Rambling, Preambling Bumbling and Mumbling! Using What's Left of the Brain Cel!s.

    Firstly please note, I've caught up and completed outstanding comments! Thanks for your patience. Is it me or is it becoming technically difficult to 'merely' comment on kind people's encouragement. Never mind, it indirectly gives me yet another chance to view modern technology in all its glory. But first an aside, an old man's senile prerogative. (Stand up, that boy who whispered 'Silly old ****!)

    My sister-in-law, forever young at heart has treated herself to a classy, very sporty 2009 BMW Z4. She looks very Princess Grace of Monacco like complete with headscarf and 'shades'. (Look how I know the modern terminology, aren't you impressed!) To complete the image I suggested she look for a 'HRH' private number plate. ( 'Her Royal Highness" to our overseas friends.) Ever helpful I found on the internet details of the sale of such aforesaid plates. HRH 1 was sold a year or two back. It fetched £90.000 plus in DVLA auctions, well over £100,000 in total. But HRH 4 is to be sold, presumably in the none too distant future; suggested price £250,000! (Being a Derby County supporter, my own vehicle number plate is 0009 RAM and no, it didn't QUITE cost £250, 000!)

    I noticed in the week the all new Formula One E racing car practices were open to the public for three days at Donington recently. Coupled with the teachers on strike (Grumpy being an ex-teacher I remember them well. Happy days!) so I thought I'd better further my grandchildren's extra curricular education. So off we went, not knowing what to expect; Ted, aged five, Tommy, eight, Angelina, twelve, grandma and granddad, both a 'mite' bit older!

    Situated not far from my home, Donington Racetrack was famous for its motor racing before the Second World War. Dominated by German cars, particularly Mercedes. Before my time, honest; I was brought up with tales of the mighty German racers 'as a lad'. Post war, after mixed fortunes, it is up and running again as a racetrack and home to Formula 1E. Make no mistake, you are going to hear a lot about these cars in the future. Remember, I'd never heard of electric racing cars until one week ago, so what does this 'old codger' make of it all that is, if I've got it right!

    Made at Donington, all the cars are the same specification, then 'tweaked' by individual team mechanics. Each team has two cars; round Donington a car will do approximately twelve laps before it runs out of 'umph' and is immediately replaced by the second team car. The batteries evidently get very hot, the teams are 'owned' by some famous names (example Alan Prost and Richard Branson, two of the drivers are ladies, the first 'real' race is in Bejing in September and thats about all I know.

    Right or not, we all enjoyed ourselves. We mixed with enthusiastic people who obviously 'live and die' motor sport. We watched in awe these twenty first century beasts of the motoring world. We marvelled at the strange phenomena offered for our delight and bemusement. These cars are not silent, but emit a strange sound as they hurtle round the track; whistle like, a whining, indescribable sound. Plus they are beautifully presented; shiny, metallic, all the colours of the rainbow; you could not help but be impressed.

    I think we all enjoyed our visit in our own way. My wife enjoyed being with the grandchildren, and with me I hope! the children too enjoyed it in their own way, including Ted's daisy collecting. I was particularly pleased to be involved at the very beginning of this new motor sport venture. None of us enjoyed the picnic; because there wasn't one! Paulette left all the food on the kitchen table! (In fairness nobody else remembered either.) So we, or should I say Paulette found crisps, malteses, and

jaffa cakes in a shop at the circuit. Fortunately we had bottles of water in the car so who cares if the 'picnic' was a little unusual!

    A hot summer's day; a trip in a modern motor to see history in the making. Enjoyable but so, so different to my boyhood trips up the fields with a bottle of water and some bread. Mind you, I don't EVER remember forgetting the food!

  

And It's Sod's Law Again

One very overwrought week. My daughter and son in law have spent the week frantically packing and driving vans up the M6 prior to a final move today. In between Jeff giving high powered seminars (so he tells me) to photographic students and keeping Helena aged nine happy in her last few days at her present school. Everyone is very stressed and it shows.

At this end we also pack frantically, boxes are everywhere. The mere thought of the move is frightening. I arrange for a gardener to tidy up the garden prior to selling. (It is so bad at least one fox has taken up residence at the bottom of the garden, I see him or them everyday.) I search for garden shears to trim a little, hoping to give the idea that it is not completely abandoned before the gardener's appointment. Sod's Law, I cannot find shears, not over surprising in the jungle that used to be called garden. Neither has two friends got so simple a tool, two others can't be found in my hour of need.

Virgin have been issued with details last week with details of the imminent move and reconnection at the other end. They confirm dates for reconnection, getting the details completely wrong. (They also got my daughters details wrong, how do they manage it. A rhetorical question, no answer necessary, Mr Branson.) They are informed by telephone of their mistake. They write again concerning the move, promptly getting it wrong again.

I sleep badly so arise early. I go to the computer for solace. Horror of horrors, Broadband is not working. My wife eventually arises from her slumbers ( she is normally first up) and deals with the problem via the telephone. ( She is better than me concerning computers. Also my blood pressure is already too high for comfort.) A lady in India is eventually contacted and assures us there is no problem in our area. (How far is India from Great Britain?) She presses a button and lo and behold broadband is retrieved. Oh that it were that simple. Unfortunately not true, the television now also becomes defunct. My wife perseveres, at least four or five are now 'on the job' so to speak. Our phones now join in the excitement and switch off mid call. (So much for buying cheap phones on Sunday markets.)We are now informed that we were cut off yesterday as per our instructions. No such instruction was given and we couldn't be cut off otherwise the phone wouldn't have worked until now. Reconnected twice more, Virgin admit defeat and arrange for a technician to visit tomorrow morning. Which couldn't be more inconvenient if it tried. Tomorrow I have arranged for three men and a van to move the heaviest of our possessions. What's the chance of them turning up, I wonder.

And it's still only half past ten. The phone rings, this time someone with a strong Birmingham accent. There is trouble in your area, he announces, contrary to earlier information. Broadband is now restored. (He doesn't say for how long.) Already a strange day what next I wonder. As Captain Oates would say, "I am just going outside and may be some time."