Years ago I used to sometimes get the train home from Blackfriars station. This was around the time they were just starting the process of completely rebuilding it, and one of the first things they did was take the light-up advertising poster frames off the walls. Behind them were lots of paper posters, presumably the last ones to be put up before the frames went in. They all seemed to date from the late 1980s.
There was all sorts of old advertising on display, some older than others, but this one caught my eye. It’s for an event called Wang Four Stars.
Yes, charity was the winner back in June 1988 at this event hosted by Jimmy Tarbuck and Terry Wogan, and sponsored by, er, Wang.
Presumably large numbers of people were expected to make the journey to Moor Park to watch celebrities play a round of golf. Maybe there wasn’t much to do in 1988. Other big names teeing off for a good cause included Cliff Thorburn, Sean Connery, Kevin Keegan, Russ Abbot and Shakin’ Stevens.
The poster is at pains to point out that there will be professional golfers, leading “personalities” and excellent catering facilities.
And, as it also makes clear, it’s all thanks to Wang.
Do you want to grow a large meeting of delicious, slightly tapered fruit? Do you want to witness a big hall full of stands offering fruit merchandise, and large seminar events with panels of fruit speakers? Do you want to see fruit lining up for famous orchard fruits to sign photographs and t-shirts and have their picture taken with people?
Early last week I needed to go to the supermarket. On arrival I ran straight to the meal deal fridges, barged some other customers out of the way, and started chugging own-brand banana milkshakes one after another, throwing the empty bottles on the floor behind me. When the security guard apprehended me and asked what I was doing I wafted my mouth like I was suffering severe heat burns and told him it was because of the spicy margs.
Result: banned from Sainsbury’s, Water Lane, Farnham. The phrase “spicy margs” not understood by Group 4 security personnel even on the third or fourth time of repeating it.
Experiment 2
On Friday last week I got the train to work without buying a ticket. When the conductor arrived and asked to see my ticket I told him I hadn’t got one. When he asked why not I said it was because of the spicy margs.
Result: £49 penalty fare. Spicy margs not applicable under railway bylaws.
Experiment 3
Two days ago, I went over to the shared kitchen area at work and found a woman making a round of tea for her colleagues. Maintaining eye contact throughout, I pushed all the mugs of tea onto the floor, where some of them smashed and the tea went everywhere. She jumped backwards, since her feet were now covered in very hot tea, catching her skirt on a drawer handle and sustaining some minor damage to her attire. She asked me what the hell I thought I was doing. I told her it was because of the spicy margs.
Result: employment tribunal pending. Union legal representative advises me that spicy margs are not a defence under the terms of my employer’s code of conduct.
Conclusion
Blaming it on the spicy margs is terrible advice. I will not be spending £14.99 on the framed art print that Ian was advertising.
Guess what? My parish has more native species of amphibians and reptiles than yours.
Sometimes when I take the dog out I pass this little statue of a toad, but I hadn’t actually stopped to look at it properly until the other day. It turns out that it relates an important fact about my local area that I didn’t know until now.
The plaque underneath says this.
Whitehill is the only parish in the UK to claim home to all 12 of our native amphibians and reptiles, including this, the rare Natterjack toad. Only 7cm long with a distinctive yellow stripe down its back, it favours sand and heathland and breeds in shallow pools. It eats insects, worms and small reptiles and can live up to an amazing 15 years.
Twelve. Twelve native species of amphibians and reptiles. Your parish certainly has some of them, it might even have quite a lot of them. But it won’t have all twelve. I don’t know why amphibians and reptiles are measured by the parish, which seems an odd choice of geographic area to use for this, but that doesn’t matter.
What matters is this.
My parish has more native species of amphibians and reptiles than yours.
I was recently reminded that this exchange had happened while Ian and I were talking about gingerbread.
1 May 2025 was three weeks ago and I can confirm with pleasure that it was a fairly normal day. I was at work, where among other things I dealt with some emails about election coverage and logged a call with our facilities helpdesk to have a carpet cleaned following a minor water leak.
As a result I am pleased to confirm that my ability to see precisely five years into the future is working nicely. Or at least it was five years ago. If you want to know whether it’s still working now you’ll have to wait another five years.
This is a new type of post. It is a premonition of an impending Saga. I foresee the beginning of Cabinet Saga.
Don’t misunderstand me. This might be a good Saga, and it’s one I’m genuinely excited to get started on. We’re finally getting round to decorating the living room, you see, and since our house is Edwardian and the living room is the one place with some surviving period detail, we’re doing what we can to restore it to its former glory. I’ve fixed the missing bits of plaster coving and the original window frames. We’re going to find a cast iron fire surround like the one the house would originally have had. And we’re also going to put bookshelves and cabinets into the alcoves on either side of the chimney.
Turns out alcove cabinets are not cheap. It’s just a bookcase, and yes, a Billy bookcase would be very cheap. But if you want a Billy bookcase that is built in, custom-made to fit your house’s charmingly non-straight Edwardian architecture, with detailing that would fit in with the carefully restored features of an Edwardian room, and also ideally has hidden LED under-shelf lighting, that’s not economical. Ikea don’t do it. You have to get a joiner to come in and price it up, and then he quotes you a figure that makes you sit down and concentrate on breathing and dab tears from your eyes, and then when you’ve collected yourself you ask him to leave and never come back.
Luckily there’s an alternative. You can measure every conceivable dimension of your Edwardian alcoves to the millimetre – several times, until you’re really sure you’ve definitely got it right – and then send them off to a company who will design them and supply you with a flat-pack kit of heavy duty MDF parts for you to assemble and install yourself. The cost of this still causes a sharp intake of breath but is much more affordable.
So it was that in March we measured parts of our living room over and over again to pin down its every millimetre, and so it came to pass that on Wednesday a van arrived at our house and unloaded an industrial quantity of precision-cut, pre-drilled MDF.
I’ve been on nights this week, which is not prime DIY territory, but I’m off work all next week and it will be cabinet time. I can’t wait for cabinet time. I like building things – flat pack furniture, Lego, raised beds in the garden, anything really – and this is a big thrilling building project where I get to make something intricate and impressive without having to do the difficult woodwork bits.
This could just be sheer enjoyment from start to finish, but the potential for an impending Saga arises from the need for “scribing”.
Built in furniture, you see, has to be built in to the room. As in, fit it perfectly. Meet it seamlessly. And no amount of millimetre-perfect measuring can achieve that. Instead, wherever your MDF meets the wall, you need to scribe it. Hold it perfectly in position and then trace the outline of the wobbly plasterwork and the skirting board and the extra bit under the skirting board that covers the edge of the laminate floor and whatever else is in the way. Then you need to get your jigsaw out, with its splinter guard on and its high precision fine cutting blade, and cut strips off the MDF pieces you’ve just paid an arm and a leg for. Thin strips. Really precise strips. Really thin, precise strips with awkward shapes and fiddly bits that you need to get right first time on a piece of wood that can’t easily be replaced.
I might be brilliant at scribing. I hope I am. But I’ve never done it before, and there’s going to be quite a lot of it in this project, so while I’m going to have a lot of very enjoyable DIY time ahead of me I’m slightly apprehensive about the potential for it to become a Cabinet Saga.
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