It's not just normal paranoia

Have you ever felt like people were looking at you? I don't mean because you've got egg down your tie, I mean more the way people stare at someone famous they've unexpectedly just clocked. It's just been happening to me in Waitrose. So either I'm the spit of some paedo who's all over the Sunday papers, or maybe a pop star? I prefer to imagine the latter, natch. Still, rather disconcerting. Unlike a 'celeb', I doubt if Hello will be interested in shelling out a hundred grand for my exclusive story and picture feature, though, sadly.

Apple pie and ...

Occasionally a car number plate occurs to me which theoretically could exist somewhere. Today I imagined CU57ARD.

A couple of thoughts on English and French things

First a little rant ("What?" I hear you cry, "that's just so unlike you Hamish"); then an "Ah-ha, told you so" moment.

So, to begin with, apparently, 'they' are going to ban a couple of fine British traditions. Can it really be true that dustcarts can no longer display rescued cuddly toys on the radiator grille? And what's this about ice cream vans?

My beloved brother has been heard to suggest that he would like to move to India, or Goa, or somewhere, to live out his retirement in peace from the infernal regulators, 'health & safety' vigilantes and sundry other do-gooders with which our country is increasingly afflicted. For goodness' sake don't mention these latest ridiculous ideas to him, or he'll book the bloody ticket, and that'll be the last we ever see of him. Seriously.

Incidentally, despite exhaustive searching on t'internet, I can't find any references to the dustcart story, so maybe it's just an urban myth (allegedly the ban would be because children could be run over trying to prise a teddy bear off the front of the vehicle) but of course if you know better, let me know.

Once upon a long ago I lived in Paris, and naturally as a family we bought, daily, what I now refer to awkwardly as "French sticks", but which then I just knew as baguettes. There were, essentially, two styles: the baton, which was very long and thin, and another which I have been certain for as long as I can recall, was referred to as a batard. But since returning from France at the age of seven or so, any grown-up I have mentioned this to has insisted, shocked, that batard is a very rude word and could not possibly have been a loaf of bread. (Bâtard is indeed French for bastard.)

So, gentle reader, imagine my delight when I examined closely a photograph in the July edition of Waitrose Food Illustrated, the upmarket supermarket's monthly glossy magazine. Accompanying an unashamedly evocative article entitled C'est la vie is a picture of the price board (prix de vente du pain) presumably outside a boulangerie, clearly showing listed a Pain "Batard" de 300 grammes at FF3,80, along with other products including Baguettes de 300 grammes at FF4,00.

So there. Do you think Waitrose will mind if I scan the pic and post it here? I might do...

I have just looked up batard in the Collins-Robert French-English dictionary I have had since the sixth form, and it suggests, as well as the common, vulgar, meaning, that it also has the bread-based translation of "Vienna roll", whatever one of those is. Hmmm...

What a plonker

Have you ever popped a bottle of room-temperature beer into the freezer 'just for a few minutes' to chill, but then forgotten about it? I did the other day...

A bit of a catch-up

Enormous erection
A couple of weeks ago whilst travelling across-country, I found myself unexpectedly right underneath the Emley Moor transmitter in West Yorkshire. Wow, it's impressive! I mean, I've seen it many times before, of course, across tens of miles of countryside, as the telecommunications beacon it surely is. But it's taller than the Eiffel Tower, you know?

Steve's birthday

The Friday of Steve's birthday we both had the day off and went down to Salisbury, where we ate at The Lemon Tree. Very pleasant, and I wouldn't hesitate to reccommend it. On the Saturday, as Steve's Birthday Treat, we went to the cinema to watch the new Indiana Jones film. The Odeon in the New Canal is, architecturally, a very interseting building, but sadly the main screen has a disappointing sound set-up. Of course we don't want a huge multiplex on the outskirts to destroy the character of the town centre, and I am looking forward to seeing many more films at the Odeon, but perhaps for the must-see blockbusters a trip down to Southampton may have to be arranged.

Burly Chassis

On the way home on Sunday evening we came across a beautiful silver Aston Martin DB5 on the M25 (this was the car Sean Connery's James Bond drove in Goldfinger and Thunderball, in the mid-sixties). With slowish traffic across four or five lanes Steve was able to get into various positions for me to try and take some pictures, the best of which is reproduced here. Click on it for a larger version and you'll be able to see the two passengers are grinning at me!

Bibulous

Wednesday last week to Imbibe in Blackfriars for a pub quiz in aid of a number of charities, organised by Steve's indefatigable fund-raising colleague Simon. Great fun, and a slightly bizarre mystery-tour lift home afterwards with another colleague.

House move latest:
Still waiting.


Wooo-eeee-oooo

Last Saturday was the first of the two-parter Doctor Who season finale. Steve was, to put it mildly, captivated by the unfolding storyline - as you can see!

Health news

In Monday's Times was a story about the NHS, and the accompanying photo had this caption: "Aneira Thomas, pictured at the age of 4, was named for Aneurin Bevin". Dear Times, please please do not Americanise the term "named after". I know that "named for" makes exactly as much sense, and moreover is perfectly comprehensible to every reader, but come on.

Clarkson said it, too, in the report on the Mercerdes, filmed in the Black Hills in Wales, in the second Top Gear in the new series.

Incidentally, reading the newspaper story I learned that the 1.5 million employees of the NHS are exceeded only by the Chinese People's Liberation Army, Wal-Mart, and Indian Railways.

One year on
The 1st of July saw the first anniversary of the smoking ban in England, in case you missed it. Or cared.

What a boring summer it would be...

Apparently Westminster City Council wants to ban all drinking outside licensed premises in Soho. Can you imagine what that would look like? No restaurant tables outside, no seating outside the pubs. It would be awful. Naturally, there's a petition.

Please highlight this to anyone who might sign.

Once in a while...

Just occasionally I get to drive my car and really enjoy the experience. It doesn't happen often these days on Britain's congested roads. A couple of weeks ago I was able to chuck the car through some very satisfying south-Welsh twists and turns, and this morning I lifted Ian from Salisbury to Tollard Royal (he's doing a circular walk) through some pretty Wiltshire villages. And Roxana, Steve and I are off out there again very shortly to join him for lunch at the King John Inn, so I get to do it again!

Fab show

Thoroughly good evening at the Palace Theatre. Go and see it - but only if you don't mind tasteless show tunes about the Jews, the Gays ... and the French! "Lovingly ripped off from Monty Python and the Holy Grail," says the publicity, and it surely is, but expands to satirise musical theatre in general. Highly recommended.

Tonight

This is where we are tonight! Will post review later.

Springwatch - the real story

Just received this text from my sister.
"Bluetits fledged. Two on kitchen floor - now in compost bin. Third in flower bed - cats locked in house - parents trying to encourage baby to join them."