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!
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Friday, May 19, 2006
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, May 15, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
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!
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!
Friday, May 12, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, May 08, 2006
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.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
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?
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?
Saturday, May 06, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
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.
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