Stuff and nonsense
Don’t have a cow, man
You know the expression “might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb”? A former police officer seems to be taking it as a motto. Not only has he been charged with sexual assualt on humans, but he’s also been accused of getting oral sex from a cow.
Additional charges have been filed against former Moorestown police officer Robert Melia after allegations surfaced last week that he performed several sexual acts with livestock, specifically cows. Melia, 38, of 126 Cottage Avenue in Moorestown has been charged with four counts of animal cruelty after purposely and knowingly tormenting an animal, specifically by having a cow perform fellatio
[via Fark]
Save the environment by making your bathroom look like the toilets in Doom 3
It should have been easy. Bulb burns out in the bathroom. Decide to do the right thing and put an energy saver in there instead of a cheap incandescent job. Buy energy saver. Put energy saver in bathroom. Earn the undying gratitude of polar bears. Easy!
Not easy. I bought a soft glow bulb labelled “60W equivalent” in Tesco for about a million jillion pounds, I slapped it into the light fitting, and I switched it on. It made my bathroom look like something you’d expect dead bodies to be sawed up in. Bright doesn’t begin to describe it - it’s a vicious, bluey light that makes any room look like a pathology lab, or the toilets in Doom 3. Have you seen the film Sunshine? Remember the bit where the bloke opens up the blinds to let all the light in, and it all goes burny and scary and horrible? Or have you seen any film showing what happens when they drop an atom bomb on your shed? Turning on my bathroom light was pretty much like that. I’m scared to look in the mirror in case I’ve lost all my skin.
Maybe there are a few digits missing from the packaging and I’ve installed a 6000W bulb by mistake, or maybe it’s that energy saving bulbs are unnecessarily complicated and confusing. My money’s on the latter.
To be fair, energy saving bulbs are labelled so you know what you’re getting. Just compare the milliwatt figures and the number of lumens. If, like me, you neither know what millwatts and lumens mean in this context and can’t be arsed finding out, the labelling might as well tell you the bulb’s favourite pasta or the name of the manufacturer’s mother-in-law.
For what it’s worth, Philips Softone energy savers seem to do the job; everything else turns your house into a scene from Doom 3. It may be something to do with milliwatts and lumens, or it may be that Philips’ employees have superior taste in pasta.
Save the environment by, er, buying a new car
I know that the reasons given for tax increases are usually lies - the only reason is to boost government coffers - but the supposed environmental reasons for increasing car tax really bug me. I’ve got a knackered old Saab which is seven years old and therefore comes under the new regime, so from next year I’ll have to shell out a fifth of its value in car tax every year. Come to think of it, it’ll be more than a fifth because by next year it’ll be worth approximately 2p and the annual tax will be £300.
Given that the kind of car I need doesn’t change - I can’t fit a baby, a pram and a dog in a Smart - and that the tax is painful, that gives me two options. I can get an older estate car, or I can buy a newer estate car.
Older isn’t that green, because older cars pollute more. If I go back one year and buy an identical Saab, the petrol and the diesel versions both pump out more CO2 than my current car, because the engines were revised to make them less polluting in 2001. Other manufacturers aren’t any better. An eight-year-old Mondeo estate pumps out more CO2 than my seven-year-old Saab whether I go for the petrol or the diesel. And of course, as cars get older they become dirtier.
Newer isn’t very green either, because most of a car’s environmental impact is in its manufacture. So changing a car that’s running more or less okay in favour of a newer one is just wasteful, and kills polar bears.
Which leaves a third option: keep the car, pay the tax, and don’t change anything.
Only a cynic would suggest that that’s exactly what the government expects most of us to do…
Life’s a gas
Apropos nothing…
Cost of filling a car with petrol in the US: $62 (£36).
Cost of filling a car with petrol in the UK: £71 ($142).
Wanking for coins
The BBC reports that webcam stripping jobs are being advertised in Jobcentres.
“Do you have an internet ready computer and a webcam? If yes, Barcode18.tv is looking for adults aged 18+ for immediate start either from home or from employer site in Mitcham, Surrey.
“Guaranteed minimum wages per 4 hour shift. Duties require the successful applicant to be nude/semi-nude.”
Under the heading “webcam operators” the company said it offered £10 an hour with 50% commission.
Let’s twitch again, like we did last summer
A few days before we left America, The Twitch came back. It’s something I get when I’m not getting enough sleep: a pulsing in the lower eyelid that drives you nuts but that other people generally can’t see. But this time it’s got creative: instead of a single twitching eyelid, my eyes are taking it in turns. So Monday is the left eye, Tuesday is the right, Wednesday is left again and so on.
It’s been going on for nearly a fortnight now, so naturally I’ve done some digging to find out what causes it. And according to medline, it’s caused by the combination of too little sleep and too much caffeine. Which means it’s caused by MY LIFE. Great!
American cars
When I was away I drove a Dodge Charger, a big dumb car that I’m reliably informed is the choice of annoying people with no class. Which, of course, is why I chose it. And you know what? I loved it. Sure, it doesn’t go around corners, but the Americans have solved that problem by not really having any corners. It eats petrol, but despite the price hikes petrol’s still laughably cheap compared to here. And while it’s one of the smallest things on US roads it’s still massive by UK standards. When I got back, the Saab felt like a Tesco shopping trolley, or maybe a roller-skate.
One thing did strike me, though: US (or at least, Floridian) roads are brilliant. Glass-smooth, impeccably maintained, and generally great, if boring, to drive on. And yet the cars are so insulated from the outside world you don’t feel anything even when you do encounter a rare imperfection. By insulated I mean *really* insulated: I managed to run over various orphans, nuns, deer and puppies without feeling a single bump.
And yet in the UK, whose roads are uniformly terrible, everybody’s driving cars whose suspension is designed to transmit every last wrinkle through the steering wheel and driver’s seat. Given that the roads round my way, and in pretty much every bit of the UK I’ve driven in, would need thousands of pounds of upgrading in order to reach pockmarked dirt track status, that means UK car buyers are all nuts (and getting screwed - you can lease a brand new BMW 3-series in the US for about 3p a month).
Parents! Want to relive those very first days of sleep deprivation?
Then you need BABY JET LAG! Simply fly from one side of the world to the other and back again, and it’s as if you’ve travelled back in time! Say goodbye to your evenings, to unbroken sleep, to functioning like a normal human being! BABY JET LAG!
/shoots self
We fly in 22 hours. What could possibly go wrong?
We’re in America. It’s 11.30pm. We fly home tomorrow night. We’ve had a nice meal, nice wine, a couple of Coronas and a nice chat. God is in his heaven, all is right with the world, and Mrs Bigmouth turns to me and, in a husky voice, makes it very clear that I won’t be getting much sleep tonight.
The huskiness is due to an aircon-transmitted chest infection. The words are “the passports are missing.”
Backtrack. We’ve been all over Florida - Orlando, Miami, Key Largo, Key West, Naples - and somewhere in the fog of baby-related panic (”We need to check out in ten minutes! Feeds! Nappies! Baby! Let’s GO!”) Mrs Bigmouth has lost a rather nice handbag. And the night before we fly, Mrs Bigmouth realises that both her passport and baby Bigmouth’s passport were in said rather nice handbag.
With hindsight, I guess that shouting “for fuck’s sake!” and throwing luggage around the room might not have been the most reassuring way to respond. Oh well.
Cue several hours of phone calls: to the various places we stayed, to the British Consulate’s helpline, to the local police to file a lost passport report. Somewhere around 2am I’ve done as much as I can and fall into bed, before waking at 5am with a head full of “need to do this, need to do that” stuff. Because of my foul-mouthed rants the night before Baby Bigmouth has had an unsettled night and wakes every hour, ensuring Mrs Bigmouth is as sleep-deprived as I am.
Hotel business centre, internet connection, PDFs, prints, form-filling, calls to answering machines. The passports haven’t been found in any of the places we stayed (I did say they were in a rather nice handbag). Then Susan from the British Consulate calls. There’s a problem with getting emergency travel documents. The embassy isn’t open at weekends. We’ll have to arrange a few more days’ stay, travel to Miami on Monday, get new passports. Unless.
Unless BA agrees to take us without documentation.
This is no minor thing. Airlines are responsible for ensuring that the people they carry are the people they should be carrying, and there are serious fines for them if they just transport people without the relevant paperwork. To put it mildly, it’s a long shot.
Susan calls back. BA don’t start work until the afternoon, so we need to drive from one side of Florida to the other and keep our fingers crossed. We should head for the airport and hope BA can do something.
It’s a long drive, I’m so caffeinated my eyeballs are vibrating, and every time I get out of the car for a cigarette - which is approximately every three minutes - the car radios the Insect King, who sends swarms of his subjects to bite me. This helps my mood immensely.
3pm. Susan again. Mike Devver from BA Miami is okay with the idea, but he needs to get an all-clear from UK immigration. This, we’re told, is the longest of long shots. Go to the airport anyway, says Susan. Meet Mike. Hopefully he’ll be able to talk to immigration.
So we drive to Miami, with multiple near-misses on the way, and promptly get lost thanks to Miami’s policy of hiding all the road signs so nobody other than locals know where anything is. The sat-nav’s no help either, as it seems to have been programmed by the Pepsi Max advert “dudes”. “Stay on this road for 200 miles - No! TURN! TURN NOW! WOO-HOO! Near-death experiences on a five-lane highway rock, man!”
Dear Garmin, makers of the StreetPilot GPS: thank your lucky stars tourists aren’t allowed to buy guns. Love and kisses, Gary.
To cut the rest of this story short, Mike from BA sweet-talked UK Immigration and we were able to travel without two of our passports. Even the US TSA staff were nice to us, although they did shout “SUPERVISOR! SUPERVISOR!”, lock Mrs Bigmouth in The Cubicle of Shame and blast her with compressed air for a few minutes while all the other passengers watched, just for a laugh. I guess it’s a perk of the job.
So we got home, and of course BA broke our baby car seat in transit and lost one of our suitcases (now returned, albeit in a state that makes me think somebody mistook it for a trampoline). But thanks to Susan at the British Consulate and Mike at BA, we got home without having to spend a fortune or enduring a couple of very stressful days while trying to keep a five-month-old amused. I can’t thank them enough.
A few things I’ve learnt, then. Other than “don’t lose your passports, you Scots twat”:
* Unless you’re sure you’ll be able to get internet access when you’re away, get the details of the UK Consulate for your area before you travel and keep them in your luggage.
* Make sure there’s enough spending money on your credit card so you can get extra nights’ hotel accommodation and car hire if you need it.
* Share stuff between you when you pack, and if possible carry essentials in your carry-on baggage. Two of the people we travelled with had their baggage lost. One got their bags after 11 days, the other after 14.
* Keep copies of your passport information in your hand luggage. This saves a lot of time and effort.
* Travel insurance is your friend. Replacement passports are £72 each.
* Have other photo ID with you.
* Don’t lose your passports, you Scots twat.
Hello, hello
Apart from the lost passports, the panicky discussions with the embassy, the scary drive, the delays, the missing suitcase, the damaged-in-transit baby seat, the jet lag and the huge bloody hole the electricity board has dug in my driveway… it’s good to be back. I might even blog about something soon, most likely Terminal 5 - a shopping centre with a runway attached and where *nothing* works. It really is quite remarkable.