My New Job

I have a splendid job. It does not involve a great deal of thought or responsibilty, but I really enjoy it. I am, I'll have you know, a Technical Teaching Assistant in charge of the Open Learning Centre. It is a few rooms containing around 50 computers, loads of DVDs and books. I sit at my desk copying video tapes onto DVD and waiting until the customers need my help. And looking important. Sometimes it is very quiet, at other times it is a cattle pen. Thousands of teenage girls pour in and fight for a computer. When they leave the floors and tables are covered in empty packets of crisps, drinks cartons, half eaten sandwiches and the keybords are sticky with mayonaisse and ketchup. I wait, looking important, until called upon to do my magic. Like fixing a jammed stapler or explaining why paper with two holes is a bad choice for a binder with three rings. And stop calling me Mister. My name is Spike. Alright, Mister Spike. It is great fun and unpredictable Events of great excitement occur quite regularly. Today the laminating machine caught fire while a student was sealing a piece of work that rivalled the Sistine Chapel for work input. It's making a 'orrible smell Mister Spike. She made the blunder of turning the machine off, stopping therefore the motors that draw the masterpiece into, and, more relevantly, out of the overheated machine. The work melted and caught fire. Hours of work down the drain. You have to laugh, don't you.















This is part of the OLC before the inward stampede. In a few minutes it will be filled with squealing young ladies. Me? Fifth Duke of Woppington, on my own, in the daytime, in a room full of teenage girl students? With my reputation? Are they quite mad?

My desk is by the door, a strategic position where I can all parts of the OLC and control entry and exit.

This is my mate, Herman Dood.























And this is my locker.
Anyhoo, it is late and I am off to bed. I will keep more in touch. Love to all.

Hello again!

Hello all.

Sorry that it has been a while since anything has appeared in this blog, but after the magic of New Zealand we have been stunned and comatose with the anti-climax of it all. And sorry to Young Stef, whom I promised an entry here and a connection in that Facebook Thingy, a devlish device that refuses to yield to my control. I have also been sojourning in Buggeredcomputerland. Bernadet had a new computer for her birthday to replace her string and steam model. All the important data was transferred. As Bernadet has much more important stuff than your humble reporter, space was made for her backup. My computer, not having had serious problems for a while, could manage without backup for a few hours. A short time later windows came up with a blue message 'They never learn, do they. I'm always telling them but do they listen? Do they fuck. Fasten seatbelts.'

Anyhoo, Bernadet is watching a crimi, Merel is with Thijs and Emma is in bed. I can catch you all up on the news. Not much really, just a Major Accident and My New Job.

The Accident involved the loss of the lovely Opel Omega. Coming back from a snooker night along the Provinciaal Weg, a road with soft shoulders 10 cm wide that protect one from the steep banking into water-filled ditches, I thought, what with it being icy and all, you wouldn't want to go upside down into that lot on a freezing cold night like this. At that moment I found myself driving with 2 wheels on the verge. Unfortunately I had the cruise control on, a device that keeps one at a certain speed until either the brakes or the accelerator are touched, not a good idea on an icy road looking down into the ice-filled ditch. As the back of the car broke away, I thought this thing is going to roll and there is a 50/50 chance that I will end up in the ditch upside down.

Since the ditch is deep, but only as wide as the car, the doors and windows would not be much use as escape routes. Only one thing for it, drive as carefully as possible into the ditch to keep the car the right way up. We went along quite merrily over the ice for a while, but eventually the ice gave way and we sank. Although the inside of the car was a mess, getting out was no problem, not even wet feet. And my egress was unimpeded by air bags, all four of which had failed to ignite. Someone stopped and helped me over the roof of the car to the road and called Authority. A car in water triggers a massive reponse. Bring in everything, in case it's needed. Within minutes, an ambulance, two fire-engines, a diving team, several police cars, a breakdown truck with heavy lifting gear and some reporters and cameramen who sit around on dangerous roads listening to the police band. Not my kind of music really. I felt very foolish explaining that I had a small cut on my finger and my hands were cold because I had forgotten to rescue my gloves. There were all kinds of flashing lights and luminous cones and barriers being set out. The police were needed to divert traffic around all the police cars. Our car was in reasonable shape, the lights still worked, and I thought I had done rather well setting it down. Wizzard prang, old chap. I explained to the police how valiantly I had fought to get the car into the ditch. They nodded wisely and asked me to blow into a bag, and seemed disappointed that it stayed green. We said goodbye to the diving team, the ambulance men, the firemen and half the police, together with the reporters and cameramen who had wasted their time, possibly missing a proper mangling going on somewhere else. The break down crew said that they could not get straps around the wheels because the ditch was too narrow. They would have to lift it up by the caravan hook. As the car was lifted at the back , the front went deep into the water and flooded the interior. The car came free and we all cheered as the lights were still going, although I feared for the engine. They had to lower the car onto the road so that it could be lifted onto the flat bed of the truck. This process involved dropping the car onto its nose from an unreasonable height. The lights stopped working, probably because they had now fallen out, along with half the radiator and the air filter. "It's a write-off " declared a policeman. "When a vehicle takes a hit at the front, we have to declare it a write-off because the chassis may be damaged". Did this frontal damage include taking a nose-dive while being rescued? The upshot of it was, I could let the car be taken over ''as seen" by the break-down company and the 'rescue' would be free, otherwise I would be faced with paying the humungous cost of the rescue and still have to pay them again to take the car home, as a write-off is not allowed to be taken anywhere except by a proper break-down service vehicle. Like one of ours, sir. And then to try to sell off the bits and pieces in our equivalent of Exchange and Mart and hope to make more than the enormous cost. A good radio, five new tires, a new battery. And yesterday it was worth five or six grand. And I could trade it in and get away scot-free. I agreed that it was a splendid deal, and felt the tightness around my balls relax. Er, which way is the station?

And of course, imortalized on the internet http://www.webregio.tv/11759912

The day after.


Anyhoo, lets not get depressed. The walking's good for us.

Here are some pics while doing some of that walking, for Heiloo lovers abroad.