Brown Sugar

This week we have mostly been training. It’s that time of year that the HR department realises they’ve persuaded enough skilled, really useful people to leave, and they now have to cover the shortfall in ’skills’. Unfortunately those that leave aren’t the bright sparks (in a transport company), that determine to commemorate the Kings Cross Underground fire, the best way is to have two minutes of silence. The commencement of which, is the sounding of the fire alarm…

Mostly the skills shortages are covered by existing staff, but when your elfin safety, environment, and first aiders leave you have to ‘replace’ them. The replacement of these ‘key personnel’ is a selection process assisted by shift work. You simply allocate someone who’s on a day off, as the nominated ‘volunteer’. Sorted.

Thus when they return from days off they open the HR email cordially inviting them to their ‘First Aiders’ course, and as everyone else is busy they have to attend. This means six hours of ‘Death by Powerpoint’ and WWF status wrestling matches with life sized dummies. These are sometimes referred to as ‘Instructors’. Needless to say the idea here is to get to the pub at dinnertime and sink as many ‘Vitamin T’s’ into the instructor as you can.

After several coma inducing lectures in the afternoon there’s the bonus 15 minutes of ‘Any Questions’. This is where you get to ask questions on the subject at hand. Now we all know how to play ‘Bullshit Bingo’, but the ideal here is to get the instructor to cover a subject matter that could plausibly occur, in extremis. So, roll the dice on diabetic recovery.

Now the instructor will cover the normal scenarios, not unreasonably. Seeing as you’ve been down the pub, and its a Friday, when they’ve finished, roll the dice again and ask about Rectal Infusion. At this point you’ll hear all the chairs scraping the floor, as everyone positions themselves to be fastest on the draw for pointing at someone else, anyone else frankly, to ‘volunteer’ for the demo.

Now this would be a highly unusual procedure at the best of times, but remember this is work, in extremis, and you’ll be left with a minimum of equipment and choices, especially at 02:00am in the morning. Fortunately we’re next to the engineers section, so it was determined the MEL (Minimum Equipment List), would comprise, 3ft of garden hose, a pair of rubber gloves, a funnel, and a can of Vimto from the drinks machine, for the sugar hit.

Now anyone with a engineering background or an ounce of practical common sense can see how they would fit together, and where. Now the problem with the demo was that in the sniggering at the back of class, a vital part of the MEL was missed. That element was the ‘to’ of Vimto. So, unfortunately, as it turned out, they supplied …

A simple mistake under the ‘five pints’ rule.

Now I’m informed, I hesitate to say reliably, that 330ml of carbonated beverage up your chuff will get your attention, regardless of sugar levels. So, the application of ’several’ ml, (well it looked about right after five lunchtime pints, you know how it is), of concentrated cleaning solution would also appear to ‘revive’ the recipient. You could tell immediately after application that the reaction, and reduction to 0.5mm diameter accompanied by small children covering their ears, rats and mice running in all directions, and dogs barking was unusual. ‘Do they always whistle like that?’ the instructor was asked, as we all looked away from what appeared to be a full stop in the centre of a very muddy roundabout.
Well, its fair to say that the description of ‘raging homicidal maniac’ seemed somewhat lacklustre to describe the quite rapid personality transformation that occurred within the volunteer. Not only was there a very high pitched whistle accompanying the somewhat vitriolic outburst, he was now belching like a navvy in between the shouting, the gasses having now found the path of least resistance.

Next week, environment, and how to get stubborn monkey stains off your ceiling. I can’t wait …

I Can Hear Your Heartbeat

Well its been a while since NM broke cover, fortuitously since the slug incident, things have been quiet. Ever so sportingly arranging to be out of the drum when Mr Hoovers finest was fired up in anger again probably helped. I’m led to believe ‘dried’ slug is a bit wiffy too. Mrs NM commented ‘the Hoovers making a really odd smell’, ‘Is it?’ NM replied, taking an inordinate amount of interest in assorted paint color swaiths the boss had brought in. One wonders sometimes if you can ‘over egg’ the pudding.

Anyhow in the intervening period ‘The Berg’, reminded by the GCM’s hoofing and footlight performances, has related the story of his mixing with the luvvies 43rd Light Artillery Dance, and Mime Field Regiment. Picture the scene as proud parents in ball-less strapgowns, Dj’s, cummerbunds, (Berg, jeans T-shirt), etc assemble to view their offsprings finest endeavours, in the field of unarmed, hand to hand, dance and mime. ‘The Berg’ continues …

Berg is godfather to the twin daughters of his good friend Dr S; a man with more letters after his name than in it. ( I’ve counted). Now eight years old, the gruesome twosome attend dancing lessons run by an ex leading light in tripping the light. When comfirming the date of his most recent visit to the Dr S household, Berg was informed he was to attend the forthcoming prize-giving. Along he went, expecting a few kids and parents and a quick finish. He was thus surpised to arrive amid some 400 parents and kiddies ranging from 5 to 15 yrs old. Recorded music was playing and the children were dancing the routines they had learned. Photography was allowed so your scribe was locked in combat with low light and high ISO. After a while everyone sat down around the dancefloor and out came the guest, professional dancers. They proceeded to give several demonstrations of how it should be done properly. Between numbers, the male partner spoke a few words to the audience. He asked who was everyone’s favourite dancer on Strictly Come Dancing. Looking back, Berg has to admit that given the dance-enthusiast audience, John Sargent probably wasn’t the most apposite name to loudly call out.

However, the highlight was still to come. For the next number the female partner wore a rather fetching dress with skirt split all the way to her waist. During the dance she was held by her partner horizontally at his shoulder height as he spun round. Sir Isaac Newton be blessed, gravity had its way and the skirt fell to the side. This revealed, how shall we put it, a ‘Wardrobe Malfunction’ !! However this was to make Janet Jackson’s threppenies wafting around the Superbowl look a bit tame.

This was much more of a Super Bowel type thing, for the geographers among you we are talking the amazonian basin. For the Zooologists a Dromadarian Pedicure Exhibition. There was nervous laughter from the mums. There was a hushed, some say almost reverential, ripple of applause. In the silence that followed you could indeed hear peoples hearts beating, mixed with the faint aroma of a distant canning factory.

The dads and ‘The Berg’ sat back, relaxed, and enjoyed the view.

Hoovering Slugs

Oova Killa

Now, most of NM’s readers will be thinking what album has he dredged that title up from? Well you can check all your albums, but I’m fairly certain that even in the depths of Jonesy’s renowned ‘Prog Rock’ collection there isn’t, a ‘Hoovering Slugs’ track.

Now, I know its not two words you’d normally expect to find in the same sentence, but blokes, will already be curious at just the title, and I can see the thought patterns already developing, ‘I wonder if you can …’ etc etc. Wimmin will needlessly have passed it by thinking ‘that’s just stupid’.

Well NM has been left as ‘OIC’ NM Villa, for a couple of days as the gerls lay seige to the wastes of Norven Norfumberland. NM has of course been given his usual instructions, and ROE.
A/ Feed Rabbit.
B/ Don’t Kill It.
C/ Keep The House Tidy.
D/ Don’t Kill The Rabbit.
E/ Bring The Rabbit in at night.
F/ Don’t Kill The Rabbit.
G/ Ring Me If There’s Any Problems
H/ I Can’t Remember If I’ve Mentioned It, But Don’t Kill The Rabbit.

Now all this is relatively straightforward, all I have to do is not kill the rabbit, and feed it. Oh, and keep the ‘drum’, ‘tidy’. Tidy of course, is open to interpretation. The rabbit is officially a ‘hard bastard’, next week it’s got an hours worth of prime time on SKY+1 TV’s ‘UK’s Hardest Rabbits’, It’s the programme right after the 45 minute special ‘Fern Brittain, Follows Through’.

‘UK’s Hardest Rabbits’, is a show where an ‘L’ list hard man celeb, parades around various hutches interviewing nutter rabbits, using an ‘east end’ mockney eshdury accent. At the end of the show he goes all moist eyed, as the rabbit donates a half chewed carrot as a memento of ‘Vair time twogevva’. Anyway, capturing said rabbit usually involves more swearing than reviving a half naked unconcious airline ops occifer, face down in an Amsterdam hotel bedroom, having ‘passed out’ watching ‘telly’. The only minor benefit being the rabbit isn’t likely to take your eye out when you roll it over.

Having eventually trapped said rabbit, and brought it into the kitchen prior to releasing it to its ‘indoor quarters’ in the conservatory. NM realises that the assorted hay, grass, rabbit shite, and a tiny, tiny slug about 1.5cm in length, strewn across the rug, will likely end up in a ‘My Office, Your Hat!’ type interview with Mrs NM if its not sorted. Fortuitously (theoretically) there’s a Hoover standing in the corner of the conservatory. That’ll do to clean up, NM thinks, in a lucid, alchohol free, bloke, type moment. Now, the ‘cleaning’ starts, small bits of grass, hay, rabbit pooh all easily dissapear from NM’s gaze as the Hoover relentlessly churns its way across the rug. Suddenly, the slug catches NM’s eye. It’s tiny, (1.5cm), that’ll go up, spiders, small stones do etc. Blokes can see the logic can’t you? Blokes are nodding, wimmin are saying, ‘No’. ‘You’d hoover a stone or a spider, but never, a slug’. Well, Mr Hoovers products are very good, ssschlooopp, and, as if by magic, the slug has gone, ‘Yay!’, none of that paper, prod, poke, throw out the door shite for me!, sorted! Carry on, only a foot or so left.

Well, that last foot may as well have been Captain Oates’ last walk. The Hoover indeed took its time, about 15 secs or so and it started to whine, worse, than a Chilean red. There was a wisp of smoke, and a smell of burning that had NM retching, staggering, to reach the ‘OFF’ button.
Now, I have no idea why slugs don’t ‘hoover’, small insects will, small stones, screw’s, nails etc. etc. will, but slugs, don’t.
Ask a lady friend:
‘Would you hoover a spider/stone/screw?’
Answer, ‘Yes’.
Ask them ‘Would you hoover a tiny tiny slug?’
Answer, ‘No’

Fellow blokes, take this as an advanced warning. I now have to explain why the previously servicable Hoover, isn’t. I also have to provide a plausible reason as to why I ever thought that hoovering a slug, was ever, ever, a good idea.

The really, really, bad news is that the rabbits female, and afterwards, on bringing her into the conservatory, she sniffed the air and gave me a look that said:
‘WTF have you been up to? Hoovering slugs or summink?’

Lads, I need your help …

Spellbound

Well I certainly was on Saturday, it’s not often that British N gauge really gets my attention, but the pre-production Class 24 at Alexandra Palace did just that. It seems that Bachmann has got the British Rail bug with the recently released Class 08 and the 108 DMU there’s a rich vein to tap into, and N gauge is coming of age. What I did find was that having spent a good amount of time looking at track plans for my next model, I’m now considering a change of sclae for at least one of them, and its the recent Bachmann N gauge releases that’s primarily the cause. I’m thinking along the lines of modelling a section of line in N gauge, probably Scottish or North Welsh along US lines with several stations and card waybill systems to enhance operations. Also out on display were the 150 and 153 DMU’s, not particularly exciting for me, but the rendition of them seemed to the same quality as the 24, the colors also seemed to scale, and were not the sometimes too bright effect that models can give.

Also on display was Dapols N Class 67, looking very good, outside my era again but it should do very well for them.

Bach to Bachmann and their OO 4CEP, apologies for the image quality but the Bachmann stand as usual was swarming with foamers all jostling for position to get a look. It looks good again my initial thoughts were replace the front glazing and thats all that will be needed to make it a real show stopper.

The revised Class 47 was also there, but didn’t seem to draw much comment from those standing near me. I did take the opportunity to take a few poor quality snaps and have a good look at it though. They seem from the model displayed to have addressed Rosie the Rivetters window frames, the bogies detail have been corrected, and it sits square on the bogies. The variant was the internal tank/battery box only variety. The battery boxes look well represented, and they appear to be molded in a very similar style as Auntie Vi’s. The model was clearly pre-production, the front was two different colors of grey, with roof fan grills in etched brass. Initial impressions were very positive, if it runs as well as Vi’s, their current versions don’t quite in my experience, they’ll have a competitive quality locomotive on their hands.

Bachmann's revised CL47

Will the foamers pay more than the list price of a Vi 47 for the Bachmann 47 without whinging? I somehow doubt it. Still, plenty of Lima knocking about at bootsale prices to tart up for them though. Do some ‘real’ modelling, tee hee.

The next thing that caught my eye was Hornby’s 4MT 75xxx, and I think that’ll be the one for me. Good though Bachmanns is, the Hornby display model appears to have the edge on detail and finesse in its appearance.

The exhibition was pretty good, the getting there being ‘entertaining’. I found to my cost the disadvantage of Standard Advance tickets. Now in BR days you bought your ticket and got on the train, any train going your way. With a Standard Advance ticket you’re buying a specific seat, so if you miss the train thats it, game over. Fortunately I did miss my first train, I discovered five minutes before it arrived that NM’s wallet was eight miles away. just as well as it would have been a bigger pain in the bum to discover it 140 miles away! I had the Hull trains experience, which wasn’t bad to be fair even if 45 minutes late.

Most of the day was a social crawl around the show, which was just right, I met a couple of authors, one signed a book for big bro, which made my day and will his, you know who you are, ta mate!

When Love Comes to Town

A Kangeroo Yesterday

Polish border guards said Wednesday they had foiled an attempt to smuggle kangaroos, miniature ponies and 11 pheasants in a passenger bus across Poland’s border with Ukraine.”It was a regular bus with 30 or so passengers aboard,” Poland’s national border guard spokesman Andrzej Wojcik told NM news.

“Everything seemed to be fine until we opened and the checked the passports,” he slurred added.

Spot the Difference, Ukranian styley

“You can imagine the surprise of the border guards when they found two small kangaroos, five ponies and and eleven pheasants dressed as mice,” Wojcik said. “Both the kangaroos and ponies are miniatures, measuring 50 to 60 centimetres (one foot eight inches to nearly two feet). He declined to detail had actually been measured in the confused midnight crossing.
“One of the ponies is probably pregnant,” he sheepishly added. ‘It’s a very remote border crossing after all’

The Ukrainian bus driver had insisted he did not realise he was doing anything illegal, Wojcik said. After the amount of Vodka he had drunk the night before, three kangaroos, two horses and eleven pheasants would have been entirely normal. The horses as usual would’ve kept themselves to themselves, but the Roo’s, well you know how what Aussies are like, How dy’a tell there’s an Australian in the room?, Ya don’t they’ll tell you …
He told the border guards the animals had been delivered to him by a stranger in Warsaw and were to be handed over to someone at the final destination in Lviv, Ukraine. After 3.5 litres of Smirnoff a bloke in a hat looking for a ‘safe’ border crossing for the above menagerie, again would have been entirely normal for Dimitri.

The animals were examined by veterinarians and fed by border guards, in a delightful candle lit setting. “They are in good health and will be in good hands,” Wojcik said.

We made our excuses and left ….

Don’t Ask Me No Questions

60163 Tornado

It’s and odd thing photography sometimes, it can be social, and antisocial, it can be a hobby or it can be work, for me I’ve had examples of all of those. This weekend I wanted to get a few pictures of the steam engine above, I knew the time it would be coming past, I’d got an idea of the location I wanted, and duly set myself up and waited. One thing that does occur I’ve noticed particularly with an FBL, (rather large lens), is that it attracts gimps. It is capable of doing this over quite large distances, and Saturday was no exception.

Gimp Field

If I have to cross a field, I make sure I go round the edge, or on rare ossaisions use a tractors wheel furrow, that way you don’t significantly damage young crops, as you’re using established pathways, and the farmers that have spoken to me are up to date pretty understanding, offering them a copy of the snap you’ve taken also helps, they seem to appreciate the offer, though none have actually taken me up on the offer aas yet. Anyway, if you look at the field above you can see no footprints, despite the fact I’m well into the field. It wasn’t long before a lens spotter turned up. They seem to draw comfort or have some sort of ‘need’ to stand next to the bloke with the biggest equipment, I wonder if they do the same in the changing rooms of life too?
Picture the scene,
Gimp, Hi, that’s enormous what do you use it for?
Snapper, Sport mostly, thats ‘dinky’ what do you use that for?
Gimp, Oh just snaps,
Snapper, Aah, probably best you just use it for that then …

Changing Room
Gimp, Hi, that’s enormous what do you use that for?
Sports Jock, ‘Sport’ mostly, thats ‘dinky’ what do you use it for?
Gimp, Oh just urinating,
Sports Jock, Aah, probably best you just use it for that then …

Sure enough I’d got set up and was checking the field of view settings etc etc, and I noticed a solitary figure trudging across the field toward me, a nice bright jacket on and a camera bag. ‘Here’s one’ I thought and I wasn’t to be diassapointed either. With a 400mm lens I’m going to be standing a fair distance away from the subject, as I was, however Mr Gimp turned up, and stood right next to me and started asking questions, despite the fact I’m obviously busy ‘chimping’ after different test shots. The questions are usually deadly dull too, but at sports events, airshows, and anywhere you get the lens out, you will get a sheep herd like mentality of ‘follow the big one’, and it gets a bit fecking tedious. Why they suddenly have to be near or stand next to the biggest lens is beyond me. Its not just my lens, I’ve seen it happen to others too.

Mind you size does have its advantage too, a big grey one is an instant press pass, and I’ve blagged a gate on more than one occasion, get the tool out, look a bit flustered as you walk/rush, (rushing is particularly effective), to the gate searching for the ‘pass’, ’sorry mate, can’t find it’, ‘oh thats ok in ya go’ (he must be a pro with one that size) …

It’s not that it’s not nice to occaisionally chat about snapping etc, but if theres an ‘event’ about to happen, or happening, and the snapper looks a bit busy, it’s because they probably are, nothing personal, but big shineys need to earn their keep …

Snow 101

All my own work

Today was one of those days when real snow arrived. Real people couldn’t get to work, they rang in at 07:30 saying they were stuck. They then rang in at 09:30 to say they were still ‘gritting their drive’, hopefully that’s not an appauling euphamism for something people from Huddersfield do, in the privacy of their own homes. As I write this the snow is again falling, a little thicker now, it’s clearly close to zero, but with some melted snow on the branches out of the window, later in the night its likely to freeze …

Tomorrow Matthew, I’m going to be a rally driver, Hammy will no doubt breath a sigh of relief, safe in the depths of suvvern ingland, and wonder if my camera’s are packed well. This time however it won’t be a hire car …

Desire II

Neighbours to the left of me, jokers to the right ...

I’m please to formally announce, my daughter, the ‘Gingham Clad Maverick’ (GCM), has “Arrived”. Comensurate with this we now find ourselves elevated into high society, and are probably the talk of a select few. Selected on the basis of their ability to nod their heads and say ‘Oh I know, yes, I know, Ow I knowww’ in the appropriate spaces.

Half Pint (GCM), is interested in the usual ‘girly’ things, pink, fluffy, cuddly, pretty, (that’s enough about me), stuff. She also does that stage school, dance school, trampoline school, gymnastics school, dolphin school, sort of things too. Well the elder sister decided she’d have a bit of the drama school malarky too, fair enough, so they both attend simultaneously, (thats together, if the neighbour is reading).

We probably live on the ‘right side of the tracks’ I suppose, though we probably don’t fit the rest of the street, and one of our neighbours is most definitely a bit of a this is a nice area (it is), for nice people (most are), kind of neighbour. Well the kids love the ‘hoofing’ and ‘luvvying’ of a Saturday morning, GCM has been a regular for a couple of years, couple of shows under her belt, brought the house down once with the old ‘Peering Under the Fire Curtain Gag’, mid performance, (someone elses), of course, and biggun joined just before December. So did the neighbours kid, the same age all bar a few days as GCM.

Well ‘Nanny’, that’s what they call the lady who can curdle milk and small children at 40 paces, mentioned in passing to Mrs NM a choice snippet. ‘Oh you know Mrs X?’, (The Neighbour), ‘She asked me why ‘Spoilt Brat 1′ hadn’t gone up to the advanced class at the same time as GCM, so I just said it was the right time for her to move’.

It was of course. Not only because GCM has got some time in, but also to assist us with the timing, two kids at the school the same time rather than staggered, like their dad coming home from the pub. Nanny and Mrs NM found it ‘tres ammusement’ that Mrs X, didn’t ask us why GCM had moved, but approached ‘Nanny’ clearly miffed that SB1 wasn’t being upgraded, despite being a new starter, and presumably ’shite’ too.

Cancel two afternoon teas then ….

Canon G10

Just a few more snaps, at the weekend we went for a walk and I got a few very good shots, dipping into the ‘Manual’ control facility. The LCD screen was excellent, showing the changes as they reflect on the actual picture. Couldn’t ask for more!

It'll be nice when it's finished ...

Keep the Faith

Today was an early start, an OFFS early start actually, to meet up with Rolfy, (see his Crayon and Sugarpaper section on the right hand side). Setting off from the east midlands, so called despite being as far north as Sheffield which is ‘in’t north’, how does that work? So at 04:30 the car ‘locked and loaded’, and then unlocked, (why did I just fecking lock it?) started, and driven off westwards to ‘Gods Country’. Well he’s certainly got a sense of humour thats for sure, the enigmatic emblem of a root vegetable and a wet sheep being those iconic images springing to mind of the ‘Land of my Fathers’. It was an uneventful drive including paying for the privelidge of avoiding Birmingham, a well spent £4.70 if ever there was one. There wasn’t even the usual early year running the gauntlet of suicide alley, where pheasants habitually hurl themselves into the paths of cars on one particular section that on a ‘good’ day looks like the bottom of a butchers dustbin. I did have one near miss, with a low flyer, but nothing like the the times both Rolfy and I have experienced as game birds literally hurl themselves in front of our cars …

The pre-arranged ‘meet’ took place in a car park, not the first one for Rolfy that morning I’m led to believe, though I’m not certain his first meeting was pre-arranged, it was more an ad-hoc, come as you are, wear a uniform if you like, type of thing.
A quick check of the weather and the opportunity to try and get some ‘money shots’ led us to a different lay-by a few miles away. Its always interesting to see the looks on hardened lorry drivers faces as two cars turn up in their lay-by, and blokes get out of cars and start putting clothes on. It usually takes fifteen minutes or so to get suited, booted and our equipment packed just as we like it. Then its a deep breath before waddling sweating and swearing away from the warmth and security of the cars.

Today was an easy climb, a bit of a surprise in that I’d only been out once in the past year, this time it was without the expert guidance and verbal eloquence of our deck chair carrying brummie brethren. We’d got pretty much up to our shooting location when we had our only visitors of the day, a pair of hawks travelling quick enough to make reaching for the camera a non starter, but we thought a good omen for the day. Well it was, sort of. The problem being that all the traffic we saw passed us by, and overhead Rolfy’s nite-stop lay-by which we’d left behind at the start of the day. By now we were at the snow line, which meant the possibility of snow backgrounds and bloody cold feet and hands etc etc …

Snow Line

It’s not the first time we’ve used this location, it is however very exposed, and the right clothing is a must, and today whilst we didn’t get to snap any planes, we did have the opportunty to visit the inside of snow, rain and hail showers, which was nice, always a crowd pleaser that one.

Normally we get to try and tempt planes with assorted Ginsters pies, they normally work, but even a quick demo of line dancing from Rolfys night out in Machynlleth, failed to even attract the senior service, who were last seen heading toward Trawsfynydd.

Rolfy throws some 'shapes'

So a round trip of 360′ish miles was it worth it? Yes. to do this sort of photography you need a lot of luck, time, and faith in it ‘happening’, one day, it will.