Monday, May 25, 2009
Sensory affairs
Following the confusion of smell the other day, today we have a conjunction of tastes. So, it being Monday, decided that bread, butter and marmite was the order of the day for breakfast. So far, so good. Then washed it down with a glass of water. Which, next to the marmite, tasted faintly of mouth freshener or some kind of mild disinfectant. A comparable but milder conjunction effect to that of oranges followed by toothpaste. The only catch being that an hour or so later the water left in the glass still tasted a bit odd. So maybe it is all twaddle; it is simply one of those days when Thames Water squirt a shot of chlorine into the waterworks. One of those days when one's bath smells of swimming pool. But havn't tested that bit yet.
Yesterday, we made an attempt on Brighton. Started by forgetting that warm Sunday mornings are a good day for Chessington World of Adventure and sat in a queue at Maldon Rushett crossroads for getting on for half an hour. To keep us amused, some of the occupants of the vehicle explained the route that they would have taken had they been driving. Got clear of that lot and onto the M25 which didn't seem to clever anticlockwise either. Stuck it out to the Brighton turning where we found that everyone was going to Brighton. Luckily we were in the middle of the three lanes getting off the M25 for the M23 and were able to branch left towards Croydon instead of right for Brighton. Today, the DT has pictures of a packed Brighton so I think we made the right decision. However, at the time, not so clear. Heading north towards Croydon with nowhere to go.
Luckily, the we had the relevant Landranger to hand, and managed to locate a place of possible interest called Farthing Down. Just up the road a bit on the right. Past three large institutions, all converted into housing estates, two mental and one military. The two mental properly equipped with large heritage water towers and one of which had been examined by FIL when he was in the world of work. Then after a while, a promising bit of down does indeed come into view. But we had the devil of a job getting onto it. Two times through Coulsdon, once through Old Coulsdon, three huffs and four puffs and finally we practically have to do a U-turn to get up onto Downs Road off Marlpit Lane - and we were there. Heading up onto the downs up this unfenced road. Splendid bit of down land. Lots of iron age field systems and a spot of ancient chalk woodland. Parked up for a stroll, sufficiently level for the convenience of FIL's rollator. Lots of Croydon folk out for picnics and worse. Our own picnic was entertained by some very tame crows which disposed of our spare bread and cheese - the Waitrose Swaledale (see above) not having improved during the week. You chucked a bit of cheese - maybe a cubic centimetre - in their direction and they appeared not to have noticed. Then after a few seconds, the nearest one went straight for it, then stood there for a bit with a lump of cheese in its beak, wondering what to do with it. Too hard to squish in beak. Maybe it found it a bit sticky. Eventually puts it on the ground and picks it to more digestible peices.
One area of down, was lightly covered with scrub and was full of chattering starlings, with the odd small brown bird for variation. Close to, the starlings were black enough, but they were confusingly pale, at a distance, in the bright sunlight. Not sure what attracted them to the area. Would not have thought there was much point in eating the just set hawthorne berries. Another semi-tweet was a small pink-breasted finch, possibly a chaffinch or a young bullfinch. Neither bird being seen very often in our garden.
At this point we noticed somewhere called Toller's Farm on the eastern fringe. Now Toller is not a very common name, so we thought it proper to go and investigate. This turned out to be a bit of a performance too, in the absence of an A to Z. Landranger not really detailed enough for this sort of thing. Got there in the end, at the end of Toller's Lane. Plenty of mobile phone pix to prove that we were there, the trick now being to get them off the phone to somewhere where they can be decently seen. A job for Carphone Warehouse tomorrow. Sadly, it turns out that Toller's farm is neither a farm nor owned by a Toller, so we have not chanced upon a rich uncle. Because what was called a farm and clearly had been a farm, was now a very nice residence with a very handsome garden and a friendly owner. Worth a good deal more than our pad I dare say. Next stop Toller's Yard in Newmarket. Bit nearer the family stomping ground so we should have a bit more luck there.
To close, I record that the TLS is for sale in the Vauxhall Sainsbury's. The first time I have come across this particular mag. in a supermarket. I get mine by mail, otherwise one can sometimes get them in the W H Smith's at railway stations. Clearly Vauxhall Sainsbury's has a posher clientele than one might have thought from its immediate surroundings. Maybe they draw custom from the eastern side of the South Lambeth Road. Plus there was an allegation from the Wheatsheaf that the area contained an artiste with first name Rachel. I thought that she was the one that made her name by filling a house which was about to be demolished full of concrete, then stripping off the outside. For this she got made a Grand Dame of Artistery or something. Possibly pensionable. Mr G., on a quick glance, not conclusive.
Yesterday, we made an attempt on Brighton. Started by forgetting that warm Sunday mornings are a good day for Chessington World of Adventure and sat in a queue at Maldon Rushett crossroads for getting on for half an hour. To keep us amused, some of the occupants of the vehicle explained the route that they would have taken had they been driving. Got clear of that lot and onto the M25 which didn't seem to clever anticlockwise either. Stuck it out to the Brighton turning where we found that everyone was going to Brighton. Luckily we were in the middle of the three lanes getting off the M25 for the M23 and were able to branch left towards Croydon instead of right for Brighton. Today, the DT has pictures of a packed Brighton so I think we made the right decision. However, at the time, not so clear. Heading north towards Croydon with nowhere to go.
Luckily, the we had the relevant Landranger to hand, and managed to locate a place of possible interest called Farthing Down. Just up the road a bit on the right. Past three large institutions, all converted into housing estates, two mental and one military. The two mental properly equipped with large heritage water towers and one of which had been examined by FIL when he was in the world of work. Then after a while, a promising bit of down does indeed come into view. But we had the devil of a job getting onto it. Two times through Coulsdon, once through Old Coulsdon, three huffs and four puffs and finally we practically have to do a U-turn to get up onto Downs Road off Marlpit Lane - and we were there. Heading up onto the downs up this unfenced road. Splendid bit of down land. Lots of iron age field systems and a spot of ancient chalk woodland. Parked up for a stroll, sufficiently level for the convenience of FIL's rollator. Lots of Croydon folk out for picnics and worse. Our own picnic was entertained by some very tame crows which disposed of our spare bread and cheese - the Waitrose Swaledale (see above) not having improved during the week. You chucked a bit of cheese - maybe a cubic centimetre - in their direction and they appeared not to have noticed. Then after a few seconds, the nearest one went straight for it, then stood there for a bit with a lump of cheese in its beak, wondering what to do with it. Too hard to squish in beak. Maybe it found it a bit sticky. Eventually puts it on the ground and picks it to more digestible peices.
One area of down, was lightly covered with scrub and was full of chattering starlings, with the odd small brown bird for variation. Close to, the starlings were black enough, but they were confusingly pale, at a distance, in the bright sunlight. Not sure what attracted them to the area. Would not have thought there was much point in eating the just set hawthorne berries. Another semi-tweet was a small pink-breasted finch, possibly a chaffinch or a young bullfinch. Neither bird being seen very often in our garden.
At this point we noticed somewhere called Toller's Farm on the eastern fringe. Now Toller is not a very common name, so we thought it proper to go and investigate. This turned out to be a bit of a performance too, in the absence of an A to Z. Landranger not really detailed enough for this sort of thing. Got there in the end, at the end of Toller's Lane. Plenty of mobile phone pix to prove that we were there, the trick now being to get them off the phone to somewhere where they can be decently seen. A job for Carphone Warehouse tomorrow. Sadly, it turns out that Toller's farm is neither a farm nor owned by a Toller, so we have not chanced upon a rich uncle. Because what was called a farm and clearly had been a farm, was now a very nice residence with a very handsome garden and a friendly owner. Worth a good deal more than our pad I dare say. Next stop Toller's Yard in Newmarket. Bit nearer the family stomping ground so we should have a bit more luck there.
To close, I record that the TLS is for sale in the Vauxhall Sainsbury's. The first time I have come across this particular mag. in a supermarket. I get mine by mail, otherwise one can sometimes get them in the W H Smith's at railway stations. Clearly Vauxhall Sainsbury's has a posher clientele than one might have thought from its immediate surroundings. Maybe they draw custom from the eastern side of the South Lambeth Road. Plus there was an allegation from the Wheatsheaf that the area contained an artiste with first name Rachel. I thought that she was the one that made her name by filling a house which was about to be demolished full of concrete, then stripping off the outside. For this she got made a Grand Dame of Artistery or something. Possibly pensionable. Mr G., on a quick glance, not conclusive.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Cheam design workshop
Pondering on why some of the drain covers on Howell Hill block and some don't - our now moving into the blocking time of year - I have found my true vocation as a drain cover designer.
Firstly we have design objectives: maximum steady load, maximum impact load, maximum aperture (of the sort that can take bicycle wheels. Some years ago a friend of an acquaintance of mine was killed cycling in London when he put his front wheel in a cover, stopped dead and was hit by a lorry). Secondly we have the design of the grid. How many primary bars should there be? At what angle should they have to the intended direction of traffic? 45% seems to be the popular view. At what angle should the bars be to the vertical? Should they be curved or straight? 45% and strongly curved seems to be the popular view. How big should the sump be? The bigger the sump the less often one has to empty it but the higher the installation cost. How deep can the cover be? How much steel can one afford to put into the thing (domestic drain covers having gone very weedy and thin over the years)? In the round, I put my money on the three or four primary bars, 45% to traffic, 45% to vertical and strongly curved variety for non blocking. They also seem to be the most common on this stretch of road. Solid looking things. I imagine it would take a very serious impact to impact.
Various other Cheam events to report. An open lorry piled high with wheel barrows. Nothing particularly strange about a lorry delivering wheel barrows but I have never seen such a thing before. Not seen anything like it since the tanker lorry full of marmite passed me on the way to Warrington. And then there was the van from Movenpick. They had gone off my radar since their large restaurant underneath Bressenden Place shut a few years ago. Judging by the van they must have some sort of local delivery operation going on. No doubt Google would reveal all. Last but not least was the Hystar speculative housing development - maybe a dozen units - at the top of East Street, construction on which appears to have ground to a halt, although the site is not completely shut up. Was Mr Hystar speculating on the basis of a short term loan which he has not been able to renew? So all his roofers have left pending payment?
Was quite impressed by the queue outside Northern Rock in Kingston yesterday, which we happened to pass on the way to Oxfam. But a little cross that speculators have made a lot of money out of Northern Rock misery by selling short (or long. Whichever way round betting on the share price falling is). Hard to see how we can stop such things in a market economy but one doesn't have to like the people who get rich at it. Maybe we could take a leaf out of the book of the people in the 18th century who wanted to ban gambling and thought that the answer was to make gambling debts unenforceable in law (leaving a nice hole for the Krays of the day to climb into). We could make any deal in securities which did not take place on the spot at the prevailing price unenforceable. But apart from closing down legitimate futures operations there would no doubt be plenty of room for manoeuvre at the margin - no way to tie down exactly what it is one is trying to do in words of one syllable - so lots of fat fees for the advisors and their hangers on for little real gain. Maybe BBB will earn their crusts for once and think of something.
Consumed the first two Blenheim Oranges yesterday. The first was half rotten and the half that was not was in good condition. Something like a russet, but without the mealiness one gets with winter eating russets. The second was more or less sound (barring small livestock in the core) but was not very ripe. Eatable but chickened out half way through and cooked the remainder. Slightly too much but still a bit differant from your Bramleys. Or was that wishful tasting? Must try again.
Firstly we have design objectives: maximum steady load, maximum impact load, maximum aperture (of the sort that can take bicycle wheels. Some years ago a friend of an acquaintance of mine was killed cycling in London when he put his front wheel in a cover, stopped dead and was hit by a lorry). Secondly we have the design of the grid. How many primary bars should there be? At what angle should they have to the intended direction of traffic? 45% seems to be the popular view. At what angle should the bars be to the vertical? Should they be curved or straight? 45% and strongly curved seems to be the popular view. How big should the sump be? The bigger the sump the less often one has to empty it but the higher the installation cost. How deep can the cover be? How much steel can one afford to put into the thing (domestic drain covers having gone very weedy and thin over the years)? In the round, I put my money on the three or four primary bars, 45% to traffic, 45% to vertical and strongly curved variety for non blocking. They also seem to be the most common on this stretch of road. Solid looking things. I imagine it would take a very serious impact to impact.
Various other Cheam events to report. An open lorry piled high with wheel barrows. Nothing particularly strange about a lorry delivering wheel barrows but I have never seen such a thing before. Not seen anything like it since the tanker lorry full of marmite passed me on the way to Warrington. And then there was the van from Movenpick. They had gone off my radar since their large restaurant underneath Bressenden Place shut a few years ago. Judging by the van they must have some sort of local delivery operation going on. No doubt Google would reveal all. Last but not least was the Hystar speculative housing development - maybe a dozen units - at the top of East Street, construction on which appears to have ground to a halt, although the site is not completely shut up. Was Mr Hystar speculating on the basis of a short term loan which he has not been able to renew? So all his roofers have left pending payment?
Was quite impressed by the queue outside Northern Rock in Kingston yesterday, which we happened to pass on the way to Oxfam. But a little cross that speculators have made a lot of money out of Northern Rock misery by selling short (or long. Whichever way round betting on the share price falling is). Hard to see how we can stop such things in a market economy but one doesn't have to like the people who get rich at it. Maybe we could take a leaf out of the book of the people in the 18th century who wanted to ban gambling and thought that the answer was to make gambling debts unenforceable in law (leaving a nice hole for the Krays of the day to climb into). We could make any deal in securities which did not take place on the spot at the prevailing price unenforceable. But apart from closing down legitimate futures operations there would no doubt be plenty of room for manoeuvre at the margin - no way to tie down exactly what it is one is trying to do in words of one syllable - so lots of fat fees for the advisors and their hangers on for little real gain. Maybe BBB will earn their crusts for once and think of something.
Consumed the first two Blenheim Oranges yesterday. The first was half rotten and the half that was not was in good condition. Something like a russet, but without the mealiness one gets with winter eating russets. The second was more or less sound (barring small livestock in the core) but was not very ripe. Eatable but chickened out half way through and cooked the remainder. Slightly too much but still a bit differant from your Bramleys. Or was that wishful tasting? Must try again.
Monday, February 01, 2010
Iconography
Today's pet hate is the invasion of the incomprehensible icon. Too many people have swallowed the line about a picture being worth a thousand words hook, line and sinker and seem to believe that a very small picture is worth maybe ten words. So the wretched things are everywhere, adding yet more to the visual clutter of the modern world.
So moving onto my icon project, I find that a jar of Marmite sports four of the things, not counting registered trade mark signs, repeats, logos, medals or coats of arms (the things denoting royal favours of the purchasing variety). A jar of marmalade from Mr S. a measly two. But there is a very small diagram which almost counts. So say two and a half. A tin of baked beans from Mr H. runs to five. A box of mustard flour from Mr C. two. A tin shaped container made of cardboard and plastic containing drinking chocolate from another Mr C. is up to seven. A bottle of anchovy essence from Mr B. (Burgess for those who are going to fail to guess) is so old fashioned that it does not seem to have any. Whereas a tin of black treacle from Mr L. has kept up with the times, despite being a rather ancient product, and sports four. But the laurels have to go to a packet of pearl barley from Mr S. which has not only seven icons but also two small diagrams. Clearly a job creation scheme for all those artists piling out of art schools who are reduced to earning a crust as commercial artists (as opposed to the arty sort of artist).
The disease is in a particularly advanced state among the people who design the controls on cars and on computers. In the case of the former there is a related disease which consists in seeing how many functions you can hang off a stick hanging off the steering column. We have been driving a new Ford for getting on for a year now and I still have trouble with the sticks on the steering column, although on a good day I can now turn the windscreen wipers on and off.
Perhaps this is all evidence for the updated version of Parkinson's Law which states that the complexity of consumer facing systems varies as the square of the ability of computer systems to support them.
So when I get some ridiculously complicated document from EDF about my electricity charges, it is not at all that they are trying to bamboozle me with facts so that I do not have a clue about what I am actually paying, it is merely an unfortunate side effect of said updated version of Parkinson's Law.
And while we are on pet hates, I ought to mention the great double yellow line project being run by the council. Not sure if it is the borough or the county which is responsible. They have clearly been put up to it by the the Grand Federation of Road Marking Contractors and as a result we seem to have an army of people crawling around the housing estates of Epsom looking for places to plant double yellow lines. They then produce great wadges of consultation document so that we all have that little bit more to put in our recycling bins and, should argument arise, we are unable to argue that we do not have anything to recycle and so have not put the recycling bin out. Then one has lots of consultation and then the road markers are off. On completion, should business be slack, I imagine that some of them morph into double yellow line enforcement officers.
Now it is true that parking in some of said suburbs is a bit of a problem, with the number of vehicles per house reaching uncomfortable proportions. The recycling trucks cannot always get through at their accustomed speed. The Chelsea tractors are having trouble making it to school. But all the council has to do is wait for the relevant residents to come to them and ask for some double yellow lines. No need at all for them to be pro-active.
