Sad to say...

Ronnie's mum died in November last year - but at least two of her daughters were with her at the end, peaceful and painless. God rest.

I joined Ronnie and rest of the family at the funeral and had the priviledge of reading a Eulogy adapted from AE Housman "the land of lost content". I will post it once I remember the words.

We have the ashes.

David

Muriel and the Ischaemic Incident

Thank you to all for your kind words for Muriel - she is improving slowly and we will post updates every few days. Ronnie is exhausted having slept overnight in a hospital chair.

Anyway here a day by day account of events:

Thursday 27 May:

Just Another Day: Ronnie chats with Muriel before heading off to work, David leaves her at 9am ... DT visits her just after 11am and finds her sitting outside in her dressing gown in a daze. DT calls David and they bring her inside and put her to bed - she is still very dazed. Ronnie and Ambulance called and Ronnie & Mum head off to Hospital with sirens blaring. How long was Muriel like that... we suspect only about 30 minutes since her tea was still warm and half finished.

Emergency Room: Catheters and questions...

Mental age: 21, Rowing age: 92, Waist: 38

Finally I got a Concept II machine and started rowing again. Maybe i was embarrased into it by my gut, maybe a recent invitation to row at sea made me nervous... but whatever, so I borrowed a friend's machine and got my family to kiss my gut goodbye.

First day on the machine and my 2000m time was 9:57 - not a bad start. I am pleased to report that this is faster than one of the rowing world records (but this one was set by a 92 yearold yank - see chart to left (source: http://www.concept2.co.uk/records/index.php?type=2000_world).

And, I am postulating Traynor's law, that your Actual age (A), divided by your Rowing age (R) [based on the age of the WR holder that equals your time] is equal to you a constant (Tr), multiplied by your IQ (I), divided by your Waist squared (W).
So A / R = Tr * I / W^2

and... I am hoping to make it to 95 - where as long as I can do 2000m I will set a World Record.

God Bless Ergos

Bahama pics

A week of fun!

Mobile post sent by Greenwellies using Utterz.  Replies.  mp3

Happy new year to everyone - thought that you may all want a bit of on update:

- Ronnie is all clear on the cancer front... but it seems that the survivor mantle is quite heavy.

- The house is progressing well - before (top) and after (below) pics show the progress. Spot the Difference? (answers below).


- We will have guest beds for visitors soon - some UK pals tried them out at the weekend and we expect a full report on the accomodations.

- DT is off to university in the summer, he hasn't
decided which one yet - but my bet is Maryland. Other favorites are UVM and Bentley... and maybe Amhurst.

- We are off to the Bahamas for a vacation next week - six years overdue!

Answers to the Spot the Difference:
1. another level has been added.
2. four LCD televisions on the roof.
3. two new ladders to get upstairs.
4. chimney removed
You may also notice that we got the lads to look like they were working in this photo.

Will post some more pics when it is complete.

My Mum Said...
a Eulogy to Den

If he was anybody, Den was a traveler
Circumnavigating the globe
at home, his sister, she waited for news
and for photos of travelers bold
Circumnavigating the globe

If he was anybody, Den was a boy
A boy with a passion for wheels
he loved, all machines, I have the same genes
for planes trains ‘n automobiles
A boy with a passion for wheels

If he was anybody, Den was a train spotter
I remember a trip to see steam
the power, the force, the smell and the noise
So recent, or was it a dream?
I remember a trip to see steam

If he was anybody, Den was a driver
His taste in cars, so complete
His Sovereign Daimlaar, Joan - no food in the car!
I’m surprised he let us kids on the seat.
His taste in cars, so complete

If he was anybody, Den was a photographer
Tin mines or snaps of Land’s End
the transparencies focus, the images transport us
we all witnessed the world thru his lens
Tin mines or snaps of Land’s End

If he was anybody, Den was a husband
a son, a brother and maybe to me
a bit of a dad, Something rubbed off - a tad
My mum said I remind her of he
My mum said I remind her of he

The bridge at Millau is a fantastic sight, rising abouve the clouds.

And as impressive is the construction where the two bridge pieces (built on land) were pushed into place using hydraulic rams. Almost like sliding doors on an elevator (UK: lift).

The analogy from one of the French engineers is similar to the way that a sewing machine moves the material in small steps. On the bridge, rams moved the bridge 60cm each cycle (taking 4 minutes) so it took over 3000 cycles to slide the deck into place.

God bless the French.

Solar Power 0, Electricy Meters 1

As if I need another project... but solar power is so compelling a mirage that I can not resist. Are solar panels viable in New England?

The Theroretical Approach

1. each panel is about $5 per watt
2. Exposure: 745 hours of output per year *
3. panel alignment efficiency: 80% (panel azi 235, and tilt 45) **
4. 1W panel output: 0.8 x 745 watthours per year (approx 10c)
5. payback period approx 50 years.

Now, if only I can get the panels to track the sun (a doubling of efficency) and if the government allows me a refund of 50% of my investment then the payback is closer to 12 years - but then I really have to buy a grid tied inverter to make sense and make my house look like a science project.

The Empiricle Approach

So, to get started, I bought 2 x 100W Kyocera panels and am inserting them into skylight frames so that they look the part (I haven't even told the wife). I have a 200W inverter and will use the juice to heat a secondary water tank that feeds the real hot water tank. I will meter the output and expect to get $20 of electrons per year. Costs are $1000 for the panels, $500 installation, $200 water tank... payback 85 years. If only I could improve the climate or move to Arizona?

Bottom Line

Saving the planet is a great pastime - makes you feel good and gives you lots to talk about at parties but solar panels are not viable when you live in New England (or Old). If you are looking for a planet saving project, I suggest that you buy a electricity monitoring device that allows you to see your realtime usage from your power company. Our whole family now sees the actual usage on a small wireless device (like a wireless thermometer) and we have reduced our consumption by almost 10% already. Based on our $200 per month electricity bill - it would take a roof-full of solar panels and a $20k investment to provide as much value. The meters are about $130 with a payback of about 6 months. And it gives you something to talk to the kids about at mealtimes. "No one is going anywhere until we get below 1kW!"

* Based on a big local solar project in the area (115kW panels yielded 85MW in 2006)
** recommended settings are 180 deg and 40 deg (see link above)

That we would have an Irishman helping Anglo-American relationships is news indeed. And for those of you less versed in the saga, Wiredgoose is correct that Caracalla* and David have indeed fallen out (* Caracalla is not his real name). I feel duty bound to point out that I did offer the "olive branch" but it was too little too late.

As to the airbrushing or damnatio memoriae for you more literate folk, Caracalla deleted his entries on this blog, which was such a shame. In my last email to Caracalla I wrote "That I managed to teach you some of the finer points of English humour is one of my better accomplishments - it is a real shame that you deleted the article on French cricket (grillon). The other articles will also be sorely missed - almost as much as you."

Caracalla's penmanship was becoming superb, surpassed only by his truculency. In the dusk of our friendship, I asked Caracalla if he ever watched House (since it seems to include a fair rendition of our two characters) - he replied that he did not find curmudgeons that appealing !

I will miss Kevin (ooops - I meant to say Caracalla)

Hey, it's suddenly a lot less crowded here. Reminds me of that famous pic of Lenin and Trotsky, pre and post the crude Soviet airbrush.

I know you guys have fallen out, and I know not and care less why, but does that justify airbrushing (or self-airbrushing?) the entire contributions of a regular poster?

Whoever (s)he was, the airbrusher missed his comments, which haunt this now-quiet blog like the ghost of Banquo.

I'm off to wiredgoose, where the population remains steady (one!).

Secondhand Chemotherapy results.

So, there was I thinking that chemotherapy was some kind of nuclear therapy where they inject your body with isotopes that irradiate the body. Green phosphorescent liquid administered intravenously - gamma emitting elements coursing thru the veins amid cries of Kryponite!

Snuggling up to Ronnie at night was doubly fun - marital bliss and some secondary radiation exposure as a prophylactic.

As it happens, the drugs are just poisons, usually with Platinum or some other precious metal: Cl2H6N2Pt is one example (cisplatin). So the results of my secondhand chemotherapy trial are unlikely to make the British Medical Journal unless this is merely a symptom of a new disease called GSD (Generalized Stupidity Disorder). I live in hope that they do not name it Traynor's Syndrome or maybe I have been eating too many catalytic converters.

And for you regular readers, Ronnie is now off the drugs and life is returning to abnormal. There is nothing like a crisis to focus the mind on the people you love.

God love us!

Mortality Rate, Confidence Interval, Control Groups... it is more like a statistics course than a visit to the doctors. I guess that is why the walls of the North Shore Cancer Center are painted with "hope, compassion, love, spirit...".

So, we are agonizing over the chemo decision – the stats say no, the friends say yes and the docs say don’t know. The biggest issue seems to be the natural reaction of people that you must do chemo "how can you be so selfish... think of the children... you have to fight this thing..." maybe it is the American way and that you must always fight, even if the risks outweigh the benefits. 'Tis better to have tried and died, rather than never to have tried at all (apols to Alfred).

I have said that there are better ways to reduce the mortality rate: snow tires, more sushi, get a dog! Hey – I am a pragmatist at heart (at least I am now). Maybe it is that this cancer is staged as a 'borderline' that amplifies the quandry, or maybe cancer does that to you, makes you question your decisions, undermines your confidence. So when all said and done, I am starting to feel that these decisions are not as much 'medical' as 'emotional'... more about making the decision right rather than making the right descision.

It also seems that I may be just coursing my way thru the stages of grief... or at least that is the traditional view - grieving for the death of the still living. I know I am overreacting but my math says 76% mortality at 5 years - that puts D-day as 8th Sept 2010... tick tock. Maybe if I use more significant digits we can wring an extra day or two. I know I am overreacting. Maybe some blind faith is what I need, a trip to the church, put my head in the religious sand, share some hollow trite happy statements. Looks like I am thru the stages in just one posting!

And in an attempt to drag this entry back from the brink of morbidity - here are the stages:
- the old tires will be fine. (denial)
- why are they so bloody expensive ? (anger)
- I promise to drive slower! (bargaining)
- we can't afford snow tires. (depression)
- we need snow tires. (acceptance)

God save 245 65 R 17 Pirelli Scopions

"I've sent a hamper to our partners" - no David, not good David, bad taste, poor judgement, naughty, what were you thinking? So, a major breakthrough in Anglo-american safety - the hamper (American) is a Laundry basket (English) where as a hamper (English) is a Gift basket (American).

God bless our language

Wiredgoose is re-blogged, following a frustrating lockout due to BetaBlogger raising my heartbeat contrary to expectations.

Speaking of things coronary, and continuing Kevin's French vein below (pun avoidable but irresistible), last night's typical example of French customer (dis)service raised my blood pressure a notch or two.

SFR, the part-Vodafone-owned French mobile operator I chose to use some 8 years ago, is not renowned for customer service (see Rodrigo Sepulveda Schulz ).

So, how bad is SFR's customer disservice? Well, three evenings ago (Dec 12th), having decided to upgrade my ageing Nokia 6210 phone to a Nokia 6234, benefiting from a substantial subsidy on the new phone by agreeing to stay with SFR a further 2 years, I drove 10km to the nearest SFR outlet in a local centre commercial, or mall as Americans prefer to call it. Entering the SFR shop at 7.30 pm, I found myself in a queue of three customers for two SFR staff members dealing with diverse queries from new account setups to phone problems, so as you'd expect things progressed slowly. Sadly, with high French labour costs, we have become used to such understaffed stores, and I waited patiently.

Twenty-five minutes later, I was finally at the front of the queue and my turn came. It was three minutes before 8pm. In my best francais I said I'd like to renew my account and purchase a new phone. "Sorry sir, but it's 8 o'clock and we cannot do renewals after 8. Can you come back tomorrow?" Gnashing of teeth and french mutterings later, I emerged cursing my ill fortune (not for the first time) at being a customer of an operator that best suits my needs but really does not deserve my custom.

So yesterday evening, two days later, I was finally calm enough to try again, this time entering the same store at 7pm. This time I was second in the queue, and there were four staff working, but any optimism rapidly faded as the first available staff apologetically but determinedly finished his shift, declaring loudly that he had already worked 15 minutes late. Mon dieu, quinze minutes plus, quelle horreur!

Half an hour after I walked in, I was served. A charming but inexperienced young lady took my request, checked my account details and delivered the good news that such a good customer was I that I qualified for more of a discount than advertised. So I was going to get my Nokia 6234 for around €40. Great. She showed me the Nokia 6280 for comparison, but no thank you, not for me. The 6234 is great; I already have one for another mobile account and I love it. So, off she went to get the phone and start processing the mountain of paperwork that any French transaction involves.

Desolé Monsieur, rupture de stock. Vous pouvez essayer notre site internet.

"Out of stock. Please try online." (Delivered without the 'Sorry Sir', as French businesses never apologise to disappointed customers).

!

She did have two suggestions: "Try our online store." Do you think I'd have twice queued half an hour here if it was available on your online store? "Ah, ok, well some models are not available on our online store."

Suggestion two: "Try our Grenoble city-centre stores. I can't tell you where they are, but there are two of them and you can look them up." I have already queued for 20 minutes in one of them a week ago (same customer to staff ratio, same French labour costs, same customer disservice) and gave up after no progress in that queue.

So what do I do next? Suffer the queue in yet another shop? Phone ahead and ensure no rupture de stock? Or live with my 6210 a little longer and study the roaming charges of SFR's main competitor Orange?

I do love living in France, but God help (or improve) French customer service.

And now the Living Forcast, issued by the Met Office at 2300 GMT today.

General synopsys for the patient is fair, 1005, rising steadily, expected moderate or good later tonight:

Lungy: cancer, storm 10, removed more quickly, poor.
Mind, Soul: SW, 5, clear, 40 years left, moderate or fair.
Body: MWF, almost 50, mostly clear, lost weight, good.
Doctor: SWM, fair, rich, unmarried, working rapidly, good.
Fair Isle Family: 3, visit imminent, bearing gifts, moderate or good.
Malin Head: good, woosy, rising slowly, needs glasses.
Southeast Eyesland: occaisional heavy rain, poor, mumbling.
Forties: and still alive and kicking, good.
Bailey's: please, moderate icing, good.

God help the shipping forecast.
www.bbc.co.uk/weather/coast/shipping/

Stop all the clocks... I have joked about my ability to not smoke in US vs smoking like a chimney in UK. I have tried Nicorette, ciggy stinking water, acupucture and hypnosis.. there is nothing that works as well as having your wife diagnosed with Lung Cancer (probably).

It kind of hits you like a funeral invite - better get your papers in order, better get ready to say goodbye, better get a grip on life so you can help them and not wallow in the madness of pity and uncertainty.

Her preference is to tell no one but it has leaked out (the hole in her trachea was a bit of a give away). It all seems a bit melodramatic when there is still a chance that it is nothing and it may be just the vestiges of some bout of bronchitis or some lost car keys. The more the info leaks out the more we have to manage the well-meaning advice and guidance that just seems to undermine our confidence and cast doubt on the situation (you really should get a eighth opinion you know… won’t it leave a scar… can they save some of her lung… what about a needle biopsy – my cousin's friend had one of those… ??? ). She wants to be decisive and I am doing everything in my power to help her stick to her chosen course – she can not handle any more uncertainly now. She has even told me her mahogany or pine decision… you have got to laugh!

I think I am writing this for myself, therapy and sanity. I don't mean to tell you like this - doing it via a blog is a is a little cowardly (but we want to preserve our courage for later).

Mon dieu, I resemble that remark -- NOT.

Firstly, on peut etre irlandais, but one is more that un peu irlandais. One is cent pour cent irlandais. No offence (or even offense) to my froggy neigbours, but un ouef is un oeuf.

But Monsieur Trayneur is right -- I am perched on the side of an Alp as I write this, and it's not bad.

Also Monsieur Trayneur, those weren't ever chatup lines, unless you count the little man at the banana stall in the Angulana markets, south of Colombo, someone in my chatup crosshairs. I know living in Sri Lanka back in '92-'94 was somewhat sexually frustrating, but I was neither so desperate nor so inclined as to chatup the guys from whom I bought my daily food. All that said, those were lines I often heard (and worse) during my time there. And speaking of chatting up, there's nothing so passion killing as the mother of an attractive potential chat-up target telling you that 'Uma's stools were a bit loose this morning'. Bet Uma Thurman's mother never put off potential suitors thus.

And as for Kevin, well we've discussed lots of things but I've not yet seen any hint of Freedom Fries from him. Mind you, Kevin is too smart to make the same mistake as the US soldiers in the trenches of World War I: had they realised those French-speaking soldiers frying potatoes in oil were Belgian and not French, many's the Republican menu wouldn't have needed changing over the whole 'French Fries' debacle.

On that note, I'll say hi everyone and looking forward to lots more here...

Monsieur Wiredgoose

Un Peut Irlandais. Please also welcome Eoin (pronounounced Owen, from the Gaelic word meaning 'to be in debt to the British'). Eoin is sharper than a tack but unfortunately lives in France and his Irish heritage has slowly been leaking into the Alps.

Eoin's favorite chatup lines are: 'Are you married?', 'What age are you?', 'How much do you earn?', and my favourite, 'How are your bowel movements today?'

And even Kevin's francophobic rants do not ruffle Eoin: "rumours of his crabbiness are greatly exaggerated. I think he's a lurking francophile." Kevin, sortes du cabinet!

God help us now.

Top O' The Morning to ye, and greetings from the future... Most kind introduction. Enjoying reading your blog. I confess that many of us over here in Hibernia are congenitally afflicted with TTM. But not all of us. As Father McGillycuddy was only saying to me last week after a particularly enjoyable 4 hour mass and glorious benediction, "Is iad na muca ciúine a itheann an mhín". Which of course translates into the oppressor's tongue as "It's the quiet pigs that eat the grain".

Now that's philosophy. Back of the net, Bertrand Russell, back of the net. Well, it's time for someone else in the house to use the candle, so I better say cheerio old beans and sign off. I'm writing this from Craggy Island and there's been another power strike, no electricity again. I'm off down the pub to find someone to talk to...

Posted by Niall (as in the river, not genuflection)
Altogether now, "Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Lura....."

The Irish are so friendly and we are so guilible - so please can you all welcome Niall, an autentic Irish chap, better educated than most of us, with a sharpness of wit that could cut cheese (so to speak).

I am now spending so much time in Dublin that I fear I may have contracted * TTM from my exposure to the folk in Dublin. Apparently it is one of the few diseases that can be transmitted via the phone and in the early stages often presents itself by bouts of mononucleosis type letheragy and disinterest (usually when being subjected to lengthy diatribes on emerging technologies). TTM starts as a succession of chronic motor and vocal tics that begin when listening to complete bullshit, but psychiatric comorbidity also appears to be a primary feature. Motor tics, which are repetitive, involuntary stereotyped movements, most often involve the mouth, face, head or neck muscles, but may also involve the trunk and extremities. Physicians often mistake the disorder for a psychological problem, partly because most with the problem are able to suppress their symptoms for varying lengths of time and because symptoms typically disappear during sleep, sexual activity, periods of intense concentration, excessive drinking, or quality education.

The reliable cure is to go to think a lot, drink heavily and fall asleep (or just hang up the phone!).

* British Medical Journal: Jan 2005 Issue 278: Talking Too Much and Tourette's syndrome.

Coup de Boule

In the Wall Street Journal this week... front page, a story on Zidane head butting in the World Cup in Germany (near Paris). My view on this kind of behaviour is clear, dreadfully disgraceful and such are poor reflection on the everyone involved that I can barely talk.

Firstly, it is incomprehensible that such a paper would publish such a story four days after it happened, but then to sully the paper's front page with a color (colour) photo, what ever next! I thought those clever sketch artists can draw anything with just a very thin black pen.

The actual head butt has raised a few eyebrows over here in the US... parents up in arms about the bad example that this sets for our youth.... pppplease! You all said soccer was too boring, you wanted bigger goals, more parental fighting in the stands, ref replays so that we could decide if the ball was out or in.... Well, you wish has come true! Maybe you now want to rename the game to its true American title: Foot Hockey.

It the sensitive words of one American on foregn policy: "the Italians are cunning and Machiavellian; the French are immoral..."*


God save Zidane


* The Chinese are heathen and inscrutable; the Japanese are treacherous; the arrogant
Germans go berserk and run amuck; the Italians are cunning and Machiavellian;
the French are immoral; and the Dutch are stubborn. They are Wops, Spigs, Frogs, Gooks. Polocks, and Bohunks, who eat raw fish, snails , octupi, and grasshoppers. This alone is enough to condemn them. Colonel Willis M. Smyser, USAF, Member of the Faculty, ICAF in 1960:

Voice over IP... it just cracks me up that we can convert voice into IP packets and route it over the same Sonet (SDH) backbone that is handling regular telephony. It is kind of like telling people they can use the browser on the phone to get to a site that allows you to send texts for free (http://www.cingularme.com/do/public?l=en-US&v=cingular) instead of charging people 10c to send SMS texts from their phone.

It all comes down to money - and the fact that the network operators are making a fortune from services that should be much cheaper than they are... Whatever happened to competition? They are fat and happy - and the sooner we all move to Vonage or Skype or Flint or whoever - the better.

ps - You can contact me on skype either online to davidtraynor or via phone on +1 347 284 6640.

God bless Voice over IP...

Season's Greetings !

With the separation of church and state (and the separation of common sense and state), we are duty bound to say Happy Holidays and can no longer mention baby cheeses, yamaha or twelfth night. In England, holidays almost always refer to your summer vacation so Happy Holidays does nothing to conjour up the festive spirit. It is so bland... you may as well say "have a nice day".

I wanted to say Happy Christmas or Happy Hanukka but no... not politically correct. Happy New Year then, nope - depends which calendar you are using. I get the picture - this truly is 1984 (Orwell) and all I can say is "double plus good un work" - not very catchy!

It is sad when our governments change our language: We Three Kings of Orient Are has been translated to 'of Persia', the dog from Dambusters has had to change his name to 'Lucky', I shudder to name the small black dolls created by Florence Kate Upton in 1895, Golliwogs - to many of us, the stories represented "chivalry far more persuasive than the unconvincing knights of the Authurian legend" (Sir Kenneth Clarke). The camel that broke the hare's back is the reworded Bing Crosby classic - I'm dreaming of a Holiday.

For those of you lucky enough to not be on our xmas card list... you will have missed our decision to risk it, damn the consequenses and uphold years, nay centuries, of tradition by saying 'Merry Christmas' (inside the card)!

Thank Big Sibling for political incorrectness.
..and a Happy New Year from Ronnie. Amy, DT and David

The English Muffin. Bastion of the confusion of all things anglo-american.

For you Brits and Aussies... what is it? A flat plain bread thingy that is cooked from yeast dough with milk and butter. It is a little like a crumpet in size but is crumbly not stodgey. Usually eaten toasted with butter. Often used to make a sandwich with egg and bacon called McMuffin (or with just a potato filling, an O'Muffin).

But why the name? there seem to be four common explanations:
1. The English adjective adds much needed flavor to the otherwise boring food.
2. Originally a scone* recipe but Americans could neither pronounce nor make correctly.
3. Calling them Autralian Toaster Biscuits gave baked goods a bad name (sorry mate!).

Personally I think it is a little US retaliation to us adding 'American' to their sports where their rules are different to ours. The best examples are 'American Football' and 'American Golf' **.

God help breakfast nomenclature.

* scone (UK) is called biscuit (US), biscuit (UK) is called cookie (US), crumpet (UK) does not translate at all, jam (UK) is called preserve (seeded) or jelly (seedless) in the US. Thankfully butter is spelled, if not pronounced, the same (and there are maked similarities between the UK and US variants). Next month in the breakfast series: bacon, ham, sausage, link, weiner, frank and patty nomenclature.
** among other rules, American golf does not penalise dancing on your opponent's line in high heels shouting "in the hole" and giving everyone high fives.

Here are some of my better one-liners, preserved for future eulogies:

"You don't speak very good england."
"There is only one problem living with Americans."
"Sadly America's command of english is limited to the pool halls."
"Bath, ME - the last remnants of the nation's inclined ways."
"The Heimlich Remover."

God saves quotes

Bad day... My Mr Rearden has just started behaving like Mr Boyle (Holmes and Moriarty respectively for you British out there).

So it falls to me to research the word 'english' (with a small e) : an American noun to describe spin on a ball particularly in pool. In Britain, the noun used is side, top or bottom depending on where the cue strikes the ball. and the verb: to screw (as the ball wriggles and writhes after impact as it starts to get a grip on the felt). I can hear you philistines giggling already - be quiet!

So, why the use of the word? It all dates back to Englishman Jack Carr - of Mr Bartley's Billiard Rooms at Bath. Carr discovered that chalk, added to the leather tips that were used by Frenchman Mingaud, allowed improved control of the ball. He was quite a showman and traveled around Europe during the 1820s, giving demos and selling his "twisting chalk" for half a crown a box (approx 12.5p or 7c). Others who have helped cement the use of the word:
- Phelan in 1850 "we can out english the English".
- Slosson on Schaefer in 1879 - "he has english like the English".
- Twain of Hoppe's win in 1906 "if only his english were spoken".
- Bush on Churchill "he was english".

God save spin.

large flat paddle... leisurely thrown ball... hold on there!

Obviously few Americans have stood in the way of one of those deliveries or perhaps slow-motion action replays are to blame for the misconception. The balls travel at well over100mph and while the total surface area of the 'paddle' must be a couple of times that of baseball, the fact that the ball hits the ground before getting to the player introduces a huge amount of variability. It has been said that the difference is between 'difficult to hit' and 'difficult to hit well'. I am not going to mention that the players do not wear gloves or have to stand on mounds or resort to fighting. Nor remind our readers that the players do not get the opportunity to practice in the bullpen nor are they allowed to miss the ball a couple of times before it counts. And, our women play the same game as our men - no 'soft' ball for them!

Perhaps the concern is that the game is a gentlemanly sport, an olympic event, played by royalty, or that it is popular as an international sport (Not Red Sox Nation vs Yankee Nation). Perhaps the American people to not realise that many Americans travel to watch overseas games and indeed, the US has recently produced (or imported) some very good players.

God Save Tennis

In preparation for the 3rd anniverary of this blog, I am wondering if blogs have actually added value to the way that people communicate? I am sure that more people communicate, but it seems that the quality of the communication is sadly lacking - to quote an old english show - 'Never mind the quality, feel the width' . If you do the math, it seems that the product of volume and quality has actually gone down. Publishing for the people! - shame that they dont speak good England.

But is it just America that is infested with happy enthusiastic folk that don't know any better? The latest spamglish is Podcasting: I know it is is just IRC or audio file downloads but what the heck - people think it is new - God bless' em for they are easily led. The next pointless craze!

This Blog is available as a podcast by sending email to podcast@internetgrammar.com and quoting 'podcast for podcast sake' in the subject line.

God Help Apple - maybe they should have bought skype!

Another year... overpaid and underworked... I have decided that a new job is in order to get this little grey (gray) cell working at capacity again...

One of my pommie pals asked about the -ize and -ise rule. The broad rule is that the -ize forms are standard in the US, but that -ise ones are now usual in Britain and the Commonwealth in all but formal writing. For example, all British newspapers use the -ise forms; so do most magazines and most non-academic books published in the UK. However, some British publishers insist on the -ize forms (Oxford University Press especially), as do many academic journals and a few other publications. Most British dictionaries quote both forms, but—despite common usage—put the -ize form first.

But before we discard the -ise completely, there are some words that are always spelled in -ise, yes - even in US! advertise, advise, apprise, chastise, circumcise, comprise, compromise, demise, despise, devise, disfranchise, enfranchise, enterprise, excise, exercise, improvise, incise, premise, revise, supervise, surmise, surprise, televise.

Analyse that!

And on the topic of color.... the sitiation is best summari*ed by H.L. Mencken thus..

Insistent as our transatlantic cousins are on writing arbour, armour, clamour, clangour, colour, dolour, flavour, honour, humour, labour, odour, rancour, rigour, savour, valour, vapour and vigour, and “most unpleasant” as they find the omission of the excrescent u in any of these words, they nevertheless make no scruple of writing the derivatives in the American way—arboreal, armory, clamorous, clangorous, colorific, dolorous, flavorous, honorary, humorous, laborious, odorous, rancorous, rigorous, savory, valorous, vaporize and vigorous—not inserting the u in the second syllable of any one of these words. The British practice is, in short and to speak plainly, a jumble of confusion, without rhyme or reason, logic or consistency; and if anybody finds the American simplification of the whole matter “unpleasant,” it can be only because he is a victim of unreasoning prejudice against which no argument can avail.

more - visit The Two Orthographies at http://www.bartleby.com/185/31.html

God Bless Americanization of language

The time has come to set the Aluminium record straight... The metal with 13 electrons and atomic weight of 26.981538 is known around the world as Aluminium (except a few remote corners of the globe who refer to it as Aluminio or Aluminum). Why, you may ask, is the US one of those who use Aluminum... let's look at the history.

Sir Humphry Davy named the element from the mineral called alumina, based on the French word alum (potassum aluminum sulfate (sic)). Sir Humphry flapped around naming this new element, at first spelling it alumium (1807) then alumumium, then aluminum, and finally aluminium in 1812 (he had a dreadful stutter which made matter much worse).

In the USA the standard spelling was aluminium and this is the only form given in Noah Webster’s Dictionary of 1828, and the Webster Unabridged Dictionary of 1913. However, there is evidence that the spelling without the final i was used in various trades and professions in the US from the 1830s onwards and that, due to the appalling education provided and the big immigration, by the 1870s there were few Americans who could spell any word correctly (including their family name) - let alone Aluminium.

The Americian Chemical Society decided they could no longer afford to keep arguing about the name, and therefore, in 1925 a ballot was taken - the choices were Alumium (rep), Aluminimum (dem) and Aluminum (lib). The decision was Alumium but a careless typesetter added an upside down U and you know the rest...

God Bless Aluminium

So, instead of watching some rugby, a small group of Brits stayed up last night to watch the Boston RedSox play baseball - it was a shame that they lost, had we known, we would have watched something else on telly.

We were trying to remember this whole "Babe Ruth" thing but we are not sure who cursed who and why, and whether other people effect curses when they move from Boston to NY - and do they get undone when they move back?

Anyway, for you philistine Brits out there - the RedSox have not won the US Cup (World Series) for a long time - (I have a bumper sticker to prove it - it says "world champs 1918"). You may ask why they call it the World Series when it is a battle between the 'American' world and the 'National' world and it is only open to US teams - it would be like the soccer world cup being only open to Italy, Germany, Brazil and England. Hey, if we let the US play soccer, they should let us play rounders! And why aren't there any women on your teams - oh yes, they play 'softball'. Maybe the RedSox would have better luck if they played with a bigger ball!

So, back to the game, there was not much action but lots of people trying to kill eachother with nasty looks, and lots of ear, nose, knee and glove touching (apparently it is like semaphore to communicate between dugouts about coordinated spitting). Boston was ahead with a few innings of fierce staring and the Yankee's pitcher had to blink so many times, he left the game for good - a real sulk and he didn't even wave to the crowd?. But then, with a super bit of skipping and clapping around the bases, NY earned the 3 points and after full time the game was a tie. "Could it get any more exciting" the commentaor asked - well, I was hoping for a close up of the burst water main in Washington Heights but then again... - and the commercials were too short....

Into extra time and they do this sudden death thing, tie breaker, first goal wins (but you have to give the home team another go). Anyway, finally, one of the players hit the ball and the game was over. It must be difficult to hit those balls with such tight pants on, it is not surprising they have to give them a few goes to hit it. And those helmets are so dirty, you would thing the brand people would have a fit. They do wash those lucky uniforms don't they?

And why don't the Americans like tied games, where they could celebrate the sport and the game and say - "that was a good game"... maybe then there would be less parental murders at the ice hockey rink, less 'in the hole' shouting at the USPGA open, less 'Most Valued Player' and more team work. The great american dream - "Win or invade". Just be glad North Korea don't have better teams.

My favorite quote was that the Redsox were destined to face the Chicago Cubs - a perfect match of two teams neither of whom will win the world series (or any other series) until hell freezes over. A perfect match of hapless wits... maybe they should organise a friendly and play softball.

God Bless the Red Sox

Someone used the word umpteen and meant in the teens...
Umpteen is not necessarily less than 20, if it were, then one could argue that it be more or less than 19, or more or less than 18 and so on...

All we can say of umpteen is that it is a complex number >2j, but necessarily neither real, integer nor positive. It is generally thought that it was coined by folk who could not count past 10 (or however many fingers they had). Rumour has it that the maximum number of children that one couple can have is umpteen, since by then you can never actually count them since they are moving so much and all look so similar (try counting ants or Irish children). It is sometimes thought that umpteen was the foundation for Heisenberg's indeterminate principle for electron speed versus location and is coined in one of his famous, if uncertain, quotes. "I don't care if Schrodinger had umpteen %!*? cats in his box...".

Some religious folk believe that "’Umpteen’" is truly a gospel word,". "A word of grace. It conveys the love of a parent who does not bother to keep an EXACT count of my failings and inadequacies. It would have really bothered me to hear my mother say, "I’ve told you 4 times to do that." She’s counting? "Umpteen" times leaves a little room for grace to operate." ..... They go on to say that God works in base Umpteen - quite profound (except that there can not then be 10 commandments!). It is also handy when counting paedophile priests.

There is also rumour that its derivation is the same as Umpire - meaning someone blameless (nomper - no peer) who makes mistakes that are uncountable (or it would force the MLB to show umpire's stats for bad calls!) "this umpire has a 78% accuracy for home teams, 85% for visitors, 92% for left handers......"

The first use of the word is to be found in Westminster abbey records of Thomas Beckett "...and the rounde table was thus sized to hoste umpteen knights..", mimicing Mary and Jesus' notes left at Rennes Le Chateau on the last supper, "...there was room even for Thomas, the umpteenth apostle..". http://www.renneslechateau.com/

The Rugby World Cup - while watching the final in one of the hallowed enclaves of Welsh golf, the topic of the day (aside from the usual ramblings about points for penalties and drop goals) was - are football boots legal in Rugby?

According to Dia Hughes (who plays off 6 at Abergele GC), playing with footy boots is illegal and causes the kind of fat lip injuries sustained by the bleeding aussies this weekend (one of the local golfers wanted to demonstate that almost any shoe could cause that injury). Perhaps "as tough as old boots" is not the phrase - perhaps "as sharp as new predators" would be more like it (Well yes, His boots are in fact Adidas Predator Mania footy boots - size UK 9, US 10, AU 14). Perhaps the Welsh football team should have entered?

And talking of injuries, the Welsh were quick to point out that blood on the field is never allowed, but that appeared to be ignored for the cut on the England Captain - but then, how could the ref see around that great hooker (nose). The ref... I just wish he had been Welsh, what kind of ref would grant a penalty for the slight breach of scrum etiquette in the final seconds of full time? A Welsh one! And what did England do? punch? - no, kick? no, one of our men dropped his right ear at the "engage". Come on ref, he is hard of hearing - he was only trying to hear you shouting 'get closer'. By the way, did anyone retrieve the offending ear, or is there a patch of little England in that antipodean corner of the globe.

And so, fumbles, knocks, anguish - but evenually the local golfers replenished my beer and I could once again focus on the game. The game could have been planned by a Hollywood producer - or is Rugby just like professional wrestling - just a stage show to get the crowd going. It certainly seemed that way when He went down from a 'firm tackle' His ulna clearly shattered in a compound fracture. But no, He pulled it straight, the medic held His arm aloft and poooooof - good as new. And that reminds me, the adjectives those comentators use are very misleading - like describing Saddam as 'quite naughty', or Michael Jackson as 'interesting', or MWD as 'nasty'. let's all be glad that Hollywood does not produce the event - words like crushing, smashing, kerrrbamm, would be sooooo overused!

Maybe that is why He prays before every penalty, praying to the great god of rugby that the US will never discover the sport - oh please no, the very thought makes me shudder. And what would they call it??? let's hope they don't call it 'Football' again. Perhaps they would call it 'handball'.

And so to the kick that stitched up the match - a rather good "half volley" (the correct football term) that, in true Beckham style, went over the bar for a goal kick. David Beckham wears also Predators and has a holiday home in North Wales. [moved from another blog].

God Bless Football boots

We were so appalled by an incident that Mr Poe appeared before me in a dream and dictated one of his shortest stories: (edited to fit your intellect)

"Believe revenge is always near at hand, nectar to the senses, sweetness to the lips.... It was a dark and dreary night, the inmates of the local assylum had been drinking heavily at a remote windswept house of ill repute, curiously called The Railway despite its location at least a dozen furlongs from the now noiseless tracks.

The events of the evening were not to be clearly recalled by most of the assemblage, and upon awaking the next morning, the sheer horror of the situation became evident. In the small quiet hours of twilight, while good men were sleeping soundly, someone had cunningly and carefully entered the southerly bathroom to commit the despicable deed.

So violent was the deed that perhaps it took more than one person to effect the damage that was wreaked in that delicate room. The shards of debris, the crushed tissue, still, to this day, lie upon the stained carpet where they fell. The evidence of a struggle, of tissue being repeatedly ripped from that elegant porcelain frame, of tissue spoiled and defamed. The pungent aroma of decay has abated, but the stench of crime has not.

The culprit is in our midst, in this very forum, wrent with guilt and shame for the loss of one who held the very fabric of our gentleness, with the strength to dry our tears and wipe away mistakes. We will find this culprit, we will delve into these alibis of secret assignations, of inadvertent sonambulistic wanderings, of the trail of asymetric footprints leaving the scene. We will find and punish the satanic beast who broke the loo roll holder.

God save two-ply!

My colleague used a phrase the other day that gave cause to a level of pondering - the word that flooded my synaptic clefts with Acetyl-coline was 'overwhelm'. Whelm is to overcome utterly, engulf, submerge, envelope.... overwhelm is therefore completely redundant, - or is it the American need to use the superlative, even more overcome - more pregnant, more unique, more quanta... more French. On that point, perhaps the etymology is French and it is just another verb that supports the desire to surrender.

God whelms in mysterious ways

Although I could relate several amusing stories, I think I'll just sum up some of the more poignant differences I observed in a set of rules I've established as a sort of 'American's guide to the UK'

• Left is Right.
• Up is Down.
• Zero is One.
• Public is Private.

These apply to driving, lightswitches, building floors, and schools respectively. Once one wraps one's head around these paradoxes, one is well on one's way to understanding the wonders of British living. In all seriousness, though, I was most taken with how similar things are in the US and the UK - we share very similar cultures. [and Fermi levels - Ed]

Andrew Landahl - God save Quantum Computing!

I recently mused over some news that "Lazarus" won a product naming contest for a Financial Services product being developed in the UK. Call me old fashioned, but am not sure that a wealth vs virtue story adequately reinforces the goals for Corporate Finance (or was it the poverty and scab ridden existence that is attractive? ["...thou shalt not prosper" (Deut. 28:16)]). Metaphors to parables are dangerous at best - but this is exquisite.

Some scholars view the parable as a direct criticism of Jewish royalty or Judah (the rich man) by Lazarus (Elazar or "Eliezer" - the God helped). Most Christians view Lazarus as a fairly poor role model and not very virtuous even amongst lepers. So the name either epitomizes a poorly whistleblower on one hand (good for FSA* compliance aspects), and on the other, a destitute beggar (good for SFA* compliance).

The only rational explanation is that the product managers must have had poor attendance at School and Church (or Synagogue) and the resulting incorrect understanding of the "Lazarus from the ashes" story (it was actually the phoenix who rose from ashes shouting 'wolf, wolf, my kingdom for a wolf'!).

* God help the Financial Services Act and the Scottish Football Association (but not both).

And so to a final tale of Air France, my last sojourn peut-etre. (..and where are those graves and circumflexes when you need them?). Air France have acquired new 777s and they are very confortible and le video works tres bien if you are happy watching les not-so-jeune fils prancing around. Unfortunately it takes about half an hour to realise the film is absolute trash and really just a kind epitaph to some aged actress (makeup please!).

That is not to say that American movies are that different, although with American movies, at least you know they are crap from the start. ...and why are Irish movies always so crap at the end?

So I am off to fly American Airlines - poor movies, poor food, poor service. But they are so reliable and dependable, reminiscent of British Rail perhaps?

God Rest Air France

So these darn yanks have discovered that we Brits have to pay a license fee of 120 quid to watch TV (Since the BBC are not allowed to advertise, the fee is intended to allow them to recover the costs of their service). Lots of laughter emenated from the (now two) americans - "Y'all you could by a whole TV in a couple of years!" was their retort Ha Ha! Very Funny!


Well, for you parochial English Folk (and the Scottish, who are all parochial), in the land of plenty the average american pays $50 per month to watch TV - you could by three TVs in a couple of years! Ha Ha! Very Funny!


And before we get on to the topic of the number of channels, the UK does only have 4 public channels but the calibre of the progamming is so much higher - they even air shows like 'X-files', '3rd Rock' and 'Buffy' on the BBC, without any adverts (YES - WITHOUT ANY ADVERTISING). And nope - not even any auctions and pledge drives as you have on your National Public Begging channel.


Just to segue (change) to a safer thread, did you know that you can pay a reduced fee to the BBC if you only have a black and white telly, or if you are blind! (but not both) - which, if you are colour blind, is a real insult! To enforce the fee, the BBC has these little vans with 'bedstead antennea' that wander the country, detecting TVs in households that have not paid their fees. Sit down before checking out the TV Detector Vans at Nostalgiacentral.com.


Apparently Air France are also looking into the system to trace lost baggage.


God Save the BBC

Another couple of US phrases that do not translate - 'if I had my druthers' and 'segue'. Any answers?

It seems that the whole of Europe was on vacation from Dec 21st onwards and will not return until Jan 6th. So basically Jo, Philip and myself represent the entire GNP for the period. Did you know that during the second world war on xmas day, the British and German troops downed their arms and played soccer - the only problem was getting the ball out of the mine fields. (Can we have our ball back please? - I do not jest). "So who won the games?" I hear you ask - the Americans of course!

God help Xmas

Being a kind hearted soul David has built an online Captain's log for the intrepid Scotts. So if you would like to offer some advice about how to circumnavigate the globe or have some handy tips on remote schooling and bilge pump repair, click here to help, or to see what the Captain and his rusty crew are upto!

Being a brit (small cap) I hang my head in public shame (as in transport not schools). I have worked with many UK and US startups and I guess that is why I left the green and pleasant lands... satanic mills says it all for the work and the ethic. Bring back the death penalty for misfeasance.

God forgot England

And news from a famous educator (I will refer to him as Alan to protect his innocence). Alan was telling us the story of the Yank in an Edinburgh Moss Bros store asking if he could rent a 'Tuxedo'. (Tuxedo means nothing to almost every Englishman except those who worked with IBM, ICL and NEC on Transaction Processing stuff). The shop assistant asked Alan what he meant, to which Alan explained, 'A Tux, frilly shirt, suspenders, silk, dickie'. The shocked young man who though Alan must be one of those unmentionables... and sent him next door to the women's lingerie shop!

Just in case you don't know - here are the translations from US - US words are capitalized:
TUXEDO - Dinner Jacket, DJ, Tails, Morning suit
SUSPENDERS - Braces, lifters, elaggies
suspenders - GARTER BELT
FRILLY - effeminate, lacy, racy, sexy

An Englishman would have asked for a DJ with cummabund and black tie
A Scot would have asked for the cash in the register.
A Canadian would have dressed up in the women's clothing
Calling all Yanks who have been to Edinbuurrrrrggghhhhh!
God help the Lanuage.

The question is, "Is Microsoft that evil?" - thankyou to our reader in Chelmsford, MA (not that Chelmsford in Essex is any better!).

The answer is, sadly, yes, on twenty seven counts!
1. If you use word to edit an html file the resulting file will only work on MS web sites.
2. If you upgrade to XP, and then try to uninstall back to w98, all your files are lost.
3. If you use Office 11, you have to migrate (imprison is more like it) to XP
...
27. If you are still running win98, MS will actually send you a free copy of XP just to get you to upgrade from Office 97!

I have just tried to get two PII 192M IBM thinkpads to XP and had to revert back to win98 because of the pain and torture, new licenses, new hardware, new this, new that. Is Microsoft Evil? Judging by the time I have wasted on their products, yes - will someone please show me Linux!
God Help Windows.

Checked out a very amusing site called Gimcracker and was prompted to write:
I am gobsmacked that 'gobsmacked' was successfully exported to the US, and thought that most US folk would follow 'collector of gnomes' usage. A quick poll of an American and half a Canadian suggested that 'blown away' or 'bush whacked' would more appropriate to North American colloquialities.

gobsmack - (OE) is actually a Scottish verb used to describe a form of greeting normally reserved for an challenger or rival. In ancient times 'gobsmacking' was often performed by slapping someone with a metal gauntlet. Early colonialists subsequently used the phrase 'thou givest the glove' which has now been shortened to 'giving the finger'.

God smack America

Two very early mornings getting up to travel - the jet lag may have passed but I think I have generalized stupidity disorder (I just hope they don't name the disease after me!). The weather is (surprise) cold damp and rainy, rumour has it that the sun appeared briefly somewhere in Nottingham but sadly not many folk were outside at the time.

Yesterday I was down in Pangborne and had a super supper at the local Chinese, and had to walk about 4 miles at an olympic pace.
On the Anglo-american front (note use of capitalization), described the car as quite pokey. Kevin was quite offended since he had spent the extra dollars to get a top of the line, fuel injected speedster and thought I meant pokey (us) not pokey (UK). Apparently our American bretheren use the word to describe something that is big, slow or has relationships with small clay figures (Gumby)! You can purchase models of the clay figure on eBay (eBUYGumby).

Send medicine!

God help us all

XBox has (apparently) not arrived as yet - otherwise I'd get a call asking about component video connections! Amazingly the whole XBox thing doesn't seem to be very popular over here - everyone in UK uses PS2.
Working late again... guess it is the weather cos it is dull and gloomy even in the middle of the day! Think I will have a cup of tea and off to bed. Kevin, my US buddy, asks what the English drank before we ransacked India - good question, but he could have worded it better. Maybe I'll take him out and play some cricket with him!

God rest Xbox

Still in UK on a rainy day - still in PJs also!
But it didn't stop me going out for a drive: and just realised that one more suble difference between our nations is the red/yellow traffic light combination!
Guess every one knows that red is for stop and green for go (except in Boston)...

Red and yellow in the US means definitely stop (?) (pedestrian or policeman has control over the lights)
Red and yellow in the UK means definitely start (the lights will go green in the next second)
I am just glad that we drive on the other side of the road - it seems to be the only thing that make the foreigners drive sensibly when in the commonwealth.

God help the traffic lights

Spent most of my life thinking that Guy Fawkes night was celebrating the attempt to blow up parliament - and was somewhat relieved earlier this month when someone at Castle Kimberley explained that it was for celebrating his failure and execution. Maybe I have been in the US too long? God Bless the Queen, she looked very sad at the Whitehall service.

My son, DT has not blogged yet - maybe I should get his girlfriend to blog first?
The story goes that he was on the bank at Henley during Regatta and he saw his Dad (me) in an eight at the end of a race.
I am completely knackered and almost passing out... DT says - "Look there's Dad and they must have won 'cos he's asleep".
Reminds me of a poem ... "the bird it has landed mere humans remain" - mailto:davidtraynor@email.com for more.

The stage is set - just had a $60 haircut and now I look like a UK bovver boy (don't ask). So the sulltry Englisy Hairdresser (Hi Steve) wazzes around with $600 clippers and talks about canvas and black. And now my wife thinks I am a God, my daughter thinks I am different - here's is what she says from her blog:

hi, my names amy .my dad looks waaaaaaaaaay differrent :)bye , from me

life with a 9 year old!
Life in the Union is quite bizaar at the mo, all talk of snipers.
Seems they hadn't noticed that if you let people buy rifles, they can become snipers.
Everyone else thought that sniping was bidding at the last mo on ebay...

God Bless Ebay

Martinlutherking.org hate site: Saw a flyer at the school about www.martinlutherking.org - visited the site and was shocked to read that they are hoping to cancel MLK day over here in the US, and that MLK was a communist spy and that.... A few pages later noticed that this site is run by David Duke and is actually a front for more white supremacist trash.

I can not believe that we allow this kind propaganda under the guise of freedom of speech - there is even a kids page.
God help America!

American Football: When Amy was 6, she said that she wanted to be a (American) football player. I asked here why, as we watched players wrestling each other to the ground and she said "Well, I'm good at hugging and you have to good at hugging to play football"

God bless American Amy