We look down the steep gully. A rock ridge curves down its right hand flank. Krister, our guide, points up and over to the left. It's been snowing heavily the last few days.
- That slab will go if you sneeze. Do not veer out left, no matter how tempting it seems. It's just too perfect. Follow the ridge closely.
He pauses.
- Stay on your skis.
We're heli-skiing way above the arctic circle in the north of Sweden. Riksgransen is a skier's ski resort. There's nothing here, really. A small hotel, a ski shop, half a dozen lifts. Oh, and vast amounts of mountains in every directions. The off-piste opportunities here are unsurpassed, and being where it is, it's a bit of a secret. Compared to your average ski resort, this place is different. The skill level on display is by far the highest I've ever come across. Most people wear avalanche trancievers, shovels and probes, and that's just at the bar. This is a place where people come to ski, not to pose or to party.
We've travelled here firstly by flying into Stockholm, and then spending 18 hours on the overnight train, covering pretty much two thirds of the length of Sweden. You can actually fly from Stockholm to Kiruna, which would dramatically cut down the travel time, but it proved impossible to get a flight that would connect in a sensible way with our return flight to London. The train jpurney proved a bit of a drag, and for next time, if we can't fly, it's worth the extra spend to get a slightly less shared cabin. Ours was designed for six, but due to some loop hole, apparently you can cram however many children you want under the age of sixteen. Sleeping on a moving train is hard enough as it is.
Still. We arrived safely at Riksgransen, tired, but with high expectations. Although I'm from Sweden and have skied all my life, I've actually not been here before. They have two metres of snow here, and the season is really only a month old. Yet, it rains. It rains above the arctic circle, at Easter. Our hearts sink as we lug our skis and bags into the reception. The resort is shut due to high winds. It's lunch time, and we can't check in until 3pm. We're informed that normally we wold have been able to go skiing, but alas..
We spot a guy that sports the coveted UIAGM badge - a qualified mountain guide. As qualifications go, that's as qualified as it gets, regardless of field. We chat to him about the options for the following day, and he suggests half a day of off pisting from the lifts, such that we can get a handle on the resort, the snow conditions, but also so that he can gauge our abilities for any further fun and games. There are some awesome off-piste runs you can either get to from the lift system or by short walks or slightly longer skinned ascents.
We meet up the next morning at 9am. It's been snowing all night. Winds are still high, and the resort's shut. Krister appears and suggest that we drive a bit and go for a short tour - skinning up a hillside for a few hours and then ski down. We load our skis into his van, and are greeted by his dog, Vanja. We drive for about 40 minutes towards Abisko, and park up next to the road. Both Sarah and I have alpine touring bindings on our skis, meaning that we can release the heel. By attaching 'skins', that is sticky-backed strips of fabric, underneath the skis, you can 'ski' uphill. You can slide the ski forward, but not backwards. It's sweaty work, but not outrageously demanding - more hill walking than running. It's still pretty windy, and our ascent is punctuated by icy streaks that are hard to negotiate on skins. Vanja, the dog, is loving it. The aim is to reach the summit ridge, traverse out left to reach a colouir that should provide for some good sport on the way down. About two thrids of the way up it becomes clear that the weather is taking a turn for the worse. The wind is picking up, and the visibility that was already ropey is not becoming any better. We lock our boots into skiing position, and our bindings into downhill mode and set off. Two hours uphill effort is dispatched in 15 minutes on the way down. Even if conditions are not ideal, you get carried away by the remoteness, the feeling of solitude on the mountain.
The heli-skiing operation here holds near mythical status amongst Scandinavian skiers. There are literally hundreds of skiable peaks that can be accessed by helicopter. I've held the ambition to heli ski here for as long as I can remember, ever since a relative told me how he spent three winters here, heli skiing his savings and degree away. Unfortunately, the weather is still stormy, with horizontal snow, and flying's out. To add insult to injury, the lift system's shut as we amble into the lobby at 9.
Ski patrol is busy blasting, trying to make the piste safe, and an hour later the lifts open. We ski with Krister who's plan it is to show us some of the accessible off-piste. However, the weather is shite, and our moods sink. Then, at coffee, a gap opens in the sky, and Krister suggests an 'amble' up Nordalsfjall, the huge mountain next door. It's too steep for skinning, and at some additional 500 meters of vertical, a significant climb in ski boots and skis on the back. We ski on the flat to the base of the mountain. The weather is actually looking up, comparatively speaking, but we're the only ones here. We dismount and strap our skis to our packs, and switch our boots to walking mode. We set off up a steep, icy streak of hard snow studded with rocks. Krister is breaking ground, and we cover some impressive scrambling ground, occasionally diverting around cornices. We reach the summit plateau sweaty, but awarded with some impressive views of the Swedish and Norwegian alpine range for the first time. We lock our boots and set our bindings in downhill mode. The descent is pure off-piste ecstasy. Half a foot of fresh powder on top of whatever fell yesterday and the day before. There are many possible ways down from here, ranging from the insanely steep to the more pedestrian. We choose the classic route 'The Saddle' which follows the shoulder of the mountain down to the col and then follow it down to the north. It's perfect in every way. Perfect snow conditions and visibility. The whole mountain to ourselves. Skiing does not get much better than this.
The next morning the weather looks so-so, but Krister looks hopeful that flying may happen. There's a bunch of Brits here with SnoWorks who have been sold three days of heli skiing in Lapland, 15 lifts guaranteed. So far they've had nil, and they're getting itchy feet. Sarah and I decide to explore the resort, but by the time we've got our skis out of the locker we run into Krister who's had to cancel the flying as the weather's rapidly taken a turn for the worse. Sarah and I ski for about half the day, but it's no fun in a gale with zero visibility. At 1pm we start to head back and by the time we reach the hotel the resort closes.
Thursday, and I wander to the lobby just before 9. Weather's looking, well - I can see the peaks around, which apparently is the litmus test. The board says that the lifts are due to open at 10, once blasting work after the night's heavy snow fall is complete. Krister is not there. I go back to the room, and gear up. Sarah goes to the lobby, and I go to the ski locker to pick up our skis. As I come back up, I meet Sarah in the corridor, heading the other way, informing me that we're on.
Jan, the German heli pilot is already busy getting the machine ready. There are two groups of us, the SnoWorks crew and us. We, as in me and Sarah, won't fill the helicopter, so the remainder of the places have been taken by staff from the nearby ski lodge, Meterorologen, including Patrik, the sommelier. Sarah's never been in a helicopter before, and doesn't like flying on the best of days. We load up, and take off. Sarah's in the front between the pilot and Krister, and Krister's dog Vanja at her feet. She's looking worried. Krister points up to the left at our first objective; a huge rocky crest of a mountain that doesn't look skiable. After a short flight we're deposited at the top of the mountain, and huddle kneeling as the helicopter takes off to pick up the other group. As we put our skis on, Krister turns around and says, jokingly, as he faces the impressive vista in front of us.
- What do you think poor people do today?
We all giggle nervously, considering the hefty chunk this game has taken out of our wallets.
What follows is impossible to do justice like this. Acres of untouched, perfect powder, shared between six people and a dog. This takes skiing to a different level, and there is no going back. Krister and Vanja sets off, and we all pick our own patch and follow him down the mountain. Questions like 'is it worth the cost' are meaningless at this moment in time. Five drops blend into a seamless whole of powder, and we return to base for a beer.
Come Friday, and the weather's crapped out again. After yesterday's high, it's an instant come-down seeing, well - nothing, really - out the window in the morning. We spend the morning honing our avalanche transceiver skills. We manage most mock burials within the set 15 mins, but with one 22-min blot on the protocol. In the afternoon we meet up with Will and James, two Brits here for a heli-weekend, minus the heli it would seem. In the blizzard, we skin up a green run on the piste, and amble down. Yet, as Sarah and I have settled down with a few drinks and some Bittorrent-TV, the skies clear, and two groups manage five lifts in the dying light.
Saturday, and the weather's marginally better. Heli seems out, so we decide to head to the Norwegian side for a touring ascent of a suitable peak. We take off with Krister and a friend of his, Anna. As we park up the car, the skies are blue, and an incredible display of fiords and peaks is on show. We don skins and wander up the 800 metres of vertical up Rombakk Stotte, to be rewarded by possibly the best off piste run of the whole week back down to the mini bus. We head back, and go for a beer in the Meteorologen lodge. Jan's just come back from taking the helicopter for its monthly service, and suddenly it's on again. One space left.. after some haggling, I graciously volunteer.
Skiing will not be the same again. Nor will the bank balance.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Toys out of pram
After beating Andorra, England manager threw his toys out of the pram at the press conference, railing against the harsh words he'd received as the worst performing England manager of recent times. Fighting against the windmills in the traditional England manager fashion.
Qualification chances now on par with the England Rugby Union squad retaining the World Cup.
In other news, Norn Oirlnd beat Sweden to top their group. Outrageous.
Qualification chances now on par with the England Rugby Union squad retaining the World Cup.
In other news, Norn Oirlnd beat Sweden to top their group. Outrageous.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
The beautiful game
After England's dismal performance against Israel, manager Steve McClaren came out with the following words of wisdom:
So now you know. To beat the other team, you need to score more goals than them. That's the bit missing.
People in football who I respect have phoned me and said the only thing wrong with our performance on Saturday was that we didn't get a goal.
So now you know. To beat the other team, you need to score more goals than them. That's the bit missing.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Bureaucracy
Coming from Sweden, I know a thing or two about bureaucracy, you know like - banks actually work, trains run when they are supposed to run, tax returns are returned, houses can be bought and sold without a year of infinite pain, estate agents don't lie..
Almost all of the above is true. I just put in that bit about estate agents to make sure you're still with me.
Anyway, the UK has many good things about it, but a working bureaucracy it has not. Which is kind of funny, seeing that they invented the modern civil service. Still. One of the many incredibly painful things one has to suffer here is the annual renewal of the vehicle tax disk. To get this in perspective, in Sweden we also pay road tax - no surprises there I hear - and display a tax 'rectangle' that sits in the middle of the back reg plate. Every year you get this delivered in the post box automatically with a pay slip that you can pay over the counter or on line. The authorities know if you've had your vehicle MOTd, taxed and insured.
In the UK the process - until now - was somewhat more involved. Get the car MOTd on time. Fair enough. Get the car insured for the same time. Car insurance is almost as much pain as buying a house. Instead of having car insurance being a standard commodity of very little variation, the market is complex, enormous and with a huge variance. The thrifty can save quite a bit if prepared to spend a few days playing insurance companies off against eachother. Wait for insurance certificate to arrive by post, together with reams of paper. Wait for the DVLA to send you a notification that your vehicle needs to be taxed. Now the fun starts.
In any other western civilization, the licensing authority will know if a vehicle is taxed, insured and MOTd (inspected). In the UK, it's up to a post office clerk to judge. Only some post offices have the authority to issue tax disks. So you trundle down in your precious lunch hour instead of going to the gym, queue for ages, and get to deal with grumpy and incompetent spotty-faced yoof, alternatively sour-faced old hag with God complex behind the desk.
It shouldn't be that hard. Three pieces of paper that has to match, and be covering the same date range. But it is.
- Wrong insurance certificate, mate.
I look at my certificate. It's got the car reg. It's got the policy number. It's got my name on it. It's the right date range. It's paid for.
- The one you need looks exactly the same, but has a stylised signature by the insurance company chairman at the bottom.
I look over my shoulder at the long queue forming, and at my watch, now 45 minutes of queuing apparently wasted. I plead to the man's sense of good will. The form needed looks exactly the same - it's got all the details required, can't we just chalk this up as a mistake on my behalf, slap my wrist and don't do it again?
Apparently not.
So I go out to the car, swearing, to pick up the other bit of paper that I accidently left on the passenger seat, and join the back of the queue.
After 30 minutes of queuing I hand over the papers to the man again, who studiously examines the same papers - bar the insurance certificate. He looks satisfied. He rings the till.
- That'd be 180 ponds please. Will that be cash or cheque, sir?
I've already got my VISA card half way out of the wallet. Somehow, I'd failed to recall that the post office (at the time) was a credit-card free zone.
- There's a cash point just around the corner, sir. You can just about see it through the window, just beyond the end of the queue.
Anyway, those were the days.
Today, I ordered - and paid for - my new tax disk on-line. Long live the DVLA who finally entered the modern era.
Almost all of the above is true. I just put in that bit about estate agents to make sure you're still with me.
Anyway, the UK has many good things about it, but a working bureaucracy it has not. Which is kind of funny, seeing that they invented the modern civil service. Still. One of the many incredibly painful things one has to suffer here is the annual renewal of the vehicle tax disk. To get this in perspective, in Sweden we also pay road tax - no surprises there I hear - and display a tax 'rectangle' that sits in the middle of the back reg plate. Every year you get this delivered in the post box automatically with a pay slip that you can pay over the counter or on line. The authorities know if you've had your vehicle MOTd, taxed and insured.
In the UK the process - until now - was somewhat more involved. Get the car MOTd on time. Fair enough. Get the car insured for the same time. Car insurance is almost as much pain as buying a house. Instead of having car insurance being a standard commodity of very little variation, the market is complex, enormous and with a huge variance. The thrifty can save quite a bit if prepared to spend a few days playing insurance companies off against eachother. Wait for insurance certificate to arrive by post, together with reams of paper. Wait for the DVLA to send you a notification that your vehicle needs to be taxed. Now the fun starts.
In any other western civilization, the licensing authority will know if a vehicle is taxed, insured and MOTd (inspected). In the UK, it's up to a post office clerk to judge. Only some post offices have the authority to issue tax disks. So you trundle down in your precious lunch hour instead of going to the gym, queue for ages, and get to deal with grumpy and incompetent spotty-faced yoof, alternatively sour-faced old hag with God complex behind the desk.
It shouldn't be that hard. Three pieces of paper that has to match, and be covering the same date range. But it is.
- Wrong insurance certificate, mate.
I look at my certificate. It's got the car reg. It's got the policy number. It's got my name on it. It's the right date range. It's paid for.
- The one you need looks exactly the same, but has a stylised signature by the insurance company chairman at the bottom.
I look over my shoulder at the long queue forming, and at my watch, now 45 minutes of queuing apparently wasted. I plead to the man's sense of good will. The form needed looks exactly the same - it's got all the details required, can't we just chalk this up as a mistake on my behalf, slap my wrist and don't do it again?
Apparently not.
So I go out to the car, swearing, to pick up the other bit of paper that I accidently left on the passenger seat, and join the back of the queue.
After 30 minutes of queuing I hand over the papers to the man again, who studiously examines the same papers - bar the insurance certificate. He looks satisfied. He rings the till.
- That'd be 180 ponds please. Will that be cash or cheque, sir?
I've already got my VISA card half way out of the wallet. Somehow, I'd failed to recall that the post office (at the time) was a credit-card free zone.
- There's a cash point just around the corner, sir. You can just about see it through the window, just beyond the end of the queue.
Anyway, those were the days.
Today, I ordered - and paid for - my new tax disk on-line. Long live the DVLA who finally entered the modern era.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Vigeland Sculpture Park
We walked around the fascinating Vigeland Sculpture Park in Oslo. Hundreds of sculptures in cast bronze and granite depict primarily naked humans in all shapes and forms, culminating in a huge monolith made up of human forms. The theme is the 'circle of life', and the park is the frequent scene of both protests and frat boy pranks. Recently, some religious organisation walked around the park covering up all the 'nakedness' in a protest against the growing sexualisation of society. Curious in itself, given that the park is nearly 100 years old..
One of the smaller bronze casts of a boy is often stolen, apparently.
And, no, the photo is not upside down.
One of the smaller bronze casts of a boy is often stolen, apparently.
And, no, the photo is not upside down.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Water on Mars
An enormous amount of water ice has been discovered on Mars. Let the terraforming begin.
Monday, March 12, 2007
England-France
So this strange six-nations is continuing apace. Wales lost to Italy after some refereeing confusion in the dying seconds of the game. If it wasn't for if, eh. The Welsh may carp, but the stronger side won. Had anyone guessed before hand that Wales would be taking the wooden spoon, most would have laughed out loud. Good for Italy, and good for world Rugby. After the shoeing that England suffered in the hands of the Irish last round, no one expected England to be able to stand up to the French. Much had been made in the press of the return of 35yo Mike Catt to the team, and to the captaincy. Fair to say he shut up his critics after an emphatic win at Twickenham. Moreover, after a few years of dysfunctional play at number 10, suddenly Ashton's got three world-class players to choose from, given the performances of youngsters Flood and Geraghty. The forwards that got so beat up at Croke Park suddenly showed some grit and determination to totally dominate the field.
Is England back in time for the World Cup?
Is England back in time for the World Cup?
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Leif G W Persson
Continuing my mission of trawling through the Swedish canon of crime writing on my daily commute, I've just finished Leif G W Persson's "Mellan Sommarens Langtan och Vinterns Kold" - approximately "Between the longing of summer and the mid-winter cold", a story that starts with the apparent suicide of an American freelance journalist, but eventually tells the story about the murder of the Swedish prime minister. Persson, like his friend Jan Guillou, writes about real events and real people with a paper thin disguise which makes it amusing for the reader that is aware of the comings and goings in Swedish politics. This book paints a very bleak picture of the Swedish police, and especially its security forces. Persson is a professor in criminology and a renowned expert on crime and the police, which makes it even more disturbing. In Persson's Sweden, the police is rife with racism, misogyny and incompetence. The book mirrors the very real murder of prime minister Olof Palme, complete with the incomprehensible obsession with Kurdish separatists that followed, which any thinking individual found ludicrous at the time. In Persson's novel the prime minister was killed by a psychopath heading up the external operations of the secret police.
I imagine that Persson's description of the daily grind and jargon of the police is fairly authentic, but it left a bitter aftertaste. The bad and incompetent float to the top, and the capable people look for early retirement.
Same as everywhere else, I guess.
I imagine that Persson's description of the daily grind and jargon of the police is fairly authentic, but it left a bitter aftertaste. The bad and incompetent float to the top, and the capable people look for early retirement.
Same as everywhere else, I guess.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Scarpa Spirit 3
My new Scarpa Spirit 3 ski-touring boots. They have insets for Dynafit bindings (see the little metal indents at the toe), and a toggle allowing the foot to bend. Complete with thermo-fitted inners, they ski really well downhill and climb well uphill.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Skiing in the land that music forgot
Leysin, Switzerland, off-pisting with ISM. No snow when we arrived, and our hearts sank. We finally found the chalet and got to bed around midnight. Sunday morning and the situation looks no better with a gentle rainfall. We walk into town to pick up some touring boots - they're hard to come by in the UK, and we walk out with two pairs of Scarpas and a lighter bank balance. Rental skis with Diamirs, skins and ski crampons complete the kit list, and now it's started snowing - a lot. With zero visibility and half the day gone, we retreat to the chalet and in the evening we meet up with the rest of the people on this jolly and Steve Jones, our main guide. A diverse, but easy-going crowd. John A we already know from Bristol. A couple, Suzi and Jon, from Gloucestershire. Gordon, a pilot with BA. Robin, a (former) partner with one of the big accountancy firms, on a year's (!) gardening leave before taking up a position with another big accountancy firm. Steve's been living here guiding for 25 years. He looks the part - a wizened mountain man.
When we wake up the next morning, the Alps are covered with a foot and a half of fresh powder. We get introduced to Alex, a Swiss ski instructor, who's job it is to assess and tutor our powder skills. He's a very enthusiastic fellow with that polished style that only ski instructors have. We have a fun day in the fluffy powder, including a sobering session in the avalanche park where we try our hands at locating 'victims' using our beacons. It's difficult, and we don't manage to find any within the stipulated 15 minutes. The bell goes, signalling time's out - for the victims. Effective beacon search requires practice.
The next day Steve has to shoot off to London for a funeral, so we're left in the hands of another Swiss guide, Yvon, for the next few days. Yvon is first and foremost a guide - he takes people on remote and spectacular mountain days, rather than teaching skiing - eventhough he is is a qualified ski instructor.
"I can either ski powder off piste every day, or teach kids the snowplough" he said, and I can't say I disagree.
Yvon takes us to neighbouring Diablreret and we head off on some proper drops in a full on tempo. Excellent skiing indeed. We finish off with a long powdery run through the trees into the village of Villars before heading back. Next morning sees warmer temperatures, and Yvon takes us on our first ski climb to the summit of Tour de Famelon, 2137m. I've never used climbing skins before, but I have done lots of x-country skiing in my youth, so I'm familiar with free heel skiing. It's a strangely hypnotic experience, and we've set off in a moderate tempo with Yvon breaking trail. It's steady, and sweaty, work without being as aerobically taxing as say running. We climb the 500-odd metres in about 1.5 hours. There are some significant skills and fitness differentials within the group. Add to that a factor 4 avalanche danger, Yvon chose the easiest possible descent route. We wound our way back down into the valley in complete alpine splendor and solitude. Reality hit us with a bang when we're about to head for a Vin Chaude and look up towards where we'd started our climb - one side had totally disappeared in a slab avalanche - a safe distance away from our tracks, but still. Yvon says with a wry smile that he'd seen it go but thought he'd better not mention it until we got back down.
During the night I appear to have contracted some stomach nasty, and sadly skiing is over for me for this time. Thursday saw more rain, and I didn't miss much by all accounts. Today, Friday, Steve's taken the group to Diableret for another skinning ascent.
And what is it about the Swiss and the poodle-haired 80s krautrock heard at every lift station?
So, in summary, ISM is cool. Conditions started out great, but deteriorated into slush and rain. Ski touring is definitely something I'd like to do lots more of. Avalanche beacons require lots of training. Diahorrea and puking go poorly with skiing.
When we wake up the next morning, the Alps are covered with a foot and a half of fresh powder. We get introduced to Alex, a Swiss ski instructor, who's job it is to assess and tutor our powder skills. He's a very enthusiastic fellow with that polished style that only ski instructors have. We have a fun day in the fluffy powder, including a sobering session in the avalanche park where we try our hands at locating 'victims' using our beacons. It's difficult, and we don't manage to find any within the stipulated 15 minutes. The bell goes, signalling time's out - for the victims. Effective beacon search requires practice.
The next day Steve has to shoot off to London for a funeral, so we're left in the hands of another Swiss guide, Yvon, for the next few days. Yvon is first and foremost a guide - he takes people on remote and spectacular mountain days, rather than teaching skiing - eventhough he is is a qualified ski instructor.
"I can either ski powder off piste every day, or teach kids the snowplough" he said, and I can't say I disagree.
Yvon takes us to neighbouring Diablreret and we head off on some proper drops in a full on tempo. Excellent skiing indeed. We finish off with a long powdery run through the trees into the village of Villars before heading back. Next morning sees warmer temperatures, and Yvon takes us on our first ski climb to the summit of Tour de Famelon, 2137m. I've never used climbing skins before, but I have done lots of x-country skiing in my youth, so I'm familiar with free heel skiing. It's a strangely hypnotic experience, and we've set off in a moderate tempo with Yvon breaking trail. It's steady, and sweaty, work without being as aerobically taxing as say running. We climb the 500-odd metres in about 1.5 hours. There are some significant skills and fitness differentials within the group. Add to that a factor 4 avalanche danger, Yvon chose the easiest possible descent route. We wound our way back down into the valley in complete alpine splendor and solitude. Reality hit us with a bang when we're about to head for a Vin Chaude and look up towards where we'd started our climb - one side had totally disappeared in a slab avalanche - a safe distance away from our tracks, but still. Yvon says with a wry smile that he'd seen it go but thought he'd better not mention it until we got back down.
During the night I appear to have contracted some stomach nasty, and sadly skiing is over for me for this time. Thursday saw more rain, and I didn't miss much by all accounts. Today, Friday, Steve's taken the group to Diableret for another skinning ascent.
And what is it about the Swiss and the poodle-haired 80s krautrock heard at every lift station?
So, in summary, ISM is cool. Conditions started out great, but deteriorated into slush and rain. Ski touring is definitely something I'd like to do lots more of. Avalanche beacons require lots of training. Diahorrea and puking go poorly with skiing.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Warney
I've talked a bit about Shane Warne, the world's best spin bowler in the past on this blog. Here's the evidence:
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Swimming
Due to my weekends now being planned out until the beginning of the summer, I've had to abandon my Saturday front-crawl clinic at the Bristol Uni pool. I fully accept that I will never be a great swimmer, but the lessons have been most excellent, and I wish I could carry on. I got to a point where I can actually swim from one end of the pool to the other - and breathe. Several things have struck me in this endeavor. Firstly, learning a complex physical skill is actually quite hard as an adult, which has opened my eyes and I feel humility and respect towards the number of friends I've dragged up and down the ski slopes over the years with claims that it's really quite straight-forward, honestly. Secondly, it's effing hard work, almost certainly as a consequence of my rubbish technique. One lap in the pool feels harder than a 10k run - I don't seem to be able to swim in a relaxed fashion.
A new gym has opened very close to work, with the added bonus of a swimming pool. It's only 20m, but that's perfect for me to paddle up and down at lunch times trying to put to practice the lessons I've had.
A new gym has opened very close to work, with the added bonus of a swimming pool. It's only 20m, but that's perfect for me to paddle up and down at lunch times trying to put to practice the lessons I've had.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Weekends
Weekends are too short to make up for the suffering that is the working week. Spending the last few nights on an air mattress in near arctic conditions, my dreams were remixing the Arn Saga - which has been my commute companion for the last few weeks - and several of the angst-ridden projects running at work. Most peculiar.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
The Truth
We were driving up the motor way towards Leicester when Sarah suddenly exclaims:
- I love the fact that you're Swedish. It's a challenge compared to an ordinary boyfriend.
What can you say to follow that?
- I love the fact that you're Swedish. It's a challenge compared to an ordinary boyfriend.
What can you say to follow that?
Friday, February 16, 2007
Friday
It's Friday again.
On the news this morning there was the astonishing revelation that the secret to staying fit and healthy is to eat a healthy diet, do exercise, cut down on booze and fags. If nothing else helps, cosmetic surgery. A new magazine has been launched to that effect. Another magazine is to be launched based on the observation that bears do indeed shit in the woods. Plans are afoot for the one-legged duck swims in circles edition.
Elsewhere it was revealed that the UK is the worst country (just after the US) in the western world for children to grow up. Sweden came in second after Belgium of all places.
Ski trip is drawing closer. Snow situation still iffy, but plenty of 4k peaks available from where we're based. Can't wait.
On the news this morning there was the astonishing revelation that the secret to staying fit and healthy is to eat a healthy diet, do exercise, cut down on booze and fags. If nothing else helps, cosmetic surgery. A new magazine has been launched to that effect. Another magazine is to be launched based on the observation that bears do indeed shit in the woods. Plans are afoot for the one-legged duck swims in circles edition.
Elsewhere it was revealed that the UK is the worst country (just after the US) in the western world for children to grow up. Sweden came in second after Belgium of all places.
Ski trip is drawing closer. Snow situation still iffy, but plenty of 4k peaks available from where we're based. Can't wait.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Valentine
So, Valentine's Day - the height of imported commercialism. Just Say No. Sarah and I are going down the wall for a spot of climbing, hopefully reaping the benefits of everybody else being out, thus having the wall to ourselves.
Had some good friends over for dinner last night, and W told a story from the front line of the anesthetist's working day. A colleague had been trying in vain to give a pregnant woman an epidural, but she was thrashing about making the procedure dangerous.
- Now, if you don't hold still, I might miss your spine and stab the needle in the baby's eye.
She held very still after that.
Had some good friends over for dinner last night, and W told a story from the front line of the anesthetist's working day. A colleague had been trying in vain to give a pregnant woman an epidural, but she was thrashing about making the procedure dangerous.
- Now, if you don't hold still, I might miss your spine and stab the needle in the baby's eye.
She held very still after that.
Friday, February 09, 2007
House of Cards
How's this for freaky coincidences - spotted the 'House of Cards' box set on a friend's book shelf the other day and borrowed it. Been enjoying it over the last few evenings, and then today it's reported that Ian Richardson has passed avay suddenly.
House of Cards is a masterful display of Machiavellian cunning and political scheming of the highest order. Ian Richardson is (was) superb as Francis Urquhart, Tory Chief Whip, in the post-thatcher years. Used to shady back-room deals, he decides to take on the PM by fair means or foul. Mainly foul. He is an obviously evil man, but with the weird charm and charisma of a Greg House or Richard III. What he doesn't know about wielding power is not worth knowing.
Yet another outstanding BBC production.
House of Cards is a masterful display of Machiavellian cunning and political scheming of the highest order. Ian Richardson is (was) superb as Francis Urquhart, Tory Chief Whip, in the post-thatcher years. Used to shady back-room deals, he decides to take on the PM by fair means or foul. Mainly foul. He is an obviously evil man, but with the weird charm and charisma of a Greg House or Richard III. What he doesn't know about wielding power is not worth knowing.
Yet another outstanding BBC production.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Strength, power, power-endurance and endurance
It's difficult to train for all-round climbing, as the demands are sometimes conflicting. Become stronger, and you'll lose your endurance. Train endurance and you'll end up weaker. But the sticking point is almost certainly 'power-endurance' - that is, being able to do moves repeatedly just under your max without pumping out. The hardest boulder problems I've done are aeons harder than anything I've ever encountered on a route. There are of course other components playing into this - a long trad background has lead to an aversion to anything but onsighting, and I've had to actively repurpose my brain to a sport-climbing mentality. But I've never attempted anything harder than UK Tech 6a on a route, say about V1 or V2, yet bouldered up to V6. That's an astronomical difference, and I'm not even a boulderer.
I can only conclude that I probably have sufficient power, but lousy power endurance. Or, somewhat less palatable, maybe I'm simply too scared to climb to my limit on trad, and too lazy to work sport routes?
I can only conclude that I probably have sufficient power, but lousy power endurance. Or, somewhat less palatable, maybe I'm simply too scared to climb to my limit on trad, and too lazy to work sport routes?
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Jonny come lately
The Six Nations' Rugby Tournament is upon us again, and no one expects England to achieve much. English Rugby is in turmoil with the manager being forced to resign after a disastrous result since - well, since the last World Cup, let's be fair. A host of world class players retired, a feud broke out with the club game - and God's gift to Rugby, World Cup winner Jonny Wilkinson has been injured for three whole years. Until now. To many's surprise, Jonny is actually fit, and even more surprising, new coach Brian Ashton named Jonny in the starting XV in the opener vs Scotland. Most pundits were pouring scorn over Aston for putting his faith in someone who hasn't really played at all for three whole years.
However, class is something that transcends form, and Jonny is a real class act. Now, three years ago you would have expected England to pile 50 points on Scotland. This year the bets were even. To an astounded sold out Twickenham it must have seemed like a time warp; like the three last years never happened. Golden boy was on fire, just like that day some three years ago in Australia. Sure, the opposition was weaker yesterday, and harder games are yet to come, but to claim Man of the Match after three years' absence is nothing short of staggering.
It's also a damning indictment of the state of English Rugby that it couldn't produce a credible contender at number 10 in the mean time.
Twickenham gave Jonny a well-deserved standing ovation as he left the field.
However, class is something that transcends form, and Jonny is a real class act. Now, three years ago you would have expected England to pile 50 points on Scotland. This year the bets were even. To an astounded sold out Twickenham it must have seemed like a time warp; like the three last years never happened. Golden boy was on fire, just like that day some three years ago in Australia. Sure, the opposition was weaker yesterday, and harder games are yet to come, but to claim Man of the Match after three years' absence is nothing short of staggering.
It's also a damning indictment of the state of English Rugby that it couldn't produce a credible contender at number 10 in the mean time.
Twickenham gave Jonny a well-deserved standing ovation as he left the field.
Friday, February 02, 2007
TFI Friday
Weekend starts here! Or, weekend starts after another five hours of project meetings. We're very Agile in our approach to project management. Heading for sunny Twyford this weekend to meet up with the usual suspects. The following exchange took place:
Chris: Who's coming for a run with me on Saturday morning?
Cath responds with:
Chris: I'd really hoped for more of a structured weekend.
Chris: Who's coming for a run with me on Saturday morning?
Cath responds with:
Plan for weekend (and yes it does resemble a military operation):
Fri-
Nana arrives after work (with invitations, car keys and make up bag!!)
Nana and Cath make invites, Dave cooks dinner
Chris arrives on last train from London (Cath and Dave will likely be in bed but will leave back door open - go thru gate at side of house assuming Nana doesn't want to stay up)
Sat -
6am Dave leaves for work
8am Cath to stables
Nana and Chris amuse themselves/make invites (Nana do you want me to get some cream paper so you can use our computer to do the insides??)
Chris goes for run
14:30 - Dave back from work Cath back from stables
Sarah and Stef arrive hopefully before
16:00 Eng v Scotland (Super 12 if Eng game is appalling)
18:00 Cath to stables to put horses to bed and collect take away on way back (mainly because I can't see how I'm going to fit shopping for food in!)
Sun -
6am Dave leaves for work
8am - Cath to stables (to ride horse no1 and muck out)
10am - Cath back from stables
10:30am - Nana, Sarah and Cath appointment with dressmaker (she has confirmed she can see us just waiting to hear back from her re time)
11:30am - Sarah and Cath to stables to ride other 2 horses
13:00 Juniors arrive
13:30 - Sunday lunch at Green Man
14:30 - Dave back from work
15:00 - depart for various homes (or stay to watch Ire v Wales)
16:00 - Dave takes Nix and Shane to Heathrow
Simple really!!!
Let me know if any comments etc
Chris: I'd really hoped for more of a structured weekend.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Sierra Nevada
One of our great discoveries when we were dirtbagging it in Bishop was Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. A just reward after a day on the highballs of the Buttermilks. If you can put aside all preconceptions you might have about American beers and in-canoe love making, SNPA is actually a very nice tipple.
To my surprise they've started selling it in Tesco of all places! So, from one beer-lover to another, I hereby raise a Californian micro brew to your health, and invite you to try the same next time you pick up your groceries at the supermarket.
To my surprise they've started selling it in Tesco of all places! So, from one beer-lover to another, I hereby raise a Californian micro brew to your health, and invite you to try the same next time you pick up your groceries at the supermarket.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Wishful Vista
Micro$oft have just released Vista, the latest incarnation of Windows. Bill says this is the most secure OS in the world.
If I was a gambling man, I'd wager that he'll be proved wrong within a remarkably short time.
If I was a gambling man, I'd wager that he'll be proved wrong within a remarkably short time.
God's Own Yorkshire
Went to Yorkshire to visit Bruno and Jenny last weekend and managed to pick the first sunny weekend since early December. Had a glorious day out at the Slipstones on the North Yorks Moors. Set in truly picturesque surroundings, it's a sort of miniature version of Stanage, but without the crowds and polish. A grit boulderer's paradise. The quality of the rock is nothing short of spectacular in its roughness - as my ragged tips still bear witness to. God's own rock indeed. Haven't been bouldering on real rock since November '05 back in Bishop and gradewise didn't get anywhere near, unsurprisingly. It was inspiring though, rattling through V2s and 3s and trying a few harder ones together with a spectacularly strong and enthusiastic team.
On Saturday night we reconvened to Simon and Pip's for a surprise birthday party for Simon. Lots of food (and in Bruno's case, drink) was consumed, and the party soon deteriorated into a set of mad physical challenges, like holding front levers etc, culminating in an olives vs jelly babies first to finish 400 grams eating comp between John and Stu. Olives won, but kudos to jellies for not throwing up.
On Saturday night we reconvened to Simon and Pip's for a surprise birthday party for Simon. Lots of food (and in Bruno's case, drink) was consumed, and the party soon deteriorated into a set of mad physical challenges, like holding front levers etc, culminating in an olives vs jelly babies first to finish 400 grams eating comp between John and Stu. Olives won, but kudos to jellies for not throwing up.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Room 212
My good friend Henk has started an interesting venture in Bristol, a grass-roots community art gallery that goes under the name Room 212. He moved house a while back, and part of the purchase was a commercial property at the front of the house, a small room with a big glass window, the sort of space used by thousands of little sandwich bars and brik-a-brak shops around the UK. Without any sort of facilities, it would be hard to make use of this space as an office without major work, and due to the size, it'd been unlikely to bring much rental income.
Instead he started a community gallery. If you're an artist, craftsman or pretty much any sort of creative, you can hire Room 212 for 15 pounds a week, or 5% of your sales income whichever is the larger sum. You can display your wares and choose if you want to staff your exhibition or just use the shop front window as a display. It has proved extraordinarily successful - the place is now fully booked for a year, and has created a real buzz. Gallery space is in a real short supply unless you have the wonga to spend, and walking past Room 212 is always exiting as you never know exactly what to expect.
If you're in the Bishopston area of Bristol, it's well worth seeking out.
Instead he started a community gallery. If you're an artist, craftsman or pretty much any sort of creative, you can hire Room 212 for 15 pounds a week, or 5% of your sales income whichever is the larger sum. You can display your wares and choose if you want to staff your exhibition or just use the shop front window as a display. It has proved extraordinarily successful - the place is now fully booked for a year, and has created a real buzz. Gallery space is in a real short supply unless you have the wonga to spend, and walking past Room 212 is always exiting as you never know exactly what to expect.
If you're in the Bishopston area of Bristol, it's well worth seeking out.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
2012
Today there are 2012 days until the start of the London 2012 Olympic Games, and so far they're UKP 800m over budget. The Olympic bid is largely funded by London council tax payers and lottery grants.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Winter
Winter is coming, apparently. Sweden's finally blanketed in snow, and the suggestion is that so will the UK. Hopefully, this should also mean some more snow for the starved Alps just in time for our Leysin trip. Sarah and I have also booked a trip to Riksgränsen above the arctic circle, at the only point where Sweden, Norway and Finland share a border. Bit of an off-pister's Mecca. We're actually taking the train up - 28 hours! Doing our bit for limiting the carbon emissions. You can normally ski there until mid-summer, but who knows what the out-of-whack globally warmed winter will bring.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Added SQL
A friend sent me this picture.. it's sadly appropriate for the work I'm currently frantically trying to finish, but if you don't get the joke, consider yourself fortunate for living a more rewarding life at the moment.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Stormy weather
It's windy over Blighty today. The roof of the building opposite the office was ripped off and deposited below, on top of a 7-series BMW. God's punishment for cutting someone up and driving like a c*ck, no doubt. Jokes aside, apparently four people have perished as a consequence, the BBC reports.
The other storm brewing is the Big Brother racist row. Big Brother is the original, and also the most base, reality TV show. This is apparently a 'celebrity' edition where various c-listers vie for their 15 minutes of renewed fame. Allegedly, this pretty Bollywood starlet is being subjected to bullying with racial overtones. There are protests in India, motions in Parliament, uproar in the media, and a love-fest in Channel 4's board room.
The woman in the centre of this row, a Ms Jade Goody, is by all accounts from the shallow end of the gene pool. A true product of the reality show generation: no brains, no education, no prospects, no hope yet still somehow a 'celebrity' rarely out of the gutter press. She's said to have been shouting, screaming, and cussing at Ms Shilpa Shetty, resorting to racial slurs.
A clear example of how racism and stupidity are intimately related, sure, but this almost certainly springs from jealousy - one woman taking instant dislike to another that happens to be more attractive, younger, smarter and more successful.
Unbeknown to Ms Goody, she's now been dropped from her post as champion for a UK-wide anti-bullying charity. Big Brother main sponsor, Carphone Warehouse, have retracted their support from the show. Politicians from all ends of the political spectrum are chipping in.
The other storm brewing is the Big Brother racist row. Big Brother is the original, and also the most base, reality TV show. This is apparently a 'celebrity' edition where various c-listers vie for their 15 minutes of renewed fame. Allegedly, this pretty Bollywood starlet is being subjected to bullying with racial overtones. There are protests in India, motions in Parliament, uproar in the media, and a love-fest in Channel 4's board room.
The woman in the centre of this row, a Ms Jade Goody, is by all accounts from the shallow end of the gene pool. A true product of the reality show generation: no brains, no education, no prospects, no hope yet still somehow a 'celebrity' rarely out of the gutter press. She's said to have been shouting, screaming, and cussing at Ms Shilpa Shetty, resorting to racial slurs.
A clear example of how racism and stupidity are intimately related, sure, but this almost certainly springs from jealousy - one woman taking instant dislike to another that happens to be more attractive, younger, smarter and more successful.
Unbeknown to Ms Goody, she's now been dropped from her post as champion for a UK-wide anti-bullying charity. Big Brother main sponsor, Carphone Warehouse, have retracted their support from the show. Politicians from all ends of the political spectrum are chipping in.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Cure for cancer
A small molecule has been discovered to have amazing properties when it comes to fight a number of disparate cancers in the body. However, none of the big pharmaceuticals seem interested in picking it up as it's not patented, so their potential profits would be limited.
I love the unfettered profiteering face of unashamed capitalism.
I love the unfettered profiteering face of unashamed capitalism.
Housing woes
We've been trying to move house since we got back to the UK. As you're no doubt aware, the process of selling and buying a house in England is so painfully arcane, financially inefficient and just generally a pain in the proverbial that on average one ages at least a decade as a consequence. First we put our house up for sale (I say 'we', but Sarah's been running the process with a steady hand. As those of you that know her probably can imagine), and lo and behold, someone put in an offer we decided to run with. 'We' found a nice 3-bed flat in a popular location in town which would shave Sarah's commute down to a 5 minute stroll, and make mine more manageable in terms of the (admittedly woeful) bus connections. The flat looked to be in immaculate repair, and against better judgment we started hearing words like 'new roof', 'developed by company, not cowboys out for a big buck', etc. The only problem was - the bathroom had a bidet. I was about to say 'estate agents are liars', but why state the obvious? We made an offer, including the removal of the bidet, which eventually was accepted.
Now the fun started. Get a solicitor. Get a mortgage. Endless, pointless, costly conveyancing searches. Ok, basement flat, but no record of any damp proofing after a complete refurb? Odd. An acquaintance who lives nearby quips at a Christmas party that something definitely had gone wrong with the flat as several different contractors had been in and out of the flat some six months ago to what appeared to amount to redoing work previously done. Sarah managed to dig out who'd done the work, the mercurial 'Bob'. Yes, the builder really was called Bob. Bob explains that he was called in to tidy up the mess that had been left in the wake of the set of cowboys that had messed up the flat completely with the shoddiest workmanship he'd ever encountered in his professional career. Whatever Bob did he uncovered something serious, including a nail through a gas main. The whole flat had to be rewired. There had been no damp work, just a floating wooden floor with carpet on top. The floor had just rotted away. He'd done his best, but his brief had not included a proper damp course, as this had been deemed too expensive. Instead, he tanked the flat - floors and walls - with asphalt, and dry lined it with plaster board and painted. Now, probably waterproof, but hardly breathable as it were, and not recognised as a proper damp course. He normally gives a life time guarantee on his workmanship, but was not prepared to do so in this case due to the state of the place.
When our survey came to the conclusion that the flat was overvalued to the tune of £20k, we decided to cut our losses and walk away.
So instead, we put a offer in on something completely different, and are now looking forward to restarting the whole procedure.
Now the fun started. Get a solicitor. Get a mortgage. Endless, pointless, costly conveyancing searches. Ok, basement flat, but no record of any damp proofing after a complete refurb? Odd. An acquaintance who lives nearby quips at a Christmas party that something definitely had gone wrong with the flat as several different contractors had been in and out of the flat some six months ago to what appeared to amount to redoing work previously done. Sarah managed to dig out who'd done the work, the mercurial 'Bob'. Yes, the builder really was called Bob. Bob explains that he was called in to tidy up the mess that had been left in the wake of the set of cowboys that had messed up the flat completely with the shoddiest workmanship he'd ever encountered in his professional career. Whatever Bob did he uncovered something serious, including a nail through a gas main. The whole flat had to be rewired. There had been no damp work, just a floating wooden floor with carpet on top. The floor had just rotted away. He'd done his best, but his brief had not included a proper damp course, as this had been deemed too expensive. Instead, he tanked the flat - floors and walls - with asphalt, and dry lined it with plaster board and painted. Now, probably waterproof, but hardly breathable as it were, and not recognised as a proper damp course. He normally gives a life time guarantee on his workmanship, but was not prepared to do so in this case due to the state of the place.
When our survey came to the conclusion that the flat was overvalued to the tune of £20k, we decided to cut our losses and walk away.
So instead, we put a offer in on something completely different, and are now looking forward to restarting the whole procedure.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Bilingualilsm halts the onset of dementia
Canadian researchers report that life long bilingualism delays the onset of dementia. That's extraordinary, but not the first time that bilingualism has been linked to physical changes in the brain's structure. It was reported some time back that true bilinguals have notably denser brain matter in certain areas, a property shared with long-time London cabbies, of all things - this seems like a phenomenon ripe for investigation by the Freakonomics team.
Bilingualism is different from learning another language as an adult, regardless of level of fluency. Only languages learnt in the process of learning speech itself will contribute to the physical changes in the brain.
Bilingualism is different from learning another language as an adult, regardless of level of fluency. Only languages learnt in the process of learning speech itself will contribute to the physical changes in the brain.
Toccata & Fugue
In the hell that is patching up other people's code mess, I picked up my iPod to stop people interrupting me. You look busier with head phones on. When coding, or especially when writing, I find that classical music works best - no lyrics to distract you. Although saying that, I was frequently giggled at during my PhD write up for singing along to Mozart's Requiem. Nothing like a good death mass in Latin to get you going in the morning. But I digress. My iPod selected the quite astonishing organ piece Toccata & Fugue in D minor from Bach. If you've never heard it, if you're of a certain age it will still sound strangely familiar and eerily modern. I've lost count how many long-haired guitar heroes of the last few decades that unashamedly ripped off this piece - the complex scales seem as if they'd been specifically composed to fit in the hands of a young Ed Van Halen, Joe Satriani or Steve Vai. Of course Bach had altogether a more pious audience in mind, but still, the piece seems irresistible to rock musicians. Jon Lord, on the Hammond organ, used to perform pretty much the whole thing on stage with Deep Purple, and I keep expecting the drums to kick in.
Nothing new under the sun.
Nothing new under the sun.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Bullet proof suit
Some guy has made a 'bear proof suit' which has evolved into a bullet-proof exoskeleton. Pretty amusing demo..
How to cut your commute in half
I already knew this, of course, but decided to try it out this morning. I ran to the station, in a leisurely pace. Bit of a pain running with a ruck sack, and quite hard to motivate yourself doing exercise at the crack of dawn, but I essentially halved my time, compared with the bus. Luckily, it wasn't raining. I'll probably stick to the bus those quintessentially British days.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Ode to the Campus Board
The campus board must rank as the most efficient workout form possible when it comes to developing upper body strength. A 10-minute workout on the board will feel like an hour in the gym the following morning. For those unfamiliar with the device, it's an angled board suspended about six feet above ground with nine horizontal rungs, about an inch and a half wide, about 10-12 inches apart. A number of different exercises are possible, the most basic being pulling up from one rung to the next, like climbing (the back of) a ladder without using your feet, first up and then back down again. The next step is to start missing rungs out, for example the 1-3-5: from rung 1, pull up to rung 3 with one hand, and then to rung 5 with the next. Taken to its logical extreme, we get the 1-5-9, a digit combination that has a near mythical meaning to climbers. But the real win on the board is to move from rung to rung with both hands simultaneously, especially if this is done both on the way up and down again. This is considered to be the most efficient recruitment training known. Recruitment is one component of the strength/power equation, the number of muscle fibres that the brain and nervous system can recruit to do the work. The higher recruitment, the more 'explosive' your muscles are. Power is strength developed per time unit, so to increase your power you can either increase your strength, or decrease the time it takes for your body to 'switch it on'. The campus board can work both aspects.
The device was invented by German superstar climber Wolfgang Gullich as a specific training method for the preparation of the route Action Directe, the world's first grade F9a in the Frankenjura. It's basically a big campus board, involving 6-foot footless spans between single-digit pockets. When he started out he couldn't even hang the mono pockets, let alone move between them.
As a training device, the campus board has quite a high barrier of entry - few people can do the first joint pull ups that's needed even for the most basic laddering. There are ways around this by for example starting out supported by a bungy cord or by using one foot initially to take some of the load. More seriously, due to the intensity of the training, it's very easy to get injured, especially in elbows and shoulders.
Be good, and if you can't be good, be strong.
The device was invented by German superstar climber Wolfgang Gullich as a specific training method for the preparation of the route Action Directe, the world's first grade F9a in the Frankenjura. It's basically a big campus board, involving 6-foot footless spans between single-digit pockets. When he started out he couldn't even hang the mono pockets, let alone move between them.
As a training device, the campus board has quite a high barrier of entry - few people can do the first joint pull ups that's needed even for the most basic laddering. There are ways around this by for example starting out supported by a bungy cord or by using one foot initially to take some of the load. More seriously, due to the intensity of the training, it's very easy to get injured, especially in elbows and shoulders.
Be good, and if you can't be good, be strong.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Public Transport
UK public transport is a joke. A sad excuse for a joke.
I live in Bristol, but work in Bath. Bath is about 10 miles away, a nice little 10 minute train journey away. Bristol Temple Meads is probably the largest, busiest train hub in the west of England. I have approximately 3 miles from my house to the station. This morning, my aim was to get to work a tad earlier so that Sarah and I would have time to go for a run before heading out for a birthday meal tonight. I step out at 8, missing my preferred bus number 73 by a whisker, but getting on the 75 that arrived just after. This means I have to change in town, but no biggie. However, as we get into town we have caught up with the 73, and as I step off I can simply step on the 73 I missed. Great! At this rate I'll easily make the 8.45 train, possibly even an earlier one. The 73 sets off, but halts again after about three stops, and the driver leaves. Evidently the end of his shift. Kind of interesting time to do a driver swap, slap bang in the middle of rush hour on a bus bound for the station, but hey. We wait. No new driver. After 15 minutes a manager bod from the bus company steps on, asking if anyone's seen a driver. He tries to phone his boss, but gets no response. In the end, he has to call for a replacement bus complete with driver, and we swap buses. Ok, so I'm now looking at the 9am Paddington train. Not too bad - this is my normal train - but that's the end of my plans of getting to work early. Two stops later the fattest, most obese, tramp-like person steps on, and I can feel the fumes of bodily odours and last night's White Lighting on his breath the moment he enters. Please, please, please sit somewhere else, I plead silently to myself. He resolutely plonks himself next to me. He takes up two thirds of the seat I'm on, and that's still with one arse cheek hanging over the edge. The stench makes my tears water, and I disappear further into my audio book.
When we finally arrive at the station, it's 9.02 and the London train has left. I leg it to try to catch the Portsmouth train due at 9.04 and it just pulls in as I battle the stream of people coming the wrong way down the stairs and get on. Not too bad, still. When I look up after a bit my watch says 9.09 and the display outside says that the train is delayed. Strange. I step off and asks a member of staff what's going on.
"We have no driver"
Genius. No driver. I guess the train just rolled in on its own? I've lost my patience now, and stomp off in a huff. Next viable train leaves from platform 1 (other side of the station) at 9.22, and I trek over there. Delayed, expected 9.28. Fecking feck. Ok, what's next - the 9.30 Paddington service, at platform 13. Ho hum, back the other way.
So, I finally made it into work at 9.46, having travelled less than 15 miles in nearly two hours.
The public transport system is badly broken.
I live in Bristol, but work in Bath. Bath is about 10 miles away, a nice little 10 minute train journey away. Bristol Temple Meads is probably the largest, busiest train hub in the west of England. I have approximately 3 miles from my house to the station. This morning, my aim was to get to work a tad earlier so that Sarah and I would have time to go for a run before heading out for a birthday meal tonight. I step out at 8, missing my preferred bus number 73 by a whisker, but getting on the 75 that arrived just after. This means I have to change in town, but no biggie. However, as we get into town we have caught up with the 73, and as I step off I can simply step on the 73 I missed. Great! At this rate I'll easily make the 8.45 train, possibly even an earlier one. The 73 sets off, but halts again after about three stops, and the driver leaves. Evidently the end of his shift. Kind of interesting time to do a driver swap, slap bang in the middle of rush hour on a bus bound for the station, but hey. We wait. No new driver. After 15 minutes a manager bod from the bus company steps on, asking if anyone's seen a driver. He tries to phone his boss, but gets no response. In the end, he has to call for a replacement bus complete with driver, and we swap buses. Ok, so I'm now looking at the 9am Paddington train. Not too bad - this is my normal train - but that's the end of my plans of getting to work early. Two stops later the fattest, most obese, tramp-like person steps on, and I can feel the fumes of bodily odours and last night's White Lighting on his breath the moment he enters. Please, please, please sit somewhere else, I plead silently to myself. He resolutely plonks himself next to me. He takes up two thirds of the seat I'm on, and that's still with one arse cheek hanging over the edge. The stench makes my tears water, and I disappear further into my audio book.
When we finally arrive at the station, it's 9.02 and the London train has left. I leg it to try to catch the Portsmouth train due at 9.04 and it just pulls in as I battle the stream of people coming the wrong way down the stairs and get on. Not too bad, still. When I look up after a bit my watch says 9.09 and the display outside says that the train is delayed. Strange. I step off and asks a member of staff what's going on.
"We have no driver"
Genius. No driver. I guess the train just rolled in on its own? I've lost my patience now, and stomp off in a huff. Next viable train leaves from platform 1 (other side of the station) at 9.22, and I trek over there. Delayed, expected 9.28. Fecking feck. Ok, what's next - the 9.30 Paddington service, at platform 13. Ho hum, back the other way.
So, I finally made it into work at 9.46, having travelled less than 15 miles in nearly two hours.
The public transport system is badly broken.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Morrissey
The Beeb is reporting that talks are in progress to get Morrissey to represent the UK in the Eurovision Song Contest.
That's...I'm speechless. Just imagine - Jimi Hendrix doing the Star Spangled Banner. Eh.. or The Sex Pistols doing God Save the Queen. Erm, ok, Monty Python doing a take on the last days in the life of Jesus? No? Kraftwerk taking on Joy Division's Love Will Tear Us Apart?
More silly cover versions on a post card, please.
Anyway - Morrissey is probably the most unlikely candidate for Eurovision glam. Now, I've had this blog post on The Smiths on the back burner for ages, ever since my friend Chris asked what the fcuking point was about The Smiths and Morrissey.
One day I will write that blog.
That's...I'm speechless. Just imagine - Jimi Hendrix doing the Star Spangled Banner. Eh.. or The Sex Pistols doing God Save the Queen. Erm, ok, Monty Python doing a take on the last days in the life of Jesus? No? Kraftwerk taking on Joy Division's Love Will Tear Us Apart?
More silly cover versions on a post card, please.
Anyway - Morrissey is probably the most unlikely candidate for Eurovision glam. Now, I've had this blog post on The Smiths on the back burner for ages, ever since my friend Chris asked what the fcuking point was about The Smiths and Morrissey.
One day I will write that blog.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Best of the Box
Since the discovery of the new, eh, time shifting capabilities of certain digital TV channels, I've gradually worked my way through various TV series that I otherwise wouldn't have had the attention span to see. Here are my top-5:
On a similar note, got given both series of This Life on DVD for Christmas. It's brilliant. A great snapshot of the hedonistic excesses of the 90s.
- The West Wing - pure magic, crisp writing, wonderful story lines, and a window into what the world might look like with an educated Renaissance man in the White House instead of the current moron.
- House MD - proper medical drama, that is a drama about medicine, rather than about relationships between medics. It's said that all real doctors secretly want to be Greg House, a genius that hates patients but loves medicine. Brit comedian Hugh Laurie in his finest role to date. Oh, the put-downs..
- Scrubs - a somewhat lighter take on the hospital drama. Recent series sprinkled with references to House for the eagle-eyed. Very funny, with the occasional more serious moment. And Dr Cox's put-downs are almost as acerbic as Greg House's..
- Gray's Anatomy - yet another medical drama. A more grown-up version of Scrubs, perhaps. Less medicine, more bonking.
- Boston Legal - has some of the best characters ever in a TV series. The first two series were magic, but later ones are starting to suffer from the Ally McBeal syndrome - it's just getting too weird.
On a similar note, got given both series of This Life on DVD for Christmas. It's brilliant. A great snapshot of the hedonistic excesses of the 90s.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Witness the Fitness
Chris Sharma, wunderkind, arguably the best climber on the planet, dispatching his aptly named problem 'Witness the Fitness'
Snow!
After an abysmal start to the winter season, snow is now finally falling over the Alps. We have a week's skiing booked for the end of Feb so a bit of base is always good.
Anyway, had a good time in Sweden over New Years, with plenty of good food from our most excellent chef team, a staggering array of drinks, saunas and dips in 0-degree Baltic waters with great friends. Trees were chopped down, fireworks set off and poker was played especially well by Sarah. She has the right mindset to become a great player if she wanted to - the right blend of discipline, analytical ability and instinct.
There was very little ice this year, in fact the least ice I've ever seen over Christmas as far as I can remember back. We still had to break through a little bit, but it pretty much vanished as the days went by.
Anyway, had a good time in Sweden over New Years, with plenty of good food from our most excellent chef team, a staggering array of drinks, saunas and dips in 0-degree Baltic waters with great friends. Trees were chopped down, fireworks set off and poker was played especially well by Sarah. She has the right mindset to become a great player if she wanted to - the right blend of discipline, analytical ability and instinct.
There was very little ice this year, in fact the least ice I've ever seen over Christmas as far as I can remember back. We still had to break through a little bit, but it pretty much vanished as the days went by.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Noo year
Merry pagan winter festival to all, and a happy 2007.
Here in the globally warmed Sweden, winter is still not present, sadly. Just watched my brother spreading his wisdom from the morning TV news show sofa. He's an expert on the Somalian conflict, which has recently flared up again.
We're preparing for a visit from a large band of Brits out to experience a proper white Christmas with sleigh rides and reindeer wandering the streets. Instead they'll be greeted by a November evening in Skegness.
On the home front we heard back from the insurers, who unsurprisingly said that unfortunately they will have nothing whatsoever to do with us, given the unjustifiable risk we represent. It really is amusing in a sad sort of way. We got sent lots of forms to explain and expand on our life style. The questions they ask betray a worrying lack of understanding. Statistically, the most risky thing that we do is driving a car. Second most risky thing, off-piste skiing for me, and horse riding for Sarah, distantly followed by climbing and diving. They didn't even ask about skiing. It's well-known that climbing is to insurers what the red rag is to a bull. This is curious, since the accident statistics presumably can be read by the insurers, as well as me.
Here in the globally warmed Sweden, winter is still not present, sadly. Just watched my brother spreading his wisdom from the morning TV news show sofa. He's an expert on the Somalian conflict, which has recently flared up again.
We're preparing for a visit from a large band of Brits out to experience a proper white Christmas with sleigh rides and reindeer wandering the streets. Instead they'll be greeted by a November evening in Skegness.
On the home front we heard back from the insurers, who unsurprisingly said that unfortunately they will have nothing whatsoever to do with us, given the unjustifiable risk we represent. It really is amusing in a sad sort of way. We got sent lots of forms to explain and expand on our life style. The questions they ask betray a worrying lack of understanding. Statistically, the most risky thing that we do is driving a car. Second most risky thing, off-piste skiing for me, and horse riding for Sarah, distantly followed by climbing and diving. They didn't even ask about skiing. It's well-known that climbing is to insurers what the red rag is to a bull. This is curious, since the accident statistics presumably can be read by the insurers, as well as me.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Spin doctor
Although it's been hard for an England supporter to drum up much enthusiasm for the current Ashes series, one thing must be said.
Shane Warne is a freak. A one-off. The Johnny Mac of Cricket.
Such effortless mastery is unusual in any sport, but the guy's slightly overweight, 37, fond of a R&R life style, and yet.. seeing his delivery to Monty Panesar in the third test just blew me (and Monty) away. A Warne spin delivery is indistinguishable from magic. That slow, short run up. The gentle curve of the slow ball. The confidence of the batsman stepping out to meet it. The swing of the bat - and the ball's no longer there. It has seemingly picked up speed on the bounce, and turned almost 90 degrees and whacked into the stumps. The confused batsman looking around - where the hell did it go? Of course, Monty - aka The Sikh Tweaker - should have known better, seeing that he's a dab hand at the spin delivery himself.
Warney is set to retire from international cricket after the current whitewash of the Ashes. He goes out on top, very probably with the best wicket-taking record in cricket history.
You made cricket cool, dude.
Shane Warne is a freak. A one-off. The Johnny Mac of Cricket.
Such effortless mastery is unusual in any sport, but the guy's slightly overweight, 37, fond of a R&R life style, and yet.. seeing his delivery to Monty Panesar in the third test just blew me (and Monty) away. A Warne spin delivery is indistinguishable from magic. That slow, short run up. The gentle curve of the slow ball. The confidence of the batsman stepping out to meet it. The swing of the bat - and the ball's no longer there. It has seemingly picked up speed on the bounce, and turned almost 90 degrees and whacked into the stumps. The confused batsman looking around - where the hell did it go? Of course, Monty - aka The Sikh Tweaker - should have known better, seeing that he's a dab hand at the spin delivery himself.
Warney is set to retire from international cricket after the current whitewash of the Ashes. He goes out on top, very probably with the best wicket-taking record in cricket history.
You made cricket cool, dude.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Sjöwall Wahlöö
Been working my way through the Sjöwall-Wahlöö canon of crime novels in audio book form to whittle away the commute in the mornings. They're probably the first internationally renowned crime writers to come out of Sweden, and their influence on everyone ever since cannot be overestimated. The first thing that is striking is the wonderful portrait of Sweden in the sixties and seventies, and the overt social criticism, if not political activism, that runs like a red thread through all of the books. The Swedish cradle-2-grave wellfare state had just begun being dismantled, and S&W are not afraid to spell out the consequences that this had for many people at the time. Mostly, the criminals are treated as victims of society, and the central quartet of policemen at the 'Riksmordskommissionen' (National Murder Squad) are generally sensible, humane and oppose the carrying of side arms much for the same reason as the UK police force. The Swedish secret services are pictured as complete useless morons, and the uniformed police as either violent psychopaths or Nazis. Or both.
For me, what makes the books particularly enjoyable is that it feels like 'real' police work. These are no genius super-sleuths along the lines of Holmes or Morse. The main character, Martin Beck, frequently touches on the point that murders are more often than not solved by coincidences - a car pulled over due to a broken tail light or something. The job of the Police is toö make sure that the net of potential coincidences is as tight as possible.
The books do paint a pretty sordid picture of Sweden, but it is interesting how many of the accusations levelled are equally relevant today. Or, to put it another way, things that seem wrong in today's society were already broken 30 years ago. I frequently snigger to myself at the descriptions of corruption and incompetence that could have been taken from yesterday's papers.
The original books have all been filmed, and the characters are now franchised into a long-running series of new material not written by the original authors (Per Wahlöö has passed away). Swedish film maker Bo Widerberg made the middle book - Den vedervärdige mannen från Säffle - into a wonderful film in 1976, but the newer fayre is of varying quality.
The series of books have influenced everyone from Mankell, Larsson and Nesser, especially Mankell with his equally thinly veiled social commentary.
For me, what makes the books particularly enjoyable is that it feels like 'real' police work. These are no genius super-sleuths along the lines of Holmes or Morse. The main character, Martin Beck, frequently touches on the point that murders are more often than not solved by coincidences - a car pulled over due to a broken tail light or something. The job of the Police is toö make sure that the net of potential coincidences is as tight as possible.
The books do paint a pretty sordid picture of Sweden, but it is interesting how many of the accusations levelled are equally relevant today. Or, to put it another way, things that seem wrong in today's society were already broken 30 years ago. I frequently snigger to myself at the descriptions of corruption and incompetence that could have been taken from yesterday's papers.
The original books have all been filmed, and the characters are now franchised into a long-running series of new material not written by the original authors (Per Wahlöö has passed away). Swedish film maker Bo Widerberg made the middle book - Den vedervärdige mannen från Säffle - into a wonderful film in 1976, but the newer fayre is of varying quality.
The series of books have influenced everyone from Mankell, Larsson and Nesser, especially Mankell with his equally thinly veiled social commentary.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Head hunters
So there I was, just back in the office after a long day of interviews for the development team. Phone goes. Female voice:
"Is that Mr Karma Police?"
I say that it is indeed, thinking it'd be the guys from HR who've helped me with recruiting. It isn't.
"We have a role for the technical lead for a large publishing company, lots of money, big budget to run the on line department's development arm, you interested?"
I am now very confused, seeing that she's just described my current position, all six weeks of it. I throw my boss next to me a sneaky look, thinking that he's started to look for my replacement already. He shakes his head, vigorously. I ask the lady who she's hiring for, and if she's sure that it's not my job she's trying to recruit me for. She's now confused. I ask how the hell she managed to get hold of my number, seeing that I don't actually know it myself yet.
"Sorry, that's confidential, but we want to do phone interviews tomorrow if you're interested"
I start laughing.
"I'm flattered, but as I've only been in this job for one paycheck so far, I think I should stick it out a bit longer.."
So, anyone wanting to shed some light on this? Maybe the competition is really that brash. Or, which is more likely, I really am incredibly talented :)
Random observation: whilst typing these words I'm watching the British Comedy Awards on telly. Seeing Sacha Baron Cohen out of character is kind of freaky. Borat couldn't make it, as he was doing the key note at the Holocaust Deniers' Conference, apparently.
The insurance comedy is on-going. Big forms arrived with questions written by people who don't understand what climbing means, and certainly aren't remotely qualified in assessing the risks involved. Statistically, cragging is incredibly safe. My sole injury even remotely associated with climbing in the last 10 years is a broken leg, slipping on a rock on the beach, walking in to a route at Portland. Oh, and tennis elbow.
"Is that Mr Karma Police?"
I say that it is indeed, thinking it'd be the guys from HR who've helped me with recruiting. It isn't.
"We have a role for the technical lead for a large publishing company, lots of money, big budget to run the on line department's development arm, you interested?"
I am now very confused, seeing that she's just described my current position, all six weeks of it. I throw my boss next to me a sneaky look, thinking that he's started to look for my replacement already. He shakes his head, vigorously. I ask the lady who she's hiring for, and if she's sure that it's not my job she's trying to recruit me for. She's now confused. I ask how the hell she managed to get hold of my number, seeing that I don't actually know it myself yet.
"Sorry, that's confidential, but we want to do phone interviews tomorrow if you're interested"
I start laughing.
"I'm flattered, but as I've only been in this job for one paycheck so far, I think I should stick it out a bit longer.."
So, anyone wanting to shed some light on this? Maybe the competition is really that brash. Or, which is more likely, I really am incredibly talented :)
Random observation: whilst typing these words I'm watching the British Comedy Awards on telly. Seeing Sacha Baron Cohen out of character is kind of freaky. Borat couldn't make it, as he was doing the key note at the Holocaust Deniers' Conference, apparently.
The insurance comedy is on-going. Big forms arrived with questions written by people who don't understand what climbing means, and certainly aren't remotely qualified in assessing the risks involved. Statistically, cragging is incredibly safe. My sole injury even remotely associated with climbing in the last 10 years is a broken leg, slipping on a rock on the beach, walking in to a route at Portland. Oh, and tennis elbow.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Pinochet
Chilean butcher Pinochet has finally joined the Fletcher Memorial Home for Incurable Tyrants and Kings. And not a day too early - missed only by Maggie Thatcher. On the home front, BBC's Sports Personality of the Year gong went to Zarah Phillips for her world and Euro titles in eventing. Not wanting to diminish her achievement, but the sports personalities have been a bit thin on the ground the last year. One thing seemed certain though - the England rugby union squad was unlikely to be in contention.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Friday, December 08, 2006
F6c+
Sarah completed her F6c+ project down the wall the other night in smooth style. I will now have to watch my back as she's climbed every route I have climbed so far this year. Very worrying trend indeed. We also completed our mortgage application with the usual fun and games when it comes to insurance.
"Oh, you climb? No problem. Do you climb harder than Severe, or on routes not protected by bolts?"
Please. Severe? My 3yo niece can climb Severe.
"Eeh, oh well, we'll have to consult further. At least you never climb unroped?"
Very tempting to pull out that picture of Sarah astride "The Hunk" in Bishop.
"Skiing, diving, horse riding?"
He'll get back to us, he said.
On the home front we're celebrating Maud's birthday today. Big up to you, and see you soon. It is indeed incredible that Christmas is upon us again.
"Oh, you climb? No problem. Do you climb harder than Severe, or on routes not protected by bolts?"
Please. Severe? My 3yo niece can climb Severe.
"Eeh, oh well, we'll have to consult further. At least you never climb unroped?"
Very tempting to pull out that picture of Sarah astride "The Hunk" in Bishop.
"Skiing, diving, horse riding?"
He'll get back to us, he said.
On the home front we're celebrating Maud's birthday today. Big up to you, and see you soon. It is indeed incredible that Christmas is upon us again.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Top 2%
According to that beacon of information accuracy, Slashdot, two percent of the world's population accounts for half the world's wealth. At the same time, the UK is planning to spend £20 billion on new nuclear missiles and associated subs. That's a lot of greenbacks in anyone's book. Now, I've never quite managed to get my head around the UK's need for a nuclear deterrent, especially since it's not even independent. For a launch, the UK has to ask, cap in hand, the US for the codes. The French, on the other hand, can nuke anyone they want, no questions asked. But back to the confusion - in a post cold war world, Empire days well and truly over - is this really the best way to spend £20bn of taxpayers' money?
Monday, December 04, 2006
Swimming lesson
I'm a rubbish swimmer. I can't do front crawl, at least not whilst breathing. Sarah's in contrast a paragon of grace and style in the pool, and she arranged for me to attend a Front Crawl Clinic at the university pool. At first this was pretty daunting, given that everybody was expertly crawling up and down, bar me. I was thrashing my way half way up the pool, and to add insult to injury, was captured on video for later analysis. The lady running the clinic kindly gave me a pair of flippers which (obviously) made an enormous difference. Suddenly I could actually take on board some of the teaching when I didn't have to fight so hard just to stay afloat and move forwards. Towards the end of the hour I was videoed again, and with a bit of imagination one could see some improvement.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Greetings, sport fans
Greetings, sport fans. The rumor about my demise is greatly exaggerated.
I'm back in gainful employment which is a bit of a shock to the system, as you can imagine. Still. A very different experience from my last place of work. Bigger, better funded, but in a state of flux. Should be fun. Managed to mislay my first pay packet, too. Was this close to start blaming - out of habit - HSBC, but it turns out it was someone else's fault. Mine.
The last few days in Sweden saw us take in Mozart's painfully beautiful Requiem at Berwaldshallen in Stockholm. One of my oldest and best friends is seeing one of the first violinists in the orchestra and managed to get us tickets. It's a pretty awesome experience, a full orchestra and chorus.
Anyway. England's much of the same. We're back down the wall, and met up with our fellow travellers Bruno and Jenny. We've managed to sell our house, and find ourself a new little dream property in Clifton. Trying to keep our expectations in check, given the archaic messy turd that is house buying and selling in the UK.
I can't believe it's almost christmas. Nor can I believe England's Rugby Union side. And don't even start on the cricket..
I'm back in gainful employment which is a bit of a shock to the system, as you can imagine. Still. A very different experience from my last place of work. Bigger, better funded, but in a state of flux. Should be fun. Managed to mislay my first pay packet, too. Was this close to start blaming - out of habit - HSBC, but it turns out it was someone else's fault. Mine.
The last few days in Sweden saw us take in Mozart's painfully beautiful Requiem at Berwaldshallen in Stockholm. One of my oldest and best friends is seeing one of the first violinists in the orchestra and managed to get us tickets. It's a pretty awesome experience, a full orchestra and chorus.
Anyway. England's much of the same. We're back down the wall, and met up with our fellow travellers Bruno and Jenny. We've managed to sell our house, and find ourself a new little dream property in Clifton. Trying to keep our expectations in check, given the archaic messy turd that is house buying and selling in the UK.
I can't believe it's almost christmas. Nor can I believe England's Rugby Union side. And don't even start on the cricket..
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
NK Update
Pyonyang says that sanctions imposed as a consequence of its recent nuclear test represents a declaration of war. Ho hum. Next step, a nuke-tipped missile destined for Seuol or Tokyo? Or at least, a second test to rattle the cage a bit further.
Say what you may about Kim, but he has got balls the size of Gibraltar Rock.
Say what you may about Kim, but he has got balls the size of Gibraltar Rock.
Monday, October 09, 2006
A New World Order
Remember this day; the day the world stood still. North Korea has set off a nuke. Good for Bush's War on Terror, bad for the world.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Stuff from the Wires
PhD bad for business? Well, we all knew that, really. Top 10 Geek Business Myths.
Friday, September 29, 2006
The Abyss
"If you gaze into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you", a well-known German thinker stated many years ago. The US appears to have been staring into the abyss of the so called "War on Terror", and basically legalised torture. When fighting an evil, one must take great care not to become that which one fights. There is no good coming from trading hard-won freedoms for an illusion of security. The Bush administration is fond of saying that the terrorists hate those that love freedom. Well, freedom just took a beating. The terrorist agenda has always been aiming at curtailing freedom. Andreas Baader wanted to bring about a revolution by forcing a revolt against a police state that would come about by the government removing one freedom after the other in response to random acts of terror. Twisted thinking, sure, but they came quite close to the police state, and Andreas Baader and Ulrike Meinhof was allegedly murdered by the police in their cells to avoid the messy rule of law.
So now the CIA is free to detain indefinitely without trial terrorist suspects. They can torture them, provided that they are not raped or that no biological experiments are conducted on them. Does this sound like the laws of a nation that values freedom and the rule of law?
Whilest the founding fathers are turning in their graves, I'm sure Andreas Baader is nodding approvingly in his.
So now the CIA is free to detain indefinitely without trial terrorist suspects. They can torture them, provided that they are not raped or that no biological experiments are conducted on them. Does this sound like the laws of a nation that values freedom and the rule of law?
Whilest the founding fathers are turning in their graves, I'm sure Andreas Baader is nodding approvingly in his.
Espania
Just back from a week in southern Spain, at the family Hacienda, meeting up with Chris and Nana from the UK. The climate is very nice this time of year; warm without being oppressive. Went running along the beach with Chris a couple of times, around 8k. He could have left me in the dust, but was polite enough to stick to my pace. Just uploaded my data from the Polar watch and it confirmed I'd been in the red zone for 85% of my runs.. no wonder I was feeling warm.
Anyway, the area is a bit chav-heavy, but with a large, walled garden complete with pool, it was a pretty relaxing stay. Sadly, the Hacienda is now up for sale for reasons harking back to my father's death, so it was probably the last visit.
Anyway, the area is a bit chav-heavy, but with a large, walled garden complete with pool, it was a pretty relaxing stay. Sadly, the Hacienda is now up for sale for reasons harking back to my father's death, so it was probably the last visit.
Monday, September 18, 2006
The morning after the night before
This is good for Sweden. Perhaps work will pay again. Perhaps people can get to decide more about how they want their health and child care, education and business conducted, instead of having the government dictate it to them. Hopfefully the more obnoxious, unfair taxes, such as property and wealth tax, will now be abolished. A small government dealing only in such matters which a government should deal with, and not meddling in matters concerning the individual.
A regime change right in the middle of a period of economic growth is unprecedented, and a serious vote of no confidence for the previous ruling elite which had become too accustomed to the seats of power.
Let freedom ring.
A regime change right in the middle of a period of economic growth is unprecedented, and a serious vote of no confidence for the previous ruling elite which had become too accustomed to the seats of power.
Let freedom ring.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
The Dawning of A New Era
23.00: Moderaterna has declared themselves the victors of this election. It's extraordinary. Biggest increase since the dawn of time, for any party, 10.5%. Persson is giving his concession speech as we speak. He's resigning the leadership.
The Social Democrats have ruled for 88 of the last 100 years.
The future starts here.
The Social Democrats have ruled for 88 of the last 100 years.
The future starts here.
Election night
21.40: Current prediction at 173 MPs for the Dark Side and 176 for the Democratic Alliance. A New Hope. Will The Empire Strike Back?
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Chief of Design, Apple
Interesting article about Jonathan Ive, Apple's design guru.
Anyway. Tomorrow is election day. My prediction is a regime change, and not a day too early.
Anyway. Tomorrow is election day. My prediction is a regime change, and not a day too early.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
eMusic gets it
eMusic has launched in Europe. Is this the first example of an e-tailer that 'gets it'? Here's the rub: I can order CDs from Amazon, say I take advantage of the current 3 CDs for £15 offer - for the sake of argument Keane's Hopes & Fears, the seminal remastered Live at Leeds, with The Who and maybe Weezer's Weezer, and rip to non-DRMed MP3 and listen to the choons on a variety of devices: home stereo, car, iPod, laptop whatever. Alternatively, I can download the same tunes from the iTunes Music Store and (a) pay more, (b) get lousy quality rips and (c) get data that's laden with DRM restrictions meaning I can only use it on a limited number of devices.
Tricky choice. Not.
Let's be realistic. All music is already available, for free, on line from the various P2P nets. However, some people actually want to pay for their digital data. What they don't want to pay for are artificially imposed restrictions that limit how they can use their purchases, especially since these restrictions just wouldn't be present had they purchased the same music on a CD.
It's so obvious it hurts.
So, if I could buy music losslessly encoded, or high-bitrate lossy without DRM (lossless sort of implies non-DRM), it would be the same rights for me as the customer as if I had purchased the CD. Given that there's no manufacturing, or distribution costs involved I'd expect that the price would be a quarter or less without anyone making any less money. Would we pay for it? Sure, I would - fair rights, fair price. Would I purchase music or films from the iTunes music store, or Napster (rife with even more ridiculous DRM concepts) or any other DRM-ridden fayre?
No way.
Now though, eMusic has launched. They sell MP3s without restrictions. Download to your heart's content for a monthly fee. After you've downloaded a track you own it, and can do with it whatever you like. Hey presto, they get it! Of course, the big boys aren't happy and thus eMusic's catalogue is somewhat wanting. But still - if I was Apple or Microsoft, I'd worry. Customers vote with their wallets. DRM is a solution in search for a problem. Why should we accept it if it makes things harder for us to use digital data than it was before? The explosion in the P2P traffic is a direct consequence of the old-skool thinking in the boardrooms of the big media companies.
The whole market is there for the taking for the first Big Media Company that understands this.
Tricky choice. Not.
Let's be realistic. All music is already available, for free, on line from the various P2P nets. However, some people actually want to pay for their digital data. What they don't want to pay for are artificially imposed restrictions that limit how they can use their purchases, especially since these restrictions just wouldn't be present had they purchased the same music on a CD.
It's so obvious it hurts.
So, if I could buy music losslessly encoded, or high-bitrate lossy without DRM (lossless sort of implies non-DRM), it would be the same rights for me as the customer as if I had purchased the CD. Given that there's no manufacturing, or distribution costs involved I'd expect that the price would be a quarter or less without anyone making any less money. Would we pay for it? Sure, I would - fair rights, fair price. Would I purchase music or films from the iTunes music store, or Napster (rife with even more ridiculous DRM concepts) or any other DRM-ridden fayre?
No way.
Now though, eMusic has launched. They sell MP3s without restrictions. Download to your heart's content for a monthly fee. After you've downloaded a track you own it, and can do with it whatever you like. Hey presto, they get it! Of course, the big boys aren't happy and thus eMusic's catalogue is somewhat wanting. But still - if I was Apple or Microsoft, I'd worry. Customers vote with their wallets. DRM is a solution in search for a problem. Why should we accept it if it makes things harder for us to use digital data than it was before? The explosion in the P2P traffic is a direct consequence of the old-skool thinking in the boardrooms of the big media companies.
The whole market is there for the taking for the first Big Media Company that understands this.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Jobs
Sarah's been busy sorting out her CV. She uploaded it last night, with a "no one will ever employ me" sigh. Today the phones haven't stopped ringing. Work for my company! No, MINE! Work in Cardiff, it's almost Bristol! They started ringing at 6 this morning. I put it down to my killer-CV format :)
Running
Long run last night, nearly 15k. One hour fifteen, not exactly a world record, but probably the longest distance I've run since last year's half marathon. Had expected to be crippled this morning, but feeling OK. I see from my training log that that run took me over a weekly 45k, a personal record, at least since I got my Polar watch to keep track of these things for me. Think I'll restrict today's exercise to a leisurly Power Yoga session this afternoon.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Summer, just
So the summer has returned for one last spell before the Swedish eternal darkness descends for good. Last week saw rain almost every day, and running in the evenings means returning in darkness. I've started running in long trousers now. Amazing how quickly the summer goes. But the sun's out today, at least. The Swedish General Election is drawing closer, and the child-like bickering is most amusing. I guess the 'problem' is that there isn't really that much to argue about in this country. Most amusing of all the the much shouted about Folkpartiet-gate, where apparently one of the parties hacked into one of the others network, supposedly stealing electoral secrets. Well, I say 'hacked' where in fact it was one of the users' password that was the same as his name. Very secure. Is it immoral to exploit others stupidity? Apparently it's illegal, but come on!
Monday, September 04, 2006
Steve Irwin
So Steve 'Croc Hunter' Irwin finally met his match, in the shape of a sting ray. Ironically, being killed by a sting ray is very rare indeed - apparently only one other recorded case in Oz. I learnt the hard - or sharp, shall we say - way why they're called sting rays when diving off the coast of Belize a few years back. One swish of the tail, and a very bleeding hand.
Steve himself had a loyal following all around the world, it would seem. Even Slashdot covered the story, which is about as far away from its normal fayre one can get. We actually passed by his Australia Zoo when we travelled up the east coast of Oz in January, but we never went in.
Steve himself had a loyal following all around the world, it would seem. Even Slashdot covered the story, which is about as far away from its normal fayre one can get. We actually passed by his Australia Zoo when we travelled up the east coast of Oz in January, but we never went in.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Vaseline
One of my biggest problems when running any sort of reasonable distance is, ahem, an element of chafing. A quick trawl through running related web resources soon reveals that I am not alone in this. Chris recommended to try firstly a pair of cycling shorts to keep all in its place, and if that didn't work, liberal amounts of vaseline applied in strategic places around big Jim and the twins. Apparently, during his London Marathon, St John's Ambulance had personnel out, wearing latex gloves handing out fistfuls of the stuff along the course. The cycling shorts helped a bit, but I soon realised that for any run exceeding 30 mins I'd need to try the vaseline treatment. In Tesco they sell poxy little tins the size of 50p coins that would hardly coat anything worthwhile. I headed for the big Boots out at Cribb's Causeway. I wander aimlessly about for a while, before asking an attendant. She directs me towards the tiny tins. I whisper that I'm on the market for something slightly more man-sized. She looks at me with a strange expression, and says that the industrial sized vats are kept in the mother & baby section, but that I might want to consider alternative products for 'intimate purposes'. I open my mouth to vigorously defend my honour, but soon realise that there's nothing I can say to rectify the situation. I skulk over to the mother and baby section and grab a tub..
..which works great, when liberally applied.
Thanks for the tip, Chris.
..which works great, when liberally applied.
Thanks for the tip, Chris.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Free, limitless energy
Yep. No more oil dependency or global warming. Limitless, clean energy out of thin air. We laugh in the face of the Second Law of Thermodynamics. Buy your shares now! Eat sand Saudis, the Irish will rule the world.
Steorn
Steorn
Sunday, August 13, 2006
King Kong (E1 5b), Wintour's Leap
Just back from a lightning visit to The Crag of Dreams (Wintour's Leap). Paul and I climbed the classic 'King Kong', which was pretty sustained for the grade. This is actually my first bit of proper climbing this year so far, disturbingly, what with broken legs etc. Paul's part of the guidebook effort for the crag, so we moved on to investigate one of his remaining routes probably outside his comfort zone, La Folie, at a respectable E4 6a. We worked it in an ethically dubious manner, and to both of our surprises managed to do it. One to return to.
Martin Crocker has been responsible for BMC's general tidy-up of much of Wintour's, and boy have they done an amazing job. It's like a whole new crag with vegetation cut back, rotten, dangerous rock removed and crumbling pegs replaced with shiny Petzl and Fixe expansion bolts. Some sections have been designated pure 'sport', and not a day too early, I say. Some of the more fundamentalist old guard are grumbling, but it's all done with the blessing of the BMC and in some cases with the express wishes of the land owners in order for them to grant access. Wintour's now sports a 100m+, 3 pitch, three star clip-up rated F7a. I'm sure that will have constant queues for a while.
Martin Crocker has been responsible for BMC's general tidy-up of much of Wintour's, and boy have they done an amazing job. It's like a whole new crag with vegetation cut back, rotten, dangerous rock removed and crumbling pegs replaced with shiny Petzl and Fixe expansion bolts. Some sections have been designated pure 'sport', and not a day too early, I say. Some of the more fundamentalist old guard are grumbling, but it's all done with the blessing of the BMC and in some cases with the express wishes of the land owners in order for them to grant access. Wintour's now sports a 100m+, 3 pitch, three star clip-up rated F7a. I'm sure that will have constant queues for a while.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Living Legends
Watching the European Track & Field Championships from Gothenburgh. Merlene Ottey has just advanced through the qualification stages. She has 35 major championship medals, and is 46 years old. 46! She still managed the 4th fastest time of the day. Speaking of legends, Carolina Kluft's only 23, but has already won everything that's worth winning, and pundits are already saying that she ought to quit the heptathlon and try some other discipline where she might encounter some opposition. She's leisurly cruising towards another championship gold. They say she's beaten the national tripple jump record in training, eventhough she's never done it competitively, and that she's clearing 3.8m in pole vault. The complete Athlete?
The Swedish high jumpers are also doing well with both Stefan and Linus qualifying rather effortlessly. Watched in disbelief Stefan Holm cissoring 2.10 in warmup. That's higher than the female world record.
The Swedish high jumpers are also doing well with both Stefan and Linus qualifying rather effortlessly. Watched in disbelief Stefan Holm cissoring 2.10 in warmup. That's higher than the female world record.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
New panels
They've reopened the gym and climbing wall after a month long outage when the place was rebuilt. Didn't think that they were going to do much to the wall, but they've reset every single route, thrown away - thank God - the useless EP featured panels and replaced them with plain ones, at least on the lead wall, and made the boulder wall 40cm higher. Now, had they only installed a kick panel on the boulder wall, and removed the top ropes it would have been an ace facility instead of merely a good one.
We've been focused on running lately. I love running, even if it doesn't come naturally to me - I lose running fitness quickly and take ages to build it up again. Add to that two recent leg breaks and two different orthopaedic surgeons saying that I'll never run again, I'm seriously addicted. The doctors are sort of right though - the first 500 metres of every run is agony, but after that my ankle starts limbering up a bit and the rest of the run usually goes without incident. The day after a run I struggle to walk on my left foot in the morning. In the forest here there's a 2.5k loop, but getting any sort of reasonable mileage out of that gets a bit repetitive, so we recently ferreted out a 10k run that although still encompasses one lap of the loop doesn't repeat itself (too much). We try to run about 10k every other day. A while back we got ourselves some Polar heart-rate monitors with a foot pod thingy to measure running speed, pace and distance. It's revolutionised the way I train and run. I've always found it difficult not to go balls to the wall when I run, and then only lasting about 5k before I'm spent. It's actually quite hard to judge when you're running say 75% and when you're running 90% of your max, but with the monitor I can see that if my heart rate falls between 160 and 170 I can keep up the run pretty much indefinitely. Sure, I won't beat any speed records, but for me running is about the distance. I did do the Bristol Half Marathon last year, foolishly undertrained, and although I completed it, every step was agony after about 8 miles. I'd like to get to a point where running 13 miles is not a once a year occurrence, but something one can do on a regular basis without being crippled for a week afterwards. The Lingontega run on Gräsö is a wonderful 10k run, too. Chris did that in an astonishing 42:50 this summer, nearly a full minute off my every kilometre. I don't aspire to run those sort of times, but being solid under 50 would be nice.
Of course, there's a natural extension to run to the ferry port and back, which would make that run 16k..eh, about 10 miles or so.
Sarah's now nearly half way through her level 4 Swedish course with Folkuniversitetet. They're working her hard, but the progress she's made is extraordinary. She's keeping up day to day regular conversations, and the amount of English we speak has dropped way down. I can't help but reflect on my school French, and the embarressingly modest return of investment those 6 years of study has given me. Sarah's two months of courses here has sent her so far beyond my French level that it is truly shameful on my behalf. It's also made me realise how much of my once solid Swedish formal grammar I've lost. Those of you who know Sarah know how she insists on understanding everything completely before moving on to the next issue, refusing to take anything as given. A natural academic streak.
"But why?" anyone?
But she's certainly learning fast.
On the culture front, me and my brother sat through the epic masterpiece "Ultraviolet" the other night, a sort of vampire-stroke-kung-fu tale with the easy on the eye Milla Jovovovovovich in the lead. Lots of guns and Matrix-style fighting. It's quite possibly the best film ever made.
Almost.
We've been focused on running lately. I love running, even if it doesn't come naturally to me - I lose running fitness quickly and take ages to build it up again. Add to that two recent leg breaks and two different orthopaedic surgeons saying that I'll never run again, I'm seriously addicted. The doctors are sort of right though - the first 500 metres of every run is agony, but after that my ankle starts limbering up a bit and the rest of the run usually goes without incident. The day after a run I struggle to walk on my left foot in the morning. In the forest here there's a 2.5k loop, but getting any sort of reasonable mileage out of that gets a bit repetitive, so we recently ferreted out a 10k run that although still encompasses one lap of the loop doesn't repeat itself (too much). We try to run about 10k every other day. A while back we got ourselves some Polar heart-rate monitors with a foot pod thingy to measure running speed, pace and distance. It's revolutionised the way I train and run. I've always found it difficult not to go balls to the wall when I run, and then only lasting about 5k before I'm spent. It's actually quite hard to judge when you're running say 75% and when you're running 90% of your max, but with the monitor I can see that if my heart rate falls between 160 and 170 I can keep up the run pretty much indefinitely. Sure, I won't beat any speed records, but for me running is about the distance. I did do the Bristol Half Marathon last year, foolishly undertrained, and although I completed it, every step was agony after about 8 miles. I'd like to get to a point where running 13 miles is not a once a year occurrence, but something one can do on a regular basis without being crippled for a week afterwards. The Lingontega run on Gräsö is a wonderful 10k run, too. Chris did that in an astonishing 42:50 this summer, nearly a full minute off my every kilometre. I don't aspire to run those sort of times, but being solid under 50 would be nice.
Of course, there's a natural extension to run to the ferry port and back, which would make that run 16k..eh, about 10 miles or so.
Sarah's now nearly half way through her level 4 Swedish course with Folkuniversitetet. They're working her hard, but the progress she's made is extraordinary. She's keeping up day to day regular conversations, and the amount of English we speak has dropped way down. I can't help but reflect on my school French, and the embarressingly modest return of investment those 6 years of study has given me. Sarah's two months of courses here has sent her so far beyond my French level that it is truly shameful on my behalf. It's also made me realise how much of my once solid Swedish formal grammar I've lost. Those of you who know Sarah know how she insists on understanding everything completely before moving on to the next issue, refusing to take anything as given. A natural academic streak.
"But why?" anyone?
But she's certainly learning fast.
On the culture front, me and my brother sat through the epic masterpiece "Ultraviolet" the other night, a sort of vampire-stroke-kung-fu tale with the easy on the eye Milla Jovovovovovich in the lead. Lots of guns and Matrix-style fighting. It's quite possibly the best film ever made.
Almost.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Bud. Light
What kind of beer personality are you? Interesting question regarding one of my favourite past times, I thought.
Turns out I am a... wait for it.. Bud Light. Not exactly what I had in mind.
You can all laugh now.
Turns out I am a... wait for it.. Bud Light. Not exactly what I had in mind.
You can all laugh now.
Monday, July 24, 2006
The State of the Art
I've been an avid SciFi nut for as long as I can remember. I've just finished Peter Hamilton's latest brick, "Judas Unchained", the final installment of the Commonwealth Saga, and it made me think. It's peculiar that with one or two rare exceptions, all worthwhile scifi written over the last 20 years or so appears to be British. Iain Banks. Neal Asher. Richard Morgan. Alastair Raynolds. Peter Hamilton - they all share that peculiar blend of truly imaginative space 'opera', ultra violence, believable hypertech, but with a strong political undercurrent, nearly always socialist. Canadian William Gibson arguably invented the genre, but since his earlier masterpieces he's shunned away from the harder stuff, concentrating on less elaborate, near future writing instead. American Greg Bear who certainly inspired Hamilton with the books Queen of Angels and Blood Music seems to have disappeared beyond the event horizon of his own black hole. I've found his latest books unreadable and dull.
So, without further ado, here's the Karma Police list of indispensible modern, British SciFi
Iain M. Banks - Excession
Banks' Culture universe is one of the most richly imagined, hugely entertaining and sometimes satirical. Excession is in my view the finest example, if nothing else for the ships' names alone.
Peter F. Hamilton - Night's Dawn Trilogy
A nightmare scenario, vivid universe building, extreme tech and mercurial characters makes this a must read. The 3000+ pages might put off occasional readers though.
Richard Morgan - Altered Carbon
Reads like a 'noir' thriller, with an unlikely antihero at its centre. A few other books feature Kovacs, but this is the best. The whole brain digital backup thing is similar to that proposed by Hamilton.
Richard Morgan - Market Forces
This one blew me away in its audacity, in a sort of Mad Max meets tomorrow's Financial Times kind of way.
Alastair Raynolds - Revelation Space
Hard SciFi of the finest pedigree, with all the right components - tech, space, digital warfare, alien artefacts. A remarkable debut.
Peter F. Hamilton - Commonwealth Saga (Pandora's Star, Judas Unchained)
A new universe of the same vast scope as his Night's Dawn works, but at the same time totally different. The man has a limitless imagination, it would seem. This universe is more benign, and humanity appears to have sorted itself out. Until..
Iain M. Banks - The Player of Games
Not for the squeamish. Another novel about the Marxist utopia 'The Culture'.
So, without further ado, here's the Karma Police list of indispensible modern, British SciFi
Iain M. Banks - Excession
Banks' Culture universe is one of the most richly imagined, hugely entertaining and sometimes satirical. Excession is in my view the finest example, if nothing else for the ships' names alone.
Peter F. Hamilton - Night's Dawn Trilogy
A nightmare scenario, vivid universe building, extreme tech and mercurial characters makes this a must read. The 3000+ pages might put off occasional readers though.
Richard Morgan - Altered Carbon
Reads like a 'noir' thriller, with an unlikely antihero at its centre. A few other books feature Kovacs, but this is the best. The whole brain digital backup thing is similar to that proposed by Hamilton.
Richard Morgan - Market Forces
This one blew me away in its audacity, in a sort of Mad Max meets tomorrow's Financial Times kind of way.
Alastair Raynolds - Revelation Space
Hard SciFi of the finest pedigree, with all the right components - tech, space, digital warfare, alien artefacts. A remarkable debut.
Peter F. Hamilton - Commonwealth Saga (Pandora's Star, Judas Unchained)
A new universe of the same vast scope as his Night's Dawn works, but at the same time totally different. The man has a limitless imagination, it would seem. This universe is more benign, and humanity appears to have sorted itself out. Until..
Iain M. Banks - The Player of Games
Not for the squeamish. Another novel about the Marxist utopia 'The Culture'.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
World Cup
..Rugby, of course.
Boy wonder himself, Jonny W has worked out that, and I quote: "England needs some big wins to get back on track for a successful defence of the World Cup".
No shit, Sherlock.
The other World Cup has finally completed, with Zidane's excellent header in extra time. What a brilliant way to bow out of the beautiful game.
Boy wonder himself, Jonny W has worked out that, and I quote: "England needs some big wins to get back on track for a successful defence of the World Cup".
No shit, Sherlock.
The other World Cup has finally completed, with Zidane's excellent header in extra time. What a brilliant way to bow out of the beautiful game.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Rescue Diver
Over the weekend before last, Sarah and I completed the practical parts of the Rescue Diver course, and also the Drysuit Speciality course. We drove out to Kapellskar in the spectacular Norrtalje archipelago on the Friday lunch time aiming to get the drysuit course out of the way that day, ready for the main event over Saturday and Sunday. You have to have the drysuit proof of competency in order to hire drysuit equipment, and no wetsuits are available for hire. I've dived drysuit a few times way back when, but it was so long ago that essentially both of us started from scratch. Of course, this particular day, a drysuit was the last thing you wanted to be wearing, in a 30 degree heat. Still, we shedded our shorts and donned thermals, mid-layer and thick fleece and squirmed into the 7mm neoprene drysuits. We were cooking. Mats, our instructor, took about two minutes to get into his, and he had to jump in to cool off, as he was starting to look decidedly well-done whilst Sarah and I tried to get ourselves ready. The dive gear was different from what we're used to. First stage has a DIN conection to the tank instead of the for us more familiar yoke. There is an extra low pressure hose for connecting the suit, and the tank is made from steel rather than aluminium, and take 300 bars of compressed air rather than the 200 we've been using. The reason for this is that a drysuit gives so much more buoyancy, so to avoid having to carry 20kgs of lead on a belt, the heavier tank helps.
On our first dive we got to practice the basics, and it was amazing how weird it felt in the beginning. After we started to get the hang of the basic buoyancy control we had to practice the 'getting out of uncontrolled feet first ascent' manouver. If you over-fill a drysuit and the air for some reason gets too far down your legs, you might start to drift to the surface feet first. As you move up, the air expands further, compounding the problem. As there are no air vents around the ankles, things can get troublesome. We tried the tuck-roll move to get out of such a predicament.
After some lunch on the pier we were back in the water for more of a dive. As soon as we got deeper than a few metres I realised that I was struggling to equalise my sinuses. I normally have no such problems and I was not suffering from a cold as far as I was aware. To make matters worse, a few metres more and I felt what can only be described as an angry elephant working a sledgehammer on my teeth in my mouth. A most extraordinary pain that seemed to eminate from one of my upper back teeth and radiate out through my jaw bone. I'd recently had a filling about there, so I figured I was experiencing tooth-squeeze first hand. I always thought it was a bit of a myth, but apparently not. A tiny pocket of air is trapped in the filling, or between the filling and the tooth that contracts or expands depending on the changing surrounding pressure as you go up or down. I came very close to abandoning the dive, but once we reached our intended depth and just swam along it wasn't too bad for a while. I cursed my Bristol dentist.
As we finished the dive my sinuses made themselves known again. I knew what to expect as I took off my mask. I rinsed out all the bloody mucus - at least my sinuses should now be clean.. Back in the hut we filled out the paperwork, and we were now certified drysuit 'specialists'. I took some decongestants and headed for bed, not relishing having to do battle with tooth-squeeze for two pretty much whole days in the water. Fortunately, on the Rescue course there is very little actual diving as it were. Most of what you do is either on or near the surface, or quick jaunts to the bottom to pick something - or someone - up.
The rest of the people turned up for breakfast the next day. Our aim today was to practice the skills necessary for getting injured, panicing or unconcious divers up to the surface if they're below, and to land or boat if they're on the surface. But once in the water the first thing we got to do was to practice self-rescue - releasing cramp, out of air etc. Very useful indeed, as probably most divers haven't had to do anyhthing like that since they qualified. Then we tried various towing techniques, and trying to give rescue breaths whilst in the water. Very difficult. Raising an unconciuous diver from the bottom to the surface. Lifting an unconcious diver in various ways, also hard, especially if you and your diving buddy are of different sizes and weights. Me lifting Sarah out of the water was difficult enough; her lifting me out a virtual impossibility, which is food for thought if nothing else.
We also practiced search patterns looking for sunken treasures in the shape of sand filled drinks bottles that Mats kept chucking in, and diving equipment that us lot kept dropping when removing an 'unconcious' diver's gear.. Pretty difficult in the one metre visibility caused by six divers kicking up silt for a whole day. We retreated to the hut to eat and to lick our wounds - everybody was pretty knackered, but we suffered through the England game. Mats prepared a grand Indonesian pork curry and after a beer or two Sarah and I went to bed. At least I hadn't noticed any tooth squeeze - in fact, I think that the whole filling has blown, which is super-irritating as I now have to revisit the dentist.
The Sunday saw us diving the rescue 'scenarios', and this is the meat of the course if you like. Mats would take one or two divers aside - the designated victims - and cook up some surprise. The rest of the divers were told very little about what to expect, typically that they're out diving for pleasure when they encounter a diver with some unspecified problem which they are to try to rectify in the appropriate way. Whereas yesterday had felt like practice, suddenly it all felt very real. Sarah and I had to attend to a diver on the bottom who indicated that he'd hurt his leg. Suddenly, he signalled out of air. Sarah reacted quickly and gave him her spare, and we helped him to the surface. As we breached, he suddenly started to panic. In another scenario, Sarah was the panicing victim and won praise for her authentic portrayal, climbing on top of her would-be rescuers.
The rescue diver course, which had started a bit dull in the classroom had developed into what is easily the most fun and useful of the PADI courses I've taken. As this course has a more serious flavour than the others, I'm glad that we did it here, in cold waters with low visibility and all the extra considerations that drysuit diving entails.
On our first dive we got to practice the basics, and it was amazing how weird it felt in the beginning. After we started to get the hang of the basic buoyancy control we had to practice the 'getting out of uncontrolled feet first ascent' manouver. If you over-fill a drysuit and the air for some reason gets too far down your legs, you might start to drift to the surface feet first. As you move up, the air expands further, compounding the problem. As there are no air vents around the ankles, things can get troublesome. We tried the tuck-roll move to get out of such a predicament.
After some lunch on the pier we were back in the water for more of a dive. As soon as we got deeper than a few metres I realised that I was struggling to equalise my sinuses. I normally have no such problems and I was not suffering from a cold as far as I was aware. To make matters worse, a few metres more and I felt what can only be described as an angry elephant working a sledgehammer on my teeth in my mouth. A most extraordinary pain that seemed to eminate from one of my upper back teeth and radiate out through my jaw bone. I'd recently had a filling about there, so I figured I was experiencing tooth-squeeze first hand. I always thought it was a bit of a myth, but apparently not. A tiny pocket of air is trapped in the filling, or between the filling and the tooth that contracts or expands depending on the changing surrounding pressure as you go up or down. I came very close to abandoning the dive, but once we reached our intended depth and just swam along it wasn't too bad for a while. I cursed my Bristol dentist.
As we finished the dive my sinuses made themselves known again. I knew what to expect as I took off my mask. I rinsed out all the bloody mucus - at least my sinuses should now be clean.. Back in the hut we filled out the paperwork, and we were now certified drysuit 'specialists'. I took some decongestants and headed for bed, not relishing having to do battle with tooth-squeeze for two pretty much whole days in the water. Fortunately, on the Rescue course there is very little actual diving as it were. Most of what you do is either on or near the surface, or quick jaunts to the bottom to pick something - or someone - up.
The rest of the people turned up for breakfast the next day. Our aim today was to practice the skills necessary for getting injured, panicing or unconcious divers up to the surface if they're below, and to land or boat if they're on the surface. But once in the water the first thing we got to do was to practice self-rescue - releasing cramp, out of air etc. Very useful indeed, as probably most divers haven't had to do anyhthing like that since they qualified. Then we tried various towing techniques, and trying to give rescue breaths whilst in the water. Very difficult. Raising an unconciuous diver from the bottom to the surface. Lifting an unconcious diver in various ways, also hard, especially if you and your diving buddy are of different sizes and weights. Me lifting Sarah out of the water was difficult enough; her lifting me out a virtual impossibility, which is food for thought if nothing else.
We also practiced search patterns looking for sunken treasures in the shape of sand filled drinks bottles that Mats kept chucking in, and diving equipment that us lot kept dropping when removing an 'unconcious' diver's gear.. Pretty difficult in the one metre visibility caused by six divers kicking up silt for a whole day. We retreated to the hut to eat and to lick our wounds - everybody was pretty knackered, but we suffered through the England game. Mats prepared a grand Indonesian pork curry and after a beer or two Sarah and I went to bed. At least I hadn't noticed any tooth squeeze - in fact, I think that the whole filling has blown, which is super-irritating as I now have to revisit the dentist.
The Sunday saw us diving the rescue 'scenarios', and this is the meat of the course if you like. Mats would take one or two divers aside - the designated victims - and cook up some surprise. The rest of the divers were told very little about what to expect, typically that they're out diving for pleasure when they encounter a diver with some unspecified problem which they are to try to rectify in the appropriate way. Whereas yesterday had felt like practice, suddenly it all felt very real. Sarah and I had to attend to a diver on the bottom who indicated that he'd hurt his leg. Suddenly, he signalled out of air. Sarah reacted quickly and gave him her spare, and we helped him to the surface. As we breached, he suddenly started to panic. In another scenario, Sarah was the panicing victim and won praise for her authentic portrayal, climbing on top of her would-be rescuers.
The rescue diver course, which had started a bit dull in the classroom had developed into what is easily the most fun and useful of the PADI courses I've taken. As this course has a more serious flavour than the others, I'm glad that we did it here, in cold waters with low visibility and all the extra considerations that drysuit diving entails.
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