Minimal

Priceless. Make sure you follow the link too. :)

Hat-tip to Wilka for this one (though his site’s down thanks to Hurricane Jeanne).

Virgin boss in space tourism bid [BBC News]

Sir Richard says it will cost around £100,000 to go on a “Virgin Galactic” spaceliner, and the first flights should begin in about three years’ time

Virgin Galactic! Class! :)

It’s not a beard, it’s just long, unsightly stubble around my chin and upper lip. Documentary evidence that I definitely wasn’t designed to wear facial furniture. Tomorrow, it goes.

Tonight’s Newsnight looks like being another good one. I’ve been pondering that question myself for the last 3 years.

I’m currently trying to organise a karting event for the evening of Tuesday 5th October. I normally manage to get around 10-15 people for these things, but so far, I’ve got only 5 takers. Do you come from the Newcastle/Sunderland/Durham area? Do you fancy a spot of track-based fun on an outdoor circuit? If so, stick a note in my comments (with contact details), or contact me by email. And soon!

If you’re one for lists, here are the full details:

• Venue: Warden Law (Houghton le Spring)
• Date: Tue 5th October
• Time: 7pm arrival at circuit
• Format: 15 mins practice/qualifying, plus a 30-minute race
• Price: £37 (provided it hasn’t changed recently)

Hope to see you there! :)

Last Friday, in amongst the pain of some truly f•••ed up teeth, there was at least a small amount of pleasure. After two weeks in the bodyshop, I got the Mini back, though I didn’t get the chance to drive it much. Last night, however, on the way home from my parents’ place, I let out the customary howl of joy I reserve for such reacquaintances. Cowgate roundabout really is a delight when your steering’s as direct as that in BMW’s finest. Catch me if you can, Corsa boys!

Yes, I know. I am such a boy racer.

*hangs head in shame*

Today, a charity sponsor form for the Great North Run came round the office. The runners in question were the parents of a colleague who recently died in a car crash. You might think I’d have no qualms about putting my name on the sheet, but the charitable cause made me think twice. They want to send very sick and disabled children to Lourdes in the hope of a cure. Call me heartless if you will, but isn’t that in itself a bit sick?

Okay, to someone who actually has a religious belief in this stuff, it might not be. But to me, they’re doing nothing other than giving some badly-off kids false hopes, setting them up for disappointment. The holiday may still do them some good, I suppose, but I can’t help feeling there are better ways to help. Like a holiday without the cruelty of unreasonable expectations.

In the end, I signed the form and made my pledge. In other circumstances, I might not have done. I guess I’m just weak.

Football legend Clough dies [BBC Sport]
It may be a lazy journalistic cliché, but the Beeb have got it bang on with the ‘legend’ tag. Rest in peace, young man.

Bringing my week of enlightenment to a spectacular finale, here’s what I did on Friday evening, Saturday and Sunday:

• Friday: endured severe pain from upper jaw whilst attempting to play poker. Won £3.90 from a £10 stake.
• Saturday: endured severe pain from upper jaw whilst attempting to sleep through it. Almost succeeded.
• Sunday: endured mild pain from upper jaw whilst attempting to feel normal. Almost had a shave.

That last point should probably be explained. Due to the aforementioned severe pain, shaving my top lip has become too agonizing to contemplate. I figured I had three options:

1. Don’t shave: an attractive (if itchy) option to me, but not to anyone else.
2. Shave everywhere except upper lip: errmmm... that’s a moustache. No thanks.
3. Shave a goatee: semi-humourous and almost acceptable, even with my unruly stubble.

So, a goatee it is. Indeed, this week shall henceforth be known as Goatee Week. Feel free to show your solidarity by sporting your own. Female readers need not apply.

Thursday night meant just one thing: UEFA cup football. And, as I’m in no mood to blog about it, see Chris’s verdict on the game (the clue’s in the URL).

See also: Newcastle 2-0 Bnei Sachnin [Soccernet]

If only I had a place of my own, a place where I could put whatever I damn well like on the walls, I’d be in serious danger of splashing £35 (plus international shipping and import tax — bah!) on the screenprint of Sam Brown’s “the future is almost here”. Alternatively, if you want to be my bestest friend ever, you could get me it...?

No, thought not. :)

Update: I’m so weak. I just bought it. Who needs mortgage deposits anyway? :)

Short and sweet, here’s what I’ve been up to tonight:

• 5-a-side kickabout at Powerleague with colleagues past and present. Goal haul: 0. Typical.
• Dinner: microwaved lasagne, consumed with a minimum of mastication (bad tooth). I said mastication!
• Ironing, made bearable by the accompaniment of Franz Ferdinand and Kings of Leon.
• Dancing like your dad and incoherently bawling, redneck-style. (See above.)

Incidentally, the ironing has just reinforced one of the goals for my working life: never, ever get a job that requires you to wear a shirt. Eight years in and the plan’s still on track. :)

Bush and Kerry battle over science [BBC News]

Today’s lunch consists of the Coop’s finest Minestrone soup. Well, ok, the Coop’s only minestrone soup. I was surprised to see on the tin that Minestrone (does it need a capital M?) is a vegetarian-friendly soup. I’d always thought it had a bit of meat in it (feel free to snort at my ignorance). Upon checking the ingredients list, however, I discovered something much more interesting:

1. [...]
2. red peppers,
3. Parmesan cheese*,
4. cabbage,
5. ground paprika,
6. [...]

* made using a vegetarian rennet derived from a genetically modified micro-organism

Kudos to the Coop, not only for being willing to use GM foodstuffs, but for actually telling me about it. Refreshingly open.

To me shame, last night was spent mostly driving around Sunderland. I know, I know, there’s no adequate excuse for such activities. I was, however, looking for Silksworth dry ski slope — something that was significantly easier the first time I went there. I reckon it must be the Corsa effect. It’s turning me into a complete numptey of a driver.

Anyway, I found it in the end and now have Thursday night next week pencilled in for my first snowboarding lesson. Bring it on! :)

Last night, prompted by the prospect of publicly shaming myself, I discovered the secret to avoiding couch potatoness: turn the telly off. Yes, it seems it really is that simple. Choosing the radio instead, I was transformed from zombie to... something less zombie-like. I actually did most of the stuff I said I was going to do. Still didn’t do the ironing, mind, but we don’t want to overdo it, do we?

In fact, the bike even saw half an hour’s action last night before it got too dark to continue. Granted, most of the action involved avoiding parallel parkers, pumping up the rear tyre and getting the chain back on, but it was action nonetheless. Funny, the lengths you’ll go to when you want to avoid TV.

Of course, all of this was distinctly atypical. Maybe once I’ve swallowed my pride I’ll have a regular, unproductive night in. Until then, you’re going to have put up with me marvelling at my ability to do what most people consider the bare minimum. Maybe tomorrow I’ll even cook for myself instead of re-heating Saturday’s left-overs. ;)

...over the next 7 days I intend to chronicle exactly what I get up to outside work. Ashley just asked me what I do of an evening, you see. Fact of the matter is I’ve got absolutely no idea. It’s like some kind of twilight zone.

So, while this journey of discovery may prove a tad dull for you, it’ll be fascinating for me — fascinating to see just how dull my life really is. As a taster, delights for tonight most likely include:

• A trip to the Coop for some asparagus soup and mushrooms
• Combination of said foodstuffs with pasta and bacon
• Cleaning dishes, pots and pans
• Washing and drying clothes
• Ironing, if I can be arsed

Boy, I’m looking forward to it already! Not.

Rodeohead, a bluegrass-style medley of Radiohead songs by Hard ‘n’ Phirm, may have been linked on Matt’s site some months ago, but I figure it’s good enough to re-blog. 4 minutes and 54 seconds of finely-crafted genius. Go listen.

(This post brought to you by the Light Entertainment After A Long Day Of Coding department.)

Starting work at 6:45am is not recommended. While it might earn me bragging rights over an early-starting colleague (the guy’s a machine!), it’s not something I’m about to make a habit of.

Yawn!

I doubt he’ll ever pass by this site, but congratulations to Gary Robertshaw of Whitley Bay on winning the John Cooper Challenge Clubsport championship at Oulton Park this last weekend. Not bad for a series rookie. :)

P.S. Did I ever mention that I beat him at karting last year? Ok, so he was knocked off by a backmarker, but that’s a mere detail. ;)

It’s been quite a while since I wrote a car review, so while my Mini’s in the bodyshop getting £635-worth of cat damage fixed, I may as well bore you to death with an opinion of my courtesy car. The car in question is a metallic blue Vauxhall Corsa ‘Design’. God help us all.

Performance

Right, let’s get this bit out of the way. It sucks.

It’s not the appallingly short gearing that’s the problem (45mph max in second). Nor is it the floaty, driving-a-water-bed ride. Rather, it’s the complete absence of feedback through the steering wheel, pedals and seat that ruin the driving experience. Small steering corrections appear to have no effect, while even significant changes of direction take a disconcerting length of time to be felt under-arse. Driving anywhere at more than 65mph becomes a very tense affair, with every turn of the wheel requiring a fresh leap of faith.

I suppose you could say the car rewards a slower, more fluid driving style. The truth is more the opposite — it simply punishes positive driving of any kind. Not nice.

Practicality

And so to the Corsa’s strength. A few months back, the pube-haired Jeremy Clarkson did 800 miles on one (large) tank of diesel in an Audi A8. Big deal. On my way back from Manchester this weekend, I’d like to think the Corsa bettered that. On the way down there, I maintained a fairly quick pace. By the time I arrived in Didsbury, 155 miles later, my full-to-the-brim tank was just less than half-full. Sensing a challenge, I aimed to get home without a further fuel stop. I made it easily — very easily.

Whereas a quarter tank saw around 70 miles on the way down, I managed 120 miles on the way back. That’s double the Mini’s fuel economy. In fact, had I started the return leg with a full tank, I could’ve done Didsbury to Newcastle, back to Didsbury and then back to Newcastle again without stopping once. Respect is due to the otherwise-crap Vauxhall.

In other areas of practicality, it’s a mixed bag. The power-steering is so soft, that it’s a piece of cake in Tesco’s car park. The boot, though not as big as my Puma’s, is just about big enough for a pair of compact suitcases (as demonstrated by my parents, now somewhere in Arizona). Finally, the driving position is somewhat hampered by a non-adjustable steering wheel and pedals with near-limitless travel.

Conclusion

Your mum would like it; I merely respect its frugality. Nuff said.

But that’s about as excited as I can get at the prospect of Graeme Souness coming to Newcastle. I suppose if he relegates Dyer to the reserves as his first act, he might still win us over.

Yesterday, in the Independent, James Lawton wrote an article that will speak for a lot of Newcastle United fans:

Shepherd’s love of the limelight is matched only by his absolute failure to understand what constitutes the makings of success. It is not, and can never be, the public statement that the man in charge of the most vital asset of all, the team, is on borrowed time.

That Shepherd saw fit to so undermine one of the great figures in English football is a mystery exceeded only by one other. That concerns the 71-year-old Robson’s failure to tell Shepherd where to stick his ideas and his club some time ago.

If you’re at all interested, it’s well worth reading the full article. (Hat-tip to nufc.com for the link.)

Now that I’ve upgraded from Firebird to Firefox (see also part 1 & part 2) and had a few weeks to get settled in, was it worth it? In a word, no.

The only benefits I’ve seen are:

• Rendering of tables appears to be improved (I’ve yet to see Firebird’s problems reappear)
• Improved navigation of toolbar bookmark folders (a bug fix, really)
• Improved out-of-the-box handling of multimedia files
• Nicer document icons in the shell (big deal)
• Steve no longer asks “Why are you still using Firebird?” ;)

Nothing much to write home about, is it? Certainly not worth hours of faffing. Hey ho.

Apparently, I’ve got 5 (five) of them to give away. Well, kind of. There’s a link in my inbox that says “Invite 5 friends to Gmail” and I’m happy to include known regular readers (as well as meatspace friends and acquaintances) in that. Reply to this post, if you’re interested — first come, first served. Provided I know you, that is. :)

Update: three down, two to go.