@bazbt3

Space. Mankind still hasn't conquered it. That's fine. There's still an element of danger inherent in the process, but it's a risk acceptable to everyone who participates in each and every mission.

Mankind has been visiting space for decades now, the protocols, the terminology, all of it well-understood: the countdown, lift-off, orbits, de-orbit burn, re-entry, touchdown - all should be commonplace in the viewer and broadcaster vocabulary.

The human aspect of space is also pretty obvious; people go up, experience zero-gravity, and come back to earth with decreased muscle mass. And then there's hope; that, one day, the schoolboy and schoolgirl watching wide-eyed could, perhaps, maybe, go up there too.

So why is space and man's achievements there viewed so negatively or at least by adopting a blasé approach?

Commonplace. Meh. Pretty pictures of our planet.

BBC One switched from a news broadcast, a good proportion of which concentrated on Tim's mission, to a cooking programme.

What‽

Not 15 minutes before the Soyuz capsule carrying Tim Peake was due to land, the BBC turns it off. An historic event worthy of a very real national pride, and the BBC can't be arsed.

Yeah, sure I could have watched elsewhere, even to Auntie Beeb's News channel. I'd naively expected the news programme to carry on for a bit and reschedule later stuff accordingly. So I switched channels.

The BBC does not get Baz's seal of approval.

Ah well.

It got me thinking.

Where, these days, is the sense of wonder, of hope, of looking forward rather than back, of aspiration, of…

Where are we going?

I work for a company with a larger-than-average number of gentlemen named Ian* concentrated into a small area. It's small-enough that three of the four could reach out and touch the others if they so desired…

Er…

Pretty-much every working day at 10am and 3pm (excluding Fridays) I've been telling Steve* that it's time for his drink: "Steve, brew time!"

Since 2002 that is, with breaks for good (and bad) behaviour. Steve gets a bit grumpy if brew time is delayed.

I'm kept on my toes by the rest of the office; if I forget the alert I'm reminded (or bypassed entirely!) It's a good thing, a dry engineer isn't a happy engineer!

And then we got a new guy and another new guy: 2 of our 4 Ians.*

They wanted in. Obviously, we engineers take brew times seriously. I modified the alert, which caught on in high circles, often invoked with third-party modifications; performance tuning!

A popular variant: "Brew Time Nuclear Ian, brew time no-nukes Ian!"*

Awesome.

We got a new starter 2 weeks ago, Dave.* Now Dave has been away this week - the 6-day SolidWorks course. A course to be completed in 5 days. Illogical maybe but hey, 'tis one of the most intense things I've ever done…

Anyway, I practised a tiny update to the brew time alert today, a tweak designed to establish a new office order:

"Brew time Steve, brew time Dave (a pause, and dismissive wave) brew time the Ians."

I think it'll work well. Quite what Dave will think of it I can't really guess at this stage. Based on what I've seen so far though, I think she'll fit in nicely.

*The names have been changed to protect the identities of those involved. Yes. As have their engineering specialities. We have other Ians throughout the building too; not quite an embarrassment of Ians though.

Do you, like I, recall a time a decade or two ago; a time when Mr Clinton was accused of being a bit of a thicky, driven to succeed by the efforts of his much cleverer wife - Mrs Clinton - who most commentators of the day positioned as the brains of the outfit?

Isn't it strange how men and women are now disowning her, with the simple accusation that she would NEVER have reached 'here' by herself.

How odd.

I shouldn't dabble in political commentary, I can't seem to understand the basics.

One of my colleagues bought a drink from the drinks machine earlier today. Unremarkable. Another guy's chance remark got me thinking about money. Literally.

(Odd units follow - 100 pence per Great British Pound throughout.)

He'd put a 50 pence coin into the coin slot. A 2011 coin with boxing gloves on the reverse. Not related to some outlandish English masturbatory competition, no; 'twas a reference to the 2012 London Olympics. London England.

Another colleague wondered if the thing might be worth 'something' - something more than face value.

It was. Provably still is.

I took a moment to look at eBay for current starting prices and bids.

Used examples of similar coins start at 99 pence - nearly twice face value - and head northwards, topping out at around 8 times face value. Add 100 to 250 pence postage and packing and we're at 4 to 13 times face value. OK there'll be eBay fees and the actual cost of postage to deduct, but sellers are still ahead.

Hmmm…

Digging a bit deeper, there's some with bids over 400 pence; and for mint, collectors items, there are some over 2000 pence, with equally outlandish postage charges.

Wow.

My youngest daughter has a money tin/can. It's cylindrical, has a slot in the top and a pretty design running around it and, and… a rather unfortunate design flaw. I can't check what's inside without a tin/can opener.

Destructive.

The thing I took away from this is simple: the guy had ANOTHER 50p in his pocket. It's a different world in our lifestyles-of-the-rich-and-famous bendy wire department!

Yesterday, and prior to midnight, was the deadline to register to vote in the upcoming UK Referendum. Unprecedented numbers of people (according to the government) attempted to register to vote on the day - over half a million.

And then, at 10:15pm, it all went titsup as the servers broke under the demand of, I think, 25 (or was it 50) thousand simultaneous users.

And that's how the day ended, tens of thousands of disappointed would-be voters.

The government has advised that anyone not registered should keep trying today; votes are important, see?

Er…

No.

No.

No.

If you're one of those unlucky enough to fail to complete registration less than 2 hours before the deadline, it's tough luck. Its been all over the news, social media - and almost inescapable too!

Unlucky?

No.

Inept?

Heck yes!

Servers break all the time; Black Friday, Christmas Day, New Year's Eve, when Justin Bieber walks out with a dummy/pacifier partially obscuring his vacuous visage…

It's the way the modern world works; things we literally* need to keep us alive and sane break all the time.

Don't let the fact you didn't plan well-enough in advance, and that the Prime Minister thinks it's OK to extend the deadline thus arbitrarily imposing a bigger workload on the election apparatus get in the way of personal responsibility.

Git.

…

(breathes)

…

Ahhh… a rant's better out than in.

Or, in my case, I'm voting to remain; people need protecting from themselves.

*Figuratively.

Ramadan Mubarak to anyone observing it or supporting those who are! If you're fasting, take it easy, be sensible,

A guy I know reckons he'll have a six-pack by Eid-Al-Fitr. I think not, not if what I understand about the limited time available to eat is correct.

I rashly accepted his 'challenge' though. Yeah, I know it sounds frivolous, trivialising the month. No.

Yes. I'm a clockwork idiot; my waistline is heading in ENTIRELY the wrong direction.

A roundup of things I've done, observed, experienced, liked, loathed and tolerated during the last week. Some may be reproducible. Feel free to tick/check the vacant boxes I've helpfully left next to those events that fit into YOUR life, dear reader.

[ ] Cherry-picked the reports, surveys, etc., that conform to my view of what's likely to happen before, during and after the UK European Referendum is decided.

[ ] Figured out its pointless arguing the toss with those who would leave Europe on the promise of jam the day after the day after the vote is counted and publicised. (For the day after the referendum it's obvious; we ALL get jam, cream and scones. And tea. 3 sugars please!)

[ ] Observed the Transatlantic derp grow stronger as Trump's statements grow yet wilder. We've STILL not yet reached Peak Trump, have we.

[ ] Decided that talking Heads are indeed my favourite band after all.

[ ] Failed to persuade the girls to climb the big hill to the northwest of Rochdale.

[ ] Started transforming the back garden into a bona-fide garden. Quite how we'll manage the drainage on clay soil is anyone's guess!

[ ] Picked an NFL team to follow. The San Diego Chargers. Sorry Chiefs fans!

[ ] Made lists.

[ ] Ticked/checked boxes.

[ ] Unticked/unchecked boxes.

[ ] Argued the toss with Brexiters.

[ ] Thought about reminding people about the last day to register to vote in the Europe Referendum. June 7. Tomorrow. I think.

[ ] Been unable to find our National Trust Joint membership cards, and figured out we should have Family membership now. Tsk!

[ ] Mmmm… National Trust Apple Crumble Cookies…

Dinner today will be easy: hotdogs, buns to encase them, tomato ketchup. That's me and the girls accounted for.

I read the cooking instructions on the label. Bad move. Not the act of reading, no, it's what I read of the ingredients.

Mechanically-separated chicken.

I'm hoping against hope it means something like free-range does for eggs, but that the chickens wear inflatable 'skirts' to protect them against farmyard collisions.

Not a post about 'politics', no. It's bodily functions; one in particular. And physics. Acoustics.

Earlier today I discovered one of the resonant frequencies of the gents toilets in work. I say 'discovered' as though I know what it is and can replicate the test conditions.

No.

It won't stop me from trying, though it may be some time before all the variables align as they did earlier…

Stood in cubicle 1 having a pee, and I trumped. Not a crafty squeak, not a planned silent but deadly, no. Though the room didn't shake, the sound emitted from my bottom took on a 3-dimensional 'presence' unlike anything I've ever heard before…

And no-one else was there to share the moment.

Perhaps it's for the best.

Next up, Mussorgsky's 'Night On The Bare Mountain'!

I was going to post a thing I had in my head, a lyrical outline for an exercise routine of our times. At least the times upto June 23 2016 - the date of the UK's Remain-or-Exit European Referendum.

Delicious rhyming and umami-suffused references to massaging statistics, squeezing national identity into too-tight sweatpants, lifting the weights of lies, feeling the burn of misinformation and, of course, rowing machine comedy, bench-pressed pathos and repetitious ill-fitting hats?

Yeah.

No.

A kind of politically-motivated and spin-laden dancercize, aerobicize, pilatescize, er… thing? Set to music?

Maybe.

Yes, of COURSE it was crap; it translated extraordinarily badly to the page - a lyricist I am not! So I'm not going to post it, ever, using just the title. Instead I'll, hopefully without penalty, post a part of 'Psycho Killer', a song by Talking Heads, my all-time favourite band.

But first I must say I'd thought of using 'Road To Nowhere', 'Burning Down The House', the really rather good '(Nothing But) Flowers' - this last has all in its lyrics. 'Making Flippy Floppy' was so close to appearing here.

I bought nearly all their studio stuff, Talking Heads that is, at least once, on cassette tape, CD, digital downloads (iTunes); and the Stop Making Sense DVD - a tour-de-force of concert filmmaking.

Favourite song? None.

'Once In A Lifetime' comes close, especially now, especially given the likelihood we'll get another chance at shaping our country's future.

Heck, the songs (let alone the name of the band as a metaphor for all the celebrities popping up to take sides, voice opinions) could easily form the basis of a post-apocalypse documentary film soundtrack. It's worth remembering though that, within reason, any lyric can be shaped to fit any theme, should you wish it.

And so, finally, to 'Psycho Killer':

"I can't seem to face up to the facts,
I'm tense and nervous and I can't relax,
I can't sleep 'cause my bed's on fire,
Don't touch me I'm a real live wire.

…

You start a conversation, you can't even finish it.
You're talkin' a lot, but you're not sayin' anything.
When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed.
Say something once, why say it again?"

(time passes…)

Awesome.

If this resonates because you live in the USA and cannot quite believe it's still months until Super Tuesday rolls around, you may find it applies to your (coughs) Trump (coughs) epoch-making situation too!

At least here in Europe we do things on the cheap. Hundreds of millions of pounds/dollars raised from well-meaning folks and spent on ads rubbishing the opposition? Barefaced lies? Deeply entrenched views based on arguments utterly devoid of logic? No.

Er… Maybe.

Nevertheless, our politicians also share with us the promise of jam tomorrow. Oh yes.

I'm betting it'll be rhubarb.

Would you care to bet against me?

Next up, 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' by Joy Division.