A tale of two cities

I was born and brought up in one city. We'll call it city B. I still live there now, as it happens. Whatever the DNA of a nomad looks like - I have the opposite.

For the last 13 years I've worked quite happily in another city about 25 miles away. For the purpose of this story we'll call it city C.

I am aware at some level that city B and city C each have football teams. I'm not exactly a huge football fan. If someone uses very small words I can just about get the drift of the offside rule. Which is odd, as I'm passionate about rugby, with rules as arcane as anything you'd find inside a Quidditch arena.

Anyway. I digress. The respective football teams from B and C rarely face each other, mainly because C's team has been inhabiting a lower league due to a temporary (ahem) issue with form. But on Monday evening they played against each other. A local derby.

Incidentally, what do they call it when two teams from Derby play each other? Sorry, I'm doing it again.

So teams from B and C played each other. And given that, every day, I'm surrounded by people from C, who know I'm from B, there were attempts at banter. To me, it was like water off a duck's back. But not for G.

G works with me. He, also, is from B. And he supports B's football team. A lot more closely than I do. There was a lot of banter between him and his C colleagues. A lot was riding on this one match.

He was watching the match on Monday night. I know this, because I got this text message from him on Monday evening:

I was just guessing, but from this message I suspected the game hadn't gone B's way. A quick check told me that B had, as per their long and illustrious history, snatched defeat from the jaws of a boring draw.

I could have been sympathetic to G's fears. He was facing several days of hell from jubilant C fans. I know how football fans can take this sort of thing really seriously. I could have been a supportive boss.

I thought long and hard before replying:


There are probably management textbooks that'll carry this story before long.

Everybody, after me: "Oooooh. Aaaaah."

It's that time of year again, when we celebrate a failed terrorist attempt to blow up the seat of Government over 400 years ago. And we use tons of high explosive to mark the anniversary.

We're funny that way.

The latest developments in Web 2.0 mean that I can now bring you all of the Bonfire Night experience through your computer screen. I know, amazing isn't it? Try to contain your excitement if you can.

Right. Can everyone stand back a bit, please? Thank you. We're about to set the bonfire alight, and after soaking it with several gallons of red diesel over the course of the last 20 minutes, it might be a little unpredictable.

Gosh.

No harm done. Anyway - I've never believed that eyebrows were truly necessary in this day and age. Really, I'm hardly surprised. Although you'd not be able to tell, now, would you?

Yes, the Guy is wearing a shellsuit. Doesn't the man made fibre give off an interesting glow? I wouldn't breathe in too deeply, if I were you. Now for some fireworks. First, the Venus Rockets.

Woooh. That was very impressive, wasn't it? Yes, I suspect, if you want to get all technical about it, it probably was meant to go vertical. Still, I've never much cared for that fence.

Anyone for sparklers? Lovely. Oh. Well - look on the bright side. With your fingertips now a mass of scar tissue, this is the perfect time to take up domestic burglary as a career, isn't it?

Right, now for the next firework. Let me see what's in the box...OK....well, that's interesting. You're right, it does seem a little industrial, doesn't it? Indeed, Hans Blix would have got excited about it. Bought from a bloke in a white transit van, you say?

What could possibly go wrong?



Well. That's done the baked potatoes no good at all.

Shhhh....

Best if I don't talk about it. I mentioned it once, but I think I got away with it. But it's preferable if I don't do it again.

After all, there has to be some space on the Internet - just one page, perhaps - that isn't talking about it right now. And I'm quite keen to be responsible for that page.

Yes, I'm certain, on many levels, that the outcome is important. But we can talk about other things, can't we? You and me, we're deeper than that, aren't we?

I have regular visitors to this very blog from the country in question. They might be tired. Huddled masses, even. It would be wrong of me to assume that the very thing they want is more in-depth analysis. The hurly-burly intellectual challenge of debate. After all, they've had something like two years of it. Maybe we'd all just like a night off?

Look! Kittens!



And cake. Lots of cake!



There. Isn't that better? One whole blog post, with no mention of the US Elections whatsoever.

Oh. Bugger.

...and how did you find the deckchair arrangements?

Erm. Hello. Could everyone stop crying for a moment, please and pay attention? Settle down if you will, ladies and gentlemen.

For those of you I haven't met on the voyage so far, my name is George Trugwarn. Purser Second Class, and part of the customer engagement team for White Star Line. I recognise some of you from the orientation exercise at Southampton on the 10th. Yes, I thought we'd be doing this at New York too, sir. When life gives you lemons, and all that.

Yes, madam, I'm well aware that it's three in the morning and we're in a lifeboat in the North Atlantic, but at White Star, customer satisfaction is key. If you can help me with my Customer Pathway Survey, we can resume trying to find the RMS Carpathia and get on with the rest of the day.

Lovely. Right, first things first, can I get your opinion about last night's dinner selection?

Please. Stop screaming. We'll come to open responses in a bit.

On a scale of one to five, where one is "Strongly Agree" and five is "Strongly Disagree," can you give me your view on the following statements, please, ladies and gentlemen?

The poached salmon with Mousseline sauce - appropriate for an April dinner? Hmm. The filet mignons Lili. A little heavy going? I see. The Waldorf Pudding. A fitting finish? Oh, wonderful. Chef will be delighted. Well, if we ever find him, of course. Last time I saw him he was playing "Nearer My God To Thee" on an oboe. Never mind.

Right, now feedback on your the rest of your voyage. As you were, ladies and gentlemen, one to five, please.

Enough with the whistles, already, that's really not helping my data collection, folks.

Your cabins. Comfortable and spacious? Riiight. Some of you had dampness issues. I understand, really I do. It's been a humdinger of a night for all of us. Let's move on to the final section, shall we?

The alarm calls. How prompt for you? I see. And the evacuation instructions? Oh, I see, you wanted a Spanish option. I'm sorry, I'll note that down for the crew on RMS Olympic. You see, this whole experience has been worth it after all, hasn't it?

Now some quick customer segmentation statistics, please. Just a show of hands will do. First class? Uh-huh. Second? Right. Third? Good.

And Steerage? Steerage? Oh bother. Well, that's going to throw my demographics right out.

Lost and found

This is what happens when we have people round for dinner. Katie will spend the previous week or so going through her collection of recipes. We will plan a delightful evening to the nth degree of detail.

And then, on the morning of the day in question, we'll take a look at the house and realise we're living the dream. If the dream in question is a rather surreal one in which you're surrounded by unparalleled mess, that is. The sort where John Peel provides a voice-over.

So, in no particular order, here are the things we found behind the sofa whilst tidying:

• A box marked "important" dating back to 1996 (when we moved in), that clearly wasn't;
• Rolls of Christmas wrapping paper that we (a) find every November and, (b) promptly forget about when we buy new wrapping paper several weeks later;
• The lost village of Brigadoon;
• A superannuated Japanese soldier who was patently unaware World War 2 had ended;
• "Moustache Mellotron," the lost Village People triple concept album from their forgotten progressive period;
• Chargers. For every mobile phone we've ever owned. And several we don't remember ever having;
• A stone tablet with Commandments numbered 11-15. Thousands of years of strife could have been averted if the world had known about: "Thou shalt not act like a pillock";
  
• An old copy of NME magazine. Apparently mullets are in;
  
• Dust bunnies that we could hire out to the makers of spaghetti westerns if ever they were running short of tumbleweed;
• Enough spare change in empty whisky bottles to re-float Lehman Brothers; and
  
• Several back-copies of Ideal Home magazine in pristine condition.

We need a cleaner.

The Creative Crunch - 2008

Global markets were still in meltdown this morning as the Creative Crunch continued to take a hold. The Crunch, which appears to have started in the middle of October this year, has drastically reduced the supply of witty commentary across the planet.

Already, LIBOR (the London Interesting Blog Offered Rate) is at an all time high as the demand for memes, topical stories and pictures of strangers' cats next to slogans about cheeseburgers massively outstrips supply.

In unprecedented scenes, governments across the planet have sought to stabilise supply by pumping billions of characters worth of postings into the system. However, it doesn't appear to have stemmed the tide of rising panic, as customers stare gloomily into Google Reader day after day, to be faced with empty reading lists.

But where have all the bloggers gone? Why, ask commentators, have they disappeared? More worryingly, what if they never come back?

Analysts point to a number of factors. "Perhaps bloggers have simply run out of things to say," suggest some. It is an idea that is gaining traction amongst casual observers.

Others counter that argument, pointing to statistics that suggest we actually passed that horizon years ago. "The blog market is due for a massive correction," they claim. "We've had it too good for too long. The days of easy creativity are past us now. Excuse me while I stock up on tinned beans, bottled water and back-issues of The Economist."

Perhaps the views of bloggers themselves should be sought. "What?" exclaimed one, wearing the international blogging uniform of tatty blue dressing-gown, "Do you really think I was going to do anything meaningful in October? I've got a whole bloody month to fill in November - of course I've been back-pedalling this last few weeks......."

In one word

Award winning.

Yes, I'm well aware that's two words. But I (or rather this blog) has received an award. I know. I was surprised, too. Given my parlous attempts at ramping up site traffic, it's nothing short of miraculous - there are secret MI5 files that have a wider readership than this, some days.

Anyway, one of the favoured few that reads this also inhabits the Uberworld that is Chez le Laquet. And apparently I make her "laugh out loud", too. She's a teacher, is Jo, so you have to listen to what she says or else you'll get a blackboard rubber thrown at the back of your head.

And I'm here to tell you, that hurts.

So Jo awarded me the 'I heart your blog' Award, hence:


I'm not going to argue with a teacher about the use of a noun where a verb would otherwise go. I haven't seen the inside of a classroom for twenty years. I suppose I should be glad no-one's telling me they spleen my blog.

Part of the deal is that I have to complete a one-word meme. Everything answered with just one word. And those of you who've stuck with me over the last year or so will know how I tend towards the economical with my words. Hmm. So here goes:

Where is your mobile phone? pocket
Where is your significant other? sofa
Your hair colour? greying
Your mother? excitable
Your father? bookish
Your favourite thing? words
Your dream last night? indescribable
Your dream goal? security
The room you're in? messy
Your hobby? this
Your fear? salad
Where do you want to be in 6 years? Solva
Where were you last night? here
What you're not? decisive
One of your wish-list items? iMac
Where you grew up? Birmingham
The last thing you did? washing
What are you wearing? jeans
Your TV? on
Your pets? bipolar
Your computer? overheating
Your mood? hopeful
Missing someone? nope
Your car? borrowed
Something you're not wearing? hotpants
Favourite shop? Waterstones
Your summer? French
Love someone? yes
Your favourite colour? blue
When is the last time you laughed? today
When is the last time you cried? forgotten

In a viral spread-the-love kind of style, I'm passing this on (not that the words "viral", "spread" and "love" really belong in the same sentence). So the award goes from me to Lisa, who never holds back. Dory, who makes Lisa look shy and retiring. And Country Girl/City Girl, who have that whole "I know how to use a Blackberry but I could probably deliver a calf if I needed to" vibe going on. Dory and CG/CG are American, so quite frankly they'll be glad of the distraction right now.