Things I Wish People Wouldn't Say - 3

Ten to the Dozen

Everybody knows that it means really fast, as in "She was talking ten to the dozen", but why?  In fact, it doesn't.  As a dozen is twelve, doing something at a rate of ten to the dozen is a doing at two-twelfths below pace.  That's nearly 17% below normal.

I, and many other people, say "Nineteen to the Dozen" to convey the same meaning.  This is, in fact, the origin of "ten to the dozen", but I've yet to find a reasonable explanation, other then stupidity, for why the "ten" version came into existence.  There is a theory, to do with steam-powered pumping engines, that could raise 19,000 gallons of water for every 12 bushels of coal burnt - hence the nineteen to the dozen.

The obvious difference between the two phrases is that, if you'd never heard either of them before, you would expect nineteen to the dozen to be faster than normal, and faster than ten to the dozen.  90% faster in fact.

So, dear world, please stop saying "ten to the dozen" and let's get back to "nineteen to the dozen".

Rugger, bunkers and buzzards

On Monday, my lovely daughter, a living Angel of the North, came home from school with the news that she's going to be in the girls' rugby team, playing in the county schools tournament in 4 weeks' time.  All we need to do now is get her some boots, and teach her a bit about rugby.  Thus far, she's got away with understanding three basic concepts:

1. When they run at you, tackle them - which it seems she enjoys
2. When you have the ball, try to run past/through them - which it seems she enjoys even more
3. Only pass backwards - which she'd rather not do, as she's quite good at concept 2 (above)

The teacher has described her as "Fast with the ball", which backs up concept 2, I suppose?

I found all this out via text message while I was walking the dogs in the ever-approaching gloom on Greenham Common.  It's a strange place, with obvious connotations for anyone born more than 30 years ago.  The US Air Force left on 11th September 1992 (9/11 if you prefer), after 41 years, taking their nuclear arms and cruise missiles with them.  There is still considerable evidence of their time there, with many of the concrete bunkers still remaining behind triple layers of fencing, festooned with warnings of barbed/razor wire and a Thames Valley Police Dog training zone.  Missing from the area though, according to a study a few years ago, is any trace of abnormal radioactive activity.  Phew!

It's very popular with runners, probably due in no small part to the tidily laid paths that stay relatively well-drained.  Hence, I headed off-piste with the dogs into the gorse-ridden centre of the former runway (most of which was broken up and is now under the A34, apparently).  When in use, it was the longest military runway in Europe (over 10,000ft long - 3km), and now it makes a very long, if rather flat, area of common land.

I was gazing upwards, as I often do, and was watching a group of around 20 birds drifting northwards while circling clockwise (as viewed from below)*.   I was just trying to decide what sort of birds they were when they stopped their circling and headed off northwards as one.  I looked for a moment at the dogs, and then back upwards, spotting my new company.  A buzzard was gliding about 30ft above my head, using the brisk wind to keep its ground-speed very low.  I was treated to a good 20 seconds in its company as it twisted and twitched to maintain a more-or-less straight line before it made a 90 degree turn to starboard, using the wind to tear away from me on a broad reach.

A good start to the week, I think.

*Anyone that knows me well will know that I counted them.  There were 19, but "around 20" makes me sound less sad.

Things I Wish People Wouldn't Say - 2

"Me Neither"

Let me first say that I'm not trying to condemn what other people say, I just want to let you know what my thoughts on the matter are.  I may also suggest an alternative that would give me a frisson of excitement if I heard it uttered by someone else.  But, as I (and others) have so often been reminded in a couple of online places, language evolves, and dictionaries should be descriptive, not prescriptive.

That said, "Me neither" annoys me.  Not so much that I would physically twitch, or spend more than a millisecond considering it.  I certainly would never go so far as to "correct" someone for saying it.

The first thing that I might do differently is the pronunciation.  I've always preferred "either" and "neither" to rhyme with "scyther", rather than "seether".  Not only does this pronunciation seem to fit with the spelling (if we consider how a German would pronouce the "ei" combination), but it reflects the origins of the words around 800 years ago.  There's an immediate problem with this though.  "Me nyther" just doesn't flow as nicely as "Me neether", which has an almost pleasant internal rhyme.  I say "almost pleasant" because I find the "ee" sound to be a bit naff, but that's tremendously subjective, and not something I'd ever realised until I started writing this.  Let's carry on saying "Me neether" for now, as I've failed to convince myself that "Me nyther" is better.

Moving onto the other word, we're presented with an obvious problem.  In my experience, "Me neither" is generally used in this sort of conversation:

"I'm not going to Olivia's party tonight"

"Me neither"

That's where the problem arises. I don't know all the correct syntactical and grammatical terms, so I'm going to try to stick to layman's terms.  "I" is the subject of the first speaker, the person avoiding Olivia's party.  So, the second speaker wants to say the same thing, using two words to convey:

"I, also, am not going to Olivia's party"

This can then be gradually reduced without losing any meaning, because it inherits so much from the first speaker's statement.

"I, also, am not going to Olivia's party"

Let's get rid of the ugly commas

"I am not going to Olivia's party either"

Let's get rid of the repeated object

"I am not going either"

I can think of a word that means "not...either"

"Nor am I going"

Let's get rid of the repeated "going"

"Nor am I"

Let's get rid of the repeated "am"

"Nor I".

So there you have it; my preferrred version of "Me neither" is "Nor I".

Not only is it grammatically correct and has no ambiguity of pronunciation, it is a syllable shorter.  The only two downsides are that it has no internal rhyme, and that it would need changing to "Nor me" if the first speaker had said:

"Olivia hasn't invited me to her party."

As I mentioned earlier, I accept that "Me neither" is here to stay, but I would love it if someone said "Nor I" just once.

Things I Wish People Wouldn't Say - 1

"We don't mind, so long as it's healthy"


It's the standard response that is trotted out so often these days.  In the 1990s, it was almost de rigeur to find out the sex of your child before it was born, via the wonders of ultrasonic examination.  Now it seems to have become the fashion to do it the old-fashioned way, by counting bits and pieces when they come out.  Just as banjos are "in", so is "having babies the proper way".  There's even the anti-caesarian backlash, who regard having a baby extracted by surgical means to be cheating, and somewhat recherché - probably the same people who insist on organic vegetables. But I digress.

So, when a couple is asked if they want a boy or a girl, the standard answer is now "We don't mind, so long as it's healthy."  This is such an accepted phrase that the asker often feels inclined join in the last couple of words of the response, with a knowing nod and smile.

However, in light of the nation's recent celebration of all things Paralympian and wonderful, can this really continue to be a valid response?  How can we continue to demand good health as a basis of whether our child will be acceptable in our eyes? Would those trite words come back to haunt you if your child was born with a chronic condition, phsyical disability, or mental impairment? Of course, you'd still love your child, so why put pre-conditions on that love?  I'm always tempted to ask "So what would you do if it wasn't healthy? Have it adopted and try again?"  I've never said this of course, as I don't like being punched, and I quite like having friends. Despite everything, I quite like children too, so long as I'm allowed to talk to them properly.  Blimey, that's another massive subject, so I'll stop digressing again.

Perhaps the inspiration that was supposedly injected into a largely lethargic nation by the extraordinary physical and mental achievements of Paralympians will put a stop to this.  Perhaps the phrase will be replaced by "We don't care, so long as it's inspirational".  To be given the opportunity to use this phrase (no matter how ironically) is one of a very small handful of reasons I can think of to have more children.

I might share with you some day what some of the others are...

Crap Song Lyrics - 1

I just read an article on the NME web site with 50 crap lyrics, and I really thought they could have done much better. For example, "This is man's world, but it would be nothing without a woman or a girl" came in for criticism for neglecting 50% of the population.  Still, no-one ever said music journalists were intelligent.

In an effort to redress the balance in favour of truly crap lyrics, I'm going to start sharing some favourites of mine that I've discovered over the years. My particular favourites are unromantic lines in love songs...

Boys II Men - I'll Make Love to You
Number 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 for 14 weeks, and it won a Grammy too.  It does include this unfortunately unromantic pair of lines though:

Throw your clothes on the floor

I'm gonna take my clothes off too

Sounds like they're still Boyz to me.

JLS - Love You More

Jack the Lad Swing (did you know that?) is what the letters stand for, but they seem to lack a little imagination when it comes to sweet-talking the ladies.

Day one I first laid my eyes on you.

Day two I can't help but think of you.

Day three was the same as day two.

Day four I fell in love with you.

Seriously? "Day three was the same as day two?"  For today I'm going to ignore the ghastly stress on the word "the" that is induced by putting these lyrics to that tune.

Can you imagine gazing intently into the eyes of your beloved, whispering something along the lines of, "I remember that day when first saw you. The next day, I couldn't stop thinking about you.  The day after that was the same as the previous day. The day after that I fell in love with you."

So not only are you completely killing any kind of narrative, and losing the emotion of the moment (by repeating day two on day three), you're also telling her that it wasn't love at first sight, but that you had to spend two full days thinking about her first, before falling in love.

How unflattering that sounds, not even taking into account that someone who analyses their romance in that sort of detail is unlikely to be the catch of the century.

More Crap Song Lyrics as I find them...

Presqu'hebdomadaire

I'm rather pleased with a few things that have taken place in the last 6 days.

On Saturday, I was on the Ridgeway at 8am with the dogs and a book ("DarkMarket: cyberthieves, cypercops and you" by Misha Glenny). A two-hour walk in glorious autumn sunshine ensued, with the temperature rising from 4C to 6C while I was out.  The views were magnificent, which meant I didn't read as much as I'd expected to, but that really wasn't a problem, given the fact that I covered 6 miles with the North Wessex Downs for company - as well as finches, terns, red kites (almost obligatory on this blog), and a wealth of other birds that I've yet to identify.

Monday evening was host to a few achievements.  Firstly, Aimée and I made our way to that London, as I'd won a pair of tickets to see Mumford & Sons at the Roundhouse, in Chalk Farm.
The first delight was the look on Aimée's face when, while on the M4, I mentioned that I didn't know where I was going to park, and that we didn't have a map. Trusting in my Zen-like ability to navigate successfully, I followed my instincts (and a modicum of a plan, from having looked at a map a week earlier) and parked legally, free of charge, on Shepherd's Bush Rd (near Tesco if you know the area), about 5 minutes' walk from Hammersmith Underground station. 40 minutes later we were at the Roundhouse, where the queues were surprisingly long, considering that the doors opened at 6, and we got there at 7.15. We soon discovered that over half the people queuing didn't have tickets, and were hoping to glean a place not taken by a competition winner.  Presumably, if you won tickets for Mumford & Sons, and you lived in Glasgow, and you weren't really keen on them, you wouldn't bother.

So, we were in the main room at 7.50, for Willy Mason's support act - notable mainly for being excellent background music, and for the young lady playing the saw (no prizes for guessing what instrument Aimée wants to play next).

M & S themselves were excellent.  "Sigh No More" was performed, not A Capella, but "Sans Electricité".  4 voices, a guitar and a banjo, and properly, totally, unplugged.  A couple of thousand people shushed themselves and listenened intently, apart from a couple of wazzocks near us who got an uncontrollable fit of the giggles.  They could have just sodded off to the toilet or the bar, rather than annoying the bejeebers out of everyone around them - ho hum!

Lots of songs later, with a couple of songs left, I noticed the people in front of us kept turning round and looking at the balcony.  I had a gander myself, and realised that Chris Martin was there, having a good old boogie, with Gwyneth alongside, and another, younger, shorter blond, who I've since worked out might be Carey Mulligan.  According to that there internet, they were all there (as was Adele), so I think it must have been them.

Last note of gig played at 10:40pm.  We were home at 12:27am.  Result! London Confusion: 0 Joneses: 1.

Waiting for us in the kitchen was a surprise from the fairies that live in our house - a flask of hot chocolate. Perfect end to the night.

In-laws arriving tomorrow.  Will have to find a way to get one of them to drive us to the Bell in Aldworth, so I can have more than a pint.  Sunday lunchtime perhaps?

Oh yes, another thing of note occurred on Sunday morning - what I think was a Sparrowhawk landed on our back garden gate while we were taking coffee in the conservatory (living the life, eh!) and flew off about a second later, possibly with a sparrow. Gulp!

The Return of the Baking Fairy

Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
The fairy came back yesterday!
The tempting scent of yumptious treat
Foretold of cupboard shelves replete
With chocolate brownies, robed in goo
And pizza-flavoured muffins too.
And when I thought my lust was fed
My search revealed a gingerbread.
My taste for this stuff's rather picky,
This was perfect - rich and sticky.
A wholemeal loaf completes the day.
Oh Fairy, never go away!

Knowing I, Knowing Thee, Aarrrrhhhhaaaaaarrrrrrrr.

Today, September 19th, is "Talk Like a Pirate Day".  How ironic that my good lady wife is (in her own words) as sick as a parrot.  Doubly ironic, as there seems to be an ornithological undercurrent to this non-diurnal journal.
I was prompted to jot these thoughts down as YARK (Yet Another Red Kite) swooped towards the window while I was wondering whether it would be reasonable to experiment with creating Access Control List entries automatically, based on a manager's IT resources request for a new employee.
In other bird-related news, yesterday I drove within 20m of a buzzard that was feasting on one of half a dozen dead hedgehogs, within the space of 100m.  I hope any surviving hogs have realised it's not a great place to cross the road.  This morning, our local quartet of bickering starlings were very miffed to see that the mealworms they scoffed yesterday had not been replaced.  As I ate my breakfast, I had the pleasant view of a collared dove, a field sparrow and a blue tit lined up vertically; eating bread, bird seed and nuts respectively.  If I were smarter than the average bear, and a bit less of a Luddite, I might take some photos of my feathered chums and share them with the world.
The grand plans for planting shrubs amounted to nothing, to tonight's chore is to get the bamboo from the front garden to the back, then start digging, planting and watering.  If that gets done in time, I'll be cleaning the conservatory roof.  If the plans are still functioning, I'll be cleaning the windows tomorrow.
Luckily there's sod all on telly before it gets dark, so there's little chance of me getting distracted.  However, the dogs do beg me for a walk, and there's the not-so-trivial matter of probably making the dinner, and definitely eating it.
In all, if I get 30% of tonight's plans done, I'll have done well.
So long, shipmates, and brace yerselves for stormy weather ahead - aaaaaaarrrrrrr!!!

Web Logging

As the final third of September approaches, I'm going to have to face the fact that it's simply not as warm outside as it has been.  And so I suspect that Friday, or possibly Saturday, will see us putting the heating on for the first time in this house - I've been here since early June.  It would have been nice to go 4 months without heating, but I don't think we'll quite make it.
On the downside, that means ordering some oil.  On the up side, it also means that I can bring our open fire into play.  The question is, how do I feel about gathering wood?
Not that I'm concerned about the physical effort required, as I walk about 3 miles a day anyway, but the morality of "nicking" fallen wood to burn on my fire.  Is it right?  Is it even legal?  Much of the woodland around here is commercial forestry, so I think it's a little more clear cut in that situation.  The land belongs to a private owner, and therefore so do the windfalls.  However, on public land I think the line between right and wrong is a little more blurred.
So I think that if I take a small rucksack out with me, and pop in a few bits of naturally fallen wood, that's OK.  Nothing more than, say, 3" thick (7.5cm), and no more than I can reasonably carry. I reckon that bag's contents would do for 3 or so hours of firewood.  Our grate is small, but the sitting room is also small enough that we'd keep the door open and heat some of the rest of the house too. Daily gathering, daily burning.  The circle of life and all that, eh?
On other matters: we had a great weekend.  The day out at the Royal Berkshire County Show on Saturday was excellent.  Ferrets were possibly the highlight - and a couple of utterly magnificent bulls.  Pictures may follow.  It's always slightly moving to watch a Spitfire flying overhead, as we did on Saturday, but it was even more so on the Sunday, watching it from our home (about 3 miles from the Showground).  As it plunged downwards below the treeline, the distinctive two notes of the Merlin engine seemed to drift apart.  The deep thrum getting deeper. The higher element of its voice become more shrill and piercing.  I suspect that little on that horizon had changed in the last 70 years, and I confess a lump came to my throat as I imagined myself watching "our boys" heading off to square up to whatever had dared to cross the channel.  I was surprised at my own reaction, but not unhappy.
Shrubs to plant in the back garden tomorrow.  I might surprise myself and do some in the morning before work.  Or I might just linger a little longer while walking the dogs, and pick up a few sticks along the way - just in case there's a nip in the air later in the week.

The Baking Fairy

For over sixteen years now, I've suspected that I've been followed around to everywhere I live by a Clothes Fairy.  I leave dirty clothes in a pile (a tidy pile, I should add) and they re-appear a few days later, clean and ironed.  But now, a new fairy seems to have appeared - the Baking Fairy has come to stay.
On Monday, I came home to discover cheese scones waiting.
On Tuesday, there were strawberry shortcakes and a chicken & mushroom pie.
Wednesday, pizza-flavour savoury muffins (the first muffins I've ever enjoyed); Swiss roll and a dirty great chocolate cake.
Today, we've just been trying to catch up with the Baking Fairy, who seems to have taken a day off at last.
Not to worry though, there's still cake, Swiss roll and those amazing pizza muffins to tuck into tomorrow!
I'm a lucky, lucky man.

Clear head, cloudy sky

A frustrating seven or so hours of grappling with Xpages draws to a close.  The weather has become gradually more blustery, in parallel with the turmoil on my monitor.  At last, all the bugs I wrote this morning have been fixed.  I've even managed to make things look vaguely user-friendly too.
I've been so engrossed I've had little time to glance out of the window, but this morning's sunshine has certainly given way to a right old mixed bag of clouds.  The wind appears to have backed round to about WSW, and is still a decent strength.  Autumn is definitely either here, or not far away.
Also not far away is the Royal Berkshire Show.  I suspect that the free parking for it will be about the same distance from the main gate as our house.  Do we go for the £5 premier parking, or head across the fields.  Given how knackering the day is likely to be, I might just drop the family off near the gate, drive home, and cycle over.  Although that means a longer wait for them when I have to pick them up later.
Saturday looks the better day for weather, so it might be wise to buy the tickets tonight.  Does that mean we miss the horse and carriage procession through Hermitage?  I hope not.

September progresses

There was nothing to report on the bird front yesterday, as I forgot my normal glasses, and only had my strong reading ones. There could have been pterodactyls drifitng around, for all I could see.  There was a very satisfying line-up of 10 sparrows on the wall and gate when I got home though.  They were queuing up for the bird feeder I'd only hung up the evening before.  Word spreads fast.  Do they use Twitter?

There was also a couple of kites arriving on the other side of the M4 when I took Benjy for a walk, about 5.45pm.  They made a very impressive low swoop across a field full of pigeons, who looked decidedly uneasy about the new arrivals.  The kites perched on two fence posts and surveyed the field imperiously for quarter of an hour, before coaxing themselves gently into the air, and back across the M4 towards Furze Hill and beyond.

So on to today. White to light-grey pom-pom clouds are drifting from far-left to near-right this morning, which I reckon makes it roughly a WNW wind. Quite a brisk one too, but the backdrop of sky is a really vivid blue No sign of anything interesting yet - a couple of pigeons and a crow or two in the distance.  The cobweb on window 3 (of 4, counted from the left) is getting rather scrappy.  I think the spider must have given up on it and moved on.  Or died.

The weekend kites

Robert & I took the dogs for a Sunday afternoon walk around Aldworth, starting at the sensational Bell Inn. The route should have taken about an hour.  Firstly we took the footpath between the beer garden and the cricket pitch (where I took 2 wickets, about 3 weeks ago), then across two fields.  Then, turning left onto a byway, we trundled along with a magnificent long view to our right.  Suddenly, we found the byway was barred by tape between two gate posts, and a home-made sign reading "Private - no public footpath".  So, after hunting around for a few minutes to see if there was another way through, as the byway was clearly marked on the OS map, we gave up and turned back.
I wasn't happy about this, because there is something distinctly satisfying about a circular route that leads back to one of the best pubs I've ever encountered.  The day was saved by a spectacular sight though.
One of the fields we'd had to cross was full of stubble, which was being ploughed in.  This had obviously stirred up enough bug, grubs and worms to attract the attention of half a dozen red kites.  I've never seen them on the ground before, and hadn't appreciated just what a 5 foot wingspan looks like in take-off.  These lumbering giants rose into the air like the nazgul of Middle Earth - great, slow, heavy-looking wings raising their bodies in jerks off the ground, until they reached 30 feet or so, and then just soared effortlessly to the treetops.  Normal service resumed.
A pint of Maggs Mild and a smoked salmon roll in the beer garden rounded off what turned out to be a better walk than I'd hoped.  The dozen or so sparrows hopping around within 5 or 6 feet of us were rather fun too.  Now to try and work out a circular route that has the Bell halfway round.  That would just be perfect.  Sunday lunch, anyone?

Weather-driven programming ability?

A real mixed bag of sky conditions has interspersed my morning through the square windows today:  heavy, dark and brooding clouds; mid-grey, scudding low clouds; blue sky with scattered cotton wool wisps; and now, a selection of light- to dark-grey clouds, fairly high, driven by a blustery west wind.  Very few birds so far, mainly pigeons and crows.  Yesterday's kite absence made me smile as I drove out of the gates after work, and there was a low, circling kite right over the road, flashing its bright, white, underwing patches; keeping a level course with delicate twitches of its arrowhead tail.
At last, the sun makes a brief appearance from behind me, lighting the top of the distant horse chestnut, the tallest tree in my line of sight, as it thrashes in the wind like an escaplogist, wriggling his shoulders to rid himself of a straitjacket.
Anyway, as the sun lit up the treetops, I think I've worked out how to maintain retest periods and dates in my database, so I'd better apply myself to that instead.

The birds

No kites again today. Wrong weather perhaps.  I could understand their viewpoint, as we've had a blanket of dark cloud today, with a very heavy downpour at lunchtime.
The absence of kites was more than made up for by crows and swifts though.  The crows, just after lunch, looked like they'd been sent by Aldworth Bomber Command, on a mission to obliterate East Ilsley.  There must have been fifty of them, all heading right-to-left past my window, low over the trees, with a grim and portentous determination about them.  The swifts, possibly up to a hundred of them, arrived ten minutes ago, and have just left, as if to go and tell the crows what I've been saying about them. They were focussed on the furthest trees in my view, a flurry of dots buzzing around like flies.

Ten or so have just returned, with a single crow.

I'm worried!

After's yesterdays wandering...

I'm not sure what prompted yesterday's largely aimless ramble into the analysis of beer prices over the last 27 years, but today I think I'll be much more focussed, although I have about 6 different subjects on my mind.
I mentioned birds and views yesterday. Not only do I get to enjoy watching raptors flying outside my office window, I get to see them at home too.  It's only 5 miles away, so it's hardly surprising.  Yesterday morning, while walking the dogs, I got buzzed by a buzzard. To be honest, it just flew within 50 metres of me, but I like the phrase, so I'm sticking with it. The weekend before, Bob and I discovered a field that's used for grazing by some roe deer, about half a mile from our house, less than 100m from the M4. Red kites, jackdaws, crows, finches, tree sparrows all abound in the area.  Alas, they are almost all outnumbered by magpies.  Am I allowed to shoot them, and are they edible I wonder?
Yesterday, we spent a few hours gawping at wolves, including the only three arctic wolves in the UK.  The UK Wolf Conservation Trust is just 7 miles from home, and has seriously caught my attention.  I'm very tempted to pay the £100 for membership, that allows me to go for a walk with them.  Sod swimming with dolphins - taking a wolf for a walk has got to be a bit "closer to nature".  The "howl evenings" sound fun too!
The aforementioned Bob picked up his GCSE results on Thursday, and has achieved the results he needed to do the A-levels he wants to do, so that's a job well done. He needs a hobby for the next 10 days though, as he doesn't know what to do now he's stopped worrying about his results. Actually, he might fit on my bike now, so he could borrow that to go exploring a bit further afield.  I'm not sure his navigation's up to it though...it might be the last we see of him as he sets off saying "I'll be fine" with his usual insouciance.
Lunch is over, only one red kite spotted outside in the last hour, so I'll get back to work.

Where's the inflation?

So beer has rocketed up in price lately, eh? That's what I thought until I started thinking about three pints I've drunk.
Here are the figures - all for a pint of Batemans XB in The Red Lion, Nettleham, Lincs.

• 2nd August 1985 - £0.68
• 2nd August 1993 - £1.36
• 26th August 2012 - £2.90

That's a 100% rise in the first 8 years of my legal drinking life, and 113% in the next 19 years.  What is reassuring is that the beer and the pub are still as excellent as they were 27 years ago.
Anyway, let's knock off VAT and the prices are:

• £0.59
• £1.16  (97% increase in 8 years)
• £2.41 (108% increase in 19 years)

If beer had gone up with inflation, in 1993, my pint would have been £1.00 (inc VAT) and £1.80 now.
If we start with the £1.36 price in 2993, it should now be £2.30

I'm not quite sure what my point is, but it's probably something like "How the hell do I remember the price of beer?"  I'm also a little disconcerted that I remember VAT rates too.

Some time off...

Given that I'm about to have 5 days off work, I'm surprised nothing drastic broke at work today.  The most dramatic moment was when a flock of around 100 crows came careering over the trees towards my window, with an air of the Riders of Rohan appearing over the horizon in line abreast.
Off to Leicester tomorrow to "be there" for young Robert, as he picks up his GCSE results.  Not so young any more!  Fingers crossed...

4 Music Lessons in a Bed - well, 2 in a boat anyway...

My life down south became more bizarre this evening.
I don't know how many people are aware of the Channel 4 TV show, "4 in a Bed".  I have seen several episodes, which I can largely blame on it being on the TV while I'm in the room, plus a latent interest in the catering and hospitality industry.
The episode linked above shows the delightful Jane and Alan, who run a boat on the Thames as a B&B.  I was on one of their other two boats this evening, as they are my son's and daughter's new bassoon and French horn teachers, respectively.  Killing two birds with one stone, as they'll be taught at the same time, at opposite ends of a narrow-boat, currently moored in the marina in Reading.
If you watch the episode above, particularly around 5-10 minutes from the end, I can assure you that the dog is every bit as gorgeous as he looks.

Resolution

The swifts have gone. The clouds are a little darker, and I changed my code to allow for partially-insane users who use two different supplier numbers for the same supplier.
And so the program runs again. 9000 documents done so far, at a rate of 2500 per minute, this should only take 25 minutes to run, and then it'll be time to eat.   Let's see what Tesco's 11p noodles are like

Nearly lunchtime

While my program is half-way through processing 61,000 documents, I thought I'd mention the view.
If I peer over my reading glasses, out of the window, I see the tops of trees, looking northwards over the Downs to Oxfordshire.  A few swifts are scooting about, as if flinging themselves from one invisible to trapeze to another.  I was hoping to mention a red kite wheeling about, but I haven't seen on yet today.  Plenty of time yet though.
Some clumpy low clouds, light grey to white, are drifting from left-to-right; the trees are moving very gently, as if stretching their shoulders after a morning hunched over a laptop.
And now my program has stopped running, but it's only done 37,800 documents! "Type mismatch" error. Why would someone have created a document with two company references on it? Why? One document out of 61,000 that doesn't fit the template. Options are: edit the duff document; change my code to allow for it; or simply bypass it.
At least 12 swifts are unaware of this dilemma.  I wish I was.