Oh, the Joys of a New PC!

It's been a blogless few days. Not because the creative juices (what little there are) have dried up but because of Mrs B's Mother! Now, let me say I've never met the lady and am hardly likely to as she died last year. What she did, however, was left her only daughter a few quid and the aforesaid daughter, being of benificent nature, has decided to invest some in technology for yours truly.

Now, as some of you might realise, I am a bit of a techno-freak (geek! I hear you cry). I spend a lot of my day with my computer and Mrs B uses hers quite a bit as well. She had already said she would like me to have a new one and made the fatal mistake of telling me to get whatever I wanted! The friction burns I got from rubbing my hands with glee are healing nicely now and I had a lovely time discussing the alternatives of custom-building with my local computer store, Az-Tech Computing (Hello, Ash, that mention has to be worth at least 5% discount!). We discussed loads of alternatives and I think I've got my mind made up.

For those of a technical bent, the spec is as follows:

Antec P182 Case
CoolerMaster eXtreme Power RP-650-PCAP - power supply - 650 Watt
Asus Commando P965 Motherboard With Heat Spreading Copper Pipe – Up to 8GB RAM (Dual Gigabit LAN Controller/Firewire/Sound/USB)
Intel Core-2-Quad 2.4GHz Quad Core Processor 8MB Cache with Go Stepping Technology
OCZ 4GB Gold Plated Heat Spreading 800MHz RAM
Seagate 320GB SATA2 Hard Disk x 2 (640GB)
Western Digital Raptor 36GB 10,000 RPM 16MB
Cache 2 x Samsung 20x SATA Dual Layer DVD+-RW XFX
Geforce 8800GTS Edition 640MB DDR3 RAM/ DUAL DVI

Having also got my super-duper 24" monitor as well, I should be set up fairly nicely for a while now. The operating system will run on the Raptor drive which promises response times twice as fast as conventional hard drives and keeps it all nice and whizzy whilst utilising 2 other hard drives means I can back up all my writing, images etc.

Anyway, all of that hasn't been taking the time, it's been Mrs B's fault. She'd got it into her head that she wanted one of the new desktop-replacement laptops so that involved lots of research which culminated in an extremely large box arriving home with us yesterday evening. The lap-top (and I use the term loosely, as it weighs 17lbs) is pretty wonderful as well but the initial excitement soon wore off as we were faced with setting up all the programs and transferring everything from her current PC.

I'd heard varying stories of incorporating Vista machines into an XP network and was optimistic that this would be a simple task. Of course, working with Vista is a new experience for me and, needless to say, it didn't go smoothly. Eventually however, everything talked to everything else and then came the boring work of transferring data, installing programs and all the other things that need be done. I eventually left Mrs B still at it at 5 this morning and retired to bed. Today has seen almost everything sorted and has at least forearmed me when the time comes to do mine.

Like anyone with a couple of kids and a mortgage, money was always a bit tight and I never really felt I was worth it when it came to spending a lot of money on myself. The inheritance has meant that we can now do a few things that we have always wanted to, but couldn't afford, and that's great. Being able to build my ideal computer has always been a dream of mine and it looks like that particular dream will be coming true soon. Only another 20-odd thousand to go!

On another completely different track, Terry Pratchett has a new book published this week. It's called Making Money and is a kind of sequel to Going Postal, involving the former conman and arch-swindler, Moist von Lipwig who, by a convoluted set of circumstances, became Head Postmaster of Ankh-Morpork. He basically introduces the first paper money in the City so, to me, the book is a perfect combination of 2 of my interests i.e. Pratchett and banknotes.

The wife of the guy that illustrates his books runs an internet store of Pratchettiana (?) so I've done what I normally do and ordered from her. The benefit of doing it this way is that every new Pratchett that arrives carries the author's signature within and adds to my collection of signed first editions.

For those that have never read any Discworld stories, I recommend you try at least one. Everyone should be introduced to characters such as Cut Me Own Throat Dibbler and Otto Shriek.

C.M.O.T. Dibbler is best described as Ankh-Morpork's most enterprisingly unsuccessful entrepreneur and has fingers in many money-making ventures. When Dibbler's business plans fail, he falls back to selling (mostly) 'pies with personality' and 'pig' sausages on the streets of Ankh-Morpork. He has been accused of 'not being able to make both ends meat.'

Otto, on the other hand, is a vampire and a professional newspaper photographer ( "Iconographer" in Discworld parlance). His job allows him to indulge his suicidal fascination with light. Otto is one of the "Black Ribboners", vampire "teetotallers" who have forsworn drinking human "b-vord"(This stands for "blood", but don't say it around him. He might get offended). Due to the supernatural nature of their "addiction", Black Ribboners must replace their craving for "the b-vord" with something else; in Otto's case, he has become obsessed with light and photography. Since sunlight reduces vampires to dust until someone administers a drop of blood, the flash salamander he uses (which gives off stored sunlight) constantly causes Otto problems. He now carries a small vial of animal blood on a chain around his neck, which smashes and reconstitutes him if his salamander goes off too brightly.

As you can see, normal, everyday characters, whose world and mine neatly dovetail into a reality of inconsequential, but highly amusing, chaos.

© BertieBassett Enterprises Inc. 2007

Seasons

Autumn arrived today.

As I gazed out of the kitchen window, the river had a steel quality about it and the trees wore a morosely faded coat of ageing leaves, struggling desperately to cling on to their Summer glory. There was a strange mix of people walking by: some stubbornly retaining their shorts and tee shirts, almost as a swansong to the fading glory of Summer, whilst other obviously accepted its inevitable demise.

Spring and Autumn have always meant a lot to me. I long for the lengthening evenings of Spring, get excitement from the newly-clothed trees and bushes and bask in the warmth of the sun; all of which fill me with optimism and hope. Autumn has always signified a sadness at the death of that hope and provides a hiatus between the glories of Summer and the crispness of Winter. bringing, as it does, the excitement of Christmas and the enveloping security of warm rooms, cosy clothes and womb-like comfort.

I remember several years ago, being asked to write a poem of optimism. I sat in a beautiful garden, bathed in sunlight and surrounded by freshly budding flowers and started to write. Of course, I couldn't quite fulfil the remit but that's me. Here it is:

Springtime

Buds of green bursting through the shredded remains of Winter,
Casting off the slough of despair and bringing promise of the future.
Creating life from death.

Pulling down the warmth from the skies
Like shy children peering round a curtain.

At first, reluctant
But then, gathering courage and, forgetting all,
Invading their new surroundings
With raucous colour and abandonment.

These first bright splashes -
How do they fight the dank gloom of Winter?
What makes them battle on regardless of the odds?
Is it hope?
Or just the hate of hopelessness,
The thirst for life that Nature has endowed?

Can it be that I will bloom once more
Or wither like the vanguard?
Using my life so that others may live again.

I think that if I did a poem about Autumn it would be extremely self-examining at the moment. No particular reason, the day's been fine with no hassles but there you go. That's the person I am and I am pretty sure that tomorrow will be a whole new ball-game.

Summer is my season and my words can't possibly pay enough tribute to the way that Summer warms my soul. French authoress, Violette Leduc, described it thus:
I walk without flinching through the burning cathedral of the summer. My bank of wild grass is majestic and full of music. It is a fire that solitude presses against my lips.

I can't lay claim to carrying all sorts of quotable quotes in my head and have to say I looked for something appropriate and that certainly seemed to fit the bill. One that I do remember, however, is from Albert Camus. It's something that I value and aspire to:

In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
One day perhaps, I'll find out its context......who knows what secrets it might reveal?



© BertieBassett Enterprises Inc. 2007

A Sad Day

Today has been a bad day in the British aviation world: not only the loss of Colin MacRae in a helicopter accident but also a fatality at the Shoreham Air Show where a Hurricane crashed during a mock dogfight.

I used to live in a small place called Sompting, just up the road, and spent many a happy hour at Shoreham Airport watching the comings and goings. Naturally I considered going today and am so thankful that I didn't. Seeing the photos of where the crash occurred, less than a mile or so from where I lived, makes the tragedy all the more real.

Flight has always fascinated me and, at school, W H Allen's Warplanes of the World was my bible. I used to make many a model in my youth and, as kids do, was in a great hurry to make them and then hang them from the bedroom ceiling on fishing line. As I got bored with them , I would invent more and more ways of destroying them, trying, in my immature mind, to recreate air battles and not giving a thought to the suffering thus caused in the real conflicts.

A year or so ago, I decided to attempt another model. I spent ages Googling the latest and best kit manufacturers, read up on the myriad techniques and realised that model aircraft making was a serious business. I scoured eBay for recommended tools and materials and spent far too much money but finally, I was ready to take the plunge and start my first model in 30 years.

I had bought several kits ranging from 11/32 scale to 1/48 and selected a Republic P-47M Thunderbolt as my first attempt. I knew I had got the bug when it took me a week of painstaking work to assemble and paint the cockpit area but I found it relaxing, rewarding and incredibly satisfying. With a large cupboard full of tools, materials, paint and other odds and sods, I really felt that I had no excuse to fail. Sanding down, filling and preparing took a further 3 weeks and then I was ready for painting.

There was no way that I was going to spoil my labours with brushes so it was another investment: this time in a spray brush and compressor and then on to the final stages. They were torrid times and I stripped the plane several times until I got it right. Ammonia is the best way to remove the paint and several times I had to evacuate the room as the fumes proved too much. In the end though, I was satisfied and the results are here for you to judge that first attempt.

click to enlarge

I was going to talk more about flights I've had, my first helicopter ride, all sorts of things. Somehow though, it just doesn't seem right tonight and, as you can probably glean from what I've written thus far, my heart isn't in it. Apologies, but somehow my words don't seem important at the moment.

© BertieBassett Enterprises Inc. 2007

The Date

Following my blog the other day about when I started writing, this was was the first story I ever attempted and therefore deserves publishing for that fact alone. It's called.........

The Date

“Oh shiiiiiiiiiiit!!!!”

“Come on now, boy.” I reprimand myself, “it’s only a drink with a girl from work. Just a friendly evening out. It’s not as if you’re a kid fresh from school going out on a first date. You’re a mature adult, so act like one”. I take a deep breath and feel myself in control once more - it doesn't last long.

“Oh shiiiiiiiiiiit!!!!”

Pushing reason to one side I begin to make a start on the mental list of things to do which I had prepared earlier:-

1. Clothing. “What should I wear? I don’t want to look as if I’ve made a real effort, there again I don’t want to look too scruffy”.Quickly scanning the contents of my wardrobes, I realise that the vast amount of money spent on shirts, trousers and jackets has been totally useless. All I really want is just one outfit. An outfit that fits perfectly, removes two inches from my waist and would win a special award from the Style Council. Aha, got it! Pouncing upon a pair of linen trousers I remove them from their hanger. They're perfect, just the look I want. Perfect that is except for the irregular black smudge on the thigh. Damn, damn, damn! Pausing briefly to ponder on the possibility of the Fates conspiring to upset me, I resume my search.

Finally, satisfied that I've made the best possible choice from the few permutations and, pausing briefly to glance at the small mountain of clothing strewn across the bed, I get started on the next item:-

2. Shower and shave. It sounds easy doesn’t it? It should be easy, shouldn’t it? Choice of shower gel wasn’t too bad but what shampoo? Jojoba for lifeless hair, balsam and camomile for frequently washed hair, how about medicated shampoo for fleas and ticks? Oh, no. That was the dog’s. And then there was conditioner. Do the manufacturers actually employ people just to make up the most exotic-sounding ingredients, I wonder? I mean, what is aloe vera? Or indeed, who is she?

Clutching an armful of bottles, I climb into the shower. Mindful of indications for the outcome of the evening, I make a mental bet with myself; “If I can get through the whole shower without the plastic curtain sticking its cold, clammy presence to me like a magnet, then it’ll be alright”. Everything's fine until I bend down to retrieve the soap and then ….. OK, we’ll make it the best of three!

Shower accomplished, it's time for a shave. New blade or not, that's the question? Does a baby-smooth face outweigh the risk of turning up looking like an also-ran in the Olympic Sabre competition? The face in the mirror gazes back at me impassively. “Why do eyebrows have to grow in so many directions? How long have I had that slight slant to my nose?” (Mental note: try and go somewhere quite badly lit). The shave goes quite well. If you look at it philosophically, cutting the head off that spot was probably far more effective than five minutes squeezing with a piece of tissue (and the mirror stays clean that way!).

Hair’s looking nice and shiny. “Bugger it, I’ve forgotten to wash off the conditioner.”

Don’t forget the deodorant. "Should I spray it in those other important little places or should I settle for talcum powder?" I settle for talc although in moderation. After all, should the evening go with a bang (hur hur!), I want to be seen as macho man, not an escapee from the Homepride flour graders!

3. Dressing Once again, I ponder over whether to let the Fates be the arbiter of my evening. If I wear the black silk boxers then you can bet they’ll never see the light of day (or night). There again, the faded M&S jobbies won't go down too well if I manage to score (mental reminder, this is only a drink with a colleague from work, don’t get your hopes up!). I settle for the boxers.

Trousers and shirt go on next before I hunt through my sock drawer for the right socks. Five minutes later, the contents of the drawer join the rest of the clothes on the bed. Where is it? Is there really a fabled land populated by single socks because it sure as hell isn’t in this room? Finding the sock eventually in the airing cupboard tucked in a box of old magazines, I look in the mirror at the finished article (yet another mental note, must write to the shampoo manufacturers and suggest that they find an exotic ingredient that works!).

Last lap now. Time for the final preparations.After shave - onHankie - in pocketondom - in wallet (Am I tempting fate again here? Mind you, it did take four visits to Superdrug before I plucked up the courage to purchase them. Still, all that toothpaste will come in handy).I decide to sit and have a quiet cigarette before I go forth. As I sit down, my mind wanders to a few hours later. “How about coffee at your place” she’ll say throatily, giving me a knowing smile.

“Oh shiiiiiiiiiiit!!!!” The bed! It’s covered in clothes and socks and God knows what! I rush back in there and, grabbing handfuls of clothing, throw it all into the spare room along with all the other accumulated junk. Thank heavens for duvets. 10 seconds to make the bed and I can relax again.7.40pm. Time to go. Take keys off hook by front door and I’m off to meet my destiny. Relax, boy, she’s just a friend from work. Door closing, key in lock, phone rings!Leave it, nothing’s that important and the answerphone’s on.

It’s no good; curiosity gets the better of me. It’s her! “Something’s come up; can we make it another time?” “Sure”, say I nonchalantly - after all, she is only a friend from work.

Oh.....................shit!

© BertieBassett Enterprises Inc. 2007

I Want to be a Loan

This morning, I received a letter. Not a world-shattering event, I know: even the idiosyncratic wiles of the Royal Mail occasionally manage to deliver the odd missive. This particular envelope, however,looked special and I felt a frisson of excitement as I saw it lying on the mat. Not your bog standard white or Government brown but a nice translucent plastic, suitably bulky and with pictures visible through it.

Clutching it to my manly chest, I went upstairs once more to savour the moment of opening. Was it perhaps an invitation? Had I won something exciting? Maybe it was a letter from a long-lost (preferably rich) relative with exquisite taste in envelopes? Brushing aside the detritus of empty gin bottles, lime-green darning thread and requests for signed photos, I sat down at the kitchen table and slowly, with all due ceremony, extracted the contents.

I was amazed! Not only was I congratulated on my financial acumen but I was practically begged to let the senders lend me £7500 by way of one of their lovely credit cards. This was a tempting thought. OK, it was a 28.7% interest rate but who cares? I was given a choice of pictures to have on the aforesaid plastic and that was the tempter. I could picture the looks of envy as I pulled the card from my wallet and people gazed in awe at a picture of a pig, a chimpanzee or a tiger. They even gave me little stickers of each picture to stick on my application form as well just in case i wasn't very good at ticking boxes. It was really difficult to finally decide to decline but, in the end, that's what I did.

Now those that know me might feel that there is a certain cynicism in my enthusiasm for such marketing and, I have to admit, they are totally correct. Having spent a lot of my life advising people on loans, mortgages and investments I take a keen interest in loan marketing and it appears to have reached ridiculous proportions. Sky TV has a preponderance of such ads and they never fail to send my blood pressure rocketing. Happy smiling mothers talking to the nice man from the loan company on the phone about how easy it is to borrow money, as her husband and children play merrily together, earnest people explaining that it's OK to get into debt as they are specialists in IVAs and can help you wriggle out of it, and as for Carole bloody Vorderman...............!

Let's face it, it's far too easy to borrow money. We live in an "I want it now" consumer-orientated world and little thought is given to the consequences by those with little financial acumen. "Interest-free for a year? Great, let's buy it now and worry about that later" Of course, the finance companies know damn well that the iniquitous interest rates attached after that 12 month period more than compensate for the people that actually plan for the debt being due. And as for the poor sods that get into debt, why, they can borrow to get out of it.......as long as they are prepared to pay an even more extortionate rate of interest.

There seems to be a pride in wriggling out of debt, either through IVAs or bankruptcy. Never mind about the small supplier who suffers because of their actions, never mind about interest rates and prices being increased to cover such losses and the rest of us having to bear these. Let the great gods of consumerism and credit reign supreme.

I'm a consumer too. I buy loads of things I want and don't really need but I don't live beyond my means. That doesn't make me a paragon of financial virtue, I just refuse to fall prey to these leeches. I lent people money at a fair interest rate to finance the interest paid to our savers and that sits comfortably with me. I authorised a lot of overdrafts but I never once, to my knowledge, went beyond what I felt was manageable for my customers. Sometimes I was reminded by the powers that be that profit lay in debts but I wasn't interested in short-term profits for the Building Society. I'd far rather help someone over a financial difficulty and have them come back in the future, still believing that we were there to help as well as run a business.

Sorry if I'm preaching but it really gets to me and, when I'm Prime Minister, you can bet your bottom dollar (if it's not due to be repaid soon) that DFS and their interminable sales and easy monthly payments over 5 years will be no more.

Next time you see a TV ad trying to get you to borrow money, try and read the small print which flashes on for 3 nanoseconds where they tell you the actual amounts repayable - scary stuff indeed!

Now, if you will excuse me, this high horse is becoming somewhat uncomfortable.