...humour for the weekend
Hair removal
My neighbour found out that her dog (a Schnauzer) could hardly hear, so she took it to the veterinarian. The vet found that the problem was hair in the dog's ears. He cleaned both ears, and the dog could then hear fine. The vet then proceeded to tell the lady that, if she wanted to keep this from recurring, she should go to the chemist and get some "Nair" hair remover and rub it in the dog's ears once a month.
The lady went to the chemist and bought some "Nair" hair remover. At the register, the pharmacist told her, "If you're going to use this under your arms, don't use deodorant for a few days."
The lady said, "I'm not using it under my arms."
The pharmacist said, "If you're using it on your legs, don't shave for a couple of days."
The lady replied, "I'm not using it on my legs either. If you must know, I'm using it on my Schnauzer."
The pharmacist says, "Well stay off your bicycle for about a week."
One liners that arn't especially funny but I am busy at the moment...
I get on extremely well with the lesbians next door. They asked me what I would like for my birthday. I was stunned when they gave me a Rolex. It was very nice of them, but I think they misunderstood me when I said, "I wanna watch."
Why is it when your wife becomes pregnant, all her female friends rub her tummy and say "congratulations "but none of them rub your dick and say "well done"?
Honestly some folk will take offense at anything....I met a bloke with no legs this morning while at the bus stop and all I asked was "How are you getting on?"
Paddy was in the delivery room when the midwife handed him a black baby "Is this yours?" she asked. "Probably." said Paddy "She burns everything else!"
Sex therapist claim that the most effective way to arouse your man is to spend 10 minutes licking his ears!! Personally I think its bollocks!!
They reckon that Beer contains female hormones and I think they are right. After 8 pints I talk sh it and can't drive!
Whats the difference between Basil Brush and a Terrorist with a rucksack? The Terrorist with a rucksack only goes "Boom" once.
Vicar booking into a hotel asks the receptionist "Is the Porn channel in my room disabled?" "No," she replies "it's just regular porn you sick bastard."
A mate of mine has just told me he's shagging his girlfriend and her twin. I said "How can you tell them apart?" He said "Her brother's got a moustache!"
A biker goes to the doctor with hearing problems. "Can you describe the symptoms to me?" asked the doctor. "Yes. Homer is a fat yellow lazy bastard and Marge is a skinny bird with big blue hair."
30 April 2010
29 April 2010
28 April 2010
This is Planet Norway - Wednesday movie
If you want to know more about life in Norway then this weeks Wednesday movie is for you.
The first is an excellent introduction to my chosen country of abode
The second an introduction to the langauge can be found here and you can see Norwegians having fun on holiday in London here.
And finally if you want to know more about Norwegian girls, then this clip from a Norwegian TV show highlights the very best of "bungalow blondes" - nice to look at but nothing upstairs. Fantastically stroppy and self obessesed as well*.
*In order to survive tomorrow I must stress that not all Norwegian Girls are like this- it's a very special subset...
The first is an excellent introduction to my chosen country of abode
The second an introduction to the langauge can be found here and you can see Norwegians having fun on holiday in London here.
And finally if you want to know more about Norwegian girls, then this clip from a Norwegian TV show highlights the very best of "bungalow blondes" - nice to look at but nothing upstairs. Fantastically stroppy and self obessesed as well*.
*In order to survive tomorrow I must stress that not all Norwegian Girls are like this- it's a very special subset...
26 April 2010
Lost in Spain
The year is 1986, the place is Huesca a provincial city in northern Spain. I am sitting in the town square wondering what to do. I am here to work as a field assistant to a geology PhD student in her final year of fieldwork. I have just finished the first year of my undergraduate degree and have that fantastic arrogance that comes from knowing nothing useful about the world. And now I have a bit of a problem…
I travelled down through France on the train. I speak no Spanish and virtually no French. This is only my second time out of the UK and I firmly believe that I don’t need to speak any other languages because I will make myself understood. How hard can it be?
My well planned route had gone to shit when I got to the border and was thrown off the train at gun point. I have no idea why but at least I was not alone, there were four of us, two clean cut german boys and a scruffy, older American. The Germans kept themselves to themselves but the American was friendly. He was patient and forgiving of my arrogant attitude and told me that I would need some Spanish if I was going to spend any time in Spain. He tried to teach me a few key phrases – Key-Aero is “I want” and Key-Aero Ear is “I want to go to”. Donday is “where” and with that he tells me if I spend any time in Spain and if I fall in love with it, I will remember his name forever. He was called Don and he was correct, 24 years later I still do.
We spent the night sleeping outside on the train platform in Hendaye and next morning I continued my passage. As I approached the final part of my journey on the train I tried to call ahead to the hotel where Liz was staying. Each time the phone was answered I would insert the coins and say. “Hello Key-Aero Liz ”. Each time the elderly woman at the other end hung up so I enlisted a guy on the train to help. He was Spanish and dressed in white, I am fairly sure he was gay and hitting on me, but he spoke bad English, which is better than no English and was happy to help me. At Huesca we used the phone box in the station to call the hotel and he got me through the old lady to Liz. She was pleased to hear that I was alive and in the area but her van had broken down. She told me to grab a hostel for the night and then catch a bus in the morning.
I didn’t tell her that I had no cash left and the banks were closed for the day. That was my problem and I loved the idea of being destitute for a while. I used the small amount of money I had left to buy some bread, cheese and a bottle of wine in the tiny supermarket and I sat in the square, surrounded by short old people dressed in black who come to pass the evening with the friends they have shared since childhood. Once it started to get dark I headed to the park and lay out my sleeping bag in a flower bed behind a small hedge. The evening was warm and I was enjoying the vagrant life. This felt like an adventure.
Through the night I was disturbed a few times, mainly by inquisitive dogs, who found something new and interesting to smell on their late night exercise. Even later a couple made noisy love in the bush next to me, oblivious that I was lying there silently listening, complicit in their stolen moment. After they finished and stumbled off giggling, I drifted into a deep sleep and dreamt of long train rides, boarder crossing and old hippies.
I awoke suddenly as water splashed my face. I sat up to see that the rain came from a hose pipe, in the hands of a park attendant 10 m away. When he saw me he was less than pleased. He sprayed me with the hose as I swore back at him and stuffed my things into the old, ex army rucksack. I beat a hasty retreat as he chased me out of the park swearing in colourful Spanish I didn't understand.
I headed to the bank and changed a travellers cheque. Feeling rich I splashed out on coffee and a croissant for breakfast. Then things started to go bad. Over breakfast I suddenly realized that the address and phone number of the hotel were missing. I searched every pocket repeatedly, as if the piece of paper would magically appear in my pocket the third time I looked. Then I searched my bag, no joy. I had had it the previous evening, where could it have gone? Was it in the floor bed with the angry gardener? was it in the super market, dislodged as I pulled out my last few notes? I thought to myself, "where ever it is, I am in shit!"
So I took stock of the situation! I was in a town I didn't know, infact until 2 weeks ago I had never even heard of; in a country where I didn’t speak the language. I did not know where I was supposed to be going but I knew its about an hour away. I had no way contacting the person I was supposed to meet and no way of getting home for the next 6 weeks. I was also pretty sure that nobody else who I could potentally call would have any more of a clue than me. Things were not looking great.
I had a vague recollection that the hotel was called “Jabali”. So I searched the phone book in a phone box until an irate woman, who wanted to use the kiosk shouted at me. I am not sure what about but I left. Then I headed to the bus station and tried to ask someone. “Ollar, KeyAero Hotel Jabali”. I pronounced the J in the English way so it sounds like a boxers jab. Nobody understood me, but a crowd gathered, keen to join in. One guy figured I must be French and two French students were enlisted to help. This did not help it just meant that there were people shouting at me in two languages I don’t understand. So after 10 minutes I gave up and forced my way out of the crowd. They carried on arguing, oblivious to whether I was there or not.
So now I am back sitting in the square, pondering my next move. I am in shit! Despite this, things don't feel too bad and at least I am having an adventure. This is kinda cool in a very fucked up way. I laugh to myself but I have to admit I don’t see a solution just at the moment.
I look up and I look around at the square with its big shady trees and it's old buildings. I am just contemplating the Spanish Civil war and what may have gone on here when suddenly I see a white ford escort van drive past. I notice the yellow of a rear UK number plate and stand up. Could it be? Surely I can’t be that lucky but I don’t wait to think too hard about it, I throw the sack on my back and run into the road. The van is indeed real and british and by now it is stopped at some traffic lights 200 m down the road. I sprint through the traffic which honks and swerves and honks some more. I ignore the irate drivers because I know that I only have one chance…
I reach the van as the light goes green and I open the door and jump in. Liz’s immediate reaction is one of shock. It’s not every day that a 6’2” hippy with long greasy hair and cheap imitation aviator sunglasses, who literally has just slept in a hedge, jumps into your car unannounced. She recovers quickly when she realizes it is me and says “hola chico”.
I have no idea what she is talking about, but I have arrived…
I travelled down through France on the train. I speak no Spanish and virtually no French. This is only my second time out of the UK and I firmly believe that I don’t need to speak any other languages because I will make myself understood. How hard can it be?
My well planned route had gone to shit when I got to the border and was thrown off the train at gun point. I have no idea why but at least I was not alone, there were four of us, two clean cut german boys and a scruffy, older American. The Germans kept themselves to themselves but the American was friendly. He was patient and forgiving of my arrogant attitude and told me that I would need some Spanish if I was going to spend any time in Spain. He tried to teach me a few key phrases – Key-Aero is “I want” and Key-Aero Ear is “I want to go to”. Donday is “where” and with that he tells me if I spend any time in Spain and if I fall in love with it, I will remember his name forever. He was called Don and he was correct, 24 years later I still do.
We spent the night sleeping outside on the train platform in Hendaye and next morning I continued my passage. As I approached the final part of my journey on the train I tried to call ahead to the hotel where Liz was staying. Each time the phone was answered I would insert the coins and say. “Hello Key-Aero Liz ”. Each time the elderly woman at the other end hung up so I enlisted a guy on the train to help. He was Spanish and dressed in white, I am fairly sure he was gay and hitting on me, but he spoke bad English, which is better than no English and was happy to help me. At Huesca we used the phone box in the station to call the hotel and he got me through the old lady to Liz. She was pleased to hear that I was alive and in the area but her van had broken down. She told me to grab a hostel for the night and then catch a bus in the morning.
I didn’t tell her that I had no cash left and the banks were closed for the day. That was my problem and I loved the idea of being destitute for a while. I used the small amount of money I had left to buy some bread, cheese and a bottle of wine in the tiny supermarket and I sat in the square, surrounded by short old people dressed in black who come to pass the evening with the friends they have shared since childhood. Once it started to get dark I headed to the park and lay out my sleeping bag in a flower bed behind a small hedge. The evening was warm and I was enjoying the vagrant life. This felt like an adventure.
Through the night I was disturbed a few times, mainly by inquisitive dogs, who found something new and interesting to smell on their late night exercise. Even later a couple made noisy love in the bush next to me, oblivious that I was lying there silently listening, complicit in their stolen moment. After they finished and stumbled off giggling, I drifted into a deep sleep and dreamt of long train rides, boarder crossing and old hippies.
I awoke suddenly as water splashed my face. I sat up to see that the rain came from a hose pipe, in the hands of a park attendant 10 m away. When he saw me he was less than pleased. He sprayed me with the hose as I swore back at him and stuffed my things into the old, ex army rucksack. I beat a hasty retreat as he chased me out of the park swearing in colourful Spanish I didn't understand.
I headed to the bank and changed a travellers cheque. Feeling rich I splashed out on coffee and a croissant for breakfast. Then things started to go bad. Over breakfast I suddenly realized that the address and phone number of the hotel were missing. I searched every pocket repeatedly, as if the piece of paper would magically appear in my pocket the third time I looked. Then I searched my bag, no joy. I had had it the previous evening, where could it have gone? Was it in the floor bed with the angry gardener? was it in the super market, dislodged as I pulled out my last few notes? I thought to myself, "where ever it is, I am in shit!"
So I took stock of the situation! I was in a town I didn't know, infact until 2 weeks ago I had never even heard of; in a country where I didn’t speak the language. I did not know where I was supposed to be going but I knew its about an hour away. I had no way contacting the person I was supposed to meet and no way of getting home for the next 6 weeks. I was also pretty sure that nobody else who I could potentally call would have any more of a clue than me. Things were not looking great.
I had a vague recollection that the hotel was called “Jabali”. So I searched the phone book in a phone box until an irate woman, who wanted to use the kiosk shouted at me. I am not sure what about but I left. Then I headed to the bus station and tried to ask someone. “Ollar, KeyAero Hotel Jabali”. I pronounced the J in the English way so it sounds like a boxers jab. Nobody understood me, but a crowd gathered, keen to join in. One guy figured I must be French and two French students were enlisted to help. This did not help it just meant that there were people shouting at me in two languages I don’t understand. So after 10 minutes I gave up and forced my way out of the crowd. They carried on arguing, oblivious to whether I was there or not.
So now I am back sitting in the square, pondering my next move. I am in shit! Despite this, things don't feel too bad and at least I am having an adventure. This is kinda cool in a very fucked up way. I laugh to myself but I have to admit I don’t see a solution just at the moment.
I look up and I look around at the square with its big shady trees and it's old buildings. I am just contemplating the Spanish Civil war and what may have gone on here when suddenly I see a white ford escort van drive past. I notice the yellow of a rear UK number plate and stand up. Could it be? Surely I can’t be that lucky but I don’t wait to think too hard about it, I throw the sack on my back and run into the road. The van is indeed real and british and by now it is stopped at some traffic lights 200 m down the road. I sprint through the traffic which honks and swerves and honks some more. I ignore the irate drivers because I know that I only have one chance…
I reach the van as the light goes green and I open the door and jump in. Liz’s immediate reaction is one of shock. It’s not every day that a 6’2” hippy with long greasy hair and cheap imitation aviator sunglasses, who literally has just slept in a hedge, jumps into your car unannounced. She recovers quickly when she realizes it is me and says “hola chico”.
I have no idea what she is talking about, but I have arrived…
24 April 2010
Accretionary Wedge 24 - Geological Heroes - John Wesley Powell
This month's accretionary wedge is hosted at Mountain Beltway with the theme "geological heroes". I gave this some consideration, there are just some many to choose from. Geology is a subject made for and indeed, made by, heroes. So moving away from the obvious Victorian giants such as Lyle, Sedgwick and Lapworth, it is hard to ignore William Smith, the father of the geological map. One also has to consider Mary Anning, who made a huge contribution to palaeontology at a time when women were supposed to just sew, read and entertain. In the 20th Century there is Arthur Holmes who resurrected Wagner’s continental drift hypothesis and provide a driving force for plate motion. Closer to my open heart are people like Heno Martin who spent the 2nd World War hiding in the Namib Desert from the British Army and since he was bored started to map it. He later went on to be the director of the Namibian Geological Survey. How about Ian Wilson who rode a motor bike out to Libya and studied aeolian landforms? He sadly died young, but penned my favourite article title "Ergs". Not "Large aeolian sandseas: examples from modern Africa" or anything woolly like that - just "Ergs", a word most people wouldn't even understand. Another aeolian giant, all be it of small stature is Ken Glennie. In 1967, the year I was born, Shell having discovered gas in the Southern North Sea and realising that the reservoirs might be aeolian dispatched him to North Africa with the instruction "go and learn about deserts". Which he did. Most significantly I think his work ushered in a new era of understanding reservoirs from a geological and sedimentological perspective.And of course it is impossible to ignore the biggest geological hero of all time Charles Darwin a scientific giant without peer. But I moved away from all of these to a man who's work is very close to my heart - John Wesley Powell.
Powell was born in New York in March 1834 the son of a poor preacher. Powell failed to graduate from college and instead undertook a series of expeditions down the majors rivers of US including the Mississippi and the Missouri. He was a keen observer of natural history and taught himself geology. When the civil war broke out he signed up to the Union army and served as a Major. He lost an arm to a musket ball at the battle of Shiloh.
After the war he became Professor of Geology at Illinois University but he was restless and looking for a new challenge. While mapping and exploring the Colorado Plateau he pulled together a team of veterans and set off on an expedition to map the uncharted canyons of the Colorado River. Setting out from Green River Wyoming in May 1869, the first journey quickly turned from a mapping trip into a battle for survival. The expedition covered 900 miles and emerged battered but not beaten at the Virgin River, present day Lake Mead, 3 months later. Despite the hardship of the trip Powell returned two years later and re-did the trip, this time with a bit more preparation and planning. He wrote up the expedition in his classic book “Exploration of the Colorado River” which was published in 1875.
After the Colorado trips Powell became the second director of the USGS, a most which he held until 1894. He also had a very strong social conscience and was dedicated to supporting native American culture and development. He died in 1905.
Powell's expatiations opened up the western US. He could hardly have known the geological significance of his trip which starts in the Tertiary and traverses virtually every stratigraphic unit to the PreCambrian, but his expedition led to the settlement of the Colorado Plateau.
I have been working in the Colorado Plateau for 15 years. I have run all of the major rivers, including the Grand Canyon and I have feasted on the fantastic geology that the region has to offer. Despite spending a lot of time in the region it is almost impossible for us to imagine the challenges that these people faced. There is nothing equivalent to it now not even the exploration of space. When Powell headed off down the Colorado river they had no idea what was around the next corner, huge rapids or a 200 foot waterfall. This degree of uncertainty simply does not exist in a world that is completely mapped and covered by Google Earth and QuickBird. The isolation of being in the Canyon without a mobile or satellite phone to call for help when things go wrong. The total isolation of the situation and the self sufficiency of these people who lived there field work is something that is sadly lost to us now.
23 April 2010
Friday Joke
Predictably here are so Iceland Volcano Jokes...
It’s a bit early for Iceland volcano jokes. We should wait awhile for the dust to settle.
I see that America has declared war on Iceland. Apparently they are accusing them of harbouring a “weapon of ash eruption”.
It was the last wish of the Icelandic economy that its ashes be spread over Europe.
Iceland goes bankrupt, then it manages to set itself on fire. This has insurance scam written all over it.
Iceland, we wanted your cash, not your ash.
Waiter, there's volcanic ash in my soup. I know, it's a no-fly zone.
Richard Curtis is working on a new rom-com about people stuck in an airport who fall in love. The working title is "Lava Actually".
I came out my house yesterday and was hit on the head by a bag of frozen sausages, a chocolate gateau and some fish fingers. I realised it must be the fallout from Iceland.
Volcano in Iceland. What next, Earthquake in Asda?
Woke this morning to find every surface in the house covered in a layer of dust and a foul stench of sulphur in the air. No change, I’ve been married to that bone-idle slob for 20 years.
It’s a bit early for Iceland volcano jokes. We should wait awhile for the dust to settle.
I see that America has declared war on Iceland. Apparently they are accusing them of harbouring a “weapon of ash eruption”.
It was the last wish of the Icelandic economy that its ashes be spread over Europe.
Iceland goes bankrupt, then it manages to set itself on fire. This has insurance scam written all over it.
Iceland, we wanted your cash, not your ash.
Waiter, there's volcanic ash in my soup. I know, it's a no-fly zone.
Richard Curtis is working on a new rom-com about people stuck in an airport who fall in love. The working title is "Lava Actually".
I came out my house yesterday and was hit on the head by a bag of frozen sausages, a chocolate gateau and some fish fingers. I realised it must be the fallout from Iceland.
Volcano in Iceland. What next, Earthquake in Asda?
Woke this morning to find every surface in the house covered in a layer of dust and a foul stench of sulphur in the air. No change, I’ve been married to that bone-idle slob for 20 years.
22 April 2010
Harem Pants
Those very baggy Plus-4s looked stupid on MC Hammer and they look even worse on you! With the possible exception of a eunuch in a medieval brothel or a transvestite actor in pantomime, there is not a single person on this planet who looks good in them. The especially applies to middle aged women, going to the office and steroid pumped, gym monsters going clubbing.
21 April 2010
Volcano Update
As a geologist it's pretty exciting to see Earth sciences topping the news, especially when it rates above a general electon in the UK. To quote Bodie "every now and again mother nature pops up and reminds us just how insignificant we really are", or something like that. Imagine if this was a proper volcano like Krakatoa or Pinatubo or something even bigger like the ones that laid down the thick ashes in the Balder Tuff (try 20 cm rather than 2 mm). I think maybe I will stock up on tins of beans...
I also have to say that I am absolutely amazed by the number of people I have heard saying "I didn't even know there were any volcanos in Iceland?" Holy crap the whole island is a freckin volcano. Didn't you learn ANYTHING at school?
Anyway I exited Holland by train and ferry on Thursday and then got the overnight train to Aberdeen. Spent a very nice few days staying with Katharine in her newly reclaimed flat, we visited the dunes at Ythan and looked at a few house. Very nice. I was able to video con into work from the Buzzlightyear cupboard in Gregors house and it's actually been a reasonably productive time.
Today the announced that they would start flying again so its time for the fun to stop. I am sure that the fat cat will be delighted to see me and there is so much going on in work that its time to get back. I am interested to see what the volcano does over the next few weeks and how the World reacts...
More rants and reflections to follow when I have a few moments spare
I also have to say that I am absolutely amazed by the number of people I have heard saying "I didn't even know there were any volcanos in Iceland?" Holy crap the whole island is a freckin volcano. Didn't you learn ANYTHING at school?
Anyway I exited Holland by train and ferry on Thursday and then got the overnight train to Aberdeen. Spent a very nice few days staying with Katharine in her newly reclaimed flat, we visited the dunes at Ythan and looked at a few house. Very nice. I was able to video con into work from the Buzzlightyear cupboard in Gregors house and it's actually been a reasonably productive time.
Today the announced that they would start flying again so its time for the fun to stop. I am sure that the fat cat will be delighted to see me and there is so much going on in work that its time to get back. I am interested to see what the volcano does over the next few weeks and how the World reacts...
More rants and reflections to follow when I have a few moments spare
20 April 2010
Jump Around...
This weeks Wednesday movie is all about big jumps! You may have seen many of them in isolation but this is a great compilation
And it's definitely worth hanging in for Number #1
The movie is here
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9F1QT86b1U
Courtesy of Gareth
And it's definitely worth hanging in for Number #1
The movie is here
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9F1QT86b1U
Courtesy of Gareth
17 April 2010
The End of civilization might actually be quite “civilized”
If you had asked me a week ago where was the "most unlikely place I would be on Friday" then itting on a cross channel ferry would have been fairly high on the list. But here I am.
I flew out of New Orleans on Wednesday. By the time we took off we were already aware that most of the airports in Norway were going to be closed due to the Icelandic counter attack on Europe in the form of plume of volcanic dust. “You bust our banks and bankrupt our economy, have 100 millions tones of ash, you bastards!” Well you have to go some way to top the devastation and carnage caused by Bjørk!
So by the time we landed in Amsterdam on Thursday lunch time all flights into Norway and the UK were cancelled and the dust cloud was moving south and Schipol was next. A quick look at maps of the plume on the internet could tell you that it was going to get worse and would certainly not be sorted by next morning as the “experts” were optimistically predicting.
Jens and the other guys from Statoil got busy and tracked down on of the last rental cars in Holland with a view of driving back to Norway. Good job moving so quick, within half an hour all the hire cars in Holland were gone.
I had an alternative plan, I was going to get to Aberdeen. I tried to get onto the Euroshuttle but tickets disappeared while I was trying to book it. Then I tried the ferry from Hook to Harwich, I missed the Thursday night one because of problems with my Norwegian bank cards but I managed to secure a place on the Friday one using Katharine’s card. I then booked an over night train from Harwich to Aberdeen, although by then all the sleepers had gone. I wasn’t sure if I was over reacting but hindsight has indicated that was exactly the correct thing to do, in fact I should have moved faster.
Now the planes are locked down for the next few days, my guess is it could be mid week, but the experts are still predicting tomorrow. No way! All tickets on ferries from Holland are now sold out until Monday, the Eurostar is booked up until mid week.
In days gone by, there would have been long queues outside the ticket offices, people would have got fractious, fights would have been kicking off etc. That is strangely absent here. All of that has played out in a virtual world. Everything is booked up because people got on line fast and made bookings. All of the scrambling to get over one another happened in the silence of cyber space. By the time anyone got to the ferry terminal it was all done and dusted. A few people had turned up optimistically at the port, but nothing like it would have been in the past.
This is good because there is a superficial civility to it. In the anonymity of the web no one was punching anyone else and you didn’t have to watch stressed parents with over-tired children squabbling with each other. At the same time there is a clear IT apartheid, where those with smart phones and laptops gobble up the available resource while those without are left stranded at the airport for a week. Maybe when the apocalypse comes it will all be fairly civilized, at least until the internet goes down.
Although having said that, the ferry is packed and there is nothing civilized about the Dutch Rugby team at the bar…
I flew out of New Orleans on Wednesday. By the time we took off we were already aware that most of the airports in Norway were going to be closed due to the Icelandic counter attack on Europe in the form of plume of volcanic dust. “You bust our banks and bankrupt our economy, have 100 millions tones of ash, you bastards!” Well you have to go some way to top the devastation and carnage caused by Bjørk!
So by the time we landed in Amsterdam on Thursday lunch time all flights into Norway and the UK were cancelled and the dust cloud was moving south and Schipol was next. A quick look at maps of the plume on the internet could tell you that it was going to get worse and would certainly not be sorted by next morning as the “experts” were optimistically predicting.
Jens and the other guys from Statoil got busy and tracked down on of the last rental cars in Holland with a view of driving back to Norway. Good job moving so quick, within half an hour all the hire cars in Holland were gone.
I had an alternative plan, I was going to get to Aberdeen. I tried to get onto the Euroshuttle but tickets disappeared while I was trying to book it. Then I tried the ferry from Hook to Harwich, I missed the Thursday night one because of problems with my Norwegian bank cards but I managed to secure a place on the Friday one using Katharine’s card. I then booked an over night train from Harwich to Aberdeen, although by then all the sleepers had gone. I wasn’t sure if I was over reacting but hindsight has indicated that was exactly the correct thing to do, in fact I should have moved faster.
Now the planes are locked down for the next few days, my guess is it could be mid week, but the experts are still predicting tomorrow. No way! All tickets on ferries from Holland are now sold out until Monday, the Eurostar is booked up until mid week.
In days gone by, there would have been long queues outside the ticket offices, people would have got fractious, fights would have been kicking off etc. That is strangely absent here. All of that has played out in a virtual world. Everything is booked up because people got on line fast and made bookings. All of the scrambling to get over one another happened in the silence of cyber space. By the time anyone got to the ferry terminal it was all done and dusted. A few people had turned up optimistically at the port, but nothing like it would have been in the past.
This is good because there is a superficial civility to it. In the anonymity of the web no one was punching anyone else and you didn’t have to watch stressed parents with over-tired children squabbling with each other. At the same time there is a clear IT apartheid, where those with smart phones and laptops gobble up the available resource while those without are left stranded at the airport for a week. Maybe when the apocalypse comes it will all be fairly civilized, at least until the internet goes down.
Although having said that, the ferry is packed and there is nothing civilized about the Dutch Rugby team at the bar…
15 April 2010
A note on men and fashion
Top fashion tips from someone who knows nothing about it...
This week I thought I would take a look at men's fashion and in particular that particular breed that is indigenous to this scandic land "the pretty boy".
Having been raised on a farm in the arse end of nowhere I was very much brought up on the principal that the term "men's fashion" was an oxymoron. In fact I am pretty sure nobody ever said that because it never occurred to anyone I knew to put the two words "men" and "fashion" together in a sentence. Since those early days I have travelled a bit and seen the World and I know that its not actually unhealthy for a guy to want to look good from time to time.
However, I think I still carry the scars of my childhood and when I see guys who spend more time, effort and money on their hair than their girlfriends do, I am still highly sceptical. When a group of blokes spend their Saturday afternoon in clothes boutiques rather than drinking or playing sport, I get worried.
As every women will tell you, looks are less important than a "good sense of humour", so who are these boys dressing up for? Like peacocks who's tale is an evolutionary dead end, the application of too much hair gel is less aimed at impressing the opposite sex as out doing your friends.
So, just as every guy I have ever met who was a "good dancer" was also an utter sleaze ball, then girls I will finish up with two questions: 1) "how can you love a guy who will always adore his own reflection more that he loves you?" And 2) is your bathroom big enough for two people to spend that much time in front of the mirror?
This week I thought I would take a look at men's fashion and in particular that particular breed that is indigenous to this scandic land "the pretty boy".
Having been raised on a farm in the arse end of nowhere I was very much brought up on the principal that the term "men's fashion" was an oxymoron. In fact I am pretty sure nobody ever said that because it never occurred to anyone I knew to put the two words "men" and "fashion" together in a sentence. Since those early days I have travelled a bit and seen the World and I know that its not actually unhealthy for a guy to want to look good from time to time.
However, I think I still carry the scars of my childhood and when I see guys who spend more time, effort and money on their hair than their girlfriends do, I am still highly sceptical. When a group of blokes spend their Saturday afternoon in clothes boutiques rather than drinking or playing sport, I get worried.
As every women will tell you, looks are less important than a "good sense of humour", so who are these boys dressing up for? Like peacocks who's tale is an evolutionary dead end, the application of too much hair gel is less aimed at impressing the opposite sex as out doing your friends.
So, just as every guy I have ever met who was a "good dancer" was also an utter sleaze ball, then girls I will finish up with two questions: 1) "how can you love a guy who will always adore his own reflection more that he loves you?" And 2) is your bathroom big enough for two people to spend that much time in front of the mirror?
14 April 2010
Point Break
11 April 2010
Money Laundering
"I washed the clothes in your washing basket" she said, so I thanked her.
She repeated the statement and I could tell by the look in her eyes that this was more than a visiting girlfriend who was bored and helping with laundry, something was wrong.
It turned out that in addition to washing my clothes she had also managed to wash £1000 in 10 and 20 pound notes. The money was to pay for my new van and had been rolled up in a bundle and hidden in the pocket of a pair of shorts at the bottom of the basket. Living in Liverpool did that to you. I can only imagine the shock of opening the washing machine and finding the drum filled with cash. This was 1993 and a grand was a lot of money back then! So we made a washing line in my bedroom and the money dried out fine although the phosphorous in the washing powder made the notes glow under the UV lights that were popular in shops for detecting forgeries at the time.
I had a good friend in Liverpool at the time called Dave. Dave was an awesome character, frighteningly intelligent and also very unique. He had dropped out of school at 15 and spent a big chunk of the 70's stoned. He figured everything out from first principals and could fix anything from TVs to lorry gearboxes. He was totally disinterested in wealth and there were a constant stream of people at his house, getting him to fix all sorts of, which he always managed and never charged them for.
This was Liverpool and while Dave never did anything illegal, in fact he had a very strong moral code, he did end up being involved with all sorts of extremely "interesting" people. Often because they needed problems solving and the usual options were not available to them.
So over a beer I jokingly told him about the "money laundering" and he retorted with a much better tale...
At sometime in the early 80's a guy had turned up at his house and needed some money laundering, literally. A few years prior the guy had come upon £25000, presumably not through legal means, because he had buried it in the woods for safe keeping. When he came back to dig it up, he got a nasty surprise. A badger had got there first, burrowed into his stash and made a cosy den in the cash. After a brief and bloody engagement with the animal he extracted the remains of his loot, the only problem was that it stank. Horrendously!
What to do? When you have tried everyone else and you have nowhere else to turn, contact Dave! So he turned up on Dave's doorstep with a binbag full of very smelly money and asked for help. Always a man for a challenge, Dave invited him in. Over the next few weeks they tried everything, they washed it by hand, they put it through the washing machine, they tried various chemicals to neutralise or even just mask the stench but nothing really worked. In the end they broke it down into small bundles of £500 and went to every building society and bank in town dressed as scrap metal merchants and opened accounts. You can only imagine the response from the well dressed counter staff as they had to count piles of freshly washed, but strangely odorous cash. But it worked, or at least it should have. The postscript was that the witless owner of the cash promptly forgot the details of half of the accounts, including the false name he'd used and where he'd put the money so most of it is still sitting in unused accounts from building societies, half of which no longer exist.
He probably would have been better off leaving it with the badger!
A whole new dimension on the term money laundering
She repeated the statement and I could tell by the look in her eyes that this was more than a visiting girlfriend who was bored and helping with laundry, something was wrong.
It turned out that in addition to washing my clothes she had also managed to wash £1000 in 10 and 20 pound notes. The money was to pay for my new van and had been rolled up in a bundle and hidden in the pocket of a pair of shorts at the bottom of the basket. Living in Liverpool did that to you. I can only imagine the shock of opening the washing machine and finding the drum filled with cash. This was 1993 and a grand was a lot of money back then! So we made a washing line in my bedroom and the money dried out fine although the phosphorous in the washing powder made the notes glow under the UV lights that were popular in shops for detecting forgeries at the time.
I had a good friend in Liverpool at the time called Dave. Dave was an awesome character, frighteningly intelligent and also very unique. He had dropped out of school at 15 and spent a big chunk of the 70's stoned. He figured everything out from first principals and could fix anything from TVs to lorry gearboxes. He was totally disinterested in wealth and there were a constant stream of people at his house, getting him to fix all sorts of, which he always managed and never charged them for.
This was Liverpool and while Dave never did anything illegal, in fact he had a very strong moral code, he did end up being involved with all sorts of extremely "interesting" people. Often because they needed problems solving and the usual options were not available to them.
So over a beer I jokingly told him about the "money laundering" and he retorted with a much better tale...
At sometime in the early 80's a guy had turned up at his house and needed some money laundering, literally. A few years prior the guy had come upon £25000, presumably not through legal means, because he had buried it in the woods for safe keeping. When he came back to dig it up, he got a nasty surprise. A badger had got there first, burrowed into his stash and made a cosy den in the cash. After a brief and bloody engagement with the animal he extracted the remains of his loot, the only problem was that it stank. Horrendously!
What to do? When you have tried everyone else and you have nowhere else to turn, contact Dave! So he turned up on Dave's doorstep with a binbag full of very smelly money and asked for help. Always a man for a challenge, Dave invited him in. Over the next few weeks they tried everything, they washed it by hand, they put it through the washing machine, they tried various chemicals to neutralise or even just mask the stench but nothing really worked. In the end they broke it down into small bundles of £500 and went to every building society and bank in town dressed as scrap metal merchants and opened accounts. You can only imagine the response from the well dressed counter staff as they had to count piles of freshly washed, but strangely odorous cash. But it worked, or at least it should have. The postscript was that the witless owner of the cash promptly forgot the details of half of the accounts, including the false name he'd used and where he'd put the money so most of it is still sitting in unused accounts from building societies, half of which no longer exist.
He probably would have been better off leaving it with the badger!
A whole new dimension on the term money laundering
09 April 2010
08 April 2010
Easter Weekend
Now that Katharine has moved back to the UK there is no long Easter holiday for her! So I worked until Thursday and she came over that evening.
Friday we lazed around the house and got some jobs done before going for a walk on Sotra. Saturday morning we headed down to Rosendal with the goal of doing some ski mountaineering in the Rosendal Alps. Got off late, then arrived at lunchtime, didn't really matter since the days are pretty long now. Drove up to Myrdalsvatnet, with a plan for a peak called Omnentinden then another called Melderskin. About two klicks from the parking the track got a bit hairy and we found a car in a ditch, so we decided to walk from there.
Walking the last bit
The first bit of the ascent was pretty grim, crashing through a tight forest with just enough snow to fall through into the holes. I was on snowshoes but even Katharine was struggling on skies and there was plenty of evidence for previous parties having removed skies and waded. Eventually we got out of the trees and the landscape opened up and things got a lot better.
Better out of the trees
The cloud level was high and the views were stunning. We came across a couple of other parties and everyone was friendly and surprisingly sociable. The party ahead of us turned back and we met another couple of guys coming down who said it was very windy on top. We carried on up but as we got onto the top of the first peak, it was super windy so we found a sheltered boulder and had a late lunch before heading down. Had an excellent run into a bowl and down at least half way through the trees before it got to tight. Had been worried about the avalanche conditions before going up but it was extremely benign. Was glad to have the snowshoes for the final walk out the forest and we were back at the car by 8. We had planned to camp and do another tour the next day but the weather was closing in fast and the forecast was crap. So we submitted to the siren call of the hot tub abd a comfy bed and headed back to the lair.
Great run down with enough snow to be fun, but not enough to be slidey-dangerous
Spent the last two days doing lots of jobs around the place, finished the bar; painted a load of bits; built a sink stand - all very rock n roll! But it was relaxing and great to get it all out the way while the weather was crappy.
Would definitely go back to Rosendal, really nice mountains
Friday we lazed around the house and got some jobs done before going for a walk on Sotra. Saturday morning we headed down to Rosendal with the goal of doing some ski mountaineering in the Rosendal Alps. Got off late, then arrived at lunchtime, didn't really matter since the days are pretty long now. Drove up to Myrdalsvatnet, with a plan for a peak called Omnentinden then another called Melderskin. About two klicks from the parking the track got a bit hairy and we found a car in a ditch, so we decided to walk from there.
Walking the last bitThe first bit of the ascent was pretty grim, crashing through a tight forest with just enough snow to fall through into the holes. I was on snowshoes but even Katharine was struggling on skies and there was plenty of evidence for previous parties having removed skies and waded. Eventually we got out of the trees and the landscape opened up and things got a lot better.
Better out of the treesThe cloud level was high and the views were stunning. We came across a couple of other parties and everyone was friendly and surprisingly sociable. The party ahead of us turned back and we met another couple of guys coming down who said it was very windy on top. We carried on up but as we got onto the top of the first peak, it was super windy so we found a sheltered boulder and had a late lunch before heading down. Had an excellent run into a bowl and down at least half way through the trees before it got to tight. Had been worried about the avalanche conditions before going up but it was extremely benign. Was glad to have the snowshoes for the final walk out the forest and we were back at the car by 8. We had planned to camp and do another tour the next day but the weather was closing in fast and the forecast was crap. So we submitted to the siren call of the hot tub abd a comfy bed and headed back to the lair.
Great run down with enough snow to be fun, but not enough to be slidey-dangerousSpent the last two days doing lots of jobs around the place, finished the bar; painted a load of bits; built a sink stand - all very rock n roll! But it was relaxing and great to get it all out the way while the weather was crappy.
Would definitely go back to Rosendal, really nice mountains
Thursday Fashion
More insightful comments on the wonderful world of fashion
This week - "Wellington Boots"
There are four reasons to wear wellington boots, 1) you are less than 6 years old and planning to go puddle jumping; 2) you work on a farm; 3) you are at a festival and, 4) in fact no, there is no other legitimate reason for wearing rubber boots. That especially means around town, at a bar or restaurant, to the shops, on a plane, or in fact anywhere where it is not extremely muddy.
This week - "Wellington Boots"
There are four reasons to wear wellington boots, 1) you are less than 6 years old and planning to go puddle jumping; 2) you work on a farm; 3) you are at a festival and, 4) in fact no, there is no other legitimate reason for wearing rubber boots. That especially means around town, at a bar or restaurant, to the shops, on a plane, or in fact anywhere where it is not extremely muddy.
07 April 2010
Another Easter and another whale boat at the bottom of the harbour in Lofoten
I was very pleased to read in the Norwegian press today that not everyone was on holiday over Easter. Agenda 21 attempted to sink two whaling boats in Lofoten and were successful with one, the "Sophie", which was badly flooded in Svolvær Harbour. They did the same thing last Easter to the Skarbakk in Henningsvær and another one, two years previously. This is the seventh since 1992. Links to articles in Norwegian on NRK here and here. The second one says that the Police doubt whether Agenda 21 was behind it, but they don't have any other ideas who was.
The local Police are screaming "terrorism" and trying to pass on the responsibility for the case to a national level. The press and the pundits are up in arms and everyone is pissed off. I guess you can call that a pretty good result!
I know this is an emotive issue and I know that it might upset some of my Norwegian friends for me to celebrate this sinking. But my good friends also know that I feel very strongly about this. I don't accept the argument that whaling is critical to the economy of these communities. This is the richest country on the planet. There are plenty of better ways to make money that don't involve mindless slaughter. No this is an integral part of the national psyche that has been passed down through the generations. The image of a group of heroic guys, desperately trying to harpoon a whale from a rowing boat to feed a starving community - that's brave but its also a long way from the modern reality of a bunch of high school drop outs, with stupid moustaches, sitting on a diesel powered, steel ship, tracking with sonar and GPS before casually firing grenade tipped harpoons into defenceless marine mammals. Its pathetic. "Culture" is not an acceptable excuse for brutality. It wasn't with slavery and it isn't here.
Do I think sinking boats will stop the Whalers? - No, I don't. I think it will make them more entrenched. I do think it will increase their insurance premiums and I think it will remind them that the World thinks they are cretins, but I doubt if it will stop them.
So am I glad that the boat was sunk? - Absolutely for the simple reason that one less whaler means a few less whales get murdered this spring.
The local Police are screaming "terrorism" and trying to pass on the responsibility for the case to a national level. The press and the pundits are up in arms and everyone is pissed off. I guess you can call that a pretty good result!
I know this is an emotive issue and I know that it might upset some of my Norwegian friends for me to celebrate this sinking. But my good friends also know that I feel very strongly about this. I don't accept the argument that whaling is critical to the economy of these communities. This is the richest country on the planet. There are plenty of better ways to make money that don't involve mindless slaughter. No this is an integral part of the national psyche that has been passed down through the generations. The image of a group of heroic guys, desperately trying to harpoon a whale from a rowing boat to feed a starving community - that's brave but its also a long way from the modern reality of a bunch of high school drop outs, with stupid moustaches, sitting on a diesel powered, steel ship, tracking with sonar and GPS before casually firing grenade tipped harpoons into defenceless marine mammals. Its pathetic. "Culture" is not an acceptable excuse for brutality. It wasn't with slavery and it isn't here.
Do I think sinking boats will stop the Whalers? - No, I don't. I think it will make them more entrenched. I do think it will increase their insurance premiums and I think it will remind them that the World thinks they are cretins, but I doubt if it will stop them.
So am I glad that the boat was sunk? - Absolutely for the simple reason that one less whaler means a few less whales get murdered this spring.
Wednesday Movie - On the Ben
Great movie on winter climbing in Scotland that really captures the essence of the experience can be found here
Courtesy of Jamie...
02 April 2010
Good Friday Joke
Since it's Easter Friday this weeks Friday joke takes a quick look at evidence for sex abuse in the Catholic Church...
Have a good easter weekend
01 April 2010
Thursday Fashion - One piece suits
Fashion advice from a middle aged man
I was in the supermarket on Saturday and I saw a teenage girl in an apricot coloured, baggy, one piece, fleece suit. It looked like an an adult in a baby grow and I figured that she was either on her way to a fancy dress party or severally retarded. I tried to sneak a photo for failblog, but she moved away. Ten minutes later I saw another, this time it was a teenage boy in a grey version of the same. A bit later another girl, in a similar orange version and the abject horror dawned on me. Dressing like a baby is an emergent fashion. Nooooo!
This is THE most ridiculous thing I have seen in years. This is worse than deliboppers and leg warmers, there is nothing, absolutely nothing, good to be said about it. This is not a look that will work on a very pretty girl but fail on a fatty, this is bad, in every way. I predict that it will become very popular amongst a certain type of person, the same people who adopted the shell suit as a uniform, because like the shell-suit its effortless. So here is a thought, the reason we put babies in one piece fleece suits is so that when then they piss, shit and vomit all over themselves its easy to clean up. So maybe this will work for the shell suit crew after all...
I was in the supermarket on Saturday and I saw a teenage girl in an apricot coloured, baggy, one piece, fleece suit. It looked like an an adult in a baby grow and I figured that she was either on her way to a fancy dress party or severally retarded. I tried to sneak a photo for failblog, but she moved away. Ten minutes later I saw another, this time it was a teenage boy in a grey version of the same. A bit later another girl, in a similar orange version and the abject horror dawned on me. Dressing like a baby is an emergent fashion. Nooooo!
This is THE most ridiculous thing I have seen in years. This is worse than deliboppers and leg warmers, there is nothing, absolutely nothing, good to be said about it. This is not a look that will work on a very pretty girl but fail on a fatty, this is bad, in every way. I predict that it will become very popular amongst a certain type of person, the same people who adopted the shell suit as a uniform, because like the shell-suit its effortless. So here is a thought, the reason we put babies in one piece fleece suits is so that when then they piss, shit and vomit all over themselves its easy to clean up. So maybe this will work for the shell suit crew after all...
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