Microchip mayhem

I never for one moment thought it would ever happen to me. It came as a complete surprise – a real bolt from the blue. Yesterday, in Leatherhead, my trip to the cafe revealed that my cash had all but dwindled away, so a visit to the cash machine was in order. Repeating what I had done many times before, I trustingly fed in my debit card to the ATM – and that was basically the last I ever saw of it!

To pardon a very bad pun I guess it was always on the cards – the debit card had developed a split down one side. As the embedded Microchip was intact, I assumed it would be ok as this is effectively the working part of the debit card, where all the details are stored. This theory seemed to hold water for quite a while, as the card carried on working as the split got worse, until the inevitable happened – the card sheared into two pieces. It was when I placed the Microchipped half of the debit card into the cash dispenser that it was swallowed and never to be seen again.

Being unable to eject the card using the keyboard (it didn’t even register as being read by the ATM!) I went into the bank that housed the ‘hole in the wall’, to be told that it was game over – my debit card had been destroyed. The new one I ordered would take up to a week to reach me.

grid no more?

Apart from the inconvenience (the only way I can get cash now is in working hours over the bank counter), I feel very helpless, as I have grown to rely on the virtual 24/7 availability of ATMs, and the ease of paying by card. Until my new debit card reaches me I am effectively off the grid.

Smoothie Operator

It was nice to eventually reach the cafe. Its walls provided a welcome break from the hot sunshine that was beating down relentlessly during my lunchtime foray into Leatherhead. At the counter, the pretty Polish waitress was drinking one of these:

Smooth...

The cafe has had Smoothie making capability for quite some time – the owner, a very nice woman who used to work in IT, bought in the necessary equipment a while back as trade started to get busier. The waitress’s enthusiasm for them seemed genuine enough, as she told me that they were healthy, and that they filled her up. I had to agree that they did look good, and from what I could see around the store, they were going down well with the other customers.

The owner was kind enough to allow me a free sample of the strawberry flavoured one. Being a bit of a proponent of the fast food lifestyle, my experience of Smoothie drinking is not extensive, but I did really like the flavour – so much so that I am definitely going to buy one when I go to the cafe tomorrow.

I think I have just fallen for the oldest sales technique in the book!

In praise of shorter women

Now one thing I can say in all honesty is that I have never been heightist – remembering the girls I dated in the past, I can’t think of one time where the matter of their tallness was ever factored into my reasons for wanting to go out with them. In respect of raw data, I would say their heights were more of less ranged between 5 foot three – five foot nine.

One Height fits all?

For some guys, the matter of height is a real issue – at Uni, I remember one mate who was fixated on trying to date girls who were over six foot – any women who lacked this stature were seriously off his radar. A while ago, an old school friend of mine claimed that he could never go out with a girl who was over five foot four, as he felt that it would not ‘look right’. In recent times this height fascism has softened considerably, but I can’t really say why.

The above ramblings were triggered by some events that occurred midweek. I had just completed a bit of voluntary work in the Staines/Chertsey area, and after a fairly swift drive down the A3, I was back in Surbiton at around 9.30pm, and a hurriedly consumed McDonalds meal meant that I was running even later than planned. I had a pretty good idea what pub my mate would be in, but on arrival, it looked as if I had got it all wrong – he was no where to be seen.

I popped outside to make a quick call, and there he was, talking to a girl that I had seen around the pub before. After joining them, I got talking to a girl who was a former drama student. I hadn’t really seen her on my approach as she was very short – she can’t have been more than 5 foot 1. She seemed really nice.

I think the fact that she was very pretty and blonde helped though…

Prince of Wales Prognosis

The outbound train left New Malden Station shortly after 7pm, and as I cleared the motley collection of free newspapers from my seat, it occurred to me that it had been absolutely ages since I last had a curry in Wimbledon. The reason for this was far from clear, and the only thing I could attribute it to was the abundance of fine curry houses in the New Malden and Worcester Park locales. All these ruminations were about to be rendered pretty much academic though, as the Wimbledon curry drought was soon to be over that very Friday evening.

The Ahmed Tandoori was the recommended venue, and after meeting up with my friends, we made our way to the restaurant which was on that bit of the Broadway that joins Queens Road, just opposite the Centre Court Complex. The food well lived up to expectations, and after the popadoms, a brief interjection from one of the other diners, two courses, and the mandatory bottles of Cobra, we were all absolutely full. Deciding to round off the evening with a final pint, we headed back across the Broadway to this pub, which is just on the corner of Hartfield Road:

Worlds best boozer or utter loser?

Much has been written about the Prince of Wales (POW), admittedly mainly on my blogs. It’s one of my favorite haunts of all time, and it’s been part of my life for years. I would even say it is the closest thing I have to a spiritual home. I don’t think my two friends were that impressed though – one thought the music was a bit loud, and to be fair, she was right on that night. The other one found it a bit overcrowded, and at the time, it was pretty packed. Their perceptions have also been shaped from earlier visits we made a few years back, where the POW was not at its best, so their memories of the place where not warm and positive, which is the case for my good self.

So accepting the fact that not everyone can be convinced of the merits of the POW, I will just have to, in the words of Jon Bon Jovi, keep the faith!

Fairfield Folly?

Kingston town centre was pretty packed that weekend afternoon. The warmth and the early evening sunshine were having there usual effect – the residents of the Royal Borough were out in droves. Sheltering from the heat in a cafe just off the Eden Walk complex, I was definitely in no mood to hurry my latte, but circumstances were starting to overtake events – the very attractive East European waitresses were showing signs of starting to pack things up. Not wanting to be the reason for prolonging their working day any more than necessary, I quickly finished the coffee, and reluctantly rejoined the hubbub of the crowds in the bright sunlight.

It was time for me to make the call. The evenings beer drinking activities needed to be finalised, so feeling the need for a bit more space and privacy, I made my way across Brook Street, passed the council car park, to the Fairfield. For those of you who don’t know, the Fairfield is a large green that is bordered by the Fairfield and Fairfield South Roads, and is bisected down the middle by the path shown below:

Far from the maddening crowd...

This turned out to be a pretty good move, as, on approach to the park, the crowds thinned out to more workable levels, and as I made my way down the central path, I was pleased to see there was even a free bench in the shade. Those other Kingstonites obviously didn’t know what they were missing!

As I made my call, I took in the familiar surroundings of the green, and as I saw the fitness frames dotted around the outskirts of the grassland, it occurred to me that they offered the potential to augment my back treatment for free – over the last couple of years I have been taking measures to strengthen and reshape my spine to overcome the effects of compacted discs in the lower lumber region. Most of the fitness frames looked designed to do the exercise I need, for example, the chin up frame would help strengthen my shoulders.

The advantage of this is that it would save money on the gym, but on reflection, I think this course of action would be a mistake for the following reasons:

1) Exercising on the green would not be much fun in rainy and cold weather.

2) Using the Fitness frames in public would make me look like a total plonker!

At least I got my night out sorted.

Kingston Jam’in

What’s the first thing you think of when the fair township of Kingston upon Thames is mentioned? If you’re anything like me, associations include films at the Rotunda, shopping at the Bentals Centre, sampling the cafe culture on the Eden Walk complex, and snacking at McDonalds. A Jazz club wouldn’t have even made the running – or at least not until yesterday anyway.

Hitting the right notes?

Yep. It’s true. Kingston has a Jazz Club, and has done for a number of years. Situated on Richmond Road, about three hundred yards from Kingston Railway Station, the Grey Horse Pub has been hosting Jazz since the 1950’s, and has developed a reputation as one of London’s premier Jazz venues. With the passage of time, the rise in popularity of other musical genres such as Rock/Pop provided the driver that spawned the latest incarnation of music at the Grey Horse, The Ram Jam Club.

The Ram Jam Club is located at the back of the Grey Horse, and the music takes place in a restaurant and bar that the publicity blurb describes as ‘intimate’. Live Jazz is still played there, but the musical range has been extended to include Blues and Funk. Rock music also gets an airing, but my understanding is that this takes place in a different room! The Ram Jam Club also plays host to the ‘Crack Comedy Club’ on Sundays.

What I find interesting about the place is the wide array of bands that play there – as well as featuring the more established and well known acts, new and upcoming musicians are also given a platform.

Price wise the Ram Jam ticks quite a few boxes. For some of the events, such as the Singer/Songwriter night on Tuesday, it looks as if admission is free. The average admission price for the live music is around £7.00-£8.00, which is not bad for a venue in London.

I heard about all this from a pre-squash match conversation last night – the guy I was playing against is in one of the bands that play there. This was all a bit of a revelation to me as the only music venue I knew about in the Kingston area was ‘The Fighting Cocks’ in London Road. If you want any more details about my squash opponent’s band just drop me a comment. Ditto if you have been to the Ram Jam Club before. Going by what I have heard, it seems worth a visit.

Vote Goat!

Before you say it, I am not for one moment suggesting that goats should stand for Parliament, though if you think about it, I guess they would be a lot less likely to abuse their expense claims – think on, UK electorate. The voting I am rambling on about took place last Bank Holiday Monday.

On that overcast and rainy morning, some friends, along with my good self, made our way inwards from South West London to a place called Little Venice. Famed mainly for the processing of UK passports, it is also very aptly named, as large parts of the town are bisected by bridges that straddle the many canals. Nice though it was, we were only there as it formed the starting point for our canal boat trip.

The princely sum of £6.00 seemed a very reasonable price for a place on the barge to Camden Lock. Each of us got a seat, and it wasn’t at all crowded. The forty five minute or so journey was taken at a very sedate speed – even people walking their dogs on the path alongside the canal were able to outpace us! This allowed us plenty of time to take in the scenery, which even included a bit of London Zoo.

The names used for some of the river craft and house boats that were randomly dotted along the route could be a bit eclectic – it seemed that the more camp and twee a barge looked, the more macho a name it would have and vice versa, for example, a bright pink barge decked out with girly looking flowers would have a name like ‘Fiery Floater Nemeses’, whilst a jet black, rugged, tough,  power house of a river boat would proudly boast the title of ‘Gingham Fairie’. The potential for entendres was endless!

Nice with Rice!

On arrival at Camden Lock, the tantalising smell of cooking food from the nearby market stalls reminded us all that it was time for lunch. There was a bit of a debate about what to have in the group – one option was to eat at a Weatherspoons pub nearby on the Lock side, whilst the alternative was to try a dish from the market which looked and smelled really good – curried goat. A vote was taken, and the curried goat was duly elected as the lunch of choice. I had mine with rice and a bit of salad. It certainly hit the spot.

Triple hammy?

Have you ever had that feeling of having missed the boat? That a momentous happening has just completely passed you by? To quote that most easy listeningly-mungus of bands ‘Genesis’, I am in a ‘Land of Confusion’, mainly due to the following event that occurred just over a week ago.

I had arrived at my destination early. Surprisingly, my train had pulled into Waterloo Station on time, which gave me a full fifteen minutes before I was due to meet up with some friends. Feeling some mid morning pangs of hunger kick in, I made my way across the Station concourse to the Burger King (BK) kiosk, and it was as my Double Cheeseburger was being prepared that I saw it – one of the signs next to the menu board displayed an advert for this:

Triple-tastic?

The Triple Whopper is an extension of something that to me is very much a known quantity – up to this point the largest BK burger I knew of was the mighty Double Whopper, which for the uninitiated, comprises of two quarter pounder burgers, topped off in a bun with some salad, pickle and gooey sauce. I had feasted on these several times over the years, usually as a precursor to a few pints at the Prince of Wales pub in Wimbledon.

This was effectively my first introduction to the concept of the Triple Whopper, which, from looking around on the web, should not have been the case, as by my preliminary estimates, they seem to have come onto the scene around December 2005. It was used to promote the most recent remake of the ‘King Kong’ movie (the one that starred the lovely Naomi Watts), and in the United States BK restaurants, the Triple Whopper is served with cheese as standard.

What I don’t understand is how the existence of something like this could have slipped under the radar for almost four years, especially for someone with as burger-centric a life style as my good self. I must be losing my edge!

If anyone has any more data on the above just drop me a line…

To twitter or not to twitter…

…that is the question, as that legendry bard William Shakespeare once said, or probably would have done had he lived in 21st Centaury New Malden like my good self.

Yep. I am seriously thinking about signing up to the latest thing in social networking sites, Twitter.

Twitter-tastic?

For anyone who has been living on Mars, Twitter is a site that allows you, through the wonder of modern technology, to let the world at large know exactly what you are doing in real time. It works a bit like SMS text messaging on a mobile phone – you send a message (known as a twitter) via the site, which will be received by anyone who subscribes to your Twitter page, who are known as ‘followers’ (logically they should be called twits, but I guess this is not a very user friendly label!), who have the option of sending you a return twitter. As well as PC’s and laptops, this service is also available on mobile phones and a vast array of other communications media, so the potential for audience reach should be practically limitless.

From what I have heard, the site has some very high profile members – the comedian and actor Stephen Fry is reputed to be addicted to ‘Twittering’, and does so with incredible regularity. These microchip musings have, over time, built up a large and very loyal fan base, with his following rumored to be in the tens of thousands.

My reason for wanting to join is so I can have a space to promote stuff like this blogg. What’s holding me back is the realisation that for a Twitter Page to get and maintain a following, things have got to happen that are worth twittering about – whilst having a cup of instant soup is undoubtedly one of the highlights of my day (and I can tell you now, some pretty eclectic flavors have been involved!) would the twitter ‘Had a nice cup of Tomato soup’ really draw in the crowds? I think, like me, most people would consider this sort of entry to be more of a twatter!

I certainly would be interested to hear about your experiences of Twitter, so if you have any thoughts or advice, please drop me a comment.

Admission Impossible

This is one of those things in life that is pretty hard to confess to. Whilst it won’t exactly make me a social pariah, the following admission could potentially land me with the label of ‘geek’, but what the hell – you only live once!

For the past few years, I have been a regular fan of…Formulae 1 Motor racing.

High Octane

For me, Formulae 1 falls into that curious category of sports whose massive followings are really hard to explain. For those of you who don’t know how it works, Formulae 1 is a car racing competition between a number of teams such as Ferrari and Brawn GB. Each team has two cars per race, which are driven by highly paid individuals such as Jenson Button and Lewis Hamilton, and all the action takes place on various car racing circuits dotted around the globe over the course of the race season. The drivers and their respective teams who finish in the winning positions (from 1st to 8th) win points, which are totted up over the 17 races of the competition. For the drivers, the winner is the one who has finished in 1st place the most times. For the teams, it is literally a case of points make prizes – the team with the most points wins.

Whilst the above may all sound very hum drum, in practice it makes for engrossing viewing. The cars used are pretty funky looking bits of kit – aerodynamically sculpted and honed to maximise speed, they look positively space aged, and as they are capable of reaching speeds in excess of 200mph, they are the ultimate sports car enthusiasts dream. The drama of the race start from the grid, the unfolding of the team strategies used, not to mention the chance to see some spectacular crashes and collisions – all form the ingredients of what is a pretty high octane mix.

It definitely is a rich mans game though, as the costs for the development and maintenance of the cars are astronomic. For a start, car parts are not cheap – a new front cone can cost over £100,000! A lot of technical support is also required – very sophisticated equipment is used to track and monitor the cars progress as they traverse the motor circuit. It can mount up to hundreds of millions of pounds, though moves have recently been made by the Formulae 1 governing body to limit this to £40 million, which is still a tidy sum to my mind!

This season, 2009, looks to be a good one as some recent rule changes in respect of car design has blown the whole competition wide open, so I will have something worthwhile to watch on Sunday afternoons for quite a few months.

Oh well. At least it is not as bad as train spotting…