On The Road

Driving to Anglesey to do final prep for the arrival of the builders. I switch the radio over to take in a bit of Jeremy Vine on Radio 2 - I find him tolerable. What do I get? Ed sodding Miliband that's what. Whoever thought that was a good idea - you're a moron.

Arrive on the island and Very Big Fat Pig drags himself out to pound the streets of Benllech. He gets dive-bombed by seagulls and generally feels pretty shit but this is the fourth consecutive day with exercise (two bike, two runs) so the fight is now in hand. Watch out beer belly (more wine belly these days I suppose) - your days are numbered. Hopefully.

Also I've been dipping back into The Archers. Is there any young member of the Archer extended family who isn't a wanker? The writers must hate yoof. Still nice to be back in Ambridge again.

Big Fat Pig Update. T+18

I went swimming this afternoon, an exercise I had put off for too long on account of the grumpy old women doing slovenly breaststroke who ruined my last visit. They weren't there today. Which was nice. Somehow I had forgotten the righteous hunger that swimming gives you. So for supper I have allowed myself a Pot Noodle. Which was nice. I ate the said convenience food here in Anglesey. Which was nice. Flying visit to check the estate. Which is nice.

Do you think people should be allowed to smoke? I do. Do you think that all cigarettes should be sold in plain wrappers? I don't but our government does. So we can be trusted to spend our own pension savings (A Budget measure which actually makes both sense and a difference) but not to resist the pictorial blandishments of Big Tobacco. I'm confused.  

The Kia continues to be a source of quiet satisfaction and behaved impeccably on the run to Anglesey this evening. I'm getting the hang of the controls (all on the steering wheel) for the digital radio and it allowed me to listen critically to The Archers wherein Brian could do with some advice from a decent corporate lawyer as Borchester Land is being stolen implausibly from him.

Good night sweet prince. 

Back On The Chain Gang

I've been away too long. All that December blogging wore me out, but now I'm back and the Beast remains untamed. He has a new tune ringing in his ears which he wants to share with you. He heard it on Radio 2 (alright, calm down at the back it's not that bloody funny) in the small hours of a wakeful night and here it is:



New year resolutions - I usually keep these to myself and casually ignore them but this time around I'm going to share them cryptically and you can try to guess what they are. If I actually manage to complete some of these tasks I will reveal all and we can have a jolly old vitual party on the interweb thing. All of my resolutions have numbers attached to them. The numbers are

one

four

eight

twenty

thirty-seven

one half

Ok folks step away from the enlarged colourful font please, nothing to see here. Yet.

To be quite honest 2011 has not got off to a great start. All has been well with me but the world is still going to hell in a handcart. Vince Cable is still in government. Some Americans apparently take Sarah Palin seriously. Even worse they like Piers Morgan. Biffo ('Big Ignorant F***** From Offaly) is still running what is left of the show once known as Ireland. Alex Salmond has been on Desert Island Discs. The producers of The Archers blew a perfectly good opportunity to kill the tiresome Helen and her poor benighted infant and instead pushed good old Nigel off the roof at Lower Loxley. Lewis Moody is injured and will miss the start of the Six Nations. I have quite unjustly put on weight and strained my hamstring. Vince Cable is ... sorry already said that.

Predictions for the year, O wise one, I hear you cry. Well since you goaded me here goes: myriad Liberal Democrats will continue to suffer political altitude sickness, some will ignore advice, look down and promptly fall off and land on Simon Hughes; England will win the Six Nations; New Zealand will finally win RWC again and Richie McCaw will go to heaven where he will immediately be sin-binned by St Peter for entering from the wrong side; I will pull my hamstring again; the Euro will implode/contract; The asset bubble in China will burst and my investment in India (which I keep meaning to make but never get round to) will look wise; Obama and Cameron will continue to refine the art of the platitude whilst doing very little of any import; finally and justifiably I will still be just as bloody cynical by the year end.

But you know what? My wife still loves me (at least she said she did this morning) and that is quite sufficient to last me several lifetimes. May you be as lucky.



Too Wet To Run

It's pissing down, really pissing down. And it's blowing a gale. So plans to get out for a run have been postponed and the day is earmarked for eating, drinking, watching the golf and more reading. I will postpone going home until tomorrow so that I can give proper attention to the rioja.

Comedy Dave was in charge yesterday afternoon. He is continuing to experience difficulty with the digital signal and his expert diagnosis is that the bullet should be bitten and an external aerial should be erected - the old one blew down in storms years ago. Dave scours the Yellow Pages and lights on Anglesey Aerials of nearby Pentraeth. Comedy Dave is most concerned about the prospect of having to watch the golf on the jerky internet feed to the tiny screen of the Samsung notebook and so he phones and asks if Anglesey Aerials do compassionate short notice, Saturday visits. There follows a very pleasant customer experience. Out comes garrulous Huw Williams who climbs onto the roof, fixes a new aerial, drills through the wall and then shares Comedy Dave's concern that the picture is still breaking up. Huw takes this as a personal affront and remounts the roof to experiment with different alignments. Still no better. Huw, now positively angry, examines the Freeview box and disconsolately pronounces it a piece of crap. Would he recommend a replacement brand? Anything but this rubbish and Comedy Dave need only spend about £18 at the local (well Bangor) branch of Comet. Huw thinks it is open till 8.00. For all his hard work and wisdom Huw sheepishly delivers a bill for £70. Comedy Dave can only say that this would be cheap at twice the price. Thus The Overgraduate can now make its third retail recommendation - if you are on the island and need an aerial or satellite dish go to Anglesey Aerials, they're bloody brilliant. Dave waves Huw on his way (to another mercy mission to a caravan in Pentraeth) but only after Huw has extracted a promise to phone him to confirm that a new box has solved the problem. If not he will be back to remedy things - he sees this as a personal thing. Now Comedy Dave takes over.

Dave has ample time to get to Comet so he does. He tells the assistant that he wants a plain and simple Freeview box, nothing fancy like the vilified current box, for Huw's theory is that the Metronic Digi-Scart is too clever by half. Dave leaves with £17.99 worth of ProLine equipment and rushes back to the house to enjoy the remaining hours of the golf. He plugs in the new box, connects it to the television, puts the batteries in the remote, points it at the box and .... nothing. No lights on the display. Perhaps it's the plug. No. The batteries. No. Reluctant conclusion, it's a dud. Deep breath. Back to Comet. During these journeys back and forth Dave hears commentary on his favourite Paul Casey making five birdies in the Open. Never mind, it will all be worth it. It is at this stage that we discover that Huw Williams is in fact human after all. Comet is not open until 8.00 but closes at 6.00. Comedy Dave duly arrives at 6.01 and stands forlornly at the doors. Bugger he says.

He returns to Benllech and settles for that internet feed. By now Casey has stopped making birdies. Dave will go back to Comet on Sunday morning - he has checked the opening hours (pity he didn't do that first time) and will be on the doorstep at 10.30. Not renowned for doing so CD has this time kept his temper in check but during a lull in the golf he wonders - perhaps, just perhaps, he should give the box one last chance. He plugs it in again, links it up, points the remote. Nothing. Just for good luck and because he is now mightily pissed off, he gives the offending implement a mild thump. Only mild mind you, after all it has to go back to Comet in the morning.  The bloody light comes on. The bloody screen displays an unblemished picture and carries on doing so until CD goes to bed at midnight. It is working again now as the golf resumes. So follows a product review. Metronic Digi-Scart  bad, ProLine Digibox good.

Comedy Dave is having a day off today but his alter ego Couch Potato Dave is here. The golf is purportedly on now but the BBC is doing what I think they call colour pieces but what Dave calls bollocks. Show the sport you morons. On other subjects Dave is delighted that the Archers had the good sense to get rid of the monstrous Jude, ex boyfriend of Pip Archer and arch knob. Dave also saw Lord Mandelson being interviewed  by Andrew Marr this morning and for reasons of decency will not tell you what he thinks of the noble lord.