An epic travelogue

So, if memory serves (and remembering something that happened more than five minutes ago isn't my forte, as I think I've demonstrated this weekend), I set off on Thursday night for the first stage of my journey, and the great challenge of finding my hotel. A cursory search of the internet hadn't revealed any of the various hotels actually at Birmingham airport, so I'd booked a room at the Holiday Inn a couple of miles down the road. I decided to walk it, seeing as it was nice weather and I don't like getting taxis. And it was a very pleasant walk - the area around the airport is for some reason absolutely crawling with rabbits, it's like walking on some kind of bunny carpet (I didn't actually tread on any, don't worry). But the number of rabbits I saw on the walk was inversely proportional to the number of Holiday Inns, since it turned out not to be where I thought it was, and after a couple of hours of walking around I found my way back to the airport train station and got a taxi like a normal person would have done in the first place.

After that, I got the plane in the morning without any difficulty. The usual funny look at the passport control because my picture looks like a completely different person, but no trouble. The departure lounge seems to have got more interesting since I was last there, and I had two good books to pass the time with anyway, The Marlows and the Traitor, and Kavalier and Clay. Then I had a day of looking around Düsseldorf (which I didn't think much of) and Essen (really nice!). I bought a Germany football shirt to wear for a laugh at the competition. I know I don't normally buy clothes, generally wearing the same old falling-to-bits ones I've had since I was a teenager, but I'm not above spending huge amounts of money on a single garment every now and then if I think it'll be funny. And I like to think I've got a reputation for wearing interesting T-shirts at memory competitions, so I need to keep that going even now that everyone's seen my entire wardrobe.

I also bought a teddy bear in a Germany football shirt, just on a whim. He's called Ballack, and he seems to be getting along well with Hi-Fi, Tom Jones, Treelo, Iago, Dragon and Shelley, the rest of my stuffed toys who I really should blog about some time soon. I thought about taking him to the competition as a mascot, but decided that two Germany shirts would be overkill, and anyway he wanted to stay at the hotel and watch TV. I found the Essen Holiday Inn without much trouble at all, although negotiating the constantly-shifting roadworks and diversions and working out which direction cars were likely to be coming at you from while crossing the road was a bit of a challenge.

The weather all weekend was absolutely baking hot and sunny, the kind of temperature where it's seriously uncomfortable to be in the direct sunshine. My hat comes in handy for stopping my bald shiny skull getting sunburnt in this kind of situation, but it's horribly hot and sweaty wearing it. Still, the advantages outweigh the disadvantages, and I'm too superstitious to stop wearing it to memory competitions now. Somehow I don't think I could memorise anything without it sitting on the desk (or, if there isn't room, on the floor) in front of me.

Anyway, I found the competition venue without any trouble at all, considering I got off at the wrong one of Hattingen's S-Bahn stations and so the map I'd carefully printed out beforehand was of limited use. As well as the Speed Cards Challenge, the Schulzentrum Hochhausen was host to a speed-stacking competition and other sideshows. This is something that the German competitions do very well, and the British ones do terribly. The WMC is always accompanied by Tony Buzan and his friends and relatives giving lectures on self-optimisation and things to gullible businessmen and charging the kind of prices that make your mind boggle. German competitions are accompanied by the kind of shows and contests that people actually want to come to, and this is probably why lots of people there like 'memory sports' and nobody over here does.

Boris did a fantastic job organising everything, by the way - very much putting my shambolic Cambridge effort to shame! There were only ten competitors in the SCC at the end, which was a bit disappointing. Possibly the clash with Germany's football game in the afternoon had something to do with it. Clemens wasn't there, but there was me, Gunther, Steffen Bütow and Alisa Kellner among the participants. For the first round, I was up against Florian Dellé, and stuck with the strategy I'd come up with in advance - just go for a fast time and then if it goes wrong, go a bit slower in the next two heats (it was best of three, head-to-head, if you remember). Actually, I needn't have worried - as usual in these things, when I'm actually in competition, my recall is much more accurate than when I'm at home. I did 32.03 seconds (a bit better than my existing world record) in the first heat, and something like 34 seconds in the next. So I'd won pretty comfortably, and got to sit out the third heat. Watching Steffen against Alisa was entertaining - there really could be something in this as a spectator sport, you know!

For the second round against Franz-Josef Schumeckers it was the same kind of thing, I had another couple of times in the low 30s, including a 31.03, and won it without any difficulty. Nobody else was doing much under a minute. I was up against Steffen in the third round, and he decided to forfeit it and save his mental energy for the final round after lunch. That annoyed me a bit, to be honest. But I decided to go for a super-fast time rather than doing nothing, and made a complete mess of it twice in a row.

After lunch (which was pizza, and free of charge for competitors, another coolness. I live on pizza and McDonald's when I'm in Germany - there are always people selling cheap slices of pizza in train stations and elsewhere, generally reheated several times, often burnt and always delicious. Haute cuisine!) it was time for the grand final, which was me against Gunther. After those failed attempts at breaking the record, I was concerned that I might make a mess of things, so decided I needed a new strategy. Gunther, I reasoned, would assume I was going for a 30-ish-second kind of time, know he couldn't beat that, so would hope that I made a mistake and take it slowly, and make sure of getting his own recall correct. That would give me leeway to go more slowly, say 1 minute, and be certain of winning. So I did, and I have no idea why - I know from experience that going through the pack twice makes me no more likely to recall it correctly than only going through once. Strange but true. My time was about 1:00.91, I think. To my alarm, it turned out that Gunther had done about 51 seconds. He'd expected me to do the sensible thing! I'm deeply offended. Haven't I spent my whole life not doing the sensible thing? And now that for once I have, it was anticipated by my opponent? Luckily, though, he got the third card in the pack wrong, so it didn't matter. I went back to doing the silly thing for the second heat and got it perfectly right in about 36 seconds, without any trouble.

So I won, and to be perfectly honest, I won without breaking a sweat. It sounds disrespectful to the other competitors, I know, and I really should be keeping my big mouth shut here, but I would have liked to be challenged a lot more than I was.

Anyway, the final ceremony included the finals of the speedstacking - very exciting and one of those things I've been meaning to get into since learning of the sport's existence last August, although I imagine it would be hugely frustrating to keep making mistakes at crucial moments; a blindfold Rubik's cube solver (extremely cool); an attempt by Boris at the two-packs-of-cards memorisation record (much better than my own disastrous attempt in 2004, but still unsuccessful, unfortunately); a magician, and a whole lot of trophies. This, again, is normal for a German memory competition. In Britain we get a speech from Tony Buzan, maybe about how great he or one of his friends is, and a quick presentation of medals.

So, thanks to the generosity of the sponsors (Volksbank Sprockhövel - if you want a bank in Sprockhövel, check them out! Assuming they are a bank, I'm not entirely certain about that) I went away with two trophies (for winning and for the best time), and a solid gold pack of cards (seriously cool!). Of course, once again I hadn't brought a bag big enough to take them home with me as well as Ballack and my clothes and things, but I managed to cram them all into my rucksack without leaving too much behind in the hotel room (my notepad, since there wasn't anything written in it and I can easily buy another one, and my jumper, since I've got about half a dozen more at home and I only wear one at a time).

I skipped the get-together at Boris's house for the football game. Rude of me, I know, but these competitions tire me out tremendously and I just didn't feel up to it. I went back to the hotel and was fast asleep by eight, not even disturbed by the sound of Germans celebrating their victory. Which reminds me, a German interviewer at the competition asked me what I thought the result would be, and I said 2-0 to Germany. Should have put some money on it, really.

Coming home yesterday was fun - the boiling hot weather lasted right until the split second I got on the plane, when it turned into the most amazing thunderstorm, with torrential rain (the plane was sitting in the middle of like a square mile of concrete and it was all under an inch of water by the time the rain stopped), vicious wind and some really great lightning. The pilot assured us that if the plane was struck by lightning it probably wouldn't kill us, but we weren't able to take off for an hour and a half until there was a break in the weather. Luckily, I was still immersed in Kavalier and Clay. It's one of those books that can still utterly absorb you even on re-reading it. And then when we finally did fly back to Birmingham, there weren't any trains from the station because of engineering works. In fact, there are practically never trains from Birmingham International station, and I'm not sure why they still call it a railway station except out of some sense of tradition. But the replacement bus service wasn't as slow or late as they usually are, so I shouldn't complain. Incidentally, in Germany the trains really do all run on time. I was hugely impressed!

Did I remember to set the video for Doctor Who?

Did I heckers. Now I'll have to wait till they show the whole series again on BBC3 to tape the rest of them. Anyway, lots to write about the weekend, but I'll save it for tomorrow because I've only just got back, later than planned, and I'm going straight to bed. I've got the day off tomorrow, so assuming I wake up at some point (I'm completely exhausted for some reason) I'll be able to blog at length then.

I don't get it

And by 'it', I mean ticket inspectors on trains. Not as a person, they're all very nice people, but I don't get why they don't conduct on the same trains every day. I take the same train every morning and evening, and it's always someone different inspecting my ticket. It was the same when I was commuting from Boston to Skegness - never the same guy twice. Well, sometimes they're guyesses, but mostly they're guys.

Anyway, I'm off to Hattingen. Gradually. My plane leaves too early in the morning to get a train down there without panicking about missing it, so I'm spending the night in a hotel in Birmingham. Then I'm going to spend tomorrow sight-seeing in Dusseldorf and Essen before finally making my way to Hattingen on Saturday morning. Unless I get lost.

Doctor in the house

If you've got fancy cable TV like what I have, you can see each new episode of Doctor Who three times in a week. Which should be plenty for the guy who's taping every episode for future viewing marathons, right? I missed last Saturday's because of the party, and then on Sunday I forgot to turn over to BBC3 until about 30 seconds after the episode started. So I watched it, but decided to tape it on Friday so as not to have the first couple of words missing. It occurred to me yesterday that I'll be in Essen by the time it comes on on Friday, so I'll have to set the video and remember to leave the set top box tuned to the right channel and everything, and I'm pretty hopeless at that. So if you happen to see me over the next day or so, remind me about it, okay? Thanks.

Ewww.

Shudder. I'm trying not to look at the TV too much in case they show another replay of Michael Owen hurting himself. I'm horribly squeamish about knee injuries, having had some very nasty ones myself in the past, and that looked sickeningly familiar. Poor guy.

On the other hand, we might get to see Theo Walcott playing now. I'm full of hopes that he can be England's surprise hero and win the cup for us.

Although on the other hand...

After saying yesterday that it would probably be a good thing to do a lot of practice for the speed cards challenge, I went and did three packs of cards (for the first time in a few days) and had times of 31.01, 29.51 and 27.34, a new personal best. So I think I might actually leave off training at that point. But then I did have a mistake in recall on the second pack, which is annoying. The SCC is going to be a really different kind of challenge - it's not about getting the best overall score, it's about beating your opponent each time in a knockout kind of competition (Swiss system so everyone's taking part all day, but with four rounds and sixteen competitors you can't win if you lose one heat). So I'm looking forward to the new experience. I'll play it by ear as to whether to go for a fast time or to be certain of remembering it all correctly.

I will admit my decision to go easy on the training is influenced by the fact that there's an England game tonight and I've got a Looney Tunes Special Bumper Collection video to watch (three hours of cartoons, several of which I don't think I've ever seen before, even though they're all from the fifties and therefore the kind that are on TV constantly). I bought it on eBay, only the second thing I've ever bought off there, and since it arrived this morning just before I left for work I gave positive feedback to the seller without so much as checking that the right tapes were in the box. I worry about offending someone by not giving them prompt and glowing feedback. Although the warm fuzzy glow they get from it might be diminished if they knew I could never bring myself to say anything bad about an eBay seller, even if they hacked into my bank account and stole all my money, launched a low-yield nuclear missile at my house and sent me a video with a slight distortion on the soundtrack.

General chit-chat

I met a guy at the party on Saturday night who I got on extremely well with and spent a long time talking to about this and that, until my brother accused us of being 'like a pair of woodpeckers, only talking to each other'. This is either a common expression that's passed me by all these years, or one of those phrases that only he uses.

On Sunday, I bought a fantastic graphic novel - a collection of all Alan Moore's Future Shocks from old 2000ADs. I'd read most of them before, but it's brilliant to see them all at once. And here's another reason to shop at Page 45 in Nottingham rather than Forbidden Planet - the guy on the till asked me what else Alan Moore had written, because the name sounded kind of familiar. I thought he was joking, but it turns out he was entirely ignorant of Moore's work. Now, I suppose I shouldn't expect someone working in a comic shop to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of every comic ever written (although most of them do, because who else but a comic geek wants to work in a comic shop?), but not knowing Alan Moore? If there's a single most famous writer currently producing comics, it would have to be him. Everyone who works in Page 45 can chat with you about any comic you care to name, and recommend good ones. It's the personal touch I appreciate.

I'm undecided about how much to practice speed cards before Saturday. My natural inclination is to do quite a lot, although with most championships I normally leave off training for the week beforehand. With cards, though, you can lose a couple of seconds if you get out of practice for a day or two, and there isn't going to be a huge amount of memorising in Hattingen (12 packs at most, which is nothing, really) so I don't need to worry about not having a fresh journey to use.

One of the presents I got my brother was a Harmidge leathercraft set. Make your own real leather comb case and clothes brush holder! I found it in a charity shop where it had possibly been sitting for a good thirty years - the picture on the packet shows two children with late-sixties/early-seventies hairstyles and clothes looking with delight at the pack's contents - three little pieces of leather that you have to sew together to make the comb case. You also get a comb and clothes brush, needle and thread. Possibly the most exciting birthday present anyone could hope to get.

And a Jem video, which I'm inclined to write about at greater length another time, because I watched it and realised I'd forgotten just how darn good Jem was.

Beans, of the Boston Beans

The mistake was the two of us going to the Boston Bean Company Bar before the party and having four pints of lager each. Not that it stopped the party being great, it just had the effect of making me feel really, horribly unwell today. I actually lost count of how much I had to drink, which isn't like me (I don't have the problem of forgetting things I do when I'm drunk, I suppose it's part of the memory champion thing, but I do have the big problem of remembering what I've done when I'm drunk, which is worse). I was staying off the Stella, so it could have been worse, possibly.

Anyway, great party. My costume, as previously mentioned, was brilliant (photos to come when my brother gets them developed). His Zoltar outfit was really cool too, although I question the decision to base it around a skintight purple leotard that was more figure-hugging than is strictly necessary. We got a few unusual looks from people on the street outside the restaurant (did I mention this fancy dress party was in full view of the public?), which was fun. I'd write more about it, only as I mentioned I'm not well today.

Still, I've got the next five days to recover before Hattingen on Saturday - I've got Friday off work to travel there, and my boss is off for the next two weeks so hopefully work won't be too taxing.

Egad! I am such a genius!

I've made a really amazingly cool 7-Zark-7 mask. If I had a camera I'd post a picture of it here, because I'm extremely proud of my handiwork. I'll try to get someone to take a picture tomorrow, before it gets ruined (this is likely to happen, because of a minor design flaw that means I can't see at all when I'm wearing the thing).

But I've talked more than enough about 7-Zark-7 costumes over the last couple of weeks. I have definite plans for tomorrow, and I'm going to write them down so that I've got no excuse for not doing them. I'm going to get up early, sevenish if I can manage it, realistically more like eightish. Do a 30-minute binary practice starting around 8:30, watch a few cartoons on TV from 10am while wrapping presents, writing card, dealing with a few other things I can do without properly thinking. Circa 11 o'clock go out into town, get some euros for the trip to Germany next weekend, buy some comics and things. Come back, have lunch, read comics and things, practice speed numbers a bit (I'm having mad theories about possibly attempting 468 digits in five minutes and I want to see just how mad they are), then get the train to Nottingham to meet my brother at four. Which would be a busy and productive first half of the day that I could feel entirely proud of. I'll let you know what really happens, but you should probably expect it to mainly involve lying around eating sweets and watching cartoons.

I need some self-discipline

Too much football-watching, not enough memory training. Not any memory training at all for the last few days, actually. But it's just so hard to turn the TV off right now!

Never mind, there's still plenty of time before the world championship. And I'm still in better shape than I was last year. I think.

Smack Street

Had a really cool letter in the post today:

Dear Ben,

My name's Owain and I am a Researcher for The Jeremy Kyle show at ITV. I'm writing to you with regard to an article that appeared in The Sun on June 9th 2006 concerning the problems in your area which is now dubbed "Smack Street" and how we may be able to help you with your nuisance neighbours.
I'm extremely interested in hearing your side of the story as I'd love to learn more about the situation as we may be able to help you in some way.
If you could please give me a call on the number below I would be more than happy to explain more.
Thank you for your time and I hope to hear from you soon.

I haven't seen the Sun article, but a bit of research tonight suggests it's based on the same press release as this one from the Telegraph (I don't read a daily newspaper unless you count the Metro, so I miss out on the juicy stories.

I didn't realise until I read that page, incidentally, that the local pensioner refusing to pay her council tax and insisting that she gets a mention in every newspaper is that woman in the picture - I see her around a lot, and she once tried to collar me and make me sign a petition insisting that the council return the boar statue to the Arboretum (long story behind that one - original statue was destroyed during the war, some bright spark had the idea of using Lottery money to make a replacement, local Muslim busybodies objected on the grounds that they find pig statues offensive, local non-Muslim busybodies like Miss Rooney counter-objected on the grounds of tradition, you know the kind of thing. I refused to sign any petitions either way. But the new statue did go up eventually, if you were wondering).

Anyway, back to the main story, this is not a bad neighbourhood! I have lived here for two and a half years now, and it's not just cheap but quiet and friendly! I've never even had a problem with neighbours playing music too loud at nights, let alone selling me drugs as I go about my daily business. Yes, there's a fair amount of drug dealing and use goes on, but not in what I'd call any serious way, and it's not something I notice on a regular basis.

And I don't appreciate my locality being characterised as some kind of hellhole. I could comfortably afford to move to the 'nice' part of town, but I don't want to. I like my little flat, and I like the neighbourhood. So stick that in your crack pipe and smoke it!

Money grows on trees

Well, my internet connection's all fixed, and I had a day off to go into Nottingham and waste money on bits and pieces that I don't really want or need. I seem to be spending a lot of money just lately. I don't know why, because I've spent the last several years being quite careful about spending money (I realised that I was routinely spending quite a lot more than I earned every month, and decided that life would be more fun if I did things the other way around), but I've got out of the habit just lately.

And talking about money, I need to decide soon whether to join the company pension scheme. I'm still inclining towards not, because I really doubt whether I'm ever going to be in a position where I'm wanting to retire and needing this money I've put aside. There's just way too much that can happen in the next thirty-odd years and I hate wasting money on something that quite possibly isn't going to happen.

In other news, I've decided to believe that all people who share the same name are in fact the same person. I realised that this was a fun kind of philosophy to adopt when following the football yesterday and thinking it quite impressive that Tim Cahill has the time to play for Australia and Everton as well as writing mediocre cartoons in America. This way, of course, Andi Bell isn't just the three-times world memory champion, he's also a member of two different pop groups. With his name spelt differently.

Hanging by a thread

I wasn't planning to do a blog entry tonight, but my broadband's just come back on, so maybe I'll be able to post something quickly before it goes off again (engineer coming tomorrow morning and then with any luck I'll be back hooked up 24/7 again).

Although the thing I really want to blog about is a present I got for my brother's birthday, but I can't write about that yet in case he reads it and it spoils the surprise. So I'll save it for next week. There, that's got his hopes up, now he'll be extra thrilled with his £1 Smiths voucher.

So instead, I'll jinx the most exciting prospect of fame and fortune I've had for ages by mentioning that there's a sporting chance I'll be appearing on Brazilian TV in July or August, with them paying for my plane tickets and hotel and everything! I can't really say no to an offer like that (assuming I get an offer like that - I've currently only got an offer of a possible offer like that), but I do have my worries.

It's an issue that most people can't seem to get their heads around - I'm a memory champion, in the sense that I do well in memory competitions with their exam-style format, but I'm not a performer. I've never done a Memory Man stage show, and that's what they're looking for here. My memory techniques are designed specifically for the memory championships - more than any other competitor's systems, their sole function is to let me memorise the most information in the particular rules of each competition discipline. I struggle to flick through a pack of cards in thirty seconds and then recite it, because that's not what my system is designed for - the two-cards-to-an-image thing works great if you get to recall by sorting an unshuffled pack afterwards, but for verbal recall you probably need to stick to one image per card. So I'm not sure what to do on this live TV show in front of the Brazilian equivalent of Ant and Dec and an audience of millions.

Also, I don't speak a word of Portuguese, and I hate going to a country where I don't speak the language. It's just so rude.

Apologies for absence

Sorry I didn't write anything yesterday - my internet connection, which I mentioned recently was playing up, had stopped working altogether. So I have called someone out to look at it after all, and he's coming on Tuesday. So as I could have predicted, it's been more or less okay all day today. Never mind.

I'm annoyed with myself today - I was practicing hour numbers for the first time in much too long, and not concentrating properly a bit less than 30 minutes into it. I memorise numbers in groups of nine, and they're presented in rows of 40, which means that every ninth row the last digit is the last of a group of nine. On the fourth row of the third page I found that that happened, and thought to myself "that's not right, this is row 44, not row 45." I decided to go back and see where I'd gone wrong (which I NEVER do, I have set procedures about how to deal with it when I've made a mistake somewhere, and I should have carried on to the end of the journey then kept an eye out for the problem while reviewing it. But as I said, my mind wasn't properly on it), and couldn't find the problem. This distracted me so much that I couldn't remember any numbers at all, so I gave up. Afterwards I realised that the fourth row on the third page is row 54, not 44, and I hadn't made a mistake at all. This annoys me a lot.

I blame the temperature - it's scorching today. I've been out for the last couple of days in my unflattering shorts and tattiest T-shirt. And I need air conditioning in my flat. Or at least something over my windows to stop the flies getting in - I'm feeling terribly guilty about the number of them I've offed with chemical warfare just lately.

Vindaloo

Don't worry, I'm not going to go on and on about the World Cup for the next month. I know that quite a large proportion of my small but loyal readership don't like the game. Plus I have readers from the USA, who won't know what the rest of the world is talking about for the next several weeks, so I'd hate to add to their confusion. But just for tonight, football fever hits even this determinedly-different section of the blogosphere. I love the World Cup.

What's more, this is the first World Cup for years and years and years that hasn't been disturbed by having to study for exams! In 2002 I was taking my CIMA accountancy qualification round about now. In 1998 it was the AAT (the inferior accountancy qualification), while in 1994 I was dedicated to not revising for my A Levels. Back in 1990 I was in the third year and just had normal exams that didn't count for anything (I distinctly remember blaming the World Cup for me doing so badly in them), so you have to go back a whole twenty years to those halcyon days of 1986, when I was a few months shy of ten years old, to remember the happy combination of a World Cup and no revision. And it was in Mexico that year and half the games were after my bedtime. I don't remember paying any attention to the 1982 tournament, and back in 1978 I was distracted by my parents having another baby right in the middle of it. I told them at the time that it was a bad idea, but they wouldn't listen.

I'm currently cheering Ecuador on against Poland. You never know, with enough positive vibes coming from me, they might surprise everyone and win!

Tight schedule

I’ve noticed that my plans for the weekend involve eight hours of memory training, six full football matches, hunting for a birthday present for my brother and buying the raw materials I need to make a really cool 7-Zark-7 costume. I know I said I was thinking of taking the easy route to this fancy dress party, but I’ve got the idea in my head of being Zark now, with flashing face-lights and deelyboppers and everything. I’m weird like that. So I'm obviously going to have to cut down on non-essentials like sleeping, eating proper meals and talking to people.

And hey, isn’t it hot? Except in our office, where it’s arctic because the air conditioning is working and (as seems to be the case with every office air conditioning system in the world) nobody can get it to keep the place at a comfortable temperature. I worry about getting sunburnt on top of my head on the way to and from work, though. I could wear my hat, but it’s kind of sweaty and uncomfortable in this weather. Or I could get a baseball cap or something, but that might make the hat jealous. Maybe I’ll just wear a knotted hanky.

Write it on a pound note pound note

Is it completely illegal and treasonous to draw glasses and a moustache on the Queen on a five-pound note? Because I have a strange urge to do that tonight. I don’t know why, but I just thought it would brighten up a succession of people’s days as the note circulated the country and found its way into different people’s pockets. I think there should be more of that kind of thing, and I’m quite prepared to risk the death penalty over it.

Anyway, on rather more sane matters, you may recall that a couple of weeks ago I mentioned that I’m a big fan of Antonia Forest’s Marlow family books. There’s one of the series that I’ve never read, and have been vaguely looking for for ages and ages – “The Marlows and the Traitor”, the second book in the series. I realised tonight that my ‘looking’ for the last few years hasn’t involved noticing that it’s back in print again, courtesy of ‘Girls Gone By Publishers’, which is a fabulous name for a publishing company by the way.

And when I say I realised, that kind of implies that I did some active detective work, but actually all I had to do was open the mysterious parcel I got in the post today – my mum sent me her newly-acquired copy! So I officially take back 93% of the bad things I’ve said about her on this blog thing. This is unprecedented niceness on my mother’s part, and I’m going to have to think of something nice I can do for her in return. What an inconvenience…

Actually, that’s the second nice surprise I’ve had in the post this week – Jenny sent me a wonderful home-made card just to say hi, which brightened up my day no end. It’s like the old days when I used to get little presents for my brother’s birthday (next Wednesday) so I wouldn’t feel left out. Why don’t people do that any more? I still feel left out, darn it. I’m going to throw a tantrum if you’re not careful.

Ecuador!

The title to be sung in the style of that dance record from a few years ago. I've got Ecuador in the office World Cup sweepstake, which probably isn't a good one to get. Although I'll be all the more pleasantly surprised if they do win, of course. But before the draw I was thinking of spending the winnings on a new pair of work shoes. It struck me today that my foot coverings were strictly decorative - with the holes in the soles and in my socks, my right heel was actually touching the floor. This is the point where even I think about buying some new ones.

Incidentally, if you were wondering why my last blog post didn't show up on the internet until this morning, it's because my broadband connection is continuing to be dodgy and it wasn't working last night. And if you weren't wondering, well, don't let me keep you. You just go back to whatever you were doing that was so much more important than cataloguing every minute detail of my life. I don't mind. Hmmph.

Anyway, from past experience it will sort itself out in the long run whether I call Ntl out or not - it's done this two or three times before, going all intermittent and random on me, and then it fixes itself or gets fixed and it's fine for months on end. It might possibly get fixed quicker if I call them and they send someone out to poke it, or maybe it won't. I don't really remember how conclusive it was the one time they did send a man round. And it does mean taking a day off work to wait for him to turn up.

On the other hand, it does mean taking a day off work to wait for him to turn up. And I have been feeling like I could do with a day off work. Maybe I will call them. And I notice now that the connection's died again. So this might get posted in the morning again. Or next week, or next month. We'll see.

Soundtrack

Some people have a ‘current music’ bit on their livejournal entry every day. That seems kind of strange to me, since I have the telly on more than half the time while I’m writing my blog. Still, tonight it’s music, and I thought I should record that I’m listening to ‘More Abba Gold’, one of my favourites from my limited CD collection. I like it much more than the original Abba Gold, strangely enough – I’ve got that one too, but I hardly ever listen to it. The ‘Abba songs that aren’t quite good enough for their greatest hits’ album, though, I really adore. So many really beautiful tunes on it. Maybe I’m just weird.

Anyway, I need to sit down and work on memory things. Names and faces, and abstract images, specifically. That is, not the ones I like doing and am quite happy to practice all the time, but the one I have a mental block with and the brand new one that I haven’t worked out a technique for yet. Since they’re insisting on keeping the patterns (which as I mentioned before is colossally stupid), I need to identify how many of them there are, codify them and work out the best way to go about memorising them. Then maybe I can get a big score and persuade the Powers That Be to do a proper images discipline where you actually need to look at the images.

See, I’m still all worked up about this thing. I worry that I’m taking things much too seriously sometimes. But as a bit of light relief, it’s only three weeks to the Speed Cards Challenge! That’s going to be a lot of fun, and I’ve got the flights and hotel booked, I’m in good form with the cards so no need to work hard on the training, I can just enjoy the whole thing and hopefully blow everyone away on the day.

Still need to get a costume for the party in two weeks’ time, though. I’m not sure when I’m going to fit that into my busy schedule, but I’m sure I’ll manage.

A snip at only 299

Because I always fail to notice when the mileometer of this blog clicks over, I think I should celebrate the fact that tonight's entry is number 299. Woohoo! It really is coming up to a year since I started properly writing something here, every night that I haven't got a good excuse not to. You've got to admit that's pretty impressive.

Although I can't really think of anything worth writing about today, so it's a good thing this isn't a real round-numbered post. I'll just have to make sure to say something thrilling and noteworthy tomorrow. I hope something more exciting than a usual Monday at the office happens. Maybe I'll arrange for an aeroplane to crash on the building, or aliens to make contact during my lunch break, or my bag of crisps in my briefcase to come open on the way to work making them all soggy when I come to eat them. You know, something thrilling like that.

London Nights

Just got back from London after a day's othelloing. And on turning on the computer I thought "hey, there's a tournament on kurnik starting in three minutes. I should play in that!" Then I remembered half a minute too late that I'm drunk and tired and this isn't going to do my rating any good. But never mind.

Today was fun - the tournament was (as I think I mentioned yesterday) in the George public house on the Strand. It's one of those pubs that are steeped in tradition and go out of their way to tell you about it, although to be fair if Samuel Johnson once used my place as his postal address, I'd boast about it too. Among the photos and drawings on the walls I noticed one of soldiers drinking with the caption "Let me the canakin clink", so it's obviously a very suitable venue for an Othello tournament. We didn't get let into the building until 11am, and we were due to be kicked out at 6:45, which I thought would cause all kinds of trouble trying to fit in seven rounds (which generally last an hour each) and a lunch break. It turned out not to be any trouble at all, and we were finished by about half past five. Shows what I know.

There was also some actual playing of the game involved in the day too - I didn't play quite as spectacularly badly as at Cambridge (although dead mice have been observed to play better othello than I did at Cambridge, so that's not saying much) and managed to win three out of seven. Iain Barrass won. Other things happened too, probably. I'd make a terrible reporter, wouldn't I? Actually, the most entertaining part was having a drink in the pub afterwards and playing othello-related truth-or-dare.

Sartorial elegance

I normally defiantly wear a suit and tie on Fridays, even though it's casual day. Two reasons - firstly, I can't think like an accountant unless I'm dressed like one, and secondly I haven't got a lot of clothes that are more or less acceptable for being seen in. I'd hate to go to work in the same T-shirt more than once. Besides, everyone else wears England shirts and I'd stick out like a sore thumb with my Dr Seuss or pocket dragons shirts.

Today, though, I had to go casual, because the finance team were having our fortnightly meeting combined with a team-building pub lunch, and it was my turn to be chairman. Which would have meant everyone in the pub seeing me as the stuffy old boss in his suit and tie hassling his casually-dressed staff with work stuff during lunch. Regular readers will already know my attitude to meetings, team-building and unfavourable public opinion, so I really had no choice but to minimise the annoyance by ditching the accountant costume in favour of jeans and my stylish (ten years ago, possibly) bright green collarless shirt. The one I wore on The Weakest Link, for my TV fans.

Still, it wasn't such a bad day - we got confirmation that we're all getting a 3% pay rise, backdated to the start of April, which will be nice. Although since the big bosses are over the moon about the stockbrokers upgrading our shares from 'hold' to 'buy', you'd think they could have shared the anticipated wealth with the masses in a slightly more extravagant way.

Also, it's the weekend again! Othello in London tomorrow, at the George pub on the Strand where we had the London regional two or three years ago and I did unusually well. That's probably a good omen. 18 players signed up, which would break all recent records for Regional attendance! And not starting till 10:30 due to a last minute change of plans and landlord, so I don't have to get up too spectacularly early. Unless I decide to get up at 5:30 anyway to watch the cartoons on Boomerang, I'll see how I feel.

It's Thursday already?

Three-day weeks confuse the heck out of me. Still, it's a good kind of confusion, because there's only one more work day till the weekend. Woohoo!

I'm getting to the point where I can count the number of free weekends I've got left to practice for the WMC, and realise there's not many. Probably about five now at most. Time to come up with a definite plan for how much I'm going to attempt in the hour-long events, because it needs a couple of trials to work it out. And then I always change my mind at the last moment on the day of the competition, so I suppose it doesn't really matter in the end.

What concerns me more is that I really don't like Robbie Williams's latest single. This is unusual for me, I normally secretly love his stuff (but I wouldn't tell anybody in case they laugh at me). They normally take a while to grow on me, I didn't like Advertising Space when it first came out but I'm still singing it now, but this one definitely isn't. Perhaps now I can truthfully go around saying 'ugh, no, not Robbie Williams, turn it off!' and people will think I'm cool.

No costume = No admittance

I've just been reminded that I haven't yet done anything about arranging a costume for my brother's birthday party in two and a half weeks. Yes, it's fancy dress. And not just that, it's Battle of the Planets fancy dress, and if I don't at least turn up in stripey flared trousers and numbered T-shirt, preferably full good or bad guy costume complete with helmet and accessories, I will be unceremoniously thrown out on the streets. 28 years of deriding, bullying and occasionally being nice to a guy counts for nothing at one of these shindigs.

I was thinking of making a Spectra guard outfit, but then I saw this super-cool home-made helmet on the internet which puts anything I could possibly come up with to shame. I'll just stick with my original plan of going as Chief Anderson, although that would involve shaving off bits of my beard to just leave the moustache and sideburns. And buying a wig. Or I could cobble together a 7-Zark-7 costume...

It's like collecting stamps, only funnier

I've decided to get on with that longtime ambition of mine to collect every Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies cartoon on tape. As I think I've mentioned before, the rules of the game are to get as many as I can through either taping them off the TV or finding obscure video and DVD releases, before resorting to downloading or asking someone else to make me a copy. Not that I have any ethical problem with 'stealing' cartoons like that, I just like the challenge of hunting for them myself. There are quite a lot that practically never get shown on TV, and probably haven't ever come out even on the dodgiest of videos, but some intensive research and cartoon-hunting might still track them down. I think I've got about 100 now, so 900 still to go...

What I'll do when I've got them all, I don't know. I have a mind to start another blog and review one cartoon a day until I've got through the lot of them (which would take about three years). I think it would be fun, anyway.

In other news, I've had the day off work sick today. I'm just feeling completely run down - I've essentially spent the whole last three days in bed. Don't know what it is. I think the cure is to give myself a (strictly metaphorical) kick up the backside, get up early tomorrow and spend a long day at the office whether I feel up to it or not. But I'd appreciate any ahh noises and messages of sympathy if anyone wants to send them...

Blog roll

I haven't got one of those lists on my minimalist blog here of other people whose blogs and things I read on a regular basis. This makes me feel quite guilty, since several of them have links to me, so here - look at these people, everyone:

Log/Sam
Sleepy/Mike
Crispy/Emma
Jemfo/Jen (you have to be on her friends list, but if you know her I'm sure she'll add you to it. And if you don't, well, you can always ask.)
Jemfy's other blog
Darth Tigger/Jess
Schecki/Jennabean/Jenn

Is that all the VPSers? I bet I've forgotten someone who'll be mortally offended now. They'll never speak to me again, whoever they are, and spread malicious rumours about me behind my back.

Lazy Sunday Book

If anyone's keenly following my othello progress, I came 11th out of 24 in last night's tournament, which could have been a lot worse, and didn't play all that badly. So who knows, I might not lose all my games on Saturday.

Anyway, I've done nothing at all today. I didn't get out of bed till gone twelve, and I've spent the whole afternoon lounging around lethargically. I think I've got sleeping sickness. Or ME. Or clinical depression. Hmm, I need to get a medical encyclopaedia so I can look up more possible ailments - I'd quite like to be a hypochondriac, it sounds like a fun hobby.

Still, no work tomorrow so I can do things then. This is, of course, the root of my laziness problem - why do anything today when it can be safely put off until the extra Sunday tomorrow?

Hey, I was going to talk about comics last night, wasn't I? I went into Nottingham yesterday for a change, where there's a really cool comic shop called Page 45. They stock a really wide range of comics and comic-related junk, and the people who work there are really nice and friendly too. They charge 60p more for a $2.99 comic than Forbidden Planet just round the corner, so they obviously either need the support or have commendable levels of cheek. I always buy stuff there, anyway - there should be more comic shops like that.

As well as the usual week's supply of superhero action (including She-Hulk #8, that makes me go oo, isn't Dan Slott the best writer in the world, not for the first time) I bought volume 28 of Ranma½, which I would urge anyone who hasn't heard of it before to check out. There are actually 30 volumes out now, I've just got a bit behind with buying them. It's a hilarious martial arts comedy saga from Japan, by Rumiko Takahashi about a young martial artist called Ranma who turns into a girl when he comes into contact with cold water. He has a huge range of friends and enemies, most of whom also turn into something else when exposed to cold water, three fiancées and countless rivals for their affection, and a mother who will force him to commit ritual suicide if she finds out he's a girl part of the time. This volume features a girl who trains sumo wrestling pigs, a cure for Ranma's father's baldness, Ranma's teacher harnessing the battle energy created by fighting fish to make her a better teacher, Kuno being posessed by a tree in such a way that only a date with Ranma will cure him, a fever providing a temporary cure for cold-water-related transformations and a cursed kitchen spatula. I don't think there's another comic series in the world that stays so inventive after such a long time.

Since I've got no money at the moment and that always makes me splash out on things, I also bought Babymouse - Queen Of The World! by Jennifer L Holm and Matthew Holm, which is somehow also a lot of fun. It's the adventures of a young mouse girl who wanders off into pink-coloured fantasy sequences at the slightest provocation. The characters and plot are a string of overused clichés, but in this case it still works. It's funny. You should buy this, too.

Better things to do

I'm in the middle of an othello tournament on kurnik, trying to remember how to play the game before next Saturday's London regional, and I haven't got the time tonight to write what I was planning to (it's about comics, and I know nobody reading this likes those posts anyway, so you're not missing much). So, sorry, this is all you get tonight. No refunds.

Memory gossip

While I've been rambling about Chaucer, Channel 5 and Charlie Fox, it's been quite a busy week for the world of 'memory sports', or at least my little corner of it. It just turned out today that the German Championship has been postponed until some time in the autumn, which is a real annoyance. Also, the World Championship has been confirmed as taking place at Imperial College, London - not very glamorous, but there are worse places it could be - on August 19-21.

What I need, though, is a competition before then to get me properly in memory-championship-winning mood. For the last couple of years that role's been performed by the German championship, and the year before that it was the MSO. This year there's only the Speed Cards Challenge (which is a completely different kind of affair), unless I can engineer something else to fill the gap.

There is a vague possibility, though, from two sources. Firstly, James Jorasch and Chris Harwood have been talking about holding a memory championship in Manhattan some time in August. Just cards and numbers, James speculated, which sounds familiar. I've also spoken this week to one of the six billion TV producers trying to sell a memory documentary to Channel 4, and he's spoken to Andi Bell (quite a feat, these days). Andi, it seems, hasn't been training, doesn't think he'll come to the WMC this year, but is still talking about organising a championship of his own. Like the Memory World Cup in 2004, which was just cards and numbers, and a lot of fun.

There must be a way to get these people together and use their business sense and passion for memory competitions to benefit me in some way. I would love to see another World Cup - it would be great to have that on the regular schedule of competitions every year (that, and Gunther's reaction would keep me amused). July would be better than August, obviously, now that there's a void left by the German Championship. But would anyone come to a World Cup in America? Probably not. Well, Americans would, and I would, but I'd want to get some Germans over there too to make it a proper competition. We'd need to find a big sponsor or eccentric millionaire to throw money at it, but that kind of thing's possible for the likes of Andi or James if they put their minds to it.

I haven't got a phone number for Andi, of course, and I'm not sure I've got a current email address either, but I'm sure I could track him down...

In other news, thanks to the Metro free-on-trains newspaper, I've just discovered the pop group with the coolest name ever: Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly. With full stops in the name and everything. Classic. Their music is pretty good too - check them out.

While I'm talking about the Metro, I should also mention that it has a rather cool comic strip - Nemi. Which according to my research is a popular Norwegian strip that's quite rightly gathering a cult following here in Britain. Although the British translation, given where it appears, is understandably toned down a bit from the Norwegian original - granted that I only speak one word of Norwegian, I'm almost certain Nemi's first word in the third panel of this strip isn't 'sod' like it is in the Metro version...

It's cool that they're still happy to show Nemi smoking and drinking and having casual sex, though. I hate excessive censorship.

Testing, testing, one two three...

My internet connection is a bit dodgy tonight, so I'm hoping this goes through and doesn't get lost in cyberspace. Because I'm not typing it again, I'll tell you that.

Anyway, a couple of days ago I bought myself a new copy of the complete works of Geoffrey Chaucer. My brother borrowed my old one and lost it, somehow. It's about 1500 pages and the size of a house, so it seems to me you'd have to be pretty creative to lose something like that, but never mind. I also really shouldn't be spending twenty-something quid on a book until I get paid next week, since the Cambridge memory competition seriously drained my bank account, but never mind. I can always rob a bank or something.

Anyway, I've been into Chaucer for a long time, ever since stumbling across the Miller's Tale when I was somewhere in the region of 14 years old. I'm not sure exactly what the appeal is - I don't mind a bit of poetry from time to time, but Chaucer's the only great poet I could do the life and works of on Mastermind. The Middle English is something to do with it, I'm sure - reading his works is like a puzzle, you need to translate it into modern words and still appreciate the poetic effects he manages to achieve with a horribly cumbersome language. There's a reason all the poets before the 14th century wrote in Latin or French, they're much easier to make something beautiful from than the English of Chaucer's time.

Then there's the fun of trying to establish exactly what Chaucer originally wrote, since he came from a time before the printing press was invented and no two manuscripts are quite the same. What I'd really like to do some day is discover a lost 14th/15th century manuscript of one of his more obscure poems and keep it to myself until I've transcribed it and compared it to the other existing ones. That would show all those professor types and book-losing English-literature-PhDs how cool I am!

Pesky copycatting Channel 5

I've just noticed there was a programme on tonight called "The Mystery of the Mary Celeste: Revealed". Now everyone will think that that exciting story I wrote last Tuesday was inspired by flicking through this week's Radio Times (which came out that day) rather than by whatever did inspire it. I can't remember what it was. Still, I won't let it discourage me, I know how much my loyal readers enjoy reading my occasional attempts to be funny rather than writing about something interesting or enlightening (actual quote - "I even liked that thing with Sunderland and the Prime Minister...")

I see there's a programme on Channel 4 later tonight about the Pet Shop Boys. I used to be a big fan of them back in the 80s, and I think it's cool that they're still going strong, even if they can't write good songs any more or persuade anyone to buy the ones they do release. They still seem to be nice guys.

Would you, could you, with a fox?

I keep seeing foxes out the window of the train as it's coming into Derby station. Or maybe it's the same fox every time, I'm not sure. But I never used to see them when I was living in rural Lincolnshire, it's only since moving to the big city, which is strange. Admittedly my old boss Andrew and his gang went out shooting foxes back there on a regular basis, but they never seemed to run out of innocent creatures to slaughter so you'd think I would have seen them around a bit more. Maybe Derby's just the fox capital of the world. Or maybe this one fox is following me around with nefarious intent. If I had a wallet, I'd keep a close eye on it.

Auditors, yuck.

Yes, it's the highlight of every accountant's year, having auditors coming around and poking their nose into the accounts to make sure you're not siphoning the company's money into a Swiss bank account and buying Ferraris and helicopters. This lot today weren't too bad, I thought, although other people were saying they were more rigorous than the last bunch. But they were entirely cool with me providing backing information that didn't come close to showing the kind of figures that it should have done for all the little bits and pieces they decided to investigate (due to administrative errors and things that date back to before I started, of course). Secretly, auditors really don't want to find problems with the accounts. Oh sure, they dream of uncovering a multi-billion dollar fraud some time and exposing corruption at the highest levels, but when it comes to bread-and-butter stuff like the little subsidiary company of ours that they were auditing today they just want to be reassured that we more or less know what we're doing, so they can sign it off and get home on time. Still, it keeps a lot of people in unnecessary employment, which is probably good for the world, economically speaking.

Who let the bunnies out?

It must be at least a few days since I last devoted a blog entry to wittering on about a cartoon rather than anything my devoted readers might be interested in reading about, so let's talk about Loonatics Unleashed, shall we?

It's a futuristic superhero action-comedy series featuring heroes based on the Looney Tunes characters, and it's not as good as that makes it sound. It has its moments, but with that kind of premise it should be really quite cool. It also should be funny occasionally, but it really isn't. It bugs me that the Daffy Duck analogue is used almost entirely for comic relief while the others are the cool, useful heroes. Actually, in today's episode he did pitch in in the big fight scenes and pull his weight, but that's a rarity. The plots are generic superhero stuff, which I'm fine with, but there's no character interaction between the heroes, so you can't really connect with the stories.

And the voice acting could be a lot better, particularly Charlie Schlatter as Ace Bunny. I'd never heard of him before this, although looking him up on IMDB, he's done additional voices on quite a few series I've watched in the past. But he really doesn't get this voice right, and I'm not sure whether that's his fault or the director's - he's not trying to sound like Bugs, but the script has him saying 'oi' instead of 'er' sounds, and that just doesn't go with the accent he delivers every other word in. It sounds really weird. And Jason Marsden, who's really quite a good voice actor, doesn't really impress me as Danger Duck. They should have got Joe Alaskey. Rob Paulsen's as good as usual, though.

I always worry about saying bad things about people on here in case they read it. So nobody show this to the cast or producers of Loonatics, please.

On the other hand, the latest batch of Codename: Kids Next Door episodes is brilliant. When I saw the first couple without Mo Willems credited as writer I thought it had lost its touch, but then they came out with a couple of all-time classics (Caked-Five, Daddy) so I'm not worried. And this weekend's Doctor Who was really cool too, one of the best yet.

It's terrible

They've changed the Eurovision Song Contest so the representative of each country at the end doesn't read out all ten scores, just the top three. That stops the results taking quite so many hours, but it's still a terrible break with tradition. On the other hand, the coolest song (Finland) are winning for a change, so it's okay.

Yes, there are more interesting things I could write about than the Eurovision Song Contest. I bet the internet is full of blogs talking about it, and this is meant to be a "different" kind of blog. But hey, it's only once a year. I won't do it again. And Britain have scored double figures for the first time in years!

Planning it is half the fun

Yes, two posts in one night. I'm as prolific as Enid Blyton, and only 90% as contemptuous of the working classes. But I've just noticed that the MSO schedule is on the website. This is always a highlight of my year. Planning out a timetable that will give me something fun to do all day, every day is a challenge - how much othello should I play? Should I play the last weekend or go to the othello nationals in Crawley? I want to do the mental calculations on Wednesday morning, so what to do in the afternoon? Can I cope with two solid days of Chinese Chess? Why is Chinese Chess before Chess in the alphabetical list? Can I remember how to play stratego? Can I fit azacru into the schedule and still have something to do for the rest of the first weekend?

After nobody came to last year's event, they're really going out of their way to persuade people to come back this time round, so maybe it won't be a complete disaster after all. I'm pretty sure I'll go along this time, anyway.

Who is Sandie Thom sleeping with at Virgin Radio? They're plugging "I Wish I Was A Punk Rocker" like nobody's business at the moment. Okay, it's a very good song, but every DJ is urging us to listen to it, predicting it will be a chart-topper and telling us it will grow on us. In identical words. There's some sinister conspiracy behind it. Really great song, though, so I don't mind.

And while I'm talking about radio, I really should have mentioned tonight that Radio 4 want to do a show about me as part of an all-summer theme of memory. Riveting as usual, Radio 4. But this really sounds like it would be fun, somehow, so I really want to get involved with it. It's only a 15-minute slot and it's on radio, so it seems to me there'd be a bare minimum of people following me around and talking to me, and probably no cameras being pointed in my face.

Oo, gotta get up, gotta get out

Sainsbury's have changed their opening hours without telling me, so that they now close an hour earlier at 7pm. This forces me to go to Spar if I notice I've run out of bread after that time, which generally forces me to buy that horrible "seven days fresh" stuff, because they generally sell out of the edible kinds of bread by that time of night.

Now, I'm not like Delia Smith, who won't eat any bread that she hasn't made from flour she's ground herself and yeast she's cultivated between her own toes, but that seven-days-fresh bread is horrifically nasty. I'm not sure by what definition of 'fresh' they're working, but it looks, feels and tastes past its sell-by date even when it's brand new. And a loaf of normal bread usually lasts me seven days without going off. Who buys this product, and in the name of sanity, why?

In other news, there's a solid gold pack of cards as the prize at the Speed Cards Challenge next month! I'm definitely going to win it. This is the kind of prize that all memory championships should have, rather than stupid trophies that don't fit in your rucksack for the journey home (always catches me out, that does. And I can't bring an empty bag to the competition with me because that would jinx the whole thing). This whole event is going to be fantastic, I can tell. Better by far than my Cambridge thing. Hattingen's limited supply of hotels seem to all be fully booked, but rather than trawl around for B&Bs and phone Germany to ask if they've got a room, I think I'll get a hotel in Essen - it's twenty minutes away on the train and that way I get to look around the big city on the Friday before the competition.

Mister Boss

I'm not, as a rule, good at being a boss. I can't tell people to do things because I'm scared they'll say no, and besides, I'd much rather do everything myself than get someone else to do it. But today I noticed that I and my underlings were working really well, getting stuff done and I was all telling them what to do and how to do it and everything. I'm not sure how that happened, but it was fun.

Although in between that, I was getting in an argument with someone non work-related over email, and I was going to blog about that at length tonight, but we sorted it out, more or less, and it was all the result of a misunderstanding, mostly, so I won't go into it here after all. Although I'm still quite annoyed with this person's attitude, so maybe I will if I can't think of anything better to write about tomorrow. It's the kind of thing I should sleep on, I think.

I'm watching the Eurovision Song Contest semi-final at the moment. It's kind of irresistible.

Fallen at the last fence

Drat, I was hoping to say tonight that I should have had a bet on Chelsea to win the league, Liverpool the FA Cup and Arsenal the Champions League, as I predicted a while ago, but it didn't quite work out.

Instead, I suppose I should record that I'm thrilled with the World Memory Championship being moved to London and mid-August, meaning that a) I don't have to take time off work in our busiest period of the year (and might even have escaped the newspapers and things before I have to get on with work), and b) I get to play in the othello nationals after all! Now all I have to do is learn how to play the game properly and I have a very slim chance to get a trip to Japan out of it. That's assuming an unprecedented number of flukey wins, better players not wanting to compete in the worlds and people being abducted by aliens at convenient (for me) times.

It's a shame to miss out on visiting Malaysia again, though - I was really looking forward to it. I suppose I could go there anyway some time and not compete in a memory competition, but that would just be silly.

Another TV company emailed me today, adding to the long, long list of people who are trying to develop a documentary about memory for Channel 4. One of these days, I'm sure one of them is going to actually make one, just on the law of averages.

The Bermuda Triangle

"Everybody shut up and pay attention," said Douglas, bursting through the front door with a two-foot-long model ship in his arms. "I've solved the mystery of what happened to the Mary Celeste."

Everyone turned their gaze from Noel Edmonds on the TV to look at Douglas. When he showed no signs of wanting to elaborate on his pronouncement, Davina asked "So what did happen to the Mary Celeste?"

"Technically," said Hortense, "we know what happened to the Mary Celeste. It was the crew whose fates are a mystery. The ship itself was just fine."

"Shut up, Davina," said Douglas, rather unfairly. "I'll be able to tell you what happened to it if you'll let me use your bath. I've only got a shower at my place and that's no use."

Everyone stayed silent this time to see if Douglas would explain what he was talking about without prompting, but he put the model ship down on the table, wandered into the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. Roger threw a brick at him and narrowly missed, breaking the sugar bowl and two salt cellars. Luckily, the salt fell on the floor in such a way that it seemed to spell the words "What do you mean, Douglas?", so Douglas continued his explanation.

"You see," he said, inaccurately, "I've made a perfect scale model of the Mary Celeste. I just need to set it afloat in your bathtub and watch what happens, and the greatest mystery of the human race will be solved!"

Davina doubtfully interjected, "Douglas, it's a very good scale model, but..."

"I got a better scale model out of a Kinder egg last week!" shouted Spike from the corner.

"...But I'm not sure you can deduce what happened to the original ship by what happens to a model in a bathtub," continued Davina undeterred.

"And it was supposed to be an ostrich, I just put the pieces together the wrong way!" Spike screamed.

"Ah, but I've made scale models of the crew as well, look," said Douglas, as if that put an end to any and all criticism of his theory. "Now come on, let's go to the bathroom.

"I could do a computer simulation of what happened to the crew of the Mary Celeste..." started Hortense, safe in the knowledge that everyone told her to shut up every time she mentioned computers and thus she wouldn't have to reveal that she hadn't the first idea how one would go about creating such a simulation. Roger threw a brick at her head, which missed and shattered a ming vase, three windows and an antique crystal radio set.

So, ignoring Noel Edmonds's increasingly frantic attention-seeking, the gang trooped upstairs. The bathroom door turned out to be locked, so Davina and Spike kicked it down. They discovered an elderly man in the bath.

"For crying out loud, Uncle Herbert," sighed Davina, "I've told you before about breaking into my house to use my bath."

"Yes, but your bath is slightly smaller than mine, so it reduces the risk of drowning," said Uncle Herbert, climbing out. "I'll be off, then."

"No you bleeding well won't!" yelled Spike. "You're staying here to help us solve the mystery of the Mary Celeste!"

"Can I at least put some clothes on first?" asked Uncle Herbert. "I left mine at home, and it's surprisingly cold in here, considering there are six of us standing around a tub of hot water in a six-foot-square bathroom on a hot afternoon in the middle of August."

"There's no time for that kind of nonsense," said Douglas airily. He put the model of the Mary Celeste into the bath and took out his camera to record the goings-on.



Several theories have been advanced as to what happened after that. We will never know for certain, as at that moment the batteries ran out in the security camera in the bathroom. When the man came to read the gas meter three weeks later, he found the scale model of the Mary Celeste still floating in the bath, Noel Edmonds still on the television, but no sign of any of the six former occupants of the house. Some things we are just not meant to understand.

I want a mini-me

It occurs to me that of the newcomers who took part at the Cambridge memory competition, Rich Bowdler is very much in the mould of Ed Cooke, wild-haired life-and-soul-of-the-party Oxford types; Dave Turner is along the same lines as David Thomas, both professional corporate memory trainers as well as the eerily similar names; Guy Griffiths has been taught everything he knows by his fellow student Boris Konrad; and James Paterson at least shares a name and initial with James Ponder, even if I can't think of a good way to keep the analogy going. There was also Philip Peters who joined in for the afternoon, but I didn't get much chance to talk with him and I can't think of anyone to compare him to, so I'm ignoring him for the sake of this argument.

The important thing was that there wasn't anyone there sporting a silly hat, unflattering beard and strategically shaved head, nor emulating my own approach to memory contests. (Unlike in the othello-playing world, where hats are fast becoming the essential fashion accessory). I do have plenty of people who ask my advice and act on it, so I shouldn't complain. But I'm going to anyway, because I'm just in the mood for it tonight. Not that I want to devote my time and energy to training or inspiring people, but if there was a way to have hordes of dedicated fans and protegés without having to actually do anything, I'd take it.

Until I got tired of the attention and ran away, obviously. And if I've offended anyone reading this by characterising them as a mini-me, I'm very sorry.

Practice makes you tired

Haven't done as much as I was planning, but I did a 30-minute binary this morning, and 30-minute cards tonight. And I'm toying with the dangerous idea of trying 18 packs in Germany. I did that tonight and think I got 14 right, which would be great, but I didn't get the last three, which kind of suggests that I should just stick with 15. That's the safe option (relatively - there's still a sporting chance that I could mess it up completely), but 18 is the tantalising target that I've felt for years like I should be able to do.

I could always attempt a number of packs that isn't a multiple of three, there's no law against it, but I just prefer to do these things in complete routes (three packs to a route). If I did 16, maybe I'd get them all right. Or maybe I'd just be confused by the whole thing. I really like strategising like this.

Short attention span

If you're just watching TV in order to see a particular trailer, does that automatically make you one of those hyperactive types who can't focus on anything that lasts more than thirty seconds? Or is it a valid excuse that I half-saw a trailer on BBC1 today for some programme about global warming that has at least two rather obscure cartoon clips on it? The trailer was a rather strange montage of weather-related snippets (Michael Fish saying there isn't going to be a hurricane, that kind of thing, although without sound and with music in the background. It's The End Of The World As We Know It, I think it was), including a clip that I think was from Jack Frost, the cartoon I acquired on the Betty Boop collection I wrote about a couple of weeks ago (but it took me by surprise and went by too quickly for me to properly register it) and a couple of seconds of Felix the Cat mopping his brow in a 1920s cartoon I don't recognise. So now I really have to see the trailer again to properly identify the clips. And possibly find out when this show is going to be on and what it's called so I can maybe watch it, but that's a secondary concern.

Anyway, I've done no memory training again today. The Cup Final is a sort of excuse (amazing game by the way, real Roy of the Rovers stuff, I'm getting suspicious that someone is scripting big games to make them exciting enough to get a big audience), but I do need to keep on top of this thing if I'm going to win the WMC, and I still do really want to do that. I've also eaten a whole bag of Haribo tangfastics and feel a bit sick. But Smiths are selling them half price.

Oo, and also, I bought a lottery ticket for the first time in yonks, and won a tenner!

Dirty Dusting

There are posters up around the Derby area for a comedy at the Playhouse, proudly boasting that it stars Pearl out of Last Of The Summer Wine, Helga out of 'Allo 'Allo and Robbie Jackson out of EastEnders. And while I personally think those are three great actors, I've seen parodies of that kind of poster with less F-list stars than that. I might have to go and see it.

And while I'm in the mood to poke fun at people, let's all point and laugh at the artist who forgot to draw Spotty's spots throughout the extended story in this week's Beano. I mean, did the character's name not give anyone a clue as to what he's supposed to look like? Also, I'm pretty sure a Beano from my day wouldn't have included the line "eats shoots and leaves". It's shocking, what is the world coming to and so on. Which reminds me, for the benefit of regular readers who'll know I'm still complaining about Ken H Harrison not drawing the Broons any more, Big Brad Wolf is a much better fit for his artistic talents than Robbie Rebel was. So I shouldn't complain too much.

I'll Be Glad When You're Dead You Rascal You

Don't worry, I'm not talking to you.

I have a habit of whistling or even singing quietly to myself if I'm under stress at work, just to keep myself sane, you know. Which is fine as long as I choose an appropriate song, but the one that was running through my head on a particularly stressful and hectic work day today was Louis Armstrong singing the above song from the Betty Boop cartoon of the same name (which I watched last night). I had to be careful not to sound like I was telling my colleagues essentially that I would dance on their graves.

The last bag of rhubarb and custards that I bought from Sainsbury's were mostly roughly three-quarters custard-bit, but this latest bag I've got are the other way round. As someone who used to work in a sweet factory, I wonder if this was the result of cost-cutting measures, or running out of certain ingredients, or problems with the machine.

I'm busy typing up my transcripts from the othello tournament on Saturday. I normally like to play through my games to see where I went wrong or right, but since I was playing so dreadfully on Saturday I think I'll skip that exercise so as not to depress myself unduly. I remember playing a couple of absolutely terrible moves because I missed something really obvious. The worst thing about Saturday was losing my 100% win record against at least two players, maybe as many as four (pick whichever of Joel Blackmur, Steve MacGuire, Aidan Robison and George Ortiz haven't beaten me in a live tournament game before - I can't remember exactly which of them have, but I've only played them one or two times each). This kind of statistic is important to me. That's why I've assiduously avoided Takuji Kashiwabara for the last three years - I think I might feign a heart attack or hide under the table (whichever seems easiest at the time) if I end up drawn against him again.

Incommunicado

My phone doesn't seem to be working. Actually, it hasn't been working at least since I got back from Cambridge, but it's just now that I'm deciding to do something about it. I don't use the thing very much, and indeed unplug it quite regularly if I'm doing something that I don't want to be interrupted, but I don't like not having a means to be contacted in an emergency. The thing's completely dead, and it's not a problem with the phone itself - I've got a spare one that I acquired a few years ago by way of a funny story that I probably shouldn't fit in the middle of this sentence, and I've tried plugging that one in, to no avail - which means I'll have to call Ntl out to come and look at it. Which is a drag.

Anyway, that other telephone apparatus came about because I thought my original one (a stylish one made of transparent plastic with flashing LEDs) was broken, because it was just flashing and not making any noise when someone called me. Only after I'd bought another one and been using it for a week or so did I notice the switch on the side of my original phone that turns off the ringer. Casting my mind back, I remembered that I had deliberately set it to 'off' mode to see what would happen, and then forgot about it. So I ended up with two perfectly good phones, and went back to using the stylish one.

My dad also promised to buy me a fancy new phone from the mail-order catalogue he was so obsessed with, the last time I saw him, now I come to think of it.

The first-day-back-at-work-after-a-competition blues

Turns out that going back to work after organising a memory competition has exactly the same effect as going back after competing in one. I get in the kind of mood where I figure if I can make it through the day without handing in my notice, it's a very good day. Getting any work done really isn't going to happen. The problem, I think, is that my brain's still working, and it takes a while to get back into the frame of mind where I can turn it off and get on with the accounting. I was coming back down to earth by the afternoon, though, and managed not to run off and join the circus, so now tomorrow I've just got to work a long day to catch up with everything.

Anyway, I'll write a bit more about the weekend when I get round to it. Right now I want to get in a bit of training of my own for the competitions coming up. I'm listening to a really cool song right now, called "I Wish I Was A Punk Rocker". I think it's going to be a hit.

Chance meetings with everyone I know in the world

Going home to Derby this morning I got to Cambridge station at quarter past ten, to find that the trains up to the midlands leave at four minutes past the hour. So rather than sitting around for fifty minutes, I decided to go back into town and hang around there for a while. But on my way out of the station I bumped into Ed Cooke, on his way home too, and Paul Smith, on his way to London on business. They don't know each other and just both happened to be in the same place at the same time. So we chatted about memory and MSOs for a few minutes until they went in to catch their trains, and since by then it was starting to rain and there was only half an hour to wait I went back into the station too, and ran into Jenny, on her way into work having overslept! I can only conclude that everyone in the universe passes through Cambridge at some point around 10:30 on a Monday morning.

A success!

Contrary to expectations, the Cambridge Memory Championship went really quite well. No major disasters at all, and hardly any minor ones either. My fears about it overrunning horribly weren't entirely unfounded (in fact, Mystic Meg's fears have never been so founded), but that didn't turn out to be a problem in the sense of us getting thrown out of the building - when we were finally leaving at about 7pm, a caretaker turned up to say he'd have to hurry us. Nothing went seriously wrong - my laptop proved incapable of playing the spoken numbers loud enough, but we fixed that by some clever technological means, I didn't think to bring stopwatches but enough people did that we managed okay, I had a dispute with Clemens about him wanting to use a pack of cards that was made up out of two different packs, so some had red backs and some had blue, but we sorted it out amicably in the end.

And we had the best Germans, the US Champion and lots of new British competitors! Clemens won, to nobody's huge surprise - he's now won the last five competitions he's entered, in a run stretching back to Vienna 2004. I really have to do something about that some time. Gunther came second and despite what I said yesterday in a competition-organiser-stress kind of mood took the whole thing entirely in the right spirit. Johannes Mallow came third with a very impressive performance including a huge 720 digits in 5-minute binary, Boris had a bad day but came fourth. So the Germans dominated much as expected, with me and Ed marking papers instead of challenging them. But the newcomers all seemed to have a great time, and hopefully will all be coming back to future competitions. There's definitely going to be one more in Britain this year, it seems - either a British championship or the worlds after all, Malaysia might not happen.

Nobody beat any of my records, which I was pleased about. Boris was shocked to hear that the Speed Cards Challenge will coincide with a Germany v England world cup football game if Germany win their group and England come second - he'd scheduled it specifically to avoid the days Germany might be playing. Aubrey joined the memory crowd for lunch at the Robin Hood and Little John and everyone had a lot of fun. The TV people interviewed me and a few others and seemed to like the look of the competitions after all. Everybody was able to get to the venue despite the lack of buses and to get home again without any major disasters, assuming Ferdinand Krause managed to catch his plane (he cut it a bit fine, with the competition running so late).

I've got the day off tomorrow, so I get to spend a lot of time in bed recovering from the mental stress. It turns out that running a competition is just as tiring as taking part in one. Who'd'a thunk it?

Woo!

Wireless internet access in my hotel room! A laptop with the ability to connect to wireless internet access in my hotel room! I'm not used to such technology. Actually, I didn't see anything in the hotel information about this, so possibly I'm hacking into a neighbour's bandwidth, but never mind. Anyway, for those hanging on my every word, I did find a hotel (you've probably worked that out by now by yourselves, I suppose). It's literally miles away from the venue - four and a half miles to be precise, but it was the only one not fully booked and with online booking facilities. Also, the buses don't run early on Sunday mornings, so I'll have to either walk with an EXTREMELY heavy bag full of laptop, cards and papers, or get a taxi. And I hate getting taxis, it's so non-working-class, I feel bad about it.

Anyway, I did unbelievably badly at the othello tournament today. I did win one game out of seven, but that wasn't exactly my greatest performance ever. I'm out of practice and steadily getting worse, which annoys me. Imre won, various interesting things happened, but even though I know a lot of othello players actually read this thing and I'd hate to disappoint them, I haven't got the time to write about it right now. I've got lots of packs of German cards to shuffle in preparation for tomorrow. And I'm all nervous now - I'm thinking of the competition in terms of a friendly get-together in the spirit of fun, and certain German doctors who will remain nameless are clearly taking the whole thing very seriously indeed and will look down his nose at the unprofessional organisation of the whole thing. Ah well.

Laugh about it, shout about it, when you've got to choose...

Local council election day, and despite my self-imposed ban on talking politics, I just wanted to record that I'm pleased with myself for remembering to vote, considering how busy I've been both at work and sorting out all the things for Sunday that I forgot to sort out earlier (little details like the spreadsheet for calculating scores, vitally important things like that...) So I can rest safe in the knowledge that I've contributed towards making the not-as-pretty-as-it-sounds Arboretum ward of Derby the democratic paradise that it is.

And it's hot! I'm not used to this kind of temperature. But apparently it's not going to last, so that's okay. I wouldn't want to be outside a building made predominantly of glass during our occasional outbreaks of nice weather, after all. It was seriously uncomfortable in the office today.

No time to go on at length, still haven't found a hotel so might be sleeping on the streets of Cambridge over the weekend.

Oh yes, and...

Well, I did say tonight's blogging would be long and boring. I just remembered something else I was going to talk about that I feel the need to record for posterity. Since I was talking the other night about dream analysis, I felt it worth mentioning that I had a dream about Daffy Duck last night. It occurs to me that this is the first time I can remember him making an appearance in my dreams, although Sylvester's popped up two or three times that I can recall. What this might mean, I couldn't say, but I just thought it was interesting.

Butterscotchy Goodness

Looking through a file of old invoices at work today, I flicked past one for the nurseries that said 'Butterscotch, Dry Goods', among other things. I misread it as 'butterscotchy goodness' and had to go back and see what it really said. It set my brain spiralling off on a spirally train of thought, and reminded me in turn that Bart Simpson is allergic to butterscotch and imitation butterscotch; that butterscotch flavour angel delight is quite nice; that butterscotch is a really weird word and I have no idea how it originated; and that the first time I had a butterscotch flavoured sweet was at Tumby Woodside Primary School when I was four or five years old at most (it closed down in 1982).

This kind of thing fascinates me. I'm pretty sure I've thought about butterscotch before without dredging up this early childhood memory, so what caused me to unlock that particular filing cabinet in the back of my brain today? I'm fond of talking about filing cabinets when people ask me technical questions about memory - my theory is that we remember everything we've ever experienced, but it's filed away very bady, associated with other things we were experienced at the same time and cross-referenced randomly so we can't dig it out easily. And the trick to memory skills is to file away information efficiently so that it can all be dug out of the filing cabinet in order and neatly stapled together with colourful dividers and everything.

I'm wondering if it's something to do with the big windows in reception at Nord House - I was coming downstairs at the moment that I recalled that twenty-something-years-ago boiled sweet. Our building was a car showroom at some point in its history, and has a lot of glass. The reception area has a very, very high roof (something like 30 feet) with windows all the way up. This made it unbearably hot, so they've recently put opaque plastic over the glass above head height. It doesn't look nearly as pretty, but then I don't have to sit there. Anyway, the point of this rambling is that Tumby Woodside school also had high ceilings (granted, I was nearer to the ground in those days, but even so) and big tall windows. Maybe the similarity there combined with the thought of butterscotch to dig up that useless chunk of memory.

While I'm talking memory, I had a call from another TV researcher who's interested in filming Cambridge today. (Yes, I'm still giving my number freely to these people! Aren't I good? Although I've just remembered now that I never replied to that Mexican. Oops. Tomorrow.) Anyway, I think I've put her off the idea of filming memory competitions for life - you could just hear her getting less and less enthusiastic about the project as I told her what actually happens there. She was thinking in terms of people standing up and reciting exciting and lengthy speeches.

And I know I'm vain, but I much prefer the kind of media person who says it's really great that I was the world champion and stuff (even if they're transparently just saying that so I'll do what they want) to the kind who ask me 'do you ever compete in these things yourself, or just organise them?' It's hard to lament about being a semi-celebrity when nobody in the world has heard of you.

Tomorrow night I've got to pack everything for the weekend - I'll need to dash off fairly promptly on Friday night to get to Cambridge at a reasonable time of night, assuming I've found a hotel (had a look at lunchtime, but they're all either miles away from the venue or fully booked, or both. Or else don't have an online booking facility. I hate phone calls, but I'm going to have to make some, I can tell.) So for those of you who hang on my every word, tomorrow will be my last blog entry until Monday night. I'm sure you'll survive.

I have nothing to say

I've been waiting for inspiration to strike, but it's time for bed and I can't think of anything interesting to write about, so I won't. Tell you what, to make up for it I'll do a really long and boring blog entry tomorrow night.

Mike Teevee

Okay, we've got sound files for spoken numbers, historic events translated acceptably into German, abstract images, sheets of numbers coming out of the wazoo, everything you could possibly need for a memory competition! Now all I have to do is find a place to stay in Cambridge and remember to take everything with me when I go.

Not bad, considering Boomerang have been showing nothing but Warner Bros cartoons all day. From Kitty Kornered to Catty Cornered, I've had at least one square eye on the screen pretty much non-stop. Apart from the occasional trip out for essentials like sweets. I spent a long time racked with indecision over whether to get murray mints or mintoes. I'm pretty sure they're the same thing, but I normally have murray mints, so I thought I should probably get mintoes to see if they're noticeably different after all. But I chickened out in the end in case they were nasty. I fear change, you see.

Heavy workload

Who would have thought organising a memory competition was so much hassle? Still, it's nearly all finished now, so assuming I can find a hotel in Cambridge, everything should go all right. I've been trying to think of all the worst-case scenarios that could happen and prepare for them, but I bet something drastic and unexpected happens, like a shark attack, and everyone blames me for not having provided shark-proof cards to memorise.

I had a weird dream last night where I was a newspaper reporter (except for one sequence where I was Archduke Ferdinand) travelling by taxi to cover some distant news story, but in order to get there I'd told the taxi driver that I was going to cover the taxi drivers' convention in a town slightly further away in the same direction.

And another dream in which I was a football player for Burton Albion, which is quite cool - I quite often dream that I play for Boston United, but this is the first time my subconscious has caught up with where I'm living nowadays. That dream also involved travelling to a distant game, come to think of it. There's probably a deeper meaning behind the whole long-journey motif there, maybe I should see a psychiatrist about it. Or about my many, many other mental problems, perhaps.

I've got soul but I'm not a soldier

I was walking through town today, and the Socialist Worker people were out in force with petitions. I'd gone past without looking and was round the corner before it occurred to me - I always used to sign those things. When did I stop? It's not like I ever had the idea that it would make any difference, but it doesn't hurt to put your name on a list in a good cause, right? And it's years since I went to an anti-war protest march. I think the last one was the big one in early 2003, in fact. And it's not as if the world is such a happy, peaceful place nowadays that I don't feel the need to do anything. I've just got out of the habit. I still criticise people at every opportunity for their apathy, but when did I last do anything constructive to protest the state of things? Long, long ago.

And thinking about it, I seem to have dropped the anti-war stuff at exactly the same time I started getting seriously into memory training. I'm sure there are other factors involved too - that was also the time I came down from my six-month lost weekend and got a horrible new accountancy job - but it's rather worrying now that I come to think of it. So anyway, I turned round, signed the petition and resolved to go to the next event that comes along. World, get ready for the return of Activist Zoomy.

Although the standard of protests seems to have gone down since my day - the only march on the Stop The War Coalition's calendar for the next few months is an anti-Israel thing, and that segment of the Stop The War crowd always got on my nerves. Okay, there's a don't-attack-Iran day next Saturday which I just can't get involved in because I have to be in Cambridge for the competition, but it's May Day on Monday, for crying out loud! What kind of socialists don't hold mass protests on May Day?

Damn, I should have titled this post "Did you exchange a walk-on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?" Oh well, I'll save that for the next time I want to agonise about being a semi-celebrity. I'm sure it'll happen again. Anyway, I bought the Killers album "Hot Fuss" today, I'd been meaning to for ages because I love "All These Things That I've Done" so much, but I don't like buying an album based on one song. But the rest of the tracks are okay, if not all that exceptional, so it was probably worth it. I should get in to downloading music, but that just seems a bit technological for an activist hippy like me.

Oh, and tonight's Doctor Who (the one with Sarah Jane and K-9) was brilliant.

With a boulder on my shoulder, feelin' kinda older

I've decided not to send any more emails to people about abstract images. I was getting way too caught up in the whole argument today. I think the whole thing's been more or less settled now, anyway, probably. Not to my satisfaction, but there are many more important things in life to get worked up about.

Anyway, while I wasn't reading and writing emails at work today, I had my six-monthly appraisal, which went very well. I came across as all professional and efficient and accountanty, which is quite a trick considering I'm not at all. What was more fun was appraising my own underlings a couple of days ago - I've never done that before, but I quite enjoyed it. Luckily I have good underlings who know what they're doing and get on with it without me having to do boss things, so it's not too difficult. I should remember not to call them underlings in the office, though, it sounds kind of rude.

Ah, and a three day weekend! The first of two in a row, since I've also got the next Monday off to recover from Cambridge. And speaking of Cambridge, I had an email from Boris today asking me if I knew of any accommodation there that wasn't fully booked, which reminded me I haven't booked a room myself for the weekend either. This could be a problem - I'll have to find somewhere tomorrow. I phoned Sleeperz tonight, but they're full on the Saturday.

I need to trim my beard and get a haircut. It's at times like this that I wish I had the option of changing my hairstyle and doing something new, but short of shaving it all off, that's genetically impossible. I'd like to have long hair, but I can't even do that - it gets to roughly collar length and then just won't go any longer than that. I miss the days when I could toy with a side or centre parting.

Un-be-freaking-lievable!

They did it! In exactly the same way as against Basle! Maccarone scored in the last minute to win the game! Good grief, if this was fiction nobody would like it because it takes far-fetched to the point of absurdity...

Little bits of memory

There's a Mexican journalist who's sent me an email wanting to do an interview, who's apparently 'like 80% English speaker', which automatically makes me feel bad about asking to do it in writing rather than talking on the phone, in case she thinks I'm saying I don't think she speaks good enough English to do a spoken interview. Even though I ALWAYS ask journalists if we can do the interview in writing, yes. I worry about these things.

I also worry for the laws of nature - there's an ongoing debate about the new 'abstract images', and I'm agreeing with Gunther about absolutely everything! We're normally diametrically opposed on every subject vaguely related to memory. The problem is, we feel (and Clemens, Astrid and Joachim back us up on this), that if the random shapes Phil's fancy new random shape generator produces are coloured in, it makes it much easier to memorise them, because you only need to look at the colours. To be fair, it's not like they're primary colours, it's patterns and textures, but the point still stands.

Phil, Mind Map fanatic that he is, thinks that colours are essential to 'stimulate creativity', but I think that's nonsense. Memory competitions should be about giving the competitors things that are DIFFICULT to remember, and making them come up with creative ways to memorise them. Giving them things that make it easier to remember defeats the whole object. But it looks like the united front of the top competitors isn't going to get us anywhere again. Shocking. I'd complain and boycott things if I was the type to give a monkey's.

I'm watching the most amazing football match while I'm typing this - I know I've written about footy a lot on here lately, but this is something special. Middlesbrough came into the second leg of the Uefa Cup semi-final against Steaua Bucharest 1-0 down, played terribly for the first twenty minutes and conceded two more goals. With the away goals rule, that meant they had to score four to stay in the competition.

Now, for those of you unfamiliar with football, coming back from 3-0 down is a once-in-a-blue-moon kind of thing. But it's something that Middlesbrough actually did in the previous round of the Uefa Cup, against FC Basle, and somehow that statistic has inspired them to stage another amazing recovery. And everyone in the crowd is right behind them too - somehow, from the moment they went three down, they were hot favourites to win the game! As I write this, there's five minutes left and they've scored three of the required four. Unbelievable.

A bit more useless trivia - I've had the song 'Cool For Cats' stuck in my head all day.

Horses for Courses

It occurred to me that I should write something about eating horses, and call it 'Horses for Courses'. But then I realised that that would just be silly.

What would be better would be to write about a funeral director who decided to give away all his vehicles to the people who swore at him in the most creative way, and call it 'Hearses for Curses'. But that would essentially be the joke right there, and I've already given away the punchline, so I won't.

Fate mocks me once again

I had a plan tonight - get a snack on the way home, do some memory training once I got in, then cook tea in time for the football.

Got to Burton station in ample time to buy a bite to eat from the shop if the train was a couple of minutes late like it always is, but it was bang on time, so I didn't get a chance. And then it trundled out of the station a little way and stopped dead. The 'senior conductor' (I'm pretty sure there's only one conductor on these trains, but that's how he introduced himself) apologised over the tannoy and explained that the points were broken up ahead. So we sat around in the middle of nowhere for quite some time until the tracks were clear enough for us to back up to the previous set of points and move onto another track to continue towards Derby.

Also, it was the train with the display that says the train will be calling at 'Derby, Long Eaton, Long Eaton, Attenborough and Nottingham'. There should be one less stop at Long Eaton and one more at Beeston in between Attenborough and Nottingham.

Lehmann just saved a penalty!

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, so by the time I got home I judged that there wasn't time for any memory stuff. I've not been in the mood for it just lately, and I don't want to push things and force myself to do it. I'm still in good shape, mentally speaking, so I could give things a rest for a while until I'm more excited about it. Cambridge will probably have that effect on me.

Woohoo, Arsenal are in the final!

Snookered

I've just been watching a very entertaining snooker match between Ronnie O'Sullivan and Ryan Day. Day was 9-7 up going into the evening session, lost the first frame but was about to win the 18th when he had one of those complete nightmare moments - taking aim to pot a straight pink with just the colours left on the table he miscued horribly, bounced the cue ball right over the pink and straight into the pocket. And from that point on, everything that could possibly go wrong for him, did. You had to feel sorry for the guy. Ronnie won 13-10 in the end.

Talking of Snooker, I saw in HMV yesterday that there's a DVD of Maid Marian and her Merry Men, which I was sorely tempted to buy. In fact, I was tempted to buy about a dozen diverse DVDs, and the only reason I didn't was that I knew I'd just spend all my time sitting watching them and not doing anything useful. I still haven't written that book, after all, and I haven't done any memory training for the last few days either. But on the other hand, I'd like to experiment a bit more with my laptop's amazing DVD-playing abilities, and to see the entire run of Allo Allo in one sitting, intermingled with a few obscure old episodes of Doctor Who...

Cloth cap and whippet

I've spent a lot of today sorting out the things people are going to memorise at Cambridge. The random words was fun, if horribly time-consuming. I have an Excel spreadsheet that picks random words from a list of about 50,000 English words, but for the competition I had to pick out the reasonably common ones - I like to think I've got a pretty cromulent vocabulary, but there are plenty of big words that thing comes up with that I've never heard of.

Having done that, then they need to be translated into German. Which means rejecting another bunch of words if the dictionary can't find them or can't provide a one-word synonym (had to lose 'whippet', because the best translation I could find online was 'kleiner Rennhund'). And then there's agonising over whether it's more or less difficult in the two different languages. In my considered opinion, based as it is on my imperfect grasp of German, the two versions are about as equal as it's possible to get in terms of how commonly used the words are, how easy it is to confuse a word with a similar one, and so on. And they're all spelt right, I can promise that much at least.

I've also finished off the names and faces papers - roughly one third English names, one third German and one third international. Again, with the same difficulty level whichever of the two main languages is your first, scrupulously measured. That just leaves the spoken numbers to generate and record (on my laptop and on cassette in case of technological disaster - no translations here because there isn't the time or the technology, but I need at least two different sets of 100 and 200 digits in case something goes wrong) and the historic dates to do (relatively easy, although again the German translations are a headache).

Organisers of memory competitions always get blamed for everything that goes wrong, and get no credit for everything that goes right. It's like being a football referee.