Blindly, I sign up for another website. I upload my ‘user image’, and am asked to share with the world at large my height, weight, date of birth, sex, inside leg measurement, favourite colour, and a whole raft of personal details.

Very shortly, I read, blogs like this will be able to utilise the latest offerings from Facebook, MySpace, Google, and doubtless other far dodgier providers in order that we too can play at ’social networking’ hosting and information gathering.

If this is to be the future I am baffled. It seems to me that this ‘next big thing’ in cyberspace is not universally desired, but is being foisted upon us by the harvesters of personal data. The vast majority of people I know who have signed up to something like this are now at the very least attempting to restrict the access to this information.

I look at the sheer volume of spam that rolls in to my numerous email accounts and wonder just who is sharing my details already, and with whom?

I cannot imagine incorporating any of these new programmes on my humble blog, but will I be forced to because of the access it will give me to a vast untapped readership?

For me I know the answer will be no. I’m happy writing for both of you and if another handful pop along in the future that will be a bonus! I’ve no doubt though that there are plenty out there who will grasp the opportunity to connect with ever greater numbers of unsuspecting ‘punters’.

Am I wrong to worry about the Orwellian way in which the web appears to be developing?

Miserable old git.

Tags: information gathering, Personal details, social networking, spam

For the second day running the most viewed page on the BBC website is ‘Great Tits Cope Well With Warming’. It will come as no surprise to most of you, I’m sure. The depths to which some individuals and organisations will plunge to get hits knows no bounds. I suppose I was hoping that the BBC would be immune from these cheap gimmicky titles, but no.

Anyway, the topic for discussion today is beer, or more specifically how do you like it to be served?

My days as a cricketer have left me with a hangover (well, several actually). I do like to have a four or eight pint jug of the stuff within reach.

Is that strange, do you think?

Tags: BBC, big jugs, cricket, great tits

‘Hello, Blazing Saddle here.’

‘Oh hello, is Andy not there?’

‘Correct.’

‘Only I want to speak to Andy.’

I already know this is going to end abruptly. I am already in my minds eye preparing to launch a particularly rough pineapple up this bastard’s nether regions.

‘I’m sorry, but how else can I put it? He’s not here, he is elsewhere. In close proximity to me, he is not. Unless the pair of you have been blessed with the power of telepathy you will have to wait until he is here. I am assuming you are not blessed with the power of telepathy, otherwise you would not have been so stupid as to phone while he was somewhere else, would you? I apologise if you are the missing link but we are not used to fielding enquiries from sub-humans even in these days of care in the community.’

‘I can’t speak to him then?’

Click.

Tags: Grumpy old men

‘Hello stranger. Where have you been?’

Ossie is pleased to see me, or so it seems. I tell him about the weekend in Cornwall, and the ensuing week of activity with Mrs Blazing exchanging a multitude of phone calls with hospitals and Private Health Insurance company.

The upshot of all that activity is that she will be going under the knife on Wednesday. In order that she doesn’t waste away we enjoyed some fine food and wine at a family dinner last night. Pubs in the middle of nowhere really do offer the best value, don’t they? She repeated the experience this afternoon, enjoying something of a feast with her sister while I went down to see Ossie at the Grot and watch some football on the big screen.

‘Hey, Blazing, you play golf don’t you?’ Old Sid is one of those vague acquaintances. One knows him as he is always there but we rarely exchange words. He must know I play the game. The reason I missed out on a Friday session was because I had a day on the course at Sodding Chipbury. It was no secret.

‘Yes Sid, why?’

‘I was down the local municipal this morning, and I saw your old mate Denzil down there. He told me he has been having lessons with one of the young pro’s down there. so I asked him how his driving was going. Silly bugger said it was fine. He had left home at quarter past seven this morning and got to the course by half past.’

I chuckled. Sid insisted it wasn’t a joke. ‘I know’, I said.

Tags: Hospitals, private health insurance. golf

Just a quick word to say the swelling is going down. I made the mistake of saying I was joining my family in Devon for the festivities this weekend. “Cornwall, you bloody grockel”, complained my sister. I won’t make the same mistake again.

She and her husband have been there for two years now, so are fully fledged Cornish freedom fighters, and conscripts of the local garden club battalion. They believe somebody in the village once knew someone who was born in Cornwall. Locals in Cornwall rank alongside United fans in Manchester as people nobody has ever personally encountered.

I can report however that much good food and wine can be found in the Boscastle area, if you are interested. The harbour that suffered so badly in the flood of nearly four years ago is now almost back to its idyllic best, although the ‘locals (there I go again!) are less than enamoured with the replacement footbridge.

“Not a proper bridge like the old one”, means it is not a centuries old stone construction (see below). I understand the sentiment, and in fairness there is a reluctant acceptance that it is not as bad now as the original illustrations suggested it may be.

“The ‘ealth and safety buggers stopped us ‘aving a proper bridge. Worried about little kids coming to grief or summat. Ruddy interferin’ do-gooders.” The lady in one of the local shops impersonated one from the locality!

I must say though a tremendous amount of work has been put in to restore the worst affected parts. Those who know the place will be familiar with the building behind the bridge. The Harbour Light was demolished by the raging floodwaters but has been painstakingly restored to its former glory.

At the height of the floods the water reached roof height in this area. It is fascinating to see the amount of work that has been put in here, and upstream, to ensure there is no repeat of the events of that day.

A very reasonably priced carvery in the local hostelry provided a tasty end to the weekends festivities, although father of Blazing was staying on for an extra night before returning to Devon.

Yes, he really is in Devon, and has lived there for considerably longer than most of his neighbours. I think they are all Manchester United fans.

Tags: Boscastle, bridge, Cornwall, Devon, floods

Apologies for the lack of action in the last few days. I have been busy preparing for a hectic couple of weeks. Not an excuse if I want to keep you interested I know. I promise I’ll buck my ideas up presently, m’dears.

I am making my first trip to my sister’s new place in Devon this weekend. It is my father’s eighty-sixth birthday and ‘the family’, all three of us plus two partners, are getting together while we can to enjoy some fine food and (hopefully) some even finer wine.

I am pleased I have some images of our North London roots to share with him as a result of my own travels last weekend. It will be an opportunity for us all to let our hair down and forget the ‘blazing saddles’ for just a wee while.

We will return and start preparing for Mrs Blazing’s upcoming appointment with the surgeon’s knife. Of course these things never run smoothly and we are still awaiting a final confirmation from my private health insurers that they are picking up the tab. How damned infuriating is that.

This is my eighteenth year in that scheme, and of course I (touchwood) have yet to claim. The company pay for me. I pay for Mrs Blazing. Private health is going the way of National Insurance. You spend donkeys years paying in, and then some bastard finds an excuse not to let you benefit from what you have earned and paid for.

How I want Dad to remind me tomorrow of how he was told after the war, ‘You’ve never had it so good’.

A long and eventful day offered an opportunity I may not get again in a hurry. An invitation to meet with some friends in a place not far from the house we lived in when I was born.

We moved not too long afterwards and apart from a vague memory of a trip there when I was still a nipper I don’t think I have been back at all. Right, I thought to myself, I’ll go and check it out.

The New River Walk is on one side of the road, and you can tell from this image it is still as beautiful as ever. A rare haven of tranquility in North London. Is it any wonder that this part of Canonbury was once among the most sought after in the area?

Strangely it is not strictly a river, and neither is it that new. The aqueduct was constructed in 1613 by Sir Hugh Middleton to bring fresh water to London.

Stepping back out of the New River Walk, and here I catch my first glimpse in many moons of Douglas Road.

Created in the middle of the nineteenth century, the road was typical of the development of Canonbury, with villas overlooking the river.

The snap here at the top of the road shows house numbers in the thirties. We lived in the twenties.

As I look down to where the middle of the road used to be my heart sinks.

Completed in the 1970’s, the Marquess Estate won design awards. 1200 flats and maisonettes were constructed in an area that included my first home.

You can tell from the bleak brickwork and boarded up windows that the development has not been an unqualified success.

The Marquess Estate has earned a dubious reputation as stab city. Large parts of it are being bulldozed and reconstructed. The plan is to change the demographic of the residents by selling the new properties on the renamed ‘New River Estate’.

All was not lost though. Just down in nearby Essex Road I saw my first ‘Banksy’ on a pharmacy wall. You can understand why the owners of properties he has ‘decorated’ go to great lengths to preserve his handiwork. It seems a shame though that some would have him hung, drawn, and quartered for sharing his unique art with us, and many of those who think that way are precisely the sort of people who bulldoze riverside villas to make way for stab city developments.

Funny old town, is London.

Tags: aqueduct, Banksie, Canonbury, development, New River, North London, villas

Several times last night I was going to write a post describing how my blazing saddle would be irritated by a number of different people, or organisations, today. My farmers were poised to erupt. I was preparing to become a fortune teller to a number of unfortunates.

Slowly, and to my absolute astonishment, everything, and everybody, has been as sweet as the sweetest nut ever was today. I will wake up soon!

It started at the bank. To cut a very long story short I was sent a new debit card, but the pin number was sadly lacking, and I have an expensive few days in prospect. ‘Oh dear Mr Blazing, it doesn’t look like your new pin has been ordered’.

I’m poised to launch a serious offensive when the clerk lady asks me to try my old pin in her little slot (stop it, now!). It works. ‘So if anybody has cloned my old card will they be able to use it with the old pin?’ Apparently not.

I love you, Mrs bank lady.

On to the local independent Electrical retailer. Our washing machine has given up the ghost. Mrs Blazing has identified the model she wants in Curry’s. I have persuaded her we may get more benefit if we use a local retailer with a good reputation.

Mr white goods seller is a diamond. ‘Don’t buy the one you want. It has a terrible reputation. What features are important to you?’ Half an hour later we walk out and the man will deliver a new, much sought after washing machine, tomorrow. He will fit it, cap the old hot water pipe, take our expired old machine, and give us a five year guarantee. He never even uttered anything about an extended warranty which I was prepared to go to war on. I don’t need to lecture him on the Sale of Goods Act!

Now comes the supreme test. To be fair it is not yet resolved so I will not go into detail. Suffice it to say we have a problem with a nearly new piece of furniture, and the retailer we dealt with has a dreadful reputation. We have been to inspect what is available this afternoon to replace our problem piece. The manager will be phoning on Sunday to resolve the issue one way or the other.

To cut a long story short he wants not to repair the problem item, but replace it with a new one. The price has gone up. I hope he doesn’t think I will pay another hundred pounds to replace a faulty item. We will see on Sunday, but thus far they have behaved better with us than I was told to expect by others who have had problems with them.

And so to tonight, and I am now replete after a particularly delicious aromatic crispy duck. An hour or so on here and it will be time for a cuddle with Mrs Blazing. Although I probably don’t, she definitely deserves a day like today. In less than three weeks she has an appointment with a surgeon. Washing machines, sofas, and lazy banks can take a running jump.

In the greater scheme of things they are not really that important, are they? Mrs Blazing, on the other hand, is very, very, important. Have a good weekend all.

I am fascinated to read of plans to relocate staff from the British National Space Centre to Swindon as part of a drive to decentralise public sector activities outside London.

At first I was wondering when the Government would be consulting with the residents. I mean surely this puts Wiltshire in the front line of any impending inter-galactic conflict?

My mind quickly strayed elsewhere.

“Hello Houston, this is Voyager forty-seven. Come in Houston, we have a problem”

‘Wotcha Voyager, ‘fraid Houston is knackered for a bit. This is Adge in Swindon. Can I help you?”

“Swindon, you say? Shit no man, you’ve got troubles of your own. I’ll keep trying Houston, thanks.”

Tags: Houston, London, relocation, Space, Swindon

I have an awful admission to make. I think I am turning into a weekend European. Little things are creeping into my Saturday and Sunday routines.

Like Breakfast.

On Saturday I enjoyed an almond croissant. When I say I enjoyed it, I mean it was bloody tasty. Sunday saw me tuck into a couple of pains au chocolat. Sainsbury don’t do almond croissants!

As for wine, we all like a drop of red or white now and again, but last night I enjoyed a glass of rose with my fromage and biscuits. Admittedly it was only after around a couple of gallons of 2L had disappeared down my gullet as I watched the football in the Grot.

My language is changing as well. I am becoming twice as fluent, or at least I think that is what Mrs Blazing meant when she said I was talking double Dutch all last night.

The clincher was this morning. I actually felt myself changing back to English. I know how David Banner must have felt when his ‘incredible hulkiness’ deserted him. As soon as I got to work the phone rang. “Whatd’yawant”, I growled at some hapless soul.

I just had to get to the restaurant to fill two thick, thick slices of toast with bacon, sausage, black pudding, and a barely fried egg. I ignored the phone as I managed somehow to share this feast out between stomach, chin, and shirtfront.

None of this helped. Still my head pounded and my stomach ached. I just don’t understand it.

Tags: croissant, English, European, pain au chocolat, wine

“Come on then Blazing. Chocolate teacakes. Cakes or biscuits?”

Ossie never ceases to amaze me with his philosophical debates, but this is starting like no other.

“If anybody asks me I’ll say I bought a packet a day for years. They’ll owe me a fortune.”

Just as I am about to reach for the number of a local psychiatrist Ossie puts me out of my misery. “Here it is on the news now.”

I am transfixed by the tale of the European Court of Justice finding that charging VAT on teacakes was illegal, and the money should be repaid.  Not just any teacakes - M&S chocolate teacakes.

“Rich we’ll be Blazing. Look at the size of us. We’ll claim we ate nothing else. What’s seventeen and a half percent of shitloads?”

I point out to Ossie that it is now a number of years since I studied law at very basic and introductory level, but I feel sure that the ruling relates only to the Government refunding M&S.

“But we paid the bloody money, Blazing, not them.”

Ossie is not about to be persuaded that, even if there were some compulsion on M&S to refund it’s customers, and that may indeed be the case, they will undoubtedly require of him receipts or similar proofs of purchase. “Anyway, how often did you really buy them then Os?”

“What? Chocolate teacakes? Never. Can’t stand the bloody things”

I chuckle, then just to complete the circle I point out to Ossie that this ruling leaves a massive hole in the revenue. How will that money be recovered?  He looks puzzled. “Obvious old mate, they’ll put another few coppers on beer and spirits.”

“But you just admitted we paid the bloody tax in the first place. Now your saying we have to pay even more to make up for our money that the Government has to give to M&S? Thieving beggars!”

Welcome to the world of politics, Ossie. They cock up, we pay.

Tags: , biscuits, cakes, European Court, M&S, VAT

“Blazing.”

“Yes little Os.” Ossie’s lad has just started working for me during his gap year. For the uninitiated Ossie is the landlord of my local, the Grot.

“Can you give me a lift ‘ome?”

“Come off it little Os. If I take you home I’ll have to come in to say hello to Dad. It would be rude not to. If I do that he will feel obliged to sell me a pint of twos, and I shall feel obliged to buy it. Having tasted one pint, you know and I know I would have to drink another, then another, then another. Mrs Blazing has cooked me a lovely dinner. Do you know what she would do with that dinner if I didn’t go home to eat it after work? Have you ever had a bolognese enema? If I agree to take you tonight you will expect it again tomorrow, then Wednesday, then Thursday, then every bloody day. Do you know what Mrs Blazing will do to me in under a week. You don’t want to be the cause of my divorce now, do you?”

“So will you take me ‘ome then?”

“Yeah, go on then, but just this once, ok?”

Tags: home, Little Os, Ossie, the Grot

There is something amusing in the rush by journalists to expose the expenses being claimed by our elected parliamentarians, don’t you think?

Not that I am sorry to discover, of course, how much John Prescott claimed for food. Four grand in 2003/4 apparently. I must tell him I have reached a similar weight on substantially less!

I’m also interested to read of the sums claimed by senior politicians across the political spectrum. Who wouldn’t be? After a while the big numbers become, well, just figures on a page, and in all honesty not entirely surprising. I just wish we were getting better value for this drain on the exchequer.

I would be even more amused if some bright spark of an MP were to request details of selected political journalists expenses. Of course it won’t happen, because some of the expenditure will be on wining and dining the buggers who are claiming for ‘groceries’ at the same time. It was also reveal, I suspect, that MP’s are not the only ones with their snouts in the trough!

Tags: expenses, Journalists, politicians, snouts

“Here Blossom, have you seen this article in the Daily Mail? Apparently if I say ‘Thanks love, keep the change’ to you, then you’ll be able to sue Ossie for harassment.

“You’re having a laugh Blazing?” I show her the article. There is a wicked glint in her eye. “You wait until he gets back up from the cellar. I’ll give him a coronary”

As it happens I only ever call Blossom by her name (yes, it really is), or at least I think I do. The power of the 2L can on occasion over-ride rational thought. “Have you ever been offended by being called something else, Blossom?”

“Oh yes Blazing, but not love, or darling, or sweetheart. That’s everyday conversation isn’t it? I think these papers are going for Harman at the moment, They made a bit of a fuss about her last week because she was arguing that most female crooks should not be sent to jail.”

I agree with her. I think a degree of poetic licence is being taken in this article. I finish my pint and head back to the office.

“Oh Blazing.”

“Yes Blossom.”

“If you see your mate Denzil any time soon would you do me a favour?”

“Yes, of course. What is it?”

“Tell him I think he’s got a nice arse.”

Tags: barmaid, Harassment

“Ere Blazing”. I almost flinch. I thought Adge was buried deep in his paper as we enjoyed our Sunday pint of 2L.

“Says ‘ere that there could be thousands of job losses in the city because of all that kerfuffle about share prices and stuff.”

“Changed the FT into a white tabloid now, have they?”

My sarcasm may be lost on him. He’s looking vexed. “Remember Black Monday?”

How could I forget. The day I moved to the West Country my new home was destined to lose thirty percent of its value overnight. Instant coffee I have become used to. Instant negative equity leaves a much more bitter aftertaste. I think I can trace my chalfonts to that week. “Why Black Monday?”

“Well that was when Piggy arrived in town. He was made redundant in the city then. Came down here as he couldn’t afford to stay in the smoke. Paid cash for that cottage of his but that wiped him out. Fair play to him though, didn’t mind what he turned his hand to. Even cutting boars testes, ha-ha.”

I’m surprised. I got to know the locals after that and had no idea of Piggy’s past. I’ll have to ask him about it next time I see him. Of more immediate concern is why Adge is showing such a keen interest now.

“Well if more of the buggers are coming this way then prices will creep up a bit. I might be able to sell my gaff to one of ‘em and make a killing.”

“And where, pray tell, will you live once you have made your killing on your starter home and realised there is nothing else to buy in your price range?”

“That’s my problem, Blazing. I’m so close but it’s that last bit I was hoping you could help me with.”

“If you don’t mind me saying so Adge, you’re not exactly cut of the right cloth to start fleecing people. Turn to the back pages and buy me a 2L, and while you’re at it I’ll have some cashews as well.”

“Oh ok….hang on a minute, isn’t it your round?”

Tags: Black Monday, City, job losses

The browser in Ron’s is playing up I think, so just for you…How’s This?

Now the rest of you. Can I ask a question?

Has anybody out there ever had a problem with a new suite from Land of Leather? I would love to hear from you if that is the case.

Tags: Land of Leather, Twenty

A reasonable enough question, I feel.

Adge is reading the programme set out for President Sarkozy and his trouble and strife. A personal greeting from the Royal Family, who will put the visiting dignitary up for tonight. He apparently turned down the offer of a second night, ungrateful bastard.

Mrs. Blazing wasn’t best chuffed to hear that either. “Don’t you go getting any ideas about taking me away for one bloody night in a foreign land.”

I digress.

After a jaunt around Windsor a speech to the ruling classes brings his work for the day to a close. He couldn’t possibly squeeze in any more before dinner and France are hosting England in a football international in Paris. “You do have Canal +, don’t you Liz? I couldn’t possibly watch it on Sky.”

On Thursday, the parasite president will co-host a Franco-British summit at Arsenal Football Club’s stadium in North London. “Bloody hell, I’ve never been there. Who is paying for all this?” Adge is getting perplexed. “It’s us, isn’t it?” I nod.

“I should have known. My poor old nan is wondering how to pay for all the heating she has needed over Easter, and yet we can find the millions it must cost to put up that pillock and his caravan for a day and a half.”

It’s not Adge’s strongest or most reasoned argument, but he has been on pints of 2L all afternoon. Having said that, he does have a point. His argument might have been better extended to incorporate central government excesses in other areas. Maybe that is a subject one of his grumpy mates might return to? Yes, I think it might well be.

Tags: Arsenal, grumpy, parasite, President Sarkozy, Royal Family, Windsor

Someone up there really hates me this weekend. A little problem with the presentation of the site last evening turned into a full blown ‘get rid of the Wordpress installation on the server’ and start again panic.

Now I’m no whizkid so it has taken four hours to sort out, and find a theme that will actually display in all the browsers I have on this box of tricks. You could help me there. For some reason Explorer has decided to go pear-shaped on me so if you are reading this on Explorer can you let me know all is well?

Sorry if you came looking while everything was going haywire. I’m off for a cup of coffee and a large brandy before anything else falls over!

…And having enjoyed my brandy in particular I have returned to try out the original theme. I owe a huge debt to Keith who not only mailed regular glitch updates as I struggled with things this morning (and I was unaware of this until I had finished the morning’s work) but also for the wonderful header graphic that (update Monday) did adorn the ‘Welcome to’ panel in the sidebar in Firefox and Safari, but caused a problem in Explorer.

It was perfect for the black theme that looked like it might be taking over, until that is Keith pointed out that you couldn’t submit comments. That is a bit of a killer glitch on a blog!

Anyway, that graphic is much better than a random snap of Hedley Lamarr, so thanks again Keith. I hope you enjoyed the film.

Looks like we may have another theme hunt on tonight.

Tags: Sorry, thank you

Tell me you didn’t miss this wonderful BBC story about the over fifties starting to misbehave on holidays abroad.

“Older British holidaymakers are causing the sort of trouble normally associated with the younger generation, the Foreign Office has said.”

So I eagerly read on in search of tales of geriatric gang-warfare, gang-banging, and kebab-spewing around the globe. Well you would, wouldn’t you?

I was to be disappointed, however. The Beeb have gone all Daily Sport on me.

‘The Foreign Office’ were apparently being represented by one Rania Kossiori, British vice-Consul in Rhodes. “After one too many drinks people can become abusive, for example shouting at resort staff.”

Well I hate to get in the way of a good story here, but I have to say I have seen lots of people get upset with resort staff all over the world. More often than not they have been sober because believe it or not, drunk people can become pretty tolerant of cockroaches, dodgy plumbing, broken glass around the pool, numerous mild variations of food-poisoning, and petty theft.

“We’ve also had instances where a few too many drinks has led older guests to over-estimate their strength, for example going swimming in bad weather conditions”. Well move over Club 18-30. Lager louts have been cast into the background by that most despicable group, the Sauvignon snorkelers.

Now I understand a serious point underlies these warnings, but really Beeb. I am being asked to cough up more and more to fund your operations which I use less and less, and one of the reasons for that can be found in this sensationalist piece of nonsense.

That’s another story though. Can’t wait for the day I get arrested on Kos for ‘aggressively sleeping off my lunch’ on the beach…

Tags: abusive, BBC, drunk, geriatric, nonsense

Hello, and thank you for following whatever trail has led you to the opening night of Blazing in a shiny new home.

Mrs Blazing is somewhat befuddled by the whole thing. I spent most of the morning trying to work out all the clever stuff one needs to do to get the new site up and running, and after a brief interlude to celebrate afternoon mass at Tesco it was back in here for me to transfer everything across from wordpress.com to the new domain.

In truth she is not the only one befuddled, but it has all worked, and now I think I should spend some time in her company before Saturday arrives. She seems to be upset with someone, and since there is only me here….

Anyway, I’ll be back with either another rant or some more nonsense before long. Feel free to have a mooch around and see what you can find. Thanks again for finding me. Enjoy the rest of the holiday.

Tags: Hello, new home, opening night