We bought our house from people who thought they’d be living there forever. They didn’t, because we sent them away so that we could have it all for ourselves. I regret nothing.
Anyway, last week we pulled all the wallpaper off the walls in what had been their baby room, and found a charming memento painted behind it that had presumably been intended to last for many years.
It lasted five years and we’ve painted over it. But here it is, a message from five Novembers ago, just to prove it once existed.
Avenging bunged-up watercourses across the north east of England, the River Force 5 are on hand with their collection of sticks and poles to slowly move rocks and piles of leaves around, allowing the water to flow more directly and efficiently.
Now you too can revel in their escapades and benefit from their wisdom in this, their first non-fiction publication, Can’t Stop the River Force 5.
In this charming volume you will discover:
Kev’s Sleeping Bag Deluxe
The Grn
How to deal with a gay issue
The tale of Robert Flandersnoof
Plenty of tug and tumble
You can, as ever, read it on our magnificent Books page.
We’ve talked before about how companies should always be named after the person who owns them and the thing they do. We’ve also talked about companies with terrible names who break this simple rule.
A leaflet dropped through my letterbox this week – a grubby, crumpled leaflet, certainly, but one I immediately trust because it comes from a company with an excellent and clear name. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: Ron’s Collectables.
Ron has it all: a professional leaflet that addresses you as “Sir of Madam”; a big list of tat that is seemingly in high demand at the moment; and a suggestion that if you’re not entirely satisfied that this is a legitimate operation then you should hand the leaflet in to The Local Police.
I was, naturally, extremely keen to do business with Ron, and have sold him my house for £150 cash.
The internet is too clever. If you go over here to a website or something, and do a bit of searching around, you’ll suddenly find that other shopping sites and social media are offering you adverts for the thing you searched for. How do they know? How are they so effectively tracking me around the place? It’s crazy.
Sometimes the suggestions that come scrolling past your face are so uncannily pinpoint accurate that it’s scary. Other times you feel like maybe the algorithm didn’t have enough to go on and it’s making a wild stab in the dark.
Recently on Instagram (follow me if you like, I never post anything) I’ve been seeing the same advert coming up again and again, posted there by some robot working for Amazon who clearly doesn’t have a very firm grasp on what I want to buy. Its headline suggestion is this all-plastic portable bath with a lid. You can apparently poke your head out to look at something on a laptop, presumably while out and about. Perhaps it’s for people who have sudden irresistible urges to take an immediate bath while, I don’t know, in the car park at Sainsbury’s or half way up a hill in the Peak District.
If you then scroll right, the rest of the suggestions are a real mixed bag. There’s a green leather Chesterfield-style chair and a frog-shaped plantpot. However, there’s also a bed covered in Lego studs that you can build Lego models on, and it even has a display area for minifigures in the headboard. Now that’s something I really do want.
I recently got hold of a bike, in an attempt to do something energetic at least occasionally, rather than just spending literally my entire life either sitting down or being asleep.
What I didn’t count on was how dangerous it is round here. Get off the main roads and you suddenly find yourself in a terrifying danger zone of army firing ranges and other macho activities that are entirely incompatible with my naturally timid demeanour. A simple bicycle ride in the country suddenly becomes a horrifying scramble through live gunfire and explosions, like a scene from Rambo but with me in a bike helmet passing through the background.
Please find below a selection of pictures to document my emotions during a ride through this difficult environment.
You remember Anastacia. She had that massive, powerful voice and a stage persona that was pitched on the borders between sexy and fierce. Her big worldwide smash hit was the super-catchy “I’m Out of Love”, which topped charts of every kind in 2000, including those unrelated to music. Knowing I’d be listening to this album, I’ve had “I’m Out of Love” stuck in my head for several days. It turns out that was from her first album and this is her second. It’s not on this album. It’s still stuck in my head, though.
At the risk of inducing an episode of PTSD in Kev, I’d like to give you a quick rundown of where we are with the kitchen, one week in.
For a week now the living room has included a fridge, a sofa standing on end, a drinks cabinet, a table, a microwave, a kettle and a toaster. All our meals have either been boiled, toasted or microwaved. The kitchen itself has bare walls, a bare concrete floor (now perfectly level), wires sticking out of holes and pipes that go nowhere. The ceiling has one coat of white paint. As I type this a very tall Polish man is whistling and making loud banging noises and there are a range of half-built cabinets scattered around the room. The rest of the house does not bear thinking about.
For your convenience, I have compiled this list of things you might need and where you will find them.
Thing
Where you will find it
Extra large martini/cocktail glasses
Under the radiator in the spare room.
Electric chopper/blender thing
Electrical bit is in a cardboard box underneath two other boxes in the spare room. Blade is in a bag with sharp things that you should avoid putting your hands in. Lid is AWOL.
Candles
In a plastic bag underneath the Uno cards in the fold-down part of the drinks cabinet.
Dining table
In pieces, under a blanket in the spare room, behind the chairs.
Dining room light fitting
Glass shades are under a collection of tea towels on top of the chest of drawers in the bedroom. Wires and metal bits and bulbs are casually scattered on top of boxes in the spare room.
Bag of quinces from the bit of our quince tree that hangs over the neighbours’ fence, brought round by the neighbours
Under the Flash Speedmop refills and a recipe book, on the shelf in the utility room next to the recycling.
Jar of ground cinnamon
One is in the bag of herbs, spices, condiments and oils in the spare room. Another one is in the bag of pasta, rice and tins. Another one is in the bag of snacks and biscuits.
Cat bowl, including remnants of cat’s previous meal
Next to the wifi router in the hall, behind several pairs of shoes and some old post.
Skirting boards from the dining room
In the garage, balanced on top of two old pallets and the saddle of a bicycle.
Sultanas
In a drawer in the living room next to the Ryvita and a bottle of maple syrup.
