A new beginning....

I've been really lucky and been seeing a really sweet guy, and things are going OK.  Not perfect (what relationship is?) but we seem to be getting along OK.

He's been through hell with an ex partner (he was asked to help her get clean - drink related I hasten to add) by her daughter, and he agreed – and this is the tale so far…. 

We were planning on meeting up at the beginning of June, and I got a text from him about two weeks before we were due to meet up, saying that he would have to cancel, as he didn't think things were stable enough with this woman for him to leave her to her own devices.  

OK - I  admit that I was less than impressed, but didn't think too much of it, as I knew he was trying to help her through rehab and make sure that she stayed on the wagon.

That seemed to be going OK; as she was 60 days without a drink he thought that there was light at the end of the tunnel. There was - some b'stard with a flame thrower.  

He got a call from her whilst he was at work, and shot out of his office as he thought her life was in danger (she'd tried to commit suicide several times before).  I didn’t hear from him for a while and thought “Rats to you.  I’m obviously not good enough for you to talk to”.

I then get a text from him a couple of days later, and wasn’t too impressed – I thought it was a bit rich considering he’d not contacted me for a while.  

Then he told me the reason – he’d been arrested and charged with criminal damage for trying to get into the house to make sure that she was OK and hadn’t tried to take an overdose, and as a result of trying to help her, he spent 2 ½ days in there with no way to contact anyone

Needless to say I was stunned with that, and we got talking again and we agreed to reinstate the plans to meet up the beginning of June.  We kept in touch via text and phone (lost count of the time that we spent talking) and he finally plucked the courage to ask me out, so that meant that when we met up it would be a first date. 

I’ve never felt so comfortable with someone – and I was more than happy to be with him, as he was so sweet to be with – showing real concern when my knee cracked and caused me to squeak (and occasionally curse) and making me feel like a princess, as well as making me giggle and feel incredibly relaxed.

He was honest with me about the circumstances he found himself in (his ex had taken him to the cleaners) and that he was facing this charge despite the fact that he thought her life had been in danger.  He kept saying that he shouldn’t have gotten involved and seemed to take small comfort when I pointed out that hindsight was 20/20 vision. 

He admitted that he was worried about this court case, as his ex had made a statement alleging some rather nasty treatment of her and her youngest son, and was worried that I would walk out on him as he felt that her job would go against him in court, and that he wouldn’t be believed when he tried to tell the court what actually happened.

I will admit I did have doubts (not helped by someone who claimed to be a friend (or in this case fiend)) and when I went away on holiday, I will admit to spending quite a bit of time on my knees in prayer in the cathedral asking for help for the man that I love.

When I got back, I will admit it was a case of absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I was only too glad to see him again.  Yes, we still had the court case hanging over our relationship, but there was no way that I was going to walk away from someone who was making me so happy.

The day of the court case came, and I had made arrangements to meet up with my partner, as he didn’t want to be in the area after the case, and said that if I’d not heard from him by 17:00, then it had gone badly wrong.

I left the office at 16:00, and driving to where we were staying overnight, I ended up having to turn off the touchscreen, as I kept looking at the clock and was getting more and more worried the closer the time got to 17:00 – with no contact.

Murphy’s Law states that if it can go wrong, it does, and in this case, it was my mobile network that gave me the problems.  Because I was travelling the back route to our overnight location, my phone signal was somewhat intermittent, meaning that my dratted phone rang once and then cut out.

I managed to stop and see who had called me – it was my partner.  So, as I have Bluetooth on the car, I tried to call him back – and the damn network either wouldn’t connect, or would drop the call - before I manage to speak to him.  When I did manage to get the call to connect, his line was engaged, and his voice mail didn’t kick in, meaning that I was left fearing the worst.

I got a text just after I arrived at our accommodation asking me to call him.  I will admit that I feared the worst and called him back.  Only to nearly drop my phone when I heard him say that he was not guilty – it was the verdict that everyone had been telling him to expect, but the statement that his ex and her son had made could have made life so difficult for him.

I will admit that I was shaking by the time I got to the room, and was only too happy when my partner finally arrived. We decamped to the pub, and he told me what happened in court.  I won’t elaborate on what happened, but all I will say is that the solicitor was worth his weight in platinum (or printer ink – that’s far more expensive!)

I won’t say that it was the most restful night’s sleep I’ve had – (and no – it wasn’t for those reasons) but more because it was damned hot and my partner was somewhat wound up from the court case (with good reason!)

So, we muddled along and we had a weekend away booked for Worcester (Henwick House). It was really good – the scenery was delightful, and the memory that sticks with me from that was watching a pair of green woodpeckers on the grass about 20 feet away from our bedroom window and also watching the rabbits frolic on the grass at the top end of the garden.

The local pub - The Blue Bell  was really good.  The beer was a good price, and the food?  Well put it like this.  There were no complaints from either my partner (who is a foodie by his own admission) or myself.

On the Friday night, we opted to have the pie of the day – which was Steak and Ale.  I opted for mash and mushy peas, where as my partner opted for mash and ordinary peas (he’s not a mushy pea fan apparently!)

Put it this way.  The pie was more filling than pastry (a really nice surprise) and very tasty. 

Image from the Blue Bell website

We headed into Worcester on Saturday.  Neither of us realised that there was a food festival on, and we decided a look around once we’d been to the Royal Worcester porcelain museum and the Cathedral.

I won’t say that it was massive – busy, yes.  And expensive.  I seem to recall one stand charging something like £9 for a burger, where other stands were charging £3.  I still smile when I think of the comment of one local woman “what makes them think that people are going to pay that for a burger?  What’s it got in it?  Gold flakes?”  But there were plenty of people buying the burgers!

The only downside to Worcester as a destination is the parking.  It’s expensive.  And for some reason (known only to the county council) they have stopped the park and ride.  

Meaning that you have to struggle to get parked in one of the multi-storey car parks, and pay a stupid amount for the privilege of being crammed into a tiny parking space and stuck in traffic. 

Now I don’t have anything against public transport, but coming in from a rural location (Callow End), the public transport leaves a lot to be desired.  So the only option for visitors like us was to drive into the centre. 

Aside from that grump, my other grump is about Great Malvern.  Now you say Malvern to most people, and they instantly think Morgan cars (OK – I do), little tourist places and lots of little antique shops to peruse.

Now I won’t say that the scenery isn’t spectacular – it is.  What was disappointing was the lack of places to visit on a Sunday.  Now had I been there in the depths of winter (end January) I would have expected it to be all closed up.  But the end of July?  Something (or someone) is seriously missing a trick.

There were plenty of people walking about, and vey few things for them to do.  OK – we visited the Malvern museum, which is located in the abbey gate house:

We also visited the beautiful Malvern Priory:

Put it this way - if this is a Priory, then some cathedrals need to start worrying.

Ah well, guess I should call it quits, I do need to get some sleep...

Karen

Hold on, there's a new way a-coming
Looks like it's arriving tonight
There's no more hiding or running
There's no more walking on ice

Breaking up hurts - literally.

An odd title, I will admit, but it’s an apt description of the way that I am feeling (or not feeling) at this moment in time.

I’ve split with my partner, and it came about in probably one of the worst locations possible – as in 200+ miles from home and no way of getting back home other than travelling with my ex.

It happened Sunday night, and I admit that I should have seen this coming.  We’d been arguing on and off for about 3 months and I thought that I could get past this “little” hurdle and move our relationship on. That was a vain hope on my part.

The bank holiday weekend didn’t get off to a good start when I ended up working on the Friday morning (not my idea I hasten to add – I was asked to by my boss) and like an idiot, I agreed. So that started things off on a sour note for us.  I was slightly late leaving the office as I was trying to finish my work off (usual month end stuff) and my soon to be ex partner kept texting me to ask if I had left yet.

When I finally finished, I got to the car and called him as I was leaving the car park (I’ve got hands free Bluetooth on the car) and told him that I would be with him soon.  Thankfully, I’d already packed my bag and it was just a case of parking my car and getting on the road north.

We agreed to eat lunch en-route, as it was also a chance for us to talk on “neutral” territory and try to sort out the issued that were niggling the pair of us.  Should have guessed that wasn’t going to be something that would work – especially not the way I was feeling.

Needless to say it wasn’t a particularly pleasant journey for me, and I admit I was only too happy to get to the hotel so that I could get a little peace and quiet.  Nope – not happening.  He seemed determined to micro analyse our relationship.

Now I’m all in favour of an open and honest discussion on things – but as far as I was concerned, this was certainly not the right time or place to do such a thing.  Mainly because I was tired (I’d been stressed at work) and I was unable to walk away and cool my temper off as we were in a strange (OK strange to me) location.

So that started another row, and I admit that I was sorely tempted to sleep on the sofa in the room.  In hindsight, I wish I had.

Saturday came, and it started really well – and we met up with the family – the primary reason for going away.  They were really nice and friendly and made me feel really welcome.  But I have to admit that there was tension in the air – mainly between my ex and myself.  I felt that I was having to be something I am not – ladylike.

Now getting me to wear a dress (willingly) doesn’t happen very often.  In fact, I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I have done so.  And Saturday night was one of them.  Why I couldn’t wear trousers and a pretty top, I don’t know, but my ex was adamant that I was to wear a dress. 

God alone knows why – his sisters in law wore trousers, and only his mum wore a dress.  So that made me feel really uncomfortable.  I won’t say that the family wasn’t nice – they really were super and seemed to go out of their way to make me feel a part of the family.

Even though there were comments about my ex having “a southern bird” for a partner.  Now there is nothing I dislike more than being called a “bird” – and picking on me because I was born in the south of England was an added insult.  

I’ve spent longer out of the south than I ever did living there, but to them, I was still a soft southerner. Or at least I was until I pointed out that anything south of Sunderland was southern to them.

Sunday was a bit of an odd day – I met up with an old friend from my uni days, and we sat talking about what had happened since then.  It was a good natter and lunch – and even my ex was quite animated, and sharing the jokes with us.  I didn’t think anything of the way my friend was with me - he was his usual self – if it was female and reasonably pretty, he flirted -the way he always did.

That was something that irritated my ex – he accused me of flirting with my friend.  Ignoring the fact that my friend’s wife was sitting beside him at lunch, and he'd also been sharing the jokes with us.

Sunday night was when things really became interesting.  My ex decided he wanted to talk, and that was fine with me...

Until it became a lecture on the things that he had found fault with over the weekend.  That was the final straw, and I exploded, resulting in something that I haven’t done for years. I lashed out physically, and if he hadn't moved, I would have hit him. 

I hit the wall, and then stomped out of the room - not stopping to grab watch, phone or anything other than the room key.

When I had finally cooled down, I walked back via reception, and had the humiliating experience of having to ask if they could get me some extra bed linen so that I could sleep on the sofa bed.

So Monday’s trip back home was hell on earth.  I had a text from a good friend asking if I was OK, and that was when the floodgates opened via text.  I admitted that I was heading for home, and that my relationship was over.

I got home in one piece physically (but in pieces emotionally), and spend time with my family, and when I went to bed, I just couldn’t get warm. 

The heating was on in the house, my room was lovely and warm, and I had an extra blanket on over my duvet, but I was cold.  I guess it was a kind of emotional shock, and all I can say is that I owe my friend a debt of gratitude that I doubt I will ever be able to repay.

Karen

To run away from you

Was all that I could do.

To run away from you

Was all that I could do.

The lurgy has struck... Again.

I feel bloody awful, and it feels like someone has decided to set my lungs on fire.  Yes, it's the dreaded lurgy.

It's been doing the rounds of the office, and people are dropping like flies, meaning that those of us that are daft enough to come in are having to do our own work as well as picking up the work that our colleagues.

So, as I sit here at my computer, I feel like crap.  It's starting to hurt to breathe, and I'm wondering if I should call the vet (OK - my GP practice) tomorrow morning to see if I need to start the antibiotics / oral steroids that I keep as part of  my asthma emergency kit.  I don't want to start taking the antibiotics if I really don't need to take them.

Guess I should call this quits - I've got to drink the blasted hot blackcurrant.  I wouldn't mind, but it's foul!

Karen

You look at me and you weep
For the free blue skies
I look to the stars
As they flicker and float in your eyes
And under these wings of steel
The small town dies

That which does not kill us makes us stronger

In theory.  Instead, it just turns people into human pancakes, or gibbering wrecks.

Why do people insist on sending stupid emails asking for a response when you have already said that you are up to your eyeballs in work (and in some cases, breathing through a snorkel and are just awaiting the arrival of the proverbial seagull)?  All this does is stress people out even further, and adds to an already over the top workload.

It wouldn't be so bad, but I'm getting to the stage where I am going to go bang - and not in a good way.  I'm tired, frustrated and ready to tell someone where to go and shove themselves.  And it's all because someone cannot leave me alone to get on with my work, and insists on updates for every little thing that I am doing.

Ok - not an issue - but this has to be done in writing.  Meaning that I have to take time away from the stuff that I am *supposed* to be trying to sort out, and so putting myself even further behind schedule, and this results in even more grief from people who have asked me to carry out the tasks in the first damned place.

The worst part is, my personal life is suffering, as I am being told by people who mean a heck of a lot to me that I have cut communication with them.  I have - but it's primarily because I am all stressed out, and really do not want to inflict my bad temper on people who do not deserve me going berserk at them.

All I want to do is get back to the way I was this time last year - happy, and relatively stress free, instead of being stressed out of my proverbial head all the damned time.

Time to call this quits - I need to crawl into my pit with the kindle.

Don't know when I'll be back - depends on how stressed out I get.

Karen

You look at me and you weep
For the free blue skies
I look to the stars
As they flicker and float in your eyes
And under these wings of steel
The small town dies

Ouch - that hurts!

The title of the post sums up how I feel at the moment.  My back has been agony, and it’s all because I’ve had to change desks to cover holiday.  I’ve been to the chiropractor, and bless him – he’s been really good, but has said that he will need to treat me as a physiotherapist.

Which he did last night – using a heat lamp and massage.  I did mutter something about “if I smell cooking meat, you’re extinct” which made him laugh.  Glad someone found it funny. 

But, despite my bad temper, it has helped my lower back – now all I have is pain between my shoulder blades.  But at least I know what the problem is – it’s all down to my posture at this blasted desk. 

And to add insult to my injury? I’m spending an extra two days at the hated desk.  I wouldn’t object, but it’s not doing me any favours, and I know that come the weekend, my back will be wrecked again, meaning that I won’t be on top form for the weekend.  

Not what I want at all, but I guess these things are sent to try us.  But at the moment, all I will say is...

WHY ME????

Back when I’ve finished feeling sorry for myself (and more to the point, when I’ve finished my coffee!)

Karen

Dear idiot who joined the Darkside for cookies...
Just because we said we have them, didn't mean we're going to share them!

Back to blogging

I know I’ve not been the best at updating my blog, but to be honest, I just haven’t wanted to stare at a computer screen any more than I really need to. So, I guess now is as good time as any to update things that have happened since I last blogged.

1. The car.

Well, I bit the bullet, and swapped the car.  Yes - I now have a Peugeot 208...  And that was because the 207 (much loved as it was) was starting to give me major (and potentially expensive) problems.  Yes - the dread gearbox issue raised it's ugly head.

So, me being of sound mind, promptly went and test drove the 208.  OK - it was a really nice drive, and I ordered the 208 Allure, 110 S&S in Virtual Blue.  Which *should* (in theory) have been delivered the end of September / beginning October.

September arrives, and there is no sign of the car, and Peugeot cannot give the dealer a delivery date. Needless to say, I'm not a happy bunny (and neither is the salesman, as it's impacting his figures!)  So, when they get an Allure in, the salesman at my dealership offers it to me.  Very nice - only one problem.  It's grey. And I don't do grey cars (or grey anything else thank you very much!)

So, with a heavy(ish) heart, I turn it down with "it's very nice, but it's just not me - I'm not that keen on the colour.  If it had been Virtual Blue, or even Twilight Blue, I would have jumped at it."

Good thing I did turn down the grey.... Because about a week later, I got a call about the GT Line...  The next model up from the one that I had ordered - in Twilight Blue - for the same price as I had been quoted for the Allure.  It was a win/win situation for both parties - I got the new car (albeit a better model) and the dealership made the sales target.


2. Work (aka the playpen)

Things have become... Interesting to day the least.  Since my last update - OK - admittedly quite a while ago, my role has changed. I'm still dealing with the big, expensive stuff, but I also deal with quite a bit of OE (Original Equipment) stuff as well. And I still don't know how the hell I managed to get landed with that part!


3. Relationship(s)

One word.  Complicated!


Other than that, there's not much to say other that I'm a couple of years older, and allegedly wiser.  Although I do wonder about that part at times!

Time to call this quits - I'm due back to the playpen from lunch.

Karen

Dear idiot who joined the Darkside for cookies...
Just because we said we have them, didn't mean we're going to share them!

Would a pardon really be justice for Alan Turing?

I make no apologies for transcribing this article from the kindle version of the New Scientist (27/07/13). I’ll put my thoughts at the end, as this is rather a thought provoking article.
**********************************************************************************************
The legendary computer scientist and codebreaker may finally get a posthumous pardon. It’s just dust and posturing, says a modern-day virtual reality pioneer.

What do we do with the knowledge that people not all that different from ourselves have behaved with astounding stupidity and cruelty over and over again, in the recent past? Become paranoid of ourselves?

This is the kind of question that haunts me when I think of Alan Turing. For those who don’t know, Turing was the most essential mathematician leading to the invention of computers and the birth of my discipline, computer science. I couldn’t owe him more. He was also one of the greatest war heroes we have known, for he applied computer science in its birthing hour to break Enigma, a notorious Nazi code, and is generally thought to have shortened the course of the war by perhaps two years. He might have saved millions of lives, even nations.

We’re not done. In the years before his death in 1954, Turning made a huge contribution to artificial intelligence, including what has come to be known as the famous “Turing Test” thought experiment. And yet he did that with a degree of sophistication – including a dose of salutary self-doubt – that derivative AI enthusiast rarely achieve.

Illegal state of being

If only this wonderful roster could suffice as a summary of a great life. Alas, we must also remember how Turing died. He was gay at a time when that was an illegal state of being. He was prosecuted after the war, and subjected to “chemical castration”. He apparently killed himself eating an apple laced with cyanide, at age 41. We will never know what further gifts he could have given.
Now, after decades of murmurs and false starts, it appears that the UK government will produce a posthumous pardon. How can we think about this?

It isn’t easy. Of course the prosecution of Turin was an abomination. But as present-day observers, are we stroking ourselves on the back a little readily by suggesting we now have the perspicuity from which to declare a pardon to this one brilliant man? What about the almost 50,000 other men in the UK convicted in the same way? Do you have to be one of the highest performing people of the century to merit a pardon under an immoral law that has been repudiated?

The very idea of a pardon suggests that the government speaks from a moral high ground and that the prosecution might have been inadvertently based on false evidence or some other bloodless mistake. There is a degree of implicit misrepresentation, though it is never easy for a government to own up to its own failings. (It took about a century and a half after the official end of slavery in the US for the government to finally state and apology, which was intoned by President Bill Clinton.)

Confused message

The notion of a pardon sends a confused message. Shouldn’t there be an apology to all those convicted, directed to their memory and their descendants? I am not a British citizen, but as a computer scientist, I think I have some small standing to voice a complaint.

I have always wanted to get more of a sense of Turing, the person. The historian George Dyson has done wonderful work bringing the earliest chapters of computer science to light; his books are a fine place to start. But I got a glimpse of the man earlier this year, when I was speaking in Victoria, Canada, about the gratitude all of us in computer science feel toward Turing.

Afterwards, an elderly woman named Olive Bailey was introduced to me. She was lovely, formal and yet quite emotional, for you see, she was one of the last remaining members of the codebreaking team that worked with Turing at Bletchley Park. (During the war years and for sometime thereafter, a window of opportunity opened for technically gifted women. This pattern wasn’t unique to Britain. In the US, when the brightest male techies were corralled into industrial-scale high-tech projects like nuclear weapons or long range missiles, women were often recruited to work in the still new field of software. Grace Hopper, for instance led a mostly female team to develop the first code compiler.)

Nerdy yet colourful

One thing that Olive told me was that Turing was not a person who revealed a great deal of himself in the lab, but he did set the tone for how to do computer science, and she feels that tone living on thought computer researchers today, even if it’s not clear how to articulate exactly what it entails. Turing was both a prototype of the “nerdy” personality we associate with digital technology today, and a romantic, daring, colourful soul.

In pure mathematics, it is commonly recognised that while the maths itself is abstract, the way we understand it is cultural, and therefore it is relevant to know the human stories behind mathematical advances. We benefit from knowing about Paul Eudös’s eccentric, rambling life for instance, because it informs our appreciation of his rambling accomplishments. Understanding a little about him helps us enter into his mindset and trace his steps.

But computer science has taken on a somewhat less humanistic sensibility. This is unfortunate. I have seen the Turing test taught many times, in philosophy or computer science departments, and the circumstances of Turing’s life at the time are rarely brought into the narrative.

The test, published in 1950, was Turing’s thought experiment in which he asks whether we would, so to speak, deny personhood to a computer that could fool us into thinking that it was a person in the course of a conversation. But Turing wrote of this idea during a troubled period of his life, just as he himself was being denied personhood. Furthermore, he was being persecuted by a government that he had helped triumph over fascism, the ideology most based on denying the humanity of others.

Pure Mind

Might Turing’s notion of the test have been an indictment if how we judge each other’s humanity? Might it have been a comforting fantasy, an escape into an abstract form of existence where no one is gay or straight, but only pure mind? Turing didn’t live long enough to say all he probably would have about his thinking. In a footnote he speculates that even if a computer became a “person” according to empirical criteria, both it and a natural human would still derive personhood from a source beyond physics, from the divine.

Whatever the test meant to Turing in his final days, I don’t detect hatred, vengeance or really any outward aggression in his voice. This is remarkable. I can hardly imagine being in similar circumstances without lashing out at my persecutors. This is Turing’s legacy, and any pardon coming so late in the game is nothing but dust and posturing in comparison.

This article originally appeared on Slate
Jaron Lanier is the author of Who Owns the Future? (Simon & Schuster 2013) and is a computer scientist, currently at Microsoft Research. He is best known for his work in virtual reality.

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I was wrong. I can’t comment on such a well written article, and it was only in the transcription process from my Kindle to the blog that I realised this. But it has made me realise one thing - Love is a human right – not a crime

The car is BACK!

Well, the engineer at the dealership has worked his magic, and the 207? Well, it’s back to its old self (if anything – its better than it was when it was new!) Talk about a smooth gear change – it’s lovely to drive.

The only “drawback” is that I’ll have to treat it like it like I’m running the car in for the first 500 miles, so that the car learns my driving style again, and gets the new bits “bedded in” for want of a better term.

I can’t praise the dealership service team highly enough – they’ve worked magic on this little car, and I’m rediscovering the reasons why I fell for the 207 in the first place.

As for the 208 – that can go and whistle – I’m not swapping the 207 in for it yet!

Ah well, time to call this quits – I’ve got stuff to sort out before I escape on holiday next week.

Back when I get the chance…

Karen

What I've felt, what I've known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there?
'Cause I'm the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven, too?

Verdict? It’s screwed.

Not a happy little bunny rabbit. The damned solenoids in the gearbox are screwed, and it’s not a quick fix. Apparently, this is an unusual occurrence, but it’s still going to cost me £600 to get the car sorted out, as this includes replacing the solenoids, and doing the software update.

Thankfully, the dealership has done a fix of sorts (a braking switch) meaning that the car should behave slightly better on a cold start, and I’ve got the little fiend booked in for a week today to have major “surgery”. It’s going to take about 4½ hours to do, provided nothing goes wrong.

Mum has been a real star, and has said that she will pick me up from the dealership if the car isn’t ready by the time I escape the playpen, and will give me a lift into work on Friday.

Ah well, time to call this quits – it’s nearly the end of my lunch break…

Back when I get the chance.

Karen

What I've felt, what I've known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there?
'Cause I'm the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven, too?

Crunch goes the gearbox.

So much for driving the car normally, and letting the gearbox do it’s thing from a cold start with “normal” driving. It did that alright – and threw a hissy fit every damned time.

So I’ve booked the little monster in, so the engineer can clear the codes (again) and the dealership can tell me what they think is wrong with the car. I just hope and pray that they can get this sorted, without it costing me an arm and a leg, as I don’t like the new 208 (and they don’t do an auto yet!)

Time to call this quits – I need to get the little fiend booked in…

Back when I get chance.

Karen

What I've felt, what I've known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there?
'Cause I'm the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven, too?

Car Woes

Not a happy bunny rabbit. Why? Simples. It’s called the Peugeot 207. Don’t get me wrong, the car is a lovely drive – when the engine oil is warm, and the gearbox doesn’t throw a hissy fit and throw a gearbox error at me.

So, as it was due to be serviced (which tied in nicely with the MOT), I thought I’d mention the gearbox… Now the service went ok, and the MOT? Not so good. The car failed. On one silly little thing that I hadn’t spotted – a small split in the side wall of the offside front. That was sorted (the spare tyre went on) and the car passed the MOT… However, that wasn’t the end of the story, far from it.

The engineer (I won’t insult the guy who worked on my car by calling him a mechanic – he’s too highly qualified!) who had the task of getting the information from the CPU on the car (see – I was right to call it “Plug & Pray!) managed to clear the error messages from the system, and they thought that might be the solenoids in the gearbox that are at fault.

So, I’ve got to drive the car “normally” (i.e. no letting the little monster idle for 5 minutes before starting the journey) for a couple of weeks or so, and see what happens, and then take it back to the dealer for the engineer to have another look at the error codes.

But, at least the dealership is trying to help me, so all I can do now is see what happens.

Ah well, time to escape – I need to get some sleep tonight. Back when I get the chance….

Karen

What I've felt, what I've known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there?
'Cause I'm the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven, too?

Eating Humble Pie

All the time I’ve been posting on my blog, I’ve always been dead set against the Kindle (and other e-readers) as I said that I’d never use one, and all the other excuses that I could think of. Well, now I’ve bitten the bullet, and bought one.

The reason for this change of heart? Simple. When I went on holiday, I couldn’t take all the books that I wanted to, due to their weight. I had a weight limit for checked hold baggage of 20Kg, and hand luggage was restricted to 5kg! Now this sounds a lot until you start weighing stuff, and at least two of the books I wanted to take were over 1kg. Each.

So, that mean I had to start looking at other options, and finally decided to join the e-book revolution. But which one to go for? I didn’t like the Sony (too damned expensive, and touch screen to boot), the others were brands that I’d not heard of (Binatone?), meaning that it came to a straight “fight” between the WH Smith Kobo, and Amazon’s Kindle. I eventually opted for the Kindle, the idea being that there is better customer support of it goes wrong (or I get confused) and more books available

It’s the Kindle 4 (yes – it’s the entry level one – my record with touch screen devices is not good!), and I’ve personalised it with a lovely skin courtesy of an American website – Decal Girl: it's called Fuorescence-Blue, and looks quite snazzy, if I do say so myself.

 I've also invested in a decent case - and no It’s not one of the "official" Amazon cases (they always look like something that came from the dashboard of a 1970s British Leyland car!) – it’s actually from a British company called Lente Designs:

The best bit is, it looks just like a Filofax, so I can leave it on my desk, and no-one bats an eyelid at it. So now I am eating humble pie. I adore my Kindle, and now won’t travel without it.

Time to call this quits – the siren call of the Kindle is at work again!

Back when I can put it down!

Karen

What I've felt, what I've known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there?
'Cause I'm the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven, too?

Back from Madeira

Well, I’m back from my two week break in Madeira, and the return trip was… Interesting to say the least. It started out when the pick up from the hotel was late. We were supposed to be picked up for the transfer to the airport at 10:30 this morning.

Ok – not a problem – we were all packed & ready to roll, having done nearly all the packing yesterday afternoon (after I’d watched the British Grand Prix from Silverstone) and had settled the outstanding hotel bill last night.

So this morning, it was just a matter of putting the last minute bits & pieces into the one case, making sure that both cases were locked & strapped, and getting the flight bags packed, and the hideous flight socks on (the less said about these, the better!)

10:30 (the allotted pick up time for Mum & myself), and a mini bus duly arrives. Only it’s not big enough for everyone who is waiting (by my estimate there were about 16 – 18 people waiting for transport to the airport), and it turns out that it was for people who were travelling with another tour company (Mum & I had booked with Thomas Cook – more on that in a later post!) So, they clamber into the mini-bus, and it goes off to the airport, leaving the remaining travellers (Mum & myself included) are standing by the front entrance to the hotel wondering what the bloody blue blazes is going on.

There was no rep around (he was at the airport - again, more about the rep later) and the time is starting to move on… Well our transfer arrived – at 10:45. Not too good when you consider that we were supposed to be at the airport for 10:50 at the latest (it’s a 2hr check in) and we still had to clear security & passport control at the airport.

The aroma of knackered clutch was heavy in the air (it was truly nauseating to be honest!) and the best (or should that be worst) was yet to come… The driver seemed to think he was Madeira’s answer to Ferrari’s Fernando Alonso – without the talent or the charisma. It didn’t get off to a good start when the driver stalled the mini bus – I suspect he was in the wrong gear to try & pull away…

Now I know that under normal circumstances, I’m not easily scared by someone’s driving, but this was truly scary – even by my standards. Every time we came to a red light, or a pedestrian crossing, it was like it was a race to see how close he could get before he hit the brakes (or whatever poor sod was in front of him – be they pedestrian or another motorist), and instead of using the handbrake like anyone else would do when attempting a hill-start with a manual gearbox, he tried (and failed) to hold the vehicle on the clutch, meaning that we rolled back frequently, and the aroma of burning clutch got worse.

The there were the gear changes themselves. Now I know that my Peugeot can be a temperamental little b’stard when it wants to be, but the way this guy was slamming the gears made me apologise to my little blue fiend when I got back to it at Birmingham! The gear changes were really notchy – almost as if the driver wasn’t depressing the clutch fully. I suspect he was, but it really didn’t feel like he was to be honest!

If I recall correctly, the speed limit on the main highway is something like 80 kmph, but I know for sure that we were doing well over that – if it was on the road, we overtook it - thank god the road is a duel carriage way!)

It was almost as if this guy had been watching the British Grand Prix yesterday, and was determined to re-create the overtaking style in the mini-bus. We got to the airport in one piece (we got there by 11:10) and I have to admit, it was one of the few times that I gave thanks for arriving at the airport. The guy was a loony – and it didn’t help with him answering his ‘phone when we were on the main highway.

Check-in was fast and painless (but that could have been due to our arrival time at the airport – we were some of the last passengers to check in!) We had 17.5kg in both cases (the weight limit was 20kg) and all I can say is ‘thank God they didn’t weight the hand baggage at Funchal!’

Simply because I estimated my flight bag was about 8 – 9 kgs (and the limit is 5kgs!) Mind you, most of that was book… I’d bought a book called Dam Busters – the race to smash the dams 1943 by James Holland at Birmingham on the outbound flight (I also bought the Rowland White book – Storm Force) and resolved to have Dam Busters as my book for the return flight.

Once through security & passport control, it was like a rugby scrum as per normal. There were at least 4 flights going out about the same time (although the Easyjet flight to Gatwick had a ½ hour delay) and the Luton Thompson flight was leaving 10 mins before ours did. Mum & I boarded the bus that took us to the aircraft, and we were directed to the rear door.

Now this wouldn't have been a problem, had we been seated at the back – we were in the middle of the damned aircraft, and to make matters worse, some silly female had some kind of mini-suitcase as her flight bag, and was making a pig’s ear out of getting it into the overhead locker. 

This  meant that she was standing in the aisle, fussing around, and preventing people from getting to their seats. When we eventually got to our seats, we’d been given the window & middle seat again, and if you tried to transport cattle the way that we were seated on the plane (it was a B757-300, with the seats set at the minimum space allowance of 26 inches between the front of one seat and the front of the seat in front of you) then the RSPCA would rightly prosecute the transport company.

The ticket (it’s one of these stupid e-ticket things) said that in-flight meals would be provided… Yes, they were, if you didn’t mind paying £6.00 for a tiny lasagne that looked revolting, and didn’t smell too appetising either! Thank god I’d had a decent breakfast before we’d left the hotel… If I’m honest, the less said about the flight, the better.

As I’d been smart, and plugged in my headphones (I was listening to the S&M album by Metallica & the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra – hence the S&M title!) I didn’t hear the wailing of some kid on the flight – Mum said it howled nearly all the flight.

We landed, and got to the gate... It was gate 54 at Birmingham. I know damned well that the couldn’t have gotten us further away from Border Security & baggage reclaim if they’d tried – at least not at a gate with an air bridge!

Once through Border Security, we headed to baggage reclaim which was surprisingly fast, and then had to run the gauntlet of more stinking duty free. Some bright spark has had the idea to put a smallish duty-free area on the route from the baggage reclaim & customs area to the arrivals area, meaning that it's yet another chance to fleece knackered passengers before they leave the airport.

When I say stinking, I mean it. The combined odour of the various perfumes that had been sprayed into the air was enough to give anyone a bad head, and it sure as hell did that to me, so I was only too glad to toddle up to the bus stop for the long stay 1 car park where I had left the little blue fiend two weeks ago. Mum & I got to the bus stop just as the bus arrived (talk about perfect timing) and then got off at the allotted stop.

Mum being her normal organised self had made a note of the bus stop number and car park row I’d parked on. So, it was just a case of getting off the bus, and getting the car loaded. Now I’ve had problems with the gearbox on my little fiend, and as I was loading the cases into the boot, I made sure that the engine was running, meaning that the little fiend was getting some heat into the engine, and also into the gearbox, with the idea being that it would stop causing the gearbox to throw it's usual hissy fit...

It seemed to work ok, and the little monster burbled it’s way home, and is now back in it’s allotted parking space.

As for me? I’m so chilled out, I’m horizontal, but that’s no thanks to the transfer today. That’s all down to the island of Madeira, and the wonderful (and very helpful) staff at the Porto Santa Maria, who made Mum & myself feel like old friends.

Ah well, guess I should call this quits – my eyeballs feel like they are on fire, and I really want to get some rest. Back tomorrow with a full report (and photos) of my holiday on the island.

Karen
Now some things you hold on to - and some you just let go
Seems like the ones that you can't have
Are the ones that you want most

Midland Air Museum

The Midland Air Museum is one place that despite having known about for many moons, I have never really had the inclination to go and visit. Partly because it was damned expensive for what there was, and partly because there was usually something / somewhere else that I was more interested in visiting.


However, that has now changed, and I can quite happily say that this is one museum that is well worth visiting. It doesn’t look very imposing from the outside, I will admit, but appearances can be very deceiving.


So, when my best friend made the suggestion that we visited the museum, I thought “what the hell” and agreed to go… And I am glad that I did, because I would have missed out on this little gem of a museum.


The entrance fee for an adult is £6.00, and to be honest, having paid a damned sight more for other museums (and not enjoyed myself as much) this is really good value. It starts off with the story of the jet engine, which was developed by Sir Frank Whittle and tells of the trials that he had to endure develop his idea. 


Whittle's first experimental jet engine (WU)

Painting by Rod Lovesey



The display also had a model of the engine that really made Sir Frank Whittle famous – his W.2/700 engine:

The theory behind this engine is shown in this diagram that comes straight from the museum's website:

Then it was into the main hangar area.  I have to admit, I wasn’t too impressed, as I thought it was a tad cramped, meaning that you couldn’t get to see the exhibits in their true glory:

But there was a plus side – there were a couple of cockpits that were open – and that meant that you could not only take decent pictures, but sit inside them!  This struck me as being something quite different from the “normal” museums, where you would be luck to get close to the aircraft, let alone be allowed to set foot (or otherwise) in the cockpit…

Then it was off outside – which was where the *real* surprise lay.  I knew that the museum had a Vulcan (I’d seen it often enough poking its nose, and tail over the hedge), but what I didn’t realise was that you could go up into the cockpit. 



Avro Vulcan B.2 XL360, with a single seater Folland Gnat underneath (minus wings)

Foreground has Armstrong Whitworth Argosy engines / undercarriage



Unfortunately, I am the world’s biggest coward, and could not face going anywhere near the cockpit, so satisfied myself with taking pictures of the insignia:

As there was quite a variety of aircraft, I was quite happy walking around with my camera snapping pictures of things that caught my eye – including the Fairey Gannet T.2 (I just adore the way that the engine has two sets of propellers!)

Fairey Gannet T.2 - facing the engine

Fairey Gannet T.2 - side on.

Other things that caught my eye (and camera lens) was the nose art on the PLZ TS-11 Iskra 408:

The other bit of nose art that I fell for was on the English Electric Canberra PR.3: (I think!)

There was a real variety of aircraft, and the full list (and better images) can be found by going to the actual website, and clicking on the interactive map showing the various aircraft outlines:

The one thing that I was impressed with, was the fact that the volunteers at the museum were willing to show people the various cockpits – including the Vulcan.

Now as I have already said, I am not good when it comes to enclosed spaces, so the thanks for these next pictures from the Vulcan’s cockpit go to my best friend, who was an absolute sweetheart, and took my camera into the cockpit with him:

After I’d gotten my camera back from my friend, we then went to the huge Armstrong-Whitworth Argosy (and if I remember correctly, this is one of only seven complete examples left!)  What struck me most about this aircraft was the fact that the nose section was hinged (as is the tail section apparently) meaning that it was possible to load large / awkward cargo – a bit like the Airbus Super Guppy:

 

Armstrong Whitly Argosy nose section - it's slightly open, hence the strange appearance!)



Argosy nose section



Airbus Super Guppy



What I do remember about this aircraft was the actual cockpit.  There are no photos, as I was still somewhat shaky after climbing the ladder up to the cockpit (as well as banging my head as I got into the 1^st officer’s seat!)  But it was well worth it, as the view was spectacular, and the gentleman who was acting as the guide for the aircraft was very informative about the various exhibits.

On the whole, this was a really good day out (and the weather was ok – a bit cold, but at least it wasn’t raining, otherwise we wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the open cockpits (or take as many photos!)

Back when I get the chance…

Karen

What I've felt, what I've known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there?
'Cause I'm the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven, too?

Another day, another book...

Well, I’ve finished A Dance With Dragons part 2, and I have to admit that it was a real eye opener. I won’t spoil it for anyone that hasn’t read it, but suffice to say that I didn’t expect the Turncoat to do what he did…. So now I’m reading something slightly different.

Actually, quite a bit different. It’s the new Phillipa Gregory novel - The Lady of the Rivers and it tells the tale of Elizabeth Woodville’s mother, Jacquetta.

It's the precursor to The White Queen and it fills in a lot of information that I thought was missing from Elizabeth’s mother’s background. So far, I’ve read about 1/3rd of the book (most of it last night) and I’ve been really impressed by it. Of the three books, the one I was least enthralled by was The Red Queen, but it wasn’t too bad – I have to admit I’ve read a lot worst than that… (Wolf Hall being one of the worst mistakes I’ve made – and I wasted valuable weight taking it on holiday as well!)

So, it’s something that I am rather enjoying at the moment, and once I’ve read it, I’ll post a proper review of the book.

Ah well, guess I should think about getting back from my lunch, and heading back ot my desk… Don’t really want to go, as I want to see what happens to Jacquetta…

Back when I get the chance…

Karen

What I've felt, what I've known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there?
'Cause I'm the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven, too?

Books, and more books

Well, it’s back to what I enjoy the most. Reading. I’ve been hooked by George R.R Martin’s Game of Thrones series, after I picked the first book ( A Game of Thrones) up May / June last year and was hooked within the first chapter, whilst sitting in Costa in Waterstones Nottingham. (And yes – I did buy the book I was reading!)

So, I read the first one, and got caught by the style (and I have to admit one of my favourite characters is Jon Snow) and gradually got the series (Books 3 and 5 were published as two paperbacks, due to the humongous size of the hardbacks!):

1. A Game Of Thrones
2. A Clash Of Kings
3. A Storm Of Swords – Book 1 – Steel and Snow
4. A Storm Of Swords – Book 2 – Blood and Gold
5. A Feast for Crows
6. A Dance With Dragons – Book 1 - Dreams and Dust
7. A Dance With Dragons – Book 2 – After The Feast

I’m on to the second part of A Dance with Dragons and I have to admit that it is better then the first part – to the extent where I am staying up until silly o’clock reading (and ignoring the fact that I have to be up at a reasonable time to get ready for the playpen).

To be honest, I cannot wait for the next instalment, which promises to be a real corker – especially if the preview at the back of ADWD – After the Feast is anything to go by….

Ah well, guess I should call this quits – I’m supposed to be getting ready to go out – not blogging!

Back later…


Karen

What I've felt, what I've known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there?
'Cause I'm the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven, too?

Fuel Panic

Great. Just what I didn't need. Since the Unite union announced their intention to bring the fuel tankers out on strike, the coalition government has been running about like headless chickens, fuelling the panic buying of fuel.

It doesn’t help when you get idiots like Francis Maud saying that people should not only fill the tank on their car / van, but fill a Jerry Can as well. Then you get the Energy Secretary Ed Davey saying that there is no need to do that, but if you’re going past a fuel station, and you’ve got ½ tank, then fill up.

Ok – I don’t like going below ½ tank on the Peugeot, as I run the risk of dragging the crap that may have accumulated in the tank though into the fuel lines, so me filling up like that is part of my normal routine.

But the trip into work this morning was… Interesting. I go past a couple of garages – one is an independent local garage (I used to refuel there, but since it’s been taken over, the price has gone silly), and Sainsburys.

Now normally, the little independent garage has a couple of cars there, and Sainsburys is usually quite busy, as it’s a reasonable price, and the fuel is good. Not today. Today, they were queuing for fuel at the local garage, and Sainsburys? Well put it this way, I was waiting to hear the sirens howling down the road, to deal with an accident, as the queue was down onto the mini-roundabout by the retail park, and was starting to back up onto the main road.

So how does this affect me? The same as it affects most responsible drivers. The muppets who panic buy drain the fuel stations dry, meaning that when I need to refuel, I’m unable to get fuel, meaning that it’s more grey hair trying to find somewhere with fuel. Meaning that I add to the problems of people trying to find fuel…

Equally, it may well bugger my plans for the Easter break, as this time next week, I’m planning to head up to Cheshire Oaks for a shopping trip with Mum, and I won’t be very impressed if we have to cancel that, as I’ve been really looking forward to that (and I’ve booked the day off!)

All I will say is that the sooner the unions and the employers start talks at ACAS, the better this will be for everyone – me included!

Ah well, guess I should think about calling this quits – my lunch break is nearly over.

Back when I get the chance…

Karen

What I've felt, what I've known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there?
'Cause I'm the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven, too?

Another 'phone bite the dust...

Yep - the Cookie has bitten the dust.  I dropped it into water (don't ask where - other than it was clean) and it appears to be working for the moment (other than the call volume sounds rather low, and the ring tones sound... waterlogged) and the screen appears slightly soggy on the inside at the moment.

When I got it (the Cookie) I was really pleased, as I thought the colour was really good:

However, I did discover that there were drawbacks - primarily the fact that it was touchscreen.  Yes, this was a novelty at first, but it was one that soon proved bloody annoying. 

I had to use the stylus to do *anything* on the screen, as it didn't recognise the input when I was using my finger to do things on the screen, meaning that the screen itself soon became scratched.  Ok - I could have put a screen protector on it (did at first) but the response from the phone was even worse than normal, meaning that it was almost unusable. So, I took the protector off, and the result was a scratched screen.  Ok - annoying, but nothing that I couldn't live with.

I will admit, I have been thinking about replacing the Cookie, but it was half-hearted, as part of me loved the idea of the apps from the Android store, but the other part of me was not really happy, as it would have been yet another touchscreen phone, and I really didn't want to go down that route.  I also didn't want to have an Apple iPhone, as I really didn't (and still don't) see the appeal of the blasted things (not to mention it's bloody expensive for what I want!)

So, now that the Cookie has met yet another body of water, I've had to bite the bullet (or should that be 'phone bill) and get a new phone.  This time I've opted for something cheap (as in under £50) and reliable (I hope!)  I've gone for the Nokia C1-01. 

Ok - not exactly the most up-to date 'phone,  but this does exactly what I want it to - i.e. make calls (has bluetooth), and send texts.  Ok - if it's got games on it, then it's a bonus.  The only thing that would make it better is if it was waterproof, but I guess the remedy for that is me not putting the damned thing in the back pocket of my trousers (and keeping it off the edge of the bath!)

Ah well, time to call this quits - I need to test the Cookie to see if it works, and more to the point, keep praying that it lasts until I can get the Nokia.

Back later if I get the chance...


Karen

What I've felt, what I've known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there?
'Cause I'm the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven, too?

More Potholes...

This comes from the BBC Website, and as per normal, I'll put my thoughts on this story at the end.

Karen

What I've felt, what I've known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there?
'Cause I'm the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven, too?

********************************************************************************

Pothole repairs cost £90m, says asphalt industry report

Councils spent £90m repairing 1.7 million potholes across England and Wales last year, a survey suggests.

Engineers, forced into short-term planning,

are unable to do preventative work, the report says

But it will still take more than a decade to clear the backlog, says the Asphalt Industry Alliance (AIA) report.
 
Local authorities say that while repair costs have fallen, £10bn is still needed to bring roads up to standard.


Councils received £200m in emergency funds after freezing weather in 2011 exacerbated the problem and ministers say they recognise an "ongoing need".


Potholes are formed when water runs through cracks in road surfaces, freezes and so expands, causing the surface to rupture and creating a void which later caves in under the weight of vehicles.

However, the AIA report suggested two-thirds of local authorities had been unable to make good damage caused by the cold weather of 2010-11, despite the emergency funding and a milder winter this year.

'Decades of underfunding'


It said the number of complaints to local authorities from the public about the condition of roads increased by 10% last year.


AIA chairman Alan Mackenzie said: "Severe winter weather would not, in itself, produce a plague of potholes on well-maintained roads.

"These disastrous figures result from decades of underfunding and enforced short-term planning."

Highways engineers had been unable to carry out necessary preventative work, leaving one-in-five local authority roads with a life of less than five years, he added.

The report did not cover Scotland, where authorities paid out £1.7m over four years in compensation for damage to vehicles caused by potholes.

A recent AA study suggested Scotland had a higher number of potholes per mile than the rest of Britain.

The motoring organisation says its Streetwatch survey last October resulted in volunteers across Britain reporting 14.9 potholes on average, compared with 12.5 in 2010.

We need a new approach to stop this vicious circle of decline which causes danger to all road users

Edmund King
AA President

AA president Edmund King "We need a new approach to stop this vicious circle of decline which causes danger to all road users, particularly those on two wheels, and expensive damage to vehicles."

On Tuesday, MPs on the Public Accounts Committee warned the UK's road network could deteriorate as a result of cuts in road maintenance spending.


'Chasing tails'


Overall savings would not be made if this ultimately led to higher repair costs and more claims by motorists against councils for damage to their vehicles, it said.

The Local Government Association, which represents councils in England and Wales, said the average cost of filling potholes had reduced from £64 to £48 apiece in the last two years.

But its economy and transport board chairman Peter Box said: "Councils are currently stuck in the position of chasing their tails, repeatedly patching up a deteriorating network rather then fixing it properly."

Increased central government funding would save billions of pounds in the long term, he added.

Transport Minister Norman Baker said the government was providing £3bn to councils for road maintenance between 2011 and 2015.

"I recognise there is an ongoing need for highways maintenance that can't be fixed overnight," he added.

**************************************************************************
Ok - so the roads need repairing.  Fine.  I thought that was the idea of the so-called "road fund licence" was so that the UK roads are kept in reasonable repair, instead of being used to swell the coffers of the bloody government.It appears to me, that the motorist (be you a biker, car driver or HGV driver) are seen as "cash cows" to prop up the coffers. 

Right. If we're going to be treated like this, then surely we have the privilege if not the right, to demand that our roads are kept in reasonable repair, so that we don't have to fight the insurance companies and the local authorities to get them to accept that we have damaged our vehicles / had accidents because of the poor state of the roads.

As I've said in the past, would it be possible for my family to get the 4.8 potholes repaired that we damned well pay for???

Lol Cats strike again

Amazing what I get sent when my best friend is bored at work...

Karen

What I've felt, what I've known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there?
'Cause I'm the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven, too?

Staycation? I don't think so...

The latest idea to be pushed by the UK tourist boards for the Olympics & the Queen's Diamond Jubilee is the so-called "staycation". Ok - not a problem there, as it does help the UK economy. But what it doesn't take into account is the weather. And the cost of the so-called attractions.

Now I'm all in favour of the staycation, and regularly escape to various locations in the UK, but what does annoy me is when I hear some over-paid spokesperson saying that the cost doesn’t matter. Ok – maybe it doesn’t to him, but I have been looking to go to the Ironbridge Gorge museums  - or more particularly, the Jackfield Tile museum and the Coalport China Museum.

But what gets me is the fact that each of these two museums charge for the exhibits (£7.60 for the Coalport China Museum & the Jackfield Tile museum for me) or you have the option to pay £22.50 for a ticket that does all the museums. Ok – I don’t mind that as the ticket does last a year, but it’s a bloody long way and is very much weather dependant.

Now to me, £7.60 for 1 – 2 hours is ok value, but you still have to factor in the travelling, and at this time, the cost of the petrol. So, to do the two museums that I would like to do, would cost about £50 just for me. Imagine trying to do that sort of trip with two or more kids, and you start getting silly money. Add into this equation, the great British weather (as I type this, it’s raining!) and you get the reason why so many people (me included) say “Sod the UK for my main holiday!"

Ah well, time to call it quits - I'm due back to my desk in a couple of minutes...

Back when I get the chance.

Karen

What I've felt, what I've known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there?
'Cause I'm the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven, too?