Relative Kindness

In previous musings I have waxed lyrical about the delights of Sky TV and how my life has been enriched by the plethora of channels at which I can gaze and wonder what the fuck I am doing paying £45 per month for such crap? There are of course the occasional consolations like, for instance, sport, How It's Made and the farming programme on Sundays which seems to major on Eastern European tractors but such gems are few and far between.

Sky Sports 1 last Monday broadcast a live 40 over cricket match from the County Ground at Hove where Sussex took on the might of Lancashire and I was among the spectators, courtesy of my son. As we sat there pouring cups of tea into our pockets in a bid to combat the hypothermia of a typical summer's evening, I took solace in the fact that I could enjoy the secret pleasure of seeing myself on the goggle box should I survive the weather. Oh I know we all act blasé when a camera is pointed at us but as soon as I got home and had sat in the fridge for a while to warm up, I was running through Sky+ in a bid to spot Yours Truly. What a waste of time! They had plenty of crowd shots of the bloke dressed as a policewoman, the drunkards in the glitter wigs, winsome children huddled under blankets and studiously filling in scorecards, women looking puzzled by the whole process but dutifully doling out sandwiches and Cup-a-Soup but were there any of the Bassetts? Not a Dickie Bird (cue all cricket aficionados to laugh at the pun). Anyway, I digress so let us return to the glories of Sky.

Recently, due to Mrs B's enforced incarceration, I have discovered other little gems which have made the last couple of weeks that bit more bearable. For example, last night at about 2am, I watched the first ever Thunderbirds! I was fascinated by the sophistication although I was perspicacious enough to spot a couple of flaws in the plot. Needless to say, the good guys won through in the end and I went to bed, tired but happy. I can also now speak knowledgeably on the manufacture of golf balls, the Great Wall of China and the values of antiques according to the Antiques Roadshow circa 1986.

Getting (finally) to the nub of this blog, I was privileged today to enjoy one of the funniest things I have ever witnessed. As you know, I like humour.....in fact, I need humour in my life yet I tend not to demonstrate that enjoyment by outward shows of giggling or laughter. Today, I was almost literally wetting myself as I witnessed a moment of TV class.

Some of you may be aware of a charity called The Dog's Trust which advertises on Sky along with many other worthy causes. This particular plea has always amused me because of the obvious sincerity of the actor, his promise that "your" dog will write to you regularly and the assurance that they never put down a healthy dog. I have this mental picture of a few of the mutts chatting together along these lines:

"Shit, I think I'm getting a cold! For Dog's sake, don't let them know I'm unhealthy otherwise I'm off to that great kennel in the sky"

"Huh, you should worry. I've got 245 letters to be written by tonight and the bloody laptop's on the blink again!"

"Well, it's your own fault. If you hadn't have looked so appealing they'd have picked someone else to go in the ad......you (atchoo) poser!"

"Well, it was either that or put that stupid wig on for the Dulux ad. If they think I'm going to ponce around in that, they can sniff my ass!"


This morning, I was doing domestic things in the kitchens when I heard a familiar voice. Yes, it was the Dog's Trust man but this time he was touting for another charity. As I looked up, I was amazed to find he was exhorting us all to adopt a grandmother!!! It was couched in similar vein, as he spoke of the little old grandmothers in far-off places who had given their all for their off-spring. He promised that they would write to their British saviours and I had wondrous visions of Bengali grannies getting out the Basildon Bond and telling us proudly of how their grandson is now so well-off he can sponsor a dog.

It was a beautifully Pythonesque scenario yet totally sincere. Sadly, I was unable to hear if they put down unhealthy grannies as, by this time, I was rolling around on the floor, clutching my sides. Mind you, had they omitted that reassurance, does that mean the ultimate sanction? Just imagine: instead of the nice letter from your grannie, you get a terse, typewritten note stating that, due to a minor fungal nail infection, you now have a new granny! I had to go and Google the charity in the end as I couldn't quite believe what I had heard and it most certainly exists and, I am sure, does totally laudable work.

Oh well, I thought it was funny!

Decision Time

As you might have realised, I am firmly established in the "grumpy git" category of mankind. I seem to have made that transition from benevolence to malevolence with an ease which encourages me to research my family tree under B for Borgia in order to find Great Aunt Lucrezia and prove that evil thoughts are a work of gene-ius.

Sadly, my frustration with all the petty annoyances of life is not outwardly manifested. Oh, to be one of these people that can shout and cause trouble at the drop of a hat. I tend to use subtlety which, of course, goes over the heads of many but has the advantage of making me feel better without risking an admonitory smack in the face from the recipient of such comments. Sometimes, of course, the object of my wrath is not eligible for the mot subtile and this is where the laser cannon comes to prominence. "Eh? Laser cannon? What's the stupid old duffer chuntering on about now?" I hear you ask. Allow me to elucidate.

Let us say that an old, red BMW comes down the road. It will have the obligatory twat in the go-faster sunglasses driving (usually way over the speed limit). It will have the obligatory "long blonde hair, short dark roots" bimbo beside him and also 20, 000 watts of drum 'n bass pounding out and leaving a trail of pedestrians wondering why their ears have suddenly started bleeding profusely? I could scream something subtle as he flashes past ("Tosser" springs to mind) but I gain far more satisfaction from imagining my laser cannon in my arms, sighting along the barrel and then watching the aforesaid vehicle explode into a million tiny pieces.


It helps me get round Scummerfields as I decimate the queues of people in front of me buying their pack of Golden Virginia and £2.30 a litre bottle of Serbian vodka. The satisfaction as I lay waste the rabble around the Reduced section before strolling through the smoking bodies to take my pick of the out of date coleslaws and pro-biotic drinks is almost palpable.

OK, you've got the picture now so I can get to the nub of the matter.

This morning, whilst out strolling, I was passed by a Suzuki Vitara (you know, the cheap one that tries to pretend it's going to be a 4x4 when it grows up). As it drove past, I noticed it had written on the rear window, in large pink letters, "Powered by Fairy Dust". Naturally, without even thinking, I hoisted my laser cannon to my shoulder and, just as I was going to pull the trigger, I noticed a Liverpool FC sticker in the side window. My finger hesitated and I was faced with a tough decision.

Anyone who admits that they are a total and utter loser by mentioning fairy dust really deserves oblivion. It's classified under the same sub-section of Life as sweet-looking animals on nightwear and talking baby talk to adults.........however, there must be a semblance of intellect there somewhere if they support the Reds unless, of course, there is a man around who has vainly attempted to give the Vitara some semblance of machismo. In the end, I pulled the trigger rationalising that, if she was a Liverpool supporter she was fatally flawed. Were he to be the fan then the loss of his sticker was a small price to pay for ridding him of someone who likes fairy frigging dust!

Life is all about decisions. We make them and we live with those decisions. I have made many wrong ones but today, when I returned home, I strolled in safe in the knowledge that I had provided yet another contribution to making the world just that little bit better.

If you want fairy dust then might I suggest something like this is far more appropriate!!

Precious Moments

I'm sure that many parents will agree that there is a direct relationship between growing older and embarrassing one's children. When they are little, they are happy for you to whirl them around, play on the swings with them, dash around like a mad thing and generally fulfil the role of entertainer until that fateful day when they utter the dreaded words which will become oh so familiar over the following years.........."Dad, you are SOOOO embarrassing!".

It's quite strange that, the more they want you to stop, the more the desire grows, for example: my daughter and I might be wandering around the supermarket and I might do something perfectly innocent like suggest I practice my Hunchback of Notre Dame impression. My beautiful little girl fixes me with a steely gaze, her lips tighten and she hisses at me "Dad, if you even try, I promise you I am walking out of here.". I admit that there are times when I might just have gone a bit too far but anybody would think that they are under the impression that I am nothing other than a staid, well-behaved and placid oldie. I really wonder from whence this impression arises (teehee)?

Master and Miss Bassett are now 22 and 18 respectively and, sadly, I have to admit that the days of playing Hide and Seek or them joining in the "Don't Walk on the Cracks in the Pavement" game are now gone but I feel the need to embarrass them just one more time (although there are still my speeches at any future weddings to look forward to!!).

The reason for this embarrassment is because I just wanted to place on record my pride in their achievements.

Today, Miss Bassett became the official recipient of A Levels in English, Law and Psychology and has gained her place at Brighton University where she will be undertaking a degree in English Language & Linguistics. I always hoped that she would go to Uni as it was something that I was not allowed to even attempt. The fact that she has inherited her Dad's love of words is even better. Congratulations, sweetheart, you deserve your success - now go and enjoy it.

Master Bassett is a different kettle of fish. He has more of a natural ability rather than a scholastic bent and decided, after his first year of college, that he wanted to progress through his own efforts rather than waste time learning 'irrelevancies'. At the time I was quite happy for him to go along that route as I had the confidence in him. He had always wanted to become a police officer and, as of 1st October, his wish becomes true. I have total admiration for the way that he has gone for his dream and the first time I see him in uniform will be a big moment for me.

All in all, it's been a satisfactory time where the offspring are concerned. Sure, lots of people go to University and there are a fair numbers of coppers around but the fact remains that 2 of them are mine.

It's funny; in my head I can say a million words that describe the love and respect I have for them yet, for once, I can't seem to put those thoughts on paper. Suffice to say, well done and may your future's be all you wish them to be. We're incredibly proud of you both and I'm sure that your grandparents will be looking down with pride also.

Charity Begins at Home

Once upon a time, I was a young boy. I know the thought of this mature, august countenance as a tousle-headed, freckle-faced youth is a bit hard to bear but yes; a boy I was. This isn't something that will surprise most people - it's one of those strange aspects of Life that we are born young and get older but I preface this particular blog in such a way for a reason.

In those long-past days one had very little compared to the present. Things lasted longer and we "made do". Clothes were passed down through the kids (thank God my older sibling was male!), toys were played with for many years, adults would sit around the television watching Billy Cotton's Bandshow on the one solitary channel and the only exhortations to buy were the local shopkeeper tempting the shopper with the promise of some lovely fresh sausages.

Then of course we got commercial television and the wonderfully exotic adverts persuading us to buy new and exciting products like Coco Pops, Fairy Liquid ('for hands that do dishes') and Smarties. The Milky Bar Kid became the hero of us all and we ran to the shop clutching our 3d, having fallen under the influence of early marketing. Time passed and the marketing industry became more sophisticated until we reached that stage where we became inundated with pleas to buy everything from holidays to health products, cosmetics to caravans and eye surgery to iPods.

This consumer society meant houses were filled to bursting with all sorts of "must collect" products which, once they got home, quickly became "dust collect" products until somebody had a bright idea - charity shops! Suddenly, houses were quickly emptied of products and a whole new era of shopping heaven was born. Those first charity shops tended to be full of very old books, yoghurt makers and quaint clothing but it was still a chance to browse through for the odd treasure. Time passed and it seemed that every empty shop became the repository of abandoned goods for some charity or another. There were bargains aplenty and it enabled people on a lower income to perhaps benefit as well as providing funds for the charities in question. Of course, it also enabled quite a few people to make a fast buck as they quickly realised that the charities hadn't really appreciated just what a gold mine they were sitting upon.

The reason for all this? I have to confess, I can't walk past a charity shop without popping in. As I walk through the door, there is a frisson of expectation and, more often than not, I emerge with something or other. Of course, the charities are a lot more slick these days and siphon off the good stuff but my 'treasures' are of the simple variety such as books, games, LPs,; perhaps even memories of times gone by that just have to be bought.

When I was doing my regular Quiz Nights, there was a constant source of reference material, when I went through my jigsaw period I couldn't resist several puzzles at a time, if I suddenly become fond of a particular author then I will scour the shops for their work. Last visit, we returned with the following:

• An unusual copy of Alice In Wonderland
• Jane's Aircraft Recognition Guide
• "The Office" Scripts
• A Terry Pratchett hardback (yep, there are still a few hardback editions I haven't got)
  
• A book on watercolour perspectives, and
• The one Bill Bryson I needed to complete his entire collection
  

It's quite interesting how trends change in charity shop bookshelves. Once, every shop would have plenty of Geoffrey Archer novels and it would be a matter of honour to spot one before we left (I never bought one - honest!). It was an arbiter of the day to come and, should I occasionally find an Archer-less shelf, I knew that the day was destined for mediocrity. Nowadays, it's The DaVinci Code and the game is to see how many I can find in one shop (current leader is Lewes Oxfam with 4 copies!). I'm often to be seen browsing through the kid's books as well, looking for Famous Five, William and other gems of my youth.

There has been the occasional embarrassment as well. One in particular occurred when I saw a very sweet rubber duck (have I told this story before?). Brand new and still in its box, I took it to the sweet little old lady at the counter and explained how pleased I was to find it as such things gave Mrs B a lot of pleasure and she had a large collection. It was only after, when we opened it, the we found it was actually a novelty vibrator and the duck's head was not quite the shape that we envisaged! Needless to say, I haven't ventured into that particular shop subsequently.

To those of you dear readers that enjoy charity shops, help me beat the DaVinci Code record. To those of you who don't, please bear them in mind that us poor addicts need your cast-offs. Might I suggest Help the Aged as your chosen charity as I may well need them in the near future!

I'd love to know what your "best buys" have been. Feel free to leave a comment :-)

Bye bye, Big Brother

I have to admit the fascination of Big Brother has meant I've had to do some catching up on the soaps over the weekend. There are not that many programmes that I really like although Q.I., Judge John Deed, cooking shows (unless they have that grinning idiot Ainsley Harriott) and Coronation Street will always be recorded.

Fortunately, the appeal of Big Brother has palled due to the pathetic antics of the inmates. I was rather hoping I might see some interesting studies of human nature, mature debate and a few eccentrics but have had to put up with whingeing, spoilt brats, embittered moaners, sad, personality-less boy/men and immature wannabees. So, this weekend I've been able to play catch-up on Corrie.

The reason I document this is to celebrate the mention of Neil Young on my favourite soap. Actually, the episode in question proved what a sad person I am as the events unfolded a bit like this:

Jerry: .........rather like Marrakesh Express

Vernon: Ah, yes, Crosby Stills Nash & Young. Good song.

Me (screaming): It was NOT CSNY. It was Crosby Stills & Nash. Neil Young was touring with Crazy Horse in 1969 and didn't join them until their second album!!! For goodness' sake, get your f*cking facts right.

I turned to Mrs B and said to her "Norris would have known that. He's a man that gets his facts right." She looked at me sadly and nodded. Enough said!


Anyway, on to other matters and it's time to have a pop at Nationwide Building Society. You've all seen the ads where the guy from the other bank does it all wrong and the voiceover extols the virtues of Nationwide. Now, I receive a reasonable pension from Nationwide and have to say that they were extremely good employers. They paid nice bonuses, gave me the run of their stationery inventory and every 9 months sent me some corporate clothing (albeit designed by Jeff Banks). Best of all, they subsidised my entertaining and playing golf in the name of business whilst, just occasionally, expecting me to drop into the various offices under my command.


These adverts of theirs are quite funny, I have to say. Forget the fact that I made a training video along exactly those lines about 10 years ago and got sod all for it; I'm not bitter. What has annoyed me however is regarding their latest Home Insurance ad offering 20% premium discount. Remember the ad where the guy comes in complaining that his savings rate has dropped and the Bank Manager says "Oh, that's our juicy worm rate."? As an insurance customer of theirs for donkey's years, my immediate thought was that they are doing exactly the same thing! What about loyalty, Nationwide? See, I retire and the place falls to rack and ruin!!

I'm not normally one to complain but if anyone from Customer Services Dept. at Northampton is reading this; be prepared!

What else has happened recently? I've decided to build a bigger and better Mission Control for all out PCs etc. The trouble is that with my modelling, Mrs B's painting and various other things going on, the room we use is not big enough any longer. This room is therefore going to be a sewing/quilting room along with my modelling stuff whilst the computers will be moving to the lounge where I shall build a new desk etc to accomodate both them, the painting and my flight sim. hardware.

The desk will be 10 feet x 3 feet and yesterday the sheet of MDF was delivered. Trying to get it upstairs was a bit of a headache but it was duly placed in the lounge where I have to make a few minor adjustments to it as well as fit it and build a new unit underneath. I decided that a jigsaw was an essential piece of equipment and duly whizzed off to purchase same. This was not one of my better journeys, namely:

Petrol Station: Why did I choose the queue for the pump that ran out of unleaded just as I got there?

C7 Newhaven to Lewes Road: Why did I get halfway and then find the road closed so had to divert several miles?

Lewes: Why was the road to Argos closed apart from essential traffic?

Argos: Classifying my mission as "essential", I drove triumphantly into the small lane to the Argos car park and was aghast to find myself in the middle of a host of Morris Dancers!

I know I get steamed up about quite a few things but Morris Dancers are fairly high on the list. There I was, the only car in sight, suddenly surrounded by a load of loonies with beards, waving hankies and capering about like Parkinsons' sufferers on Speed. The women all looked the same - rosy cheeks and "I use a mooncup" written all over their stupid smiling faces. I was totally trapped betwixt the crowd and the manic street performers when one wandered over and smiled benignly at me. I wound down the window and was assailed by a blast of Harveys best bitter before the jingling fool informed me that "they wouldn't be long". Entertaining thoughts of justifiable road rage and homicide, I sat there and eventually made it into the car park. Grrrrrrrrr!

I now have a room full of timber and a jigsaw that I have now tested and find it has a mind of it's own. Anybody want a 10x3 piece of fretwork?

Finally, just a few shots of the 3 models I've been working on lately. Not great but I have loved the satisfaction, discipline and tought processes involved. Perhaps more on their construction later. I'm currently working on a 1/32 scale Sea Venom, made by Revell. To anybody out there thinking of buying a model for someone, choose Revell only if you dislike the recipient or he knows what he is doing - compared to Hasegawa or Tamiya, they are a nightmare!

Click photo to enlarge