what does your BMW say about you?

We've all seen those pop psych quizzes where driving an "aspirational" car shows you're ambitious, hardworking and "like the good things in life" blah blah.
Having spent a whole day on the motorway a couple of weeks ago, I came to a few conclusions of my own, then did a little research into it.

I wasn't surprised to find that car makers employ their own psychological profiling to market their cars, known in the trade as psychographics. Some of the information that manufacturers gather can be quite specific, for instance, did you know that Honda Civic owners like to vacuum their garage? Well, I always suspected it, and I bet it doesn't surprise you! At the other end of the market, in the USA at least, the owner of a Porsche 911 is most likely to be aged 51 and either a doctor or a lawyer. Either way, best avoided at parties.
General Motors say the Cadillac Escalade means:

"You speak your mind and are unapologetic. You enjoy life and do a lot of entertaining. You seize life's opportunities. You think, "I have to be out doing something. I want to accomplish something." You take risks. You would rather fail than not try."

Strange, it doesn't mention that if you own an Escalade you are either a gangsta or a tosser, maybe both.
There are some stereotypes that appear to be mostly true when it comes to cars: it would be true to say that owners of "Chevrolets" [the old Daiwoo, not the actual American motors] don't care what they drive, they just need transport (if you've ever driven one you'll know this is true).

To paraphrase the Top Gear team, anybody that drives a BMW is a cock; I don't have an issue with BMW's in general, I know they are very nice cars to drive, but I'm not keen on the aspirational image they portray, and I know for a fact that as soon as people step into a BMW they become selfish and aggressive - if you're trying to turn right across a traffic jam the car parked across the junction will invariably be a BMW. But there is one type of BMW that I really don't understand: the X series of 4x4 "SUV".
For sure I've always suspected that the buyer of an X5 is a bit of a prick. they obviously think their vehicle is the most aspirational car on the planet, after all, why else would you spend a minimum of 40 grand on a 4x4 that gets stuck on the school playing field during sports day? Now before you start spouting figures at me, I know that most 4x4's don't go offroad, not even as far as the grass verge! But I'm sure a 4X4 owner would at least like to think that they could get to work if there's a dusting of snow; after all, if your nan's Subaru Justy, or even your cleaner's mini can do it, your X5 should be able to, surely?
Nope, not a chance! After a sudden snow storm a couple of years ago, the traffic on the A40 near me was still moving, albeit carefully, apart from a couple of X5's that had got stuck at a slight (and by slight I mean a pimple) incline, and had to be pushed off the road so that lesser vehicles could continue their journey!
Then there's the X6. I guess people who buy an X6 think they're more individual than the owner of an X5. Yes they really are extra special.
If there's a discrepancy between how X6 owners see their choice of car and how others see it, that's nothing to those poor unfortunates who invested in an X3 to improve their image; I have worked out a formula for this, and it goes thus:

a) anybody that drives a BMW X5 is a complete cock;

b) anybody that drives a BMW X6 is a delusional cock;

c) and anyone that drives a BMW X3 are completely delusional cocks.

I'm going to stick my neck out here: in my opinion, no-one would buy an X3 out of choice. I believe not one person would ever say "I bought the X3 cos it's 'nippier' and more suitable for me."
The fact is, a BMW X3 is what people buy when they want an X5 but can't afford it.
Having said that, I think the X3 is genuinely aspirational, in the sense of "not made it", the owners are probably insanely, perhaps psychopathically, jealous of X5 owners.

But, X3 owners, don't despair, for I bring tidings of joy and goodwill: don't envy X5 owners; take your green-eyed, monster goggles off and pity them. Yes, that's right. You see, actually the X3 is just as luxurious, nearly as roomy, not nearly as bad in trickier driving conditions, and a better all-round ride, according to some. Not to mention pots cheaper (not that the money argument cuts much ice with the aspirational "look how much I spent" types).

So next time someone tells you (know doubt with a suitable - if tiny - amount of pride) they drive an X5, fix them with your most sympathetic stare and say "Oh, you poor thing, would you like me to drive you to sports day?

To vacuumity and beyond

Tracey the partner has finally had enough. Of the old infirm vacuum cleaner that is. So yours truly was despatched post haste to the shop - or at least the virtual equivalent, whatever did we shopping hating males do before t'internet?
I know lots of people swear by their Dysons (to even have an opinion about a vacuum cleaner seems a little dodgy to me, but I'll come back to that later) but I think they'd have to do the cleaning themselves and make me a cup of tea to be worth the money a Dyson would set you back, so I was looking at something a little cheaper, say about £100-150.
Enter the Samsung er.. something or other (look, I don't know what flippin' model it is, unless it's got a cuddly name like "Sucky Bunny" or some such how am I supposed to remember?), same type of swirly technology and a five year - yes, that's right, FIVE years - full warranty, all for the princely sum of £129.99 with free delivery.
Now back to the geekiness of having an opinion about a vacuum cleaner. When I opened the box, I was greeted by.... a vacuum cleaner. OK, bit of an anti climax.
Let's rewind a bit and add some happening music; how about the theme from 2001 - A Space odyssey?

Right, when I opened the box, I was greeted by - Dah. - Dah. - Dah. -- DADAH!
A vision in shiny black, a cross between a Sony Walkman, a Maserati and the Starship Enterprise. Actually it looks a bit like the designer has said "Let's make it look like a Maserati", and the company Accountant replies "Too expensive. Can't you just ram it into a Playstation box? No-one'll know the difference". Yes, that's it, it's a game console, complete with Blue LED graphics and remote control. Yes, you heard me, remote control!

I could blah blah on about it's suction wattage, and its decibels etc.etc. but - remote control! What more is there to say?
Oh yeah, and it nags you when it's full. Just like our washing machine nags us when it wants to be emptied.
Bizarrely, and rather ironically, I've heard that Playstation 3's are rather good at gathering dust (due to their static properties - I'm not implying that nobody switches them on), so maybe I've hit on something important. QED, or in this case QVC!

celebrity culture - a new low

The Devil's publicity machine rolls on: we've had Jade's death, we've had Jordan's response (What dya mean, I can't pretend I'm dying? So how about I divorce the appendage?), we've seen "SuBo" turn from a plain, frumpy nutter to a famously plain, frumpy nutter who will be $8m better off if the US tour goes ahead (or somebody will be, she'll probably be detained under Section 3 of The Mental health Act). One would think Satan couldn't think up any worse for humanity, well never underestimate the evilness-ness of Lucifer and his PR hordes.

Check out the Cyrus family's latest moneyspinner: Miley's (she of the bad songs, claims of bisexuality and race hatred) bug-eyed little sister Noah.


I can't quite put my finger on why this leaves such an unpleasant taste in my mouth.
Is it because these two children are dressed as prostitutes?
Is it Noah's lollipop head?
Or is it because it looks like the Red Bull advert the company didn't want you to see?
No, it's because it made me throw up!

This is the worst, most depressing example of what is wrong with this world. Not only does it make acceptable the sexualisation of children, it also promotes crass consumerism, making chidren think that the wearing of high fashion is not only ok, but a necessity. Not to mention Red bull abuse - she looks like she's about to go into caffeine meltdown! Oh, and who's peddling this kiddy porn by any other name? None other than Disney! You can make up your own mind over whether Disney is the Devil's own corporation, I'm not prepared to comment given the relationship between lawyers and the powers of darkness.


Do you think Noah (or Noie as she likes to call herself - WTF?) and her cousin Emily Grace Reaves (Ems) are cute and lovely? If so you can comment here.

They look like future prime candidates for Celebrity Rehab to me; just give me something heavy to throw at them.
BTW, talking of heavy: Ems, you've got a bit of a paunch in some of those swimsuit photos love, time to lose a few pounds, or Miss Lollipop Head won't want to be seen with you in public.

Car Insurance Woes

It's that time of year again, we received the insurance renewal letter from Budget (who's tag-line is apparently "We'll renew it automatically, so your always covered"). I normally run a comparison site check to see whether the renewal offer is value for money, and the fact they were going to renew it for me made me a little suspicious.
Sure enough, a quick run through Tesco Compare showed a quote of £153 - nearly forty spuds cheaper than Budget's £191.78.
OK, I know insurance companies do their level best to keep our money, but Budget say on their renewal letter "the best price from our panel of insurers".
Funny then, that the next cheapest at £157 was none other than - yeah, that's right - Budget!

Not happy with this - just because it's common practice amongst insurers doesn't mean it's right - I phoned up Budget to tell them I would not be renewing
"Is it because of price?" says the [initially] friendly Australian chap at the other end.
"Mostly," says I.
"In that case we can do it for £169," says my new Aussie friend.
"I'm sorry," says I, drawing my new buddy ever deeper into the trap, "I've already had a quote for £157!" Which of course, was their own quote from Tesco Compare.
"Can I try to price-match that quote for you?" Obviously now we are best pals, and pals stick together.
"I should hope so," says I, revealing my trump card with a magician's flourish, "It was your quote!" Game, set and price-match, vaults over net to graciously shake said Antipodean gentleman's hand.
This is where things started to get a little ugly: I said the reason why I was not renewing was because I don't like to be conned, and why didn't they offer me the best quote like their letter said, and he tried to tell me the reason was something to do with using the same insurer as before. Or something, I was too busy crowing over my delightfully witty, verbal "legerdemain" to hear the full explanation. Anyway, despite the fact that he'd asked me every possible question to ascertain that I did indeed have the permission of the insured - my partner (you know, name, DOB, postcode, mother's maiden name, whether the moon landings were genuine or faked etc.) - he then got all shirty and declared that only the insured could cancel their insurance, I pointed out the fact that we were not cancelling, but merely not renewing, and that the money would have been coming from my bank account, but my now slightly less friendly friend was having none of it.

Enter Tracey, the partner; not by nature an aggressive person, but she has been known to savage the odd Jehovah's witness at the door.
On phoning, she discovered that relations between us and Budget were now decidedly frosty.
"In that case we must ask you some embarrassing and unnecessary questions to imply that you are acting fraudulently," paraphrased the irate lady after Tracey restated our intentions, no doubt a little testy due to Trace's reiteration that sharp practice would not be tolerated in our household.
"I have nothing to declare except my wish for you to expedite delivery of our 'proof of no claims bonus', avail me of your supervisor forthwith, young lady".
That last call was obviously peppered with dramatic licence, but you get the drift!

So now we're with Sheila's Wheels; I am assured I am not legally contracted to walk round in a pink, sequined ballgown and high heels, or put my hair up in a beehive, I just like doing it!

Heard the one about the......?

Heard the one about the guy who had an eel up his arse? Funny as it sounds this is no joke:- a Hong Kong man was admitted to A&E suffering from abdominal pain. Doctors diagnosed peritonitis and sent him for an X-Ray. To their surprise the X-Ray revealed the presence of a live eel in the mans rectum. The man claimed the eel had been inserted to relieve constipation!
The journal Surgery wrote:

"Emergency laparotomy found a 50cm eel biting the splenic flexure of the colon, and a 3cm perforation was found over the anterior wall of the rectum.

"Insertion of a live animal into the rectum causing rectal perforation has never been previously reported.

"This may be related to a bizarre healthcare belief, inadvertent sexual behaviour, or criminal assault. However, the true reason may never be known."

It reminds me of The Mighty Boosh song, "Eels", which included the disturbing lyric "Eels up inside you, finding an entrance where they can, boring through your mind, through your tummy, through your anus", check out the song here

Who would've thought The Boosh would come true, eh?

windy day on Cleeve Hill

So I've been flying in some fairly big winds recently: I find that if I'm on my own I tend to be a bit of a wimp, but when I've got company my bravery gland pumps out stupidity and I often push the envelope or whatever people say.
For example: last Friday I was flying in fairly dirty wind with turbulence (or wind shadows as we call them) coming from the radio masts as the wind swirled through them. Despite this, and because I had someone to fly with, I achieved 32mph. Pretty good speed for a bumpy field.
Today though, my courage abandoned me, in the worst wind I've experienced in many months, my sensible gland won out and I decided to live to fly another day.

I guess that's one of the aspects of flying that makes it so interesting, since you're reliant on the wind, every day is different. In fact, some days the weather - and therefore the wind - can change several times in a day with small weather systems like a bunch of cloud bringing faster and sometimes gustier wind, and fronts can cause the direction of the wind to change, and the direction has a lot to do with how smooth our wind is.

Then there are the kites: slow "learner" kites have a low aspect ratio (AR), meaning they are "squarer" and often thicker in section, are the best fixed foil kites to fly in gusty winds ,while race kites, having a high AR and thinner section, are much less gust resistant and tend to "bowtie" (twist inside themselves) in a nasty wind. And then there's the depowerable foils that fly on a bar. These kites can be trimmed by pulling or pushing the bar which changes the "angle of attack" (AoA) of the kite, which simply put means they can not only fly in a bigger wind range than fixed foils, but also can soak up some of the gusts by depowering the kite as the gusts hit.

Some Advice for TV Schedulers

In the Radio Times letters page this week there was a lady berating the schedulers for missing out on an opportunity on Mother's Day, claiming that they should have broadcast "romcoms, black and white weepies" and "musicals".

This sparked a germ of interest for me, because I think she's onto something.
Obviously Christmas is already sorted, with the classics like "Miracle on 34th Street", "It's a Wonderful Life" etc.
But what about celebrating other "special" days, for instance Father's Day? I guess the obvious choices would be war films, cool oldies like "The Italian Job" and Crime thrillers where some blonde shows her gash (probably this one in HD - and after the watershed).

Easter will have "Harvey", "Who Framed Roger Rabbit" and "Chocolat". [ - it's a religious festival? Are you sure?]

Some less-well known ones:- "International Talk Like a Pirate" day (pretty obvious this one - "Pirates of the Caribbean" and anything with Robert Newton in it), or how about IT Systems Administrators Day (easy - "Hackers" and the "Matrix" trilogy)?

Then there's my personal favourite - May the 4th - Star Wars Day.
Job's a good'un!

The Apprentice is back - yippee!

Oh gods how I love The Apprentice! There are hundreds of reasons why this programme should be complete shit, and yet, it is without doubt, the jewel in the back passage of reality TV.
I just love the way they cock everything up so masterfully. They are experts in their field of whinging; from their pathetic "I am the best of da best blah blah" to their last pout before "Sralan" points his beautifully manicured finger. And then the piece of resistance: "The Apprentice - You're Fired" poking fun at the contestants straight after.

I cringe, I laugh, I pundit on business matters (hindsight is such a wonderful thing), and ultimately I go to work the next morning and talk about it. It's a show to share, with stupid inane "to camera" comments that "You're Fired" store up for the contestants final demise: my favourites this week were James telling us his relief at not being fired led to another sort of relief ("it was only a little bit") and Howard's inane "business speak", who claimed to have done his best to "upwardly manage a floundering team leader".
I nearly wet myself too!
Meanwhile, on the other team, Yasmina tarted up her pikey, catmeat tuna with "fresh baseel" and "motzayellargh", while Kate's pitch about canopies [sic] was a classic ("bruschetta which is - always a favourite"). Her face was a picture .

What I love about the show is they haven't tried to "Big Brother" it and introduce all sorts of desperate rules, they just rely on the comic value of the contestants; again, not like BB contestants, who are merely irritating. Add Margaret and Nick to the mix and some very clever editing, and you have TV heaven.

The upshot of this is I can't wait for next episode, unlike some reality programmes when I can't wait for the network to pull the plug.

Other reality shows are available, but shit.

A kite is for life....

When I mention that I'm a kiter to friends and colleagues I normally get one of two reactions: they either look at you as if you've stolen some little kiddy's toy, or they look at you as if you're completely barking (cos you must've stolen some kid's toy). Either way they can't wait to get away from you.

If you speak to people who've seen you whizzing up and down the common or beach, they have a somewhat different view: they say things like "Wow, that looks fun!"

It's obvious there's a big difference between people's perceptions of kiting and the reality; it's perceived as big boys playing with silly toys, whereas it is in fact, big boys playing with dangerous toys.

Despite the fact that kiting can be dangerous, my partner, when I come home from a session, asks questions like
"did you have a nice game?" and
"I hope you played nicely with your little friends".

And the answer is of course "Yes".

I was at the pub where I work last night and while collecting some glasses, I picked up the ripped up beer mats left by one of our younger female customers. I chucked them on the bar meaning to bin them when I got back but forgot. A little while later,Viv one of our regs, asked who'd ripped them. We started saying how annoying people's nervous habits are,
"Some people build geometric structures with them," says I, "at least that's a little more creative".
"There's probably a name for it like origami," says Viv.

By the time we'd finished the conversation we'd already got the first "world" championships sorted, and even thought about building a website to promote it.
So, if you want to enter the first Annual Matagami beermat challenge, drop us a line at:
3rd Barstool from the left,
You Know, the one with the funny stain on the cushion,
'Nam.


We were discussing some of our, shall we say, more unusual customers the other night.
One of our oddest was a chap that we affectionately nicknamed "Bullshit Bill" [name changed to protect the innocent]. Bullshit knew everything, he only had to read a pamphlet on table knives to be a weapons expert. He had been, among other things a racing driver, champion disco-dancer, faith healer (no, really) and medium. His spirit guide was none other than Elvis Presley!
Unfortunately, he changed his story - it wasn't Elvis but "Elvis". Turns out his guide was an Elvis impersonator! I wonder if he impersonated a spirit guide?

Kiting for Boys

The 3rd anniversary of my new life looms: my personal Road to Damascus occurred when I bought myself a kite for my birthday, a small two-line foil which I naively thought would drag me around and maybe even lift me off the ground. Not a chance!
On the Sunday I took my family "up the hill" (now my mantra) to try it out and was shocked when my neighbour whizzed across in his kite buggy and offered to help me set it up. I had no idea he engaged in such a glamorous hobby and was suitably impressed. It was that moment when I contracted a serious, and so far incurable, case of "kite fever", and within three weeks of that fateful Sunday, I had bought myself a "real" kite.
This was a 2nd hand Flexifoil Blade mkII, 3 square metres of pure evil! Read my review here if you can be bothered.
The Blade lived up to my expectations of a power kite, dragging me - and especially my son - across the common, and scaring the crap out of us.
Since then my love of kiting has gone from strength to strength, particularly since I bought a buggy back at the end of 2006.
I was "up the hill" the other day, a couple with their young family were watching from a short but safe distance. When we pulled up at our kit, the father came over with his little boy of about 5yrs old. It was obvious that the interested party was the dad! He had that look in his eye that I'm sure I had all those years (well, not that many but it seems like for ever) ago.

It just grips you like that.


Auction Sniper

Move Over Princess Di there's a new corpse in town- A Eulogy

It would seem that I was wrong about Jade Goody.

You see, I always thought she was a self-serving, self-absorbed, fat, ugly, irritating, racist and foul-mouthed Essex girl.

It turns out that not only was she the standard bearer for every other fat, ugly, irritating chavette with a rare command of expletive English, but she was also a saint in the making, whose canon will surely be fired by Pope Ratzenburger himself.

Surely we can number her among the great philanthropists - after all, she had the looks of Mother Theresa. Unlike Mother Theresa she tirelessly self-promoted all the way to her deathbed to give her children a decent education (or enough money to employ Max Clifford to enable their own self-promotion), and her husband the opportunity to shine in her reflected tarnish.

This glorious polished turd, this beacon of mundanity, calls to the celebrity in all of us:-

put down that gutted fish, remove your uniform of corporate deprivation and heed the gospel according to Saint Jade.
You too could be a rich A-lister if only you were just a little more irritating, just a little stupider, and - dare I say, just a little more pikey.

Amen.

In the words of the great Daniel J. Boorstin (no, I don't know who that is either), "Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some hire PR officers."

Oh and by the way, when people go on about how her plight has brought the need for screenings to the general public blah blah, remember the money she has earned in exchange for her very public demise would probably go a long way towards curing cancer if it was donated to a research charity. Even Jordan, the most famous non-celebrity in the British Isles found Jade Goody's publicity uncomfortable

Edit: I hear Jordan has been barred from attending Jade's funeral. What I say is: meh.

Auction Sniper

Welcome gentle reader

I once found a book in my local library called "How to Overcome Indecision" but I couldn't decide whether to take it out or not.

A bit like whether to write a blog: is it like the diary of your life that starts out on January 1st with a 200 word essay entitled "my day", and by February 1st already has 30 empty pages apart from an entry that reads "dentist 3pm"?

Okay so I've made my first decision - write a blog; next decision - what about?
Hmm, what am I interested in? Well that's easy: kiting and ranting.

Kiting is my joy in life, it's what makes me buzz and what calms me; it makes my heart race and adrenaline pump, but it also has a Zen quality about it that stills my soul.

That's enough of that: attempts at discussing this fascinating(?) extreme sport normally brings on a look of quiet desperation amongst my non-kite friendly friends, so I'll maybe only mention kites once or twice - per sentence!

So it's decided then: welcome to my rant!