I’ve read books as long as I can remember and I must have read hundreds of them. Some are better than others and the speed at which I read them determines how good they are (if I enjoy it I’ll rattle through it at top speed). I’ll read the really good ones again if they’re that good. I read a couple of books many years ago (over 10) and I’ve forgotten what they were called, who they were written by and what they were about. But for some reason I want to read them again. I’m a bit older and wiser now and might enjoy them on a different level. My mother borrowed them from my local library and now that she’s gone I’ve no way to trace them.

I’ve tried putting descriptions of sections of the books into search engines in the hope that someone had quoted from them but to no avail. As a last hope I thought I’d describe a short section from each book here and see if any of you recognise them. For all I know they might be the same book. Well, here goes…

Book 1.

The main thing I remember from this first book is that it was set in a time where advanced technology was outlawed. I think this book was written in two parts. In the first a class of people with technical expertise, termed “tinkers”, played around with small-scale technology fuelled by natural curiosity no doubt. Anyway, one of these guys met up with some kid who had a natural aptitude for whatever he had in mind. If I remember correctly the kid was playing an arcade game where he had to land a craft on a moon and it was pretty difficult, which impressed the guy, who took the kid under his wing. The only other thing I remember was that the bloke had miniature cameras planted around the grounds of his house so he could effectively see everywhere at once.

The second part of this book was concerned with bubbles. You could use a device to create one of these bubbles around you and set them to pop after a certain amount of time. While you were inside the bubble time would stop and nobody could damage the bubbles either. In fact, if you touched one it would reflect the heat from your hand back onto yourself. The people using them were travellers going forward in time who suddenly discovered that everybody had disappeared. Now they were doomed to go thousands of years into the future of an empty planet and watch the spiders evolve. Anyway, that’s about all I can remember of the book. Does it ring any bells?

Book 2.

I remember far less about this book. In fact, all I can remember is a single scene. There was a family wandering around some kind of space station. They bump into a guard who says words to the effect of “go wherever you feel like”. As the family went around they decided they didn’t want to go down one particular corridor, except the youngest daughter who was wearing some sort of alien space helmet. The father realised that instead of using locked doors to keep people out the guards used some kind of device that made people feel compelled to not go there at all. The helmet counteracted this effect. That’s all I can remember.

So if any of these descriptions mean anything to you then don’t hesitate to post a comment below and put me out of my misery. It makes me wonder why I didn’t write about this before, but I can be a bit slow at times…

I’ve just bought a new car. Not completely new mind, it’s 18 months old. I decided I wanted one of these cars (a BMW 318Ci Coupe) for several reasons:

• It has a big boot that I can get my mountain bike in to.
• It has climate control and I love climate control.
• It has a 6 CD multi-changer and I stay awake on long journeys by singing (not necessarily in the right key).
• It has ABS and traction control which a bad driver like me really needs to stop me from crashing my car (I’ve had a few knocks over the years).
• It’s completely over the top as far as quality goes (I’d previously been in a couple of new BMWs and always thought they were superb).
• When I have kids I’ll never be able to afford / justify one, but I can for the moment.

I wasn’t interested in image, I never have been with cars. Over here anybody who drives a BMW is automatically labelled as an asshole. I must admit that I often held this view too, but they’re so common now that loads of people drive them, not just executives constantly trying to impress everybody. But I realised that buying one would make people think I’m a git. As most people who know me think that anyway then there was no way I could lose!

So with all this in mind I started looking around for one a couple of months ago. I quickly realised that I wanted one sold after September 2001 as at that point the put a larger engine in (2.0) with more power and included cruise control. This restricted my options somewhat as there didn’t seem to be many about. Then I checked out the BMW website’s approved used cars section. Knowing that to buy from an approved dealer would mean paying more, I had a look anyway to see what there was.

You put in your location and it works out the nearest dealers to you and shows you what they’ve got. I could only find one within my price bracket, close by and that wasn’t yellow. It was situated at the Harrogate dealer. Harrogate, for those of you not familiar with North Yorkshire, has a reputation for being a bit of a posh place. House prices are astronomical and there are loads of rich people who live there. So going to have a look at an expensive car in a place like that made me expect the “Pretty Woman” treatment (you know the bit when she goes into the clothes shop and gets thoroughly put down) - except I had no Richard Gere to rescue me.

However, I couldn’t have been more wrong. The people there were great. I went out on a long test drive and was treated extremely well throughout. I was waiting on my mortgage coming through so I couldn’t buy the car there and then and they were quite happy with that telling me to come back when I had that sorted out and they could easily source me the exact car I wanted if the one I’d initially seen was sold by then. When I could wait no longer I returned and thrashed out a great deal on the car I was interested in. It was quite hard work but salesmen aren’t paid to give cars away!

The service was excellent and I even got a free BMW-Williams F1 golf umbrella (very handy in Yorkshire). I’ve mentioned before that I’ve come across some bad service, but these guys were brilliant. Very slick and professional.

As for the car. It’s awesome. I drove 750 miles over the weekend up and down motorways and on twisty roads and it took everything in its stride. Very comfortable, very fast and very refined. I’m glad of the cruise control otherwise I’d have lost my license from speeding. But enough about that, it’s only a car. My point was that there is great service out there and all it takes is a bit of friendliness and professionalism. And it works, because I’ll definitely get my car serviced there and buy my next one from them and recommend them to anybody who’ll listen (like now). Unfriendly sales assistants take note…

We all dream. The difference is that we don’t all remember our dreams. I’m sure I don’t remember all of my dreams but some stick in my mind. More often than not though, I’ll wake up clearly remembering the dream but an hour later I’ll have completely forgotten what it’s about. I guess that’s what I’ll be like if I live long enough to go dotery - my memory will desert me and I’ll keep calling people “Phil” or “Allison” (that’s what all the dotery people I’ve known do). But back to my main point. Dreams.

Like most people I tend to have more vivid and, usually, puzzling dreams when I’ve got a lot on my mind. And in the past few weeks I’ve had a lot on my mind. I’m buying a house, a lavishly expensive car, my girlfriend is selling her house, I’m missing my mother, I’ve just had a throat infection (and I’m not entirely sure I’ve gotten rid of it), I’m counting the days until my two week summer holiday in Antigua (about 68) and my eyes are playing up again (meaning I’m back to wearing my glasses at work for part of the day). There are a couple of other things but they’re not getting mentioned here! So I’m not entirely surprised that I’ve started having some truly bizarre dreams.

The odd thing is that the dreams aren’t of the ilk where I’m walking down the street and suddenly I start talking to a pink flamingo who has an Australian accent and suggests that maybe I need to put my umbrella up because the kitchen sink is about to move to Italy for the summer. No, these dreams actually make sense. They make so much sense that I could be watching a film. They have a beginning, a middle, a dramatic plot twist, and an ending. I’ll give you an example.

A couple of nights ago I found myself the target of a super-villain. He kidnapped my family and blackmailed me to steal some money for him. I stole the money but decided I was going to get my revenge on him. When I handed over the money I was directed to where my family were. They were in a house in a remote area. I went to the house, only to discover that it was underwater and there was no sign of my family (all right, I’ll admit that the house being submerged is a bit far fetched, but stick with me). I’d been double crossed. Or at least cheated. I vowed to track the bad guy down and eventually sneaked into his mountain-top fortress (as all super-villains have). I found my family and dragged them out. As we hiked down the mountain I heard a bang behind me - the sound of the fortress exploding (I’m assuming I planted a bomb there). Then I woke up.

As I came to I was puzzled as to how I could have such a vivid and, above all, logically ordered dream. I normally have dreams that consist of many short scenes that make no sense at all and change after a few minutes to another short scene that makes even less sense. But to dream an actual story in multiple locations is not normal for me.

I try not to read too much into dreams but I’ve been comforted by them in the past and they’ve helped me make decisions before. So maybe on this occasion my mind is trying to hint something to me. And I suspect I know what it is. I think I need to write a story. Not a short story, but a long one. I’ve always had a furtive imagination and have often thought that one day I’d like to write a novel. I don’t care if nobody ever reads it, but threading a story together and putting it down on [electronic] paper has always intrigued me. Could I do it? Would it be any good? Would I get like Douglas Adams and obsess over every word?

All I need is the inspiration. An idea. If I know me it’ll just pop into my head one day while I’m walking down the street. I just hope I remember to write it down or I’ll forget it, because I might be going dotery by the time it comes (if I’m not going dotery already).

Oh Ibuprofen. Where would I be without you? You’ve been a friend of mine for so long I can’t remember life without you. When I’ve injured myself - as I’ve done playing a variety of sports - you’ve been the one I’ve depended upon. And you’ve never let me down.

Your anti-inflammatory properties are what draws me to you most. You’re not like those other pain killers that just stop you feeling the pain (like a certain paracetamol). No, you actually do something real to alleviate the problem. Like that time when I fell heavily at football and landed on my shoulder. I could barely move my arm and it took me weeks before I could do a single pull-up again. But without you it would have taken a lot longer. As soon as I got back from the game I took a couple of your capsules. A few hours later I took a couple more. You stopped the swelling and thereby reduced the post-injury damage that would have made recovery harder.

How about the time I broke my toe? Without you my body would have overran the area with blood and caused more harm than good. But once again you came to my rescue and stopped this happening. And I couldn’t thank you enough.

But I know I can’t take you too much. You have this habit of lowering blood pressure, and that’s not such a good thing as I already have pretty low blood pressure. But even though I may ignore you for months at a time, you know that when I need you I’ll come calling. Rest assured that I won’t even look at a packet of asprin - it just doesn’t come close.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, but thanks to injuring my ankle (playing football as usual) I’ve had to make your acquaintance again. It’s not a bad injury - although it’ll be enough to keep me out for a couple of weeks - but you’ve already done your work to stop it from getting worse.

I just thought I owed you some thanks for all you’ve done for me over the years. Most people just take you and think nothing more of it. But for me you’ve saved me on many occasions and without your unique properties I’d have spent a lot more time suffering thanks to my body’s injury response system (which isn’t very good). You just don’t get the credit you deserve!

Here you can see Humbug sunbathing on a car roof.

This has been a sad weekend. Humbug (pictured right) was one of my neighbour’s cats. I’ve mentioned him before. He was no ordinary cat. Originally destined to be a show cat (if you know the breed then please let me know), he was born with a slight defect that meant one of his eyes wept from time to time. His modelling career was over before it began. So one of my neighbours got him as a kitten and he became a member of the community from then on.

When his owner went away on holiday another neighbour looked after him. But when he returned, Humbug decided he was happy where he was and opted to stay put. He’d chosen new owners, but that wasn’t a problem. Humbug was an opportunist and would go from house to house accepting food from whoever would give him any. With no fear of going into other people’s homes, this was where I got to know him.

Humbug dancing on his back on my floor.

Day or night, if I went into my house and Humbug spotted me he’d sprint at me and follow me inside. He’d then proceed to roll around on my floor (pictured right). He’d stroll around my house as if it were his own, maybe fall asleep in a corner for a while and then move on when he was finished with me. He did this with most of the people around me and he was one of those friendly cats that you could just pick up, throw over your shoulder, and he be as happy as Larry. Everybody loved Humbug. Even my girlfriend, who claims she doesn’t like cats.

Sadly, he was run over a couple of streets away on Thursday morning. He’d disappeared and nobody had seen him. His owners are away on holiday and another neighbour was looking after him, so she was distraught at his disappearance. When she found out what had happened she went door-to-door to pass on the news. It goes without saying that he’ll be greatly missed. It’s amazing how animals like cats manage to worm their way into your heart and how they get you into their routine. His unique personality and behaviour is gone forever. It’s a shame and it further reminds me (as if I need reminding) of how shit life is. There’s no rewind button, what’s done is done and there’s no going back.

The perfect portrait.

What’s even more sad is that I was the last person to see him alive. Late on Wednesday night I came back from my girlfriend’s house and Humbug was sitting on her doorstep. I went over to my house, he followed me and I stroked him and went inside. I didn’t let him in as he’d been in earlier and I knew I didn’t have any food for him, plus I was going to bed. It’s a shame, I would have liked him rolling about on my floor just one last time. But like I said, there’s no rewind button. I’ve printed out my favourite picture of Humbug (left) and framed it for his owners for when they return. It’ll be scant consolation for them but the whole neighbourhood is in mourning. You may be surprised by the impact Humbug made on our lives, but if you’d met him you’d understand.

Here’s my garden before and after I got physical with it.

Well, about 2 years after I initially said I would (I even wrote about it in August last year), I finally got around to tidying up the garden of my rented house. From the moment I moved in (almost 4 years ago now) I knew that the garden and I weren’t going to get along. The grass was waist high and there were a lot of weeds in there. But more importantly, it was only about 15m² and so wasn’t even worth the effort of looking after properly. When my girlfriend put gravel down on her garden, and then the rest of the neighbourhood followed suit, it was mine that stuck out and made the place look like a dog’s dinner.

I told my landlord I intended digging up the grass, putting gravel down, and everyone would be happy. He loved the idea. But I kept finding things to do that were more fun and interesting than gardening (like just about anything). Winters came and went and weekends were spent biking or watching football. Anyway, with my girlfriend about to sell her house I decided I needed to tidy the garden up so it’ll look to a prospective buyer as though she has decent neighbours (which they will when I go). So I hired a skip and set to work last weekend.

Unfortunately, the first problem is the access to the garden. You can see a narrow path in the photo above which is 23″ wide. I had a wheelbarrow that would fit, but I didn’t have any planks of wood to wheel it into the skip (and the sides were too high anyway). So I improvised and used my wheely bin instead. I’d kick it over in the garden, shovel dirt into it, stand it up and wheel it to the skip, kick it over again and shovel the dirt into the skip. I did this about a thousand times and finally filled up the skip and, in the process, emptied the garden of earth (although you’d be amazed at how much rubble and glass was buried there). I put some plastic sheeting down (held with a few bricks and other heavy things) for the stones and finished for the day. Phase one complete (and I was a bit tired too).

Yep, this is 20mm
limestone gravel.

Next was to get a ton of gravel delivered (which I did, see right) and then shovel it over the whole garden. This time I did use the wheelbarrow and it was a piece of cake compared to the dirt shovelling. By the time darkness fell I was finished. One more weight off my mind. And I’m happy because I know I’ll never have to do it again. (Okay, I probably will in my new house, but I’m trying not to think about it for now). All I need to do is nail the fence back together and we’re done.

Maybe I’ll do it tonight or tomorrow…