Computer science

I say, what a time it's been. This blog - repository of exquisitely honed observations about SOCIETY and the individuals (inc. dogs) within it, cooking experiments, opinions about work etc - briefly vanished. Malware? Phishing? Who knows. To make it visible again I had to get down and dirty (not at the same time) with Ashkar (GoDaddy) and Adam (Google Platinum Member):

Me: Help, no worky, no worky, help me
Them: Computer thing computer thing
Me: Aaaaaargh
Them: DNS??????
Me: I have heard of this thing of which you speak. I am at the forefront of computer science.
Them: Computer thing computer thing coding?? Computer thing computer thing
Me: No comprende
Them: IP? Pointy Pointy?
Me: YES!! (Thinks: anoint my head, anointy nointy)
Them: DNS, IP, pointy pointy, copy paste....
Me: ...that bit? ...
Them: ...NO by all that is holy DO NOT TOUCH THAT!!!
Me: OK this bit?
Them: Yes yes that bit SLOWLY NOW
Me: Like that
Them: YES congratulations
Me: I wonder what happened
Them: Computer thing computer thing computer thing
Me: Oh yes I see anyway it is working now Thank you Ashkar (GoDaddy) and Adam (Google Platinum Member)

The NET RESULT of this is that I am now back.  Subjects on my mind include batch cooking and 'sheet pan meals' (barf), but before I do a whole post on said subjects let me know if you are interested in knowing about anything else, including:

1. Exploding Christmas Tooth
2. Weeping Because An Essay Was Too Hard
3. Alan The Dog
4. The Vicar Who Said Father Christmas Was Not In The Bible
5. Shenanigans At The Pub
6. Marmalade
7. That Programme on ITV With People Dressed Up As Massive Singing Lizards and Trees
8. Mature Student Latest

Pip pip!

NWM

A Guide To Country Dog Owners And Their Dogs, Part 1

My adoring readers and/or fans will be aware that I am now the adjunct of Cairn terrier called Alan.  Alan is keen on walks and gets a couple a day. This means that I have, for the least year, been exposed to the wide range of dog owners (and dogs) in this particular part of Britain (Cambs/Herts/Essex border).  Here is my guide (Part 1).

"Well, Poppy is a WORKING dog"

Poppy is a spaniel with dead eyes. She constantly looks anxiously up at her owner as owner marches along, eyes peeled for unruly behaviour in other dogs. "Well THAT won't work", she says, snatching the lead out of a fellow walker's hand and tugging at their dog unbidden.  "You need a CHOKE CHAIN. Pull her back sharply every time she walks in front and she will heel within the hour".  Poppy sighs sadly and tries to yawn, but she cannot; her head is encased in harness that holds her mouth closed. "Did you go to puppy training?", she asks, watching Alan eat some badger poo. "Yes". "Who?" I tell her about Miranda, dog handler, actor, writer, ex-bouncer, the love of Alan's life. "I have never heard of her", she says, and marches off with Poppy.  "You're going to live with her if you don't behave", I say to Alan. Alan yawns.

"We've ALWAYS had Labradors"

Fall into 3 broad types (pls. inform me if there is another I have missed): 

1. Yer classic Sloane Ranger of the old school who really HAVE always had Labradors. They have framed, faded photographs of dogs past and present on the piano that have equal weighting as pics of grandchildren (wearing scruffy ski suits), Mummie sailing in 1963, Ollie on his gap year in India and headshots of blonde daughters. "Ben was a wonderful dog", says the usually reticent husband of the dog owner sadly, looking at the headshot of a broad-faced, open-mouthed black lab with the wind in his ears. "So much easier than ... people." 
2. Social climbers in Range Rovers ("I just feel so much SAFER"); park across two spaces in the station car park; wear brand new Barbours; get two Labrador puppies who are never trained and spend most of the day at home alone chewing things (including the Barbour dog bed and pristine Aigle boots) next to the brand new 5-oven Aga. Blame 'the breeder' or 'the trainer' or 'the stupid dog' if anything goes wrong.  
3. Proper country people who just get on with it and whose dogs are very well behaved, sleeping perfectly contentedly on an old blanket, rewarding any attention with slow but very loud tail thumps.

"He's just pleased to see you!"

Owners of absolute fucking lunatic, gigantic, pulling, jumping, out of control dogs (usually golden Retrievers) who, if they hit you at full pelt, would knock you on your arse and/or break your leg. Known for jumping up when covered in mud. "He's just being friendly!", says the owner, as you brush unknowable brown stuff off every part of your body and remember the washing machine is on the blink.

"She's NEVER done that before"
But she has, hasn't she. Your dog is a known terrorist with a particular penchant for the ears of ancient spaniels and old lady terriers and a fondness for yapping endlessly, all day and all night. You can apologise all you like, and you can try and tell us she's never done it before, but The Walkers Of The Big Field talk, and we know the truth.

Coming next week: small dogs, terriers, rehomed dogs, rare breeds, the dog that licks its own wee, and more!

Pip pip!

NWM

I am 50

Word up, homies. The three magic words that say: I may be fifty, but I am still very much 'with it'. In celebration of this most recent of birthdays, I am going to share some of the things that give me pleasure. I am not sure if they say anything about my age, but I will let you (my adoring readers and/or fans) be the judges of that.

Electric blanket
Chill in the air? Autumnal nippy nip snapping at your cheeks? Pop yourself upstairs and put that blanky on half an hour before you go to bed (10pm latest) for ultimate comfort. Fall asleep listing to "You and Yours". Wake up on fire 30 minutes later. Menopause? Blanky turned up to 11? Who can tell.

"GOOD NEWS! Your delivery is on its way!"email re:

• new slippers (with orthopaedic support soles)
• any smock-type garment "that looks great with jeans or leggings" (usually from the Seasalt sale)
• support socks for my insertional achilles tendinopathy*
• multi-pack of jam jar lids
• mouse traps
• special pencils 
• more beans for the beanbag
• this magical garment that makes me look like a potato trying to smuggle itself into a hot water bottle convention

Glasses on strings
It is life-changing (never lose glasses, can read at all times); it is also very ageing, in a particularly Brexit-y "back of The Telegraph Sunday Magazine" way. I do not wear them in public. I have other glasses for 'going up to London', a.k.a. going to work, going to parties that aren't in the village, etc.

Sleeveless puffa jacket
Bought from the garden centre, 25 quid.  Does not do up. Has large pockets.

Both of the these items look good with...

...Any sort of dress/tunic thing with patch pockets on the front
I am by no means alone in this, I realise, but the sweet and everlasting joy of being able to skip about the place with your phone/old tissues/dog poo bag/broken pencil/weird bit of cellophane picked up off floor/Bendick's Bittermint wrapper within easy reach is one that cannot be matched.

Doing the online grocery shopping
Doing it, receiving it, giving the bags back to Errin in the Onion Van, then unpacking it and not remembering having ordered 3 different types of beetroot and some tweezers.

Being out for a walk with the dog and seeing someone you like (and their dog that your dog likes)
I will write another post on the Dogs In Villages scenario (complex socio-political forces at work), but the pleasure I get from seeing a cheerful person who walks at the same speed as you and can talk about (for e.g.) dog biscuits for 40 minutes while your dogs leap about is a rare pleasure. Most of the time you are ducking behind hedges to avoid Jennie, her endless drivel about damsons and her wet spaniel that "doesn't like to play" (i.e. is a canine psychopath).

I am pretty sure I am going to think of more things to add, but in the meantime I am 100% interested in hearing what your versions are of these.  I do realise that commenting in web-logs etc is a bit 2007, but then I am a bit 1969, so who cares?

Pip pip!

NWM





* has anyone got any tips on this? It is fucking agony and I am fed up with it.

I am a mature student

Sometimes a tiny voice calls to me through the void. "Where are you, NWM?". "I am here, my dear", I reply, brushing tears from the tiny face of the tiny person who has called to me through the void. "Do not be afraid".  Yes, loyal readers and fans, there is no need to be afraid: I am here.  Here is what I have been doing in the year since my last post:

1. Having a dog (called Alan)
2. Doing an MSc in Organisational Psychology.

I will address each subject separately.

1. Dog (Alan)

I have wanted a dog for as long as I can remember. Because I am completely freelance and part-time (a.k.a. a virtually unemployed part-time student), Alan (who is a Cairn terrier) moved in last November and I can honestly say that now I understand why people say MY DOG IS MY HEART and DOGS ARE PART OF THE FAMILY and suchlike while crying into their dog's neck (while the dog is thinking, HAVE YOU HAM UNDERNEATH THOSE TEARS?).

He is a merry little soul who likes a lie-in, and I am completely unashamed to tell you that he has an Instagram account and I love him. Because of him I walk 2 hours a day and have someone to lie on my feet when my husband (a French-Canadian veterinary histopathologist) refuses. He has markedly improved our physical and mental health, despite the farts and inability to bring the fucking ball back or stop chewing the logs.  In return for his general merriness, he is allowed to sleep on the sofa (but not the bed), is fed medium-range dog food, and is allowed to run amok in the mud with his village pals, including Shadow (lithe Labrador), Louis (gigantic Retriever) and Fudge (small unruly Jack Russell and escapalogist).  ("SUCH fun to have dogs with fun names!")

The picture you see above is of him watching me writing this post. His nose whiskers are wonky because he got a thistle stuck on the right hand side and we had to cut it out.  

2. MSc in Organisational Psychology

Organisational Psychology is basically about how people behave at work. I told my friend Liz I was thinking of doing it and she said, "why didn't we think of that before?". She was right. It is my Calling, as perceptive readers may have deduced from the title of this web-log, and as loyal readers will have observed from my Previous Work-Related Content. 

I really like it but I am not going to be an academic because from what I can see, being an academic nowadays mainly involves:

• students behaving like customers and saying things like "this is an expensive degree - the quality of the sound recording is a disgrace, I expect more of the content", and "does the title count in the wordcount for my research proposal?"
• not getting paid much and being really busy and tired (etc) while people who are not academics still say things like "yes but in the REAL world and in REAL jobs..." , like writing lectures and giving lectures and having idiots like me go "what does that mean?" and marking exams and doing research and supervising research and trying to get published in journals no-one actually reads, not even your mum, and TRYING to make sense of things like for e.g. WORK is not a real job
• being misquoted on the telly/media etc
• being dissed by Michael fucking Gove

none of  which I would like. Equally, I am not that way inclined which, I have realised, is nothing to do with being clever or not: either you like academic shizzle or you don't, and either you want it to be your life or you don't.  Also, no-one has suggested it and/or said (in hushed tones) "monkeys can do PhDs, you know", while suggesting 'special meetings' with supervisors at a certain college of the University of London.

Anyway, now I am at the beginning of my second year (I am doing it part-time so I can also work in order to pay the fees) so am an expert on everything to do with work and people at work. If you like you can send me your work-related questions and we can see if I come up with better answers than I would have done 10 years ago.  Either way, I will throw in the odd ref. to for e.g. Foucault and Bourdieu and say things like "sorry no I cannot come to your party, I am having my ontology removed", or throw in chit-chat about for e.g. mimetic isomorphism like it is not something that it has just taken me a week to understand, while praying that the dog will eat the book called "Philosophies of Organizational Change" that I keep looking at but have not opened.

Pip pip!

NWM

I offer guidance on Village Social Event Food

After 18 long months, I have finally been permitted to contribute some "nibbles" for a village fundraising event.  "At the back, and if they're warm, put them on top of the radiator"*, instructs the Controller of Village Events (COVE) when we get to the church.  "Made those, did you? How GRAND."

Things involving plates of food are commonplace in our village and because we have Incomer's Fear, we go to almost all of them. The result of all this event-going is that I am now a 100% Top Expert on Village Social Event Food. The even better news is that I am prepared to share my considerable expertise with you, my adoring readers and/or fans, ensuring that anyone about to make their debut as a provider of "Village party nibbles" will seamlessly integrate alongside Jean and her cheese straws. 



I will, first of all, delineate my Village Context. From this, you will be able to extrapolate how relevant my Village Social Event Food will be in your own Village Context.

Village Context

Average age: 69
Average name: Tony, Jean, Bob
Average occupation: Historian, head of OFWAT, Architect to the Queen's Lavatories, thermo-nuclear physicist, biochemist, home visitor
Best description of village so far: "650 alcoholics clinging to a hill"
Chance of:
- seeing someone dressed as an elf being pulled on a trailer anytime in December: 100%
- donkey falling down storm drain having escaped from the Living Nativity: 100%
- spending over £10 on raffle tickets at village event: 100%
- there being a prize in the raffle that is not alcohol OR a 'basket of goodies' featuring old apples and jar of jam: 0%
- winning prize in raffle:  0% (if you are me)
Numbers of things to fundraise for: approx. 10, including church tower, church loo, church kitchen, vicar's gym membership, rehabilitation for donkey (see above)

Village Event Context
Setting: Church 1 (Anglican); Church 2 (United Reform); Village Hall; Open Gardens; Cricket pavilion; playing fields
Drink: Warm white white; red wine (non-specific); Cava (Prosecco = infra dig); Peter's Punch (inexplicable); Hamish's Pimms (90% Pimms, 5% lemonade, 5% gin)

A Beginner's Guide To Suitable Village "Nibbles"

Vol-au-vents: Full size but half-risen, containing Mystery Chicken in Undiluted Chicken Soup

Jenny's Famous Sausages: Cocktail sausages in mustard and honey so sticky that your fingers are glued together for the rest of the evening, thereby making it impossible to get your paws into ...

...Curry Puffs:  overcooked choux filled with sweet chicken curry

Paste on a Disc: Chicken liver pâté applied in a perfect circle on a perfect circle of bread, left out just long enough to crust up at the edges before being garnished with a small slice of green olive, enclosed in cling film and left to sweat for up to (and including) 3 hours (N.B. there is always half a plate of these left at the end and surreptitiously scraped into the vestry bin "so as not to hurt Jean's feelings")

"That looks Interesting, Peter!":  Concoction created by recognised local 'epicure and gourmand' (i.e., man over 70 with a Robert Carrier cookbook) involving aspic, a small fish-shaped mould and something orange

"A moment on the hips!": Joyless rye cracker with a squirt of Primula chive spread, topped with a single defrosted prawn and some curly parsley

"How GRAND": smoked salmon on blini that everyone stuffs down, pushing each other out of the way to get to the biggest one whilst sneering at vulgarity of having something delicious to eat

"Not for me, thanks": anything involving either feta cheese OR cumin

Brown Thing: "Malt loafy-thing that flops down when you hold it with chicken liver paste and a bit of tiny gherkin that fell off when you lifted it."**

Sausage roll. Variations required are as follows. Unfortunately it is almost impossible to tell which is which using your eyes alone, which invariably means the heart-stopping, roller-coaster ride that is Sausage Roll Russian Roulette:

1. Home made: warm, slightly too big, always delicious, crumbs stuck to face that no-one tells you about. Later that evening, you realise that you talked to at least 12 people between sausage roll ingestion and seeing crumb-encrusted face in mirror at home
2. Supermarket Special (Everyday Brand): were half-heated up but not quite enough, and are now cold; strange paste-y texture; often sprinkled with sesame seeds; perfect 1 inch width; favourite of portly gentlemen 
3. Waitrose Poshest Chorizo and Ptarmigan Rolls:  See smoked salmon on blinis, above. Seen to be slightly vulgar and showy-offy, which doesn't stop the sneeriest clambering over each other to stuff them in their gaping maws.

I will be surprised if you tell me that this guide is not useful. I will be even more surprised if you don't have contributions of your own to make (I direct you to the comments section below), and I am interested in hearing them.  

Pip "Touch my cocktail sausage if you dare" Pip

NWM

* Do not do this. Last night, at the opening of the new church loo, a towel keeping some sausage rolls warm on top of a radiator caught fire
** Live review from my 'husband' who, as regular readers will be aware, is a French-Canadian veterinary histopathologist