Overhead the following conversation:
"I went to a fancy dress party last night."
"Oh yeah, what did you go as?"
"A zebra."
"Wow, what did you make the costume out of?"
"Zebra-type material."
Perfect.
Steve's Diary is off to Wales and will return next week.
Saturday, 23 May 2009
Monday, 18 May 2009
May 18: guest entry
Adam Carroll-Smith says:
Today, I am lucky enough to be covering the Hampshire vs. Ireland day-night cricket match, at Hampshire’s impressive Rose Bowl. While I have visited the ground before, today is my first work-based visit. As such, it is the first time I have graced the Rose Bowl press box. The box itself is pretty spartan (i.e. particularly simple and bare as opposed to being full of bronze shields and helmets) but thankfully the drinks are free.
Anyway, cricket correspondents tend to be quite elderly, and as such, I have just had the pleasure of spending the last half an hour listening to an old man send what must have been a 10,000 character text on his mobile – with the key tones left on. After a while it began to resemble really miminal techno played at about 4 beats per minute. I swear at one point he even pressed the right combination of keys – albeit very slowly – to play the first few notes of ‘Funky Town’.
As he finished texting he said – to no-one in particular: “This texting is brilliant isn’t it; so fast.”
Today, I am lucky enough to be covering the Hampshire vs. Ireland day-night cricket match, at Hampshire’s impressive Rose Bowl. While I have visited the ground before, today is my first work-based visit. As such, it is the first time I have graced the Rose Bowl press box. The box itself is pretty spartan (i.e. particularly simple and bare as opposed to being full of bronze shields and helmets) but thankfully the drinks are free.
Anyway, cricket correspondents tend to be quite elderly, and as such, I have just had the pleasure of spending the last half an hour listening to an old man send what must have been a 10,000 character text on his mobile – with the key tones left on. After a while it began to resemble really miminal techno played at about 4 beats per minute. I swear at one point he even pressed the right combination of keys – albeit very slowly – to play the first few notes of ‘Funky Town’.
As he finished texting he said – to no-one in particular: “This texting is brilliant isn’t it; so fast.”
May 18
Went to visit two friends in London. Last time we were at their place, I had a fever and had to lie down during lunch. I never turn down a Sunday roast so everyone knew it was serious. This time, we went out to the pub and I was feeling in the best of health. Halfway through, I could feel some of the food had gone down the wrong pipe so tried to swallow it down, but with no success. Three or four gulps later, I was getting short of air and covered my face with my hands. I realised there was a bit of a problem but couldn't bring the food up or get it down. Barney noticed I had stopped eating so asked if I was alright. Devoid of the power of speech, I continued choking and Rachel opened the back door so I could go out into the street. Finally, the pipe cleared and I was left crouching over a drain on a London street corner, as the Cambridge United fans in the pub wondered what on earth they were watching. I returned to the pub and finished my meal.
This left me thinking, when else in my life had I had a near-death experience? Probably the closest I came was when Andy Lawrence put a peanut in my Apple VK bottle in the first year of uni, without me noticing. I didn't choke on the peanut - I've just got a nut allergy.
This left me thinking, when else in my life had I had a near-death experience? Probably the closest I came was when Andy Lawrence put a peanut in my Apple VK bottle in the first year of uni, without me noticing. I didn't choke on the peanut - I've just got a nut allergy.
Wednesday, 13 May 2009
May 13
Saw two interesting signs in Tesco Express. The first, in front of a stack of magazines, said 'Latest Issue'. Shouldn't all magazines on sale in shops be the latest issue?
The other sign was by the checkouts. It read: 'cash is regularly taken from these tills'. Didn't say who by.
The other sign was by the checkouts. It read: 'cash is regularly taken from these tills'. Didn't say who by.
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
May 12
I went for a haircut today, which provided one positive and two negatives.
The positive was that I got to read Martin Samuel's column in the Daily Mail as I sat in the waiting area. He is the best football writer out there by a mile, although since he left The Times I haven't read his stuff that often. The girl doing the haircuts was incredibly slow but fortunately the column is more like a page-and-a-half, so I passed the time.
When the time came for my haircut, the girl looked at me for ages before asking if I wanted to take a seat. I knew already it wasn't going to be the best cut I'd ever had. Once I'd told her what style I wanted (always the same) I sat in silence for a couple of minutes while she got started. The radio was on and everything seemed to be going well until she asked if I was having a nice day. I never like talking when I'm having my hair cut. I just want a trim, not an interview. There should be something attached to the chair or mirror which you can set to 'I'm happy to talk during this haircut' or 'Just do your job and I'll pay at the end'. Some hairdressers/barbers get the hint if you don't say anything to start with, but this one didn't. I just said I was having a nice day, thanks, that I felt my hair had got a bit too long and that's why I was there. It was the most inane comment but it matched the question. After that the haircut proceeded with only the radio and clippers providing noise.
As the haircut finished I was treated to a blast of hot hairdryer air right in the face. Either she meant to get me back for not talking or she just missed the bit of my head where the hair grows. We walked to the till and she said it would be £9.95. I handed over a £10 note and waited for my change. She looked up and said "Oh, do you want the 5p then?" Yes, I do want the 5p. The haircut does not cost £10. Why would I not want it? Is it a tip? You give a tip as a service charge. The haircut was the service and I paid £9.95 for it. So yes, I do want the 5p back. Because it's mine.
I left and walked to the sandwich shop. I watched as the woman behind the counter cut the bread, filled the sandwich and wrapped it. I gave her the exact money and she said thanks. There was no mention of tips.
The positive was that I got to read Martin Samuel's column in the Daily Mail as I sat in the waiting area. He is the best football writer out there by a mile, although since he left The Times I haven't read his stuff that often. The girl doing the haircuts was incredibly slow but fortunately the column is more like a page-and-a-half, so I passed the time.
When the time came for my haircut, the girl looked at me for ages before asking if I wanted to take a seat. I knew already it wasn't going to be the best cut I'd ever had. Once I'd told her what style I wanted (always the same) I sat in silence for a couple of minutes while she got started. The radio was on and everything seemed to be going well until she asked if I was having a nice day. I never like talking when I'm having my hair cut. I just want a trim, not an interview. There should be something attached to the chair or mirror which you can set to 'I'm happy to talk during this haircut' or 'Just do your job and I'll pay at the end'. Some hairdressers/barbers get the hint if you don't say anything to start with, but this one didn't. I just said I was having a nice day, thanks, that I felt my hair had got a bit too long and that's why I was there. It was the most inane comment but it matched the question. After that the haircut proceeded with only the radio and clippers providing noise.
As the haircut finished I was treated to a blast of hot hairdryer air right in the face. Either she meant to get me back for not talking or she just missed the bit of my head where the hair grows. We walked to the till and she said it would be £9.95. I handed over a £10 note and waited for my change. She looked up and said "Oh, do you want the 5p then?" Yes, I do want the 5p. The haircut does not cost £10. Why would I not want it? Is it a tip? You give a tip as a service charge. The haircut was the service and I paid £9.95 for it. So yes, I do want the 5p back. Because it's mine.
I left and walked to the sandwich shop. I watched as the woman behind the counter cut the bread, filled the sandwich and wrapped it. I gave her the exact money and she said thanks. There was no mention of tips.
Sunday, 10 May 2009
May 10
Things are never as good as you remember them being the first time. Holiday destinations are one example. Chicken and chips at Cote restaurant is another. Having twice visited the Richmond branch and twice been delighted at the quality of the food laid before us, Rachel and I headed to Guildford with high hopes. I guess that when you go somewhere with that attitude, you can only be disappointed, and we were. My chicken was gristly and Rachel's mussles were rubbish too. Maybe I should be a food critic with reviews like that.
Before our main courses arrived, I went to the toilets to inject my pre-meal insulin. There was only one cubicle so I went in and locked the door. As I was sorting out the pen, a bloke rushed in, clearly desperate for the loo. Having tried the door and found it locked, he gasped "Oh sh--" and hastily exited. I wonder where he went next.
We ordered puddings - I went for chocolate mousse while Rach chose iced berries with white chocolate sauce. When the waitress brought our cutlery, Rach was given a dessert spoon and I only got a teaspoon. I wasn't happy as I might want to take just as large spoonfuls of my mousse. Rach said it was fair. As we finished off, Rach went to scrape out the small jug of sauce, only to discover her spoon was too big to fit inside. I said that was fair.
Before our main courses arrived, I went to the toilets to inject my pre-meal insulin. There was only one cubicle so I went in and locked the door. As I was sorting out the pen, a bloke rushed in, clearly desperate for the loo. Having tried the door and found it locked, he gasped "Oh sh--" and hastily exited. I wonder where he went next.
We ordered puddings - I went for chocolate mousse while Rach chose iced berries with white chocolate sauce. When the waitress brought our cutlery, Rach was given a dessert spoon and I only got a teaspoon. I wasn't happy as I might want to take just as large spoonfuls of my mousse. Rach said it was fair. As we finished off, Rach went to scrape out the small jug of sauce, only to discover her spoon was too big to fit inside. I said that was fair.
Friday, 8 May 2009
May 8: Guest entry
Ed Poulton says:
"Was in a cafe for lunch when a middle-aged man came in with his wife and sat down at the table opposite. The waitress came to him and was reading the 'Specials of The Day' to them off a board. When she got to "Chicken curry with rice" the man excitedly proclaimed: "Umm, that sounds lovely!" I queried whether that level of excitement was justifiable, given the purely functional description on the board."
"Was in a cafe for lunch when a middle-aged man came in with his wife and sat down at the table opposite. The waitress came to him and was reading the 'Specials of The Day' to them off a board. When she got to "Chicken curry with rice" the man excitedly proclaimed: "Umm, that sounds lovely!" I queried whether that level of excitement was justifiable, given the purely functional description on the board."
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