Missile Launcher for a fiver

Ian came round tonight to pick up his misile launcher. These are quite neat devices which a clothes shop has been selling at a reduced price. I never thought there would be anything interesting for sale in Marks and Spencer (a big UK clothing chain) but it seems that times have changed. You plug the launcher into your system via USB and it lets you aim and fire three foam tipped missiles under computer control. Great fun for cubicle wars.

They were initially rather expensive, but becuase the takeup has not been great they were knocked down to a fiver. I ended up buying four, one for me, one for number one son, one for Ian and one for Geoff (who at this moment is unaware of his good fortune). I thought we could have some kind laptop controlled pitched battle.

Actually, I've just started to fret about the way that things on the web are scanned etc. Do you think that something at GCHQ will now flash red and finger me as an arms dealer? Will my blog now be pored over by intelligence types looking for coded messages. On the other hand, another reader is another reader.....

Update: They seem to have sold out in Hull now, but if you want to get one it might still be worth dropping into your local store.

Self Sabotage

The "Simpsons Programme" for physical fitness is not going well. Today, ten minutes into the first session, number one wife came in and informed me that I had sent her out to tax the car without the insurance certificate. This had resulted in a trek across town to the post office, followed by dealings with a smug cashier which did not have a successful outcome (although I've a feeling the cashier had a good time). At this point my torture changed from physical to mental, as I was forced to stop exercising and begin the hunt for the missing piece of paper.

Of course I found an insurance certificate within 30 seconds. But it was one year out of date. I've no idea why I set myself up in this way. The obvious thing to do with an old insurance certificate is to shred it and put it in the bin. The less than obvious action is to leave it lying around so that it can be found in mistake for the proper one. I've often wondered why I do this kind of thing. It is on a par with putting stuff in a "safe place" from which I'll never find it again.

I've come to the conclusion that I have a talent for self sabotage in some matters, particularly those involving bits of paper that you only need once a year or so. The good news is that only two hours later I found the vital document. Of course it was just where I had put it. In a safe place.

Tact Leakage

I think I may be losing my tact as I get older. Last week my father gave me a chocolate orange with the words "It's only a small token" to which I replied "Yes it is". Yesterday number one wife bought a tartan skirt and I found myself quoting chunks of Braveheart dialogue and offering her some shortbread when she showed me it. Not good.

The Simpsons Programme

For some time our bathroom has had two sets of scales in it that we use to keep track of our weight. We had a "happy" set and a "sad" set. The happy set gave you a value which was two stones lighter than the sad one. The idea was that you used the set of scales according to your mood. If you were feeling unaccountably happy, you could use the sad set to normalise this. If you were feeling particularly fragile you could use the happy set.

However, as part of a controlled weight loss programme (which everybody seems to be starting at this time of year) this approach does not work terribly well. So last week we bought a third set of scales which we were going to call "the arbiter". The hope was that they would give a weight which was the average of happy and sad. Unfortunately they promptly agreed with the sad ones, so we threw the old scales in the bin and now we are permanently sad. And heavier than we hoped we were.

In response I'm about to start an exercise progamme which I'm going to call the "Simpsons Programme". Every day I'm going to exercise for the length of a Simpsons episode. I'm going to work my way through each series and see what happens to my physique. Number one son reckoned that I could move up to programmes with longer episodes as I get fitter. So I could go on to the "Dr. Who", and then the "Ally McBeal" and finally the "Lord of the Rings Return of the King Extended Edition" programme. Which would probably kill me.

Sherlock Holmes to the Rescue

Did my bit of the presentation today and it seemed to go OK. At least nothing was thrown at me.

Then back onto the train for the journey home. I've got hold of some Audio Book versions of Sherlock Holmes stories (they were on a magazine cover disk) and they are great. I spent the journey back listening to "A Study in Scarlet". The writing style is a bit dated, but it still works for me. You can get hold of the books (and an MP3 Player styled after a Kalashnikov rifle magazine) from here.