Secret Crush - Crushed

A few months ago, I mentioned a secret crush on this very page, of a newsreader.

A few weeks had passed without 'accidentally' catching her on any of the news programmes, and my mind wandered to what she could be doing. Me being me, at first I imagined she could be tidying hotel rooms, dressed as a French maid. However, this would be ridiculous - but the image lingered.

I checked in on one of this great land's numerous comments boards, entirely devoted to speculation and screengrabs of lovely news presenters. I have some sad news to report. According to the group, she has left the company and won't be coming back.

Naturally, the past few days have been spent with an electrical tape black armband in grateful memory of those happy summers days when she'd would sign off the programmes with a special goodbye, specifically to me (surely!), and to the seventeen wonderous gigs of screengrabs and video on my hard drive.

So thank you for your time. You know your name - just as long as no-one else finds out!

n.b. There aren't seventeen gigs. This was made up for comic effect.

"Jews are dicks"

On the way home on the train this evening, I saw some quite large anti-semetic scrawlings on a billboard, between Small Heath and Tyseley - "Jews are dicks". I have no doubt that this was written by children, yet I felt strangely compelled to write about it. I wonder how long an equally provocative remark about Muslims would last?

This is also the first bit of anti-Jew grafiti I have ever seen that wasn't on some half arsed UK History Nazi-fest. Yay! Three cheers for progress and understanding in the UK. Also, I did hear anti-Jew chanting from West Ham fans on a tram outside The Hawthorns in about 2003.

Welcome To New York

It's two years since visiting New York. My visit coincided with the fifth anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center. In the five years until visiting the site of the towers, every day those indelible images of the 'planes disappearing into history haunted me. If that did that to me who only heard the events live, I will never understand how it felt to be either in New York or in those fateful buildings on the day. 

By visiting, the terror aspect for me from that day was diminished. 

Here are some pictures, some sombre and some less so from a couple of great days in Manhattan and Brooklyn.

For this post, commentary is above the pictures.

We took the subway south to the pier, to visit the Staten Island Ferry on the 11th. After taking some nice views of Manhattan, we sailed back and walked north. When we seemingly ran into the entire world's news crews. I took the opportunity to stand by one of the remaining items that were beamed around the world from the lenses of Jules and Gedeon Naudet.

Here's a fat me looking away from Manhattan on Staten Island.

Atmospheric skyline shot. 

A view from the Staten Island Ferry of both Brooklyn (foreground) and George Washington bridges.

On Liberty Island, with helpful accidental picture of the hole in the skyline at the bottom right.

Times Square, at night.

The last remaining above ground bit of the WTC complex, known as the "Survivors Staircase". This was moved in March 2008.

Nice shot of a street.

Street signs for the easily confused...

And the view from the gallery...
Inside Grand Central Station
Looking South towards downtown, with Liberty Island and Ellis Island on the right.

And living a bit of a childish dream, outside the Ghostbusters firehouse!

Welcome to Birmingham, 5

Further in this recurring series, more shots that make Birmingham and its environs look attractive and occasionally sexy.

Firstly, the view looking towards Wolverhampton from Tipton’s Owen Street train station. Lovely clouds.

Here, have some Birmingham Council House action.

Late night after visiting Subside, the Council House in profile, but centre stage is ( I think) Joseph Priestly. And some rain for atmosphere. And some flowers.

Lastly, the views from Tyseley station bridge looking towards the city centre. Having visited New York, I can say that this looks similar to the approach to Manhattan Island from New Jersey. Just. If you squint a bit. It was dark when I got to New York, after all.

Theft from Flickr

I am confusingly pleased to mention that I have discovered a way to ‘archive for personal reasons’ photos uploaded to Flickr. I’m sure it’s not just me that knows how to do this, but still. I spent a surprisingly short time downloading for personal archiving reasons some (68!) approval shots for one of my obscure TV crushes. Just to prove that it could be done, of course.

Fishing For Cats 3

‘Meow’ from a temporary guest.

Tennis

I picked up a following the exertions from the athletics the other week, I picked up a tennis racquet for the first time since leaving the warehouse. Now my bro and I have played two truncated sets over two weekends, and have completely wrecked ourselves. We have a lot of respect for tennis players who make it look easy and have more fitness than it first appears. My groin didn’t recover for days.

So extra kudos to Andy Murray in New York after beating the world number one Rafael Nadal to get to the final against...the best male tennis player in recent times, Roger Federer.

British people need to learn that there's more to tennis than two weeks at Wimbledon!

Woktastic

A few words of thanks for Woktastic who offered me some free sushi outside of their new restaurant in Paradise Forum (Birmingham’s Central Library). I have been keen to try some sushi and was excited to try some for free. Unfortunately, it was soaking in vinegar. I am grateful for the opportunity to try something new, so I’m more than happy to drop a free plug for their restaurant and website. Harigato!

The Nothing Too Pretentious Cookbook

Yes, apologies to the flood of people who have mailed in - 200°C is also 400°F and Gas Mark 6.

Thanks.

The Nothing Too Pretentious Cookbook

Two pots or fewer, or your money back!

I’m not the most adventurous of cooks, but there are a few comfort food dishes I really enjoy cooking. They are easy to produce, tasty to eat and straightforward to wash up.

Of course I’d like to share a few recipes with you! Today we have:

Unpretentious Lasagne

Feeds between two students and six hardcore dieters.

You will need:

One non-stick pan

One thumb deep rectangular oven proof dish

One wooden spoon

A chopping/cutting knife

Ingredients, all available from your local supermarket:

500g Mince

Lasagne Sheets (ready made)

Tomato Puree (tube)

White Sauce (Béchamel, usually – but sold as “White Sauce”)

Cheese, grated

Some chopped Basil (fresh - good, dried - ok)

Suggested: sliced peppers, sliced mushrooms or tinned sweetcorn

Method:

Oven on to 200C in preparation for later.

Hob to full whack.

Throw mince into non-stick pan and sprinkle in basil. Stir until cooked (i.e. not pink, brown is also ok). Add other suggested ingredients here, if you want. Once this has been mixed in, dump in tomato puree, as much as coats the mixture you have made. Reduce heat to about ¾. Gently add in more tomato puree until it looks like a very thick sauce, covering most of your mixture.

Get your dish. Spoon in mixture to cover the base of the dish. Smooth until relatively flat. Cover this layer with another layer, of the lasagne sheets. Completely cover the mixture. Repeat this process until you have run out of mixture. Top your last layer with more sheets. Pour over the top your white sauce. Cover this with grated cheese.

Bung lot on the top shelf of the ready heated oven for 30 minutes. If you haven’t done it already, turn off your hob.

After 30 minutes, the Unpretentious Lasagne is ready to serve. Caution! Hot. Caution! Moreish.

Lasagne is good served on its own, but goes well with a small portion of fresh steamed veg.

Don’t worry if your meat/veg mixture isn’t cooked thoroughly in the pan, it gets a full half-hour of raging heat in the oven.

Enjoy!

Tune in another time for more unpretentious cookery.

Insane Bolt

(The start bit of this post really should have been published about three weeks ago.)

This afternoon, I saw a sporting feat that left me speechless. Usain Bolt from Jamaica became the first person to run the 100 metres in a time under 9.7 seconds *. And wasn’t even trying for the last 25. 

9.69.

That time is as long as it takes to read that first paragraph.

I thought that the TV had broken at first. That victory margin was so immense, it couldn’t be real.

Watching that started me thinking about my days as a champion sprinter, running the same distance in 11.07 seconds, ooh, more than a decade ago. After thirteen years away from the track, and numerous bacon sandwiches later, what would my time be now?

The other thing in my mind was Michael Johnson doing something similar at about 4am in Atlanta, in 1996 in the 200m. In some ways, the Michael Johnson race is more outstanding; Bolt shaved 0.03 seconds from the world record in his victory, in 1996 Johnson took 0.4 seconds off a record that had stood for twenty years, destroying a world class field. The pace even dragged the surprised Frankie Fredericks under the then world record mark.

(Fast forward a few days…)

Usain Bolt took Michael Johnson’s 200m world record away from him with another blistering performance to take gold in Beijing, reducing the mark from 19.32 to 19.30. 

(Further days pass…)

So, I stepped on the track, and after some practice and re-acquaintance with blocks and on track psychology, ambled to a decade’s best of…15.44s.

Can this be bettered? With I ever get close to 11 seconds again? Is there a better way to time these things than with an iPod and shouting?

All these questions and more will be answered over the coming month, in a quest to shave a second or so off this fastest time in thirteen years.

*With a ‘legal’ wind speed of less than +2.0m/s, accuracy fans.

It’s all about Personal Choice

Hello,

In April, I joined the gym as part of my charity diet preparations. Regrettably, I haven’t been arsed enough to collect the sponsorship money from the donators, but I digress. I have enjoyed the experience, and really enjoy Spinning and pushing myself on the machines – and enjoy being able to watch the cricket as I go.

Shortly after, I made a decision to stop drinking, 21st June to be accurate. It’s been two months, and it’s still a decision that makes perfect sense. I am enjoying myself more, and I seem to have more time than ever; this seems to be hangover recovery and wasted time leathered.

My life is becoming organised and my future seems to be brighter than ever.

I wouldn’t be preachy about this, and would agree that it’s not for everyone, but it really has worked for me. I’d rather go without than set myself a limit that I could persuade myself into bypassing ‘as a one-off’.

And I know that this may not last forever, but now it is the right thing at the right time.

Political Spot

Good evening, from the NTP political centre.

I was lucky enough to understand the end of the Cold War, and feel the relief of Europeans and the coming together of nations who had been separated by ideology for decades. The legal successor to the Soviet Union (which, for a supposed dictatorship, voted itself out of existence) is Russia. Russia failed to come to terms with the demands of the capitalist system, many of it's soldiers were unpaid for months, and there were starving thousands who had worked all of their lives and whose pensions were worthless.

Under the variable Presidency of Boris Yeltsin, Russia dug in for transition to capitalism and braced itself for some further harsh years. To aid liquidity, the nation sold off many of the nationalised industries in a massive privatisation move. This worked wonders, with many of the businesses proving to be hugely profitable, a source of tax revenues for the nation, and drawing tentative investment from the West.

On the eve of the Millennium, Boris Yeltsin handed over power to a virtual unknown, the unassuming short-term Prime Minister, Vladimir Putin. Nothing too serious was mentioned about his KGB past, as the world celebrated 2000.

Fast forward nearly a decade. The men who owned the privatised businesses are now rich beyond the dreams of all but a handful of people. These men are now, in some parts, household names. Roman Abramovich, anyone? The companies that generate the highest profits are those which utilise Russia's abundant natural resources, like Gazprom (gas) and Sibneft (oil). 

Due to resources dwindling elsewhere, and other factors, these resources are suddenly enormously valuable, and Russia holds the keys to energy prices for most of Europe.

If, for example, a nation failed to appreciate an aspect of Russian foreign policy then the Russian government could turn off the gas to that country or increase the price dramatically. In winter, this could bring a shivering nation to it's knees. Which is more or less what what they did to Ukraine in 2007.

During the last year, Putin's tenure as President came to an end, and he moved downstairs to become Prime Minister whilst 'puppet' President Dmitry Medvedev was elected. Spookily, Medvedev used to be on the Board of Directors at Gazprom.

With the rearming and new confidence of the Russian Army, allied to the strategic power balance with the countries that rely on Russian resources, it would take a bold leader (or a suicidal one) that would challenge Russia or Putin to a fight.

And this is where we are today. With Russian troops and navy surrounding and probing inside Georgia, Georgia's biggest ally the United States is reduced to throwing strong-sounding comments instead of bullets.

The United States will never invade Russia, and neither will it provide the more realistic idea of sending fighting troops to support Georgian defences. The chance of accidentally or deliberately firing on Russian troops is too great a mistake to make. And the 'coalition of the willing' are already hugely stretched with our War on Terror.

As diplomacy, calls for withdrawals and ceasefires are sternly put forward by Condoleeza Rice and George W Bush, it is interesting to draw a parallel with the Iraqi invasion of 2003. At no time were the Iraqi Government given the opportunity to come to a table to talk over their differences with the US. And I find it offensive that the US has the gall to chide Russia for "illegal entry into sovereign territory", as American troops still patrol Baghdad.

As Mark Thomas pointed out; Iraq was invaded not because it was strong, it was exactly the opposite, it was because it was weak.

With the United Nations Security Council being made up of five permanent members and five temporary ones, and Russia being one of the permanent members, unanimous decision to censure Russia will never happen.

And this is why we are in the situation where Russian Generals can make claims that even The Sun can't make any more sensational:

Just for contracting themselves with the US's missile defence system, Poland is now under threat of a nuclear strike. Where does this leave Britain, with its American Army bases and Union Jack painted nuclear missiles in Norfolk?

Is this a temporary phase for Russia, or is this the start of a dangerous new period in world history?

Ladies and Gentlemen, giving you the headline story of rest of my life: The New Cold War.

I Was A Teenage Hitler Clone

Idea for a film! Not my life story. Honest.

It is November 1989, in a secret laboratory somewhere hidden away in East Germany. Two bearded ginger scientists rush around feverishly knocking over bottles and shovel papers into a concrete mixer. There is panic in the air. There are suggested links to cloning in the laboratory. As they continue to destroy ‘evidence’, they uncover a long forgotten safe, which has never actually been locked.

Inside, there are some effects, an old parcel of papers, and a dusty test tube with a tooth in it.

The scientists stop and look through the papers. This is the writings of Otto Unterhosen, the fabled researcher from the early days of the East German regime. They are agog at the unexpected discovery.

Detailed diagrams and graphs, and copious black and white pictures. The investigation becomes more hurried, then stops when they see a photograph of Adolf Hitler.

There is a circle of red crayon around one of his teeth.

Our two scientists make the link that the tooth is the last remnant of Hitler. Obviously, being communist faithful, they jeer loudly at the tooth of the detested leader of the fascist regime.

Their thoughts turn to the possibility of using the stored DNA in the tooth to clone a Hitler that could possibly be used good; maybe propping up the falling communist government, and the thought also occurs that they could make lots of them to chain to benches across the nation to be given a good hiding at any opportune moments – a stress Hitler? 

Anyhow, this is to irresistible an opportunity to miss, and with the sounds of ‘freedom’ playing on their radio, time is ticking down. They boil the tooth and extract the DNA in a way that is only possible in a short comic film. Preferably with tweezers.

So our scientific heroes (for want of a better phrase) store this DNA in a container with obvious danger markings. Knowing that time is against them, they shovel all the rest of the available papers into the concrete mixer and run out of a side door, leaving mess everywhere.

Here, there is a plot detail I’m yet to decide on; somehow the DNA makes it to a city in England, either on purpose or design. Is there a crash of some sort, or a plot that sees one of the scientists move here and marry.

This plot is vital, as it follows to the main crux, as very soon the Hitler DNA is (either by accident or criminally insane scientific design) impregnated into a ‘nice woman of child bearing age’. The more wholesome the better, this decades equivalent of Felicity Kendal, if you will. Scientists go to ground, in hiding.

Fade to black.

Caption: Today…

A skateboard park in suburban UK land. A cheerful helpful teenage voice is out of shot, saying polite and thoughtful things. Wide shot of the teenager reveals teenager in typical Emo clothes, but with obvious Hitler fringe and downy moustache.

Cue mishaps, as the child struggles to come to terms with occasional outbursts that are out of keeping with his wholesome upbringing, and lots of Nazi style imagery which the Emo kid fails to connect with. The essential point of the humour is that the central character has to totally oppose the views of the Nazi party, and if possible, come across as the Anti-Hitler.

Eventually the scientists come out of hiding when they see the kid win a national niceness competition of some sort and try to track the kid down.

In the end the kid is told about his genes, and he’s happy with it as the message is it’s out upbringing that defines our character and not out hardwired DNA.

Title of the film? No idea. But I’d pay to see it. I may have to write star, film and direct it myself though…

Maplins – Poorly Constructed Consumer Rant

I really dislike Maplins. As I have mentioned before, everything I have ever bought from there has been an absolute disappointment. Including the new satellite receiver I bought a few weeks ago. I returned it to them today, expecting a prompt refund.  This didn’t happen, and it may take fourteen days to get my money back, as the unit has to be sent for testing. Whilst there, I saw that they have raised the price by £10.

After this, I questioned the receipt; after all it said “return me within 14 days for a refund”. Ah, but the unit has to go back for testing before Maplins can me the money.

Maplins have taken my money hostage. I have nothing to show for my receipt in terms of goods. 

Arseholes.

I shall never set foot in that blasted shop again, unless it is either to continue to claim my money back, or to fart loudly.

Double arseholes.

Bringing The Summer of 1986 Bang Up To Date

Hello.

If you have ever thought to yourself; "What happens when the people at major financial institutions have to wait between bits of work finishing?", well the answer is usually find something else to eat. However recently, thanks to an inspired moment of lunacy from Miss P, we bring to you the smash hit from the summer of 1986 re-worded for the binge-drinking generation. Obviously, writing something about chavs would be easy, and they wouldn't work as well with the 'source material', so here is the middle class - far too much wine - surprised man in chinos - version. With full accreditation, and directions for the music video too...

Lady Gone Red

With sincere apologies to Chris De Burgh

New words by Nothing Too Pretentious and Miss P

Scene: Dark alleyway. Brick wall behind. Man wears sports pullover around shoulders. Man looks thoughtful into middle distance. Gentle movement of busy town centre in background. Music begins. Man sings:

I’ve never seen you looking so munted as you did tonight

I’d never seen you have a fight

-

I’ve never seen so many doormen ask you if you wanted to leave

They’re looking for a little more calm, given half a chance

I couldn’t see that dress you were wearing

Oh, the highlights in your hair that match your eyes; you might be blind

The lady gone red, is hanging off me, cheek to cheek

There’s nobody here, it’s just you and me, you scared them all away

But I hardly know, this mad bint by my side

I never will for-get, the way you drank tonight

I’d never seen you looking so spaced out as you did tonight

I’d never heard you talk such sh*te, you were amazing

I’d never seen so many police want to be there by your side

They threw us out the pub, they took our drinks away

And I have never had such a feeling

Such a feeling of complete and utter shame, as I do tonight

The lady gone red, is hanging off me, cheek to cheek

There’s nobody here, it’s just you and me, you scared them all away

But I hardly know, this mad bint by my side

I never will for-get, the way you drank tonig-hight

I never will for-get, the way you drank tonight

The lady gone red

The lady gone red

The lady gone red

My lady’s gone red.

Scene: Dark alleyway, wider shot. Man holding wife’s hair back as she vomits spectacularly. Fade out with close up on man’s crushingly disappointed face.

Organised

Evening,

I am running the Fantasy League that will probably be worth three days of unpaid work, as well as being the most responsibility I have been given since starting work at a bank.

I have no fear; at the weekend I visited Muji on New Street, and was overcome with a Zen like calmness and desire for order. This exploded across my life over the past few days, and I have been de-cluttering and ordering everything within reach. Observe:

Nearby there is a sign announcing "Get Organised or Die Trying". I spent about £8 on a wonderous heavy plastic set of drawers that have sprinkled Japanese, efficient, elegant magic to my work desk at home. I also bought a spray bottle that not only sprays and does jets, it works, and works well and has a satisfying silence and grace. The Honda of spray bottles, if you will. My basil plant (Ocimum basilicum) will surely be watered to death over the coming days.

The crappy satellite dish is ready for return, my lunch for work tomorrow was prepared in stunning fashion at 7.21 this evening. How long will this last?

So I am largely organised. I didn't get an interview for the job I was after; never mind. The pile of post I was complaining about from my printer has gone; KABOOM! Actioned and filed. 

Two tasks down, several more to go.

Sarcastic Work Experience Report

Timekeeping: Not sure. Never seemed to be at her desk.

Learning Ability: Limited to stuff about texting

Appearance: Wretched, with special mentions to jeans and trainers

Motivation: Seemed to be money, violence and watching television

Relationship with other employees: Non-Existant

Relationship with manager: Possibly hostile

Ability to follow/seek guidance: Ha!

Ability to work in group/team: Never in a month of Sundays

General comments: Possibly the squadron leader for the next wave of inconsiderate mouth-breathers that will further tarnish the name of our once great nation. I weep for all of us, for in fifty years, thei children will care for us in our nursing homes, unless, I can finally get my hands on some automatic weapons.

Letters to The Editor

Morning,

Yesterday evening, with the more than able assistance of Mr. W, we created some reactionary and subversive letters to The Evening Mail, and The Sun. Here they are:

Knives:
My 14 year old loves Facebook and I was happy for him to use the internets to chat to his friends. After your front page, I grounded him and filled his computer with sand. Now he hates me, but this is a small price to pay for his safety. It wasn't like this in my day.

'Concerned'

Asylum Seekers/Illegals:
I am stunned to read of yet more mindless violence on our streets, caused by these so-called 'asylum seekers'. In my day these criminals would have been thrown out of the country, but now, because of the do-gooders, they are given a hotel room and free Sky TV. Disgraceful.

General:
I agree with S.T. Vaughan. I wouldn't trust most MPs as far as I could throw them!

"Youth of Today":
On a visit to my local shopping centre, I was shocked and disgusted to overhear a conversation between two youngsters at the bus stop. The language they were using I can only describe as unprintable! It's about time they brought back national service to instil some integrity, manners and respect in the youth of today.

Disgusted Citizen, Frankley

On The Buses:
As we hear so much in these pages attacking Birmingham's bus service, I feel it is only right that I put pen to paper to praise the driver of the number 63 bus who greeted me with a cheery smile today. Following an altercation with some youths, he proved himself to be the model of professionalism. Keep up the good work!

June Badcock, Rubery

"The Germans":
I was shocked and appalled to read that the Barber's children were not allowed to play on the swings - unlike the German children. How Mike Barber restrained himself is beyond me. Remind me, who won the war, anyway?

Anon

Yes, 'internets' is deliberate...

A Few Quick Points

I have been monumentally disappointed by everything I have ever bought from Maplin Electronics. And yet I still visit.

There is an intermittent loud buzzing which could be either a big, angry wasp, a hornet (eek!) or a small motorcycle trapped behind the drawers. Either way, it's freaking me out.

Some proles living nearby are having a laughably small rave. I can only just hear the music, but every ten seconds or so I hear a "Whoop!! Whoop!!". It's like it never went out of fashion. Or possibly they are trapped in a horrendous 1995 time-warp.

Tiny book review: Richard Hammond can write about his recovery in a grown up and illuminating way. Mindy Hammond's version of events seems to involve a lot of crying and being brave. I don't doubt that this didn't happen, in an immensely traumatic time. It seemed to me like I re-read the same page twenty times. Sorry. Still an NTP recommended book.