Oh deer
“Oh deer” – no, not an embarrassing typo. We’re talking Bambi’s here (I understand that “Bambi” is a name and has no plural, and neither “Bambis” nor “Bambies” look right, so I hope you’ll excuse the use of the apostrophe in the plural).
From personal observation there has been a recent spate of attempted animal suicides in my area. Over the last couple of months every kind of furry mammal has flung itself at my car in an apparent attempt to end it all.
A Bambi, much like the suicide Bambi recently spotted on a main road in Cornwall.
Here’s a list of the most recent attempts:
2 cats (Truro and Redruth)
1 fox (A30 dual carriageway)
1 squirrel (Falmouth)
1 deer (A30 dual carriageway)
1 drunken youth (Truro)
All of these incidents took place after 10pm except for the squirrel – he only required a quick braking manoeuvre. The others elicited a last minute swerve.
Now, the fox and the squirrel I can understand – they’ve never traditionally balked at running into the road.
I always thought cats had more sense.
I’ve included “drunken youth” in the list because he was behaving like an animal. He jumped out into he road and stuck his finger up at me. Maybe he was trying to thumb a lift but mistakenly used “the finger” instead. As I passed him I saw him in the rear view mirror move further out into the road, finger still held high as I drove away. I was quite annoyed at such a random incident and briefly considered slamming the car into reverse and backing over him. Of course that would have been “wrong”, although, to be honest, prison food could only improve my diet.
That brings me to the Bambi. A deer in Cornwall? What? I saw it in the headlights at the last second as it calmly made its way down the verge and straight out into the slow lane. I performed a rather impressive 70mph swerve and saw it in the rear view mirror stare at me for a second before, again very calmly, it made its way back up the verge.
My Dad later told me that apparently there’s a “deer farm” in the vicinity (deer don’t generally roam free in Cornwall which is why I was so surprised to see one at all, let alone on the main road).
I’m not sure why one would “farm deer”, but I guess it must have been “deer harvest” time and one of them made a break for freedom.
Apparently hitting a deer at 70mph does serious damage to a car (and it probably doesn’t do the deer much good either) so it’s lucky I had an empty lane to swerve into.
Are these incidents all part of the rich tapestry of nature, or is there a multi-species suicide pact going on? Hopefully the former, otherwise it’s all just a bit depressing.
The Great Green Missile
Today my attention was brought to a story in the news about a Brazilian chappie who decided he wanted to spend the day looking like the Incredible Hulk.
Mr Paint Job.
Having decided on this course of action he covered himself in green paint. Did he use specialist body paint? No. He used specialist submarine and missile paint.
Apparently it took all his friends an entire day to scrape it off.
Now, while this is a vaguely amusing story, it brings to mind an obvious question.
“Specialist missile paint”?
Specialist submarine paint, well, maybe. After all, it gives all the little fishes something nice to look at. But why develop special paint for missiles? Is it considered bad form to blow people up with missiles with the paint peeling off? Do the intended victims care? Do they casually remark “Oh, will you look at that, they obviously used ordinary exterior wall paint on that missile, it’s all peeling off” in the micro second before their violent incineration? Is it a point of national pride to only use the most beautifully painted high explosives? Or is it so they look good when certain countries drive them through the streets during parades?
Hello people. They’re ugly inventions that do an ugly job. There ain’t no amount of paint gonna cover that up.
The taxman cometh
On arriving home from work the other evening I saw a dreaded brown envelope on the mat. Upon closer inspection all I needed to see was the return address – “HM Revenue and Customs” – to send butterflies swooping through my stomach.
I’ll just briefly explain the tax system in the UK. We use PAYE (Pay As You Earn) – HMRC takes tax from your pay every month and the rest (minus National Insurance) goes into your bank account. We trust HMRC to take the correct amount – we have to. You need to be a genius to be ale to work it out for yourself. If you get paid more one month (bonus, overtime and so on) the tax is recalculated for the next month (you might pay more), but it all evens out in the end.
A letter could easily mean that they haven’t taken enough money and they want more!
I settled myself on the sofa and opened the letter. The first page was very generic – “you may owe us money, or we may have taken too much and we owe you”. Pages went flying in all directions as I tried to find the final reckoning. I should mention that this is for the tax year 2005-2006, back in the distant mists of time.
Joy of joys – apparently they didn’t take into account an increase in my personal allowance (the amount you can earn before you pay any tax) and I paid too much (i.e. they took too much)!
Rich, I’m rich! They’re sending me a cheque! What should I buy?
I’ve always wanted a little Audi. That would be nice. Or I could move to a bigger place. One with a spare room to put all my junk in. Or maybe a cool 3D TV with a massive screen.
Audi, big house, 3D TV – all denied
Well, they owe me a grand total of £34.50. So I won’t be getting any of those things. But it’s nice that the government thought of me and are sending me some money.
I can’t help thinking that it would be nice if HMRC always took a little too much and then gave it back – it would be like a little savings scheme. But then I suppose we’d come to expect it and then the one year we didn’t get it we’d find we’d already spent it in anticipation.
Maybe next year I’ll owe them money instead. Perhaps I’ll just take my £34.50 and store it away against that eventuality.
No, screw it. Amazon.co.uk here I come!
Collect collect collect!
Collectibles. Things sold in sets.
I must admit to a bit of a weakness to such things. Once upon a long ago I collected a full set of plates with cat pictures on them. “Why?” I hear you ask. Because they were there. I think they’re currently in my parents’ attic.
The local supermarket is currently doing a promotion on knives. You get vouchers when you spend a certain amount of money, and then 5 vouchers saves you around 70% per knife. I don’t collect by mail order any more – you can get trapped into those things and never get out. But picking stuff up in a supermarket and handing over vouchers, that’s nice and safe and under my control.
Well, vaguely under my control.
Now, it’s pretty much impossible for me to walk around with a wallet full of money-saving vouchers in my pocket and not use them. It doesn’t really matter whether or not I particularly need the items. Don’t get me wrong, I no longer buy stuff I’ll never use, but take these knives. It’s pretty much a case of “Well they’re sure to come in handy one day”.
I don’t really cook, you see. I’m thinking that maybe now’s the time to start, now that I can get hold of some really cool knives. Up until now I’ve only needed two sharp knives – a little one to cut the cheese to put on top of my pizza and a bigger one to cut the pizza. Now I’ve got knives capable of cutting all sorts of food!
All six knives present and correct, officer!
I now own a total of six, yes SIX steak knives! I haven’t had steak at home for years. So why six steak knives? Obviously I had to get two (they come in sets of two) as they’re part of the collection. There’s also one of those wooden blocks for putting the knives in. And it holds six. So six I had to have. Not only would gaps in the block annoy the hell out of me every time I looked at it, but I’ve seen a bunch of crime shows. If there’s a stabbing and I’ve got a knife missing I’d be well in the frame. Are the police really going to believe that I ran out of vouchers?
I’m currently thinking of buying a massive cabbage, just so I can take my recently acquired cleaver-style knife and hack the living hell out of it.
I guess if nothing else, they’ll look good on the kitchen worktop.
I’ve won a prize!
Don’t you just love those “You’ve won a prize!” letters that come through the letterbox? You know the ones – they make it very clear you’ve won a massive stereo or a games console (until you read the very small print). One of these arrived on the doorstep the other day. I thought I’d analyse it for a bit of fun.
Wow, I’ve won a TV!
It's ready to be shipped out to me!
Hooray! Let’s ignore the words “if applicable” for now. They’re probably not important. I’ve won a TV!
I am such an idiot!
I only had one thing to do, and I didn't do it!
Surely I forgot to send back my prize claim – only a mad fool wouldn’t want to claim this fantastic prize. I’m so stupid – I only had to remember to do one thing, and I couldn’t even do that! This is worded so aggressively, they must be quite anxious to give me my prize.
Everyone’s human
Phew - I still have a few days left to claim my TV.
Well, apparently this is just a reminder. It’s OK – it’s not too late! Everyone forgets to do things and I’ve still got time to claim my prize! But I can’t delay, I’d better post it off now.
It’s ready to ship!
LCD parcel? Is that an actual TV or what?
It’s there in the warehouse ready for me – as soon as I respond they’ll send me my LCD screen parcel! Hang on though – is there a difference between “LCD Screen” and “LCD Screen parcel”? I think I’d better take a quick look at the terms and conditions. (I couldn’t take a decent picture of the small print. It was too, well, small.)
“Upon receipt of the documents, the addressees cannot make any conclusion about the exact nature of the prize they awarded.”
But didn’t it say I’d won a TV?
If I don’t reply, it gets serious
The General Manager himself is dealing with me!
Yes, the General Manager himself is going to have to deal with me!
Another win!
I can't believe my luck!
I’ve also won thousands of pounds – this is indeed my lucky day!
Hang on, they’ve worded this as a statement of fact, but what’s that question mark doing at the end? And what does that asterisk refer to?
I haven’t actually won anything, have I?
Where’s that horn?
Now, where was that horn again?
The car horn – it’s a strange beast. It might be found on one of the steering column stalks, in the centre of the steering wheel or between the centre of the steering wheel and the wheel itself. What’s it for? Its only legitimate purpose is to let other road users know you’re there. Is it ever used for such a purpose?
Nope.
Well, I’ve used it for that purpose once in my life. Someone began reversing towards me and I gave a little honk to let him know he ought to stop before he dinged me.
Its common usage is twofold:
“Oy! You cut me up, you little shit! Learn to drive!”
and
“Boy, I’ve been stuck in this queue for ever. I think I’ll vent my frustration by honking my horn.”
The first I can understand, the second would wind me up except that I’ve never been exposed to it. In fact I’ve only ever seen it happen on TV. I don’t know if it even happens in real life. I was stuck in traffic for 8 hours on the M25 London Orbital once and not a single person used their horn.
In TV and films, horns are used just before an accident to add a little something to the scene. What happens next depends on the plot, of course. Sometimes the accident is averted, sometimes the oncoming vehicle seems to have time to honk their horn but fails to slow down before plowing into the hapless pedestrian!
Finding the horn in real life is a bit more of a problem. I’m usually too busy braking and swerving to honk at the offending vehicle. In the past couple of years I’ve tried it twice. The first time nothing happened due to technical problems (the garage couldn’t find anything wrong, probably water got in). The second happened last week.
There I was on the roundabout, minding my own business. I saw lights to the left, but being on the roundabout it was my right of way. Suddenly there was a flash of silver in front of me, then it was gone. The car approaching was going so fast, not only did he have no chance of stopping but I barely even saw him cross in front of me. It wasn’t exactly a near miss, he was a good couple of metres away. There was a car parked just off the roundabout with someone in it (he’d just dropped someone off) – I saw the guy’s jaw drop and he was pointing incredulously at the speeding car. If I’d been going any faster probably both my car and the speeder’s would have been written off, the speed he was going.
So I decided, I’m going to give him a good beep. I’m going to give him both barrels, big time. OK, it’s after 10pm and it’s illegal to sound my horn in a built-up area, but I just don’t care. I rammed my hand at the steering column, and viciously changed the car computer readout from “trip” to “distance until empty”. Bollocks.
Where’s that horn?
A week of news
Hello, and welcome to the first part of “A week of news”, which aims to get me posting at least once a week! This is unlikely but let’s just wait and see. It also means I’ll have to keep up with World Events…
(This was supposed to be serious but after reading it through, it appears to be somewhat cynical and morbid. Apologies.)
Another Costa problem
No, not the coffee house, the shipping fleet. Hot on the heels of the Concordia tragedy, this time it’s the turn of the Allegra. Thankfully no-one was hurt this time, and the ship, adrift, was towed to safety. Though two ships from the same company having problems within such a short period of time is almost certainly coincidence, it’s bound to make people more wary, which is bad news for travel companies and the economy.
When they talked to the captain they were astonished to find that, in the face of recent Costa tradition, he had actually stayed on board. Good on you, Cap.
Tornadoes
Tornadoes have hit the mid-West and South of the USA, causing tragic loss of life. Last year was the same. Is it just me, or are natural disasters hitting with increasing regularity and ferocity (I’m also thinking of the recent earthquakes and tsunamis)? Sometimes I forget how lucky I am to live in the UK. It gets “hot” but not that hot. It gets cold (and we’ve had a couple of nasty winters) but it doesn’t get really really cold. We’ve had floods, but not enough to wash away towns. We have earthquakes – sometimes so “bad” that people at the epicentre describe their teacups rattling in their saucers. Nothing ever actually collapses.
Is this planet falling apart? Is it something we did…?
Elections
Things are hotting up in the US, with Romney, Santorum and Gingrich rushing around the country trying to win votes. They are all Republicans but appear to be working against each other at something called “primaries”. I don’t understand any of this, though it will be interesting to see who is the “last wallet standing”.
Meanwhile, in the UK the country is gearing up enthusiastically for council elections in May, which will be a good indicator of public opinion on the government. These coincide with the election for the Mayor of London. I hope Boris Johnson is re-elected because I think he’s funny.
And in that bastion of democracy, Iran, they have also been holding elections. However, the opposition Green Movement are unlikely to win as apparently they’ve been under house arrest since 2009.
Cameron and the horse
And finally, after much speculation and flying about of rumours, it has transpired that UK PM David Cameron did in fact once ride a retired police horse which was on loan to former News of the World editor Rebekah Brooks.
Is this really headline news? Well, is it? Really?
Draliman’s Crazy Facts
Welcome, surfers of the Interweb! This is the first of a new series in which we investigate some of the world’s crazier events and attempt to answer some tricky questions.
1) Fastest 400m sprint
Mr Littlehands - no TARDIS required
The fastest time for a 400m sprint is claimed by Nigel Minihands of the sleepy rustic village of Little Chigglewood, in the year 1972. According to parish records, while the other runners raced off as the starting pistol fired, Mr Minihands merely jogged off, smiling and waving his hands. He claims that he ran so fast he travelled back in time and finished before anyone else had started.
Obviously, the other runners disputed this, but the judging panel was in two minds, being unable to prove things either way. While Mr Minihands attempted to blind the judges with science, the other runners shouted insults from the back of the room and pelted him with fairy cakes and miniature pasties. Sensing that the situation was beginning to turn nasty, and realising that the only remaining ammunition was Mrs Wilbur’s prize-winning trifle (a favourite among the judging panel), the judges came down on the side of the other runners and Sam Diggle was awarded gold.
Nigel Minihands, now in his 60s, disputes the judgment to this day.
2) The Leaning Tower of Pisa – but is it?
Everyone has heard of the famous Leaning Tower of Pisa. However, a little-known scientific study, conducted by Alberto Pizzeria in 1981, casts doubt on the common perception that it is the tower which is leaning. He postulated that the tower is actually standing straight and proud, and it is the rest of Italy which is actually leaning. In the course of his travels around Italy, he noticed that the sea on one side of Italy appeared to be “higher” than on the other, proving his point. Everyone, from the greatest scientists to a small child he met in Naples, told him that the tide was probably out when he visited the east coast and named him “the biggest idiot in the history of idiots”, but Signore Pizzeria would not listen and continues to gate-crash scientific symposia to this day armed only with his notebook and an unwavering belief that one day everyone will see the truth.
3) A caber toss of champions
Rare archive footage of Steve McAustin's run-up
The caber toss – the ancient Scottish sport of throwing a 68kg tree trunk as far as possible. Contrary to popular belief, the caber toss event is judged for style rather than distance thrown. The caber should remain upright as the athlete runs, spin when thrown and end up pointing straight away from the thrower. It is this that has cast the results of the 1975 Highland Games into question. In fact, the winner has yet be confirmed. The crowd roared in appreciation as various contestants threw the caber 20, 30 feet. Then a late entrant, Mr Steve McAustin visiting his ancestral home from the USA, threw the caber – and it failed to come down. The UK authorities contacted NASA, who confirmed that the caber eventually made land-fall on the Moon but – and this is the vital point – they couldn’t determine the orientation of the caber in relation to Mr McAustin. Therefore, the judges were unable to confirm the winner of the event.
A special mission to the moon, to be financed by Mr McAustin’s friend Mr Goldman, is scheduled for 2015. It is hoped that this will bring the 1975 Highland Games to a close.
Ah, winter
Winter’s here at last. Cold mornings, icy winds, the threat of snow. I, like another poster, love the crisp clear days. There’s nothing quite like walking through the cold and frost and then getting home to the warm and snug.
We don’t get it much in Cornwall, apart from the last two winters. This last week is the first frost I’ve seen, and the first time this winter that the little snowflake on the dashboard of my car has turned red (indicating that the temperature has dropped below zero degrees).
I’m in two minds about snow, however. On the one hand, “oh, isn’t everything so beautiful!” Everything looks white and fresh. It’s so quiet, and your boots make that lovely crunching sound as you walk along.
On the other hand, I have responsibilities. I have to get to work. That’s not so easy in the snow. OK, driving through a few centimeters of snow isn’t so bad. There’s a fair amount of grip, once you realise that you can’t brake and turn at the same time. Everyone drives nice and slowly (apart from those few in the fast lane who seem to think that traction control makes them invincible). The last couple of years, it snowed, then it was really cold. So we were basically driving on ice, and that’s not so good. The main roads were clear, but getting up the hill to the main road wasn’t so much fun.
It would be great to be a kid again when it snows. You can either get to school or you can’t. That’s your parents’ problem. Someone needs to go and get food in the house, but that’s nothing to do with you. The heating is on full blast, but that bill’s nothing for you to worry about. The kid’s job is to play outside and have fun.
Last year they showed something on the news about Heathrow airport being closed. They showed some kids playing outside in the snow, looking really happy, and talked to them. “Where are you going?” they were asked. “Spain!” they replied. Um, no you’re not. Kids don’t really understand the words “cancelled” or “grounded”. That’s for the parents to worry about.
Well, no snow yet this winter. The current lot doesn’t seem to be coming any further south than Bristol, and that’s over a 100 miles up north. Our lovely crisp bright mornings have turned to mucky rain. And it’s still cold. Lovely.
When Routine Goes Bad
Ah, routine. My life is ruled by it. Many people’s are. Wake up, make up the lunch box, have a shave, have a shower, go to work.
Do work.
Come home, make tea, watch a DVD while eating tea. Watch some more telly. Go to bed.
Simple? Safe, certainly. But it’s a lot of work, in my own head. There are certain programmes to watch on certain days. The same food is eaten on each day each week. And I don’t like this to change.
Pizza and Dr Who - the perfect Saturday night combination
For example, Saturday night is pizza night. Pizza and (currently) an episode of Dr Who. The Dr Who is important. I know the episodes really well. That means I can look down at my pizza to sprinkle on the Tabasco without missing anything.
I think of it as my weekly treat. If I “have” to do something else on Saturday night I get mildly irritated. My brain immediately screams “But, but, it’s pizza night!”. I need to designate another night to be pizza night. That mucks up my routine for the alternate night. The sky falls and the world comes to an end. I can’t help thinking this isn’t entirely “normal” (whatever that is).
Oops
Routine has its up side, of course. When I leave home, I check various plug-sockets, electrical equipment, the windows and so on in the same order every single time. That way nothing gets missed. I know nothing’s been left on. No worries, no “rushing back home to check”.
On the negative side, I’ve noticed that some things I do are so automatic, they cease to be “things to do” and become instead “the correct number of things to do”. I once had a pair of trousers with an extra button. More than once I left the house with the fly unzipped. My brain insisted I’d done the correct number of things in order to fasten those trousers – the extra button took the place of the fly.
Batman doesn't have this problem - he just locks up and goes
Where do things deteriorate to the point of the ridiculous? When I lock a door I always give the handle a tug to check – normal enough. I then need to leave the immediate vicinity within 4-5 seconds, or I’ll check the door again. Just in case it has magically unlocked itself in the meantime. And I’ll keep checking it until I leave. The absolute knowledge that it’s locked doesn’t help.
Some people describe routine as “boring”. I prefer “predictable”. I’m sure there’s a line there somewhere, I’m just not sure I’m on the right side of it.
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Woohoo!
I totally didn't win!
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