I have this thing about mechanical pencils. Actually, I have this thing about stationery in general. As a child, I'd look forward to Saturday afternoon when I could catch the bus into the city, or walk to the local shopping precinct and peruse the shelves of the stationers. I was particularly fond of the local stationers because it was also a tobacconist which sold pipes made of the most beautifully turned wood. It was a fascinating place for me and I'd spend a good amount of time in there while I decided what to spend my pocket money on for that week.
I remember particular felt tip pens and mechanical pencils where the thick lead was gripped in a vice-like mechanism, rather than the more sophisticated designs of those you can buy today. Then there were the notebooks, pads of drawing paper, drawing pencils. Heaven.
My fascination with office supplies grew through my childhood and has stayed with me since. Being a university student opened up a whole new world of possibilities - I discovered the Oxford Magna Pad, which came in both narrow (blue) and broad-ruled (green) varieties. My small, intricate handwriting was always lost within those broad spaces, so I'd naturally opt for the blue Oxford note pad.
In my second year, I shared a house with fellow students who I'd met as a fresher. Kathman! (from Sunderland) had decided that it was OK for her boyfriend Keithman! (self-styled bo-ho artist layaboy, also from Sunderland) to come and live with us all - she'd asked one of our friends and her approval was seen as being universal. Kath and Keith had been to Ireland, man, during the summer vacation and they'd discovered all things Celtic and Van Morrison, Van Man. Unfortunately, Kath and Keith had the bedroom above mine and they enjoyed regular noisy sex. "Oh, Keith MAN! MAN KEEEEITH!!!", the cries drifted through the floor into my bedroom a few nights a week. It was OK though, they were enjoying themselves, it was amusing rather than intrusive and I had other things to think about... like studying, surprisingly enough. Oh and drinking. But anyway I still enjoyed nipping into the University Union shop on occasion and replenishing my supplies of paper, pens, pencils, whatevers. I returned home from lectures one evening to find Kathman, Keeeeeeeithman and a couple of other friends already in the kitchen (they were arty types and only did about 12 hours of lectures each week - apart from Keeith, who pretended to be sensitive and artsy). I proudly showed them my latest stationery purchase, a hard-backed lab book, square ruled, beautiful.
"Tina-man," Kath exclaimed, "I swear you love stationery so much that you get an orgasm every time you go into that shop.... man!"
"Well, Kath," I retorted, eyes shifting between her and Keith "at least I don't get an orgasm every time I go to bed!"
I still can't think whether that was a witty or ridiculous thing to say - a bit of both, most probably.
It's Moleskine notebooks these days. I buy them, but rarely write in them. And mechanical pencils too. I love them.
Some might accuse me of having an unhealthy obsession with stationery items, that my love of them might be indicative of being somewhere on the autistic spectrum. Well, you know what? If I was on the autistic spectrum, I'd be able to remember where I left my favourite new mechanical pencil that cost me a fiver that I put somewhere and can't bloody find!
Wednesday 14 April 2010
Thursday 8 April 2010
Sudoku and other life puzzles
I was recently introduced to the art of Sudoku. It's an art rather than an activity because there is nothing remotely active about being sat still and staring in utter confusion and frustration at a little grid that's part-filled with the numbers 1-9. I had resisted joining the massed throngs of the confused for many years - in fact, this is what I had to say on the subject in 2005:
...until my girlfriend told me that she thought I'd enjoy doing them.
"But no, you don't understand!", I pleaded with her, "I have an extremely addictive personality and things like this affect my fine neurochemical balance really badly. I should really avoid them."
"Nonsense, T. You'll enjoy them. I can't believe somebody like you, with your intellect and borderline personality disorder isn't already addicted to doing them. Stop making excuses and give it a go."
So I did, a couple of months ago. I started with the easy one in the Times, and moved up to mild and difficult fairly quickly. I complained that fiendish were too hard for me. "Oh, I can't do fiendish," she responded. I questioned this and said that if something had a solution, you can solve it - it just takes time.
Three hours later, we were still staring at the little grid of numbers that had been partly filled in in pencil. I was on the verge of taking my mechanical pencil and stabbing myself in the eye with it when the solution started coming to me. And there it was, my first completed Fiendish Sudoku!
I can do the Super Fiendish now, they're great. So what do you move on to next; just a blank grid that you fill the numbers in yourself? I'm going for the easier option of a lifetime addiction to crack cocaine or crystal meth.
Of course, I get quite competitive with sudoku these days; never allowing anybody to look at the puzzle I'm working on. My sister tried this on the other day as I was working on the puzzle in my dad's paper. She'd been telling me that I had the wrong method, that I should try to solve one grid at a time (??? - think about this one for a moment). Anyway, I completed it once she'd departed and took pleasure in showing her how it was done:
I love mechanical pencils.
Anyway, puzzles and riddles irritate me. I'd never be able to be a heroine in a magic kingdom where you can't even go to the toilet without solving a riddle that has been set by some hag or goblin or some such. Could you imagine? Imagine living with hogs, goblins, trolls and the like. It'd be like living in... well, where I grew up in Salford I suppose.
Facebook stalker
But no, riddles aren't for me, I like a simple life. But here's one: why would somebody who certainly shouldn't know my full name (other than through extreme naughtiness) and who claims to have never heard of me block me in Facebook? How can you block somebody if you've never heard of them?
While having two Facebook profiles can be confusing at times, it sometimes has its advantages. People ought to remember this, and consider who they might be dealing with, before they think about causing mischief.
Illness
Another puzzle that's been plaguing me of late is my general lack of wellness: I'm on my second nasty cold in four months; I've been suffering from migraines; I can't walk for more than two miles without my toes feeling like they're falling off; my back constantly aches; my knees click; I often experience Bristol Stool Score Number 1s (with extreme urgency) in the evenings.
I think it's something to do with almagam fillings, or being sat without natural light under an air conditioning vent in a workplace full of sick people (as you'd expect in a hospital, I suppose), and I'm absolutely certain that Gordon Brown is at the heart of the blame. I'd go to the GP, but I don't like them and they always come out with some crap about me being nearly forty, obese, with the most terrible diet known to man. Personally, I don't think there's much wrong with a diet of pickled vegetables and Bendick's bittermints, but there's some evidence about balanced diets... blah, blah, blah.
My current illness started on Sunday afternoon. It's nothing remarkable - just a cold that's resulted in a few nights' sleep being lost to aching, sweats, shivers and coughs - but it produced the BEST sinus goo I've ever seen or experienced. I swear it was an undiagnosed siamese twin. It was about 3x1cm, and it had its own skeleton, teeth, nervous system and anus. I've entered it as an independent anti-Labour parliamentary candidate for the upcoming election. With a better grip on real life in 21st Century Britain, more personality, and less slime than Peter Mandelson, it's guaranteed to romp home to victory on 6th May.
Soduko
These number puzzles have got the Guardian and Sunday Times-reading masses rushing for their pens. There are even whole puzzle books devoted to them – a bit like Take a Break only without the top tips and prize money. Apparently, it’s all about counting from 1 to 9?
These things are even worse than cryptic crosswords. Completely bloody pointless.
If people are that bored, why don’t they just go and have half an hour sorting themselves out?
...until my girlfriend told me that she thought I'd enjoy doing them.
"But no, you don't understand!", I pleaded with her, "I have an extremely addictive personality and things like this affect my fine neurochemical balance really badly. I should really avoid them."
"Nonsense, T. You'll enjoy them. I can't believe somebody like you, with your intellect and borderline personality disorder isn't already addicted to doing them. Stop making excuses and give it a go."
So I did, a couple of months ago. I started with the easy one in the Times, and moved up to mild and difficult fairly quickly. I complained that fiendish were too hard for me. "Oh, I can't do fiendish," she responded. I questioned this and said that if something had a solution, you can solve it - it just takes time.
Three hours later, we were still staring at the little grid of numbers that had been partly filled in in pencil. I was on the verge of taking my mechanical pencil and stabbing myself in the eye with it when the solution started coming to me. And there it was, my first completed Fiendish Sudoku!
I can do the Super Fiendish now, they're great. So what do you move on to next; just a blank grid that you fill the numbers in yourself? I'm going for the easier option of a lifetime addiction to crack cocaine or crystal meth.
Of course, I get quite competitive with sudoku these days; never allowing anybody to look at the puzzle I'm working on. My sister tried this on the other day as I was working on the puzzle in my dad's paper. She'd been telling me that I had the wrong method, that I should try to solve one grid at a time (??? - think about this one for a moment). Anyway, I completed it once she'd departed and took pleasure in showing her how it was done:
I love mechanical pencils.
Anyway, puzzles and riddles irritate me. I'd never be able to be a heroine in a magic kingdom where you can't even go to the toilet without solving a riddle that has been set by some hag or goblin or some such. Could you imagine? Imagine living with hogs, goblins, trolls and the like. It'd be like living in... well, where I grew up in Salford I suppose.
Facebook stalker
But no, riddles aren't for me, I like a simple life. But here's one: why would somebody who certainly shouldn't know my full name (other than through extreme naughtiness) and who claims to have never heard of me block me in Facebook? How can you block somebody if you've never heard of them?
While having two Facebook profiles can be confusing at times, it sometimes has its advantages. People ought to remember this, and consider who they might be dealing with, before they think about causing mischief.
Illness
Another puzzle that's been plaguing me of late is my general lack of wellness: I'm on my second nasty cold in four months; I've been suffering from migraines; I can't walk for more than two miles without my toes feeling like they're falling off; my back constantly aches; my knees click; I often experience Bristol Stool Score Number 1s (with extreme urgency) in the evenings.
I think it's something to do with almagam fillings, or being sat without natural light under an air conditioning vent in a workplace full of sick people (as you'd expect in a hospital, I suppose), and I'm absolutely certain that Gordon Brown is at the heart of the blame. I'd go to the GP, but I don't like them and they always come out with some crap about me being nearly forty, obese, with the most terrible diet known to man. Personally, I don't think there's much wrong with a diet of pickled vegetables and Bendick's bittermints, but there's some evidence about balanced diets... blah, blah, blah.
My current illness started on Sunday afternoon. It's nothing remarkable - just a cold that's resulted in a few nights' sleep being lost to aching, sweats, shivers and coughs - but it produced the BEST sinus goo I've ever seen or experienced. I swear it was an undiagnosed siamese twin. It was about 3x1cm, and it had its own skeleton, teeth, nervous system and anus. I've entered it as an independent anti-Labour parliamentary candidate for the upcoming election. With a better grip on real life in 21st Century Britain, more personality, and less slime than Peter Mandelson, it's guaranteed to romp home to victory on 6th May.
Monday 5 April 2010
Och Nock Nook!
I've been to Scotchland! Up to the West Highlands on the Ardnamurchan Peninsular where I visited Mr Garfer. It's always odd meeting somebody who you've known for a while, and meeting Mr Cake Face was no different I suppose.
Anyway, it's a stunningly beautiful part of the world where you can go and lose yourself, something that everybody should do on occasion to bring them back down to earth. It's not that easy to get lost unless you're on foot, doing a Tinker's Rucksack, but since there are only about 4 roads on the peninsula, it'd be pretty hard to get lost while driving.
The people speak with that beautiful sing-songy voice and accent and are most accommodating, even to the English.
The only shame was that my visit was way too brief to get anything like a full flavour of the places to visit and things to do there. Hopefully one day, I'll find myself back there, overlooking Loch Sunart as the sun sets out towards the Atlantic.
Anyway, it's a stunningly beautiful part of the world where you can go and lose yourself, something that everybody should do on occasion to bring them back down to earth. It's not that easy to get lost unless you're on foot, doing a Tinker's Rucksack, but since there are only about 4 roads on the peninsula, it'd be pretty hard to get lost while driving.
The people speak with that beautiful sing-songy voice and accent and are most accommodating, even to the English.
The only shame was that my visit was way too brief to get anything like a full flavour of the places to visit and things to do there. Hopefully one day, I'll find myself back there, overlooking Loch Sunart as the sun sets out towards the Atlantic.
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