Biodegradable Indian Summers and stuff like that...

Warm, isn’t it?  I love this weather, despite the Climate Change alarm bells chiming loud and clear. But we’ve been having these ‘Indian Summers’ for – what? – three years now.  And yet, BBC24 News is dominated by the ‘story’.  Why?  It’s not news.  The Pope is Catholic, bears shit in the woods and September in the UK is warmer than July and August.


So let’s concentrate on the real matters at hand, eh...  the Islamist Cleric killed in Yemen, the EU legal threat over UK benefits, or the Greece bailout deal.  But this blog isn’t really about that; I trust you all to remain updated from your respective propaganda channels.  I want to move briefly to the little story about Welsh plastic bags.  No, they’re not world class singers just because they come from the valleys – this also applies to miners, school teachers and Post Office workers – but they now cost 5p each, every time you shop.

In my opinion, this is a brilliant idea.  It’s good for the planet in terms of reducing both unsustainable production methods and also non-biodegradable littering from the many shameless and lazy bastards that appear to inhabit England.  And it saves me from having to politely decline the offer of a plastic bag every time I buy as little as a chocolate bar or bottle of juice.  This is the Welsh Government’s way of ensuring chains like Coop are being even more environmentally friendly and ecologically responsible.  For Coop, this initiative follows their “Bags for Life” and Fairtrade cotton offerings; they’re not merely trying to make an easy 5p or even recoup costs incurred by paying their plastic bag supplier.

But some folk simply don’t get it as far as I could tell from watching TV yesterday morning; BBC News 24 repeats stories throughout the day at a rate of approximately three times per hour and unfortunately there was one of our National Heroes on there yesterday getting all confused and making an idiot of himself.  Now I’m no doubt indebted to this guy for his brave services in Afghanistan or Iraq, but if I may paraphrase him: “The shop makes plenty of money so I don’t see why they cannot stand the cost of the bags.  Why should I pay for the bags?”  It’s like plaiting piss, it really is.  I know you all understand this latest initiative is to make us all think twice before idly accepting a plastic bag.  And I trust you all agree with the concept.  Right?

The best things in life are free.  Love, manners and apples from next door’s garden.  I’ll let you into a little secret; I’m a member of a very exclusive club.  I’m not sure when I signed up or who I spoke to in order to make the arrangements, but I’m definitely a member.  Or at least I reckon I must be.  The Manners Club – restricted access.  Because manners are free, but too many folk don’t have them.  It’s like Gold Card Membership and if your name’s not down then... “not tonight ladies”.  So, if I can figure out how, then I will organise membership for the following people:

One.  The lady who works at the BP “Corner Garage” who struggles to utter as little as ‘Please’ and ‘Thank you’.  I don’t want to be serenaded or fanned with a palm leaf as I browse the windscreen washer fluid and Ginster’s pasties, but the basics should really be a given... especially if I’m making an effort to be cheery.  Poison Dwarf.

Zwei.  The bloke in Sainsbury’s who – as I was unpacking my basket – simply started using ‘my’ self-service checkout.  I never thought my being hung over would save an ignorant tosspot’s life, but it certainly did.

Trois.  People who block Tube platforms.  Picture the scene... Kentish Town station, southbound Northern Line platform and a group of European tourists stood RIGHT NEXT TO the platform entrance with the baggage from a Transatlantic Boeing 747.  Completely in the way.  One might interpret this as a lack of [self] awareness or practise, even, but for me it’s tantamount to simply lacking manners.  If I find myself reluctantly schlepping a suitcase around the Tube (or on other public transport), then my first priority – yes, first – is ensuring that I don’t hit anyone in the legs or block platforms and corridors.  So for me, people failing to do this are simply lacking in manners.  It should be the normal human condition to look out for each other, but alas...

Before I sign off, I want to go back to self-service checkouts.  I used one that time because I stank of booze, but I urge you not to use them as they are evil.  I checked my account again this morning and still no payments from Sainsbury’s, Marks & Spencer or Waitrose; just receipts.  Seeing as they don’t pay me a wage then I refuse to do their work.  If you do use self-service checkouts, then just be aware that you’re both being exploited AND keeping someone out of a job and on the benefits system which you probably contribute towards.

There’s an unexpected item in the bagging area, so I’ve got to go!

"I wonder why people do that?" - #2, 05/04/11

Yesterday morning, on my way to the platform at King's Cross, I was forced to walk at a pace I would consider towards the slow end of the scale.  Especially considering the circumstances: train about to leave, barriers initially chosen by my good self and fellow commuters closed, needing to make a last minute detour to the working barriers.


The slow walking pace was thanks to a fully grown adult male with an overnight bag the size of a fucking toaster.  What is my problem with such a small item of luggage?  I don't have a problem with such a small item of luggage.  Until Samsonite fit wheels; allowing self-important businessmen to wheel such a small item of luggage behind them in the clean air.


It's all so fucking pointless!  Why don't these - usually hulking - people simply carry the luggage like in the good old days?  When men were men.  Instead of trailing it in their wake - like the synthetic dog they never had - while they slurp hot brown liquid from Starbucks.  I make exceptions for larger items of luggage and/or more slightly built commuters where the weight of luggage and commuter are approaching equilibrium.  After all; we do need to look after our bodies.


So the next time a 'Sales Executive' roles a shoebox over my feet or makes me walk at a pace which I consider unacceptable, I will be forced to kick said shoebox across the station concourse.  And I don't want to have to do that.  Not with my groin.

"I wonder why people do that?" - #1, 23/02/11

Inspired by a journal I almost bought yesterday.  This series of social commentary will consist of concise observations of people - behaving in a good, bad, annoying, pleasing (etc) manner - along with my attempt(s) at possible explanations and/or understanding.

Most WHSmith stores I know of are pretty cramped places.  For example, the one on Lands Lane in Leeds city centre is a large store, but the aisle arrangement and the company's desire to stock a wide range of books and magazines has created a shopping experience which belies the generous floor space.  And then there are smaller stores like the one I ventured into yesterday on Baker Street; not much larger than my parents' kitchen.  No worries - I don't plan on writing to WHSmiths to offer advice - I don't exactly have the necessary retail experience.

BUT... I notice a lot of folk (mostly men it has to be said) insist on worsening the cramped situation by spending their entire lunch hour reading magazines from cover to cover (flick through by all means and make sure the magazine contains what you're looking for, but please do not read the entire issue) in the aisle, in front of the magazine racks.  Why?  Well I have given it some thought and have come up with a few possible reasons:

1. They cannot afford to buy the magazine, we are living in pretty difficult financial times after all.  So whatever one is looking for; try the internet.  Chances are, it will be in there somewhere!

2. They have nothing better to do with the lunch hour.  Have a walk and get some fresh air considering being stuck in the office all morning.  Or arrange to meet a friend or spouse for lunch or a drink.  Obviously, still buy the magazine and read it in the comfort of one's own home with a cup of coffee or a balloon of brandy.

3. They are too tight-fisted to buy the magazine.  I doubt there is any hope of reasoning with these people... wheel 'em out!

If you have been affected by any of the issues raised in Episode #1 of "I wonder why people do that?" or if you are indeed a shop-reading-magazine-aisle-blocking person, then please get in touch and share your experiences.

"Oh look, it's a fountain with horses..."

I'm currently spending at least a couple of weeks in thatLondon.  I had a job interview in Godalming (Surrey), on Wednesday - I was due down here to see Fran so simply extended the trip by a few days.  So now I'm waiting for the outcome of said interview... not too confidently to be honest, but we'll just have to see what happens.  Week days see me scouring the less-frequented areas of the capital in search of street art, quirky cafés and cheap snacks.  Mainly on foot.

This is all good as it saves wearing a hole in my Oyster card and I see things that otherwise would be missed while sitting on the Oxo.  I really like London and I could easily live here without a problem, but I am well aware it has its fair share of detractors... for usually the same, uninspired reasons: "it's too busy", "everyone is unfriendly", "it's expensive"...

Well to be truthful, it depends where you end up while you're down here.  I took a swift walk from Camden to Waterloo on Friday early evening and I thoroughly enjoyed the exercise in the bracing February air.  However, for the first time, I let negative feelings about the capital creep into my thoughts.  At the time I was pissed off, but looking back and sitting here now I do realise it has helped me to understand the 'problem(s)' that some people have with London.  So my route was thus: Park Way - all fine, Regents Park - all fine, Great Portland Street - all fine, Regent Street - all fine, Whitehall - all fine, Westminster Bridge Road - all fine.  Anyone who knows London will realise there seems to be a gap in the street running order - how did I get from Regent Street to Whitehall?  Well, um, I took the direct-ish route and walked via Oxford Circus, Soho, and the squares: Leicester and Trafalgar.

What a fucking error that was.  Especially considering the time of day.  Let's see what we had:

2. Trendy teenagers walking 3-abreast as they looked for Carnaby Street and 'checked in' on their iphones;
3. [To save causing offence, let's just stick with] European school kids loitering en-masse at subway and tube station entrances;
4. Soho was busy, but it does have a certain charm and at least the people there are shopping and/or working; and
5. Blokes with flyers trying to get me into the Aberdeen Steakhouse - "fucking leave me alone.  Do I look like I've had my tastebuds laser-removed?".

However, the main problem I encountered really deserves more than a simple bullet point in a list.  Problem #1 is predominantly attributable to Wicked, Grease The Musical, Les Miserables, Hair Spray, Dirty Dancing et al.  Each to their own; if someone wants to pass a few hours watching an Olivia Newton John wannabe or pretending witches and wizards exist while eating their own bodyweight in Minstrels, then that is absolutely fine.  BUT when I hear over and over again "oh we went to see that show in London... it was great... and all the bright lights... it's really busy though, people everywhere; I couldn't live there", I cannot help think that whoever utters those words is completely missing the point.

Please don't travel to London to see a show, stand in the middle of Shaftesbury Avenue looking at an upside-down map and/or dawdle 5-abreast while gazing up in apparent amazement at The Trocadero or The Palladium AND THEN complain about the crowds.  Because... and here's the breaking news...; you might actually be the crowd - along with me and the few million other people walking through the Borough of Tourism.  I know; crazy, right!?

In other news, I'm looking for a 56cm Colnago C50 Pista frame and forks... if you have one in the loft, then please let me know.

Thanks for reading.

Fly me to the moon. I'll sort the oxygen and gravity problems and if I don't, then I'll blame you for flying me there in the first place!

There is political unrest and a revolution under way in Egypt, yet the good old British package holiday tourist is managing to save face amidst the chaos.  Budget airline Jet2 has suspended flights to and from Sharm el Sheikh and Hurghada with effect from 1st March, with the statement:

"Whilst the Red Sea resorts are not currently affected, the safety and comfort of our customers is our number one priority, and as such we do not want them to face the stressful uncertainty of whether their holiday will go ahead as planned.  Customers will automatically receive a full refund for the cost of their flights or holiday, plus a discount off a new booking."

Although I think they have taken away customer uncertainty over holidays in a rather perverse manner - by explaining "No, you're definitely not flying to Egypt in March.  Not with us anyway." - I do agree with Jet2's concern over the welfare of its customers.  I can imagine the first thing to happen should one of their customers come to grief as a result of the protests... "You flew me out here, said it was safe enough.  And now look what happened.  What're you gonna do about it?" Prudent work from Jet2, if you ask me.

So WHAT THE FUCK are retired businessman Peter O'Reilly, and his partner Jacquie Chorley harping on about?  Here we have two people who are more concerned with/interested in the fulfilment of their month in the sun rather than the very tangible elements of political revolution that are taking place literally down the road.  Mrs Chorley is quoted: "When I came out from Leeds-Bradford Airport last Friday there were lots of empty seats.  I suspect it is the empty seats they are worried about rather than my welfare."  To be honest I fail to see the logic in that argument... if Jet2 have flown people out, then they need to fly them back regardless of booking levels.

She is also quoted: "This is my third time staying at this hotel and the staff here are wonderful and can't do enough for you. I feel completely safe here."  Oh that's okay then... if you return to your room every day to find the towels have been folded into a scene from 'Watership Down' and Azizi displays a kind, warm smile as he pours your sparkling wine, then what does it matter that Hosni Mubarak might be ready to stand down after a 30-year rule?  I'm with you on that one, Mrs Chorley, some people need to get things in perspective, right?

And this story is just a very tiny example of what is wrong with today's world - too many people setting out with only themselves in mind, in their own little worlds, no idea what's happening in their own state/province/county never mind at the other side of the world.  Seemingly perpetually obsessed with having the latest iphone application, orange skin, cheap petrol, a 4x4... I could go on.

Just to end on a slightly lighter note: something which came to mind on the train last Wednesday as we waited for passengers to alight in Doncaster (poor bastards).  Two things I REALLY don't understand in this world: 1. People's fascination with gadgets; and 2. How exactly does train spotting work?  Where's the challenge?

That is all from me for now - I have a fixed gear project to research.

Thanks for reading and Godspeed!

Science can be fun!

I nearly took a trip to Spillsville this morning.  35miles into a 40mile ride with 800m of climbing - any self respecting roadie will look to cheat the elements in this situation.  So I'm tramming through Havercroft, slightly downhill at ~25mph... Transit van up ahead which has slowed down for a traffic calming chicane so I managed to jump into the slipstream and draft for a while.  Now my experience of Transit van drivers is they don't slow down or stop for anyone.  Right?  Well I came across the jumpiest, most courteous Transit van driver this side of Watford.

Anyway at 30mph, he hits the anchors and stoops in between two parked cars to let opposing traffic through.  Yours truly also hits the anchors and manages to slow down.  However, the back tyre loses traction and consequently the wheel which it shrouds steps out to the side.  I'm skidding and fearing the worst, but luckily I kept everything in the correct orientation.

This had me thinking about vehicle stopping distances...

The Highway Code stopping distances are derived from a combination of driver thinking-perception time and the subsequent vehicle braking and stopping distance.  Braking systems on ‘modern’ cars allow them to decelerate at approximately 1.0g; indeed the Highway Code stopping distances are based on 6.57m/s/s or 0.67g.

Driver thinking-perception time will vary from subject to subject, but a conservative average value is taken for the purpose of the calculations.  The Highway Code stopping distances are based on a thinking-perception time of 0.7s.

Assuming a vehicle’s braking system is operating properly, the minimum stopping distance for the vehicle will be determined by the coefficient of friction between the tyres and carriageway surface.  According to the work-energy principle, the friction force must do enough work to reduce the vehicle’s kinetic energy to zero.

Braking and stopping distance

 µ = coefficient of friction

d = distance (m)

v = initial velocity (m/s)

m = vehicle mass (kg)

g = acceleration due to gravity (m/s2)

t = thinking-perception time (s)

Workfriction = -Fd = -mad = - mµgd = -½mvv so braking distance db = v2/2µg

Thinking distance dt = vt

Total stopping distance, d = vt + v2/2µg

If we consider a car travelling along the M62 at 70mph in clear and dry conditions; using these first principles, we can see how the Highway Code braking and stopping distances are derived.

v = 33.3m/s (70mph)

t = 0.7s

µ = 0.67

g = 9.81m/s2

Braking and stopping distance, d = 107m

Thanks for reading and not falling asleep!

We are not amused...

You'll notice I haven't updated my blog for over a month now.  I didn't forget about it or think 'fuck it', I just haven't had the urge to write.  You also may have noticed my best writing comes when I'm angry or need to get something off my chest.  No?  Oh... maybe my calm writing is okay as well then!?

So I'm here because I'm angry or because I need to get something off my chest?  Not really; I feel like I'm in a good place right now, happy with my current lot.  However; I found myself watching significant chunks of the Royal Variety Performance 2010 the other night.  Was it Thursday?  I enjoyed some of it, hated most of it and was astounded, frankly, at the average-ness of one or two performances.  I was commenting to a good friend and we were debating the [de-] merits of each act... I thought I may as well try and get my blog back on track by documenting the observations.

Lee Mack

I'm a fan.  I like his slightly manic style and he comes across as a genuinely nice bloke when he's interviewed.  He seems comfortable mixing observational comedy, one-liners and stories, but he didn't have his best night on Thursday.  I'd suggest that's probably down to the short time he had on stage and the way comedians' material has to be toned down for the Royal members of the audience.  Which is rather ironic, when you consider how they carry on in their spare time; inbreeding, sleeping with polo teammates' spouses, killing defenceless animals, dressing as Nazis and not worrying about casual racism.  I'm still with you, Lee.  Keep up the good work. 

Susan Boyle

The nation's favourite slightly mentally ill person.  No seriously, I don't mind her she seems harmless enough and her talent cannot be denied really.  But her kind of music bores me; there's no feeling involved.  Okay she might feel the music, but what about the lyrics?  What do the lyrics mean to 'SuBo'?  Well in the case of Thursday night's song choice, I'd guess they don't mean a hell of a lot.  Many respected commentators suggest that Lou Reed's "Perfect Day" (produced by Bowie if you're interested) documents his romanticised attitude towards a period of his own addiction to heroin.  Most of us cannot comment on such a topic, so Subo definitely cannot... a small sherry at Christmas and maybe half a bottle of Blue Nun if there's a wedding.  Choose life, Subo.

Cheryl Cole

I really cannot warm to this girl.  I think she's self-centered, manipulative and pretty bloody ruthless if it comes down to it.  And if we believe the newspapers; she's a fucking racist to boot.  Don't let the pretty face  - and it is pretty to be fair - distract you.  But let's be fair to Mrs Cole for a moment (is she still Mrs Cole or are we back to Miss Tweedy?  Which sells most records?)... she's made a glittering career for herself so far.  "Girls Aloud" were one of Britain's most successful pop bands and now she seems to be doing pretty well as a solo 'artist'.  Both those facts amaze me, but to each their own and people buy and listen to whatever pleases them.

She died on her arse on Thursday night though.  If the performance was good or great then I would have no problem commenting so.  But oh my; it was fucking terrible, embarrassing.  Flat, out of tune, nerve-wracked and the songwriting wasn't exactly inspiring either.  Epic fail, love.

Les Miserables

This kind of thing isn't really my cup of tea, but the talent on display was undeniable.  Compelling.  The actual show was on the same day as the student riots in London and you may have seen the news reports of Charles and Camilla's limousine being targeted.  So first we have the Royals being attacked by wannabe student revolutionists and an hour or so later, they're both lauding a performance documenting the June Rebellion (an anti-monarchist uprising of Parisian students).  I'm not suggesting things should have been different, I just found it interesting and rather amusing.

The Chelsea Pensioners

Knees up muvver braaarn.  No thanks.

Take That

I had to turn over to BBC2.  Gary Barlow is enormously talented: he plays the piano beautifully, has a strong and wide vocal range and he can write bloody good music and lyrics.  Just WHAT do the others do?  Besides dance about like dickheads, harmonise and bask in the limelight?

And now Robbie Williams has decided he wants to be back in on everything.  Does this have anything to do with his solo 'career' slowly drying up?  And already, he's taking centre stage as though he's the fucking messiah - Take That's and pop music's saviour.  Robbie Williams and his Take That Band.  Fuck off, Robbie and take your insecurity with you... go and play with your mate Johnny Wilkes and massage each other's over-inflated egos.

So there you have it; my unbiased review of the Royal Variety Performance 2010.  Or the acts I saw.  Not overly impressed as I'm sure you would have known before even sitting down to read this blog update.  I just cannot relate to entertainment for the masses; it doesn't light my synapses, pose questions or make me think about deeper meanings.  It's just there.  I have to qualify that the Les Miserables performance stood out in that respect.  Like I have already written; it's not my cup of tea, but at least you learn something from watching.

Thanks for reading and let's have your thoughts on the Royal Variety Performance 2010...

Preparedness makes us powerful, butter merely makes us fat...

Winter's here then.  It's cold, crisp and now we have snow.  Snow's a bit like Marmite as far as I can tell - don't put it on your toast, that would be terrible - you either love it or hate it.  And I think there's a very fine line between that love and hate depending on your aspirations.  We had a thick covering last year (February time if I recall correctly) and I didn't mind it at all; with the lack of road grit and the steep hill 500yds from my house, driving to work wasn't really an option and so I could legitimately 'work from home'.  I loved it.

This morning, I hate it.  Snow and road cycling don't really mix all that well; think chalk and cheese or Ike and Tina and you'll see where I'm coming from.  I have all the warm weather gear to keep me comfortable down to -5C, but when the roads are covered in compacted snow and slowly thawing/freezing patches of water things become decidedly hazardous.  I've had the back wheel step out when turning into junctions, but managed to keep things upright.  With ice on the roads, there's a high chance of the front wheel doing the same and if that happens... well I'm going down and no amount of bike handling skill is changing the outcome.  Spillsville.  Population: me.

treacherous -adjective: characterized by faithlessness or readiness to betray trust; traitorous.

What I've just covered briefly there is a road condition which one might describe as 'hazardous' or 'dangerous' and that would be fair enough.  From that, I would argue 'treacherous' is not a suitable adjective for the current weather conditions.  But if the BBC insists on attributing human qualities to natural phenomena, who I am I to pass comment?

I was sidetracked for a minute there.

Back to winter cycling...  so as long as the roads aren't icy, then  I will ride.  Last winter I had to spend ~£100 repairing my Giant Cadex.  Despite my fastidious winter maintenance regime, I couldn't stop all the salt from killing my front and rear Campagnolo derailleurs.

Giant Cadex 980c

I built the Cadex specifically for winter use and fitted it with mudguards for dirty road conditions that ruin clothes, make the drivetrain filthy and eventually kill derailleurs if there's enough salt present.  Rear derailleurs cost ~£40 and front derailleurs cost ~£20 so after I'd replaced one of each I had to come up with a more cost effective option for this winter!

  


A lot of my winter cycling is on the flat, just maintaining endurance and strength for when spring comes back around.  I could get away without needing derailleurs.  Now I couldn't simply take them off the Cadex, because the teeth profiles on the chainring actually cause the chain to derail; the front derailleur also keeps the chain where it should be.  I didn't want to change over the front chainring to a single speed one either - the Cadex is a bloody good road bike which I want to use in inclement weather throughout the warmer months. 

So I went to see Gary Proud at Kendell Cycles to discuss single speed bike options and what he could get his hands on.  I had looked at the Bianchi and Specialized offerings already.  The Bianchi is expensive and the Specialized - as well as being what everyone seems to ride - is not geared tall enough... so what else?  Gary recommended the Giant Bowery '72.  An aluminium relaxed geometry frame with track dropouts and bars, which is geared quite high with a 48/17 combination giving ~75 gear inches.  Ideal!  So I went for it, placed the order and collected about a month later.

I kept the rat-trap pedals and have used it throughout summer for going to the shops.  The frame is nice and stiff, the gearing is just about right and the riding position is comfortable.  And it looks the business, which to be honest is very important for this part-time hipster running two-wheeled errands.

Tug nuts!

I finished preparing it for proper winter use yesterday by fitting new clipless pedals, a rear mudguard and making additions to the saddle bag contents.  On top of the usual tyre levers, spare tube, multitool and chain breaker there are now two wheel spanners (the axles aren't quick release) and a smaller spanner for releasing the rear wheel tug nuts.  Stop laughing at the back!  Tug nuts fasten over the rear axle and keep the wheel set in the correct position to achieve suitable chain tension.

So I took the bike for the maiden voyage on Thursday.  It's exactly as I expected - it's nice to just pedal and not worry about gear ratios.  If the road starts to point towards the sky or the wind's in your face, then you simply MTFU, pedal harder and make the quads burn!  And that's what I want from winter cycling; to build leg strength and endurance.  I'm looking forward to it.

Giant Bowery '72

Thanks for reading - I hope it wasn't too cycling heavy!

You're not putting that in the garden...

So… here we are: the end of an era.  Tomorrow is my last day working for Atkins Consultants Limited.  Monday 2^nd July 2001 – Friday 19^th November 2010: eight months shy of a gold effect carriage clock for my non-existent mantelpiece.  I’ve had some good times working at Atkins and I’ll be forever grateful of the fantastic opportunities afforded to me over the past nine years or so.

Now I can look forward to lots of free time in which to cycle plenty of miles and walk many paths.  It will also be nice to leave behind The Worst Commute Ever: Tuesday was my last day of being on the bypass stuck behind Reg and Doris in their 15yr old Proton or Baz in his dangerously overladen P reg Mondeo with illegal tyres.  How on Earth could I have found the Monday morning drive-fly-taxi to Dublin LESS hassle than the drive to Barnsley?  By factoring in Reg, Doris, Baz and the Tickle Your Tastebuds van; that’s how.  But let us not dwell on the past or be concerned about the future; we only ever occupy the present.

Birmingham Airport is auctioning a Maglev carriage on ebay.  The carriage is an example of one of the world's first magnetic levitation transport systems.  Although the Birmingham Airport one was replaced by a cable operated system, there are still plenty of examples of Maglev transit systems around the world.  The theory behind it is relatively straight forward; I won’t go into detail (you can Wiki if you’re interested), but the technology basically exploits magnetic repulsion and attraction.

I couldn’t resist a sly laugh at the expense of ‘Airport spokesman John Morris’ who was quoted: “Although it will never move under its own power again, it could make an excellent summer house or greenhouse.”  I can just imagine John walking through the door one evening (or morning – he’s probably on a shift pattern) after work and proudly telling Mrs Morris that he’s “bought a summer house ready for next year; it’ll be great for barbecues”.  Her face would be a picture when reality dawned on seeing a Sixt Kenning flatback Transit van loaded with half a ton of mildewed fibreglass, perspex and steel.

Interesting concept, centripetal force…

Consider a body travelling in circular motion of radius, R, about a fixed origin with a linear velocity, V.  The body is constantly accelerating toward the origin with an acceleration, a.

a = Rw², where w is the angular velocity of the body.

Linear velocity, V = Rw.

Newton’s 2^nd Law tells us that Force = mass x acceleration

So the centripetal force, F = m x Rw²

(V = Rw, so w = V/R.  Also: Weight, W = mass x gravitational acceleration, so m=W/g)

So the centripetal force, F = WV²/gR

… circular motion and acceleration don't really have anything to do with magnetic levitation.  But it was on my mind.

Thanks for reading.

Three hours in the life of a roadie...

Saturday mornings generally mean only one thing (unless I'm not at home after a boozy Friday evening) and that's ride time.

It's 6am and I'm awoken by an unmistakable song intro and I gather my thoughts through the next few tracks.  By 7am, I've had two coffees; toast; Weetabix with Acacia honey and milk; and I'm kitted up.  Just need to prep the bike and then make a move.  I've given the bike a once over the previous evening - to save time - but I check the tyres; brakes; gear indexing; and fill the water bottles.

I roll out at ~7:30am and I'm the only person up and about in my street as far as I can tell.  The sun rises over my destination and birds provide the opening ceremony for a new day.  There's a chill in the air and a slight dew, but by the time I've covered 10 miles and am well into the open countryside, the sun is up and the dampness has burned off.

Some people will think roadies are mad getting out of bed at 6am on a Saturday morning after a week at work.  They're entitled to that opinion, but will sadly never appreciate the magic of rolling silently along country lanes at 25mph - separated from the world by only a few lbs of carbon fibre, aluminium and rubber - as nature awakes.

The first mile or so is a little stop start as I negotiate a couple of priority junctions and have to trackstand at an unforgivable red light - no traffic around and there are few things worse than a red light jumping cyclist - but then it's pretty much free rolling for the next 10 miles or so.  Beginning to warm up now and the early morning tightness is ebbing away.  I exchange 'hellos' with one or two oncoming fellow roadies, get ignored by the mountain biker (long story) and am careful not to startle another roadie as I overtake him just the other side of Womersley.  I don't know if he tried to stick to my wheel, but when I look back 5 minutes later I can just make him out in the distance.

As I head straight over the cross roads on the A19 and make my way towards Pollington, I'm overtaken by a tractor pulling a large trailer.  Opportunity.  I let the farmer pull a 20ft gap, before shifting up a gear and accelerating to within 10ft of the trailer and into the slipstream.  Thanks to the draft, I've hit ~35mph and need to come back off the pedals so as to remain at a constant distance from the trailer... time to sit up and have a drink and slight breather!  I could sit here until the farmer pulls off into the fields, but a typically ignorant driver with the preconception that "cyclist = slower than me" seems desperate to overtake me and then our friendly provider of potatoes.  I drop back and let the cockwomble do his thing and the tractor has gone - I would need to work hard to get back in the draft, but I still have miles to cover so leave it.  Oh well.

To either side, flat expanses of pastoral and arable land extend towards the horizon.  The southerly cross wind is as fierce as usual.  Soon though I pass a solitary house and a school on the right and then cross over the Aire and Calder Navigation into Pollington where I find temporary shelter from from the gusts.  Leaving Pollington to head north for half a mile over the M62 motorway, that southerly wind becomes my friend... grab the drops, get tucked and crank it up to 30mph without any draft assistance.  Awesome like a hot dog.

I turn to head back in the direction of home, making progress through Gowdall, Hensall, Kellington, Knottingley and finally Pontefract.  The wind funnells through the cooling towers at Eggborough power station and makes bike handling tricky for a few hundred metres so I ease off the pedals and concentrate on not taking a spill.  Cycling through Knottingley can be interesting thanks to the traffic lights at the sports centre and at Hill Top and this time it's no different... crawling along at 10mph bumper to skinny tyre to bumper and yet the bloke behind insists on driving alongside me.  So I let him come by and then assert a positive road position in front of the old dear in the Daewoo Matiz - she's happy to follow patiently as she struggles to ignite a Camel with a yellow "five for a quid" lighter.

We eventually pass through the traffic lights at Hill Top (well the chain smoking lady stalls it and misses the window of opportunity) and it's full speed ahead to Pontefract town centre and the Town End junction for which the Highways department of Wakefield Council have received nothing but complaints.  I can't think why.  Anyway... I cut through past the scrap metal yard and hospital before flying up Mayor's Walk to cut the corner and Town End junction out of the route.  Another half mile in shopping traffic and then I'm home.

35 miles@ave18mph and I'm set for the day before a lot of people have crawled out of bed!

I'm pleased with my current stable of bikes, but the accepted mathematical proof for the number of bikes a roadie requires is:

Number of bikes required = n+1 (where n is the number of bikes currently owned)

So I'm always on the look out for the next bike.  Among all the 'obvious' choices, the Colnago Master 55 and Pinarello Prince of Spain have really caught my attention!  Time to start saving.

Thanks for reading.

... a slave begins by demanding justice and ends by wanting to wear a crown...

I've been feeling a little under the weather just lately - think I might have a bit of a chest infection or something.  I took yesterday as a day's leave because of the previous night's exertion leading to me having a bit of a hangover... any other time I would have rested, but I just had to exercise (first time since Tuesday) or I would have gone stir crazy.  I become like that through lack of exercise at the best of times, but yesterday so much was infuriating me and on my mind, I had to do something about it.

So I headed out on the bike on a 42 mile round trip up to Emley Moor transmitting station and back.  Completed at a decent pace this is a quite challenging ride and yesterday the End of Days style headwind on the outward journey simply added to the suffering.  Suffering?  Yes; suffering.  It's a funny old game is road cycling, many experienced cyclists live by the mantra: "if it doesn't hurt then you're doing it wrong" and Greg LeMond was once quoted: "it doesn't get easier, you just go faster."  I would be inclined to agree; over 50 or 60 miles I probably average 3mph quicker than I did a year ago, but that's for the same given [large] effort and glass-cranking along at last year's average mph simply isn't acceptable to my Roadie alter ego.

So if you've clicked the link above and know my neck of the woods, you'll see I headed out through Featherstone, Nostell, Ryhill, Cold Hiendley, Chevet Grange, Notton, Woolley, West Bretton and then along Denby Dale Road before turning right onto Woodhouse Lane to make the ascent up to the transmitting station.  The final climb is a relatively gentle 3 miles, but the gradient does ramp up in a few places - you don't appreciate how far you've climbed until you turn around to commence the return journey and are tramming along at ~35mph after a few seconds without even touching the pedals.  Shift into 50/11, spin up and watch out for wet mud and ramblers.

So what was playing on my mind so much that I felt the need to bury myself for 2.5hrs, up hill into a headwind with a bad chest?  One or two little things, where do I start?

The Government Spending Review took place on Wednesday (20th October 2010) and as far as I'm concerned there were no real surprises.  Okay I couldn't have accurately predicted the exact numbers, but it was fairly obvious where cuts would be made.  I'm working as an external consultant in the public sector at the moment and because of this second wave of recession I'm out of a job in a month... I'm not thrilled about this, but I'm bloody realistic about the whole thing and understand what's happening.  So it PISSES me off when proposed job cuts where I'm currently based are met with incredulity similar to what I witnessed at ABC cinema when Doc's DeLorean went back in time 30 years from 1985 to 1955 in a split second.  Nobody wants anyone to lose their job and we all understand how public sector cuts affect us all, but it had to happen this time around... the Public Sector Gravy Train has derailled and the passengers aren't at all happy.  The Private Sector has dealt with it (twice now) so they need to deal with it, step outside the bubble and... welcome to the real world.

I passed by some demonstrations on my lunch break the other day; they were chiefly concerned with the hike in University tuition fees.  I totally feel prospective students' pain... if I'd been a year later into University I'm not sure the family unit would have been able to support me given the fee hike which occured back then.  The key to any debate/demonstration is to have a good, solid, fact-based argument.  What you don't need is a chippy bloke in double-denim claiming that the Tories have introduced higher fees in order to "prevent working class kids from going to University".  I was actually listening until he stepped up and came out with that load of bollocks.  I agree it will result in kids from less affluent familes not being able to attend University, but it isn't the fucking reasoning behind the hike!  I resent people putting us in class pigeon holes anyway - we are one.  If this bloke wants to place himself in a class pigeon hole, then that's his perogative but I really don't appreciate him grabbing a mic and getting all chippy about it in a public space.  Thanks.

In a bid to balance out the influence of X Factor, may I take this opportunity to introduce you to a band that I'm a big fan of?  Young Rebel Set are currently unsigned but - in my humble opinion - more talented than the fame seeking X Factor contestants.  Give them a listen.

Thanks for reading and apologies for the rant!

The next station is Camden Town. Bank branch.

Firstly, let me apologise for the long delay between this post and the last one. I’ve been hella busy over the past week or so; completing my ICE Professional Review submission and preparing for mock reviews with senior colleagues. I would usually make time in between work commitments to let my creative juices flow, but on this occasion; the deadline was an immoveable object (think Brian Blessed in diving boots) and the hoops through which I had to jump on the way to said deadline were set at World Record height.

I posted the reports last Friday, enjoyed a pretty relaxed weekend and then headed to London Monday to Wednesday. On my return last night, I had confirmation of receipt from each of my reviewers – the self addressed postcards I provided for this purpose are scribed with the messages: “Good luck!” and “Received. I look forward to meeting you.” This already bodes greater than my last attempt where both postcards merely read: “Received.” So it looks like I’ll be interviewed by two human beings this time.

You didn’t think I’d mention a trip to London and not provide details? Gav and I headed down to see our friend, Leah, who we met just over two years ago while on holiday in Southern California. We stayed in the Comfort Inn on Edgware Road, about a 5 minute walk from the tube station – you’d be forgiven for thinking there aren’t any major chain hotels on that stretch of road as the entrance is a single width door between a Halal grocery store and a shady-looking Bureau de Change. But no problem: it was cheap and Edgware Road is on the Bakerloo, Circle and Hammersmith & City lines which means we were well equipped for travelling to Camden to meet Leah.

On Monday evening we ate at a lovely little Caribbean and Latin restaurant in Camden. I would recommend Guanabana in a heartbeat: chilled out atmosphere, fantastic food and reasonable prices. We headed to Piccadilly Circus afterwards so we could have a few more drinks and cut some SERIOUS rug. I must be some kind of freak because the next morning I was absolutely fine when I woke at 8:30am whereas Gav was broken from the Sambuca (and looked terrible to be fair) and Leah tells us she was still drunk at 10am.

Tuesday eventually got underway and we headed to the Imperial War Museum and the London Eye, but not before sampling the best of Camden’s markets. Such a diverse day: one minute I was browsing through Cyberdog in Camden and the next I was walking morosely through the hard-hitting Holocaust Exhibition at the museum.

That evening, we headed to another great Camden restaurant. At Market they “provide quality, wholesome food in informal, relaxed surroundings, using the freshest, seasonal produce.” I don’t mind quoting here because those words are bang on; it was one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time. Pig cheeks and black pudding to start followed by Seabream, chorizo and broccoli – washed down with two bottles of Brooklyn Lager and iced with a large Cognac and cheese and biscuits. Also on the table were Oysters, mussels and a very wholesome looking chicken and mushroom pie. I love food, me!

Yesterday, Gav and I took the Central line to Stratford to take a look at the Olympic site and hopefully find the old Big Breakfast house. The Olympic site is massive and I’m afraid the cynic in me still doubts whether everything will be in place in time for the opening ceremony. I hope my cynicism is unfounded, but history tells us that the least “successful” Olympic games have been the ones where the host nation has attempted to create something truly groundbreaking in terms of stadia and new infrastructure. The Los Angeles games of 1986 are the only ones in modern history to have being truly successful in not leaving the country/state with massive debt and unserviceable new development. The secret to the success? Existing stadia and infrastructure were used.

It should have been “England 2012”: Wembley, Manchester Velodrome, Old Trafford, The Emirates, Villa Park, M1, A1, East Coast, West Coast, Birmingham NEC, Sheffield Arena… all proven infrastructure and event venues. But I suppose “London 2012” sees Stratford undergo a much needed facelift.

We’d kind of given up hope of finding the Big Breakfast house and Old Ford Lock, but then we stumbled upon it. Someone lives in the house now as far as we could tell and the canal here isn’t anything special – murky water, a disused anglers hut and a dilapidated British Waterways maintenance vessel with “RENTBOYS” crudely spray-painted on the hull.

Mission accomplished.

We spent the afternoon moseying around Oxford Circus, Baker Street and Camden markets (again) before catching the 1933 East Coast train back to Wakefield and reality.


Thanks for reading…

... okay, now imagine that toilet seat is a basketball ring...

According to the bathroom cleaning check list at work, one of the cleaners is a ‘C. Taylor’.  A little part of me really wants the ‘C’ to stand for ‘Chuck’, though ‘Carol’ is more likely.  I don’t know if Chuck was even married?

gregarious, adj: fond of the company of others, sociable, friendly, extroverted

Sums me up pretty well I reckon.  I was invited to a friend’s birthday party last weekend and although there was never a doubt in my mind that I would attend, I was acutely aware that said friend would be the only person I knew not only in the restaurant venue but in the whole county.  Unless someone’s upped sticks and kept it quiet.  So I was a bit nervous… I fancy my chances of getting on with most people and winning over any that prove to be tougher game, but there’s always a fear that personalities will clash and it’ll be a tough occasion.

It went well.  The folk I ended up sitting and chatting with I felt like I knew already and I hope they felt the same way.  I don’t plan on writing an instruction manual on successful mingling: some of you will be reading this and thinking “yes I tend to have that knack” and others will be reading this and thinking “me and forty strangers?  No thanks.”  Neither is right or wrong.  We’re all different and I’ve been in situations where my gregarious nature has let me down… I recall the time when I was re-tiling the kitchen at a local convent.

Joseph-Louis Lagrange (25 January 1736, Turin, Piedmont – 10 April 1813, Paris), born Giuseppe Lodovico (Luigi) Lagrangia, was an Italian-born mathematician and astronomer, who lived part of his life in Prussia and part in France, making significant contributions to all fields of analysis, to number theory, and to classical and celestial mechanics.

I was studying a map of the UK last night, trying to figure out which town or city lies approximately equidistant between Barnsley and Rugby.  It struck me that the two towns are about the same size in terms of square area and population so if the central town or city was smaller in terms of square area and population, we’d have a pretty crude analogy to one of Lagrange’s celestial mechanics proofs…  Don’t ask me why all this came to mind; I cannot explain why, it just did…

… the Lagrangian points are the five positions in an orbital configuration where a small object affected only by gravity can theoretically be stationary relative to two larger objects such as a satellite with respect to the Earth and Moon.  The Lagrange point would be the position at which the relative gravitational fields of two larger objects provide precisely the centripetal force required for the smaller object to rotate equidistantly between them.  Simple.

I won’t make a habit of that^ so don’t worry.

Bishop’s Finger, Old Peculier, Riggwelter, Spitfire, Headshrinker… just a few of the great real ales I’ve sampled over the years.  Periodically, I become bored with lager and that can be a confusing emotion that I don’t particularly enjoy.  To reduce the frequency of these uncertain periods; any time I find myself in a remote country pub or a free house then I will make a point of giving the local or guest ale a chance.  Some of these brews taste like witch piss, but now and then I’m pleasantly surprised.  And pissed.  So I jumped at the chance of going to the Nottingham Beerfest in a few weeks time… lots of cool beer, munchie style food (God, I hope there is anyway) and excellent company.  All this in a castle!  It wasn’t really a decision; just a confirmation of my attendance.

One last thing… how much of an unprofessional, insecure, egotistical, self-indulgent wanker do you have to be in order to talk about a pay grievance with your employer live on air?  Chris Moyles, wind yer neck in and please don’t paraphrase Spike Milligan on your Twitter page ever again.  Thanks.

Your mate looks like Morrissey...

You know you’re going well when you come to a hill and the cyclist you’ve been slowly catching struggles out of the saddle as you spin past still seated.  Then a mile down the road you make a cursory glance backwards to survey the scene and there he is: a hi-vis spec in the distance.  Of course it’s all relative, but it’s very reassuring in these headwinds that cyclists have been treated to this summer.  If my Physics is accurate then the power required to maintain a given forward velocity into an introduced headwind is proportional to the square of the force produced by the wind… so although a lot of my rides are in largely flat terrain in Yorkshire and Humberside, the inevitable headwinds do go towards making up for the lack of hills!

I headed out towards Cawood, Ryther and Ulleskelf on Friday and made my way back through Towton and Saxton.  Ferocious headwinds made sure I had a good workout, but it was nice to have a tailwind for a few miles and drafting a combine harvester at 25mph for a mile or so also helped.

Saturday wasn’t quite as athletic.  I rolled out of bed at 10am, ate some Weetabix and then drove to Altrincham.  I did shower and dress in between the healthy breakfast and getting on the M62 – driving naked and with bed-head would be a social faux pas.  That afternoon and evening consisted mainly of Saturday football, bizarre strangers and strong Belgian beers.  It must be evident to strangers that I'm very approachable – whenever we’re out as a group and someone collars us, it’s always me who ends up fielding the press conference and making the small talk.  I don’t actually mind this, but it was annoying on Saturday when the lady who befriended us (because Andrew looks like Morrissey, apparently!) thought I was taking the piss out of her when really I was just trying to be pleasant as is my nature.  I was a little upset that I’d upset her and it played on my mind for a while… but it’s water under the bridge now and looking back; it was slightly booze-fuelled.

And that brings me to the Belgian bar we spent a large chunk of the night in.  Table service, dozens of beers to choose from and a pretty waitress… what’s not to like?  Well Rob didn’t like his second drink and likened it to Dettol.  I wish I could recall the name to ward you all away.  I stuck to ‘Orval’, a 6.2% light brew… all the 10% proof offerings were tempting, but for once I remembered that I had to make it through the rest of the evening AND drive home the next morning.  A good night was had by all and there were one or two revelations, which I am not at liberty to divulge.

Facebook gets a bad press from a lot of people.  I use it regularly and enjoy reading friends’ status updates and looking at photographs of their travels and adventures, but it really is the all-seeing eye and that can be dangerous – the “I’ve nothing to hide” argument is a weak one and we all know it.  Last week I ended up chatting to an old friend from a few years ago at work when we were based at The Old Brewery offices.  We’d been connected on the book of faces for a short while, but hadn’t really been in touch.  Anyway that’s all changed for the better and it turns out we have more in common than we ever realised back in the day… it’s been a tough few months, but this little re-acquaintance has helped to cheer me up. :-)

Thanks for reading!

Tell us about yourself...

Well today finds me in a bit of a shitty mood.  I’m finding myself being wound up very easily, which is not like me at all.  Ahem…

I miss working in Leeds.  I don’t miss the God-forsaken (other deities are available) business park where the current Leeds office is (for now), but I miss the days of working in the city centre initially on The Embankment and more recently at High Court.  Then, work itself was bustling and interesting; I had colleagues hailing from various backgrounds, cultures and countries and we were bloody busy delivering one or two very big schemes!  At lunch or after work; the options for food, drink or retail therapy were plenty.  The social scene was good too – the week was somehow incomplete if one didn’t end up half-cut in Aire Bar on a Friday early evening.

Fucking hell, how times have changed…

The Leeds office has been on its last legs for some time now and is about to be euthanized by means of a corporate lethal injection.  A part of the failed treatment for this once great ailing power has seen your favourite blogger (No; me!) farmed out to a client’s head offices.  I’m grateful for the opportunity as it keeps me off the overheads radar, gives me the opportunity to broaden my CV and, most of all, I’ve met one or two really good people.

So I’m currently based in a town with a great history, potentially a great future but a struggling present.  The outskirts are burgeoning with lovely new build developments and some of the surrounding villages are home to sought after properties, but the town centre itself leaves a lot to be desired.  Now I’ve probably been spoiled working in Leeds and Dublin [briefly] over the past nine years or so and I guess if I ventured into Pontefract or Wakefield during the day (something I haven’t done for a couple of years) then I’d be faced with a similar sight; one or two worthy shops bobbing along in a sea of competing bakeries, bookmakers and run-down public houses.

I just find it all so depressing and frustrating.  I don’t know what the official unemployment figures are, but a significant proportion of the people I see wandering around the town centre at lunchtimes appear to be in no rush to be anywhere in particular.  Okay some of these amblers are of pensionable age so I won’t begrudge them the opportunity to while away the day in provincial northern England, but it’d be nice if some of the younger timewasters tried to get a job or at the very least didn’t spend all their benefits on Bensons, cheap lager and Greggs.

Speaking of trying to get a job, I have an interview tomorrow for an internal vacancy.  I have no idea what to expect; the last interview I had I was only 21 and had just graduated from university.  As far as I can recall the interviewers were just keen to know that I could fasten my own shoes and knew how to catch a bus i.e. that I wasn't as thick as two short planks.  And here I am, the Velcro shoes worked!  I envisage tomorrow being a real test of my experience and knowledge... watch this space.

I think I’m off to the pub for a quiet pint and having a night off from cycling – I did 170 miles last week, got soaked on my ride last night and my knee is a little sore… aiming for Friday in the saddle.

Thanks for reading!