A slightly unfair ellipsis

I’m reading a piece from tomorrow’s Times, thanks to the magic of the interweb, and this little possibility of sub-editing fair jumped out of the page at me. It makes it seem as if the Police don’t share Boris’s enthusiasm.

A big crowd is expected for the fireworks display at the London Eye tonight and Boris Johnson, the Mayor, promised a spectacle that would show the world that “the most exciting city on Earth” was looking forward to the future with “optimism and energy”.

[…] The Metropolitan Police urged people to wear warm, waterproof clothing and be prepared for crowd congestion and long delays.

Hmm, now I write it out, it seems less funny. Oh, well, I’ll hit publish anyway.

Three new jargon words

One of the things that tickles me in the round of Council committee meetings I participate in each month is the plethora of different professions I am exposed to. Although my key interests on the council are on the transport / infrastructure side of things, I have made all sorts of forays into other bits. And every part of the council has its own special languages. Some of the words they use in reporting their work to councillors make me chuckle. Here are three recent examples

1 – “Dayburn”

Dayburn is how street lighting engineers refer to streetlights being on in the day. Street lighting is one small area of the Council that most people take for granted, until the light outside your house fails, flickers or is on in the day. At this time of year, hardworking councillors are out touring the streets in the dark noting down the numbers of failed lights.

If you live in Nottingham City and a light isn’t working – use this handy web form to report it to the Council. In my experience the emails you get from the website as a result of doing that are a little difficult to understand – but it does result in the light getting fixed within a few days. Don’t rely on other people to report it for you – some lights are out for weeks just because no-one reports it.

Nottingham is about to get a massive investment in streetlighting through a very long running PFI. Every street light will be replaced. The new ones will be much more energy efficient, resulting in more light for less power. They are changing the types of bulbs for ones which produce a whiter light, rather than the sodium orange we are all used to. The columns will all have the facility to be remotely controlled and remotely monitored, which should make “dayburn” a thing of the past. And it should be possible to dim them remotely and run them at less than 100% – although that facility will be used very carefully to make sure there are no knockon effects on crime.

2 – Sparge

Sparging is a fancy engineering word for cleaning, and when I first heard this word in a meeting about the district heating scheme, it nearly made me burst out laughing straight away. The person who said it dropped it into a sentence as if was the most ordinary word in the world and it was all I could do not to butt in and say, scuse me, did you just say “sparge” ? As it was, I made a note in a corner of a piece of paper and went home to look it up.

Nottingham has the largest district heating scheme in the UK, taking waste heat and steam from the incinerator and using it to heat thousands of homes in the St Anns area, as well as a huge number of municipal buildings and centres, including the Victoria Centre, the Broadmarsh centre, the Royal Centre and the Ice Arena. Steam is also supplied directly to Bio City where it runs the autoclaves and sterilising processes, and surplus steam is used to directly generate electricity. The scheme contributes to Nottingham’s success in generating its own energy.

But it’s not without controversy. The scheme has lost a lot of money in recent years, and the very idea of waste incineration is anathema to many environmental campaigners. My somewhat pragmatic view is that since the incinerator is there already, it’s much better to make use of the steam than not to. Tearing out the scheme and proving replacement heating systems for all the thousands of users would itself be an expensive thing to do that’s not in Nottingham’s interest.

3 – Dirty MRF (pronounced Merf to rhyme with smurf)

Waste management, one of the key roles for councils – in fact, bin collection is about the only completely universal service a council offers – has plenty of its own jargon, and key amongst those are the MRFs. It’s a phrase used so often that it’s now pronounceable as a word in its own right. A MRF is a materials recycling facility. If you have the sort of recycling bin where you mix up different types of recyclables, like card, glass and tins, the contents have to be taken to a MRF to sort them out. Clean MRFs sort out pre-sorted waste, but Dirty MRFs take a wider mix of waste, including kitchen and food waste, and sort out the reusable elements.

In Nottingham, our recycling bins are taken to a plant off the Colwick Loop Road where the lorries are emptied into huge piles which are shoveled onto a conveyor belt. The waste is sorted in a mix of automatic and manual ways – tins are removed and sorted magnetically, and then a small team of people hand sort the different sorts of plastic and paper. The tins are recycled into more tins. Some of the plastics are reused – milk bottles can easily become new milk bottles – but it is harder to find further uses for some other sorts of plastic. Some plastics are even recycled as fleecey coats! The paper and cardboard is taken a plant in the Netherlands where it is recycled as heavy board – the sort of board boardgames are made of, as well as the insides of lever arch files and the like.

Ah, politicians will use any excuse to get into a costume

I went on a trip to see the MRF at Colwick a few years ago and took a lot of photos I’ve never used or uploaded. I’ll pop ’em on Flickr and return to this topic another day.

Pudding club

We’ve got friends with very small children (one less than 14 days old!) who struggle to get out as much as they used to, so we’ve got into the very agreeable habit of popping around on a free evening to eat with them, watch whilst they wrangle the toddler into bed, and then play boardgames with half an ear on the baby monitor. Most often, they provide a main, and we take a pudding, so over the last few years, I’ve been cooking lots of different puds to take over, which has given me the opportunity to experiment culinarily. I think I’d rather cook a pudding more than anything else – and in fact on the increasingly rare occasions we do host a dinner party, I can think of a pud and starter much more quickly than I can come up with a main fancy enough to serve to guests.

Most of my puds started with a blind baked pastry case, because pastry is my real strength, ever since my first go, which was making treacle tart at school. Since then, my pastry technique has been refined thanks to a posting in cix:gourmet from a famous Cornish chef and guesthouse proprietor known as the Bear. It’s his basic pastry recipe that’s now my staple sweet pastry mix: 8oz plain flour, 4oz butter, 1oz sugar, blitzed in the food processor to breadcrumbs and then made into a dough with an egg and as much water as needed to bring it together. Chill the dough in the fridge for as long as possible before it’s needed, and then, rather than rolling it out, just flatten the ball a little and press it into a well-greased flan dish. Blind bake at 180 for as long as it takes to turn golden brown.

Then of course there are a number of things you can fill it with: lemon curd, lemon curd beaten into mascarpone, lemon meringue, chocolate ganache, crême patissière and glazed strawberries, cheesecake, tarte aux pommes etc and etc.

So the first few months were tart based. Then a few months with chocolatey things in little pots.

For tomorrow’s outing, it’s baked custards building on the Julia Childs obsession that’s grown since seeing Julie and Julia, and then reading the book. Since the recipe makes more than enough for four pots, there will be four Crême renversée au caramel, and four plain baked custards which will turn into crême brûlée, if my friends can find butane for their blowtorch…

One particularly irritating thing about the Julia Childs recipes is that they all use American measurements and Fahrenheit temperatures, so before I can go much further I have to convert a lot. Google helps – typing “350 deg f in c” gets you an answer immediately as does “2/3 cup sugar in grams”

I’ve now made the recipe twice and this is how it went. It’s relatively simple, but sugarcraft often eludes me. But had I known it was this simple from such basic ingredients, I’d never have bothered with the packets you can get to make just this.

For 8 recycled Gü ramekins:

200 gr sugar
6 tablespoons water

Heat water and sugar until dissolved and boiling gently. Turn up heat until mixture takes on caramel colour (this is particularly hard to judge if you use unbleached sugar). Test on a cold plate that the consistency is gooey. Pour into four of the ramekins and tilt until the caramel coats the sides as well as the bottom.

Preheat oven to about 150 deg C (lower than JC’s original: my oven clearly too hot)

125 gr sugar
2 whole eggs
4 egg yolks
1 pt whole milk (or 0.75 of a pint and topped up with cream)
1.5 tsp vanilla essence, or scored vanilla pod

Beat the sugar into the egg yolks in a large heatproof bowl. Boil the milk and vanilla pod. Pour the hot milk very slowly into the eggs, beating vigorously all the time. Sieve the mixture back into the saucepan to remove any lumps or stringy bits from the eggs, then pour the custard over the caramel, and into four more empty pots, if making crêmes brûlées. Stand the ramekins in deep sided baking trays and pour boiling water in. Bake au bain marie (as Come Dine With Me puts it “fancy french for ‘in a tray with water'”) for around 50 minutes – long enough for a skewer to come out clean, but not long enough to brown the tops because you got distracted watching Come Dine with Me. Oops.

Make meringue out of the leftover egg whites. This recipe worked really well for me last time.

The “crême” section of my French cookery book, “Ginette Mathiot, La cuisine pour tous” has whole pages of different ways of flavouring baked custards cooked like this. Lots of different fruit purées, either as a layer at the bottom of the pot (apricot, apple, prune, pineapple) or pushed through a sieve and mixed in with the custard itself (banana, strawberry). Or melt in 200gr of chocolate. Or mix the caramel mix in directly with the custard and not have it in separate layers. Or flavour the milk while boiling with espresso, or ground coffee, or lemon or orange zest, or peach leaves.

The custard recipe is pretty similar to crême patissière, except you make that with a little flour in with the eggs and sugar, and with less milk.

Interesting French words

chinois – from context, I just thought this mean “sieve”, but it turns out it means very expensive, fine-meshed conical sieve. I don’t know why the French think sieves are Chinese apart from maybe are they Chinese hat shaped?

chalumeau – nice word, the French for blowtorch, and the English for poncey baroque recorder

I hate iPhones!

Aargh! I hate iPhones! There, I said it. And it seems I’m not alone.

They’re good. They’re funky. The UI is top notch.

But what I really hate is that they do nothing my existing Nokia couldn’t already do. They launched on the scene with a great fanfare, with fewer features than most existing smartphones. And yet, almost straight away, all the websites that had previously neglected smartphones in various guises jumped straight onto the iPhone bandwagon, and produced an iPhone compatible version that still excludes the majority of other smartphones out there. Aaargh!

Then, with the world iPhone friendly, it’s getting harder to use Nokias. It’s a daily struggle to get my phone to do what it should be able to do easily. Getting podcasts on using iTunes is a horrible kludge (I use iTunes Agent, which does the job, but not without mucking about). The supplied software with my N95 8GB didn’t work on Vista. The downloaded software is mostly fine, but sometimes a little buggy. But its native music/podcast app just refuses to run on my computer. One of the main points in getting a large capacity phone was so that I didn’t need to take two gadgets into the shower out leafleting with me if I wanted to listen to podcasts whilst delivering.

I’ve also not managed to get picture messaging or email working on my phone since I upgraded, although browsing the web, mainly dabr.co.uk and m.libdemvoice.org using Opera Mini works a dream. Without email, there doesn’t seem to be an easy way of integrating Flickr and Twitter, which is a shame.

Oh, and the Nokia N95 8GB? Much clickier keys. Not good for using surreptitiously in meetings. And the keyboard seems to be a major contributor in my hand pain, which I’m calling RSI, even though I’ve not discussed with an actual medical professional.

Hmm. Having said I hate iPhones, I seem to have spent much of the time talking about hating Nokias.

Still, there are some things that put me off trying to upgrade to an iPhone. I don’t want to have to move from Orange (although there seem to be precious few reasons to stay these days) (and they seem to be getting iPhones soon). Can you use an iPhone with one hand whilst walking? Are you more likely to get mugged for an iPhone? And what would I do with all my still useful Nokia chargers that litter the house?

Liverpool’s bells

Have just returned from a weekend ringing tour with FODS up in Liverpool. Whilst there were four nice churches visited, really the object for me was a chance to ring at the open practice at the Cathedral. With the heaviest and highest church bells in the world, the Anglican Cathedral of Liverpool is a sort of Mecca for ringers. Many of my ringing friends have spoken about the experience of ringing there, and so I was keen to experience it for myself.

The FODS have toured Liverpool once before – in the late 90s, I think – and when I went then, I certainly went into the cathedral, and was bowled over by the sheer size and scale of the immense edifice. But I hadn’t before made it up the tower. Given that it’s one of the largest cathedrals in the world, and has a very high, very large tower, it’s a bit of a relief that there are lifts, rather than making you climb a thousand stairs. That relief is slightly short lived when you realise that each lift car can carry a maximum of three people and there are at least 30 of you hoping to attend practice. The locals were full of stories that the lift recently broke down, and there are signs everywhere vaguely near the lift in a very simple pictogram to reinforce the limit of three.

I rode up the lift with two women, one a ringer of some standing in Liverpool and the other a complete novice who had never rung before, but was interested in seeing what it was like. In my pains to explain that Liverpool Cathedral was in so many ways a unique ringing experience, and therefore maybe not the best place to get a first taste, I fear I came across a little unwelcoming and had to mend bridges later on in the evening.

Eventually the lift takes you to level 8, the ringing chamber, which is enormous, and a little dark. There are windows, but they are small and high up. There are massive girders throughout the room holding the tower together, each with a little staircase over them so that you can circulate. And on the floor there are names painted at angles, which I think referred to other towers around the world. (I think these were the remnants of an art installation, reviewed here.

A local ringer started the practice by asking for shows of hands of those who had never rung at Liverpool Cathedral before. Since the bells are so heavy, and the sound so distant, they place rooky ringers carefully amongst more experienced ones. Even if you are a ringer of some standing, these are a special challenge. They’re also very loud, and audible a long way away so there is an even greater responsibility than normal not to make a hash of things.

I got to ring in the first set of rounds and call-changes, and was asked to ring the 3rd, which means the third heaviest out of the main ring of 12. There’s an accidental bell that lets you ring another scale, and a monster of a 14-ton bell not attached to the usual wheel, and rung only on special occasions.

To ring, you need to stand on a special structure built where the ropes fall from the ceiling, which raises all the ringers four feet off the ground. It’s a sort of stage, with a circular, stained pit in the middle. I rang, more or less uneventfully apart from when distracted and thinking I was ringing the 2 instead of the 3 moved in the wrong direction at a call. Despite the volume, the bells are hard to hear in the ringing chamber, as they are quite a way away and separated by thick concrete floors.

My ringing stint over, I wandered around the ringing chamber a bit more, took some cameraphone pictures and videos (which I will add into this post when they have uploaded to Flickr) before my battery died. After a while, I noticed people were grabbing ear defenders and heading back to the lift. It turned out they were going to watch the bells from above, rather than from below. I grabbed a pair of defenders from the bag and joined the lift queue.

When you get out, here’s what you see:

Liverpool bells

(photo credit: That_James)

That’s an extraordinary sight, for so many reasons.

Firstly – these are enormous bells, amongst the largest in the world. Almost all of them are significantly bigger than people. The largest, central bell weighs 14 tons, and is surrounded by bells from 9 cwt to 4 tons. And yet they are dwarfed by the space they are in, in this huge lantern at the top of the huge tower astride the huge cathedral. Most other church towers could fit into the bell chamber many times over. The space is so big, and so open to the elements that it is not unusual for clouds and rain to form in the space. The stain in the pit below comes from rainwater collecting in the mouths of bells and bucketing down on unwary ringers below. NB, in the photo, the bells are raised for ringing, with their mouths facing up. When I was there, they were being swung, so each of the bells around the edge was turning full circle.

Secondly – the design of the frame holding the bells. It’s concrete! In most other churches, it’s wood or the wood has been replaced this century with a metal frame. This beautiful industrial concrete setting for the bells means they can be arranged in a perfect circle, rather than meshed together in two layers, bells facing in all directions and jigsawed together in complicated patterns, as is usual. But how did they get the concrete up there? It must surely have been poured in situ, rather than cast below and hoisted up? The industrial machinery reminded me a little of my primary-school trip to a nuclear power station. We were trouped around to look at distant concrete machinery through safety-glass windows. Similar vast spaces applied.

I was so bowled over by the sight that I beetled back down the lift and handed my ear defenders to the woman who’d never rung before and sent her up to see it.

Although the ringing chamber is not normally open to the public, the bell chamber forms part of the Tower Experience, which is open to all visitors. If you get the chance, go and see it.

In the top 75 – barely!

Thanks to what must have been barely one person who nominated me for the Total Politics Top Blogs – Lib Dem category.

Lib Dem Blogs Top 75

I have spent nearly five minutes trying to find the lists from previous years. Back in the day, I was very highly rated – I think when Mr Dale was still doing it personally, I was something like #2 on the list. So I was a little surprised to see that apparently I was not listed last year.

Oh well. It is true that I have not written as much this year as previously and less still than the most keen blogging days in the past. I like having a place I can wibble on when the urge strikes me, and I really like Twitter. So this place will continue to have sporadic updates. Stay tuned.

Countdown swears

Last night, I watched Question Time, and found it profoundly depressing. Then fired up the Virgin box to see what was interesting on iPlayer and 4OD. Firstly there was Extended HIGNFY, which was fun (not least for spotting the extra bits, since I’d already watched the shorter version). Then ideas ran short.

By this point P was home, and jokingly, expecting him to object, I fired up an edition of Countdown – previously I had no idea you could get Countdown on 4OD.

We were quickly captivated. I have no idea who the new host is or the numbers-and-letters woman is. Thank heavens for Susie Dent (( my goodness what a woman of mystery – look at the Discussion page on WP – when was she born? Is she married? who knows! )) !

The first numbers and letters game came perilously close to swearing, and you can see pretty much everyone involved struggling not to giggle.

“Please try for better than 5 letters.”

Life expectancy

Good news: this website thinks I’ll live until I’m 77.5 years old.  Which is plenty as far as I am concerned. Assuming I entered all the answers correctly.

Bad news:  I’m already 40% through my allotted span.

The website did have some helpful tips about how I might increase my life expectancy by 2.61 years:

Analysis Results

Not smoking is a great choice! Your life expectancy is maximized by not smoking
If you have 2-3 drinks per day, your life expectancy would be -0.01 years longer
If you do not drive, your life expectancy would be 0.13 years longer
Having a life free from major stress has maximized your life expectancy
If you become a conditioning exercizer, your life expectancy would be 0.52 years longer
If you consume all 5 types of food everyday, your life expectancy would be 0.00 years longer
If you do not have any sexual partner, your life expectancy would be 0.38 years longer
If you sleep 7 hours a day, your life expectancy would be 1.57 years longer

If all of the above choices are adopted, your life expectancy would be 2.61 years longer

I don’t think any of those are worth the time they give you!

EDIT: The same website has told P he’ll live longer than me, despite having a 6 year head start!

Listed buildings, an interesting diversion

This photo sent me down an interesting diversion that has taken an hour of my time this evening that could well have been spent doing something more useful. Often the case. Damn you, internet!

The picture is a view out of the window of the QMC taking in some university buildings, including the Biomolecular sciences building, the Trent building, Computer sciences tower, and the Ratcliffe on Soar power station in the long distance.

I put a question into the comments – which of these buildings is listed? – because of an interesting thing someone once told me: that the ugly concrete computer science tower in University Park is a listed building. It’s possible – listing can be about noting interesting buildings, even if they’re horrible. The rationale I was given was that it was one of the first concrete prefab towers to be built, and so was on the list because it was an important structure.

I wanted to be reasonably sure of my facts – so often, these things that people tell you turn out not to be remotely true. I can’t even remember who it was who told me, but it is one of those factoids I have repeated to a lot of people.

So I googled to find out if there’s a list of Nottinghamshire’s listed buildings anywhere and found this interesting page from the City Council which talks about listing – what it’s for, what it achieves, and a few basic facts and figures about Nottingham in particular.

It also points you at a searchable national database of listed buildings, so I typed in the University’s postcode which I happened to remember (NG7 (ie Lenton) 2RD – RD? Research and Development? Geddit?) and got a huge number of returns of listed buildings within 1km of a point on the ring road. Rather unfortunate, but within that box is the Park, Nottingham’s premier Victorian housing estate, the University, with a lot of listed buildings, and Wollaton Hall and Park – and not only is the hall listed but lots of separate features are listed separately.

Browsing the list, I couldn’t see the tower itself, but I’m not sure what name it might be under, so I can’t completely rule it out. The Trent Building was definitely listed, as are all sorts of strange things, including the footbridge over the lake in Highfields Park, and the bust of Jesse Boot on University Boulevard.

A separate line of inquiry was launched by the claims on the City Council’s website:

Buildings are classified in grades to show their relative importance;
Grade I: these are buildings of exceptional interest (only about 2% of listed buildings are in this grade) Nottingham has 9 grade I listed buildings)
Grade II*: these are particularly important buildings of more than special interest (only about 4% of listed buildings) Nottingham has 31 grade II* listed buildings)
Grade II: these are buildings of special interest, which warrant every effort being made to preserve them (94% of listed buildings) Nottingham has approx. 740 grade II listed buildings)

Dearie me. You can’t give half a factoid like that and not provide more details! 9 Grade I listed buildings, you say, but what, precisely are they?

Playing with the irritating search feature, I found a way to return only Grade I listed buildings, but not a way to find only the ones within the boundaries of the City of Nottingham.

Anyway, these are the Grade I listed buildings in the city:

Not quite sure how that makes 9…

I shall defer the search of the 31 Grade II* listed buildings to another day with more time to waste.

But one final interesting diversion was to plug in my own post code and see what near me is listed. And again, all sorts of odd things, including random bits of apparently unremarkable wall.

EDIT: Welcome to all readers who are here because of the City Council’s media-monitoring email. Do leave a comment to let me know you passed by. You may be interested in my next post which did list the Grade II* listed buildings

Lord Bonkers on squirrels

The next instalment of the Diary of Lord Bonkers has hit doormats on the back page of Liberator, and his diary secretary Jonathan Calder is posting them up day by day on Liberal England.

Today’s gripping instalment covers squirrels. As we have previously learned in these pages, Lib Dem peer Lord Redesdale is trying to eliminate grey squirrels – first from Northumberland, then the rest of the country.

Lord Bonkers gives the compelling reason why this effort is so urgent:

Whereas our native red likes cricket, morris dancing and good ale, and understands the principles of queuing, the brash American Grey chews gum, flashes its money about and demands good service in hotels. Clearly, it must be extirpated from these islands.

I wonder, if when in Morpeth, he heard the local ringers ringing Morpeth at Morpeth? As the new Northumberland County Council becomes unitary with the Lib Dems as largest party, Castle Morpeth Borough Council shuts down. This has ended traditions that link ringers with civic life there, including a peal for each new Mayor, and five minutes of ringing before each council meeting. To note this, the Morpeth ringers learned a complicated and difficult method named after their town: Morpeth Surprise Minor.

The method is here (click Morpeth in the table at the intersection of Canterbury and Wells). News report here. The record of the quarter peal is here. And interestingly, Nottingham University Soc of Change Ringers scored a quarter of this at Clifton last month.