you know." Bollox.)
- Curb desire to write jokes in mrs hhn's website copy - check
- Do anything vaguely useful to man or beast or the common good- er...
- Wonder what has happened to Madame B for three seconds - check
- Decide I am too old - or odd - for Facebook - check
- Entirely unprompted, be asked my opinion about badgers in office - check
- Look at feet - check
- Fail to buy any artwork from new Unkle album - check
- Think I saw blokewhowasn'tatnancygriffithgiglastnight at Nancy Griffith's gig last night for a second - check
- Decide it is the neighbours rather than me that are odd - check
- Hate the summer - check
- Inspect my mint plant - check
What a dum-ass day today.
Jul 16, 2007
Dizzy London
For reasons I will not go into, I found myself wandering around The Cabinet War Rooms Museum in Whitehall on Sunday morning. (Well, I will go into it. My in laws were coming to London, and they'd said that they had wanted to visit this museum. When this plan was proposed last week, I saw it as an opportunity for me to slope off to the gym while mrs househusbandnot and her folks went to the museum. After a long talking to from mrs hhn re me never doing anything that I don't want to do, me not being prepared to go to places that I don't want to go to, my in laws wanting to see me, me being general scum-bag of the earth etc etc etc, I...er...went to the Cabinet War Rooms Museum with my in laws and my wife on Sunday. Not the sort of thing I would normally elect to do of a Sunday, but there was not much of an election process about it. More of a three line whip.)
Actually, the museum was pretty interesting in a WW II, bunkery way. There was quite a good Winston Churchill Museum within the War Rooms Museum, which had a load of stuff about the houses Churchill lived in during his life, stuff on his poodle Rufus, a movie of his state funeral etc., which kept us entertained, before coming back home and having a BBQ in the threatening rain on our roof terrace. As is always the case, the more time I spend with my in laws the less I understand them. But I take solace in the fact that I know the feeling is entirely the same for them. We are getting by, although my suggestion that mrs hhn and I go and live by a loch in Scotland didn't go down to well. My father in law said he had only just worked out where South London was, and had no intention of letting his daughter further off his radar.
Not a lot else to report today. It was really hot and close in London today. Everyone in my office went uncharacteristically quiet around 11 am, and didn't come out of their/our respective fugs until about 4 pm - which meant we got a lot of work done, rather than the usual nattering and bolloxing around with which we are quite capable of wasting a whole day's 'work'.
Happy to report that - thanks to *&^ again - I have secured two more tickets to see Prince while he is over, this time for one of his after show gigs the week before we actually go and see him do a normal pre-after show gig. So I get to see him twice while he is over here, which is fitting because I am possibly the biggest Prince fan of all time, except for maybe Prince himself.
In unrelated news, bought a new dvd player last week, got bored on the bus on the way home, and left remote for same dvd player on same bus having opened up the box to take a look at my new purchase. mrs hhn has awarded me the Honourable Order Of Biggest Tit On Planet Class III for this behaviour. (If only she knew about the fuck ups I don't tell her about. I'd be a Field Marshall by now.)
That's it I think, on this sticky London evening. mrs hhn has gone to a networking event - whatever that may be. Me? I'm going for the cold bath, cold drink option, and an idle hour or so listening to The Young Marble Giants. (blokewhowasrightaboutbuyingoldmusic, they sound as sweet and dumb and great as they did when I listened to them a couple of decades ago. Good tip. Thanks.)
Actually, the museum was pretty interesting in a WW II, bunkery way. There was quite a good Winston Churchill Museum within the War Rooms Museum, which had a load of stuff about the houses Churchill lived in during his life, stuff on his poodle Rufus, a movie of his state funeral etc., which kept us entertained, before coming back home and having a BBQ in the threatening rain on our roof terrace. As is always the case, the more time I spend with my in laws the less I understand them. But I take solace in the fact that I know the feeling is entirely the same for them. We are getting by, although my suggestion that mrs hhn and I go and live by a loch in Scotland didn't go down to well. My father in law said he had only just worked out where South London was, and had no intention of letting his daughter further off his radar.
Not a lot else to report today. It was really hot and close in London today. Everyone in my office went uncharacteristically quiet around 11 am, and didn't come out of their/our respective fugs until about 4 pm - which meant we got a lot of work done, rather than the usual nattering and bolloxing around with which we are quite capable of wasting a whole day's 'work'.
Happy to report that - thanks to *&^ again - I have secured two more tickets to see Prince while he is over, this time for one of his after show gigs the week before we actually go and see him do a normal pre-after show gig. So I get to see him twice while he is over here, which is fitting because I am possibly the biggest Prince fan of all time, except for maybe Prince himself.
In unrelated news, bought a new dvd player last week, got bored on the bus on the way home, and left remote for same dvd player on same bus having opened up the box to take a look at my new purchase. mrs hhn has awarded me the Honourable Order Of Biggest Tit On Planet Class III for this behaviour. (If only she knew about the fuck ups I don't tell her about. I'd be a Field Marshall by now.)
That's it I think, on this sticky London evening. mrs hhn has gone to a networking event - whatever that may be. Me? I'm going for the cold bath, cold drink option, and an idle hour or so listening to The Young Marble Giants. (blokewhowasrightaboutbuyingoldmusic, they sound as sweet and dumb and great as they did when I listened to them a couple of decades ago. Good tip. Thanks.)
Jul 13, 2007
On Bass...
Visits to hhn have monstered quite a bit since I admitted defeat and went back to talking about animals and sandwiches and my favourite guitar solos.
Somewhere, there is a bit of scientific research to be done on what people really want to read about in blogs and on the rest of the net. The theory is that it is about finding a cure for cancer or finding long lost friends or something else nice and useful. In reality, it is just a bunch of goons surfing around for discussions on Jerry Garcia's favourite ice cream flavour, why the moon is really made of cheese, and comedy animals. God, you must be very proud. Satan, you appear to be winning. (Not that anything I write about here on hhn is particularly Satanic, other than my hatred of Jimmy Carr.)
I guess - indeed have been told - that there are people out there who set up sites and write articles based only on the most searched words and terms on the web in order to attract traffic and advertising revenue. This is - I have also been told - all part of the on-going Google versus The Rest Of The World battle whereby Google create search rules and people try and figure them out. It is a bit like tennis, with Google usually played by Roger Federer and The Rest Of The World played by a nippy, naughty Mexican who came into the game on a wild card, and is happy to slap away at Federer's rockets in the hopes that it might generate a bit of sponsorship from Sprite Lite or Toys R Us or Ask Jeeves or some other quirky untapped source of revenue. (Fundamentally, the giants will win, but maybe our beaner pal will make a few dollars. Chance still exists - a fact my next door neighbour would agree with having glanced across into our kitchen on Wednesday evening to see me naked except for a mud face pack.)
Re weekend: am off to buy a DVD player that will do our new TV justice, and a new telephone, and maybe The Young Marble Giants album, and a book about writing well ("At last" they all sigh in relief.) The first two will involve me being condescended to by children aka the staff in Currys. (mrs househusbandnot was funny about this last night. She suggested that I buy more stuff on line so that I could avoid the hhn in shop freak outs. I feel this part of the trial which is my life.) The third will involve a pretty heavy dose of angst about why I am dwelling on the past rather than trying to learn about and listen to new music. And the the fourth will involve me staggering around the self-help section (which is always placed next to the gay section for some reason [are they trying to tell us something we need to know about?] of Waterstone's being distracted by the nutter woman in dark glasses buying The Bluffers Guide To Alimony and the guy I noticed at the entrance who looked like a real loser and who ends up in the same aisle as me looking at the same books as me. Maybe I should be doing all this on line. It might be safer, or at least less revelatory.
And mrs hhn and I are going to take a look at buying some bikes so that we can couple around on them this summer. (mrs hhn's BIG joke about me is that I have very short arms and legs, so expect much hilarity when I end up buying a child's bike despite being over six foot tall.)
Have a good weekend people, and keep it coming. We are getting there.
Regards The Bass Player.
Somewhere, there is a bit of scientific research to be done on what people really want to read about in blogs and on the rest of the net. The theory is that it is about finding a cure for cancer or finding long lost friends or something else nice and useful. In reality, it is just a bunch of goons surfing around for discussions on Jerry Garcia's favourite ice cream flavour, why the moon is really made of cheese, and comedy animals. God, you must be very proud. Satan, you appear to be winning. (Not that anything I write about here on hhn is particularly Satanic, other than my hatred of Jimmy Carr.)
I guess - indeed have been told - that there are people out there who set up sites and write articles based only on the most searched words and terms on the web in order to attract traffic and advertising revenue. This is - I have also been told - all part of the on-going Google versus The Rest Of The World battle whereby Google create search rules and people try and figure them out. It is a bit like tennis, with Google usually played by Roger Federer and The Rest Of The World played by a nippy, naughty Mexican who came into the game on a wild card, and is happy to slap away at Federer's rockets in the hopes that it might generate a bit of sponsorship from Sprite Lite or Toys R Us or Ask Jeeves or some other quirky untapped source of revenue. (Fundamentally, the giants will win, but maybe our beaner pal will make a few dollars. Chance still exists - a fact my next door neighbour would agree with having glanced across into our kitchen on Wednesday evening to see me naked except for a mud face pack.)
Re weekend: am off to buy a DVD player that will do our new TV justice, and a new telephone, and maybe The Young Marble Giants album, and a book about writing well ("At last" they all sigh in relief.) The first two will involve me being condescended to by children aka the staff in Currys. (mrs househusbandnot was funny about this last night. She suggested that I buy more stuff on line so that I could avoid the hhn in shop freak outs. I feel this part of the trial which is my life.) The third will involve a pretty heavy dose of angst about why I am dwelling on the past rather than trying to learn about and listen to new music. And the the fourth will involve me staggering around the self-help section (which is always placed next to the gay section for some reason [are they trying to tell us something we need to know about?] of Waterstone's being distracted by the nutter woman in dark glasses buying The Bluffers Guide To Alimony and the guy I noticed at the entrance who looked like a real loser and who ends up in the same aisle as me looking at the same books as me. Maybe I should be doing all this on line. It might be safer, or at least less revelatory.
And mrs hhn and I are going to take a look at buying some bikes so that we can couple around on them this summer. (mrs hhn's BIG joke about me is that I have very short arms and legs, so expect much hilarity when I end up buying a child's bike despite being over six foot tall.)
Have a good weekend people, and keep it coming. We are getting there.
Regards The Bass Player.
Jul 12, 2007
Styx-Censorship Overruled Shocker
Having mentioned earlier this week that I had been Styx-censored (Pistol-whipped. Bitch-slapped. Styx-censored. I like it.) about discussing music on hhn, I will mention that mrs househusbandnot and I went to see a band called Buffalo Tom last night. They are a sort of sub J Mascis (he plays guitar for them sometimes), sub Pavement, grown up Green Day. It was fun in a not been to a gig for a while way. The band were exactly what they are. They've been around for a couple of decades, pumping out workable, pretty derivative, not particularly thought through, tuneful grunge trio rock. Watching them at The Scala last night, I got the impression that they were exactly where they should be: in a smallish venue, thrashing away to maybe three or four hundred white middle aged former stoners. And I got to wondering if they were happy with their place in the world, partly within the context of mrs hhn's query the night before of what I would like to be if there were no limits to what I could be...
...this is the sort of deeply innocent/deeply loaded question that mrs hhn lobs out there pretty often, usually just as I have plonked my weary ass on the sofa with a drink and a packet of onion rings and a complaint that there is no cricket to watch on TV. After my initial bristling, defensive responses to these mrs hhn queries, I have come to learn that she is not actually judging me, but does genuinely want to know the answer to the question. Which is part of the rest of the game I guess. To be Buffalo Tom, or reach a little higher and practise a little more, and let the bass player do more of the singing. (Having neatly boxed myself into pseuds corner with my Buffalo Tom versus reaching for the stars discussion, I am seeing why music should be a no no on hhn.)
Anyway, I've mentioned animal ambitions. Other more general ones include:
...this is the sort of deeply innocent/deeply loaded question that mrs hhn lobs out there pretty often, usually just as I have plonked my weary ass on the sofa with a drink and a packet of onion rings and a complaint that there is no cricket to watch on TV. After my initial bristling, defensive responses to these mrs hhn queries, I have come to learn that she is not actually judging me, but does genuinely want to know the answer to the question. Which is part of the rest of the game I guess. To be Buffalo Tom, or reach a little higher and practise a little more, and let the bass player do more of the singing. (Having neatly boxed myself into pseuds corner with my Buffalo Tom versus reaching for the stars discussion, I am seeing why music should be a no no on hhn.)
Anyway, I've mentioned animal ambitions. Other more general ones include:
- never wearing socks again (and if I have to, only ever wearing a brand new pair)
- never flying coach again
- always being within easy access of an uncrowded swimming pool
- having a house by a loch in Scotland
- being able to tell mrs hhn to stuff the job and come and hang out by the loch and watch otters (oops, animals again)
- never having to go to another meeting, unless it is with my architect to discuss the installation of a water slide from our bedroom to our pool, or with those guys who come and wire up a massive sound system in all the rooms in your house
- being Prince's bezzy mate when he is in London
- and being able to anticipate what mrs hhn wants as she wants it, not later
All a little serious today. I blame Buffalo Tom. Maybe they are better than I thought they were.
Finally, in news in from Waunch News Feed (WNF): http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/iraq/article2059824.ece I always think that when they start to blame the animals, it is the beginning of the end.
Jul 10, 2007
Me? Still An Unreliable Animal Witness?
Following on (or up) from today's comments about my lack of accurate knowledge about hedgehogs, I can assure that if I knew what I was talking about I would not be blogging. If I had specialist - or indeed any in depth - knowledge about anything, I would be using it to write for specialist publications. So you may not get depth here at hhn, but you do get breadth - although a quick review of recent in-depth hhn topics does reveal that the My Favourite Sandwich Debate was a winner with everyone. (At the cricket the other day, Styx languidly informed me that he would have quite happily continued this particular debate for many many more days.)
(Incidentally, Eel Man's recent* observation that I was "an unreliable animal witness" still hurts - like hell.)
Which - as always - does beg the question about what we should really be discussing here at hhn? Politics? Nah. Tried that last summer. Music? Styx-vetoed. Women? hhn has a strict gender sensitive editorial line. Drugs? No. My mother in law reads this site (when she is not admiring her new facebook account). mrs househusbandnot? Absolutely off limits, since - as I have mentioned before - the fact that I am happy to bollox on about myself does not make it open season on mrs hhn who is fundamentally a more considering and considerate and polite and private person than I am. My work? Too worried about getting fired just as my portfolio of work is getting back into a decent stride. Madame B? She just won't tell us the details we really want, or send us a photo. My mother in law? See above. The excellent rumour I heard at the weekend about two very, very famous black sportsmen having an affair? Too worried about getting sued. Which kinda leaves me and the wormery.
So quite a lot is off limits, especially for a blog which is supposed to be the super levelling unedited honest medium du jour. You can see why I go for the cheap laughs with the hedgehog stuff, no?
In other news, a stuffy little blond volunteer at the office today was talking about my (male) colleague and saying he was no oil painting. And then she turned to me and said "And neither are you". Am considering how to get her fired, which may prove tricky since she is closely related to my boss. Offices. Dontchaluvthemsomuchitmakesyouwanttoweeyourself.
*Well, last year, almost to the day.
(Incidentally, Eel Man's recent* observation that I was "an unreliable animal witness" still hurts - like hell.)
Which - as always - does beg the question about what we should really be discussing here at hhn? Politics? Nah. Tried that last summer. Music? Styx-vetoed. Women? hhn has a strict gender sensitive editorial line. Drugs? No. My mother in law reads this site (when she is not admiring her new facebook account). mrs househusbandnot? Absolutely off limits, since - as I have mentioned before - the fact that I am happy to bollox on about myself does not make it open season on mrs hhn who is fundamentally a more considering and considerate and polite and private person than I am. My work? Too worried about getting fired just as my portfolio of work is getting back into a decent stride. Madame B? She just won't tell us the details we really want, or send us a photo. My mother in law? See above. The excellent rumour I heard at the weekend about two very, very famous black sportsmen having an affair? Too worried about getting sued. Which kinda leaves me and the wormery.
So quite a lot is off limits, especially for a blog which is supposed to be the super levelling unedited honest medium du jour. You can see why I go for the cheap laughs with the hedgehog stuff, no?
In other news, a stuffy little blond volunteer at the office today was talking about my (male) colleague and saying he was no oil painting. And then she turned to me and said "And neither are you". Am considering how to get her fired, which may prove tricky since she is closely related to my boss. Offices. Dontchaluvthemsomuchitmakesyouwanttoweeyourself.
*Well, last year, almost to the day.
Jul 9, 2007
Hedgehogs And Tshirts
Thanks for your various comments re hedgehogs and hhn tshirts. Who's the prick in the tshirt? Boom boom. (Madame B, who is the person who could do these tshirts for me/us? Pray tell. I'm thinking manga with hhn in Japanese. [Am quite into Madame B at the moment btw because her prediction about my mint being stringy was 100% accurate, as I just discovered urban warrior-like standing on my balcony munching my mint straight from the pot.])
Elsewhere in England, managed to avoid the Tour De France in Kent yesterday despite being v close - approx 1,000 metres - to it. Instead, slumped on a sofa at my sister's farm and read The Sunday Telegraph and HedgeGrowers Weekly and watched Wimbledon while others were trudging across fields for four seconds of bike-related spectatoring. (Actually, I was stuck trying to sort out my sister's and her daughter's itunes for most of the morning, requiring some serious rnr post lunch.)
What else? Had long - well quite brief as far as I am concerned because she was wrong - debate with mrs househusbandnot the other night about whether or not Al Green was just a one song pony. Have been considering buying bikes so that mrs hhn and I can do a bike thang at weekends. (Health And Safety Executive that she is, mrs hhn is demanding that we wear helmets if we get bikes, which to me rather defeats the whole point of wind in hair freedom jag that cycling can provide in this stuffy windless city. If you see large potato with helmet crammed on equally potato-like head sweating his way across London on bike, you will have successfully done an hhn spot. Prize is hhn tshirt - subject to availability and usual rules and regulations requiring you to promise to read hhn for rest of your life.)
Speaking of Sunday newspapers, is it just me*or have they all become uniformly crap? I read four, no five, Sunday newspapers cover to cover and supplement through supplement yesterday, and I feel actually less informed than I did before I read them. I now know the name of the next best British hope in Formula One, and that's it. Oh, and where to buy wellington boots and what Bob Geldof's kid made of Glastonbury, and the fact that the new Smashing Pumpkins album is not as good as Siamese Dreams, and how much The Spice Girls are getting paid and hate each other, and how much a sea kayak costs, and the fact that Tony Blair got stressed out when he was Prime Minister, and that if I burn tyres in my sitting room I am probably not going to get an invite round to Al Gore's ranch, and the fact that governments remain corrupt and dull and dirty and in power, and that I should be wearing yellow this season...I knew all this already...
...one thing I didn't know until last week was that hedgehogs can climb trees. I can feel a tshirt coming on.
*Copyright The Daily Mail
Elsewhere in England, managed to avoid the Tour De France in Kent yesterday despite being v close - approx 1,000 metres - to it. Instead, slumped on a sofa at my sister's farm and read The Sunday Telegraph and HedgeGrowers Weekly and watched Wimbledon while others were trudging across fields for four seconds of bike-related spectatoring. (Actually, I was stuck trying to sort out my sister's and her daughter's itunes for most of the morning, requiring some serious rnr post lunch.)
What else? Had long - well quite brief as far as I am concerned because she was wrong - debate with mrs househusbandnot the other night about whether or not Al Green was just a one song pony. Have been considering buying bikes so that mrs hhn and I can do a bike thang at weekends. (Health And Safety Executive that she is, mrs hhn is demanding that we wear helmets if we get bikes, which to me rather defeats the whole point of wind in hair freedom jag that cycling can provide in this stuffy windless city. If you see large potato with helmet crammed on equally potato-like head sweating his way across London on bike, you will have successfully done an hhn spot. Prize is hhn tshirt - subject to availability and usual rules and regulations requiring you to promise to read hhn for rest of your life.)
Speaking of Sunday newspapers, is it just me*or have they all become uniformly crap? I read four, no five, Sunday newspapers cover to cover and supplement through supplement yesterday, and I feel actually less informed than I did before I read them. I now know the name of the next best British hope in Formula One, and that's it. Oh, and where to buy wellington boots and what Bob Geldof's kid made of Glastonbury, and the fact that the new Smashing Pumpkins album is not as good as Siamese Dreams, and how much The Spice Girls are getting paid and hate each other, and how much a sea kayak costs, and the fact that Tony Blair got stressed out when he was Prime Minister, and that if I burn tyres in my sitting room I am probably not going to get an invite round to Al Gore's ranch, and the fact that governments remain corrupt and dull and dirty and in power, and that I should be wearing yellow this season...I knew all this already...
...one thing I didn't know until last week was that hedgehogs can climb trees. I can feel a tshirt coming on.
*Copyright The Daily Mail
Jul 4, 2007
Pincefiends 2
I agree with Anonymous's incredulity about me having never seen a hedgehog. Badgers, stoats, foxes, voles, ferrets a plenty. But not even a glimpse of hedgehogs, which incidentally are called pincefiends in Denmark. There are many other animal-related things I have never done, and want to do, although am glad to report that the list is getting shorter rather than longer.
I haven't:
I haven't:
- Been on a safari (amazing I know, but looking to redress it at Xmas)
- Seen a wild African elephant (well I have, but it was out of the back of a car window and we were late for a meeting so we didn't have time to stop)
- Heard wolves howling in the wild, or seen then dancing (which they do, according to David Bellamy with whom had to spend a - very long - day with once [ he is really dull and really really right wing])
- Hung out with cheetahs
- Seen mountain gorillas in the wild (which apparently is a complete head-fuck, because the male silverbacks weigh in at about 63 tons and can blow your arm off by just glancing at you)
- Bred ducks or geese or pigs or goats...or anything
- Stared down a bear
- Been on a huskie-powered sledge
- Or made sausages
- Stroked a rhino
- Touched a dolphin (physically rather than emotionally)
- Eaten fish that I have caught (a truly important primeval experience)
- Scratched a pig
- Been offered horse tartare
- Been bitten on the back by a horse (not on the same night as the tartare offer btw)
- And snorted vodka with Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall
Horses for courses I guess (baroomba).
Jul 3, 2007
Re Booooo
In response to Madame B's comment - well jibe - yesterday, I know. I couldn't agree more. I just have so little of any interest to say about anything at the moment. The details of my life (and my thoughts about life) are deeply dull at the moment:
1) Wow, is that all a cat costs to buy for medical research? (approx two squid btw)
2) Betcha By Golly Wow, I still have Prince tickets.
3) I wonder why I've never had hay fever.
4) Nut allergies - true or lie.
5) Why do the first two people you talk to in John Lewis have no idea about anything on sale in the store?
6) When will my mint grow? (this is sadly not a euphemism)
70 Where's blokewhoseemstohavedisappeared?
8) Ah, so that's what razor clams taste like.
9) Internet dating by my brother in law - a practical instruction (since he is staying with us at the moment).
10) What's the real deal with 'remastered' cds?
11) How come mrs househusbandnot has lost more weight than I have? (Exhibit A: large number of empty crisp packets on my end of the sofa)
12) Website architecture
13) How come I've never seen a hedgehog?
14) North to South development funding.
15) And about to being 42.
See what I mean? And I have always tried to maintain some sort of standards here at hhn, although others may disagree.
Actually we are taking delivery of a new TV this Thursday, which is pretty exciting (although it did involve me thinking about 5 having been deeply ruded to by John Lewis staff. We [mrs hhn and I] voted with our feet and bought our new TV from Currys.) And...no, I've died of boredom.
1) Wow, is that all a cat costs to buy for medical research? (approx two squid btw)
2) Betcha By Golly Wow, I still have Prince tickets.
3) I wonder why I've never had hay fever.
4) Nut allergies - true or lie.
5) Why do the first two people you talk to in John Lewis have no idea about anything on sale in the store?
6) When will my mint grow? (this is sadly not a euphemism)
70 Where's blokewhoseemstohavedisappeared?
8) Ah, so that's what razor clams taste like.
9) Internet dating by my brother in law - a practical instruction (since he is staying with us at the moment).
10) What's the real deal with 'remastered' cds?
11) How come mrs househusbandnot has lost more weight than I have? (Exhibit A: large number of empty crisp packets on my end of the sofa)
12) Website architecture
13) How come I've never seen a hedgehog?
14) North to South development funding.
15) And about to being 42.
See what I mean? And I have always tried to maintain some sort of standards here at hhn, although others may disagree.
Actually we are taking delivery of a new TV this Thursday, which is pretty exciting (although it did involve me thinking about 5 having been deeply ruded to by John Lewis staff. We [mrs hhn and I] voted with our feet and bought our new TV from Currys.) And...no, I've died of boredom.
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