HELLO FRIENDS AND FAMILY, WASSAIL!
Well! What a year it’s been for the Virtue Family!
Firstly Poppy.
Poppy and the Twins are thriving, it was a bit cramped at first, but then we moved my father and mother out of the Granny flat, and they all fitted in just beautifully! For those of you that want to know, Phil and Doris seemed to have eventually settled right in at the Home, they always seemed pleased to see us when we can get there, and there are often tears when we leave! Of course we don’t get to see them as often as we would like, but as Margaret says they’re probably not in any condition to notice. Thank God she got them to sign the trust forms all those years ago!
Poppy had a wonderful time cheerleading at the Olympics, she was very popular, especially with the East European teams, and indeed she must have been, because she sometimes didn’t get back until three or four in the morning. What a dedicated little Games Maker she was! Of course while she was away this meant that Granny and Grandpa had lots of time to bond with their Grandchildren. Believe me it came as quite a wrench to hand them back to Poppy, but then term started, and back they were!
GCSE’s this summer, what a lot she’s already crammed in to her life, sometimes I’m quite envious!
Jeremy.
As most of you know, Jeremy was a little troubled last year, and had to drop out of the University of Buckingham, but he has bounced back and is expected to be out of the Priory by Christmas, Marvellous News! Bye-the-bye, if any of you want to write or send a card to Jeremy, please remember he’s now calling himself Gemmy. This may seem strange to some of you, but it’s the compromise recommended by the counsellor after Margaret felt that she couldn’t cope with Gemma, as she said, “It’s all very well to have to cope with one diva in the house [Poppy], but two is one too many!” We laughed quite a bit at that one! Ha ha! Ah well, boys will be b……….
Now, sad news. Pluto had to be put to sleep. Margaret said that with her back she couldn’t re-plant all the bulbs he would keep digging up. What an enthusiastic digger he was, dig, dig, dig like there was no tomorrow, and after last Friday, there wasn’t! Still, I’m sure the display of early spring flowers will easily dispel the guilt!
Close friends will have sensed a bit of tension in the air over that last few months, but I’m happy to report that whatever “Marital Difficulties” Margaret and I were having are now firmly behind us, who would have thought that all that tension could be eased by us taking up ……..HOBBIES! Yes, I now spend the weekend painting in my studio (AKA the shed!) and Margaret spends her time entertaining a veritable cornucopia of potential clients for her lingerie franchise, in fact, quite shockingly I sometimes find her swanning about the house in a state of , dare I say it, deshabille , but then I realise that she’s just modelling some of her frillies for a franchisee.
Well, I think that’s our news, so:
Merry Christmas and a Prosperous New Year
Alan Virtue and Family
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Thursday, August 23, 2012
I believe I can fly - just.
It had been a bit of a weekend, what with a drive-in on Saturday night, and a mystery tour of Bucks on the Sunday thanks to TomTom and Billy Conolly (at one point Billy exhorted us to turn down a bridleway). Monday was work, and on Tuesday I went flying, not the "I tripped over the cat" sort of flying, and not in an aeroplane. For Christmas my brother had bought me four minutes of pain and terror in a vertical wind-tunnel AKA Indoor Skydiving.
OK so "pain and terror" is a bit over the mark, I arrived the designated hour before my flight and then sat for the designated fifteen minutes before anyone else showed up. We then trooped in for the training video where we had 3 minutes of instruction including the panoply of hand signals the instructor (Tim) would thrust in our faces (legs bent, legs straight, chin up [physically not emotionally] and relax), and our only hand signal; get me out of here. Then we had twelve minutes of unashamed advertising. Tim came back in flashed a few hand-signals at us for practice, got a pretty girl to demonstrate the position on a table, and then took us out to put on an oversuit, helmet and goggles.
We all trooped to the wind tunnel to view the group in front of us being manhandled into position and caroming off the side walls. All too soon it was our go:
I stepped through the door and then fell face-forward onto.....nothing! Well I say nothing, what I mean is a column of air whizzing past me at over a hundred miles per hour. Tim, pushed and pulled me until I was in nothing like the position demonstrated by the pretty girl, my back felt like it was about to pop but I was airborne. As we were a small group it was suggested we did tricks, so I decided to do a sedate spin, well I span, hardly sedate, the side wall and I became firm friends, several times. Tim grabbed me and shoved me out of the door, I had two goes (lucky me), so sat and waited for my heart rate to drop before I put it up again. This time I did a stately tour of the upper regions of the windows before (for an extra fiver) Tim took me on a visit to the upper stratosphere to check out the baffle pattern on the ceiling. We had been told to smile, not smiling we were told was a bad thing as your cheeks got pushed into a sort of balcony around your nose which wasn't too attractive ("But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Nick's nose is the sun"). My pictures reveal that I wasn't smiling (when I can pull a still off the dvd, I'll post it), sadly the amount of, shall we say, spare tissue I have on my face didn't just give me a balcony, more of a sort of loggia I'd have said. I did smile on occasion, when I did, saliva was ripped out of my mouth, to ascend baffleward at 130MPH after a brief excursion round various bits of my face, I decided that hayfever season was probably not the time to do this sort of exercise.
OK so "pain and terror" is a bit over the mark, I arrived the designated hour before my flight and then sat for the designated fifteen minutes before anyone else showed up. We then trooped in for the training video where we had 3 minutes of instruction including the panoply of hand signals the instructor (Tim) would thrust in our faces (legs bent, legs straight, chin up [physically not emotionally] and relax), and our only hand signal; get me out of here. Then we had twelve minutes of unashamed advertising. Tim came back in flashed a few hand-signals at us for practice, got a pretty girl to demonstrate the position on a table, and then took us out to put on an oversuit, helmet and goggles.
We all trooped to the wind tunnel to view the group in front of us being manhandled into position and caroming off the side walls. All too soon it was our go:
I stepped through the door and then fell face-forward onto.....nothing! Well I say nothing, what I mean is a column of air whizzing past me at over a hundred miles per hour. Tim, pushed and pulled me until I was in nothing like the position demonstrated by the pretty girl, my back felt like it was about to pop but I was airborne. As we were a small group it was suggested we did tricks, so I decided to do a sedate spin, well I span, hardly sedate, the side wall and I became firm friends, several times. Tim grabbed me and shoved me out of the door, I had two goes (lucky me), so sat and waited for my heart rate to drop before I put it up again. This time I did a stately tour of the upper regions of the windows before (for an extra fiver) Tim took me on a visit to the upper stratosphere to check out the baffle pattern on the ceiling. We had been told to smile, not smiling we were told was a bad thing as your cheeks got pushed into a sort of balcony around your nose which wasn't too attractive ("But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Nick's nose is the sun"). My pictures reveal that I wasn't smiling (when I can pull a still off the dvd, I'll post it), sadly the amount of, shall we say, spare tissue I have on my face didn't just give me a balcony, more of a sort of loggia I'd have said. I did smile on occasion, when I did, saliva was ripped out of my mouth, to ascend baffleward at 130MPH after a brief excursion round various bits of my face, I decided that hayfever season was probably not the time to do this sort of exercise.
Afterwards I cycled home, mainly down the canal, now everything hurts!
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
A Jolly Good Show
It has been the Olympics, in Hemel Hempstead we have had the heavyweight grape disposal event (won by the Mooshta) plus the 4.30 nightmare, clothes gathering event (won by Imo). On the Monday we all went to watch the athletics, it all went swimmingly (if that's not an oxymoron): the taxi arrived, the train arrived, the route to the next train was well-signed, Stan's Cafe had sponsored sets of footprints depicting Olympic golds, that got even the snail Mooshta moving (BTW Tessa, you know that mystery one with the target, paralympic wheelchair stuff, and, Steve I suspect the high jump was paralympic too, hence the one foot), the next train was nearly empty and getting to it made even more entertaining by the man with the megaphone (see my essay on Empowerment by Amplification. J. Pop. Psychol. Tod. V435, NoII, pp1079-1097. May 2015) "Ark,ark,fark,ark,fark fark fark, arkavelin ark fark. Thank You!", entry to the park seamless, entry to the venue seamless, the one way system seamless due to the man with the megaphone (see above), "Madam, am I invisible? Pass the post on the left please!", the performance of Team GB sadly not seamless.
I had Steve to my distant left employing some sort of Preparatory School exhortation, "Come on, chop chop!" and "Put your back into it!" and a gentleman to my right who seemed to have gone to the same school, "Nearly there!" and "Good effort!", halfway through Mooshta fell asleep (probably something to do with the Women's (?) Shot Putt).
Our session finished so we queued for a pasty, which they ran out of when we got to the till, so then we queued for fish and chips. Then we strolled through the wildflower meadows, watched a bit of stuff on the big screen, and called it a day when it went black to the north.
The return journey, was slightly less seamless, the one-way system being twice the distance back as in, in fact at St Pancras we were dispatched all the way to the front of the station before being invited to return to the point where we got off the train via the shops (we were Tessa, I checked it out when I bought the badges). This, combined with the heat, the early start, the poor showing of Team GB's 800m men caused me to fail the Uncle test when the Mooshta came to a grinding halt.
Back at Euston Station, my brother obviously under the delusion that he was talking to (A) Lord Coe (B) someone who cared started to belabour the 20 year old greeters team about the St Pancras route, they nodded sagely, and started looking for a security man to protect them. Tessa intervened by inserting an Indian Restaurant between them and him. When we came out, they'd gone, or maybe they were hiding. Home. Bed/settee. Sleep.
On another note, I see that Tolworth Roundabout is maintained by the "Kingston Youth Offenders Team", what a Council, I'd vote for them, in fact I'd want to be on the team, as I'm sure that everyone my age would. What? Oh apparently it doesn't mean that. Darn!
I had Steve to my distant left employing some sort of Preparatory School exhortation, "Come on, chop chop!" and "Put your back into it!" and a gentleman to my right who seemed to have gone to the same school, "Nearly there!" and "Good effort!", halfway through Mooshta fell asleep (probably something to do with the Women's (?) Shot Putt).
Our session finished so we queued for a pasty, which they ran out of when we got to the till, so then we queued for fish and chips. Then we strolled through the wildflower meadows, watched a bit of stuff on the big screen, and called it a day when it went black to the north.
The return journey, was slightly less seamless, the one-way system being twice the distance back as in, in fact at St Pancras we were dispatched all the way to the front of the station before being invited to return to the point where we got off the train via the shops (we were Tessa, I checked it out when I bought the badges). This, combined with the heat, the early start, the poor showing of Team GB's 800m men caused me to fail the Uncle test when the Mooshta came to a grinding halt.
Back at Euston Station, my brother obviously under the delusion that he was talking to (A) Lord Coe (B) someone who cared started to belabour the 20 year old greeters team about the St Pancras route, they nodded sagely, and started looking for a security man to protect them. Tessa intervened by inserting an Indian Restaurant between them and him. When we came out, they'd gone, or maybe they were hiding. Home. Bed/settee. Sleep.
On another note, I see that Tolworth Roundabout is maintained by the "Kingston Youth Offenders Team", what a Council, I'd vote for them, in fact I'd want to be on the team, as I'm sure that everyone my age would. What? Oh apparently it doesn't mean that. Darn!
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Even more bloody skiing!
I hate skiing! I hate it and haven't even been yet.
Last year it was Teddy hiding my passport, this year it's everything else.
I had re-ordered my pre-loaded-with-Euros debit card, found my European Health Insurance Card, sorted out how to pay for my skis and lift pass while avoiding punitive bank charges; by using the pre-loaded debit card, made a start on my packing.
Yesterday after three weeks the debit card hadn't arrived, I phoned, it was lost in the post, they're sending me a new one, perhaps it will arrive before I leave.
"Oh well, I can always use my credit card as I get a better rate than with the bank." I pull my credit card from the wallet and watch it blink and gasp as it encounters fresh air and sunlight for the first time in ages, then it points to its expiry date - last August.
"Did they send me a new one, in fact have I received any information from them at all..... Oh shit! Did I tell them I moved!"
I phoned, I hadn't. Caroline was very understanding, she promised to send me a new one, it takes up to seven business days, perhaps it will arrive before I leave.
The EHIC card; I study the EHIC card; it waves something at me; it waves an expiry date....."An expiry date! Why the fu%$ do you have an expiry date? Surely your expiry date should be the same as mine?"
I order an online renewal, perhaps it will arrive before I leave?
I wonder if the new coat and helmet I ordered yesterday will arrive before I leave too?
I went into the garden and savaged some geraniums.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Inexactitude
I was just off to a student practical when the phone rang, it was the Boss;
"I've got a problem...."
He hadn't, he wasn't in.
"... there's a minus eighty freezer being delivered to Ca**u, in the Rockefeller, and the service lift is out, can you check with maintenance that they know, and can you go and reassure him."
"Where is he?"
"On the ground floor."
"OK"
I checked with maintenance - they knew.
I went over, the ground floor was devoid of freezers, delivery men and fractious Italians.
I wandered over the ground floor looking for any sort of laboratory, finally scaring the secretaries in Women's Health, who, when recovered from my presence in the hallowed halls - myself being the equivalent of a bubo in the armpit of the average mediaeval peasant, directed me back to where I'd just come from.
I consulted the front desk,
"Do you know the whereabouts of Dr Ca**u?"
A reflex reply:
"I'm just on break cover...... "
A furtle with the building list'
".....no."
"He's new."
"He's not in here."
"Can I borrow the phone?" I already knew this was hopeless, but, you know, sometimes pigs fly..... What? Oh apparently they don't!
They didn't, not only was the person I was phoning not in, but the line to the exchange didn't work.
As I was on the phone I had noticed two men with a stair-walker, the sort of men who looked like they might have recently been in charge of a minus 80. Failing to connect (women of my acquaintance, please discuss), I attempted to find the men. I followed them past the supposed defunct service lift, and emerged in the yard, I went to the gate... padlocked shut! I looked through the gate, there they were getting into the lorry, I didn't feel able to shout through the three inch slot in the gate, even I have some dignity, an eight inch gap (that's this big) maybe. I returned and reconnoitered, eventually walking round the building to approach the lorry from the public side, it would have gone - I know when I'm doomed to failure (women of my acquaintance, please discuss). Bugger me! It was still there - feckless oafs! -
Small scratch at door of lorry,
"Hello lads, umm have you just delivered a minus eighty?"
"Yeah."
"Oh! Umm, where?"
"Third floor, took it up in the lift, for this bloke Ghul summat."
"Julio" ( I of course report in the frenetic, fournetic, whatever.... phonetic).
"Read that - him."
"Oh brilliant, where is he?"
"Third floor, on the left out of the lift."
"The service lift?"
"Nah, that's knackered, we took it up in the passenger lift."
"!" - several decakilopounds Sterling of baroque refurbishment at risk.
"533 I think."
"Ta!" You see how my chameleon personality slips easily into the vernacular?
I arrive on the 5th floor and turn left, missing 533, I open the door that says "Freezer Room", in front of me there are a bank of minus 80's, to my left are two young women fishing in a liquid nitrogen freezer. I back out and return, suddenly, there is 533! I open the door, now, in front of me, there are two young women fishing in a liquid nitrogen freezer! I look to the right, the freezers wave back.
"Hi! Do you know Dr Ca**u?" The last mumbled, as I have no idea if he is Ca**oo, Ca**o, or Ca**u.
"Sure, come with me" all with the Italian rising inflection, at this point I realise that they are Italian, stylish, girls, and that my shoes could do with a polish, and an upgrade from functional to senseless.
"Gulio!" I'm not phonetic anymore.
"Oh Hi Doctor Ca**mumble, I'm Nick Hayes, just checking up that everything was ok?"
He is sympatico (it's catching), we chat about the building, how it's not fit for purpose, how it could be better, how he's happy to be here though, how it's very small, how old it is (me), how none of the floors are level, how it might be falling into the Cancer Institute foundations next door (me), how lovely the Cancer Institute is, as a purpose built laboratory building as opposed to this (by extension) festering pile of cheap refurbishment, we had to bring stuff in through the Cancer Institute it's lovely, this used to be the Medical School (me), you should have a look at the Cruciform next door, it's quite interesting (me), Yes, I intend to explore when I have all my equipment horizontal... in four months time.
"What is your name and phone number so I know how to reach you?"
"Oh shi.....!"
"I've got a problem...."
He hadn't, he wasn't in.
"... there's a minus eighty freezer being delivered to Ca**u, in the Rockefeller, and the service lift is out, can you check with maintenance that they know, and can you go and reassure him."
"Where is he?"
"On the ground floor."
"OK"
I checked with maintenance - they knew.
I went over, the ground floor was devoid of freezers, delivery men and fractious Italians.
I wandered over the ground floor looking for any sort of laboratory, finally scaring the secretaries in Women's Health, who, when recovered from my presence in the hallowed halls - myself being the equivalent of a bubo in the armpit of the average mediaeval peasant, directed me back to where I'd just come from.
I consulted the front desk,
"Do you know the whereabouts of Dr Ca**u?"
A reflex reply:
"I'm just on break cover...... "
A furtle with the building list'
".....no."
"He's new."
"He's not in here."
"Can I borrow the phone?" I already knew this was hopeless, but, you know, sometimes pigs fly..... What? Oh apparently they don't!
They didn't, not only was the person I was phoning not in, but the line to the exchange didn't work.
As I was on the phone I had noticed two men with a stair-walker, the sort of men who looked like they might have recently been in charge of a minus 80. Failing to connect (women of my acquaintance, please discuss), I attempted to find the men. I followed them past the supposed defunct service lift, and emerged in the yard, I went to the gate... padlocked shut! I looked through the gate, there they were getting into the lorry, I didn't feel able to shout through the three inch slot in the gate, even I have some dignity, an eight inch gap (that's this big) maybe. I returned and reconnoitered, eventually walking round the building to approach the lorry from the public side, it would have gone - I know when I'm doomed to failure (women of my acquaintance, please discuss). Bugger me! It was still there - feckless oafs! -
Small scratch at door of lorry,
"Hello lads, umm have you just delivered a minus eighty?"
"Yeah."
"Oh! Umm, where?"
"Third floor, took it up in the lift, for this bloke Ghul summat."
"Julio" ( I of course report in the frenetic, fournetic, whatever.... phonetic).
"Read that - him."
"Oh brilliant, where is he?"
"Third floor, on the left out of the lift."
"The service lift?"
"Nah, that's knackered, we took it up in the passenger lift."
"!" - several decakilopounds Sterling of baroque refurbishment at risk.
"533 I think."
"Ta!" You see how my chameleon personality slips easily into the vernacular?
I arrive on the 5th floor and turn left, missing 533, I open the door that says "Freezer Room", in front of me there are a bank of minus 80's, to my left are two young women fishing in a liquid nitrogen freezer. I back out and return, suddenly, there is 533! I open the door, now, in front of me, there are two young women fishing in a liquid nitrogen freezer! I look to the right, the freezers wave back.
"Hi! Do you know Dr Ca**u?" The last mumbled, as I have no idea if he is Ca**oo, Ca**o, or Ca**u.
"Sure, come with me" all with the Italian rising inflection, at this point I realise that they are Italian, stylish, girls, and that my shoes could do with a polish, and an upgrade from functional to senseless.
"Gulio!" I'm not phonetic anymore.
"Oh Hi Doctor Ca**mumble, I'm Nick Hayes, just checking up that everything was ok?"
He is sympatico (it's catching), we chat about the building, how it's not fit for purpose, how it could be better, how he's happy to be here though, how it's very small, how old it is (me), how none of the floors are level, how it might be falling into the Cancer Institute foundations next door (me), how lovely the Cancer Institute is, as a purpose built laboratory building as opposed to this (by extension) festering pile of cheap refurbishment, we had to bring stuff in through the Cancer Institute it's lovely, this used to be the Medical School (me), you should have a look at the Cruciform next door, it's quite interesting (me), Yes, I intend to explore when I have all my equipment horizontal... in four months time.
"What is your name and phone number so I know how to reach you?"
"Oh shi.....!"
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