Bra Wars

The US Patents Office is a wonderful source of material to make an interesting and informative article. Yesterday I covered the patented practice to comb over and conceal baldness which has been a pursuit of a good proportion of the male population afflicted by a receding hairline.

Today's Patent is sadly, indicative of the upheaval and instabilities of the modern world.

The Problem

As a result of biological or chemical warfare, poison-based weaponry, pollution or other environmental circumstances, the air people breathe can become contaminated with harmful substances.

Nuclear accidents can cause the release of radioactive aerosols, such as iodine aerosols. The air may become contaminated with other aerosols or suspended radioactive particles, such as in a radiological attack, through the release of a radiological dispersion device (RDD) or due to so-called “dirty bombs.”

These damaging substances may include radioactive particles, germs, poisons, chemicals, dust, fluids, soot, smoke or other harmful airborne particles.

Certain individuals, such as soldiers, military personnel, firefighters, physicians and painters, have a higher risk of inhaling contaminated air. These individuals typically use facemasks to help protect themselves.

If a country or a territory is facing an on-going threat of air contamination, there is a need for these individuals as well as regular civilians to have a higher degree of access to facemasks.

However, it is often inconvenient, impractical or burdensome for people to carry masks wherever they go.

Therefore, there is a need to overcome these disadvantages to help protect the health of civilians and non-civilians in the wake of air contamination.

The Solution - The Emergency Bra

The Emergency Bra's primary function is that of a conventional bra.

However, in case of emergency, it can be quickly and easily converted into two face masks without removing any clothes.

In case of emergency, where no specialised respiratory devices are available, it can decrease the inhalation of harmful airborne particles.

Because the Emergency Bra masks can be securely fixed to the head, it frees a survivor’s hands to keep balance while running and removing objects on the way out of danger. In certain situations, by providing the wearer with a sense of security and protection, the Emergency Bra can reduce the chance of panic attack.

The Emergency Bra is like any other conventional bra in terms of its main function of supporting the breasts, as well as in its aesthetics, sizes, colours, and styles.

In addition, the EBbra can be converted into two masks which can be beneficial in emergency situations where specialised protective devices are not available to the public.

The additional safety function of the EBbra does not interfere with its everyday practicality and durability. Same care instructions apply as to any conventional bra.

The RAD Emergency Bra is a speciality Emergency Bra: a brasserie convertible into face masks with a radiation sensor incorporated into the body of the bra.

In the event of an emergency, look for a change of colour in the upper opening of the sensor’s pocket located under the front clasps of the brassiere. If the top opening (sensor strip) has developed a colour darker than that of the lower opening (service life strip), convert the Emergency Bra into face masks and apply the mask while proceeding with the evacuation.

For a quick estimate of the dose (in RAD units), remove the sensor and match the sensor’s colour with side calibration bars of 25, 50, 100, 200, 400, and 1,000 RADs.

In practical terms there are a few special instructions for the RAD Emergency Bra.

Do not expose to temperatures above 60ºC; remove the sensor before washing EBbra.

The US Granted Patent covers the incorporation of any type of sensors, alarms and detectors into the garment.

With sensor technology rapidly developing, different sensors, such as biological, chemical, and so forth, will be incorporated into the Emergency Bra in the future. The purpose of these sensors is to detect the presence of harmful airborne particles that require the use of respiratory protective masks.

The Emergency Bra is not a substitute for specialized protective respiratory devices, and should not be used when specialised equipment is required or available. It is intended to be used as a facemask while escaping from a dangerous environment during emergency situations only when no specialised protective devices are available.


US Patent Office Number 7255627B2

Patently Obvious

I have, again, been drawn to the fascinating archive that is the United States Patent Office Registry.

Amongst the world changing inventions, revolutionary processes and just downright clever things are just as many odd, cranky and abstract ideas that may at first seem bonkers and mad but in their own way have contributed to the wellbeing and self esteem of millions of beneficiaries.

One such Patent, US 4022227 is a Method of concealing partial baldness. (1975-Frank J Smith)

ABSTRACT
A method of styling hair to cover partial baldness using only the hair on a person's head. The hair styling requires dividing a person's hair into three sections and carefully folding one section over another.

CLAIMS(5)
1. A method for styling hair to cover bald areas using only the individual's own hair, comprising separating the hair on the head into several substantially equal sections, taking the hair on one section and placing it over the bald area, then taking the hair on another section and placing it over the first section, and finally taking the hair on the remaining sections and placing it over the other sections whereby the bald area will be completely covered.

2. A method as in claim 1 wherein the hair on a person's head is folded over the bald area beginning with the hair from the back of the head, and then from first one side and then the other.

3. A method as in claim 2 wherein after the hair from the back of the head is folded over the bald area, an object is placed over the hair and hair from a first of the sides is brushed over the object, and after the hair from said first side is folded into place the object is placed over the hair and the hair from the second side is folded over the object.

4. A method as in claim 3, wherein said object is a person's hand the hair spray is applied after the hair from said first side is folded into place and again after said second side being folded into place.

5. A method as in claim 3 wherein the hair from said first side and said second side is given a final styling.

BACKGROUND OF THIS INVENTION

For those people who are partially bald and wish to cover the bald area hair transplants, hair weaving and hairpieces are the most commonly used solutions. The cost of covering bald areas by one of these methods can range from a few hundred dollars to thousands of dollars depending on a person's choice and financial means. Some of these commonly used bald area coverings require periodic care, which generally cost money.

Obviously a partially bald person without the financial means can not afford the luxury of such hair coverings. This person, therefore, has few options; he can attempt to use his own hair to cover the bald area, but generally most people do not have the ability to properly plan a hair style that will look good, and most attempts result in brushing the hair in one direction over the bald area, or he can allow his baldness to show.

BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF THIS INVENTION

In the simplest form of the invention the method is directed to a person who is partially bald as the person illustrated in FIGS. 1, 2 and 3 where there is sufficient hair to cover the bald area and by styling give an appearance of having a full head of hair. To begin with the subject's hair must be allowed to grow long enough to cover the bald area, generally about 3 to 4 inches. Of course, the length of the hair will depend on the size of the bald area, for example, a person who is front to back bald, as in the illustrations of FIGS. 1, 2 and 3, will require more length than a person with a bald spot either in front or in back of the head. In addition, the particular hair style to be performed will dictate the required hair length.

The person's hair line 2, shown in FIGS. 1-3, and bald area 4 suggest that the hair should be divided into three equal sections, sides 6 and 8, and back 10, in starting the method of this invention. A person who has a bald spot in the back of the head could use four equal sections for best results, using my hair styling method. The second step is to take the extra length hair from back area 10 and brushing it forward as in FIG. 4, making sure to cover all of the bald area with hair.

By placing a hand over the hair now covering the bald area and brushing the extra length hair from either of the sides 6 or 8 the hair styling begins to cover the entire bald area. Care should be taken to brush the hair only as it lies over the hand to avoid messing up the hair under the hand. The hair should be arranged and styled at this step since it will soon be covered. To hold the hair in place, hair spray is now applied.

To complete the hair styling the hair from the side of the head either 6 or 8, whichever has not been used, is brushed over the bald area, making sure to cover the hair now covering the bald area with a hand. This top layer of hair is also styled and coated with hair spray. By lightly sweeping the hair into the desired style as the hair spray dries, an appearance of a full head of hair is given, as in FIG. 6.

To cover a bald spot the same procedure is followed, except that hair from in front of the bald spot can be used, if desired to brush toward the back of the head giving an appearance of a full head of hair.

While the above describes the preferred form of this invention, it is apparent that modifications thereof may occur to those skilled in the art, that will fall within the scope of the following claims.

PATENT CITATIONS
Cited Patent Filing date Publication date Applicant Title
US3317921 * Jun 11, 1964 May 9, 1967 Zarzour Suzy A Hair spray shield
US3464424 * Oct 23, 1965 Sep 2, 1969 Buzzelli Frank D Method for retaining hair
US3811453 * Sep 25, 1972 May 21, 1974 Allen Arthur Co Inc Method and means for attaching a hair supplement

Epic Eric

There is much talk and not a little bit of fear about Artificial Intelligence or AI and how it is expected to develop.

Stephen Hawkins very recently expressed his own reservations about the rise of the machines and not, in his opinion, too far detached from the Science Fiction, Fantasy and Movie depiction which often heralds the dominance of AI over mankind.

The Three Laws of Robotics as devised by Isaac Asimov have given good service in literary works but guess what?  they will have diddly squat to do with those intent on upscaling AI for malevolent or violent purposes.

In my childhood, in the era before micro-processors, software and even accessible computing the manifestation of AI was in clunky, awkward and ultimately flawed robots. My favourite joke was that Robots could only live in a bungalow, for example.

They were, for all of their lurching movement and radiophonic sounds, still pretty scary.

My earliest fearful images are of Gort from The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951) although countered a bit by the fickle Robbie the Robot in Lost in Space. More sinister were the weapon toting entities of Gunslinger in Westworld, Robocop and the cyborgs of Terminator movies.

Perhaps the first big screen image of a robot was in Fritz Lang's Metropolis in 1927 but with limitations in mechanics and technology and CGi but a dream very evident.

One of the world's first operational robots was named Eric and was originally built in Britain in 1928 by Captain W. H. Richards & A.H. Reffell.

The machine may have been inspired by the Lang creation for the screen only months prior as a matter of reasonable speculation but appeared less than a decade after the word 'robot' was first introduced to the English language in R.U.R., a 1920 play by Czech writer Karel Čapek.

R.U.R. stands for Rossumovi Univerzální Roboti (Rossum’s Universal Robots).

The letters were used by Richards and Reffell as the motif on the metallic barrel chest of Eric for his first public performance  on 20 September 1928, when he opened the Society of Model Engineers' annual exhibition 'with a really sparkling speech'.

The Society had originally invited the Duke of York to open the event but he declined, so Captain Richards decided as 'it is a mechanical show, let us have a mechanical man to open it' and started work on creating Eric.

The late 1920's was a period of renewed optimism in global economies and developments in science and manufacturing saw robots becoming part of popular culture.

Eric weighed just over 45 kg and had an 'armour-plated chest, legs and arms' made of Aluminium. Eric had light bulbs for eyes and 35,000 volts of electricity caused blue sparks to fly from his teeth.

Crowds were wowed by Eric and as he travelled the globe with his makers, leaving the UK, for the US and Europe he was feted by celebrities and the public. A New York newspaper called Eric the epitomy of perfect man.

There was a real appetite for and fascination with this cutting edge technology as it was perceived then.

However, as suddenly as  Eric stormed onto the scene he simply disappeared.

It is not known if he was lost, misplaced in transit,  destroyed or just recycled for spare parts? Robots are working objects and tend to get cannibalised for spare parts, lost, neglected, forgotten about, or deliberately scrapped.    

It was only through an intention by the Science Museum in London, England to put on an exhibition that the existence of Eric and his significance in the history of robotics came to light.

Surviving relatives of the inventors were traced and archived material including some working drawings and photographs were secured. Although Eric’s external appearance was relatively easy to establish from photographs taken during his lifetime and some of his movements can be seen in surviving film footage, reverse-engineering Eric's insides are likely to prove to be a far more difficult challenge.

The only image of Eric's insides is from an artist’s impression, which may (or may not) be accurate as Eric’s makers did not want to give too much away of their pioneering engineering. Although modern components will be used in the recreation of the insides of Eric, it will still be necessary for considerable experimentation to ensure that Eric moves like the original.

Robbie

GORT

The first stage for the Science Museum will be to build Eric’s internal metal frame which will support his aluminium skin and the electronics and motors which will allow him to move. Once the motors and wiring are added and tested, aluminium will be cut and applied to form Eric’s skin. Finally the frame and aluminium will be cleaned and the electronics and software which will control Eric's movements will be added and tested.

The museum has also rescued a number of relatively recent robots from sheds, basements and other forgotten places and will preserve them for the nation. Many of these robots will share the stage with Eric as they go on display in the scheduled  2017 Robots exhibition.

Technology has certainly come a long way in a relatively short period but is no less sobering and frightening for what it could be capable of if allowed to wrestle free of man's rationality and control.

Walk the Line

I was suffering in my work suit. I often wondered why I wore a two-piece given the scrapes and dirty corners I was exposed to daily. Still, it was my I.D, I was never challenged to verify who I was in my suit. If the criminal fraternity got down to BHS and kitted themselves out in a pin stripe number it would be a matter of grave concern for the authorities. Height of summer in the city was unpleasant. Downright nasty for the rest of the year. I felt uncomfortable in my off the peg shirt. It's mass production in some sweat shop had scrimped on the length of shirt tails so that any vertical movement, a stretch up, lean down or slight rotation such as that from abusing a bus driver, taking a magazine off the top shelf or reaching over the Starbucks counter for extra sugar caused my midriff to be exposed. Not as toned as it could be or svelt smooth either. My feet ached in my tight brogues. They were cheap from the shoe clearance place, seconds probably and also half a size too small for me, an explanation for their reasonable price. My overall demeanour was hot and sweaty. My belt was straining from too many lattes and biscottis from too many surrenders to snacking.

I remained, however, determined to keep my necktie in place, a solid knot against my hot collar. Many colleagues and street acquaintances had succumbed to loosening their ties to half mast or dispensing with them altogether in an all too casual look for my liking. In a few minutes of staring vacantly into the oscillating fan on my desk, a freebie and sweetener  from an office supplies rep I felt a bit cooler and more composed. I could take off my wool mix winter jacket now that my sweat patches had faded to just damp. There is no more a social pariah than someone with sweaty 'pits.

The phone rang, a female voice, husky from too many high tar non filters. "Mr Thomson- I need your services" she said eagerly.

Within an hour I was on the road in response to the call. The city and its deeply engrained grime fell away as I got to the eastern suburbs. The traffic was crawling, like my skin. A heat haze shimmered over the red tarmac of the bus lane. Bicycle tyres squelched and ripped through the softening tarmac. Car windows, wound down, gave a straw poll of what music was "in". Thumpy bass, twangy depressing country and western, Engelburt. Male drivers were being distracted from their sight of the road ahead road by female pedestrians exceeding a reasonable ratio of bare flesh to clothing. At least two shunts could be attributed to a girl at a bus stop in a halter top. The pubs along the high road were heaving out onto the forecourts. I envied the participants in casual chit-chat and high spirits but had to speculate on what job they held down to allow them this recreation. The gates, as I passed the city park were crowded with young mothers and infants at the ice cream van. As an indictment of lifestyles there was a bigger queue at the mobile burger van.

I reached the address provided by my caller. The car straddled the pavement and double yellows. There was just enough room for two saloon cars to pass at speed but the frequent coming together in opposite directions of buses to town and juggernauts from the docks caused a few snarl-ups.

The damsel in distress was standing on her doorstep before I had reached the wrought iron footgate. Her voice was 60 years or so younger than her physical appearance. Slight and grey looking but with a quiet determination lurking beneath. As we went indoors she glanced around nervously. The net curtain of two bungalows opposite floated down to their normal position but not from any breeze on a stifling becalmed day.

She briefed me on the problem which warranted my expertise. Her neighbour was slowly but surely stealing her land. It had started on her return from a holiday a few years before. Her south boundary, as straight as a centre court tramline was now bulbous. A large section, previously in her ownership was now fenced in and had been claimed by the neighbour. She had, she said, been prepared to be reasonable but her polite approach ,giving the benefit of any doubt ,had only been seen as a weakness by the neighbour. He was now more determined to grow his plot at her expense. He was now looking to annexe the driveway. They had faced up over the fence and played involuntary footsie under it. Fingers had been pointed and stabbed agressively in the air. Hurtful things, of no relevance to the boundary dispute had been thrown around like a seeded dandelion head. It was a job for the lawyers evidently. The respective legal representatives were reluctant to take the case but the prospect of good fees made it tolerable and profitable.

No reasonable or amicable compromise was possible. The fledgling lawyers had seen the depiction of an intervention on a Channel 4 comedy show and thought about it to resolve this issue. A single joint expert would be appointed. Where they had sourced him from I could not begin to speculate.A classified ad in a fantasy magazine perhaps. He arrived with a bag of tricks. Laser-satellite-total station- technology or something using that combination of words. The boundary was measured, then deconstructed and re-engineered. Science ruled the day. Unfortunately, the crew of the Enterprise as I labelled them, had forgotton their primary tools of common sense, observation and interpretation of facts. Reality on stun.

The conclusion, some 100 pages on from the title page, was akin to re-writing the Bible as he saw it.The boundary by their reckoning, ceterus parabus, was a little to the south of the existing. This would mean a very happy and unbearably justified neighbour and a driveway of now no practical use to my client. It was illogical.

I pored over the bundle of documents in her possession while she poured me a cuppa. The file was meticulously ordered, logical and to anyone with an ounce of common sense, self explanatory in defining the boundary of some 50 years standing. Title Plans, correspondence, affidavits from previous owner occupiers all told the truth. I took the papers away and by 1am I had confirmed my view. It was too late to call her up so I just basked in imagining her happy and reassured that she was not going doo-lally.

I would be firm and resolute in my reporting. After all, I always liked to champion the down trodden and the underdog and in this case someone had definitely crossed a line.

Death of the Disco

We were the generation that lied, schemed and connived and for what?

Well, I am sorry to say that it was all just to get into, under-aged, a discotheque night club.

In the late 1970's that class of venue tended to be aimed exclusively at the over 25 age group and represented at that time a sophisticated experience of dancing, drinking and a chance to entertain and meet the opposite sex.

Names of establishments attempted to evoke a sense of mystique and style, such as Romeo and Juliets, Silks, Lexington Avenue, Hollywood Nights and Beverley Hills and encouraged an upmarket dress code and behaviour.

My peer group, still at school albeit in the two final years went to great lengths to try to get into the Discotheques in the city centre. The girls in our year group found it easy what with the maturity gap over us lads and a good application of lippy, mascara and a suitable attire.

The doormen or bouncers had the power to grant access to the inner sanctum of the nightclub and made the most of that role and the spin off benefits that came with it.

As for us immature male teenagers that golden ticket was much more difficult to obtain.

We had to spend a lot of time rehearsing a qualifying date of birth if asked for that information by the staff. A few of my contemporaries did have a driving licence, genuine or not and would be fearful that the letters and numbers in the licence itself were a give-away to their youthful under-age.

I just opted for a dinner suit to give myself that older-man impression and I did, I must admit, look pretty good. Given that it was my Father's and that it was held up on my skinny frame by braces and belts made the illusion even more of a gamble.

There were stringent sanctions for being exposed for the age related fraud, most serious being a telephone call to your parents to come and fetch you from the nightclub reception.

Dutch courage, or a skinful of alcohol was often necessary in order perpetrate the con. We would meet at a back street pub in our home town where we knew that the Landlord or bar staff turned a blind eye to our juvenile status. After just a couple of pints it was amazing that we found our way to the bus or railway station for the 8 mile journey to the big city and our intended evening entertainment.

Once safely into the discotheque, the ride up in the lift accompanied by a bouncer being a bit intimidating in case we gave away our true age in a lapse of manner or speech, we could link up with our female friends and begin the serious business of disco dancing.

In those days, well before Sony Walkman personal stereos and with i-tunes and headphones but a distant dream, the disco was the only real access to loud music and to catch up with the charts and trends. Drinking and courting tended to be secondary to the activity of dancing and having a good time.

It was a very social event even though a conversation in the ambient noise was invariably reduced to hand signals or lip reading.

I do not readily recall any aggravation, fighting or mindless violence in that scene although the passenger lift did always appear to have been swilled out with a faint odour of antiseptic which we took to be an indication of an over zealous ejection of a reveller by the doorstaff.

The disco night club did have a special place in our lives at that time.

It is with some sadness that I have to report a significant decline in the numbers of such establishments according to recent figures in a media report.

It appears that a number of factors have brought this about.

There has been a distinct demographic change with the current target age generation favouring small, niche type venues, themed clubs, live music stages, board game playing coffee shops, cocktail bars and enjoying real ales, tapas and gourmet burgers.

They are an age group brought up with piped music at their fingertips or rather on their mobile phone keyboard, perhaps a bit more frugal on spending if saving for a house deposit or paying back a student loan and keen to avoid trouble-spots and potential conflict with other less discerning night time revellers.

The traditional disco nightclub just cannot compete which is a shame but perhaps a necessary sacrifice to enable  a new order to emerge.

As for me, I haven't been to a real nightclub for about three decades, preferring to stay in with a glass of wine and to play my old, rather warped and crackly vinyl disco albums and reminiscing with a mixture of fondness and embarassment at what we used to do just to get down that dance floor.

Speaking in tongues

The waiting and sheer anticipation can be most frustrating.

No matter how much the clock is watched it will not move a nano-second faster. I find it both fascinating and exasperating that the more enjoyable the task or experience the quicker time seems to fly and conversely the more unpleasant, then how the hours and minutes drag on by.

This must just be a deep rooted physiological and mental mechanism of the human brain to help us cope with the highs and lows of modern life and experiences.

In moments of extreme trauma and stress the brain can perform miracles motivating what can be an injured, a flagging and frail form to acheive great heroics or feats of endurance or equally just shut down, both serving as a failsafe setting against potential significant harm or longer term damage.

One manifestation of the intricacies of the brain is the phenomena of Foreign Accent Syndrome. This is where an injury, allergic reaction or even a severe migraine has left the sufferer with a distinct change in their linguistic accent which appears to be irreversible.

One of the first of an extremely low incidence of such cases was recorded in Norway in 1941. A civilian woman was injured by shrapnel in an air raid and upon recovering consciousness began to converse with a German accent. Given the occupation of her country at the time this unfortunate side effect led to her being shunned by her friends and acquaintances.

A lady in her fifties in the United States spoke with a precise English accent after a stroke even though she had no associations or ancestral links which could otherwise have been considered as a subconscious influence on her condition.

An adverse reaction to an Iodine tracer in connection with a chest scan resulted in another American lady speaking with a distinctive Russian or Eastern European accent. This did moderate with her slow recovery but returned after a relapse. The variation in her condition presented the University of Texas with a unique research project and they were able to capture on tape the various phases of her voice migration through those dialects.

A lady from the north east of England  began to speak in what was described as a mixture of dialects from Jamaican through to French Canadian and even heard as Italian or Slovak after a stroke. She did the rounds of the media including that essential interview with Richard and Judy on daytime TV.

One of the most recent of the very rare cases of Foreign Accent Syndrome was also in the UK with a  lady from Devon recovering from a migraine and finding that she had developed a distinctly Chinese accent.

The condition is most distressing and debilitating. The impact on the life of an individual is not just on medical and broader wellbeing grounds but in how their family, friends and acquaintances are able to, themselves, cope with the transformational change in their spoken voice.

The case histories do indicate a degree of prejudice emerging with the new found accents and dialects but present the Scientific, Medical and Sociological world with a unique opportunity to observe and comprehend a small aspect of the mysteries of the human brain.

Pain in the Neck

One of my earliest childhood photo's, I must be about two or three years old, clearly shows that I had an affinity for wearing neck ties.

Granted, being very much a minor, the early picture with me in short trousers and crisp white shirt (must have been very freshly put on as there is no dribble or puke on it) is nicely set off with an elasticated cotton dicky bow tie. I looked as dapper as could be.

Through the rest of my formative years further family album photo's showed a continuation of the suave dress sense but I had graduated to a proper neck tie, albeit and for some strange reason still on elastic. Perhaps there was a lack of faith in my behaviour from my loving parents but given my accident prone nature until well into my teens I am grateful for that caring gesture.

My school days, particularly in the senior years, were those of strict enforcement of uniform wearing and a proper tie-up tie was an essential part of the discipline and establishment ethos. Grasping the tie-ing of a tie is at first quite difficult taking a sense of upside down dexterity and three dimensional perception or as I learned, around the tree twice, up and then down the rabbit hole and pull.

My classmates and I competed for the shortest or fattest tie and wore these proudly as badges of honour until we found ourselves in detention after school for a contravention of uniform policy.

I had a few years away from wearing a tie in my ongoing education as a student away at Polytechnic until it was time to attend interviews for that first job after graduating.

That was in 1985 and I can honestly say that, apart from during holidays, whilst sleeping, when having my appendix out, swimming, gardening, operating heavy machinery and other informal activities I have rarely gone a single day without wearing a tie.

It is an integral part of my identity and confidence. I will have inherited this as a genetic trait from my Father, a 40 year serving employee of a Bank and with my strongest recollections of him, he passed away 5 years ago, being in business suit, stiff starched collar, well pressed shirt and a smart tie.

There is something reassuring and constant in wearing a tie and those that I meet and come across in the course of my livelihood seem to take comfort and can be seen to visibly relax upon the sight of it.

There are exceptions, of course, such as those who mistake me for a police officer, Television Licence official or an undertaker and in each of these scenarios, in order, tend to run away, hide behind the curtains and go all serious and respectful.

I am at that stage when not wearing a tie gives me a sense of nakedness.

On a practical basis I do trash a lot of nice ties with them getting worn and shiny under the car seat belt, torn upon being caught on nails or heavily stained with coffee and foodstuffs (once a dribbler and puker, always a dribble and puker).

That is a shame as there is nothing better to instill a sense of wellbeing than a silk printed example, strong stripy motif or my favourite, a bright red Paul Smith necktie with, on the reverse liner a picture of a busty, scantily clad woman.

In power meetings, although I do not attend many, the knowledge of this illicit image, just out of sight can be quite exciting.

I was today, however, given a glimpse of the future and found it disturbing.

Sat in a Starbucks coffee shop in the business district of Leeds, Yorkshire, UK at lunch time I realised that out of the suit wearing clientele I was the only one wearing a tie.

It was not a hot or humid day and so a cool attire was not the case.

It appears that there is a trend to discard the tie and just go about with open neck shirt.

Whatever next?

Swapping city shoes for sneakers!  rolling up sleeves! or just going all casual with it during office hours.

I blame David Cameron for this expression of slack fashion sense in his much publicised hustings performances and even before him the culture in the United States for dressing down whilst in business.

There may be something more sinister behind this shocking trend in that job types and working environments have changed fundamentally in recent years what with zero-hours contracts, short term employment , poor security, prospects and  longevity in any one sector.

My response?

I just tighten up the knot on my grubby, threadbare current tie and with that little bit of discomfort and constriction around the neck carry on as best I can to earn a living.

Leave to Remain

Everyone seems to be citing scenarios for and against Britain in Europe. 

Some projections are outrageous, others ridiculous and a few are just a bit too apocalyptic. 

I just thought I would add a few so as not to feel left out of the speculation about what no-one can foretell or predict will actually happen. 


The White Cliffs of Dover will lose all symbolism

The songs of Plastic Bertrand will be forgotten forever

French Kissing will just become kissing

The Premier League will comprise two British men and an enthusiastic dog per team

English men will look even more stupid wearing casual shoes with no socks

Gruff, hard working Northern British towns will be twinned with posh Southern ones

A French made car will assume an exotic character

Wearing a string of onions around your neck will no longer be seen as funny

The Eurovision Song Contest will become like the Holy Grail

Buying Polish will just mean buying something to buff up your shoes

Euro Trash will just become good old British Crap

We may forget that Walkers Crisps, in Europe are called Lays

British people will no longer feel happy speaking loudly in the company of foreigners

Replica football shirts will not be suitable gear in which to travel abroad

The nation's collection of European loose change will dwindle dramatically

There will no longer be an option to "Go Dutch" on a date

Even larger holes will appear in British roads and footpaths. Children may fall in.

Continental Quilts will have to be surrendered for old fashioned sheets and blankets

Pavement Cafe's and Piazzas will be shunned as being too foreign for our tastes

No more straw donkeys or wide brimmed sombrero's will ever pass through Customs

British people will travel soberly and quietly on aeroplane flights

Piri-Piri Chicken will not enjoy the ascendancy in our culture that it so deserves

Blackpool Tower will never again be mistaken for the Eiffel Tower

People describing non British Food as foreign muck will be heralded as heroes

Danish Pastries will be sold under the counter as illicit goods

Nice Biscuits will just become rectangular, sugar frosted biscuits

Invitations to former members to rejoin The British Empire will be sent out

Italian men, in the minds of British women, will become like Gods

The Smurfs will be cited by parents as the ultimate threat to naughty children

All ex-pat Brits will have to return to the homeland

As above, Sales of campervans will plummet overnight but sun bed sales will boom

The North Sea will be stained blue to invoke memories of the Mediterranean

Only one type of breakfast will exist in restaurant buffets

Cafe Culture will just be a growth of mould on a sad attempt at a latte

The Union Jack will become just black and white

Britains will finally admit that living on an island makes for a sad, lonely existence

One Day in May

May 20th is Fathers birthday.

A few days before every 20th of May the phone lines, e -mails and skype would be frantically active as the five of us Thomson siblings conferred on the matter of what we could buy, either collectively or individually for the man who has everything and has never, in my memory, actually asked for anything from us.

This represents a great dilemna . In previous years we have presented him with vouchers for something that we thought he might like. These were well received in his rather shy and embarassed manner which was one of his endearing qualities. Surrounded by his large family it was easy for us to forget that he had grown up as an only child and very much left to make his own entertainment. Do not get me wrong. He was happy and at ease with us but quiet ,reflective and private moments will have been few and far between in our noisy and demanding home life.

His interests were a good source of ideas and over the years we would buy him gifts for the car, the garden, walking, home improvements, books, CD's and DVD's. I was perhaps too reliant on the seasonal stock of Homebase and tended to over do it on things for the fantastically colourful, fragrant and productive patio whch every year erupted with planters, pots and hanging baskets. One year it was a terracotta formed tube for strawberry plants, a bit like the seconds you would find in the skip at the back of the Sankey chimney pot factory.

Another year I became a follower of the fashion for strange garden ornaments and purchased a very scaled down Easter Island statue. It had caught my eye in a display in the outdoor section of the DIY store. About 18 inches high in an authentic stone finish over the not so authentic plastic mould. I was fearful that, unlike the original full size figures, a stiff breeze would tip it over or even cause it to vacate the back garden via the boundary wall and have to be retrieved from the neighbours. The garden theme seemed to be a productive seam and this was followed in successive years with  yet more hanging baskets, garden seating and the desperate last minute choice of a silver mirror ball that could , in its reflection of sunlight both produce a seemingly infinite vista of the lawn, shrubs and flower beds as well as a hazard to high flying aircraft.

The best celebrations were those when we would all be there- quite a difficult thing logistically to do but a momentous and joyful time. An afternoon in the garden, just sat around talking in a group or with a chance of a private consultation to take advantage of his great experience and wise counsel in all worldly matters. Things that seemed insurmountable obstacles to us were shown to be easily manageable after such a session.

For his 70th birthday it was a full encampment of the family to the Lake District with riotous assembly, good food and wine and excellent company....and a lot of undulating rambling over hill and dale amongst them bloody daffodils.

2011 was a different birthday in that my own family attended a celebration over a chinese takeaway. It was a great night and many a complimentary comment was added to the written record of past meals. The phone kept ringing with the singing of Happy Birthday to Donald from siblings spread over the UK and the US.

We were not to know that we were at his last birthday party.

May 20th will never be the same without Father. He is always in out thoughts and on a daily basis I look for inspiration in my recollections of him as we all do with a tear and a smile.

Hawaiian Steak

I have been off food this week as it appears that there is a stomach bug doing the rounds, or at least in the circles that I frequent.

My normal workload involving visiting other people's houses can expose me to a variety of domestic germs and with an upsurge in appointments over the last couple of weeks I seem to have had more than the usual dosage of maladies, either airborne or from general contact with the general public.

I did harbour some bad thoughts about a takeaway meal in the preceding 24 hours of my feeling a bit peeky but kept them to myself. In fact it was a very nice meal and I had posted a most complimentary review on the ordering website just after cleaning out the foil tray.

Family members have fallen by the wayside and a work colleague has also been struck down and so the source of the outbreak must after all be a virus rather than anything self inflicted through greed or gluttony.

Feeling averse to eating anything is not a problem.

The main issue is when your body decides to return to normal and gives reassuring signals that it is time to take on some sustenance to revitalise energy, metabolism and wellbeing.

It is not that a full plate of food is required but just a gentle easing in with a bit of a snack although providing good nutrients to aid recovery.

Still feeling a bit delicate and wary about venturing too far from the home in case of a relapse of symptoms I decided to make a search through the most infrequently opened food storage cupboard in the kitchen for something to eat.

The cupboard concerned has a content to be found in just about every household.

It is a place for stock tinned foods such as tomatoes and a variety of beans, impulse purchases of an adventurous culinary nature ie foreign origin, dried pastas mostly in alphabet shapes, canned fruits and custards, small ring pull containers of sardines or anchovies, packets of soup, cous-cous and savoury rice and jars of gifted jam and honey. Collectively, these are enough to fashion something of a meal but not, in my post-upset frame of mind sufficient to satisfy the early stages of a craving.

Sticking my head into that dark space I spied, right at the back, the distinctive shape and labelling of a tin of SPAM.

That canned pre-cooked meat product and me have a bit of history.

Growing up in the 1960's it was a regular and favourite tea time menu item but not only was it a utilitarian food but in a sandwich with crisps, sat in the back of a crowded family car looking out to a wet and windy seaside scene there could be nothing better to catch the moment.

SPAM is an interesting thing.

It was first introduced to United States consumers  in 1937 and may not have been able to find a global market had it not been for its widespread distribution and use amongst the Allied Forces in the Second World War.

It met, in those austere times, the brief for an affordable foodstuff with an extended shelf life and even though its nutritional content would be frowned upon today there will not have been many other as efficient methods for fighting troops to get fat and protein in such a concentrated form. In the wartime years some £150 million was spent by Governments on SPAM.

The original producers did insist on using good ingredients of pork shoulder meat blended with ham and bound together with potato starch, natural flavourings and a preservative. This contrasted with competitor products who used lips, tongues and snouts.Ugh nasty.

Numerous legends and misinformations revolve around SPAM, no more so than the derivation of its very name.

Actually meaning "SPiced hAM" it was also reputed to be an abbreviated version of "SPAre Meat", "Shoulders of Pork and hAM" or in the ubiquitous military context as "Specially Processed American Meat" or "SPecial Army Meat".

Even after being used as a staple of rations in wartime , SPAM remained in production achieving the milestone of seven billion cans sold by 2007 and is still going strong today.

Hawaii is currently the largest consumer with baby boomers and subsequent generations absorbing it into their food culture after US Forces stationed there in the 1940's brought it to the attention of the nation.

In other global markets SPAM has retained similar nostalgia with Margaret Thatcher whilst Prime Minister of Great Britain referring to it as a "wartime delicacy".

Retrieving my lone tin from the aforementioned larder cupboard and recalling the heritage of the product I made a point of checking the sell by date. It was sufficiently well into the 21st Century to give me confidence in opening it up.

What to do with it was a challenge.

There is a regional delicacy in my area of a SPAM Yorkshire Breakfast.

How about a positively exotic SPAMish Omelette?

Mashed up with cooked potatoes makes for a good SPAM Hash.

Not for me those delicacies. I just went for my absolute favourite. SPAM fritters.

Just the thing to get me back on my feet and fighting, if not actually, fit.

Ignorance is not bliss

I was listening to a radio panel show on BBC Four Extra just yesterday that featured, amongst its guests, Marc Abrahams, the editor and co-founder of the "Annals of Improbable Research".

His organisation collect examples of real research from many fields, as depicted in the categories below, about anything and everything, from everywhere.

The overriding emphasis on the subject matter is that whilst at first it may make you laugh, and all of those listed below elicit that first response upon reading as well as "what the flip!", they then after a short while really make you think.

The contribution to the 30  minute broadcast by Marc Abrahams really captured my curiosity and I have spent some time on investigating the topics covered under the banner of Improbable Research.
Such is the fascinating range of information that I can see it as a very rich vein of source material for my Blog writings for many months to come.

The following were the declared winners of the special annual ceremony known as the Ig Nobel Prize Awards in 2015. The Awards have been going since 1991.

The actual web site  for  Improbable Research  has a full listing of the documents and the individuals presenting the studies for those seeking provenance and authentication.

No, they are not collectively mad and they have the papers to prove it.


PHYSICS PRIZE — Patricia Yang [USA and TAIWAN], David Hu [USA and TAIWAN], and Jonathan Pham, Jerome Choo [USA], for testing the biological principle that nearly all mammals empty their bladders in about 21 seconds (plus or minus 13 seconds).

LITERATURE PRIZE — Mark Dingemanse [THE NETHERLANDS, USA], Francisco Torreira [SPAIN, THE NETHERLANDS, BELGIUM, USA, CANADA], and Nick J. Enfield [AUSTRALIA, THE NETHERLANDS], for discovering that the word "huh?" (or its equivalent) seems to exist in every human language — and for not being completely sure why.

MANAGEMENT PRIZE — Gennaro Bernile [ITALY, SINGAPORE, USA], Vineet Bhagwat [USA, INDIA], and P. Raghavendra Rau [UK, INDIA, FRANCE, LUXEMBOURG, GERMANY, JAPAN], for discovering that many business leaders developed during childhood a fondness for risk-taking, when they experienced natural disasters (such as earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, tsunamis, and wildfires) that — for them — had no dire personal consequences.

ECONOMICS PRIZE — The Bangkok Metropolitan Police [THAILAND], for offering to pay policemen extra cash if the policemen refuse to take bribes.

MATHEMATICS PRIZE — Elisabeth Oberzaucher [AUSTRIA, GERMANY, UK] and Karl Grammer [AUSTRIA, GERMANY], for trying to use mathematical techniques to determine whether and how Moulay Ismael the Bloodthirsty, the Sharifian Emperor of Morocco, managed, during the years from 1697 through 1727, to father 888 children.

BIOLOGY PRIZE — Bruno Grossi, Omar Larach, Mauricio Canals, Rodrigo A. Vásquez [CHILE], José Iriarte-Díaz [CHILE, USA], for observing that when you attach a weighted stick to the rear end of a chicken, the chicken then walks in a manner similar to that in which dinosaurs are thought to have walked.

PHYSIOLOGY and ENTOMOLOGY PRIZE — Awarded jointly to two individuals: Justin Schmidt [USA, CANADA], for painstakingly creating the Schmidt Sting Pain Index, which rates the relative pain people feel when stung by various insects; and to Michael L. Smith [PANAMA, US, UK, THE NETHERLANDS], for carefully arranging for honey bees to sting him repeatedly on 25 different locations on his body, to learn which locations are the least painful (the skull, middle toe tip, and upper arm). and which are the most painful (the nostril, upper lip, and penis shaft).

It is true that the initial reaction is to laugh followed by a gaping sense of, well, good old ignorance.

What annoys the British

A Survey conducted by a Food Company asked the British Public what were the most annoying things in their lives. 

Here is the full list, without any explanation of the terminology if just an example of Britspeak. I would be interested to hear from other nations whether there is any common ground on items in the list and where they are numbered. 

There may be specific things in different countries that as they say "grind our gears" and I would like to hear about any of these.

Here are the Top 100 most annoying things in Britain.

1. Chavs

2. People driving close behind you

3. People who smell

4. People who eat with their mouth open

5. Rude shop assistants

6. Foreign call centres

7. Stepping in dog poo

8. People who cough and do not cover their mouths

9. Slow internet connections

10. Poor customer service

11. Dog owners that don't clean up after their dog

12. Noisy Eaters

13. Cold-callers

14. Door-to-door salesman

15. Stubbing your toe

16. Bullying

17. Computer crashing losing work you've spent three hours doing

18. People who talk loudly on their mobile phones

19. Spam email

20. The nation's obsession with Z-list celebrities

21. Leaving a tissue in a pocket and putting it in a washing machine

22. Driving slow in the fast lane

23. Adverts in between programmes

24. Toilets you have to pay for

25. The nation's obsession with the Katie & Peter split saga

26. People reading over your shoulder

27. People that park in disabled bays when they're not disabled

28. Brownnosers

29. People who complain about their weight yet make no effort to exercise or eat properly

30. People jumping the queue at the bar

31. Junk mail

32. Tailgaters

33. Big Brother

34. Muggers

35. MPs' expenses

36. Stepping in chewing gum

37. Pricey train fares

38. People who walk painfully slowly on the street

39. Noisy neighbours

40. People who sniff and don't use a tissue

41. Sweating

42. Binge drinking culture

43. Feeling bloated

44. The recession

45. Delays at the airport

46. Automated phone systems

47. Smoking

48. Road rage

49. People that have their mobile turned off when you really need to get in contact with them

50. Running out of toilet roll

51. Coverage of Michael Jackson's death

52. Reality TV

53. Flies

54. Finding a flat tyre

55. Parking costs

56. Bossiness

57. Rubbish opening times to doctors, dentists

58. When your washing machine breaks down

59. Politicians

60. Paper cuts

61. Buses not arriving on time

62. Singers who mime

63. People who can't park properly

64. Over packaged kids toys

65. Diarrhoea

66. Constipation

67. Text message speak

68. Bad hair days

69. Getting something in your eye

70. The hot water running out when you're running a bath

71. People who drive in the middle lane of motorways

72. People who mumble

73. Slow traffic lights

74. Cashiers giving you your change on top of a receipt

75. Cramp

76. Reading about Brad Pitt/Jennifer Aniston saga

77. Unpredictable weather

78. Cars blocking pedestrian crossings

79. Adult acne

80. People who are not polite in emails

81. Yo-yo dieting celebs

82. Trying to find the end of the sticking tape or toilet roll

83. Pimped up cars

84. Traffic wardens

85. Losing your passport

86. Running out of petrol

87. Burning your toast

88. Sunburn

89. iPhone obsessives

90. Celebrity fitness DVDs

91. People addicted to watching soaps

92. Breaking a nail

93. Bankers

94. PDA (public displays of affection)

95. Under performance

96. Someone altering your seat height at work

97. People who don't remove their shoes in the house

98. Children at weddings

99. Hot weather when you're not on holiday

100. Sports commentary

(Survey from 2009 so some entries are a bit outdated, but most seem relevant even in 2016)

Garden warfare post 1986

There is nothing more enjoyable to children and adults alike than a good old fashioned water fight.

Although there is a certain impulsiveness and spontaneity behind the whole thing a number of factors need to be in place , primarily hot and sunny weather and a relaxed and playful attitude amongst those to be drawn into any battle.

The catalyst for a fight to start is usually the actions of the person who has control of the hosepipe. At first intent on watering the flower beds, there is always that temptation to spray as close as possible to others in the garden or yard and inevitably the water fight is on. The hosepipe has always been the ultimate weapon of choice as long as the supply from the tap or outlet is safe and secure. In the mass scramble to retaliate hands grab other receptacles lying around, usually a washing up bowl, squeezy detergent bottle, saucepan, flower pot and car washing bucket.

These are no match for the hosepipe pressure and range as they have to be filled for each assault, typically from the kitchen sink. The volley from a pan or bucket is very hit and miss, relying on arm strength, co-ordination and courage under fire. As children, a regular pocket money purchase would be a small water pistol. More novelty than use these were usually in bright, see-through plastic, fillable through a small pluggable hole and with a trigger operation. The result, a weak single stream squirt and rapidly depleted. Again, no match for a well motivated individual with a garden hosepipe.

Things changed dramatically, however, with the granting of a US Patent , filed on May 27th 1986, under reference 4591071.

The back story behind this revolutionary invention is interesting.

Growing up in 1950's Alabama under the racial segregation of the time Lonnie Johnson had an obvious, natural aptitude for tinkering and invention. As a young child he scrounged parts and built his own engine to be mounted a go-kart to entertain himself and the kids in his neighbourhood . Interested in rockets Lonnie concocted his own fuel from readily available ingredients almost burning down his parents house in the process.

From the remains of an old Juke Box he made a workable robot which was some achievement in the era well before micro-processors and high-tec circuits. This won him first prize in a school competition but under the race laws of Alabama State he was not offered a Scholarship to progress to University which would otherwise be given to a white student.

He eventually attended an out of state university and was awarded academic degrees in Mechanical Engineering and Nuclear Engineering. Employment followed with the United States Military and Lonnie worked on the Stealth Bomber programme before going to NASA to develop propulsion for the Gallileo Space Probe.

His was an illustrious career path but there was always a desire to start his own research and technology company. The start up costs for such a commercial business would be  prohibitive.

In the early 1980's Johnson, always keen to dismantle and re-engineer existing products, was working on a heat pump at home when he came across the possibilities for adapting it for another purpose, in this case a high pressure nozzle spray. Connecting it to the basin taps the result was a constant stream of water across the bathroom.

This intriguing outcome led Lonnie to build a prototype in his own workshop and the legendary Super Soaker water pistol was born.

Water fights were transformed overnight with the commercial release of the Super Soaker. The hosepipe was never again the weapon of choice. A new generation grew up with a serious water fight tool.

Lonnie Johnson made his fortune out of the toy with sales in 1991 reaching $200 million and going on in successive years to reach the billion dollar mark. The royalties due to Johnson allowed him to set up his own company and he began to work on projects of ultra-efficient batteries and thermal electric generation, the latter involving human body heat being able to power small appliances.

The Patent Description

"The principle utilizing compressed gas as a means for pressurizing water to effect a continuous stream of high velocity waterflow from a nozzle is common practice. However, the embodiment of this principle in a hand-held toy squirt gun having a futuristic space ray gun appearance and including sound effects is novel.Compressed air is provided by a manually actuated air pump physically mounted underneath the gun barrel. Sound is produced by a battery-powered electronic oscillator circuit. Sound is also produced by a flow actuated sound generator.To shoot the gun, a trigger is actuated to open a flow control valve and thereby permit pressurized waterflow through a nozzle. The water exits the nozzle and thereby the squirt gun at high velocity. The flow actuated sound generator is functionally coupled in series with the flow control valve and the nozzle to facilitate actuation of the sound generator by flowing water when the gun is shooting.The waterflow rotates an impeller which is mechanically linked to a vibration means consisting of a piston in a cylinder to effect back and forth motion of the piston and thereby pump air alternatingly through a pair of vibrating reed-type horns to produce sound. A switch coupled to the trigger is actuated simultaneously with opening of the control valve to switch on the oscillator circuit to produce sound"

Hit and Myth

There are many, many stories and tales that have taken on legendary status in the modern age.

I refer of course to the Urban Myth.

These were prolific in my formative years and I was often the first to be taken in, completely and unquestioning of the truth, logic and provenance surrounding them.

The first themes always revolved around squeamish things.

The famous recounting by I recall not whom of the man who fell asleep and a spider crawled into his ear, laid its eggs in his brain and this nesting process gradually drove him to madness. Part and parcel of the decline into senility was that no-one believed his pleas for help to relieve him of the constant sounds of activity in his head.

Thereafter I often slept in a woolly hat pulled down tightly over my ears and always when camping or otherwise sleeping or dozing out in the open.

Other fables were about food and were enough to give a complex about ever consuming anything.

I always ate the whole apple, and by that I mean the skin, core and pips. Imagine my sheer terror at being told that an apple tree could start to sprout in your stomach after ingesting a pip and would burst forth from the lower abdomen with little or no warning.

Home made chips were a particular favourite of mine and I would help in the preparation of peeling and cutting up the potatoes but could not resist sampling a raw slice if there were, for example an odd number or an odd shaped one in the damp, starchy pile in readiness for immersion into the deep fat fryer. Apparently, uncooked potato could harbour all sorts of parasitic worms and grubs and yes, the stomach and intestines were, surprise, surprise the perfect incubator to nurture huge creatures which would, yes, eventually emerge blinking in the daylight from any number of bodily orifices.

Many Urban Myths centred on popular culture. It was potentially bad luck for the whole of the family to hide behind the curtains at the impending arrival at the front door of a Romany Lady selling lace tied bunches of lavender. The implications; A Curse on the household.

We were told that sitting too close to the televison would stunt your growth, what with the harmful emission of ultra high frequency signals.

Other myths just bordered on superstition, ignorance and fear but I was too superstitious, ignorant and fearful to realise it.

An industry developed around the perpetuation of the Urban Myth through science fiction, comics and magazines, films and books. I was again totally convinced by the phenomena of the Bermuda Triangle and had a section of my bedroom bookshelf dedicated to the works on this subject. My family would glaze over or leave the room at any indication of my lecturing them on the latest conspiracy theories, mysteries and speculations prompted by the first tentative news reports that a ship, plane or indeed anything had gone missing even if subsequently revealed as a mistake, an insurance scam or a publicity stunt.

The feeling of foreboding brought about by my perception of hazards, danger, mischief and just plain badness served to turn me into a timid, unadventurous youth and teenager and frankly, I think I missed out on a lot as a consequence.

I did participate in the Scouts where I actively pursued such activities as sailing, camping, bivouaccing, canoeing, rock climbing, abseiling and all manner of outdoor pursuits. I enjoyed them but there was always that negativity of a related Urban Myth in the back of my mind.

Take potholing. It would appear to be a natural progression for me to do this but I was paralysed by the story of someone who died on a potholing expedition and his body had to be encased in concrete because it could not be recovered. This was told to me, I do recall, by two older Scouts who either knew the unfortunate victim, knew of him, or were friends with someone who was best friends with a neighbour of the man's second cousin, or something like that.

Naturally, whenever a potholing trip was mentioned I would hide behind the Urban Myth and indeed avail anyone listening of the same tale. I was in fact perpetuating the myth on my own.

I was therefore a bit apprehensive when my 23 year old daughter began to take part in regular potholing expeditions to the Peak District in Derbyshire. She obviously has an affinity for crawling about in muddy subterranean tunnels, wading waist or shoulder deep in soon to be bottled mineral water and being cold and saturated underground.

In true parental fashion I told her the infamous tale of the entombed caver, half cautionary, half hoping it might direct her towards other activities beyond Middle Earth.

It was just today that my daughter actually confirmed to me the true facts around my supposed Urban Myth. She was in Peak Cavern in Castleton and specifically in a part of the system known as Moss Cavern.

The name suggests a dampish atmosphere but then again in the absence of any nurturing daylight would anything, even moss,lichen or algae be able to flourish?

The name was in fact a commemorative gesture for a 20 year old student , Neil Moss who was unfortunate to get stuck and perish in that hell (pot) hole in the black and white days of 1959.  It was his legend that I had been recounting for all these years.

I have mixed feelings on the subject. For one thing I have been deprived of the perfect excuse not to take part in the mad pursuit and may find it hard to wriggle out of any subsequent invitation or caving netwoek.

On the other hand I feel that I have closure but only out of respect for said Mr Moss. I am unable to comprehend the level of terror and despair that he will have suffered in the hours up to his demise but at least there is now no possibilty that Rescuers will be called out in my name with a bag of ready mix in their rucksack.

Sweet FA

I am naturally concerned about climate change.

The seasons are very erratic with recent trends of exceptionally cold winter months, a very dry spring, wet and unsettled summer and a balmy, dreamy autumn.

There are freakish conditions leading to flash flooding in very localised areas, a single valley or even an individual street. Tornado's can rip through a city centre in the UK to resemble downtown New Orleans. A heat wave can send ginger haired people into a frenzy to source the highest possible factor sun cream, wear an outrageous hat or just seek shelter indoors.

What was once a 1 in 100 year or more probability in weather terms now seems to occur with regular and more intense frequency.

My own perception of the changing climate is based on the weather prevailing on the day of the FA Cup Final.

It was that particular event just yesterday under dull, overcast and intermittently wet conditions. Yet, in my childhood you could guarantee, without any prospect of contradiction, that the Saturday in May on which the Cup Final took place would be the most gloriously warm, sunny and dry.

I was really into football from an early age up until the time spent on that particular interest was re-allocated to cycling followed by cars and girls.

The day was special

A bitter sweet combination. On the one hand there was the promise of a momentous pageant, a televisual feast from early morning with all of the support and themed programmes followed by the game itself, a rarity of a live game on mainstream TV and the post match festivities or mortem dependant upon your allegiances.

It did not matter, in reality, which two teams were in battle because the sheer heritage, pomp and circumstance won through. To the impartial onlooker it was a spectacle. Wembley Stadium (the old one with the twin towers), the build up ,the singing of Abide with Me and the anticipation of the kick off.

Of course, if your team was there the additional factor of nerves and pride kicked in. It could be the shortest, most pleasurable of days if they were at the top of their game. It could be hell if they were not.

The bitter element, as the downside, was that, unlike the modern staging, the FA Cup Final did represent the finale to a football season.

There were no additional competitions of Play-Offs or straggling fixtures held over from a frozen week in the February.

In my year of football it was the main event.

I would be sad, certainly. There may be a European Cup Final or a major Tournament every 2nd or 4th year but club games were my favourite.

It was always a very long season.

In the preceeding summer I would eagerly await the availability in the shops of the collectable football cards. My album from the 1970-71 season is still within reach even today and I have strong regrets over not saving up my pocket money of the time (7p rising to 8p on my respective birthday) to send off for the small number of cards that evaded my purchase from the corner shop or could not be traded, even for a cash consideration, from my schoolmates.

If I stayed over at my grandparents on a Saturday I would be allowed to watch the grainy black and white broadcast of Match of the Day on FA Cup days. I really enjoyed the company of Grandad Dick who had, by all accounts, been a keen player in his younger days.

The FA Cup knockout competition started for the main league teams in the depths of winter. The broadcast highlights would be of very bare and muddy pitches, equally cack encrusted teams and steaming ranks of spectators.

The giant killing exploits of part-time non-league outfit were a thrill, particularly if the scalp was of a high flying Division One team. The early season football magazines would have freebies of wall charts with slottable, interchangeable tags for each participant in the leagues or a huge poster sized sheet for the Cup with sections to hand write in the fixtures and results in descending numbers until the last two combatants.

Everything built up gradually to the actual day of the Final.

I would wake up with a master plan in my mind. There was little time to think about eating or doing anything else apart from concentrating on how the day would pan out.

I would already, most years, have my copy of the official programme. This was following my stumbling across, in WH Smiths, one year of a pile of these glossy publications. Not a guide to the game but the actual match programme. Thick, glossy and in no way to be allowed to fall into the sticky or grubby hands of siblings.

The TV Schedule would start at 9am with the likes of a Cup Special Swop Shop, then a meet the fans type programme or an It's a Knockout with the teams represented by ordinary folk. Grandstand would start earlier than usual with a full run up to kick off. I would be riveted to the screen and annoyed at any distractions or intrusions by same sticky and grubby handed siblings.

If I chose my moment well I could also find time to cycle down to the local shop to stock up with a big paper bag of sweets. Those were, of course, the days when 1p bought 8 Blackjacks or 8 Fruit Salad chews. A pocketful of bronze, small denomination coins went a long way towards a high sugar, high E-number and unhealthily artificially coloured feast.

Everything was nicely prepared for the start of the game. My parents would accept my fanaticism but would try to encourage me to at least pop out into the fresh air for a few moments on such a glorious day of weather.

The weather, oh yes. As I said you could always rely on it being good for the whole of the day. It was immaterial for the duration of my personal Cup Final schedule but was all important after the game had finished when the re-enactment of the key moments and goals could take place in the back garden.

It was then that the even more sticky and grubby siblings became of use taking the role, for any leftover goodies, of the losing team. I made sure of that just to round the day off nicely. There would be no upsets in the glorious sunshine, just a few tantrums and tears before bedtime.

Colour Coded Human

Human nature.

It is a mighty strange thing.

Books and authoritative works are still being devised and developed on that very subject . As a race we may not ever reach a stage when we can define human nature without fear of contradiction.

Personally,  I am not very good at judging the intent of an individual whether obvious in the verbal, subtle in body language or in other signs and forms of communication.

Some people say one thing but mean completely the opposite. This can be in complete innocence or a well planned and deceptive strategy.

If only there were a fool-proof method of categorising people, to identify their strengths and weaknesses with the outcome of being able to speak and interact with them with empathy and understanding.

One train of thought on this theme is to allocate people with different colours.

It appears that this scientific approach, and science it is rather than mumbo-jumbo or a whim has an important application in sales and marketing. The principal called "Alignment", is to present yourself (being a salesperson) as being on the same side as the customer and then suggest options designed to steer them to the desired outcome, meaning yours and not necessarily theirs.

At the root of the technique is the identification of basic characteristics and traits of, in the sales context, the customer which can then be used as the basis by which to communicate best.

The colour-labelling relates to four different categories.

"Red People" are defined as extrovert and action driven. They require targets and direct, succinct information and work on a means to an end principle. They use assertive language and are sometimes intolerant of changes of plan and are poor listeners.

"Green People" are caring, empathetic types who need to understand consequences and are generally risk-averse. They can be regarded as lone thinkers and mavericks and need lateral information and time to consider options.

"Blue People" are analytical and thorough and require proposals to reach a considered decision. They generally question everything, are particular about procedures and may consult widely. They judge their own work critically and relish complex problems.

"Yellow People" are social movers, artistic,enthusiastic and spontaneous and act with others to arrive at a given goal. They are as concerned about other peoples opinions as their own but do not necessarily believe in acting for the greater good. They are good team motivators, listeners and negotiators and generally like short, bullet pointed information or face to face conversations.

As for my colour, well, I blush easily and often look flushed in the face, I can feel queasy and ill quite often, I get a bit down and depressed and have been known to run away from things rather than stand and fight.

That makes me red, green, blue and downright yellow all in one. Human Nature, huh!