Why I hate technology

I am no ludite but yours truly and technology dont really get along. The root cause tends to be my learning style which is see one, help one, do one, or look at pictures (cartoons) and ignore text, better still press a button and see what happens.
For Christmas I got a super duper training gizmo that monitors everything physiologically except what colour shorts I am wearing. So far all I have been able to establish while wearing it is time of day (providing the time is daylight, night time back light function is a tad on the dark side and unless I have glasses on I cannot read it, glasses function usually needs to be operational during daylight too but this is difficult when I am gurning and concentrating on not blowing my lungs out of my backside)current heart rate and calorie consumption since Christmas.
 No matter how closely I study the 4 inch thick instruction book (I am so keen on operating this gizmo effectively I have broken a non reading instruction manuals resolution) I am unable to press the five buttons on the wrist watch device in the correct sequences to provide me with any meaningful data.
This is further compounded by having an apprentice smallholder who at every opportunity shouts ooh buttons go beep daddy and hangs off my wrist frantically stabbing an extended digit at my wrist.
To support my I hate technology stance we only have to look at todays experience with a mobile phone. My mobile needs to be robust and idiot proof. Three have expired in puddles in the last 12 months but as they were supplied by work they dont count.
My own mobile has survived many an adventure and after 18 months started playing silly buggers so was shipped off to the network supplier for fixing. They sent it back saying it was repaired, but no, surprise surprise it had the same "software related fault", in other words you pressed a button and it did anything other than what it should until it was banged on the closest hard object and sworn at.
 A not so quick call to a call centre in a land far away and I was told that the phone was not repaired as it was water damaged and that was my fault. No amount of arguing resolved this, I was told that I could "upgrade" for a mere £196, so I carried on banging the phone on hard objects and swearing.
Eventually pity was taken on me and work gave me a nice shiny not quite so robust phone but one that promised to work as long as I refrained from the treatment dished out to its predecessor.
Unfortunately the nice shop that sold me my new phone omitted to tell the network that they had sold it and as new phone needed a micro sim card and my sim card was the size of the Oxford English Dictionary, new phone was inoperable and network provider would not switch my number from my old phone to my new one on the off chance that I had stolen the new phone. After much delay and debate, filling out on line forms and waiting the alloted 24 hours, three times, much more arguing with a call centre in a far away land meant another sim card was sent to me.
Hurrah!
 Except they sent a nano sim card which is so tiny its sent with a magnifying glass so you can see it. It was clearly the wrong one. Rather than face arguing with a helpful bod in another time zone again I took the rash decision to drive the 25 miles to the phone shop to resolve the matter once and for all.
Within minutes of my arrival a shop assistant who looked like he was skiving off school took both phones, deftly transferred my data from the old to new, tried not to laugh when I asked what an i-pad was for and most importantly fitted a correct sim card and told his computer to swap numbers and to get on with it.
 I left happy.
He was my hero.
 Until half a mile from the shop my old phone rang which was an indicator that new phone was not working or a bloody good ventriloquist. Back to shop. Hero asks if there is a problem. I hand him both phones and he attempts to solve it by taking out new micro sim and licking it and putting it back in, shaking both phones, pleading with computer and eventually resorts to fitting new sim card.
I leave shop again with new non licked sim card with the promise that all will be well. And sure enough it is. At 17.07 hrs I got an email saying my sim card swap was going ahead and as I type the old phone has been switched off by the netowrk and yes you have guessed already the new phone isn't working.
Even when its banged into the desk and sworn at.
And to add insult to injury and as further evidence of technologies conspiracy against me is that gremlins are in the matrix and paragraphs etc are proving difficult due to wrong sort of rain.

Little and none

Its hoofing it down with rain, again, some 40mm are predicted to fall on our house with its leaky roof in the next 12 hours. While I was out walking dogs, changing rear lights on Miranda, feeding critters (all by torchlight) one of us didn't want to leave the sofa and fireside and come out to play with the clan. Chances of prising Poppy the pathetic triever off the sofa. Little and none.

Other news. Rug rat mkII has a tooth.

Pirates!

We can just about store 50 bales of hay, and this is what it looks like safely packed away. As we were down to the last few mouthfuls a fresh batch was delivered today by a new supplier as true to form yours truly had misplaced the phone number of the haymaker and sidekick who would deliver 50 bales for a small charge (read cost of another 15 bales) The not so dynamic duo would rock up in a battered white van and trailer and together (read me) we would unload and store precious cargo.
Me being easily distracted by anything shiny and completely unable to concentrate on counting and talking would rely on the honesty of hayman and looking back the conversations were peppered with thats 10 so far, theres a good 25 there mate and so on interspersed with stories of how he deflowered a woodsman's daughter in these here parts many years ago. Had he not been a wizened farm type he would have been a pirate. His colourful conversations and dodgy maths probably explains the picture below, for having owned up to losing the newspaper advert with hay-pirates number (and getting other people to search their recycling for the right back issue) I phoned a number I thought would be his and found an entirely different vendor. He would deliver 50 bales with no charge for delivery (winning already!) and when he arrived today with compulsory mutant sidekick, just after the most unbelievably harsh downpour and thunderstorm, I set about the task of beating the weather.

Once the usual store was full I was left with 10 spare bales. Now there were three left from the previous supplier, but I used one as a bonus meal for the critters to give a bit more room, so it was a surprise to find I could only get 38 bales in the store. Even though I had packed them in the same formation as before, so the "extra" bales cannot be due to these being larger therefore taking more room. Yes I know 38 stored and 10 in the pic still makes 2 less than 50, 2 more were given to greedy critters while I pondered the hay conundrum. These "spares" were eventually stuffed in a disused goat house after the merits of sticking them in Renatta was dismissed and the goat house cleaned out. 

The horses were so grateful for the bonus dinners that they took a break from their demolition work.

Still here

I got asked the other day if Trevor the pocket rocket was still in captivity at Rock HQ. Here he is pictured a few days ago scraping up a breakfast from the vegetation. His lecherous antics have been curtailed, partly by careful management of the environment (fences) partly by the weather (its horrendous) but mostly because his knackers were cut off a while ago and he has just got used to the idea. Misty still taunts him as only a shitland mare can and both are happy with their lot on the bonsai mountain. And whats not to like, 3 meals a day and all the sheep you can chase. Just wait til the apprentice is wanting to ride, both are in for a shock then!

The Usual suspects

Time out for good behaviour saw yours truly scampering off down the lane sprayed in waterproof lycra of dubious hues for a Sunday morning ride with the Red Kite Riders. One had already phoned to say he was not allowed out to play due to an outbreak of decorating, another that the morning after the night before was not conducive to a sense of balance and just as I was leaving yet another having to deal with burst pipes rather than bursting lungs on the epic climb planned today. So the usual suspects were down a few but a new member meant that we had to turn out and face the weather and some of the 100 or so flood warnings. It was supposed to be calm and non raining until about the 20 mile mark so if we were quick we could be back in time for tea and out of date mince pies.
Signs that this was going to be a memorable ride (read embarrassing) occurred within seconds of leaving the cottage and faced with first lake to negotiate (its gone past puddle dimensions weeks ago) I decided that I would risk riding through it rather than walking as knee deep ice cold muddy water is not the best thing for cycling shoes. Having successfully managed not to fall off, hence in, I carried on riding along our dirt track, where I normally walk pushing bike as razor thin racing wheels don't like anything other than tarmac, and so it was that I approached the gate to the world at faster than walking pace.
A lot faster.
Those in the know, know that wet wheel rims and cold wet racing brake blocks have as much grip as Nick Clegg has on the Tory party policy. This startling piece of physics became overwhelmingly apparent as I failed to stop without the aid of the gate, and even more amusing was my inability to put my feet down to assist as they were unintentionally clipped into the pedals. No one saw the inevitable success of gravity save for Jess the dog who watched with her stoic wheres my biscuit expression. As it was now prone on the gravel she accepted the snack and wandered off allowing unhindered disentanglement.
At Red Kite HQ I brushed aside questions such as why are you late and what are those strange marks on your lycra. We headed out and the lack of cycling over the Christmas/New Year/Wedding break was telling especially on the monster climb up Beggars Bush nearly beat me. Thankfully the summit was reached, although it was reached with a speed down to 5mph at one point, and the descent was 35mph and as long as you didn't think about the abrasive qualities of tarmac and the lack of protection offered by lycra coupled with the lack of grip bike tyres have on icy corners (have I mentioned the ice yet?) it was thrilling. We regrouped all intact and most grinning like idiots at the final turn for home and right on cue, at mile 20, the heavens opened and the race to stale pasties began in earnest.
I watched as they disappeared into the murk as my rear tyre lost all air pressure and then grip. Being only a mile and half from home was the only plus side so I piloted my stricken craft back to sanctuary where I defrosted and battened down the hatches against the latest storm.

Back to normal

The day after the arrival of Gerry at Rock HQ, Chester our very old and unintelligent horse smashed the back light on Miranda, the smaller version of Gerry. 

Things got back to normal at HQ today after all the Christmas, New Year and Wedding frivolities. Hours spent labouring finally reverted the front of the cottage into a living space rather than an explosion in a toy shop. Decorations were boxed ready for later in the year. The living tree that died while inside was placed outside again in the hope that it would spring to life in the errr...spring, and was then promptly vandalised by Will.I.Am before being blown down the lane. 

The quick ten minute job of changing the back light on Miranda was tackled, for once all the right tools were to hand and within a minute I was able to change the damaged item for a new one purchased from Ebay. Things were going well but the dear lads and lassies at Land Rover, ever keen to improve on perfection (yeah right) had decided in their collective wisdom to make very fine alterations to the 2004 Freelander rear light. I wont bore the non anoraks with the details but around that time a newer version replaced the 2003 model, but ours is a 2004 registered vehicle, but the 2003 model. Simple. 

If only.

So the lights the same shape and style, but the holes to pin it to the bodywork are 5mm spaced further apart. Ha! Easy fix, quick dabble with a metal drill (realised at last second that the first choice was a wood drill) and three very neat holes in exactly the right places meant new light fitted. Except it didn't. Its 20mm thinner and this, for some impossible reason that is against all laws of physics, means the rear door wont open without breaking the light. Watching Berners were then treated to masterclass of swearwords and then new light was removed and old light fetched from skip and put back as a temporary measure. 

Back to normal. 

Mr PC

So there I was, sat quietly in a vast waiting area the size of several football pitches, surrounded by glass and airconditioning, minding my own business at the end of a particularly long unholstered bench reading my book and sipping an expensive plastic decaf coffee which was marginally better tasting than the container and vastly better than the plastic tea on offer. All around me were empty chairs, sofas picnic tables and benches. Right on cue Mr Nutjob wanders over and sits right next to me totally ignoring spacing convention and my human rights. I brace myself as I am in a building that specialises in mental health and my new best friend does not look like he has been outdoors for a while. "Excuse me mate but do you mind me asking (at this point there is no point me minding he's going to ask anyway)whats the title of that book your reading" I show the cover in the universal its this book move and read out the title "Obsessive Compulsive Cycling Disorder" "Really, is that what you've got?" "No. Its not a condition (well it is but thats a different tale) its a collection of funny stories about a man who likes cycling" "I didnt know you could get that, have you had it long" "No. Its not a condition (deja vu) its a funny book about a man's interest in all aspects of cycling" "You dont look ill" "I'm not, its a book not a mental disorder" "OCD is a funny one though" At this point I give up, put book away and listen to Mr Nutjobs view on OCD, his best mates handwashing and the plastic cup versus liquid taste debate. Finally his helpers realised he had left his padded cell and fetched him for his lunchtime medication. I watch as they take him away across the empty reception area past all the empty seats. Very carefully I check all around me, no neon signs over my head. It must be an aura, or similar. I was allowed out of the building later in the day. PS> Gremlins are in the matrix again hence no posting yesterday, and no paragraphs. Its probably because I have run out of hyperbole to describe the weather we are having. Phone lines dont like weather, especially 100mph wind and rain types. There was a ladder agaisnt a pole a mile away, all sorts of bits of wires hanging out of the very important looking box attached. No sign of engineer or van. Presumably blown away earlier.

Happy New Year!

 Its the norm for these pages to have an end of year round up, the obligatory look back at whats been the highs and lows of the year. So naturally the high point was the birth of Rug Rat MkII but in an effort to be the outright winner and  top trump that high point, he who cannot be named got married on the last day of the year. With unbelievable luck in the weather, when Arks were on standby rather than wedding carriages, the happy couple made their vows in a picture post card setting and

 even laid on an honour guard for my beautiful and oh so patient wife and the apprentice smallholder.

 Clearly everyone was delighted to share such a happy day

 and the endless smiling (aided by vats of mulled wine) recorded for posterity before the wedding breakfast was devoured by the ravenous throng. The party went on well into the night and the new year was seen in with champers and fireworks but I was in too much of a happy state to operate the camera effectively.

 But before that happened the wedding car pic, he who cannot be named did a great job of driving his new bride in this rollerskate, especially as he was wearing a sword at the time.

 But I reckon I top trumped his parking and got an even better the cars the star pic.

 Breakfast saw the clan gather and I was able to nearly work the camera again and got he first ever pic of all four offsrping by a Christmas tree.

So in all a great 36 hours, a fab end to the old year and fantastic start to the new, love and hugs to one and all, we have a new family member, gained a daughter in law and our ancient beagle starts his 24th year. Life's good. Enjoy it!