Freedom - at last!

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As I approach my 69th birthday, I hear a voice declare that he is being released from shackles that have, for over half a century, chained him to a sex-maniac.

Yippee!
Happy New Year!

: -)

The New Baby

Yes, they laughed at me. Everybody laughed at me. And I dare say that you would have laughed at me too, during all those months when I remained steadfast in my forecast that the new baby would be a boy, and would be given a strong, virile, dynamic, forename like IAN.

Well, I was proved right. As you can see, Kathy’s new grandson has all the attributes of a fine wing forward - 21.3 inches tall and weighing in at over 9lb.

The proud parents had already agreed on a name for a baby girl, but they hadn’t quite settled on a name for a baby boy. And so the matter remained undecided for the next few weeks, whilst all sorts of alternative male names were successively mooted and then discarded.

And occasionally, I would chip in with my halfpennyworth: “How about a name like IAN?” I would suggest, helpfully.

So I was delighted when they settled on JACK.

You see, IAN is the Scottish for John, and a common nickname for John is JACK. Moreover, the first letters in IAN and JACK (I and J) are alphabetically consecutive, and both names share the same second letter (A).

And if we consider each letter in the alphabet to be represented by its sequence number (A=1, B=2, C=3 and so on), we find that the C plus K in JACK is equal to the N in IAN.

So the two names are virtually identical :-)

But the really exciting outcome is this: the letters J,A,C,K equate to 10,1,3,11 which multiply up to 330, and these digits sum to SIX, whilst the letters I,A,N equate to 9,1,14 which multiply up to 126, and these digits sum to NINE.

The answer is always 69.

Apart from the baby, what can possibly be more perfect than that?
: - )

Six out of Eight

Progressively, over several weeks, a great feeling of lassitude had slowly and insidiously come over me. I felt that little bit weaker by the day, and more and more disinclined to exercise or otherwise exert myself.

I spent much more time than usual reading the financial press and watching the financial crisis unfold on Television, and I became increasingly angry at the state of the world.

My angers were followed by bouts of anxiety.

Then over the weekend, while walking with my daughters around the ponds at Alexandra Palace, I twice found myself losing my balance, to the extent of nearly falling into the water.

By Sunday evening, when back at home, the events of the weekend seemed to fade and become fuzzy in my memory, and I was losing track of conversation.

And I only just made it to bed before crashing into a deep sleep.

------

Next day Kathy joked that I had "Galloping Alzheimer's". But she was very worried when she showed me the small print on the leaflet that was tucked inside the packet of pills which my doctor had prescribed for me 5 weeks beforehand.

Tell your doctor if you notice any of the following side effects:
1. Muscle weakness
2. Excitement
3. Agitation
4. ‘Spinning sensation’
5. Confusion
6. Loss of consciousness
7. Coma
8. Death.

How someone with the latter symptoms is supposed to contact their doctor is beyond me!

I’m hugely better now, because I didn’t finish the prescribed course.

But six out of eight ain’t bad, is it?

:-)

Coincidences! I love them!!

I know I’ve previously written a blog about an amazing sequence of coincidences that happened to me, but something new has happened recently that makes me write again.

I lived in Moorhouse Road up until the age of six, and at the age of eleven I went to a school that had a “House” system. I became a member of Moor House at that school. Many years afterwards, I left college to begin a six-month residential training course at a building by the name of Moor House.

Yes, I know that all this would hardly be considered as the most amazing sequence of coincidences, but please bear with me...

Two weeks ago, an old colleague of mine, David, whom I had last seen twenty years ago, made contact with me again via Skype. We’d worked together for many years as software developers for a firm of international chartered accountants. During our conversation he happened to mention that his son had followed in our footsteps and was now working as a software developer for an international bank.

That certainly sparked my interest, because my son also works as a software developer for a bank. And would you believe it - it emerged that both our sons work for the same bank, in the same building in London!

The building where our sons work is in Canary Wharf. And later in our conversation it transpired that David had recently returned from a holiday in the Canary Islands. And as you know, I live in the Canary Islands, and unbeknown to either of us, we had visited the same island, and been in the same building, at the same time last December.

I really must return that Skype telephone call soon.

You see, I’m wondering if my friend David Moorhouse and I have even more in common than we already know…
:-)

The Lost Blog...

Once upon a time...

Hoot

My mother was a great storyteller, and one of her favourite stories was about me when I was a little boy. She had taken me to visit a friend of hers who lived in a house with a large garden. It being a sunny day, she’d allowed me to play in the garden and after a while she and her friend had looked out to see me sitting on the lawn, surrounded by birds.

And it appeared as if I was holding court, engaging the birds in earnest conversation as they took turns to fly up and land on my outstretched fingers.

I’ve no memory of that incident today, but I’m sure my mother wasn’t exaggerating. I’ve had a lifelong interest in birds, and for my sins, I can still do a very good imitation of many different birdsongs today. I suppose that’s reflected in my choice of a Canary as my blog avatar, and why I spend so much time in the Canary Islands, where there is an astonishing variety of exotic birdlife.

I’m mentioning all this because Kathy and I are now back in the UK for a brief visit, and in the evenings I’ve been busy making friends with a tawny owl. I haven’t actually seen the owl yet, but we’ve exchanged hoots.

Barn owls in the UK tend to hoot, while those in the Canary Islands are mainly screech owls. I’ve become quite good at imitating the characteristic “Scree!” of the screech owl, which is absolutely ear-shattering at close range. So you can imagine my delight at the opportunity to practice my tawny owl “Hoo!” while I’m back in the UK. And Kathy is quite pleased too, because she seems to like my hooting much more than my screeching.

Anyway, I’ve been out in the garden every night waiting for the tawny owl to hoot. And I’ve not been disappointed, because it has made its presence known at around 11pm each evening. On the first evening, we only exchanged a brief “Hoo-Hoo!”, after which it fell silent. I’m sure that like me, it was being a little cautious. Tawny owls are extremely territorial, and one has to exercise a great deal of patience over many evenings before they will accept the presence of another owl in their vicinity.

But we’ve now got to the stage where we can exchange a full range of friendly hoots. I was up last night until 2am, teaching the owl to count, by replying to each single hoot with a double hoot, and then replying to each double hoot with a triple hoot. We got as far as six hoots, after which we ended the conversation by slowly counting down back to one.

But the really amazing thing is this. Kathy tells me she has just met the lady who recently moved into the house next door. And would you believe it? That lady’s husband is also a keen bird-fancier, and he spends a lot of time in their garden in the late evenings, just like me.

I can't wait to meet him...
:-)

Ashen Faced

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Well, here we are in Tenerife, with our flight to Gatwick booked for the coming Saturday, and this happens. A volcano erupts in Iceland, again.

So we've been busy going over our various Plan B's, just in case...

The Plan B that I really, really like involves booking into the opulent 5 star hotel just down the road and reclaiming the costs from our nice benevolent airline. Yes, I know I wouldn't get away with it, but I can dream, can't I?

But seriously, the claims procedure does seem to be very complicated nowdays. I've just read an article in today's Telegraph which tells me what to say to the airline if our flight is cancelled.

Here's the advice given by the Telegraph:

"You should tell them that under Regulation (EC) 2004/261 Article 5 you are entitled to be reimbursed or re-routed under Article 8 and also offered assistance, including accommodation, meals and transport under Article 9.

You should also state that under Article 5, airlines are able to not pay compensation in accordance with article 7 in the case of 'extraordinary circumstances', but crucially that this extraordinary circumstances clause does not apply to the entitlement to assistance under Article 9."

Blimey! I turned quite pale at the thought of saying all that. But then I realised my bigger problem.

How could I say it with a straight face?
:-)