September 2005 Archives

With no further ado, no beating about the bush or procrastination, I'm going to dive straight in and tell you how much I weigh. This is after a not-so-successful week at the gym, which started well and then all fell apart yesterday morning. To summarise, I had a big weight-training workout on Saturday morning, spent the rest of the day being unable to move (due to lack of energy more than aching muscles), did the cardio workout Monday morning, weights Tuesday evening, had Wednesday off...... then overslept Thursday morning. Bugger. That's thrown the plan of action all out of kilter, hasn't it? I was busy Thursday evening so couldn't go then. This morning was another late start.... so I'm definately 100% off down to the gym tonight to make up for it all. And I'm going to go tomorrow and Sunday as well.

I feel like I'm starting to let myself down, and it's not even been 72 hours since my last visit. I don't want to get out of the habit of going, I'm not going to let myself get out of the habit of going, and I'm bloody well going to go. Even if it kills me, heheheh.

Anyway, I've done three workouts since the last weigh-in, so what's the figure looking like to today? Well, pretty much the same as last week I think, 16 stone 3lbs (227lbs). Acutally, no, not the same as last week. I've lost a pound! Which is a step in the right direction I suppose.

I'm definately feeling better for going to the gym. I'm sleeping better, and (usually) going to bed earlier in the day. I'm not sweating and dripping as much as when I started, and I don't feel like a eunuch in a brothel when I'm there.

Onwards!

Here in the UK we have what is supposed to be one of the best broadcasting corporations in the world, the BBC. In its time the BBC has produced some of the most compelling dramas, documentaries and news reporting ever seen. It is funded by a licence fee - everyone who owns a television set has to pay £120 a year for a licence that allows them to watch the BBC. It's the licence fee that allows the BBC to remain commercial-free, and you need one if your television set is capable of picking up the BBC's signal, regardless of whether or not you actually watch it.

In recent years the BBC has been accused of "dumbing-down", going for the lowest common denominator in the battle for ratings, and letting quality slide. The lineup is full of cookery shows, home makeover shows and quiz shows. If you switch on your tv set these days you can't tell if you're watching the BBC or some cheap tat cable channel.

This evening I watched a programme on BBC2 and I'm thinking of asking for my money back. It was called "Mechannibals" and the premise is that two families battle it out to build a contraption to achieve a particular goal. This is not exactly a completely new idea, shows like Scrapheap Challenge and The Great Egg Race have done similar things in the past - but the twist with this show is that they families have to use what they find in their own homes to make the contraptions. I bet some tv show commissioner was watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and when it came to the scene where Caractacus Potts came in to the living room and took out the back of the fireplace while Grandpa was reading the kids a story he thought "That's a good idea for a show!"

This week they had to build a machine to destroy a garden shed. In a rare show of generosity, the garden sheds were provided by the show's producers. The families set about making their shed-cushing-machines, cannibalising everything from washing machines, tumble dryers (a brand new one they've only had for two weeks in this case), the kitchen table and chairs, to the kids beds', toys and bicycles. The winners get all their cannibalised items replaced with new ones, the losers get a toolbox. And they have to replace everything they've trashed on their own.

This is voyeuristic television at its worst. We are invited to watch as the men of the house take their wives and children's belongings and rip them to pieces, just for an opportunity to appear in a tv programme. At various points in the "show" we were treated to seeing women and children reduced to tears as more and more of their possessions were broken up by the single-minded men. Here's a sample of a conversation between one of the men and a teenage girl (I can't remember now if the girl was his daughter or his niece):

Girl (on discovering that her bed had been taken to pieces): "Where am I going to sleep tonight?"
Man: "We'll find somewhere"
Girl: "I'm not sleeping on the floor! And I'm not sleeping on the camping bed!"
Man: "There is another option."
Girl: "What's that?"
Man: "You could move out...."

At another point in the show the presenter had to run round to the side of the house to comfort the wife after she's discovered that her pergola was being pulled apart to make a base for the crane (their idea was to winch the toilet high into the air and then drop it on the garden shed). I wouldn't have wanted to be the presenter in this case. What could she have said? "Cheer up love, it's only a game show. I know they're wrecking your entire house, but hey, you get to be on TV!"

I remember a similar show where people had to nominate their friends and partners most annoying possessions to be destroyed - the friends and partners had to fight to keep their stuff. There were no prizes, you either got to keep your property or you didn't. There was one show where a wife had nominated her husbands greenhouse. She hated the greenhouse because he spent more time in it than he spent with her. She was in her 50's I think and he was in his 60's or 70's. The greenhouse was his pride and joy. I think you can guess where this is leading - he lost and the greenhouse was chopped to pieces in front of his eyes. The crowd roared and cheered and the poor bloke was reduced to tears - it was truly awful to watch. I've spent the last hour trying to find the name of this godawful show, but I've drawn a blank. It may have been Beat the Crusher, but the description for that show only mentions cars getting destroyed.

I can't stand programmes like this. Even the "be a pop star" type of show, that seems to be so popular these days, I can't bear any of them. Where's the attraction in seeing someone else's hopes crushed? Yet millions of people tune in every week to hear some poor sap do his (or her) best, thinking they've got what it takes to become rich and famous, only for Simon Cowell to tell them that they're utter shite and they'd be better off under the wheels of a bus, or something. They burst into tears and go home (probably via the doctors for a shot of some anti-depressant) and the audience whoop and cheer.

And still we have to pay the television licence to watch.

Is this a good time to mention that my brother and sister-in-law will be on televison tomorrow night, as two of their biker friends (who just live round the corner from me, actually) are being featured on Wife Swap? Don't miss it, it'll be riveting, and not at all voyeuristic, oh no. Channel 4, Monday night, 9pm. Followed by Wife Swap - The Aftermath, E4, 10pm.

It's all gone a bit pear-shaped this week. Just a litte bit. I've not gone pear-shaped, I was that shape to start off with! I weighed myself and discovered I'd put on 2lbs since last week. So I got off the scales, got a pair of scissors and trimmed my goatee. But no, still 16 stone 4lbs (228lbs).

Since my last weigh-in I've been to the gym four times. I had my hour with the Personal Trainer on Saturday, I did some more weights Monday evening, and a cardio workout Tuesday morning and Thursday morning. So the weight gain is down to one of two things: either I've lost fat and gained muscle (possible but unlikely since I haven't been pushing myself hard enough in the weight training to ache all over afterwards) or I'm still eating too much of the wrong foods. Perhaps that Kentucky Fried Chicken last Saturday afternoon wasn't a good idea, and all those potato-salad-and-cheese-filled pitta breads I like to snack on when I get home from work could have been a mistake, and I really should start having my breakfast cereal first thing in the morning instead of last thing at night, and probably 100 other food disasters as well.

I minor blip, I think, and I'll try to learn my lesson from this. I'm still feeling pretty good, though, nowhere near as bloated as I was a few weeks ago, and I can do my belt up another notch without feeling like all my insides are being squashed together.

The plan of action was to go to the gym again to lift some weights this evening, but I'll have to check if my jogging pants are dry first. I've got some others, but they were cheap rubbish I bought at the start of the summer and they've shrunk in the wash. I had no idea how much they'd shrunk until I was on the treadmill and caught sight of myself in the mirror - I nearly ran out in embarrassment at my hideous fashion faux pas. I know the point of the exercise is to lose weight but I'm unlikely to lose height as well. But what the heck - it was 7:30 in the morning and there were only about a dozen other people in the place. But I definately need to get more gym apparel, if only so that I'm not running the washing machine an extra three times a week :-)

I intend to go to the gym three times between now and coming back to work on Monday, once today, once over the weekend and once on Monday morning. If I don't go tonight, I'll go twice over the weekend. Got to keep the momentum going!

I've said before that I'm not going to the gym purely to lose weight, I'm going in order to get myself fitter. I may switch from posting a weekly weight update to posting a monthly measurement update, so I can see how my waist/chest/biceps etc are changing from the exercise.

But first, some new gym clothes are in order I think.

There's these two French Legionnaires in the desert, and they've been separated from their unit and are lost. The've been wandering for several days without food and water, and are nearly resigned to the fact that they will soon die from dehydration, when as they reach the top of a sand dune, they see a big, bustling market laid out before them.

Naturally, they can't believe their eyes and think it's a mirage, but as they draw closer, they can hear the stallholders' cries, and they eventually reach the market and realise that it's really there.

So the legionnaires rush up to the first stall they can and cry to the stallholder, "Stallholder, we have been travelling in the desert for many days, and have had no food or water. We shall surely die soon unless you have some you can sell us. Tell us, do you have any sustenance for us?"

The stallholder shook his head and replied "I'm sorry, french legionnaire type people, but all I have to sell is a load of bowls full of jelly,topped with custard and cream, and lovingly sprinkled with hundreds and thousands of pieces of fruit and cake."

The legionnaires look at each other, mildly surprised, and move on to the next stall, where they ask the stallholder, "Mr purveyor of fine foodstuffs and the like, we have been travelling through the desert for days, deprived of the necessary beverages and foodstuffs which are required for survival. We shall surely die soon, unless you can sell us some skins of water."

The stallholder looked at them embarressed, and confessed "Gentlemen, tragic as I admit it is, I have none of the ingredients necessary to life for which you ask me. All I have to sell is this large bowl of jelly topped with custard and cream and sprinkled with hundereds and thousands of pieces of fruit and cake, with a little cocktail cherry in the middle at the top, there," he said, pointing out the glace cherry. "I cannot help you."

The legionnaires look at each other in desparation, and run on to the next stall, where they demand of the stallholder, "Look, mate," (cuz they'd stopped talking funny all of a sudden) "we need water or we'll die. We've been travelling without water for days and need some now. Do you have any you can sell us?"

The stallholder looked at his curl-ended shoes in shame as he confessed, "Sorry, fellas, all I have to sell you is a bowl of jelly, with custard, cream and hundreds and thousands of pieces of fruit and cake. I can't help you. I'll have to condemn you to a long and lingering death through dehydration."

The legionnaires were really worried by this point, and they went through the market, stall by stall, asking each stallholder whether they had any water they could sell them, and thus save their lives, but each stallholder gave the same reply, all they had to sell was a bowl of jelly with cream, custard and hundreds and thousands of pieces of fruit and cake.

Dejected and resigned to their grim fate, the legionnaires left the desert market and walked off into the setting sun.

As they did so, one turned to the other and said, "That was really odd, a big market in the middle of nowhere, and all they sold was bowls of jelly with custard, cream and hundreds and thousands of pieces of fruit and cake."

The other turned to face his companion and replied, "Yes, it was a trifle bazaar."

You think about some strange things in the car on the way home from work. This evening I was listening to the radio when the Rolling Stones came on, and I started thinking about the lives the men in that band must have led. Take Keith Richards for example. Here's a guy who's done exactly what he wanted to do for his entire life, he's done it all, tried it all, been everywhere and come out the other side. And he's still here, still rocking, and still the same man he's always been. On top of all that, he's brought pleasure and enjoyment to millions of people and helped create a multi-million pound industry (and I'm not talking about rock music here, I'm just talking about the Rolling Stones).

As I sit in my car, wearing my suit and going home to my little house after spending the day in a fairly typical office job, I can't help but be envious of those people I'd consider to have led a.... not so much privileged, or charmed, life... but a more fruitful life than mine has been so far. People who travel the world, people who bring joy and hope into other people's lives, people who make a difference to somebody. I sometimes get the impression I don't make much of a difference to anyone, really.

When I start writing my posts for this blog, I have no idea where they are going to go. Sometimes they come full circle and I actually make a point about something, and sometimes they just amble on in whatever direction they seem to take until I decide it's time to hit the "post" button. I sit at the PC with a vague idea in my head about what I'm going to write about, and it took me a bit by surprise when I wrote the sentence at the end of the previous paragraph. I don't think I really meant to say that - of course I make a difference to someone's life.

I guess the point of this post is that I really admire and look up to people who I think have achieved something significant in their lives. My idea of "significant" may differ from other people's, and I think that most of us don't really do anything significant - we grow up, get a job, get married, buy a house and have kids - and that's perfectly good enough for most people. But some people want to live outside the mould a little bit. They're the ones that become rock stars, explorers, artists, visionaries and so on. The rest of us become IT Administrators and office workers.

So far in my life I've fathered a wonderful little boy who brings joy into the hearts of everyone who meets him. He's cheeky, mischievous, clever, sneaky, happy, imaginative, domineering and sometimes a bit of a bully (if I'm honest). I was thinking at the weekend that the ideal career for him would be as a movie director. He's just the sort of person to take an idea from someone else and flesh it out, decide how it's all going to work and tell everyone what they need to do to make his vision become reality. I'd consider him to be my greatest achievement so far, heheh.

Let's see, what else have i done? In my career as "programmer-for-hire" I like to think that some of the things I've been able to get the computers at work to do has made someone else's job a bit easier. No-one ever phones me up to say "that last tweak you did has really made a difference to me, thank you!" (well, almost no-one, I have been thanked once or twice in the past fifteen years or so). The secret of working in IT is to make yourself invisible - if it's all working perfectly no-one notices the IT department. You only come to the fore when it all goes wrong, hehehe. IT also has a reputation for costing money rather than bringing it in. Colleagues who work in sales have been known to get big annual bonuses, but my job is just as valid as theirs (as indeed are the jobs of those who work in wages and accounts and every other department not directly connected with sales). But we don't get the bonuses, because we aren't seen as "making a difference" to the company.

Of course I have to think that what I do for a living makes a difference, otherwise there's no point in getting out of bed in the morning. Like most people I want to do something really, really, significant with my life, something I will be remembered for in years to come. But until I get a chance to make a difference I have to carry on working for a living, because after all I have bills to pay. Work is getting in the way of me being able to live my life!! Maybe I wouldn't mind so much if I thought I was appreciated a bit more.

Perhaps I should get someone to clap and cheer me as I leave the office at the end of the day. "Ladies and gentlemen, Daniel has left the building."

I had intended to go to the gym first thing this morning, but I overslept, waking up at 7am. Ha ha, I've just read that first sentence back to myself. How times change. Only a few weeks ago I'd have considered waking up at 7am a major success, giving me plenty of time for a shower, a shave, and breakfast. Usually one of those three gets missed! These days I have the alarm set for 5:45am, and the alarm on my phone set for 6am. In fact this morning I did wake up at 5:30, I opened my eyes and wondered why it was all quiet. Once I'd looked at the clock and realised why it was all quiet, I went back to sleep. And I slept through both alarms for at least an hour. Ah well, no time to go to the gym this morning, but everything was packed and ready so I threw it all in the car and planned to go this evening.

And indeed I did go this evening. I read somewhere or heard somewhere that if you want to lose weight then you exercise in the morning, and if you want to gain muscle then you exercise in the evening. I've no idea if there's any truth in this at all, but my opinion is that exercise at any time of the day can't be bad for you.

This evening I tried to replicate the workout I did with the personal trainer last Saturday. I started on the treadmill, doing two minutes on and one minute off. I was only on it for 12-13 minutes however, not the 20 minutes I did on Saturday. My legs still ached when I got off it though, so I'm not letting myself get off easily. I worked my way round all the machines I was shown at the weeked, but not in the same order. I've no idea if the order in which you exercise different muscles makes any difference at all, but after starting on the treadmill I was in the mood to do some work with my arms and shoulders.

Even though the gym was busy I didn't really have to wait for any of the machines - if the machine I wanted next was already in use then I'd switch to a different machine, or take a break for a minute or two. I worked my arms, legs, stomach, back, shoulders and, er, that was it I think.

At the moment the plan is to get to the gym early tomorrow morning for a cardio workout, we'll see if that actually happens or not!

Also, I mustn't forget that I'm giving the big boss man a lift into work tomorrow - we're going to the office via the Bentley dealership so he can get his car back from the shop. It wouldn't be a good idea to piss off the guy who signs your pay cheques!

After I did my workout at the gym yesterday (and I only ache a little bit in my arms and shoulders, nowhere near as bad as I thought I'd be) I went to pick up my son to spend the afternoon with him. I got some instructions from my ex. "If you take him to McDonald's for lunch, get him fish fingers, not chicken. He can have the chicken at KFC or Burger King though. And no toys, no matter how much of a tantrum he throws. Also, make sure he gets some fresh air." When I asked why he couldn't have the chicken at McDonald's she said something about the additives in it. Like the others are going to be any better?

So come lunchtime we go to the local McDonald's. He gets himself a table, and I join the queue, which fortunately only has two or three people in it. I wait, and wait. I wait some more. There's only one till open. This is in a fast food restaurant, at 1:30 on a Saturday. I turn around and look at the queue behind me. It's stretching out of the door now. I look at the menu over the counter. It says you can have chicken nuggets or chicken strips in a Happy Meal. No mention of fish fingers, so I guess the real reason my ex didn't want him having a Happy Meal was because of the toy. She thinks I spoil him too much, and to be fair he does pester me for a toy every time I see him. He needs to learn that I love him even though I don't shower him with gifts every day. It's his birthday in a couple of weeks (6 years already! Where does the time go? and he'll be getting lots of toys and presents then). Eventually I get to the front of the queue. "I'll have fish fingers and fries please, with a fruit juice." "Sorry, we don't do fish fingers."

Fuck this for a game of soldiers. I stormed out, dragging my upset son behind me. "We'll go to a different McDonald's, we'll get you some fish fingers". He calmed down after a minute or so, and we got back in the car. Ten minutes later, we arrive at the second McD's of the day. Guess what? That's right, they don't do fish fingers either.

Fifteen minutes after that, and we're at KFC. He can have the chicken nuggets there, so no problem. They do a deal with the kids meals where you can choose to have a dessert instead of a toy, so bearing in mind my ex's instructions, that's what I get him. He throws a (mild) tantrum when he finds out there's no toy. "I'm not eating anything unless you get me a toy". "Calm down, eat your dinner." "I'm not calming down until you get me a toy". He whines and whinges, but it's only half-hearted. So are the punches, kicks, pinches and scratches. I'm not giving in to him, I'm hugging him, wiping away his tears and telling him to calm down. After five minutes he suddenly reaches over, grabs one of my french fries and eats it with a mischevous grin on his face. "Oi! That was mine you little devil, eat your own!" He's laughing his head off by now, tantrum over. We finish our "meals" in peace. He enjoys every last mouthful of his dessert. He's forgotten all about the toy, and doesn't hold it against me. Near the end of the meal he picks up the KFC bag and says "let me see what toy I would have got". No more tears, no more tantrums.

The KFC is three-quarters of the way back to his flat, so I'm not driving him all the way back to my house just for an hour. We go and visit my aunt, and play on the swings and slides in the park opposite her house.

I thought I did very well. I gave my ex her child support money when I picked him up, so she wasn't waiting for it. I complied with all the instructions - no chicken at McDonald's, no toys, and some fresh air. I also bought him a warm winter sweater because he'd come out in just a tee-shirt (and his coat) and it's chilly in my house. I took him back thinking I was going to be in her good books for once.

This morning at twenty past eight I get a phone call from my ex. The conversation goes something like this:
Her: "He tells me you didn't get him a toy because I told you not to?"
Me: "That's right"
Her: "That was only for supermarkets and stuff. Of course he can have the toy that comes with his meal, that doesn't count."
Me: "Well you should have told me that."
Her: "Do I have to be that specific?"
Me: "Apparently, yes, you do."

Some days you're the windshield and some days you're the bug.

This morning I went back to the gym (pretty soon I'll be living there full-time heheh) for an hour with the Personal Trainer. He started me on the treadmill, and not for the one-minute fast, one-minute slow that I'd been doing before. He had me walking at 6.5km/h (4mph) on an incline of 3 (I presume this means 3%, or a one-metre rise for every 100 metres walked) for two minutes, then at 4km/h on the flat for one minute. This was ok for the first couple of repetitions. Then my legs started to feel the burn. Speed up, slow down. Drip sweat. Speed up. Aching legs. Can I do this? I have to. Not for the Trainer's benefit, but for mine. This is what I signed up for, this is what I want. But why does it have to hurt so much? On the third repetition I told him my legs were starting to ache a bit and he slowed it down to 6km/h. Which, let's face it, is not much of a reduction in speed. 20 minutes I was on that thing, and when I stepped off my legs were definately on the wobbly side. While I was walking I told him about my 5lb weight loss, and about how often I'd been and how much I was enjoying it. Of course, that was while I was still able to talk. I managed to tell him that I wanted to do some work on strengthening my back and stomach muscles. It's easy to work on th arms and legs, the back and sides tend to get left out.

He showed me several weight-training machines. He put on heavier weights than I'd have done if left to my own devices. He instructed me to do 15 reps. It's a good job he was counting, because I was too busy trying not to break the machine, break my body or break my resolve. Finally he showed me some exercises which used my own body weight to provide the training. After 15 lunges on each leg I started to feel light-headed and he sent me outside for a few minutes fresh air. Of course I was feeling light-headed because my muscles were using up oxygen, and I wasn't always breathing properly. This happened 45 minutes into the hour, so the last 10 minutes were spent with him showing me some more exercises but not pushing me too much.

However I did gain a lot from the session. I learned how to use a lot more of the machines. I learned how to breathe (although I didn't always remember to breathe!) and I learned that I can push myself more than I thought I was able to. As I write this it's 12 hours since the session started, and so far I feel good. I'm not aching anywhere at the moment, but I fully expect to ache all over tomorrow!

Talking of tomorrow, I promise I'll post about something else other than the gym! I'm sure you're all getting sick of reading about it by now....

First, a recap. I joined the gym last Thursday weighing 16 stone 7lbs (231lbs). I had a session with a personal trainer on Friday, and he showed me a cardio workout which included cycling, treadmill, cross-training and rowing. I worked this session on Sunday, Monday morning and yesterday morning. On Tuesday night I spent 45 minutes trying my hand (and bum and legs) at spinning. Wednesday I had a day off. Yesterday afternoon I spent lugging tables around the office and taking box upon box of ancient paperwork and other assorted old rubbish to the skip. Believe me, yesterday was the most active day I'd had in work for a long time! This morning I stepped on my bathroom scales.

I stepped off them again. I rubbed my eyes in case I was still dreaming. I moved the scales to a different part of the bathroom floor in case they were originally placed in some gravitational negativity force-field. I stepped on them again. H'mmm.... same readout. I allowed myself a little smile as I got dressed.

This whole workout thing is actually working out very well. I'm enjoying myself, I'm not feeling self-conscious at the gym (everyone feels like an imposter when they first join a gym) and I've been made to feel very welcome there. I've managed two early-morning workouts this week, and I'm extremely pleased with myself about that. I'm the laziest bugger in the world when it comes to getting out of bed in the morning!

I'm going to see if I can settle into a routine of going to the gym Monday morning, Tuesday evening, Thurday morning, Friday evening and one day over the weekend. I feel that if I leave it more than two or three days between visits then I'll get out of the habit, but this morning's weigh-in will certainly keep me motivated. Having said that I plan to go on a Friday night, I'm not going to go tonight because I have a one-hour session with the Personal Trainer tomorrow morning. After that I'm on my own, I have to pay extra for more sessions with the PT.

Oh, and the weigh in? A very respectable 16stone 2lbs (226lbs). Yes, that's right, I've lost 5lbs this week, and that's purely from exercise, because I haven't changed a thing in my diet (ok, I'm having Maltesers mid-morning instead of a Kit-Kat, so shoot me!)

Yay me :-)

It occurred to me one day last week that this month marks the 20th anniversary of my first day at University. I had intended to write something and post it on the actual 20th anniversary, but then I couldn't remember the exact date and found I had other things to blog about last week anyway, so I forgot all about this. Until now.

Let's see, September 1985.... I was 18, nearly 19. I had long hair and big glasses (that was the trend in the '80's - big glasses that is, long hair had probably gone out of fashion ten years earlier!) I had absolutely no idea what to expect on my first day, and in fact I nearly didn't get to university at all. To get into uni here in Blighty you need to get good grades in your 'A'-level exams. In my day you sat 'O'-levels (O for ordinary and A for advanced) at age 15/16, then you specialise in three subjects for your 'A' levels two years later. For my 'A'-levels I studied Computer Science, Pure Maths with Statistics, and Communication Studies. Yes, I know Communication Studies didn't quite fit in with computing and maths, but the Physics class was full :-) I left grammar school after my 'O'-levels and went to the local technical college to study for my 'A'-levels, and the atmosphere at college was much more relaxed than at school. So relaxed, in fact, that the grades I got weren't brilliant.

During the latter half of the final year of 'A'-levels students have to go through the rigorous UCAS system. I can't remember exactly what UCAS stood for (something like University Clearing and Admissions System) but it involved applying to different universities hoping you'd get a place based on the results of exams you hadn't sat yet. I remember I went to visit Aston University in Birmingham, Liverpool University, and somewhere in north Wales. The exams are graded A to E, with A being 5 points and E being 1 point. To get onto your chosen course, you need a certain number of points. I think the courses I wanted to get on required 10 or 12 points. I sat the exams in June or July, and the results came through mid-August. I got a C grade in Computer Studies, another C in Communication Studies and an O in Maths (an O grade means the equivalent of aother 'O'-level, which meant I hadn't really learned anything in maths in two years!). So I had 6 points, not the required 10 or 12. Bummer.

I had to go through the whole UCAS procedure again, this time applying to polytechnics, which were seen to be a step down from universities at the time but still provided a degree-level education. You didn't need the same number of points to get into a polytechnic, so I pinned all my hopes on one of them accepting me. I applied to 5 as per the UCAS regulations. I got offered a place at North Staffs Polytechnic, and was all set to go there, until Birmingham Polytechnic offered me a place a few days later. They were offering a brand new Computing Information Systems degree and needed students to fill the course, so they were taking anyone! This was about a week before term started, so at the last minute I switched from North Staffs to Birmingham. I'd been to visit Aston Uni down there and liked the look of the place. Birmingham (aka Brum) is right in the middle of the country, far enough away from home to be independent, close enough to get back for a weekend, and being Britain's second city, I thought there's be plenty of nightlife and concerts.

It was always accepted that I'd go to university if I could. I never had a contingency plan, and the whole idea of me not going was never discussed. To this day I still don't know what I'd have done if I hadn't got in! So one Sunday we pack all my belongings into the boot of Dad's car, and drove the 100 miles down the M6 to Birmingham. I'd never been to the Polytechnic before, so with map in hand we crawled through the unfamiliar streets to the halls of residence. I was allocated my room, and went to unpack. We all had a little look around, and after an hour or so my parents started to feel like spare wheels so we said our goodbyes and they left me to it.

Left on my own for the first time in my life, I tried to personalise my room as best I could. I went to the student union shop and bought a padlock for my food cupboard. Later I realised that all the padlocks sold in the shop used the same key, so they didn't provide any security at all! I left the door to my room open while I got the place organised, and tried to be sociable with everyone who walked past. At no point was I nervous about anything. It was just another step in growing up as far as I was concerned, I wasn't worried about what I'd for money (I had a grant to keep me going), and the thought of having to cook for myself certainly didn't fill me with dread.

Let me take a moment to describe the halls. These were six or seven apartment blocks with the student union in the middle. I was on the first floor, first room on the corridor. There were five rooms down the corridor, with two double rooms at the end. The room next to me was empty, then there was the food locker/dining room, then a guy studying English, a foreign student, a couple of girls in one of the double rooms and a couple of guys in the other. On the other side of the corridor was the kitchen, unisex toilets and a couple of bathrooms. The rooms were big enough for a bed, a chair and a desk. To the right of the door was a small wardrobe, and to the left was another cupboard containing a basin and a mirror. Not bad digs at all really. The kitchen was tiner than tiny, especially since it had to be shared between up to 8 people. It contained a fridge, an electric cooker, a microwave and a sink. If you stood in the middle and stretched your arms out you could turn on both the oven and the microwave at the same time. Quite impressive, considering they were at opposite ends of the room!

Before we knew it night was falling, so time to head to the bar. Six hundred complete strangers, fuelled by alcohol. Suffice to say, I had no problem making new friends. Everyone was in the same boat, and all the conversations started with "who are you? where are you from? what are you studying?" I was wearing a denim jacket which I had embroidered with the names of my favourite bands at the time, and that attracted a bit of attention, not least because I only had three of the Led Zeppelin symbols across the top (it was a work in progress, you see...)

If you've been paying attention (and if not, why not?) you'll remember that I said I had never visited the polytechnic before. This fact turned out to be quite important the following morning when I had to make my way across town from the halls to the campus. I had absolutely no idea where the campus was! I had no idea where the bus stops were! How do I get there! Help!!

I had to take one bus into the city centre and one bus out again. I found some bus timetables in the student union, so I managed to find my way there. However I didn't have a map of the campus, so by the time I found my way to the induction lecture for my course I was 90 minutes late. Seems like I started the way I meant to carry on, heheh. Getting to the campus was one thing, getting back to the halls was something else. I remember buying an Birmingham A-Z (map book) and looking at all the routes on all the bus stops, then looking up the places on the map to see if they were anywhere near where I wanted to go!

So that was it..... my first night and couple of days away from home as an independent human being. Of course, I was back at home three days later. I had to go back to my old school to pick up a copy of one of my 'O'-level certificates so that the local authority would let me have my grant money. By the end of the first week we were all referring to our rooms in halls as "home"....

I didn't mean to ramble quite so much here, and yet there's so much I've left out. Some of the people I met in that first week became very close and trusted friends for the next ten years, it's a crying shame I'm not in touch with any of them now. But I have my memories. The four years I spent at uni were among the best four years of my life, I'm sure I shall be writing about them more on here.

I really should get in the habit of blogging stuff on the same day that it happens... here's another 24-hour late update. I managed to get out of bed really really early yesterday morning and was at the gym by 7am. I worked my way through the cardio workout the Personal Trainer gave me on Friday, and had time for a shower and a sit down before leaving for work at ten past eight. Bloody hell, I was impressed with myself.

I've also jumped on the iPod bandwagon. This is another example of the sort of thing "other people" do, but it's never been for me in the past. I used to have a Walkman cassette player, in fact for years a walkman was my only form of music equipment. I listened to it on the bus on the way to school, during break time and in the evenings. I always had a pair of headphones either on my ears or hanging round my neck. Then I just got out of the habit. Maybe I just started socialising a bit more. I didn't miss having a portable stereo up to now because when I go out for a walk I enjoy the peace and quiet, and when I'm cycling I need to be able to hear traffic and other people coming up behind me. So why buy one now? Well, I saw the new iPod nano advertised and really fancied it, but it was a bit expensive for me. I looked at the rest of the iPod range, and thought that an iPod shuffle would be a pretty cool and trendy thing to own, so with credit card in hand I went shopping. And very impressed I am with it too. The headphones only just stay in my ears though, so I think I'll get some new phones later in the week. I got it to listen to while I'm exercising at the gym - some loud Metallica should help me keep the revs up on the exercise bike! So far, it's working very well :-)

Last night I slept like a baby (no, that doesn't mean I woke up every four hours and wet the bed) so I didn't manage to get to the gym this morning, but I am going to go to one of the classes this evening. I'm torn between something called "body pump" and something called "spin to win", whatever that is. I'll find out later, I guess. Got to get the most out of this membership, it's costing me enough!

A recent comment on this very blog has given me lots of food for thought over the weekend. Certainly the climate isn't going to put me off getting a motorbike, although the costs involved might! To be honest, I've often thought about riding a bike, although I've never done anything about it. I've never really been a mad bike fanatic, but maybe the older I get the more I think that it might provide an adrenaline rush, that it might actually be a lot of fun. Forget the idea about saving money on fuel, because by the time I've got myself trained up, bought a bike, bought all the gear and so on I'll be spending at least as much as I would on getting the car converted to LPG. But getting a bike is oh, so much more fun! I've always thought that buying a bike was the sort of thing "other people" did, I was always far too sensible and responsible to go down that route. But I've been thinking about it over the weekend and come to the realisation that, hey, sensible and responsible people ride bikes as well, so why should I deny myself all the fun? Fuck it, I'm going to express myself, and if that means surprising (or even shocking) a few people then so be it. I'm fed up of being Mr Boring.

Step 1 in becoming Mr Less Boring involved speaking to my brother, who has ridden a bike on and off for about 20 years now, and asked his advice. We discussed my options:
1. buy a 125cc bike and ride it with L plates in perpetuity. The only problem with this is that I can't take it on the motorway, and a large part of my journey to work is on the motorway.
2. Pass my CBT (Compulsory Basic Training) and ride a 125cc bike without L plates. However I would soon outgrow the 125 and would want to get myself a bigger bike, and that would mean extra expense. It would be better if I could get the bigger bike straight away, which leads me to....
3. Take a Direct Access course. This is for riders over 21 and combines the CBT with training on a bigger bike. After I pass a direct access course I would be qualified to ride any bike straight away.
(The laws regarding engine sizes etc are all designed to prevent teenagers getting bigger bikes until either they are old enough to handle them or they have had enough road experience to handle a more powerful bike)

My brother also took me out on the back of his CBR1000. This, I must say, was an exhilirating experience. It was only the second or third time I'd ever been on a bike and I was much calmer this time round than the last time (which was also riding pillion on my brother's bike but was at least 15 years ago). I say I was calmer this time, however I won't tell you what thoughts went through my head when he decided to show me how fast it can accellerate!

I've not been put off at all, in fact I'm getting more turned on to the idea of getting a cruiser and, well, cruising (for want of a better word) along the country's highways and byways.

My boss would have other ideas about that. After being away from the office last week he's decided he can't survive without me, so I suggested the only way he can stop me from getting a bike is to get me a pay rise so I can afford to put fuel in the car instead!

I've had the week off work this week, and done a lot more than think about LPG and moan about Yahoo Messenger. On Monday I met my parents at my late grandmother's flat, to see if there was anything I wanted that wasn't specifically mentioned in the will. While I was there my mum got me to take the tv set to the golf club (mum's on the board of directors on the golf club, which sounds a lot grander than it actually is). The golf club TV had broken, so mum arranged a replacement. After I'd put the "new" tv set in place and plugged it in, I took the old one to the tip. However, throwing the tv set over the wall and dumping it in the skip wasn't as satisfactory as it could have been, because the skip was full and it only fell about three feet. As a result, it didn't break into a million pieces as I was rather hoping it would. So, only a little bit rock'n'roll then.

I had planned on joining the gym on Tuesday, but in the end I spent most of the day being a bit lazy (only a little bit lazy, mind). I felt a bit guilty about this so I went out for a cycle ride in the evening. Did an impressive 16.5 miles! Which isn't bad at all considering it's the first time I'd ridden the bike in about six weeks. Well, it seems like six weeks.

Wednesday........ what happened Wednesday? Can't remember. Must have been a humdinger of a day, Wednesday.

On Thursday I finally got round to joining the gym. I'd been thinking about it for a few weeks now, and decided that unless I get off my arse and do something about it, I'll end up putting on a good few pounds over the winter. Hell I think I've even managed to put on a few lbs over the summer, and that's with a bit of cycling. Anyway, I was introduced to the various machines, and spent an hour doing a fairly leisurely work out. I booked a session with a Personal Trainer (three half hour sessions are included in the joining fee) which leads me to......

.... today, when I had my first half hour with the PT. He showed me a cardio workout which takes half an hour, and includes the cycle machine, treadmill, cross trainer and rowing machine. I felt like I got a better workout in half an hour with the PT than I did in an hour on my own, which is exactly the sort of help I was hoping to get, so that I know I'm doing myself some good when I go. I think I'm going to enjoy going, I certainly don't feel out of place in there, or feel like I'm the odd one out or anything like that. All I have to do now is keep it up! By the way, current weight is 16stone 7lbs, or 231lbs. A further weight update next week, folks!

Here's an update to my incoherent ramblings on whether or not I should get my car converted to run on the cheaper LPG fuel. I went to see the Vauxhall dealer where I bought my car to ask about LPG models. I was told they were rarer than hen's teeth, one guy had worked there for three and a half years and only seen one dual fuel model in that time. Vauxhall haven't even released prices for the new shape dual fuel Astra yet, apparently they only make them to order and it can take up to 12 months. If I was concerned about saving money on fuel the guy I spoke to would be more than happy to sell me a diesel car though. Somehow I get the impression I've been a little fobbed off there.

The quote to have my car converted arrived this morning. £1350 including VAT, which is a little less than I thought. However, converting a car to run on LPG doesn't mean you can ditch the petrol completely, as it needs to run on petrol until the engine warms up (apparently) and then it'll switch to LPG. So the figures the spreadsheet gave me are at the absolute top level of optimism. It'll still take two years for a conversion to pay for itself. Also I've heard rumours that the current low level of taxation on LPG fuel won't remain low for ever (but that's only a rumour!)

I'm currently thinking the best option would be to just not put my foot down as much.... so if you get stuck behind a silver Astra on the motorway doing a steady 56mph, that'll be me, sorry.

With the price of petrol going up each day and looking to stay that way for the forseeable future, I've been doing some research today in getting my car converted to run on LPG (Liquid Petroleum Gas) instead. I've requested a quote for conversion but apparently it'll cost something in the region of £1500 - £1600. At the moment LPG fuel is 60% cheaper than petrol, although it is slightly less economical.

I put a spreadsheet together to help me work out the costs, and I reckon that at my current annual mileage and fuel economy, a conversion will pay for itself in 18-24 months. Less, if the cost of petrol goes up another 10-15 pence per litre.

The problem is that I was thinking of changing my car at the end of next year. This is before a coversion will have paid for itself, so I won't see any benefits if I stick to that plan of action. So my choices are:
1. get the car converted and keep it until I run it into the ground
2. trade the car in now for a duel fuel model
3. do nothing until I plan on changing the car anyway

I drive about 15000 miles a year. My car currently has 45000 miles on the clock, and when I bought it I was planning on keeping it until it had 100,000 miles on it. If it's serviced regularly there's no reason why it won't do 100,000 miles, however the maintenance bills will probably go up each year as they do with all older cars. Another slight complication is that I was thinking about buying a personal registration plate next year. I'm hoping to be able to get a plate which has my initials and my date of birth on it (I can't buy it now, it's not available yet due to the way the UK car registration system works) but I can't put a newer plate on an older car. So I was thinking about buying the plate early next year when it becomes available, and then buying a 6-month old car at the end of the year and putting the plate on it. Now my LPG thoughts have gotten in the way of that, I guess I'll have to put my ego to one side for now.

It might be more economical in the long run to get a 6-12 month old dual fuel car now, and keep that for 5 years or so. I'll go down to the car dealer tomorrow and see what they have to say, but for now my mind is racing with numbers and dates...

Last night I upgraded my Yahoo Messenger to the latest version, version 7. Admittedly it was very late in the day and I was trying to write my review of the Heaton Park show at the time, so I wasn't in the best mood to be doing two things at once. However there are some features in Messenger 7 I like, and some features I don't like. One of the things I didn't like about it was that it wanted to install lots of extra features by default, so I had to go in to the install routine and tell it no, I didn't want to pop-up blocker (I already have one in Firefox) and no, I didn't want the yahoo toolbar and no, I didn't want to change my home page. What is it with some companies that they feel they have to take over your computer, to give you a "complete browsing experience". I can live without all that.

They've also introduced this new thing called Yahoo 360. It gives you a blog, a link to photo albums, a friend network, links to RSS feeds and so on. It's actually quite impressive, provided you want to do things the Yahoo way, and you're prepared to limit your readership to people with Yahoo accounts. Again, I don't want to do that, I want my blog to be read by anyone, and I want to customise the way it looks. So I can live without that as well.

There are two features we tried out in Messenger 7 last night that I did like, though. The voice communication part of it is better than before, the sound came through clear as a bell, and you don't have to press to talk. Depending on how sensitive your microphone is, the person you're talking to may be able to hear you typing, but that's not the end of the world. They've also improved the file sending capabilities. I share a lot of photos with other members of my family, and before we used to use ICQ to send the pics forwards and backwards. I tried to get everyone to use hello, but for some reason that didn't catch on. With the older version of Messenger you had to send files one at a time, with this one you can drag and drop a whole bunch of files onto the chat window and it will send them all.

But for a little Instant Messaging program I think it's now getting too big for its boots. It's got a radio player, games, weather links, a calendar, a link to 360 so you can blog from your IM program..... it's all too much. Some people may like the idea of having everything in one place, heck, even I like the idea of having everything in one place, but I don't like the idea of having one program or one company providing all my content or deciding how I go about doing things. Who knows what they're keeping tabs on. It's like a supermarket giving out loyalty cards so they can monitor what you're buying. Ok, so you may get some targeted money-off vouchers every quarter, but I like to keep myself to myself thank you very much. I don't want people monitoring what i do online, where I drive, what I buy, what films and music I like and so on. If I want to give out some information about myself, I'll give it freely, but I don't want someone spying on me thank you very much.

Sometimes I wish we could go back to the good old days when you used a browser for the web, a chat program for chatting, a search engine for searching, a music program for music...... the edges are all getting blurred now and you end up with Yahoo Messenger, MSN Messenger, ICQ, mIRC, Yahoo toolbar, Google toolbar, IE, Firefox, Windows Media Player, WinAmp and so on and do forth. No wonder hard drives are getting bigger and bigger and processors are getting faster and faster. They need to in order to keep up with all this bloat that people keep ramming down our throats.

I was must more in the mood for ranting and raving last night. I've slept since then and calmed down a bit now. Try Messenger if you want (be careful what you choose to install though - I've no idea how well some the features like the toolbar will uninstall afterwards) and if I'm on you can try talking to me. My ID is daniel_freedman2002. Guess when I set up my Yahoo ID?

It was a dark and stormy night. The rain lashed down and complete strangers huddled together for comfort. The thunder drowned out the soundtrack and the lightning scared the living crap out of everyone.

Or, to put it in a slightly different context (i.e. the truth), it was a perfect late-summer evening, with an almost-clear blue sky and just the hint of a breeze coming over the hill. I arrived at the park at 6pm, which is just as well as I had to queue up for half an hour to collect my ticket, then I had to queue for another half an hour to give my ticket to a man who promptly put it in a big black rubbish bag, and collect a wristband which proved I used to have a ticket. Ah well.

I entered the site, which was getting rather full (only half an hour to show time) and spotted the stage which was to the left of the impressively big screen they'd set up. There was quite a bit of space between the front of the crowd and the screen, which made sense really. The screen must have been about 30 feet hight and 70 feet wide - you had to sit a good few feet away from it so you could see what was going on! The side-effect of people sitting so far back from the screen meant that there was a lot of space in front of the stage as well, so when I saw people gathering in front of it I thought I'd join them. After all, I went on my own and didn't have a blanket/picnic/girlfriend to leave watching everything, so I picked up my rucksack and headed to the front.

I ended up on the second row, and wasn't crowded in like I had been at other shows. I had plenty of room to move and breathe. Now, I don't know too much about the Fun Lovin' Criminals, so I can't really review their set. I can tell you that I enjoyed it and would like to check out their recordings though. They played a couple of songs from the Pulp Fiction soundtrack (Rumble and Let's Stay Together), a few songs from the new album and a few old favourites (apparently). Anyway, all very enjoyable, but only for 45 minutes. Then they thanked Stella Artios for keeping them in beer, I mean inviting them to play, and it was time for the film.

I can't say anything about Pulp Fiction that hasn't already been said. It's one of my all-time favourite films, and Tarantino is now one of my all-time favourite directors. I remember going to see Reservoir Dogs at the tiny little Triangle cinema in Aston University before it was released mainstream. This must have been 1991 or something. At the time it was a quirky violent independent movie that had been creating a lot of buzz on the streets, so I thought I'd go and see what all the fuss was about. I'd heard a lot about the infamous ear-slicing scene, and was disappointed to find out that the camera panned away at the crucial moment. All this talk about blood and guts and gore, and the film didn't seem to be any more gory than anything else i'd seen. So I was a little disappointed with that, but I liked the film enough to go see it again in a bigger cinema, and also to go see Tarantino's next film. Which was, of course, Pulp Fiction.

If you haven't yet seen Pulp Fiction I advise you to keep an open mind and see it. You'll either love it or hate it, and if you love it you'll see it again and again. It's one of the few films that reveals more of itself to you the more you watch it. Every line, every scene in this movie is relevant to the plot. There's no filler in there at all, which, considering the film is two and a half hours long, is no mean feat.

But I digress. This isn't supposed to be a review of Pulp Fiction, it's supposed to be a review of my night out. When the film started there were a few people standing up, but they sat down after being "encouraged" with a few empty plastic Stella bottles. Some people clapped, cheered and laughed along with the film. Some got up and danced with Uma Thurman and John Travolta. The biggest cheer of the night came when Bruce Willis broke free of his bonds and bopped the gimp on the nose, heheh.

As long as you could get used to a steady stream of people walking past you to get out, it was a really good night out. I didn't mind the guy to my right smoking a joint, even though the smell does make me a bit nauseous. I didn't mind the guy to my left occasionally shouting out the next line. I thought that all added to the experience. I'm glad I took something to eat, and something to sit on. Even though it didn't rain, the grass was a bit damp with spilled beer!

This is precisely the sort of event that needs to take place more often in Manchester, and probably more often in the country as a whole. I had a really good time, and can't wait for the next one. Photos on Flickr, natch.

Tonight I'm going to an outdoor screening of Pulp Fiction in Heaton Park, with a live set by the Fun Lovin' Criminals, playing some of their own music and some of the songs from the film. I'm taking waterproofs (can't trust the British weather!), some food, some drink, and my camera. Should be a good night out, and who knows, maybe I'll meet someone heheh.

The event is organised by Stella Screen, and they did a very good job of not advertising it because I only found out about it last Thursday when reading my cousin's local evening paper. They put a full-page advert in, I wonder if that's a sign that not many tickets have been sold? Anyway, I've bought a ticket online and it should be a very good evening indeed. Pulp Fiction is one of my all-time favourite films, and I'm looking forward to seeing the Fun Lovin' Criminals as well, not being too familiar with their music.

Tomorrow I'm going to with my parents as they take all the grandkids to Chester Zoo, which should also be a good day out. So look out for a report on the weekend sometime Sunday evening. Or failing that, sometime next week. Or whenever.

Annie posted yesterday about an area of outstanding natural beauty near her home. So I decided to find it on Google Earth. Now I want to visit it and see for myself how stunning it must look. Maybe one day...

I know Google Earth has been out for a little while but it's only in the last week or so I've been having a play with it. Yes, you don't have to tell me, I'm not exactly cutting-edge, never have been, never will be. But I don't mind not being cutting-edge. I knows what I likes.

Back to the point of Google Earth, I'm impressed. Very very VERY impressed. I looked at a similar program last year, NASA WorldWind, and although the two aren't exactly like-for-like, I think I prefer the Google version. For a start, it's only a 10Mb download instead of a 180Mb download. Also, the images load up quickly whereas the NASA one seemed to have a lot of server problems. Admittedly I've not looked at the NASA product for several months, so I don't know if they've got that bit sorted out yet. I also like the fact that Google Earth shows better quality satellite photos of the UK, specifically the bit I live in. I can make out my house quite clearly.

So, can you see your house on Google Earth? And if so, can you let me know where it is? I'm curious! Position the cursor over your house (or as close as you want to get it) and email me the co-ordinates, or leave them in the comments if you don't mind other people taking a look. And to start the ball rolling, I'll tell you that I live close to this park here:
53 34 2.82N 2 18 48.58W
or, depending on how you've got Google Earth set up:
53.567453 -2.313508
Copy and paste these coordinates into Google Earth's search box and you should see some houses around a triangular patch of land. I live in one of those houses. Now that's what I call a neat program!

For my sins, I frequent a virtual online pub, the Technique and Ferret. It's a place where the laws of physics rarely apply, money only exists in someone else's wallet, two or three people permanently live under the pool table, and time is measured in terms of children's television programmes playing on a 24-hour loop (i.e. "What time is it?" "Quarter past Sesame Street, mate"). There's also a dungeon in the cellar, and the beer never ever runs out.

It's populated by various ne'er-do-wells and reprobates, usually from the IT industry. The banter is usually on the other side of daft, and I'm going to bring you some examples of the various web sites, awful jokes, puns and debates that I deem worth repeating.

Starting with this, courtesy of "Alan": http://catsinsinks.com/