Tis wet and windy

It was actually chilly this morning and raining, too. A proper English spring morning: could have done with a bit of fog too, just to make it perfect. People have been lulled by years of climate change and season shift. Spring is like autumn in reverse, so the weather patterns should be similar, but they never are these days. Everyone thinks it’s summer come 1 May, when any schoolboy knows that 20 or 21 June is the first day of summer¹ in the northern hemisphere.

Remember: Ne’er cast a clout ‘til May be out. Whatever that means.


¹Except Iceland, where they are generally so happy to see more than 20 minutes of day light that 1 April is the first day of summer. They break out all the Bjork records and party like it’s 1945 (or a quarter to eight). Other supermarkets have a similar problem with Christmas, which they think starts in August.

Tis wet and windy

It was actually chilly this morning and raining, too. A proper English spring morning: could have done with a bit of fog too, just to make it perfect. People have been lulled by years of climate change and season shift. Spring is like autumn in reverse, so the weather patterns should be similar, but they never are these days. Everyone thinks it’s summer come 1 May, when any schoolboy knows that 20 or 21 June is the first day of summer¹ in the northern hemisphere.

Remember: Ne’er cast a clout ‘til May be out. Whatever that means.


¹Except Iceland, where they are generally so happy to see more than 20 minutes of day light that 1 April is the first day of summer. They break out all the Bjork records and party like it’s 1945 (or a quarter to eight). Other supermarkets have a similar problem with Christmas, which they think starts in August.

Letting Agents and stuff

How rude.

The letting/management agents were supposed to phone last night to let us go and see a flat a little further down the High Road from the Athenaeum Club. In the event, there was no phone call and no visit. Admittedly, at three bedrooms, the flat is bigger than we are looking for, and the quoted rent is a little higher than we were hoping for, but a viewing would be welcome as it would give us an idea of what is available and what we can expect for our money.

Who knows, we might even have decided to take the place.

I suppose that we really need to register with a number of agents now. We have to move in about 6 weeks, so time is beginning to crack on and places are beginning to be advertised that fall vacant just when we need them.

Did I mention that I hate moving?

Letting Agents and stuff

How rude.

The letting/management agents were supposed to phone last night to let us go and see a flat a little further down the High Road from the Athenaeum Club. In the event, there was no phone call and no visit. Admittedly, at three bedrooms, the flat is bigger than we are looking for, and the quoted rent is a little higher than we were hoping for, but a viewing would be welcome as it would give us an idea of what is available and what we can expect for our money.

Who knows, we might even have decided to take the place.

I suppose that we really need to register with a number of agents now. We have to move in about 6 weeks, so time is beginning to crack on and places are beginning to be advertised that fall vacant just when we need them.

Did I mention that I hate moving?

The karma banana food trance nostalgia trip

I was feeling peckish, so having flailed around unavailingly for spare biscuits in the office – I tell you they are prime currency around here; the plates of biscuits provided but not consumed at meetings – I absorbed a banana on the grounds that it would put the boot into my hunger pangs and I could also feel virtuous for eating fruit instead of processed lard and sugar.

I rather wish that I had abstained entirely now. The banana was fine, a prime example of the genre, but it is clear that my hunger was rather more psychological than real, unlike my now stuffed giblet that is rather more real than psychological.

Between bouts of frenzied work, I have been indulging in a little nostalgia for the mid to late 1980s, a period of time during which I lived in the only slum in SW7, drank far too much lager and faffed briefly in a backroom band we dubbed the Belvedere Bad Band, whose motto was talent is killing music, aping all the taping is killing music stickers and warnings of the time¹. Only one permanent band member could play any instruments and it wasn’t me. Only one permanent band member could sing in time and always in tune. That wasn’t me either. What I could do was hitch up double banks of ghetto blasters for overdubbing and getting rudimentary stereo and phase effects. I was also a dab hand with sound effects. Ribbed shoe horn and plectrum rhythm section was my (unpatented) invention. 10cc and their gizmo that did odd things to guitar strings paled in comparison, I tell you.

After a couple or three original compositions, we found our niche in recorded but thankfully unperformed plagiarism.

Heady days. And the chicken and chips take-outs from the café on the other side of the Cromwell Road were nice, too.


¹Ah, plus ça change. Music was supposed to have been destroyed by home taping. These days it is supposed to have been knifed in the ribs by illegal downloading and yet, somehow it’s still there…

The karma banana food trance nostalgia trip

I was feeling peckish, so having flailed around unavailingly for spare biscuits in the office – I tell you they are prime currency around here; the plates of biscuits provided but not consumed at meetings – I absorbed a banana on the grounds that it would put the boot into my hunger pangs and I could also feel virtuous for eating fruit instead of processed lard and sugar.

I rather wish that I had abstained entirely now. The banana was fine, a prime example of the genre, but it is clear that my hunger was rather more psychological than real, unlike my now stuffed giblet that is rather more real than psychological.

Between bouts of frenzied work, I have been indulging in a little nostalgia for the mid to late 1980s, a period of time during which I lived in the only slum in SW7, drank far too much lager and faffed briefly in a backroom band we dubbed the Belvedere Bad Band, whose motto was talent is killing music, aping all the taping is killing music stickers and warnings of the time¹. Only one permanent band member could play any instruments and it wasn’t me. Only one permanent band member could sing in time and always in tune. That wasn’t me either. What I could do was hitch up double banks of ghetto blasters for overdubbing and getting rudimentary stereo and phase effects. I was also a dab hand with sound effects. Ribbed shoe horn and plectrum rhythm section was my (unpatented) invention. 10cc and their gizmo that did odd things to guitar strings paled in comparison, I tell you.

After a couple or three original compositions, we found our niche in recorded but thankfully unperformed plagiarism.

Heady days. And the chicken and chips take-outs from the café on the other side of the Cromwell Road were nice, too.


¹Ah, plus ça change. Music was supposed to have been destroyed by home taping. These days it is supposed to have been knifed in the ribs by illegal downloading and yet, somehow it’s still there…

Help me, Lazyweb, you're my only hope...

In the terminology used by estate and letting agents, what precisely is a "short let" and a "long let"? Does anyone know?

Awfully grateful for help!

Help me, Lazyweb, you're my only hope...

In the terminology used by estate and letting agents, what precisely is a "short let" and a "long let"? Does anyone know?

Awfully grateful for help!