Boadicea's Chariot.

I wouldn't regard myself as being the best driver on the road; far from it. In fact, I've managed to do some pretty stupid things over the years - reversing into bollards, scraping alloy wheels, occasionally totally misjudging roundabouts with inevitable comic effect and a seeming total inability to parallel park a right hand drive car. At best, I'd say I was average, but I try to stick to the speed limits, keep my distance and not put anyone else in danger. I suppose the main difference between me and the other bad drivers is that I am aware of my short-comings. If I do something a bit daft it is down to genuine ineptitude rather than arrogant recklessness or wanton stupidity. However, since I've been working in Livingston and driving down the A-roads I've started to see some pretty awful driving. In the past I've been able to stick to the left hand lane and pootle about, minding my own business; now I have to deal with mindlessly crap drivers. However, I have become quite good at spotting them in advance.

Generally, there are three main classes of crap driver. The first category is the Boy Racer. These are easily spotted by the tasteless and tacky body kit which they attach to their rust bucket old hatchback. Typical modifications are a loud exhaust which demonstrates just how badly tuned the engine is, a huge and pointless plastic spoiler, a WMD sound system, blacked out windows, a lowered suspension combined with fat tyres and alloy wheels that are far too big for the wheel arches. A small minority will actually have a genuine performance car; either a Subaru Impreza or Mitsubishi Evo. Boy racers are probably the most frightening of crap drivers as they are, statistically, the most likely to have a crash and, if they do, they are least likely to have valid insurance. This is because they insured their car as the 1.0 litre Vauxhall Corsa it actually is and didn't mention all the plastic rubbish they attached to the bodywork or, if they have a genuinely fast car, they will have insured it with Auntie Aggie as the main driver. The other possibility is that they don't have any insurance at all as they blew their budget on the WMD sound system.

The second class of crap driver is White Van Man. In fact, many white van men are actually boy racers as well - it's just that they have access to their company's white van during the day. Now, it's worth pointing out that most white vans are driven perfectly safely - probably because they are self-employed people who will actually suffer the losses if they crash the thing and are without transport. The problem seems to be when it's the firm's van and it goes much faster than the 1.0 litre Corsa that they adorned with plastic rubbish. Unfortunately, the vans are much more top heavy then the Corsa and this can lead to entertaining moments as Boy Wonder tries to overtake on the brow of a hill.

Crap driver class three is that old favourite, the Company Car Driver. These come in two varieties. The first will be driving a newish Ford Mondeo or Vauxhall Vectra; a decent enough vehicle but not one that anyone in their right mind is going to buy new when they can be had for a third of the price 24 months down the line. The second variety is the user-chooser. This is where the company forgoes buying a full fleet and lets company car man pick their own - and it doesn't take long to work out that a bottom of the range Audi A4 or BMW 3-series can be had for the same cost as a mid range Mundaneo. The end result is the same. They aren't so much bad drivers as far too fast. They tend to confuse the speed limit with the sound barrier; which is one thing on the motorway but quite another on the A roads when they discover that a bottom of the range 3-series actually doesn't accelerate that fast. I can actually sympathise with them a bit as I used to have to drive as part of my job and the line managers will calculate travelling time by dividing the distance to be travelled by the national speed limit. It's actually impossible to achieve without driving like a lunatic or, as I did, telling my boss to go to Hell and getting another job.

The one thing you may have noticed so far is that all the crap drivers are male. In the 1970's, women driver jokes where the staple of stand up comedians' routines; along with mother-in-law gags and rather uninformed opinions about people from Pakistan. You would think that women were completely hopeless but, as the insurance actuaries worked out, women drivers were amongst the safest on the road; they may have had the odd altercation with a car park bollard but they seldom embedded themselves at high speed into trees. The odd thing is, over the last couple of years I've been seeing a new sort of crap driver - and they seem to be female.

The first category of this new class of crap driver can be seen in a fashionable small car like a MINI or FIAT 500; or perhaps in one of the small entry level luxury cars like a Mercedes CLC (what's the point?) or BMW 1-series (really, what is the point?). The other category is slightly older and is trying for the "Yummy-Mummy" image (I assume that is the politically correct term for MILF) and can be seen, with one small child on board, driving a Chrysler Voyager or one of the 4X4 off-road vehicles that don't work off-road (e.g. BMW X5 - I mean, seriously, really, what is the point?) The driving style is the same: blinded by huge sun-glasses (even when it is dark) with one hand vaguely on the steering wheel and the other permanently holding a mobile phone to their ear; completely oblivious to their surroundings and not realising that 6 feet is not a safe stopping distance whilst tailgating at 70 BLEEDING MILES AN HOUR! The thing is that crap drivers always seem to be attracted to the same sort of cars. If I was an insurer and a young lady wanted to insure a MINI Cooper, I wouldn't touch them with a barge poll. Surely the actuaries are going to notice this trend?

Maybe it's just my prejudices but it wouldn't surprise me if some young Boadiceas are going to be in for a shock when it's time to insure the chariot.

Jazz Classics

When I bought a "Best of" compilation of Charles Mingus a few weeks back I was intrigued that, although I enjoyed the album immensely, it contained no tracks from his most highly rated album, Mingus Ah Um. Now assuming that at least some of the great Jazz aficionados know something about their subject I plumped for the album in my latest selections. It was, I am pleased to say, a very wise choice. Opening tracks Better Git It in Your Soul and Goodbye Pork Pie Hat are fantastic - as is the rest of the album; but it was the Fables of Faubus, his "tribute" to the racist governor of Arkansas, which really pricked up my ears. The whole album is wonderful and really worth the £4.99 I spent on it.

My second album choice was one that I was vaguely familiar with, the Dave Brubeck Quartet's Time Out. My father had an old and scratchy LP of this. The album was one of the biggest selling Jazz albums of all time and it features various tunes played in odd time signatures - hence the word play of the title. It is a nice introduction to Jazz for classical fans and it also contains Take Five - possibly one of the most familiar Jazz tunes for the non-Jazz fan. Hearing the remastered version is quite a revelation. I had become so used to the clicks and crackles of the record that it sounds rather clinical at first. However, the quality of the 50 year old recording is immaculate - save for a little distortion on Paul Desmond's sax at one point. It's really nice to rediscover this again.





My last purchase was another that appeared on several "greatest" lists, Cannonball Adderley's Something Else. I can't say I knew much about this but it does feature Miles Davies and I can spot some similarities between this album and Davies' Kind of Blue - which is no bad thing. It features a mix of standards (e.g. Autumn Leaves) and compositions from Davis and Adderley's brother. It's very relaxed listening and certainly leaves me wanting to hear more. Remarkably, the three albums I bought were all recorded within a year of each other.

One thing I have been trying to locate is a copy of The Penguin Guide to Jazz. This seems to be the bible for Jazz recordings on CD but my local library's reference section didn't have it. It's also expensive at £30 - maybe I should make some hints about Christmas presents?

Jack Dee - Miserable Git

I seem to have been reading lots of autobiographies by comics this year. The latest is Thanks for Nothing - Jack Dee's life story in his own words. At least some of it is - much of it is a series of gripes and whinges that sound like the premise for episodes of his sit-com Lead Balloon.

I saw Jack Dee's stand-up show in a Newcastle theatre in the early 1990's. It has to rate as one of the funniest shows I've ever seen - I was gasping for breath towards the end although that may have been to do with the number of people smoking in the cheap seats. In fact, he nearly got himself Lynched after his opening remarks about Geordies and deep fried whippets or something. He nicely manoeuvred himself out of that one by asking if there were any students in and directing the irate Geordie tattooed half-wits in their direction.

The book's format is a potted history of what made Mr Dee the arch miserablist and misanthrope we know and love. The chapters alternate between some event in his life which helped to develop his sunny outlook and a following chapter on whatever happened to be annoying him that day. So we get anecdotes about flunking school, a misspent trip to France, various odd-jobs in the catering industry and the start of his comedy career; interspersed with this is his confirmation of Jean-Paul Sartre's ascertation that Hell is other people.

It's probably not the best written autobiography I've ever read - but it is one of the funniest.

Old Friends

It must be said that I utterly despised going to school. I really loathed the place and most of the people in there. That's not to say I didn't make any friends - in fact I am still in touch with a few and it's surprising how many old classmates have managed to find me on Facebook. In retrospect there were quite a few decent folks there but the ones who I didn't get on with - both pupils and staff - were quite adept at making the place a living Hell. At least I wasn't alone in this and the friends I did make were both a support and a survival strategy.

Lunch times were particularly tiresome. I qualified for free school meals but this was actually just a token which partially covered the cost of lunch and, as the food was revolting, it proved more worthwhile to take a lunch box. This provided an excellent opportunity to escape from the school grounds. I soon found a new routine of going to a quiet nearby swing-park with three classmates: Dave, Simon and Doug. We didn't actually do that much; talking rubbish, sitting around on swings and maybe an impromptu game of football - but it passed the time and staved off the boredom, intermingled with random violence, that was school life.

I left home at 18 and took the first chance I could to move away. I did keep in touch with some people but I've never been that great at writing or phoning. As it happened, Dave and Simon went to college in Sunderland so I saw them quite regularly whilst I lived in Newcastle and Doug would visit on occasion. However, as I moved about the country and had work and kids to take up my time, I found that I would see people increasingly rarely. Not that I didn't have good intentions of visiting folks and catching up. It's just that something else would always crop up. Then, just over three years ago, I received a call from Dave saying that Doug had died, suddenly, from heart failure.

That came out of the blue, and it made me realise that, for all my good intentions, it was nearly five years since I had seen him - and almost as long as that since I had seen most of my other old friends. I attended his funeral and caught up with many people that I hadn't seen for years. It was a very sad occasion but, for me, something of an awakening as well. As important as work and the routines of daily life may seem it is only so we can actually live and make some sense of this absurd world. It was decided that we should meet up in July for "The Mile" - Doug's infamous birthday pub crawl (in fact more of a hike as it is much longer than a mile) to remember lost friends and, for me, to catch up with those still with us.

The Mile takes in some 20 pubs starting from Doug's home town of New Brighton and taking in neighbouring Wallasey and Liscard. In fact, like Doug, some of the pubs are no longer with us so are substituted or doubled up (plus one New Brighton pub has a fantastic juke box which requires some attention). Also, it's not strictly pints (or even alcohol for that matter) as we are all somewhat older and wiser. The last time I got senselessly drunk was 10 years ago and my wife had to pick me up - she said I looked like the town drunk and, unfortunately, the town in question was Glasgow. So, whilst we are probably not going to be fit to drive by the end of the day there is, at least at the outset, a good intention of moderation.

So, hopefully a Saturday to remember and here's a toast to Old Friends.

They think it's all over...

... it is now. Just one last blog on the World Cup. It wasn't the final we were hoping for. It rarely is. In fact, we watched the Germany vs. Uruguay play off the previous night and it's a pity it wasn't the real final. Forlan, Özil, Müller - these have been the real stars of the tournament.

I set out hoping for a good game and not minding who won. I have enjoyed watching both Spain and The Netherlands although neither have sparkled in these finals as they did at Euro 2008. However, after half an hour it had to be Spain. The Dutch hard-man tactics were unforgivable and the boot in the chest that Xabi Alonso received was more a criminal offence than a red-card one. However, that was the only thing I'd really criticise Howard Webb for - he made the best of a bad lot.

So, as Porky Pig used to say, "th-th-th-that's all folks!"

Almost the World Cup Final

Well, I managed to predict one half of the world cup semi-finals correctly - Spain beat Germany. However, the other half took me by surprise as I never imagined that the Netherlands would beat Brazil and Uruguay were not even on my radar - I suppose someone had to fill the gap left by the ineptitude of England (and France, and Italy). I had hoped that we may get a Germany vs. Netherlands final (a replay of 1974) but as it is we will get a new World Cup winner - the first time since France in 1998 and the first time we are guaranteed a new winner since Argentina played the Netherlands in 1978 (good grief, I sound like Motty).

With just the final and the rather pointless 3rd/4th play-off to go it's probably worth picking my favourite game of the tournament. I think that would have to be the Germany vs. Argentina match. I have found these two teams to be by far the most entertaining. I had expected Argentina to implode in a similar fashion to the way France did but, instead, they have been one of the life and souls of the party. Having said that, they were managed by a tactical lunatic and the game against the Germans reminded me of a late 1990's Newcastle vs. Liverpool match where Keegan's spirited 1-1-8 formation would throw themselves headlong at a similarly gung-ho Liverpool side in what Roy Evans would call "Suicide Football".

One particularly odd-box story from this World Cup has been the case of Paul the Octopus. This Oberhausen based cephalopod has had a remarkable history of picking the correct winners in all of Germany's matches although, in fairness, he usually goes for the German flag (no doubt he remembers that there is food under there) and Germany usually wins. However, he picked the Serbian flag in the group stages and, surprisingly, the Serbians won that match. You can imagine the trepidation of German football fans when he picked the Spanish flag for the semi-finals and, once again, Paul was right. In fact he has a much better prediction rate than Hansen, Lineker et al and he is a good deal more entertaining. Maybe the BBC should hire him - particularly since Adrian Chiles has moved to ITV, although I'm sure that an animated brummie gargoyle would suffice.

Anyway, for any Germans that would like to cheer themselves up after the treacherous antics of Paul the Octopus, the Spanish dish of Pulpo a la Gallega may be worth a try. For this you will need:

1 tbsp sweet paprika
1 bay leaf
salt to taste
olive oil (aim for a fruity, extra-virgin oil)
2 potatoes, preferably yukon gold
1 bleeding smart-alec octopus (2-2.5 lb / 1 kg)

Simply freeze the octopus for 2 days, chop it up with a knife, boil the bastard and add the potatoes and other ingredients.

Lovely!

Going to the Zoo

We have been staying down in Cheshire for a few days - catching up with some friends and family in the North West - at least those that we could fit in to a tight schedule. For a day out we took the kids to Chester Zoo. Unfortunately, they didn't have any spare enclosures so we had to bring them back again but we had a good look around whilst we were there.

Zoos often get a bad press and some of them merely exploit animals for profit. This balance between education and entertainment has always been rather precarious but the days of chimps' tea parties are over and the worlds major zoos are now more in to the business of conservation and breeding programmes. Chester Zoo is no exception but it also means it's rather expensive to run and as a result the entrance prices for the whole family are rather daunting. Fortunately for us, my brother-in-law is a zoologist and managed to get free passes for us. Still, as a family of five we still spent some £50 on refreshments and other expenses - it's not exactly the cheapest of days out. However, there is lots to see and do - in fact too much for small children to take in so we had to pick and choose.

We ended up seeing around half the exhibits - we decided to concentrate on the sort of animals that the kids would recognise. So we had lots of elephants, lions and tigers and fewer of the African antelopes with names that look like a bad hand at Scrabble. Even so, I did find the kids flagging towards the end of the day. It was also surprisingly busy. As the school holidays in England and Wales don't start for a couple of weeks I had expected it to be very quiet but there were several school parties attending from nearby Liverpool and Manchester which provided for a rather interesting exhibit of adolescent Lancastrian hominids. This did mean that, at times, I was having to hold up the younger children to see what the big cats were doing - mainly sleeping and looking bored in a similar way that small cats do.

Some of the smaller exhibits are, possibly, not that interesting for the younger children. I was very impressed to see a Komodo dragon there - admittedly a small one as the ones I've seen on the telly are more David Attenborough sized. But reptiles don't typically do that much at the best of times and this can get a bit much for under 5's as some of the animals can be nearly indistinguishable from the foliage. However, the elephants, penguins and various primates are much more obvious to young children even if they don't differentiate between them as anything more than "another monkey". Another good feature for the youngsters is the monorail which allows a good view of some of the larger enclosures but without the legwork.

However, the zoological highlight of the holiday actually arrived near the caravan park. It was next to the Sandstone Trail which runs from Frodsham in Cheshire to Whitchurch in Shropshire. Needless to say, we didn't walk the whole trail but it is the sort of thing that appeals to me as it has well made up paths so allows the amateur hiker a pleasant arboreal trek without having to become a machete wielding adventurer. I took the two boys along to help them run off some spare energy - or at least fall over and whinge about grazed knees for a couple of hours. There was a pond to the side of the path with what, at first, I thought were some sort of insects jumping across. On closer inspection it transpired to be hundreds of tiny frogs. It was an effort not to stand on them and I assume that they were not fully grown but just leaving their spawning ground and hopping into the undergrowth.

I managed to get a photo of one - not easy with a compact camera. For reference, this is actually sitting on my 8 year old son's hands and I would estimate that it was around 3mm-4mm in length - far removed from the big warty toads that I sometimes see in our garden.



So that was our natural history adventure: Elephants in the zoo and frogs on the campsite - it's quite surprising what you can find in the British countryside.