How could I forget the technology?

I have a new mobile phone — a Nokia 6230. After years of dicking me about, Orange acquiesced to all my demands: new phone now, better contract. Hoorah. Bluetooth here we come.

And it has a camera: this is a bit of video footage from the ringing tour. Dunno how many players there are going to be for 3gp format stuff.

My KVM idea isn’t working too well — for some reason, I just can’t get the existing keyboard and mouse to work with the docking station. Oh, well, it’s almost geekier to have two monitors on the desk, and the keyboard isn’t so very bad.

Long time, no post. Busy week.

Stayed home Tuesday night to iron in front of the Channel 5 CSI double bill instead of going ringing. Was making an effort to get the house a little tidier before my parents visited on Tuesday. Ironing 30 of the shirts on the ironing pile certainly helped get some things out of the way.

So, cleaning Wednesday night and then dinner for my parents on Thursday: onion soup, bangers and mustard mash, and a tarte ganache. Before the meal we had a guided tour together of the Council House, which was fascinating.

Friday was work, peering through windows of cars on forecourts, erm, sending Paul off to visit his aunty (don’t forget the preserving pan) erm, thenwot? Oh, yes, went to see a doctor friend in version of the Mikado. Unfortunately — or fortunately, depending on your perspective — she wasn’t able to be in the second act because she was hauled off the stage to tend to an audience member who’d collapsed.

Before and after, drinks in the Victoria Hotel, Beeston. Model pub. Monumental choice of well kept beer to choose from. Unsurprisingly always busy.

Today I joined in a tour with the Southwell Diocesan Guild of Bellringers — we took the tram around Nottingham and rang in a number of different towers. I dodged some of them, but got two ‘grabs’ — chances to ring in towers I’d not been to before. At Bulwell this afternoon, I rang an almost flawless Bob Major plain course, despite not having done anything like it for months. I was quite chuffed, and I must make sure I ring more like this on Tuesdays. Now that I don’t have a house to clean.

Piscean genocide

The stiff, lifeless bodies of two of the five new goldfish have been unceremoniously disposed of in the traditional manner. I think my optimism re: miraculous recovery following better living conditions was misplaced.

The mussels seem fine. They seem able to move a long old way under their own steam, and are often in surprisingly remote corners of the tank.

I have just had to cry off a meal with friends at the Balti House on health grounds. My abdomen has been painful for the last week, and my jaw for even longer, and I just didn’t think one of their traditional enormous curries would help terribly much. Instead, I made some sort of Greek potato stew, improvising from a recipe found on cix:/gourmet — sliced, sauteed potatoes laid thinly across the bottom of a dish, covered in a sauce made from onion, garlic, tomatoes, olives, red wine and chilli, and baked for an hour. I didn’t quite cook it for long enough, so the onion was still a bit too crunchy. I ate it with home-made bread and home-brewed beer and felt very virtuous. I can manage more healthy eating like this.

The onions were from that nice grocery called Sheikh, where the fabulously priced oranges come from. Onions are no more expensive–there ought to be a sign that says, “Sheikh, for people who like onions.” A huge gert multi-kilo bag that was tricky lug home for only two-fifty. Spectactular. I made onion soup to celebrate, and will serve it to my parents when they visit later in the week.

Over in Ambridge, I’m convinced that Jill Archer is an evil witch, despite the placid exteriour. The way yesterday she asked whether Ruth’s cough (was it TB? Secondary cancers? Mammoth red herring?) was starting to get better–the clear implication was that she’d taken the pins out of the Ruth-Archer wax doll concealed in a dresser-drawer in the Bungalow. Today, the R4 announcer told us “Kenton Archer is helping the children look for firewood for bonfire night; what could possibly go wrong?” What indeed.

Aquarist’s news

Oh dear. An aquarist friend of Paul’s has identified Fin Rot on the backs of some the new fish, and has a gloomy prognosis.

But http://www.fishdoc.co.uk/disease/finrot.htm says:

[…] stress is the major cause of fin rot. This could be due to a fish disease such as parasites, or overcrowding, low oxygen levels, bullying, poor water quality etc. The most important first step is to resolve any stressors. If caught early, this may be sufficient.

Hmm. Now the fish are in my care, they’re not overcrowded and the should be enough oxygen. I can work on the water quality. Maybe it’s not such a problem.

Oh, well. At least the mussels don’t have fins.

The highlight of the weekend was a trip up to Hull to see I’m Sorry I haven’t a Clue being recorded the New Theatre. A bit of a strange experience: it’s much slower in real life, presumably because they edit it down to half an hour. Certainly funny, but I actually think I prefer it on the radio. The audience was staggeringly middle-class — I felt out ra-raed when I popped down to the bar at half time for a coffee. A barely teenage girl asked, “Do you think a place like this will do Pimm’s?” (I was uncertain whether she was dissing Hull in general or the New Theatre in specific. Bits of Hull were quite pretty, and the New Theatre was great.) and someone else was complaining that the dry white wine wasn’t dry enough for her tastes. Apparently the shows aren’t to be broadcast until quite late in December. You’ll recognise me as the one person to applaud a move in Mornington Cresc. I really like the episodes where the audience reacts to MC moves with applause, gasps, etc., but my attempt to get that into this show fell flat.

Hull being near Grimsby it was easier to pop to the same friend’s parents we stayed with last week for the night rather than struggling back to Nottingham in the dark. It’s a shame that Paul wasn’t able to come with us this weekend, but his madrigal group had a gig at someone’s wedding.

Paul’s parents popped in briefly this evening on the way somewhere and had a nice cup of tea and a slice of today’s bread, made with Hovis granary flour.

I started drinking the homebrew in earnest. It is nice, but there’s so much CO2 in the pressure barrel that pouring the beer is tricky: you end up with an enormous head, and if you turn the tap on too hard by mistake instead of turning it off, beer all over the cellar floor. I don’t think I’m actually going to be drinking many of these 40 pints…

Getting through the Alias at a rate of knots — now at 2×11. What next?!

Aquarist's news

Oh dear. An aquarist friend of Paul’s has identified Fin Rot on the backs of some the new fish, and has a gloomy prognosis.

But http://www.fishdoc.co.uk/disease/finrot.htm says:

[…] stress is the major cause of fin rot. This could be due to a fish disease such as parasites, or overcrowding, low oxygen levels, bullying, poor water quality etc. The most important first step is to resolve any stressors. If caught early, this may be sufficient.

Hmm. Now the fish are in my care, they’re not overcrowded and the should be enough oxygen. I can work on the water quality. Maybe it’s not such a problem.

Oh, well. At least the mussels don’t have fins.

The highlight of the weekend was a trip up to Hull to see I’m Sorry I haven’t a Clue being recorded the New Theatre. A bit of a strange experience: it’s much slower in real life, presumably because they edit it down to half an hour. Certainly funny, but I actually think I prefer it on the radio. The audience was staggeringly middle-class — I felt out ra-raed when I popped down to the bar at half time for a coffee. A barely teenage girl asked, “Do you think a place like this will do Pimm’s?” (I was uncertain whether she was dissing Hull in general or the New Theatre in specific. Bits of Hull were quite pretty, and the New Theatre was great.) and someone else was complaining that the dry white wine wasn’t dry enough for her tastes. Apparently the shows aren’t to be broadcast until quite late in December. You’ll recognise me as the one person to applaud a move in Mornington Cresc. I really like the episodes where the audience reacts to MC moves with applause, gasps, etc., but my attempt to get that into this show fell flat.

Hull being near Grimsby it was easier to pop to the same friend’s parents we stayed with last week for the night rather than struggling back to Nottingham in the dark. It’s a shame that Paul wasn’t able to come with us this weekend, but his madrigal group had a gig at someone’s wedding.

Paul’s parents popped in briefly this evening on the way somewhere and had a nice cup of tea and a slice of today’s bread, made with Hovis granary flour.

I started drinking the homebrew in earnest. It is nice, but there’s so much CO2 in the pressure barrel that pouring the beer is tricky: you end up with an enormous head, and if you turn the tap on too hard by mistake instead of turning it off, beer all over the cellar floor. I don’t think I’m actually going to be drinking many of these 40 pints…

Getting through the Alias at a rate of knots — now at 2×11. What next?!

Fish

I wasn’t planning on getting more fish, I had in mind scrubbing out the aquarium for one last time and putting a small ad in the post office to flog the lot off at bargain basement prices.

However, Paul missed the flobbalob of tiny gills, and I gave in. Today the tank is filled with golden life again: five tiny goldfish and two swan mussels that seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, all I need is a wireless web cam to share our enthusiasm with you dear reader… no! enough technology now!

The KVM switch finally arrived today and I’ve been playing with that. No sign of docking station yet, however, which limits scope for using KVM somewhat.

Saw Collateral earlier in the week with the Orange 2-4-1 deal. Quite liked it. Reminded of Nicole Kidman’s comments about stopping going out with Tom Cruise meant she could wear high-heeled shoes again without worrying about being taller than him.