What do you do with vanguards? Lead them, be in them, just be them? Whatever the correct pre-verb is, I feel I am doing my bit for lady plumbers.
Only not tonight. Tonight we did plumbing first aid. Plumbing S was not able to attend, so I was the sole representative of the fairer sex. What is the correct procedure in case of burns? Well, one thing you need to do is remove restrictive clothing. We were all agreed on that and provided helpful examples of such clothing. Collars! Belts!
Oh, and bras, said D the plumbing teacher. Definitely bras, they agreed, laughing heartily.
What I wish I'd said: "Yeah, but there's some urgency here, and it takes the average man about 20 minutes to get a bra off."
What I did say: " "
Arse.
joella
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Happy birthday to me!
My favourite present
Originally uploaded by joellaflickr.
I turned 36 on Friday. This is a shockingly grown up age to have reached, and I hope I can do it justice.
My presents were grown up too. M bought me a drill, which is exactly what I wanted but not at all what I was expecting. By contrast, my sister got me a whole bag of Clinique products, including one of those face bars which comes in its own green box -- these bars have always felt like the very epitome of adult skincare and now I have one of my very own.
I had a small sleepover party featuring fine wine, fine pizza, a rare doobie which had us in gratifying hysterics, the finale of Celebrity Big Brother, Withnail and I, and eight splendid pairs of pyjamas. I had the loveliest time imaginable and feel well set up for whatever the year has to throw at me.
joella
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Face it Bow, your MP is a nutter
I know it's bad, but I'm still watching CBB. A bit. Not live anymore, just the highlights. Thank god it's finishing on Friday.
Revelation of the last few days is really quite what a nasty piece of work George Galloway is. I watched him yelling at wee Preston and wee Chantelle last night with the gleam of a self-righteous dictator in his eye. No wonder he got on so well with old Saddam. He heard no counter arguments and he used his louder voice, bigger beef and greater articulacy to bully them until they shut up. It was compelling, in a horrifying sort of way. Is it really okay to let people behave like that and film it? I kind of had time for the Respect coalition once, but anything with a domineering ego that size at the helm has got to be Bad News.
Anyway, I was touched by Maggot's little go at him in the diary room. I want him to win, he's the most human one in there.
joella
Revelation of the last few days is really quite what a nasty piece of work George Galloway is. I watched him yelling at wee Preston and wee Chantelle last night with the gleam of a self-righteous dictator in his eye. No wonder he got on so well with old Saddam. He heard no counter arguments and he used his louder voice, bigger beef and greater articulacy to bully them until they shut up. It was compelling, in a horrifying sort of way. Is it really okay to let people behave like that and film it? I kind of had time for the Respect coalition once, but anything with a domineering ego that size at the helm has got to be Bad News.
Anyway, I was touched by Maggot's little go at him in the diary room. I want him to win, he's the most human one in there.
joella
Google China: what happened to 'Don't be evil'?
I'd like to have been a fly on the wall at the Google management meeting where they decided to self-censor in order not to lose business in China. I have always admired their non-conformist mission statement, but it seems it's not compatible with operating in one of the world's biggest markets. So did it ever mean anything? If I were a Google employee, I would be gloomy today.
joella
joella
Monday, January 23, 2006
Mild bewildered parties
Despite being a regular reader of Jeremy's LiveJournal, until Ms Y put me right I had somehow missed The Magic Chalet, a recent weekly strip based on our bizarre yet entirely civilised weekend at the Nightmare Before Christmas.
Well, *we* were entirely civilised: the same could not be said for some of our neighbours. But the memory of pan banging fire escape clanging 3am indie kid lynch mobs has faded, together with the memory of one of our number (naming no names) chucking up on a verge on the A12 on the way home. The Magic Chalet captures that hangover exquisitely, but focuses, as is entirely right and proper, on the splendid weekend which created it.
joella
Well, *we* were entirely civilised: the same could not be said for some of our neighbours. But the memory of pan banging fire escape clanging 3am indie kid lynch mobs has faded, together with the memory of one of our number (naming no names) chucking up on a verge on the A12 on the way home. The Magic Chalet captures that hangover exquisitely, but focuses, as is entirely right and proper, on the splendid weekend which created it.
joella
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Random stats trivia
I'm copying my mp3s over from the household PC to my new laptop. It is a mind-numbingly boring job, especially as I am taking the opportunity to weed out stuff I don't actually like and edit stuff which doesn't have any info attached (Track 1 by 'artist' etc). All this is more complicated than it should be, but I don't want to get into another online music rant.
But to stop myself going mad I have been swigging bone-dry Manzanilla and doing some surfing. Thought it was about time I checked my blog stats, see how I'm doing.
I'm doing all right - and today I had a visitor from Iran, which appears in the list as 'Iran, Islamic Republic of'. What on earth would your average Iranian want with my gentle brand of booze-soaked old-school feminism, I wondered. And dug a little deeper.
It turned out s/he (though fairly safe to guess he in this instance) was searching Google with the phrase 'self-pleasuring'. What a delicate phrase to use. And how splendid that this is what he should find.
joella
But to stop myself going mad I have been swigging bone-dry Manzanilla and doing some surfing. Thought it was about time I checked my blog stats, see how I'm doing.
I'm doing all right - and today I had a visitor from Iran, which appears in the list as 'Iran, Islamic Republic of'. What on earth would your average Iranian want with my gentle brand of booze-soaked old-school feminism, I wondered. And dug a little deeper.
It turned out s/he (though fairly safe to guess he in this instance) was searching Google with the phrase 'self-pleasuring'. What a delicate phrase to use. And how splendid that this is what he should find.
joella
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Random Friday night thoughts
1. Sherry - specifically Amontillado - is the drink of 2006.
2. Watching Celebrity Big Brother is sad in the extreme, but not as sad as a) manipulative Barrymore fucked up weirdness or b) Burns monkey fur fucked up badness. But most of all, it makes me feel so happy I don't smoke anymore. Nothing distorts behaviour quite like addiction.
3. Pandora is the best web service ever. It not only brings new music into your life, it reminds you of all the great music you already own. Tonight has been lit up by Neneh Cherry and The Bevis Frond as a direct result. Check out Bevis Cherry Radio. It will do your nut.
joella
2. Watching Celebrity Big Brother is sad in the extreme, but not as sad as a) manipulative Barrymore fucked up weirdness or b) Burns monkey fur fucked up badness. But most of all, it makes me feel so happy I don't smoke anymore. Nothing distorts behaviour quite like addiction.
3. Pandora is the best web service ever. It not only brings new music into your life, it reminds you of all the great music you already own. Tonight has been lit up by Neneh Cherry and The Bevis Frond as a direct result. Check out Bevis Cherry Radio. It will do your nut.
joella
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Plumbing teacher #2
So there is D, whose first-hand support and advice has enabled me to sort out our dodgy thermostatic radiator valves. He takes the classroom lessons, on a Tuesday. We like him.
And then there is B, who takes the workshop lessons on a Thursday. He likes to watch you struggle with a blunt hacksaw for half an hour, and will then produce a new blade and, half an hour after that, when half the rest of the class have sneaked over and sawed bits up for you because you're still getting fucking nowhere, a steel pipe cutter. Using a hacksaw in 2006 is like using log tables in maths at school. You just don't need to. First principles fine, but there comes a point you wonder if he's just getting his kicks.
Tonight it was about screwing pipe clamps onto a board to hold copper in place for soldering. You can't do this with brute force alone unless you are Mike Tyson. So you get the drill and ask how to use it. You are instructed to drill pilot holes and then use a screwdriver. The only way to make this work is to hang your entire bodyweight off the screwdriver, and you have to do this for plumbing S as well as she doesn't have enough bodyweight. After half an hour of this you have got three screws in and you are knackered.
At this point B appears with a screwdriving drill bit and vague guidelines on torque. J the man who looks after the stores has been off with a broken leg for about eight weeks so the only screws you can find are huge, and the drill bit has been so abused that it doesn't bite. You persevere because you're not premenstrual and you will not fucking let it fucking get to you.
Then one of your fellow students appears and asks if you want some proper wood screws. Here's the box he used, his girlfriend's brother left them in the van, you can have them if you want. Then another one appears and lends you his proper drill bit, sharp as you like and with a magnetic tip that grips the wood screws. Those screws positively glide into the board.
Yes, says B, but you learnt a lot from all that didn't you?
Yes. I learnt that the tools in this college are shite, and that for some reason you like watching us trying to use them. This is like teaching people to cook with crappy thin pans, blunt knives and a ceramic hob. What can possibly be ennobling about not using decent tools? How can shite tools improve a learning environment?
I'm annoyed. But now I know that I need some drill bits for my birthday...
joella
And then there is B, who takes the workshop lessons on a Thursday. He likes to watch you struggle with a blunt hacksaw for half an hour, and will then produce a new blade and, half an hour after that, when half the rest of the class have sneaked over and sawed bits up for you because you're still getting fucking nowhere, a steel pipe cutter. Using a hacksaw in 2006 is like using log tables in maths at school. You just don't need to. First principles fine, but there comes a point you wonder if he's just getting his kicks.
Tonight it was about screwing pipe clamps onto a board to hold copper in place for soldering. You can't do this with brute force alone unless you are Mike Tyson. So you get the drill and ask how to use it. You are instructed to drill pilot holes and then use a screwdriver. The only way to make this work is to hang your entire bodyweight off the screwdriver, and you have to do this for plumbing S as well as she doesn't have enough bodyweight. After half an hour of this you have got three screws in and you are knackered.
At this point B appears with a screwdriving drill bit and vague guidelines on torque. J the man who looks after the stores has been off with a broken leg for about eight weeks so the only screws you can find are huge, and the drill bit has been so abused that it doesn't bite. You persevere because you're not premenstrual and you will not fucking let it fucking get to you.
Then one of your fellow students appears and asks if you want some proper wood screws. Here's the box he used, his girlfriend's brother left them in the van, you can have them if you want. Then another one appears and lends you his proper drill bit, sharp as you like and with a magnetic tip that grips the wood screws. Those screws positively glide into the board.
Yes, says B, but you learnt a lot from all that didn't you?
Yes. I learnt that the tools in this college are shite, and that for some reason you like watching us trying to use them. This is like teaching people to cook with crappy thin pans, blunt knives and a ceramic hob. What can possibly be ennobling about not using decent tools? How can shite tools improve a learning environment?
I'm annoyed. But now I know that I need some drill bits for my birthday...
joella
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
There's truth in the old adage yet
... the adage in question being "it's not what you know, it's who you know". And I work in knowledge management, so I should know.
The situation went like this. Last spring M got rid of his old piano - some young Christian African men came and took it away and said they were going to ship it to Kenya to give to a school. I hope that's really what happened. In its place he rented a much better piano. The piano men said it couldn't live in front of a radiator.
After considerable negotiation, we turned off the radiator, first agreeing that we would move the room around once housemate S had left and we could relocate the big desk to her room (now M's room). Housemate S duly left, the desk was duly relocated, the piano was duly moved.
But we couldn't turn the radiator back on. It has a thermostatic valve and when it was turned back on, nothing happened. The room was chilly, and we had to heat the whole house to get one room warm. I was deeply miserable and v pissed off. My plumbing text book was no help. The boiler is due a service so I rang the boiler man to see if this is the sort of thing he could have a look while servicing the boiler but he didn't call back.
I sought advice from my plumbing teacher. He told me to take off the valve cover and release the pin with pliers. I did this but nothing happened. The next lesson, I told him that. Hmmm, he said, where do you live?
And so it was tonight that he drove me home after class and yanked the pin up and down vigorously with a pair of pump pliers. And lo, heat flooded into the radiator. So simple. So something that you need to see someone do, but once you have you never forget it. And it cost me a cup of coffee. Brilliant.
Compare this to my colleague K who paid some bastard £50 to fix the flush on her toilet, which he took while not actually fixing it. I shall repay D's favour in the karmic sense, by passing it on to someone else.
joella
The situation went like this. Last spring M got rid of his old piano - some young Christian African men came and took it away and said they were going to ship it to Kenya to give to a school. I hope that's really what happened. In its place he rented a much better piano. The piano men said it couldn't live in front of a radiator.
After considerable negotiation, we turned off the radiator, first agreeing that we would move the room around once housemate S had left and we could relocate the big desk to her room (now M's room). Housemate S duly left, the desk was duly relocated, the piano was duly moved.
But we couldn't turn the radiator back on. It has a thermostatic valve and when it was turned back on, nothing happened. The room was chilly, and we had to heat the whole house to get one room warm. I was deeply miserable and v pissed off. My plumbing text book was no help. The boiler is due a service so I rang the boiler man to see if this is the sort of thing he could have a look while servicing the boiler but he didn't call back.
I sought advice from my plumbing teacher. He told me to take off the valve cover and release the pin with pliers. I did this but nothing happened. The next lesson, I told him that. Hmmm, he said, where do you live?
And so it was tonight that he drove me home after class and yanked the pin up and down vigorously with a pair of pump pliers. And lo, heat flooded into the radiator. So simple. So something that you need to see someone do, but once you have you never forget it. And it cost me a cup of coffee. Brilliant.
Compare this to my colleague K who paid some bastard £50 to fix the flush on her toilet, which he took while not actually fixing it. I shall repay D's favour in the karmic sense, by passing it on to someone else.
joella
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Glorious realisation of long term ambition
Not single-handed yet gracious achievement of world peace and/or gender equality. Not annihilation of my enemies. No. What we are talking about here is something that is a little more limited in its impact, but that doesn't mean I'm not grinning like a loon every time I remember that it's finally happened.
Today, brothers and sisters, was a great day. For today we finally got rid of the brown mulch which has passed for a bathroom carpet for the last four and a half years.
Words cannot express how much I hated that carpet. Every time I used the bathroom (maybe three times a week [there's a shower off my bedroom, I'm talking baths here rather than total washing instances] so that's about 500 times) a little piece of my heart wept and I became a little more frustrated, a little bit less chilled, than I needed to be.
Bathrooms can and should be places of retreat, of cleansing, of mulling, of peace. I see a good bathroom as one of the apexes (can that really be the right plural?) of civilisation. Our bath is big and enamelled and our bathroom generally, being of pleasing proportions and equipped with natural light and good quality porcelainware, is geared up to meet its mission in almost every respect. But until today its disgusting floor covering -- cheap, dark brown, smelly -- did a fine job of negating everything positive about the bathroom experience.
I am not quite sure how this all took so long -- on every list of household priorities I've made since we moved in, "get rid of the bathroom carpet before I hang myself with it" (or similar) has been top of my list. If I lived on my own, it would have been gone within days. I'd rather step out of the bath onto coconut matting. Or baked beans. Anything.
But I don't live on my own, and my housemates past and present have simply not cared that much about the Vilest Carpet in the Northern Hemisphere.
Today's carpet removal was in fact a side effect of an entire bathroom restructure -- keeping all the same bits, but moving them round so K our new lodger can stand up in the bath and have a shower. One of my fellow plumbing pupils -- who has been plumbing for four years but is only now getting his qualifications -- is doing us a deal.
K gets a shower. I get a new bathroom floor as a result. It's all good.
joella
Today, brothers and sisters, was a great day. For today we finally got rid of the brown mulch which has passed for a bathroom carpet for the last four and a half years.
Words cannot express how much I hated that carpet. Every time I used the bathroom (maybe three times a week [there's a shower off my bedroom, I'm talking baths here rather than total washing instances] so that's about 500 times) a little piece of my heart wept and I became a little more frustrated, a little bit less chilled, than I needed to be.
Bathrooms can and should be places of retreat, of cleansing, of mulling, of peace. I see a good bathroom as one of the apexes (can that really be the right plural?) of civilisation. Our bath is big and enamelled and our bathroom generally, being of pleasing proportions and equipped with natural light and good quality porcelainware, is geared up to meet its mission in almost every respect. But until today its disgusting floor covering -- cheap, dark brown, smelly -- did a fine job of negating everything positive about the bathroom experience.
I am not quite sure how this all took so long -- on every list of household priorities I've made since we moved in, "get rid of the bathroom carpet before I hang myself with it" (or similar) has been top of my list. If I lived on my own, it would have been gone within days. I'd rather step out of the bath onto coconut matting. Or baked beans. Anything.
But I don't live on my own, and my housemates past and present have simply not cared that much about the Vilest Carpet in the Northern Hemisphere.
Today's carpet removal was in fact a side effect of an entire bathroom restructure -- keeping all the same bits, but moving them round so K our new lodger can stand up in the bath and have a shower. One of my fellow plumbing pupils -- who has been plumbing for four years but is only now getting his qualifications -- is doing us a deal.
K gets a shower. I get a new bathroom floor as a result. It's all good.
joella
Friday, January 13, 2006
Witch hazel in flower
Witch hazel in flower
Originally uploaded by joellaflickr.
Taken at the weekend, sadly without Smell-o-vision. But who can hate winter when it does muted colours so damn beautifully?
joella
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
What a well balanced human being I am
Well, when it comes to my brain hemispheres anyway.
Are You Right or Left Brained?
personality tests by similarminds.com
joella
Brain Lateralization Test Results |
| Right Brain (46%) The right hemisphere is the visual, figurative, artistic, and intuitive side of the brain. Left Brain (46%) The left hemisphere is the logical, articulate, assertive, and practical side of the brain |
personality tests by similarminds.com
joella
Monday, January 09, 2006
Thank God for Richard Dawkins
For the last hour I've been curled up on the sofa drinking herbal tea and watching The Root of All Evil?, Professor Richard Dawkins' exploration of religion, based round his belief that it "discourages independent thought, it's divisive and it's dangerous".
He was harangued by ultra-alpha creationist Republicans in the Bible Belt and weirdy beardies in Gaza. The Catholics at Lourdes were the politest, but they all hated him and his scientific reason.
Best line was from an American Jew-turned-Muslim (the converts are always the most hardcore) who told him all the problems with the heathens. One of them was the way he dressed his women like whores. It was the only time in the whole programme he shouted back.
I don't dress women! They dress themselves!
Say it loud: I'm an atheist and I'm proud!
joella
He was harangued by ultra-alpha creationist Republicans in the Bible Belt and weirdy beardies in Gaza. The Catholics at Lourdes were the politest, but they all hated him and his scientific reason.
Best line was from an American Jew-turned-Muslim (the converts are always the most hardcore) who told him all the problems with the heathens. One of them was the way he dressed his women like whores. It was the only time in the whole programme he shouted back.
I don't dress women! They dress themselves!
Say it loud: I'm an atheist and I'm proud!
joella
Sunday, January 08, 2006
From Hamamelis Mollis to Jodie Marsh
I've had a super-size weekend. Which is great, as it was just what I felt like. We had one of our favourite families to stay, and on Friday night drank lots of Cava, ate black-eyed beans with many tasty extra bits, and watched (rather to my surprise) the hugely addictive (also to my surprise) Celebrity Big Brother.
We've been watching it, on and off, ever since. I'm relieved Chantelle came through her trial by ordeal relatively unscathed. They could have been evil to her, and she wouldn't have deserved it, she seems not at all up herself. It's a bit predictable to be bowled over by celebrity narcissism, so I won't waste words on Pete Burns, the Baywatch babe or the bloke with the spikes in his nose, and Rula, Preston and Barrymore seem harmless enough, though I am terrified of waking up one day to find that I have Lenska Hair.
No, the ones who are captivating are Gorgeous George and decidedly UnGorgeous Jodie. Who does he think he is, with his Cuba trackies? He's kind of frightening and ridiculous at the same time, and there is little less attractive in this world than a short man smoking a fat cigar. But Jodie makes him look like a god. She's a car crash of a human being. I get to the point where I feel bad just watching her, but then she says something which leaves me utterly devoid of sympathy for her. Get her out of there and get her some therapy, for pity's sake.
However, I am happy to report alongside this that we erased residual reality TV shame with many spiritually enriching cultural activities. My favourite of these almost never happened - M wanted to go into the Botanic Gardens on the way into Oxford and I pulled a face and said it would be rubbish in January.
And it's amazing how wrong one person can be. It was almost empty, and the deciduous trees were splayed out magnificently against the slate grey sky. Lots of plants were indeed dormant, but this made the ones which were doing their thing look even more beautiful. There was a Hamamelis Mollis (aka witch hazel) which was looking pretty much perfect -- bare branches covered in powdery spidery yellow flowers with their delicate astringent smell. We ran over to smell it, and the only other people we could see -- three Japanese tourists -- came over as well. There were eight of us standing round this little tree, smelling the perfume and smiling shyly at each other.
The glass houses were also open, and also emptier than I have ever seen them. We admired cacti and banana trees and venus fly traps. It was very very cool.
Later we went to the Bodleian and the Pitt Rivers Museum. I can't quite believe I've managed to avoid the Pitt Rivers for the last decade, and I loved it even though it was heaving with every middle class child in Oxford and their braying parents. I was thoroughly freaked out, mind -- not by the shrunken heads (though they are authentically freaky) but by an Indian's fingertip, cut off some time in the 1930s to attest to his reliability as a witness in an adultery trial.
The way we lived then. The way we live now. Lots of food for thought to digest together with my Sunday lunch. What a good way to spend precious time.
joella
We've been watching it, on and off, ever since. I'm relieved Chantelle came through her trial by ordeal relatively unscathed. They could have been evil to her, and she wouldn't have deserved it, she seems not at all up herself. It's a bit predictable to be bowled over by celebrity narcissism, so I won't waste words on Pete Burns, the Baywatch babe or the bloke with the spikes in his nose, and Rula, Preston and Barrymore seem harmless enough, though I am terrified of waking up one day to find that I have Lenska Hair.
No, the ones who are captivating are Gorgeous George and decidedly UnGorgeous Jodie. Who does he think he is, with his Cuba trackies? He's kind of frightening and ridiculous at the same time, and there is little less attractive in this world than a short man smoking a fat cigar. But Jodie makes him look like a god. She's a car crash of a human being. I get to the point where I feel bad just watching her, but then she says something which leaves me utterly devoid of sympathy for her. Get her out of there and get her some therapy, for pity's sake.
However, I am happy to report alongside this that we erased residual reality TV shame with many spiritually enriching cultural activities. My favourite of these almost never happened - M wanted to go into the Botanic Gardens on the way into Oxford and I pulled a face and said it would be rubbish in January.
And it's amazing how wrong one person can be. It was almost empty, and the deciduous trees were splayed out magnificently against the slate grey sky. Lots of plants were indeed dormant, but this made the ones which were doing their thing look even more beautiful. There was a Hamamelis Mollis (aka witch hazel) which was looking pretty much perfect -- bare branches covered in powdery spidery yellow flowers with their delicate astringent smell. We ran over to smell it, and the only other people we could see -- three Japanese tourists -- came over as well. There were eight of us standing round this little tree, smelling the perfume and smiling shyly at each other.
The glass houses were also open, and also emptier than I have ever seen them. We admired cacti and banana trees and venus fly traps. It was very very cool.
Later we went to the Bodleian and the Pitt Rivers Museum. I can't quite believe I've managed to avoid the Pitt Rivers for the last decade, and I loved it even though it was heaving with every middle class child in Oxford and their braying parents. I was thoroughly freaked out, mind -- not by the shrunken heads (though they are authentically freaky) but by an Indian's fingertip, cut off some time in the 1930s to attest to his reliability as a witness in an adultery trial.
The way we lived then. The way we live now. Lots of food for thought to digest together with my Sunday lunch. What a good way to spend precious time.
joella
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Small red thing
Last night I dreamt we were being burgled, and woke up with my heart thudding and feeling panicky and a bit sick. This is a typical advanced PMS dream, but no the less horrible for it.
Tonight I expect to dream of little fluffy clouds, perhaps soaked in whisky, but in the meantime I have to get through the first plumbing course of the year on the day of the month when everything I don't drop on the floor makes me cry.
We're having beetroot for tea though. That'll be nice.
joella
Tonight I expect to dream of little fluffy clouds, perhaps soaked in whisky, but in the meantime I have to get through the first plumbing course of the year on the day of the month when everything I don't drop on the floor makes me cry.
We're having beetroot for tea though. That'll be nice.
joella
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
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