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Boss Radio

The last of the funk powered trains...

Posts tagged with "sun"

So THAT'S what an Indian summer is.

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This time last year it was snowing.

This year we're basking in really nice warm weather with quite a lot of sun, in fact yesterday I was sitting outside in an open air cafe near the beach on Hayling Island. They would normally have shut for the season nearly a month ago, this time they were so busy they ran out of eggs.

Before I'd ordered my ommelette I might add.

Last time I tried to order an ommelette I was in a pub, and their gas wasn't working so they had plenty of eggs, they just couldn't cook them. I'd cook one myself but I can't seem to make a decent ommelette to save my life. Mine come out thick black on the bottom, and all runny on top. A bit like an upside down beetle really.

But I digress.

Apparently the reason for our good weather is low pressure out in the Atlantic dragging warm weather up from the south. As far south as India in fact. All these years I've been assuming that Indian Summer was something to do with the indigenous peoples of North America.

And all these years I've been wrong.

And the verdict is.... Can you wait till I've read this newspaper?

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So Gordon Brown has just made his make or break speech and early opinions are, well... Not very invigorating to be honest.

They basically ran the gamut from "That's what he always says" to "That's what they all say." I'm guessing you can guess the political slant of the responders by which reply they go for.

The reason for this dearth of constructive critique is that the newspapers haven't come out yet. Tomorrow nearly everyone will have an opinion, and for a frighteningly high percentage of them it will be based upon what their choice of 'paper has to say. And Britain's favourite daily is The Sun.

In other words Rupert Murdoch will be dictating how people will eventually vote in the next election.

That's not my opinion, by the way, it's the opinion of The Sun itself, and of the politicians who woo the Murdoch clan at every available opportunity. Which I find a little frightening. The thing is, all newspapers are registered as such, it gives them certain privileges. To me, any 'paper which publishes opinions as news should lose that registration, opinions should be kept to the opinion columns.

Meanwhile I can but exhort the Sun's 10 million readers to think for themselves whilst they're admiring page three with one hand. Don't let Rupert Murdoch tell you what to think.

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If anyone noticed my several week's absence and wondered why, I just thought I'd mention. I downloaded Opera 10 for Mandriva Linux, and it doesn't work. It doesn't even load. Hence I am writing this on a pretty pink laptop running XP, and I don't like it.

XP that is, not the pretty pink computer, which I shall continue to worship for at least as long as it takes for this to get published...

Another day at the seaside

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There's one thing I always do when we go to the seaside, and that's page through all the radio channels on the car radio. The sea is great for carrying radio signals.

So there I was, flipping, and I came across a radio station that we agreed seemed to be playing the perfect music for a hot, sunny, slightly seamisty day. Unfortunately I'd tuned in almost at the end of the record, but before I could mutter "Oh well" and retune, a strangely similar record came on.

After a few minutes of listening whilst we devoured our ice creams (Or 'isis crims' as I will insist upon calling them in homage to The Marx Brothers) it became apparent that this was Radio Similar-Records we were listening to. Every track they played was a basic rhythm section of bass, drums, and electric keyboard. They all had Latin percussion, but it mostly sounded like it was generated electronically either by a machine or a tape loop. Over this there would sometimes be other instruments, like a guitar or another keyboard, and on top of that there'd be something else. Sometimes it would be a sax tootling at random, or a vibraphone tootling at random, or a voice tootling at random. The voice would always be talking in a quiet, relaxed sort of way, but never said very much that made sense, unless the ones who spoke in foreign, which I'm not very fluent in, were making some kind of sense.

The tootler on top was left to do his or her thing, but all the elements providing the background, which was always a repeated riff with just a few of the records having a bit of variation towards the end of the track, being faded in and out by some idiot with a mixing desk and nothing better to do.

After a while it got hypnotic and we got giggly. "The percussion's gone!", "The pecussion's back!", "Yeah, but the drums have gone now..."

Mum thought the station sounded Portugese, I don't think, even with all that water, that a signal could travel that far that well, I also couldn't establish exactly why it sounded Portugese, but what the heck, wherever it came from it kept us entertained just wondering who it could possibly be aimed at. Who'd want to listen to this stuff? As we drove off and the signal quickly vanished we suddenly realised.

It was aimed at us.

Suddenly I'm a redhead.

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There's something insidious about loosing your hair. You can see little bits of it falling out in front, but you can't see the top so you think it's alright. You continue to exist in your little 'I'm still pretty hairy' world because no one has that cruelty gene to the extent that they will call you a slaphead until it's obvious, even to you, that the bits disappearing from the front are joining up with the bits that you can't see from the top. In my case things are complicated still further by the fact that some of my hairs are refusing to fall out, instead they continue to sit atop my head, necessitating the occasional cut and comb. All hail the mighty Silvikrin Hair Tonic rip .

There are those that try to maintain that Silvikrin hair tonic was merely charlatan's potion and that it had no real effect upon the human bonce, but I think that my little flag wavers up there and the fact that more and more people are getting balder quicker younger these days proves that the mighty little bottle did indeed have secret mystery resorative powers no longer availble to man.

Alas the mighty super-gro food for the head and the hair that should grow upon it is no more, and thus it was that I went to buy a new car.

I may not have mentioned this lately, but my mother had problems with her old car, especially in hot weather, which we've had quite a lot of recently, so my sister and her husband rather generously offered to buy her a new one and last wednesday they came around to take us out to look at a few garages. It looked slightly overcast outside and the thought of taking a hat/cap with me never entered my head (More evidence, were it needed, of the damage being done to my upper extremety by the lack of any kind of hair-assistor-stuff). Naturally the sun came out, in spades.

As soon as we stepped out of the first showroom to wander around the yard I knew I was going to be in trouble. It felt really silly walking around looking at cars with my hands over my head but they were the only protection I had, so I wandered around looking like a prisoner-of-war trying to make sensible evaluations of over-priced second hand transportation that I could hardly see for the sun reflecting off their super-polished outer shells.

The second salesroom was a bit better, it had lots of trees that I could stand under while I pretended to analyse the array of features spread before me in the guize of everyday cars. Alas, we drew another blank. Even 2nd hand cars it seemed were now out of our price range. Then on our way to the third "Previously used vehicles" venue we spotted a garage with lots of price signs on the cars parked outside. We stopped to look. The prices were just so much better...

It was now just turned mid day, internet standard time, which meant that the sun was at it's zenith as we wandered around the lot looking at car after car. The guy doing the selling thought I might be interested in a nice red Mazda sports (Vroom vroom...) which indeed I was, I like the sound of Mazda engines. Where other engines tick over the Mazda hums. There was a problem though. Only the driver's seat was fully adjustable, and mum couldn't see over the dash. Salesmanguy's suggestion that she could use a big cushion didn't go down too well with me. For over one and a half thou' I don't expect to have to buy a cushion.

So we looked at other cars, and others, and more others, and all the time the sun was beating down upon my poor old achin' head.

Bottom line, when we finally got home I was in pain. I splashed water all over my head, several times, then smothered it in aftersun cream, a few hours later I went to bed.

Yesterday I awoke and my head had gone crisp. It was dry and hurt like mad if I tried to flex the skin at all. I spent the day complaining about it.

Today I looked at myself in the mirror. I have a bright red head. A bright red head that looks really silly. A bright red head that looks really silly and hurts.

Where's the Silvikrin hair tonic when you need it?
October 2008
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