Bamboo Bee Box

Get your box out for the lads!

Albert Einstein predicted that the earth would cease to exist if the humble bee were to perish and he put forward a time of a grizzly three year crawl towards disaster, death and extinction.


The purpose of this blog is to investigate (it will be short, I promise) whether Albert had a point or whether he was merely procrastinating in a theoretical sort of way.

Let's think about this properly.

Einstein is suggesting that the bee, the plague of the barbecue season, is an almighty powerful beast. Not only can he/she ruin your day in one fell swoop (and die as a result - them, not you, unless an adverse reaction occurs), he/she can threaten the mere of existence of planet earth.

So...

Logically, if the bee succumbs to extinction, cross pollination will cease to exist. Plants will begin to die out at a greater rate than our cack-handed efforts to forage the same path as the humble bee. Quite simly, only plants like the hardy Dandelion will be able to survive and those other vegetational specie that cannily do not rely on the bee.

Insects that rely on vegetation are not going to have enough time to evolve in such a short space of time to alter their taste buds towards the Dandelion. So they are going to die out.

With a lack of insects, we are going to see the back of insects that feed on insects, such as the spider. Birds are going to be quick to follow with a lack of spiders and worms to feast upon. They are not in a position to make a swift switch to becoming a vegetarian.

Without most birds, we are going to see the back of the cat. Despite what Whiskers and various other feline products tell us, they need birds.

The death of the cat is going to jeopardise the future of the dog. I'm not talking so much about the kill and the feasting on a feline carcass, I am talking about a reason to live. No cats to chase, dogs lose the purpose of survival.


This is when the chain makes the cross over from humble creatures to human beings. The loss of dogs would be an absolute catastrophe for most of Asia. A lack of protein from dog meat is going to lead to all sorts of problems. Over fishing will increase and the sea will become empty. Seafood, being a short term fix, will not see them safe. When our marine cousins finally surrender, they will be left with nothing but noodles. Death will not be far away.

The fall of Asia will mean that most countries around the globe lose essential things like refrigerators and televisions. Death will spread.

The United States of America's beef trade will eventually wither with lack of pollination. Not forgetting that they will have no-one to missile or threaten as the devastation sweeps across Russia and the Middle East. They will eventually wave the white flag to starvation and gratuitous violence amongst themselves.

Africa has long since perished as food aid is a mere memory and the Sahara Desert has replaced any sort of lush ground. Westernisation will be a distant memory and they will have returned to their tribal roots, but one can only survive for too long with vegetation.

Not much news from Australia. The barren land will have been returned to the Aborigines who are able to survive the mean and not so pleasant land for the time being. The latecomers will not have faired so well. As soon as beer supplies will have ceased to be, I predict pandemonium and another self-destruction. India and Pakistan will have destroyed themselves, but that has absolutely nothing to do with cross-pollination.

Britain will undoubtedly be another victim of starvation. No doubt Nick Griffin, sqwauking on his death bed, will blame the extinction of the bee upon that of a foreign black and yellowed winged imposter.

The future is grim. Albert had a point. Get yourself a bee box.


Bamboo Bee Box


Word of the Day: Inaniloquent - pertaining to idle talk

Quote of the Day: "An American Monkey, after getting drunk on Brandy, would never touch it again, and thus is much wiser than most men" - Charles Darwin


Sleep well.

Ayr and Graces

I am limited as to what I can say; this was a stag do and shall remain secretive... to some extent.

I did win twice on the horses. Only because I bet on the same horse, in the same race by accident. I thought I recognised that name. Thank you 'Devotion to Duty' for hanging in there and giving me a windfall close to a massive £30.

T'was a fantastic weekend. Twelve Scots and a token Englishmen did their very best to wreak havoc upon the wee bonny Scotland. I am sure some more shall be revealed at the best man speech and in many years to come.

Merigo finished top of the pile (not an actual pile, just to clarify
for the animal rights protestors).

Highlight: Scott dressed as Morph - "He hasn't been the same since Tony Hart died". A failed interviewee for the part of the Power Rangers.

Lowlight: A forty minute wait for my Saturday breakfast

LowLowLight: Richard Branson thieving £108 for a ticket to London.

Ayr was a fantastic venue. You could not fail to lose the group. "Have you seen the red man?" and you would be pointed in their direction.

It was a fake tan convention of the very best, afterall, the Scotch lovelies have been wrapped up in sheepskin for quite some time.

A round of applause for Ayr, Jim and all the velvets (and their cronies) for organising such a thoroughly enjoyable time.


Word of the Day: Dapples - Round, coloured markings on a horses coat.

Quote of the Day: "Silence is the most powerful scream" - Anon

Bacon and Eggs

"Life expectancy would grow leaps and bounds if green
vegetables smelled as good as bacon"

The cure of many ailments and the cause of just as many.

Streaky. Smoked. Lean. Grilled. Fried. Ovened. Tender. Juicy. Crispy. Oh, sweet magical bacon. How I adore thy scent, wafting up and warming my tender nostrils.

You have been a dear friend to me over the years. Never failing to satisfy my hunger and enlighten my taste buds. I feel deep gratitude to those gallant pigs that have fallen to provide such a delicious treat.

Going abroad for a holiday is always lacking in good quality bacon. Having a butty is generally the first thing I do on my return from some far off shores. Two thick slices of fresh white bread. A 'healthy' layer of salted butter. Some crisp lettuce and half a thinly sliced tomato. A dollop of Coleman's mustard and FIVE rashers of extremely crispy streaky bacon. Jet lag and post holiday blues are temporarily silenced by this delectable treat. I spent much of my gap year, in a hash induced haze, dreaming of crispy rashers to adorn my homemade bread.

Fast forward almost exactly eleven years and I find myself in the abode of Peter and Collette Bacon. The Bacon Household. A rather attractive house nestled away in the leafy suburbs of Scarborough, the premier seaside resort of this hallowed country.

The trip up was arduous. Only because I was sandwiched (mmm, bacon sandwich) between the German manufactures door and a pile of bags, books and various gifts for the weekend away. Adam was at the wheel, Dido was on the Mac and Simba was keeping me warm and thankfully managed to 'hold on' for the duration of the journey. A pizza stop aside, we made good speed and found our way to Scarborough shortly after Thursday had expired. Don't get me wrong, the pizza was good (thank you for that Adam), but it was not quite large enough. Six inches is never enough.

The next few days are a bit of a blur. Not because Peter Bacon plied me with alcohol through out my stay (although he did), but because there were so many comings and goings and new faces and names to remember, at different points of the stay, my mind neglected to form some sort of order to the proceedings.

I was gifted a bedspace in the heavens of the detached house. Annabel was squashed into Hong Kong or was that playing squash in Hong Kong? So I was volunteered to take her room, complete with remote controlled lights.

Friday came. At this point I should probably describe the cast of the Easter weekend as they all arrived at some point through out the day.

Peter Bacon (PJB) had greeted us the night before. A rather engaging and powerful looking chap with a Manuel/Peter Falk type moustache. A dazzling intellect with a penchant for brandy and anything else that warms the cockles. And no, the 'J' doesn't stand for Jebediah or Jehovah.

Colette Bacon (CB) bade me a good morning in her dressing gown (she was in it, not me!). An elegant lady who plies her trade as an opto... opthom... opsth... Well, she seemed to be an infernal optimist. A most gracious host with a, seemingly, never ending supply of food and generosity.

Nick Bacon (NB). A self-styled financial and number crunching guru, who seemed to struggle with the numbers 2-9 and the letter A, J, Q and K.

Dido Bacon (DB). A late twenty something Apple addict with a habit of whipping out her... camera in public and a feisty opponent when it comes to anything competitive, be it monopoly or a simple game of Snap!

George Bacon (GB). A two wheeling ex-army boy with a collection of visors that would turn Valentino Rossi a shade of green.

Will McLean (WM). A curly haired (ex-bouffant) Liverpool fan, capable of hoovering up a 12" pizza in one fell swoop.

Ned McLean (NM). A straight haired Leeds fan, slumming it in League One with the rest of us never-beens.

Polly McLean (PM). A fresh faced English Rose with a penchant for furry things (explained later).

Adam Mills (AM). A late edition to the crew. Seems to have endeared himself to the clan, but there is plenty of time...

Baz Baron (BB). A pioneer and late addition to the Easter festivities.

Last, but not least...

Simba. The ever faithful four legged feather duster (Hands off! Ken Dodd), up there with Lord Lucan when it comes to hide-and-seek. I'll leave you to look up the definition of Simba on the Urban Dictionary.


Anyway..!

Friday morning was a trip into town for a browse, whilst Dido had her hair cut - that's 185 miles and four hours worth of travelling for a haircut. Adam and I perused the town which was long enough for me to realise the banks were shut on Good Friday and long enough to spot a fair few mullets on show. Dido made a reappearance with less hair than she started the trip with and we went onto purchase a pop up tent and some other stuff that escapes my fading memory. Nothing for me. I was still struggling with Halifax (Bank of Scotland) at that point and my cash reserves were lower than that of an Icelandic bank.

The next stop was a quick visit to the church of the wedding. Is there a wedding I hear you say? Yes, Adam and Dido are due to tie the not before the year is out. A rather quaint church with a beautiful view of Scarborough. A vicious incline saw us dive into a teashop that was camper than Christmas to devour a pot of tea and some hot cross buns.

Peter and Colette retired to some local party for the Friday evening (dent to the car and all), so the 'young whippersnappers' were faced with a feast of pizza (again), garlic bread, cherry tomatoes and some rocket. A very pleasant evening of calorie infested dough delicacies, wine and card games.

When Saturday came (minus Sean Bean), I was called into action for a spot of wine and food tasting at the venue of the reception, Wrea Head hotel. The visiting party consisted of Peter, Colette, Dido, Adam and the spare par...me. Drinks in the drawing room were the order of the day before we were ushered into the dining room.

A veritable feast was in the offing. Four starters (I picked the right one!) and a glass of wine heavier and we were onto the main course. A plate containing pork, lamb, chicken, more kinds of potato that you could shake a bottle of baby bio at and a collection of honey glazed carrots that looked like mini people. I dearly wanted to vote for the lamb, the apricot stuffed lamb, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I am against all kinds of animal cruelty and donate £3 a month to WWF (not the wrestling one)... What a way to go! I couldn't imagine anything worse other than pineapple, melon or perhaps lemons (supposing they burst).

The belt buckle was threatening to surrender and that was before attempting to battle ones way through four different desserts. Needless to say we were stuffed by the end of it, but not to the extent of that poor old lamb. Flowers and various other activities were a turn off, so I retired for the afternoon. My temporary slumber was interupted by a missing cat. I spent an hour in the woodland, above the house, shouting 'Simba!' - I wonder what the neighbours thought! (I am assuming you looked up 'Simba' on the urban dictionary.

Adam and I went for a 'leg stretch' and stumbled across a pub with a growing crowd of thirsty punters. Our life savings were spent on a quiz machine playing 'Bullseye' with the help of two natives. Much fun was had with our new friends, a rather odd looking couple who you would hope refrained from procreating. The McLean's had a better offer for the evening, so the remaining six of us were treated with a salmon or two. We were full again. The leather chair and my denim jeans produced a rather suspect groaning sound, it was not the reappearance of the pork, I promise!

Easter arrived. Eggs galore.

No, not that kind. We were treated, courtesy of Colleen to a spread of scrambled/boiled/fried/poached (delete as applicable) eggs and bacon. Our last feed until the big one.
The late morning and afternoon was spent shipping bricks about and rolling logs from the local forestry. Peter was keen to stock up the wood store and who could blame him? This winter has been long and arduous. I don't believe we have seen the last of it.

I wandered down the road for some supplies and got busted purchasing a £1.45 prawn sandwich. It was a spur of the moment treat to warm myself up for the Easter dinner. An eagle eyed Dido spotted my seafood and bread concoction and news of that quickly spread to the hosts who had told me to help myself to whatever I fancied. I wonder if that offer extended to... Only kidding.

The big meal was upon us. Dinner was an extraordinary affair. The kitchen was bursting to the seams with ten hungry occupants with conversation ranging from fingering pigeons to touching pussy (Sorry Polly). Accompanied by a red wine bottle that would make you feel like an extra in Alice in Wonderland. It was verging on 6 litres and would have required a rather strong F1 driver and the whole engineering team to manouevre the beast.

Barbecued lamb was on the menu. It was not stuffed to death with apricots, however... Mid meal, an excited Peter Bacon exclaimed that this was "...the first time I have boned a lamb and barbecued it!". Maybe it was sauteed the previous time? That exclamation did nothing to hinder the efforts of the hungry diners (even if one had consumed a sneaky prawn sandwich beforehand). A truly splendid smorgasboard of flavours treated our delicate palates.

The bottle soon succumbed to emptiness, quicker than most of us would have imagined or not (sorry Peter). The meal was over and card games were to follow, but not before Polly shrieked that she "wanted to touch pussy". Maybe it is a colloquialism or something that I didn't quite understand..?

Monday arrived quicker than I had hoped and the McLean contingent departed, along with George and Nick at various times.

Peter, Dido, Adam and I made for the local point-to-point at some Yorkshire venue (plenty of whippets on show). Ah yes, Charm Park. There was the inherent danger of losing each other with a melee of punters, trainers, novices and owners floating about, so we picked the stuffed toy animal stall as we were bound to find Peter there at some point. Yet again, I had to face the nemesis of my nightmarish dreams, the horse. Wasn't too bad until we were faced with a marauding horse who had long since relieved himself of his rider and made a break for the crowds. Thank goodness someone else heard the tannoy announcement!

The first two races, I studied the form, the conditions, guesstimated the windspeed and paid close attention to the movements of the horses in the paddock and that failed miserably. So I opted for a tried and tested measure. 'Which horse has the best name?'. I struck it lucky with First Fought ridden by a rather tasty Miss J Foster. It was my only success of the afternoon. However, backing it at 25-1 when odds later fell to 50-1 left me reeling.

A victim of either the Wrea Head
or Peter Bacon, you decide!

Mulled Wine was the choice of drink, albeit four months too late and there was a few winnings to be had along the way. Despite a couple of retirements, fallers and what-have-you.

We (Adam, Dido and I) made our excuses and departed for the smoke.

A thoroughly enjoyable weekend. Great food, great company, great to get to know Dido's family, great times were had.

Thank you McLeans (x 3), Bacons (x 5) and Mills (x 1) for a memorable weekend.


Word of the Day: Accubation - The practice of drinking or eating whilst lying down.

Quote of the Day: "Friends are the bacon bits in the salad bowl of life" - Anon

What's in a name?

I was perusing Times Online before they start charging me for it and I stumbled across an article about the "Vienna Boys' Choir caught up in sex abuse scandals". I don't normally go fishing for such topics, I wanted to get my worth.

If you could think of a more inappropriate name for the covering journalist, I would be very impressed. The article in this case was written by a certain 'Roger Boyes', I kid you not. Aside from this particular article, what were his parents thinking?


I started to think about other odd and unusual names and delved into the World Wide Web to satisfy my curiosity.

Actually before I start, I used to work (many moons ago) with a Chris Peacock and went to school with a fellow called Andy Faggott (pronounced fay-go).

Here is a short list of names I discovered... Real people, still alive, some now departed.

Justin Case
Barb Dwyer
Stan Still - A retired airman who said it was "a blooming millstone around my neck my whole life"
Rose Bush
Annette Curtain
Tim Burr

Some further research found a little article on Cornish names from the late 18th century.

Susan Booze
Elizabeth Disco
Edward Evil
Truth Bullock
Gentle Fudge
Faithful Cock
Levi Jeans

I have always grumbled about my middle name, but at least I am able to conceal it, apart from those invasive forms you have to fill out that ask you all sorts of things from height and weight to dependents and amount of sex (or was that amount of dependents?).

Word of the Day: Plurinominal - Having more than one name

Quote of the Day: "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell so sweet" - (Romeo and) Juliet

Armageddon

A big budget film with a heavyweight cast including Bruce Willis, Billy Bob Thornton, Steve Buscemi, Liv Tyler, Ben Affleck and many more giants of Hollywood.

I am not generally one for a film that is predictable, full of corny one-liners, laughable special effects, nauseating heart-string tugging, wooden acting, big budgets and full of Star Spangled Banner type plots.


But it has to be one of my favourite films. I watched it the other night and for the last 15 minutes, I was left blubbing like a baby with a soiled nappy. Quality cinematic tripe at its very finest.

I thought I would provide my short review as I am currently listening to the greatest song ever recorded and felt I should share it.

Get those hankies out...

Aerosmith - I don't wanna miss a thing

I urge you to watch this masterpiece, if you have not already done so. Not even Spielberg could produce something so entertaining and so nauseating at the same time and he is a professional confectioner, not a director as some people might think.

"You missed me, Harry?"

You bet I did!


Word of the Day: Gargalesis - Heavy tickling

Quote of the Day: "Houston, you have a problem. You see, I promised my little girl that I'd be comin' home. Now I don't know what you people are doing down there, but we've got a hole to dig up here!" - Harry Stamper (Bruce Willis - Armageddon)

Passaporte, por favor.

Before I write this next blog, I would like to apologise to my nearest and dearest for boring them with this story. Nearest and dearest is also neglecting to mention those that I know on a semi-regular basis, people I have met a couple of times and those random people that I have regaled this tale to...

Having said that (or written it) I am unsure as to why I am dedicating a blog to it, but here goes...

Monday, 11th January 1999

New year blues would be well an truly embedded at this stage of the year, particularly with it being a Monday, but I found myself in Ecuador. A relatively unknown country of South America.

There were fifteen of us still acclimatising ourselves to this new land, after only a mad week to date. Quito had more restaurants than you could shake a bit of bamboo at, so inevitably we were stuck for choice. Myself, along with six others, formed a splinter group and headed off into the unknown (slightly, we had a Lonely Planet guide).

One chap and the girls opted for some Chinese eatery, but in a show of machismo, we split from them and decided to try something daring, dangerous and extravagant. It was all talk, but little did we know that this was exactly what we would be doing.

I should probably describe the group at this point, so here goes. Ben, a dear friend from school, was the leader of the pack. He was a well travelled man as his father flew for Britannia and latterly BA. He had a basic grasp of Spanish and he had a penchant for Marajuana. Hadji was a post-graduate Sikh with an addiction to N64 International Superstar Soccer and an undying love for Derby County.


Will was a biological genius with a place at Oxford waiting for him, I still check the news to see if he has found a cure for Malaria or a similar ailment that has left scientists puzzled. Jon was a quiet soul from oop North, being so quiet, I never worked out what he had done or what he was intending to do; in fact, he was fluent in Spanish, having spent the last six months learning it. Ian was a giant from Hitchin and a local celebrity with a popular band called George - Again, another one with a liking for 'whacky baccy'. Chris was a bit of a pin up, last I heard of him, he was living in LA spending days and nights playing poker, professionally. Then there was me - a fresh faced awkward fellow trying to rid himself of an awful shyness and find himself.

Our first port of call was some sort of Salsa bar. We settled down with out Pilsener and a bowl of popcorn - we found out later that the bowl was an actual ashtray, when we got down to the last layer of corn. After a few tequilas and some more beer, we decided to head off for some food.
Only a few blocks away, we passed some sort of open roof restaurant/barbeque. Ian said "That place looks wicked!". So we ate there and it was affectionately named 'The Wicked Place' (WP). By jove, they produced kebabs as if they had been sent down from heaven. I have never tasted anything so good (apart from the latter visits to the WP) and it is hard to imagine that I will ever again. A glorious concoction of a variety of different sausage meat, peppers, bananas and onions. Whilst sounding very simple, I can assure you now that it was out of this world and we hadn't smoked any weed at that point!


After spending thousands in the WP (15,000 sucre = £1), we decided to go for a wander. Eventually we came across a deserted looking park and Ben suggested that we smoked his morning market spoils. He had even nabbed a carrot from the WP and carved us a little pipe.

No sooner had he packed the vegetable smoking device an lit the ganga a hoard of trucks began to circle the park. I am not talking about the normal sort of truck, I am talking about army trucks packed to the brim with armed policemen in camouflage (not great camouflage as I could clearly count them all). It was then that Ben said "Wouldn't it be funny if they were coming for us..?"


They were.

Jon (the Spanish speaking introvert) and Will (the biological genius) made a run for it. The trucks soon unloaded and surrounded the park. Ben hastily disposed of the pipe and hid the rest of his drug parcel. They closed in, forcing Jon and Will to make a hasty retreat. The next part was a little hazy (I hadn't smoked anything at that point), but we found ourselves on the edge of the park talking to the officer. He demanded our passports, apparently it is an offence not to carry ID, but alas they were at the British Embassy. So that was it. We were arrested.

It was a little bit scary. Our only hope of reasoning with them was Jon. Sadly, six months of Spanish school had not prepared him for a bout of stage fright and he was unable to speak. So we were ushered (at gunpoint) on board a collection of trucks and transferred to some army base.

We were ushered into a larger truck that contained the slime of the streets of Quito. When I say slime, I am not talking about actual chemical slime, I am referring to the ladies of the night, drunks, druggies and ex-armed robbers. It was at that point that I decided to dish out a phone number (carefully concealed in my money belt) to my fellow incarcerates. The number was for our 24 hour support - nothing could go wrong.

Eventually the engine fired up and the ageing vehicle trundled it's way through the streets of the capital. We ground to a halt in front of the main police headquarters and after a bit of shouting, the gates opened and we moved in. Not before a rather 'wellied' (I took that from 141 words for drunk) gentleman attempted to punch Ben, got pepper sprayed and wet himself - the drunk man, not Ben.

The seven of us found ourselves ushered into a courtyard with snipers at every corner. We assembled ourselves into a human shield type formation to protect ourselves from a rather large amount of armed police and an even larger amount of the zombies, prostitutes and bad eggs. It really was quite surreal and the stuff of nightmarish sleeps.



It was then that an official came towards us and offered us a phone call, after much gesticulating to get the message across. All seven of us made a bee-line for the phone. Sadly, we were without a phone card and the coin slot was 'out of order'. Not that it would have helped, it later transpired that Diego, our 24 hour support, was holidaying in Miami and non-contactable. Smashing.

It was then that Ian remembered he had a photocopy of his passport and produced it. The chief of police seemed impressed and decided to release two of us to retrieve the other copies. So after much deliberating, Ian and Jon were released to rescue our copies. It was pushing on midnight at this stage and our hostel curfew was about to expire. We waited and waited and waited....and waited. An hour passed and there was no sign. We were literally a fifteen minute walk from our hostel and we had been told they had got in a taxi.

The prison bus came and the five of us and all the other criminals were told to form a line. There were no tears, but you could see that we were 'bricking it'. At the last minute, the five of us were hauled out of the queue. Ian and Jon were back, complete with our photocopies. Joy! Now you know how Mini-cabs tend to extend the route to justify a larger fare, well the Ecuadorian cabbies took that to a new level.

Our prints were taken. Our names and passport numbers were registered and we were free to go.

We wandered back. Laughing uncontrollably (we still hadn't smoked at that stage) and returned to the hostel.

"Where the hell have you been?" were the cries that met us (it was 1am by now). We walked in, poured ourselves a tequila, drank it and asked them how their night was.

A terrible evening outright, but looking back on it, certainly one of the best nights of my life.

We went out for food, innocent and relatively inexperienced. We cam back as hardened criminals.


Word of the Day: Borborygmus - A rumbling sound of gas passing through the intestine

Quote of the Day: "A friend is someone who will bail you out. A best friend will be sitting next to you saying 'That was f*cking awesome!' " - anon

RIP He Pingping

He Pingping might have been the smallest person in the world, but he made a huge impact. A wonderful character in the face of adversity.

I watched an hour long documentary about He and he was truly captivating. A wonderful fellow that seemed to mesmorise all those around him and not necessarily because of his size.

Static from the nylon dress gave
Mr Pingping a Tintin curl

It can't have been easy to be a 'circus freak' type character, but he did not seem fazed by his notoriety. In fact, he was determined to be the shortest man in the world. Fame and fortune would seem an obvious target, but it really did seem to be about making the best of what he had. Maybe a lesson to us all.

Quote of the Day: "I certainly did feel inferior. Because of class. Because of strength. Because of height. I guess if I'd been able to hit someone on the nose, I wouldn't have been a comic." - Dudley Moore

Word of the Day: Honeyfuggle - deceive by flattery or sweet-talk.