Leaving more things

It's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you
Without a strong rhyme to step to
Think of how many weak shows you slept through
Time's up, I'm sorry I kept you

Sorry about my lack - I'm on dial-up and I've been the busiest bee... but more of that some other time... I started this post almost 2 months ago!

...................

So, it has been a while since we left the house in Grantchester, and we have just about sorted out the final bills, deposits etc and so the game is very nearly completed.

Leaving as we see in the physical and fiscal realms is also a subject for cleaning in the emotional / spiritual realm. Things should be cleared up before we can move on.

Importantly resolving the past with the future affects different people in different ways; some get very stressed and emotionally insecure about moving, whilst others thrive on the momentum of change, and others get left to clean up.

But importantly leaving means a new start, and a freshness - it was the spring and fittingly it was a spring cleaning. For John and myself there was a beautiful day where we cleaned, and then cleaned out.

To clarify: a few years ago I was given an old Disco DJ desk, complete with two turntables, shiny knobs, a bendy metal light and bendy metal microphone holding arm which, at a couple of feet long, would allow one to DJ with both hands and compere into the mic at the same time.

If it worked properly, even though the turntables had very poor pickup and there was no crossfader, it would have been quite good fun. However, the belts for the turntable drives were warped and proceeded at non-constant speed, adding a sort of drunken effect to all records played. Replacing them would not be so easy, in fact it would be easier to just move house with it, carrying the quite heavy and sizeable box, (which also had a broken hinge, so fell to pieces) from place to place rather than deal with its future.

I had moved house twice already with it, but there would be no third time - I was not going to take it to London.

I assessed my options: take it to a pawn brokers and get a few pounds; dump it at a charity shop; give it to someone who would love cherish and care for it; OR something else. As we were actually in the moving out process, then time was tight and the 'something else' option grew into the most likely - but what was it? Dump it in a field, or even outside Jeffrey Archer's house? Hide it, maybe up a tree? Bury it beneath the vegetable patch? Put it in the phone booth?

After discussing matters with John, he immediately decided the matter, with the following simple and to-the-point question: "Why not just smash it up and burn it?"

So that is what we did;

1. I hit it with a spade (angle on) - buried deep through the DiscoBox exoskeleton. A very effective manouevre, with good satisfaction factor. B+
2. John threw the cast iron boot scraper at it - smashing straight through the outer case. Simple, and quite primitive but exceedingly effective and enjoyable. A-
3. I stabbed it with the garden fork - the prongs went through, but then got a bit stuck. Disappointing. C
4. John hit it (angle on) with the other spade. Same results and score as above.
   
5. I hit it with the sickle. It the only time I've ever hit anything with a sickle, and me oh my, was it good. It went like a knife through butter, straight though. Unbeatable! A++
6. John hit it with the pickaxe (I think) - high damage. A-
7. I hit it with the sledge hammer. After a few turns between us, this resulted in total devastation of the Disco Decks - super. A

We sadly lacked the perspicacity to take a picture of what it looked like in its full glory, or any of the intermediate stages, all that you can see are images of the end result.


We then felt it best and only fitting to cover it in white spirit and light it dangerously close to the garden trellis and within scorching distance of many plants. The smell was awful and the smoke was dense and black - just as though we were burning plastic and rubber at the same time, which we were. Our neighbours cannot have possibly failed to notice, but being good sorts and that, they didn't say anything.


I do realise that some people reading this will find it morally and emotionally offensive. But all that I will say is that it was not just what we wanted to do, it was the ONLY POSSIBLE OUTCOME. It's inevitability will hopefully console you, but I doubt that.


And then we set fire to John's shoes.

End of an age

It was indeed the end of an age; the last day of May in the year of our Lord MMVI, was my last day of work as a Geneticist. The other day I calculated that I first worked in the lab back in Jan 2000 on my final year project, which totals nearly 6.5 years, or 24.53% of my life to date spent working in the same lab.

Obviously there are things that I will miss dearly, and also things that I will miss with rejoicing. There have been some great people and some not so great, and some great times and many not so great.

For the sake of leaving, it was a great day in and of itself. But it became one of the best days of my life when I got an email from someone I had not seen since 2000 and who, to all intents and purposes was dead. Hearing from them made my year, in fact, they made my millennium.

But the thing I am still really struggling with is why I did it in the first place. I don't understand why I did it and I cannot help but feel that this time, at least as far as work is concerned, has been a waste. I really want to feel differently about it, and out of the blue people strangely prophesy that I will, but all I know is that I do not, and have not for a long time.

But work is over, and I am signed on for the first time... a whole new big adventure awaits.
I'm not sure what will become of this Blog, whether it has any place in the future, or whether it is destined to wilt and fade away.

Time will tell...

Backpage News

It's rare that I appear in the national press, but this week I was on the back page of Wednesday's Guardian sports section, which was unexpected but welcome.


Last Saturday Sam, the captain of my football team in Cambridge - City Life, had a reunion of his mates from college including a football match in the morning. As a few people dropped out last minute, I agreed to go and play... it sounded like fun. The trouble was that the match was near Woods Green in London, and kick-off was 09:30 hours.

Friday night was the end of season City Life knees-up, involving a pub, then a curryhouse, then another pub, then a club, and eventually Sam and I got back to his house at 3am. After under 4 hours sleep in the garage, and a remarkable lack of hangover, I got up and we caught the 07:28 to London, along with Sam's dad (62) who was coming too to make up the numbers, with a Latte for breakfast.

Simon Hattenstone - who doesn't talk like how he looks, was one of the opposition defenders in a team of middle-aged middle-class suburbanites. They looked quite old, but the problem for us was that only 2 of our team; Sam and myself, had ever played in an 11-a-side football match before, and there were only 9 of us. We did get an extra player: Brian, who a member of the opposition who had come along only to watch, as he had done his knee in.

There was history as they had played City Life (also referred to as "The Muscular Christians"), a few years ago in a friendly, and had lost 7-1. However, this was not really City Life - this was "The Indigos", and less muscular and less christian. In fact I was the only one who fulfilled both criteria, and even then I do not exactly have an Herculean frame.

It was an end to end game, but experience, and a teenage winger won out in the end and we lost 0-4. But there was nearly a bit of everything needed for a great football match: goals, diving headers, sliding tackles, me getting kicked and a head injury - naturally, one player (Sam's brother) didn't feel a thing, while the other player involved had his eyebrow split open and blood everywhere - the only surprise was that it was not Sam himself who was involved.

Time for a rest and a bit of banter. When the bleeding slowed they taped the wound up with yellow electrical insulation tape and he watched from the touchline before eventually going to hospital to have 4 stitches and massive bandaging.

I talked to Simon Hattenstone in the pub afterwards - he's a lovely bloke - and very gently spoken. One of his team-mates Richard (Ricardo? surely) was an italian restaurant owner and we discussed cooking fish. It was at this point that the poster of 'Sea Fish' which I had got free in the Guardian earlier in the week, and which was in my bag came in handy, as I was seamlessly able to offer a previously unavailable visual aspect to the conversation - "Oh, so that's what a Brill looks like."

Stephen hates these educational wildlife posters - he's been in London too long and I think that the sight of a butterfly or fish unduly affects his sensibilities: scared by anything that is not a starling or a pigeon. I have many more stories about them but I'll not tell them here.

But this wasn't the only time I was in print this week - not only was I in the Guardian, but I have also had my first general publication - "Antagonistic activities of Klp10A and Orbit regulate spindle length, bipolarity and function in vivo" published in the Journal of Cell Science. I'm not sure if you can read the whole thing without access, but if you really want then I could send you a copy - I sincerely doubt that you do though.

Frontpage News

Why does this happen? Maybe this is why...

"Hey, we have a story about clamping down on binge drinking during the world cup, but we don't want to put a picture of binge drinking types on the front of the paper, as it will seem like we are glorifying them and condemning the local government."

"What should we put there instead?"

"Hmmm..."

"Hmmmm....."

"Hmmmmm, hurrrrr....."

"I know, something which shows a positive thing..."

"Yes..."

" - something affirming and hopeful,"

"yes yes I like it,"

" - like the spirit of the worldcup, but with a healthy spin... I've got it!"

"Bingo! Great thinking, I like it... "

"Thanks"

"But what is it exactly?"

"Well, let's put up a picture of school children enjoying a healthy lunch from their new and Jamie-fied school dinner menu. That will in no way look wrong."

"Brilliant! You are correct that it will not look completely ridiculous and like we, the people at eastendlife don't know what we're doing! I love you, you are so great!"

"I know, I can't help it - these ideas just 'come to me', out of the blue y'know..."

"Wow"

A Final Hubcap Crusade...

So, a number of people have commented; verbally, on my blog and also by e-mail that I haven't written anything for ages, and "is everything ok?" All is well, indeed, but busy. I am still up to no good and sowing seeds of chaos like before, but living on average somewhere between Cambridge and London (maybe at Stanstead), like myself, my schemes have become somewhat de-localised. I continue in my current job for a week and a half and then I shall have plenty more time to write things...

We moved out of Grantchester over a month ago - and there are many loose ends to tie up: we haven't received final bills or got our deposit back yet, but there are other things that must be explained. Here is one of them.

Many people have asked me what became of John's hubcap nursehome when we left. Unfortunately hubcaps, it seems, do not travel well.

The whole expedition nearly started in a terifying and horrendous accident, when John got on the bike he was borrowing from Matt Lee, and, thinking that he'd put it in reverse, cycled it straight forward into the pond. Oh dear!


Luckily John was able to fling himself free from the bike before it capitulated into the water, and was saved from drowning. However, the bike got wet and also got some weed on it. We never told Matt as we knew he'd get really angry and, sometimes, if he's been drinking John is scared of him.


Later John and I embarked upon the Grantchester to Ashvale half-pint pub crawl/cycle, with John gently girdling his hubcap collection in his arms. At distinct points along the way they (the hubcaps) seemed to become reawakened to who and what they really were: where they had came from, and the life that they had once known. John was powerless to stop them as, one-by-one, they sprang out of his grasp and onto the road or pavement to continue their hubcap lives anew, in a new and exciting set of adventures...

There were tears in John's eyes as we cycled away - "I know it's the best thing for them, but I love them so! And what if they get scared, or bullied? I hope they'll be alright" he blubbed, "Woe is me! Woe is me! Take me now Lord!" (more tears).

After a few drinks, and some gentle words, John was fine and got over the whole thing remarkably quickly. In fact we then had to stop before the next pub so that he could chase a pheasant through a field.

John had come to the same realisation that I had: we had done what few people thought possible - rehabillitated 3 down-and-out hubcaps and successfully released them into the wild to fend for themselves. And for this we should rejoice.

But I still have mixed emotions about it: unbeknownst to John, who was cycling in front, when the second hubcap (nicknamed "Cappy" by John) self-ejected to discover the great wide world, I ran straight over him and broke him in two. I never told John; "what was that noise?" - "oh nothing, probably kids, messing about...". I'm not proud of lying but I had to do it to protect him.

I'm not sure I will ever be able to tell him now...

Spawn U Like?

It is spring, and this is the time for frogs to make baby frogs. A few weeks ago was just such an occasion in the pond in our back garden, and pictured right you can see frogs making frogs - but interestingly there appears not to be just mummy (middle) and daddy (bottom) frog there, but on the top is 'uncle' frog. Apparently this is normal for frog-kind, and the males are competing to fertilise the females eggs as she lays them. You can see the front feet of the daddy frog slapping uncle frog in the face...

Obviously she was some hot frog

There was obviously a numerical imbalance between male and female frogs as unfortunately the little fella shown below wasn't seeing any of the action...

And here is the results of all their efforts - spawn! And it was a late night musing conversation with HMJ on the subject of spawn, which leads us to the focus of this sorry business... I suggested that it would be interesting to see what it tasted like - and that he should collect a bit to sample.

I received a phone call from HMJ the next evening which roughly followed these lines: "Hiya, I got it", "Got what?" "I got it, I got all of it... all the frogspawn. I got it all" "All of it?" "Yes, it's in the freezer, and I washed it too". Rest assured he had not taken all of it, just from the small pond, and there was plenty in the other, which was replenished by more frog-making in the days following.

So, later that evening, after a stressful days work we went to the supermarket for supplies to act as the basis of our spawn feast. Seeing as frogspawn is froggie eggs, then we would try cooking spawn in the same ways as eggs are often cooked to see if they show similar properties and taste.
And, back then it seemed like a good idea.



First up we had to defrost the spawn as HMJ had thought best to freeze it. The defrosting process was arduous and tortuous, and it turns out that the spawn was pretty much unaffected, although probably even more difficult to separate. HM V joined us in this venture, although she was quite dubious about it to begin with.


First up, just to ease us into the evening, and reduce our let's-not-eat-frogspawn inhibitions we started with a few classy g&t's ala spawn, with a slice of lime.

It was not clear what frogspawn cocktails should be called: Frogtails, or Cockspawns? HMJ cleared up the issue by suggesting Cockspawnfrogtails. It's legit. Anyway they were alright, and the g&t was reasonably unaffected by the introduction of frog eggs.

(SCORE=7.5/10)

Our first course was to be a fried bacon and spawn roll. So we heated the pan and fried the bacon and eggs until they were nicely done. It should be noted that by this point we had defined the smell of frogspawn, which now permeated the whole house - that of SWAMP.


However much the frogspawn was fried it maintained it's original form, and rather disappointingly it did not go white like proper eggs do when you fry them. When is was well fried, we put it in a roll, with optional pickle, and divided it betweenst us three.


Here's Vicky chomping into her bacon and frog-egg buttie... I have to say that it was alright, excepting the bits with fried frogspawn in, which weren't all that nice: it's not that it tasted that nasty, but the swampyness of it, in addition to the horrible slippery consistency combined to produce a non-desirable flavour sensation. My use of pickle to mask flavour and consistency was tactical, and I came out of it the better for it.

(SCORE=4.2/10)

Our second course was to be a frog omelette - so we took frogspawn, some actual egg, a splash of milk and blitzed it together... only that such was the cohesive strength of the spawn jelly that much of the spawn remained intact and unblended! However, enough was blended to lend a slightly unsettling grey colour to the omelette mixture... Also, having learned lessons from the first course, we tactically added high intensity flavours in the form of onion, garlic, pepper and salt.

We cooked the omelette in the normal omelette cooking way, but making sure to burn it slightly just in case eating burnt frogspawn was better, and lets be honest it couldn't get much worse, than unburnt frogspawn. Finally it was ready and we sprinkled some grated mature cheddar on top, with more pepper, just in case, and served on a bed of fresh green cabbage.

Hmmm, bon appetit! And here's HMJ yumming it up.

In fact it was alright, and we finished the whole omelette of our own free will, except for HMV as she is apparently allergic to omelettes. It was alright, however, this may have been due to the extra flavours we had introduced.

(SCORE=6.8/10)

Thinking about it, Round 3 was in many ways wrong. Not just that we were eating frogspawn, which is arguably wrong enough, but consider that combining them with bagels, which are Yiddish in origin and you have broken some Law. It's like having a bacon bagel - nice, but wrong.

Anyway, here are the bagels formed by the hands of Vicky (fore) and John (rear), and don't they look tempting? They were grilled, and then sampled. HMV's sparse use of spawn and experimentation with different flavours meant that hers was quite disgusting, yet easily manageable. HMJ's heaped-spawn method however, brought out less favourable effects. When Vix tried John's it came straight back out, luckily into the bin. JW, shown below looking less than impressed with his own handiwork, almost gagged, but held it down, and as you can see in the bottom picture he is in no way traumatised by his experience...

Then my turn, and the picture below still brings me a wave of nausea. It went into the mouth ok, and I was fine even when chewing it, although as we have established, spawn is not really chewable as it maintains its form and consistency. It was when it came to swallowing it that the difficulty started - it felt as though it had maybe become a frog and was trying to hop back out of my gullet - perchance there is something inherently and quintessentially frog already in the spawn, giving it hopping capabilities, even when it has no legs.

It tried to jump out, but then my constitution took over and consigned the spawn to the stomach. It was unpleasant and spawn bagels are a bad business.

(SCORE=0.4/10)

Next up was boiled eggs - and so as to recreate a natural egg boiling environment for the spawn we took a broken egg shell from the omelette making, and filled it with frog eggs, taped it up with electrical tape (all we could find) and without further ado, plunged it into the fiery cauldron for about 10 mins.

We then put it into the closest eggcup homologue we could find, broke it open at the top and HMV was straight in there with the toasty bread soldier - she didn't throw up after this, but did come close enough that JW and I had no hesistation in foregoing the boiled egg completely. We felt quite ill already.

Again it was disappointing that the egg did not go white, and it did not harden either. Not good.

(SCORE = 1.5/10)

Then we get onto a close relative of the boiled egg; the poached egg. By now we had lost the inertia that this was a good idea and just threw some spawn into a pan of boiling water. Approximately 30 minutes later it looked exactly the same, and our hunger had deserted us to the extent that none of us even tried a morsel of it.

(SCORE=0/10)

While the spawn was poaching, we indulged in what was the most foolish and ill-advised event of the whole evening - Spawn shooters! So, a shot of spawn on the hand, a measure of the worst alcoholic beverage known to eastern europe in the other hand, and blessed relief in the form of a slice of lime.

The strange thing was that the worst bit was not the raw frogspawn, but the Liszt. Nobody knows where it came from but it was left in Portugal Place years ago, and no-one drank it, not even at parties. It is apricot brandy - this sounds like it has the potential to be nice - apricots are nice, and so is brandy. But do not be fooled, in fact take the worst things about apricots and brandy and then add them together and leave to go rotten, and you have the national drink of Hungary. Almost all of the Hungarians I have ever met have been really miserable people, and it is easy to see why when you taste their patriotic tipple - it's enough to make anyone feel unhappy.

See here: John before Liszt and then below a subtle harrowing of the face after drinking Liszt...

Anyway, the shooters were observed by reenacting scenes from films. John did the Lion King, I did the Deerhunter and Vicky did Karate Kid 2.

This was the worst round and this was due entirely to the Liszt.

(SCORE=-3/10)

All in all it was a bad business, however the one benefit is that we are still alive, even though we all felt slightly queasy the next day, and thus are able to warn the likes of you not to try this.

And in many ways this was unsurprising... It even sayeth in the Bible -

9 " 'Of all the creatures living in the water of the seas and the streams, you may eat any that have fins and scales. 10 But all creatures in the seas or streams that do not have fins and scales—whether among all the swarming things or among all the other living creatures in the water—you are to detest. 11 And since you are to detest them, you must not eat their meat and you must detest their carcasses. 12 Anything living in the water that does not have fins and scales is to be detestable to you."

... which is SPOT ON! Eating frogspawn was detestable to me. It's got an answer for everything!