Comedy Subject
The list of the top 20 sitcoms compiled for the Radio Times Guide to TV Comedy surprisingly has The Phil Silvers Show at number one. I say surprising not because the show wasn't funny - it was, very much so - it is more that it's a show of distant memory for most people.

Okay, so Phil Silvers played but the one character, ie himself, but you could argue the same about John Cleese with Fawlty Towers at number three, although skidding down the list, even the multi-talented Ronnie Barker only rates one entry with Porridge at number four. So where was Open All Hours, the Two Ronnies etc?

The reason is that it isn't 'our' compilation, but the subjective view of Mark Lewisohn. And subjective is seldom our objective!

Worlds Apart
I got roped into our Freedom of Information working group today. In principle, this is a great idea, in practice it will be a nightmare to implement. Briefly, what it means is that anyone, anywhere in the world, can request what information we have on any given subject. So far, so good.

The problem is that to do this, you need to know what files your organisation "possesses". I put that in quotes because in our case, this doesn't just mean the files we have, but those we inherited from the six former health authorities and before them, the regional health authority and district health authorities going way back, probably to 1974. In other words, a mountain of paper.

Someone is going to have to wade through all of this to work out what we should keep and what we shouldn't. And it's a big deal because if we mess up our chief executive could go to jail for two years. Sort of concentrates the mind!

As we were discussing this challenging opportunity (one has to remain positive) it suddenly occurred to me that this policy will have been drafted by civil servants in Whitehall. The one thing civil servants are good at is filing and I don't mean that facetiously. Because of the 30 year rule, their records will eventually be made public.

To demonstrate how seriously they take filing, a friend of mine who became a civil servant was sent on a two day course to teach him how to do it properly. And this was a senior communications manager, not a clerk or an admin person.

And once something enters a Whitehall file, it can never, ever be removed and its contents are meticulously catalogued.

Now what if the civil servant who drafted the policy believed that the world outside his window was just like the one they lived in? Don't laugh - I've had dealings with 'em and they can have some odd notions about how the real world works.

I can hear the episode of Yes, Minister:

Jim Hacker: "But won't this mean we'll need another army of administrators to log all these files."

Sir Humphrey: "Alas, no minister, would that it were so. It will simply mean that they will have to publish their existing catalogue of files. A minor inconvenience, but no more."

As I said, worlds apart.

Sunday, Sweet Sunday
One of the joys of my weekend is the Sunday Times. The first I do in the morning is to take a cup of tea into the office and go online to enter the 'Where Was I' competition in the travel section. Not that I ever expect to win the holiday prize, it’s more then challenge of solving the puzzle and sharpening up my web searching skills. The answers this are Lullingstone and Chartwell, home of Winston Churchill.

Next I sit down with the Review section. There is an interesting article about Alan Milburn who resigned as Secretary of State for Health a few months ago. There was a lot of cynicism about him want to ‘spend more time with his family’, but in his case it was true. But does this signal that he wants to return to frontline politics? It wouldn’t surprise me if it is Milburn who succeeds Tony Blair, rather than Gordon Brown.

On to the News and the highly entertaining and irreverent Jeremy Clarkson. He’s one of those people you either like or you loathe, but his blatantly politically-incorrect views amuse me no end.

Next the Sports section. Front page this week there is a picture of Ruud Van Nistleroy celebrating his hat-trick during Man U’s demolition of Leicester City 4-1 yesterday away at the Walker Stadium. The best response to Arsene Wenger’s comments about him after last week’s fracas with Arsenal.

Back to the News Review which is now home to the Doors section. ‘Don’t Panic' usually has some useful tips for PC owners and 'That’s Amazing' can lead you to some interesting websites. This issue includes Ned Kelly, appropriate because the film of his life has been recently released in the UK, and another site of optical illusions.

Max usually grabs the Funday Times, the cartoon section, but I get my turn eventually. Sadly this is the one bit that isn’t on the website.

The second edition of the Month came with the ST this week. It is a CD guide to the latest films, music, the arts, video games and shopping. The jury’s still on this idea as far as I’m concerned. It feels more like a way of getting into your wallet!

Finally there is Stlye magazine. Not much to interest me there, except perhaps A Question of Timing which argues convincingly that the battle of the sexes is all about time, and of course Mrs Mills to solve all the problems you didn't know you had.

Good game, good game!
The Manchester Evening News led me to Canyon Glider, an online game at Miniclip.com tonight. It was okay, although I haven't yet managed to finish the course, even at novice level.

The site has some good, if slightly tasteless shoot-em-ups in War on Terrorism One and Two. System requirements: Pentium II or higher, latest Flash plug-in, 128 Mb RAM (256 recommended), fast trigger finger and a keen eye.

But the game I found most addictive is Mission Mars. Like all the best games, it is deceptively simple. I've managed to get to level ten so far. Couple of hints: First, if you hit the spacebar repeatedly, just as a laser is hitting, it will set off a chain explosion that will take a building down by several storeys, or at least it does on a Mac. Second, don't play too long or RSI sets in!

Spell-check Coincidence
I was using the Blogger spellchecker on the previous post. It had just decided that it didn't like 'couldn't' and suggested 'coalition' as an alternative at the very moment when there was a report about the Anti-war Coalition was mentioned on the radio. Makes you believe that there can be meaning in coincidence!

Driving me Mad
A woman who lives opposite us had a nasty accident last night. She was turning into her driveway and the driver of the car behind obviously wasn’t paying attention and ran into the side of her car. It was pretty smashed in and they couldn’t open the driver’s door. Luckily, she didn’t appear to be injured.

The problem is that we live on a busy main road and even though it is almost entirely a residential area, people drive way too fast. I have to reverse into our drive. The alternative would be to reverse out into the road which as you can imagine from the above would be somewhat hazardous.

I always indicate well in advance that I’m about to pull in. My reversing and brake lights signal my intentions, that I’m going to wait until the road is clear before I manoeuvre, and yet you’d be surprised at how angry this makes some people – flashing headlights, horns blaring and rude gestures. For parking sensibly on my own drive.

What is it about being behind the wheel of a car that turns otherwise sensible people into raving maniacs? Rude, impatient and unpleasant.

Come to think of it, most of the things that irritate me are to do with driving. Like the middle-laners, people who plough on remorselessly in the middle lane of the motorway regardless of how light the traffic is. It’s like they’re driving a Scalectrix car.

Then there’s 4x4s. Have I missed something? Is there a separate Highway Code for these people? A code with just one rule, “I do whatever I want to.� Usually found parked on the kerb outside schools, forcing kids to pass on the road.

People who park in the spaces reserved for people who are disabled or with young kids, even though they are patently hale and hearty and/or their ‘kids’ are hulking teenagers.

Fog-lighters, people who drive with the front fog lights on ALL the time. They think it makes them look cool and sporty. It doesn't, of course. It makes them look like inconsiderate prats.

Boom-boomers, people who love their music so much they just HAVE to share it with everyone. There you are sitting in a line of traffic listening to the news when a car pulls alongside and deafening noise fills your space.

Queue Jumpers. It is so, sooo vital for these people to get one or two spaces ahead in the queue. You know the plot. Two lanes of traffic coming down to one, the white bendy arrows telling you to move inside. but there is always someone who has to push it all the way on the outside so they can get home a few seconds sooner.

Light jumpers. You’ve been there a hundred times. Patiently waiting to turn right at lights, oncoming traffic moving okay. Green goes to amber, on they come, amber to red, and still they come, leaving you stranded. How desperate can they be to join the traffic jam up the street?

That was quite cathartic!

It Takes All Sorts
Liquorice is making a comeback according to the Daily Mail with nutritionists singing its praises because of their concern over child obesity.

This naturally-growing root was common in many guises in my youth. First there was the hard stick of liquorice, flattened like a spatula about halfway up. We used it to dip into kali, pronounced Kay-li, (I think that’s how it was spelt) which was basically coloured, flavoured sugar.

Then there was the softer stuff called ‘spanish’ usually rolled into a coil with a liquorice sweet in middle. Next the really hard stuff, short sticks of the black stuff which were real jawbreakers. And Little Imps, a small tin with little square of hard liquorice.

During the summer, when we would go off on ‘adventures,’ we would put a liquorice in a bottle of water to dissolve to create ‘liquorice water’ to drink when we were out. I don’t know why – the stuff tasted bloody awful.

A new book called Liquorice has been published, written by the curator of Pontefract Museum (I forgot Pontefract Cakes) and here are a few liquorice facts shamelessly lifted from the DM:

Liquorice is the sweetest substance on earth, more than 50 times as sweet as cane sugar. Its taste can be detected even when diluted one part to 20,000 parts of water. (Ah, so that’s why we made liquorice water – it was scientific experiment!)

The earliest mention of liquorice was found on stone tablets in Baghdad dating back to seven centuries BC. The ancient Assyrians had used it as a diuretic to treat their royal masters, and for sore feet.

The Romans called it radix dulcis, or ‘sweet root’. They used the powdered root to relieve mouth ulcers and treat wounds. More recently, it has been examined as a possible medicine for the treatment of cancer, Aids and even SARS.

A 1998 survey into the link between odours and libido found that the most effective female aphrodisiac was the aroma produced by blending liquorice and cucumber. However, Italian researchers have found that eating liquorice can dent the production of testosterone in men. (Doesn’t God have a wicked sense of humour?)

Liquorice is the root of a shrub related to the pea family, and is native to much of southern Europe and Asia. It was brought to Britain from the Middle East at the time of the Crusades.

In the early 16th century, the root began to be cultivated in the monastery garden at Pontefract, for herbal use. It thrived there because of the high concentration of clay in the soil. As a result, the Yorkshire town became the centre of Britain’s liquorice industry.

Today, only two liquorice processing factories (down from 13) remain in Pontefract, but the town still boasts a street named Liquorice Way, stages an annual Liquorice Festival and makes products including liquorice sauce for ice cream and liquorice-flavoured cheese.

The first packet of multi-coloured Liquorice Allsorts was created by accident in 1899 when a salesman knocked over his tray of samples, scattering sweets all over the counter. The customer liked the look of the different sweets all mixed up and immediately placed an order.

I think I’ve talked myself into a walk to the shop to get some!

The Blame Game
Blame culture is the name of the game. So where is it leading us?

Compensation, duty of care, bullying, race, gender, age, competence, incompetence, should or shouldn’t have, could or couldn’t have, would or wouldn’t have, did or didn’t. Everything is someone else’s fault.

Today I was involved in a damning report on events at an older person’s ward in Manchester. I don’t want to go into the details of the rights and wrongs of the story. I’m more interested in the media reaction which was to call for, nay demand, the resignation of the chief executive.

Put aside the fact that it was what the chief exec had done to change the culture of the trust that brought the allegations of abuse to light, what on earth would it achieve?

And what message does it send to others managing mental health services? Does it mean it is better to maintain a culture of secrecy, rather than bring about real change?

And if every time something goes wrong in any public service, does it mean the chief executive has to go? If that’s the case, who on earth would want the job then, and what calibre of management would that lead to to?

The BBC were the worst culprits, I’m sorry to say, and the closing lines of the tv report probably sum it up; that pressure will grow for some sort of gesture.

Gesture: An action dictated by courtesy or diplomacy, or by a desire to impress. In other words, an ultimately meaningless act, other than to satisfy the demands of those who want someone’s head on spike.

Glad to know we’re beyond the blame culture!

Britishness
I was listening to Allan Beswick on GMR on my way to work this morning and he had a wonderful rant at the Daily Mail. He said that he was shocked by the front page headline about Frank Bruno (see yesterday’s posts).

It read, “Divorce, dope and despair… three body blows that felled a very British here.� It wasn’t “divorce� that amazed Allan, nor “dope.� Nor “despair,� not even “very.� It was the “British hero� bit that stunned him.

The Daily Mail is, of course, rabidly anti-immigration, illegal or otherwise and for them to admit that Frank, descendent of a West Indian immigrant could be considered both British and a hero is either a step in the right direction or blatant exploitation of Frank’s mental health problems. I suspect the latter, but Allan reckoned that perhaps the DM had accepted that their definition of Britishness didn’t mean being a white, wealthy fascist.

Extrapolate that argument said Allan and maybe the DM could come to accept more immigration on the grounds that in one or two generations time, we might have more “British� heroes.

Deos this mkae sesne to you?
An atrclie in tdaoy’s Dliay Mial syas taht the ltaest carze to hit the itnerent is sarclbemd wrdos. If you sarech Gogole for the psarhe “aoccdrnig to rsceearh at an Elingsh uinervtisy’ yulo’l fnid it on over 3,500 sties.

(Can’t keep this up!)

This phenomenon is based on a 27 year PhD thesis written by a student at Nottingham University. The student was Dr Graham Rawlinson now aged 54 and a psychologist and co-author of How to Invent (Almost Anything).

A lecturer in neuro-psychology at Cambridge University said that a device known as fusiform gyrus in the left-hand side of the brain is thought to be responsible for people’s ability to read the jumbled words.

The theory was that as long as the first and last letter remained the same, most people could read them even if the letters in the middle were jumbled up, although the lecturer thinks that not even the beginning and end letters are absolutely critical.

Basically what we are doing is building a visual memory words and in the same we can recognise objects, we can rebuild the words to fit our memory of it.

But the biggest drawback to keying in scrambled words is bloody Microsoft's ‘we know best’ auto-correct which puts the bloody letters back in the right bloody order!

'Bonkers Bruno Locked Up'
So read the headline in the first edition of the Sun newspaper (sic) following the news that the former boxer Frank Bruno has been sectioned under the Mental Health Act which gives you some idea of the reporting standards of some sections of the media here.

I suppose to be fair, someone spotted the tastelessness of it very quickly and the headline became 'Sad Bruno in Mental Home' but even that hardly shows any great understanding or sensitivity. In fact 'mental home' only reinforces the prejudice that exists when it comes to mental illness.

However, not everyone in the media is so crass and the Mental Health Media Awards recognises the positive influence that both documentary and fictional productions can have to alter our perceptions of mental illness. Good on 'em, I say

My inner child is ten years old!
The adult world is pretty irrelevant to me. Whether I'm off on my bicycle exploring, lost in a good book, or off with the fairies. I live in a world apart, one full of adventure and wonder and other stuff adults don't understand. How Old is Your Inner Child?
brought to you by Quizilla

Out of the Mouth of Babes
How may syllables are there in the word Mum? Wrong. Our kids can manage four.

Scene: Me and Pat in kitchen. Enter number one daughter stage right.

Dialogue:

Pat: “Have you tidied you bedroom?�

(Fear flickers across Bryony’s eyes. Nervous head shake.)

Pat: “Have you changed your bed? Or should I say, have you found your bed yet?

(Bryony thinking uh-oh, trouble brewing.)

Pat: “And cleaned that shelf over your sink. Last time I did it, it was a quarter inch thick with dust.�

Bryony (indignant): “Mer-um-er-mer!�

Four syllables. Exit father stage left.

Onward and Upward
For someone with a morbid fear of heights, Pat did a great job of clambering 20 feet up a ladder at the front of our house to fill a hole in the mortar work today. It had been letting in the rain and there is a damp patch in our bathroom.

And where was the man of the house at this DIY moment? At the bottom of the ladder holding it steady. I'm not totally useless!

Ahoy! And Avast Behind!
Ah har Jim lad, today be International Talk Like a Pirate Day, shiver me timbers an' splice me mainbrace. 'Tis a wondrous life bein' a pirate, so it is, specially when the sun crosses the yardarm, yo ho ho an' a bottle o' rum. A stump fer a leg, a patch o'er yer eye, the skull an' crossbones flyin' high an' parrot droppin's on yer shoulder. What man cud wish fer more?

On the Carpet
I pass no comment that the RSPCA should find 244 dogs in a three bedroom cottage near Carnforth other than this. We have just two dogs and a house somewhat larger, but whenever we turn round, we forever risk tripping over one of the brutes. Alan and Rosalind Gregson must have spent their entire lives flat on the carpet.

With all those animals, not a pleasant thought!

I Really Must Get Out More
The whole family is a little weary tonight. Work is probably the main reason, particularly for Pat who is up to her eyes, and number one daughter, Bryony, who has been on a work experience placement at Hope Hospital.

But the other reason is that we had a family outing to the theatre last night, and while it wasn’t exactly what you would call a late one, we really, really enjoyed ourselves.

The cause of our enjoyment? The stage version of Dad’s Army performed by Mossley Amateur Dramatics Society. Racy, or what?

I can’t believe that there is anyone in the English speaking world who hasn’t seen at least one episode of this timeless comedy, but an explanation anyway. Written by David Croft and Jimmy Perry, it recounts the adventures of the Home Guard unit at the fictional Walmington-on-Sea.

Comprised of civilian volunteers, the Home Guard brought together those too young, too old or unsuitable for conscription. It was a well-meant gesture, but their antics were faintly ridiculous and prime material for Perry and Croft.

My dad was in the Home Guard and bears this out. He and other callow youths were being taught the art of war by a veteran soldier in the playground of what was then Crescent Road School, Dukinfield:

�Right men, I shall now demonstrate how to scale over a wall,� says the veteran pointing at the six foot stand of red brick at the edge of the playground.

�But, Sir,� says dad, Pike-like.

�Don’t interrupt boy! Look and learn!� Captain Mainwaring to a tee.

The veteran runs and hurls himself at the wall, hauls himself up on top, throws one and then two legs over and lets go.

�Aaaaaah!� Thud.

Although six-foot on one side, there was a twenty-foot drop on the other. We’ll leave it there. All that was missing was Sergeant Wilson saying, “Do you think this is an awfully good idea sir?�

Back to last night, the show had two episodes adapted for stage – the Fatal Assignment and the Godiva Affair, plus a very funny full-cast end rendition of the Floral Dance.

The whole cast were excellent, but there has to be a special mention for Charles Foster who played Sergeant Wilson. He had John Le Mesurier’s voice and mannerisms to perfection.

What is uplifting is the amount of talent among ‘ordinary’ people. There is a fine tradition of ‘working’ people entertaining their fellows in this area, as I’m sure there is elsewhere, and that it continues to thrive is reassuring. The theatre was full, a good time was had and no-one on stage was doing it for fame and money. Their reward was the entertainment of others.

On which note, if you are in the Mossley near Christmas, book your seats for a traditional pantomime. Aladdin is on from 8 to 13 December. Advance bookings, call Susan Fletcher on 0161 633 3082. I suspect a belter.

Do you know the origin of the name Aladdin? It means God is Great. Or possibly unstoppable. I told you I should get out more.

118 is a Tragic Number
A couple of weeks ago, British Telecom lost its monopoly 192 phone directory service. Another ten companies stepped into its place, all starting with the numbers 118. Offtel’s argument being that competition would reduce costs and stimulate the market.

The first claim may or may not be true as the charging systems are so complex that it isn’t easy to work out, but it certainly feels more expensive. BT charged 40p for up to two numbers, but one of the new services charges 25p connection charge plus 30p a minute, so the charge is at least 55p whether they find the number or not.

The second claim that it would stimulate the market is untrue, at least in these early days. According to the news today, in the last two weeks there were 7.4 million calls down from 13.5 million for the same period last year.

Confusion over the new system is cited as the reason and that things will get back to normal once people get used to it. I wonder. Could it be that the new services just aren’t very good? The only time I have used it, I was after the number of the Immigration Department at Manchester Airport. I dialled the number and was greeted with, “Hello, Oldham Citizens’ Advice Bureau.�

Perhaps, like me, people are switching to the online directory!

Trevor MacDonald Can be Bad for Your Health
There is nothing the media loves better than a good health scare story – MMR, SARS, vCJD, the list goes on and on. The first real biggie in my memory was AIDS. There were acres of newsprint and countless hours of tv predicting the demise of mankind (sorry personkind ), and has it happened? No.

But the coverage can have a major impact on people’s behaviour. During the above AIDS coverage (it wasn’t HIV then) I happened to be spending a week at the Department of Health’s press office. A minister had been cornered into saying (by the Sun, I think) that he would have no qualms in drinking from a cup that someone with AIDS had drunk from.

The Sun being the Sun promptly found someone with AIDS and insisted that the minister make good his promise before their cameras. (Ignore the tackiness of this situation, just learn the lesson of not making such damn stupid statements.)

The tea party was duly arranged (what were the DoH media blokes on back then?) and a senior media handler happened to be walking down the corridors of the Elephant and Castle tower block that was the DoH headquarters in those days when he met a colleague coming the other way with ‘company.’

Being a gregarious type, the senior man stepped forward, hand proffered in greeting as the introductions were simultaneously made. As the penny dropped that here was the AIDS ‘victim’ his right hand did a handbrake turn back to his side.

Even he, experienced media man that he was, had been taken in by the scare stories, that you could become HIV positive by touch, toilet seats, tea cups and all the rest. How scary is that?

A more recent example is the SARS scare. At its height, I took a call from a woman who wasn’t well and had a lowered immune syndrome. She explained that she had family living in Canada who regularly wrote to her. They didn’t live in Montreal, the seat of the illness, but the post passed through that city on its way to her. Was she at risk?

I felt sorry for her. She was genuinely frightened, but when our conversation went down the route of wearing surgical gloves to open the letters, or spraying them with antibac, well you can imagine how surreal it was.

Getting to the point, the media has a massive influence to distort our perception of risk that we often make completely irrational decisions when it comes to health, which is why a new study may, just may, get thinking back on track.

�Health in the News – Risk Reporting and Media Influence� published by the King’s Fund is an interesting piece of work. One of the authors, Roger Harrabin, is a senior BBC4 correspondent, although it was written while he was on a sabbatical.

It was produced because public health people were saying that the media were focusing on spurious health scares and ignoring the real killers. It analyses the stories on tv and in print and concludes there needs to be a debate among journalists about how they construct the news, particularly the way they can affect politicians and policy-makers.

The pie and bar charts etc are deliberately provocative, or ‘mischievous’ as Harrabin describes them. For example, ‘deaths per story.’ As regards tv, the analysis is that it takes 8,500 deaths from smoking or 7,500 deaths from obesity to warrant a story compared to 0.25 deaths from measles or 0.33 from vCJD for the same.

Of course, the media concentrate on ‘news,’ the unusual to fill the headlines, but thought provoking stuff nonetheless. Download the summary from the website or buy the whole report for £8.

And as for Trevor MacDonald, health scare story culprit-in-chief, well let’s not even open that door.

Dive, dive, dive!
I cannot believe all the fuss and bother on the sports pages yesterday - football players diving? How shocking. Robert Pires of Arsenal taking a tired tumble in the box, and similar by Kevin Phillips for Southampton? And the point is? Non-footie fans look away now.

It was ever thus. Weren't Franny Lee and Jurgen Klinsmann both known as the 'sub', not because he started the game on the bench, but for their diving antics? There may be some out there who recall a 'pure' game, played by gentlemen who would always set a fallible referee right, that they tripped, and it wasn't the clumsy defender who tipped them over. Yeah, right.

The difference now is that any live match has 20+ cameras following the action, so while the ref has to rely on his eyesight to spot a foul, the viewers are treated to countless slo-mo replays of every incident. And I will hold my hand up here and say that there have been times when what I first thought was a foul or handball or an off-side against my beloved MU has been proved wrong by the cameras.

The depressing suggestion is that football goes the route of cricket and rugby league in having a fourth umpire to review video evidence. Are they mad? Holding up the game for minutes on end just will not work with footie. Of all sports, it relies on spontaneity and referees getting it wrong, which of course they do. That's part of the fun, arguing afterwards whether it was or wasn't a penalty, offside etc. It's the old cliché (must find a new one!) that these things balance out over the season.

My own possible remedy is indeed to have a fourth official with access to video replays, but with no actual influence over the game at the time it is played. Their job would be to monitor fouls, diving et al and to award cautions as a result. The point being that players could get away with the above, plus shirt-tugging and the rest during the game, the result unaffected, but they wouldn't know if they had been found out.

They could walk off the pitch without a yellow to their name, only to find they were banned for three, six, nine, or even more matches. Now that would make them behave!

Here endeth the rantlet.

In at the Deep End
Brilliant news that the old Victoria Baths in Longsight has won a BBC poll as the building most worth renovating by viewers of their Restoration programme. It is a great triumph for the Friends of Victoria Baths who have been campaigning for years for it to reopen. However, before we get too excited, the £3.5 million will only pay for the restoration of the turkish baths, and not for the swimming pool which will cost an awful lot. But it is a start.

I thought all the potential candidates for restortaion were worthy projects and it is a pity there can be only one winner. I did my bit by voting on Friday, but I did wonder how a closed bath house not yet 100 years old in a working class area of Manchester would fare.

My interest in family history makes me a sucker for these sorts of project, such as the Portland Basin Museum and Quarry Bank Mill. They really give you a feel for how my ancestors lived, worked and played, particularly in the 19th and early 20th centuries. The Manchester Evening News has published a collection of old photos of the city and I must remember to get my hands on a copy.

We are where we are
"Boip! 'scuse me." The steak was cooked to perfection, even if I do say so myself. A very enjoyable barbie, especially for our dog Jack who must have scoffed pretty near half his weight in left-over sausages etc.

The above title was a favourite saying of my boss that some wag translated into Latin - Sumus Quo Sumus - which became our work motto.

I quite Latin tags. They add polish to my conversation ;o)

My favourite is "In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni" which translates as "We enter the circle after dark and are consumed by fire," supposedly about moths, although I think it sounds more sinister than that.

But the real point is that it is a palindrome. Clever lads them Romans.

Last of Summer, Last Night of the Proms
It has been quite some time since I posted anything to my blog, but I have been incredibly busy at work for the past two or three weeks and have had neither the time nor the energy. I've also been struggling to get the archiving feature to work, so bear with me on that one.

The sun is shining here in Stockport, a typical English Indian Summer day. I'm not quite sure where that phrase comes from, but it is likely to be of American derivation. Whatever, it means summer hasn't quite left us yet and we are planning what might be the last barbecue of the year.There are some excellent bbq recipe idea at the British Barbecue site, although me and the kids are more plain steak people. (Sorry about the Rule Britannia music on the site.)

Which is a neat link to the Last Night of the Proms which takes place tonight. Always great fun to watch on tv with the aforementioned Rule Britannia being one of the highlights. Founded by Sir Henry Wood, the Proms began in 1895 and have become a national institution. However, they also have sad memories for Pat. She remembers watching the Last Night with her mum just before she died of cancer in 1982.

It's Pat's birthday tomorrow and guess how she plans spending it? Dragon Boat racing at Sale Water Park. Well at least it is in a good cause, to raise money for Guide Dogs for the Blind.

On the sporting front, I am delighted to say that Lancashire thrashed Sussex by an innings and 19 runs. That means that the Red Rose county are still in the running for the championship which will go down to the last game of the season, although you'd have to say the advantage is still with Sussex.

Ah well, time to begin preparations for the bbq, but before I go, a quick joke - David Blaine has apparently given up his attempt to sit in a box doing nothing for 44 days after he heard that Emile Heskey has been doing it for England for four years! You have to know footie (soccer) to understand that one.

Binary Powered
I had to take our dog Bingo back to the vet tonight (see last Thursday's post). One of the wounds has become infected and whiffed a bit. Old bucket head is now on antibiotics (applied wrapped in pate) and eye-drops (mostly a wrestling match) and another £16 to the bill.

I took him in my wife's car which is better equipped to carry dogs. On my way back, I glanced at the unfamiliar dash and thought that's bloody binary code! This little screen read 010101. Now I know that we rely on microchips to run our cars, but this seemed over and above. You're ahead of me - it was the odometer, but a bit of a coincidence nonetheless that I chose that moment to notice it for the first time.

Speaking of driving, the one saving grace of the commute to and from work is being able to listen to audio tapes. Yes, I know I should have a CD player, but tapes are more convenient. Usually, it's the Archers omnibus edition recorded on Sunday, but I also enjoy talking books.

Playing at the moment is Flashman and the Angel of the Lord. Created by George MacDonald Fraser, Flashy is one of the great literary creations, although GMF can't claim that particular credit. Flashman sprang into life in Tom Brown's Schooldays by Thomas Hughes, GMF simply provided the rest of his life, and what a life. Friend/enemy of Wellington, Palmerston, Bismark, Cardigan, Queen Victoria and Albert, Custer, Lincoln to name a few.

Then the more obscure players of the Victorian world. John Brown, Spotted Tail, James Brooke, Queen Ranavalona and Lakshmibai and others too numerous to mention.

The thing is that GMF both a great wordsmith and story-teller which don't always go together. Here is a brief except from the Angel of the Lord after. It is part of the opening as the aged Flashman is leading his great-grandchildren home after telling them about John Brown:

"It was just sheer bad luck that the Bishop and other visiting Pecksniffs should already be taking tea with Elspeth and Miss Prentice when we rolled in through the French windows, the damp and dirty grandlings in full voice and myself measuring my ancient length across the threshold, flask and all. Very well, the grandlings were raucous and disheveled, and I ain't at my best sprawled supine on the carpet leaking brandy, but to judge from his lordship's disgusted aspect and Miss Prentice's frozen pince-nez you'd have though I'd been teaching them to smoke opium and sing One-eyed Riley".

Great stuff.