The Strawberry Yoghurt FIQ

Welcome to this Strawberry Yoghurt FIQ. Please take a seat, a small pile of napkins, and some of these delicious root vegetable crisps from Pret à Manger. There you are. Lovely. Mr Thompson will shortly be along with a pleasant beverage for you. In the meantime kindly proceed with the FIQs.

Why is this blog secret?

It isn't.

Well, why haven't you told me about it?

Ah. Because I didn't know if you'd like it: indeed I worried that you'd actively disapprove, and think less of me for having it. It is, after all, a pretty self-indulgent thing to have. I mean, I quite like it, myself, but I am not exactly proud of it per se; and I could never really say, "hey, you must read this, it's great."

Not long after I embarked on this yogological journey I was talking to someone whose opinions I usually really rather respect. I mentioned blogging, though not apropos of this one: probably Tom Reynolds or Dr Crippen or something. I was quite taken aback by their very negative reaction which was - to paraphrase a little - that it's all a self-indulgent waste of time, they couldn't imagine why anyone would ever want to write or read one, it could never be any good, and so on. So, not overwhelmingly enthusiastic, you may note. After this I wasn't in a huge hurry to blurt out something starting along the lines of "hey, guess what?" and I suppose this has stuck a bit.

There's a bit more to it than that but this'll have to do for version 1. Essentially, I didn't tell you about this blog because I'm still not sure that I'm not slightly ashamed of it.

Why do you have a blog?

Dunno. Seemed like a good idea at the time. I've always liked to write and never seemed to have time. Since I got my first PDA (HP Jornada 450 of blessed memory) ages ago in 2001 or something, though, it's opened up some little chinks of time, for example when commuting, that I can use to write in. This has led to my building up a small stock of pieces that could one day become blog entries - if I ever get round to them!

My Dear Kiddiwinks, well a majority of them anyway, have also been most encouraging and supportive. So, I done it.

So you think you're A Writer do you?

Ah no. I think that I am someone who likes writing, and afterwards likes reading what I have written, or at least some of it. I am well aware that a Real Writer possesses about ninety-three characteristics that I lack.

What do you like to write about?

Obviously there's all sorts of nonsense in here but the key thing, the thing that got me going, is accounts of travel and other odds and ends (perhaps music and orienteering, the odd interesting weekend) that I like to read about again. So in a sense it is just a glorified diary.

What was your first such piece of writing?

Memory plays interesting games with this but I think the first thing I wrote in recent times, with the idea of it being some kind of travel diary, was about being in North Yorkshire when Lottie was on ProCorda North. This was, oh, yonks ago. I still haven't posted it anywhere but I still intend to do so!

As far as I recall I started writing it because I was (mostly) on my own, doing touristy things while Lottie was busy, and I wanted to capture more of the experience than I could with just photographs. With the passing years my memory is not actually improving so this becomes more important.

And your first actual blog entry?

That was on this blog's LiveJournal predecessor and was about the simple pleasures of watching football on the telly. A copy, for better or for worse, may now be seen here.

You writing about football? Ha!!

I know, I know, but give me a break: a cat can look at a king, no? And anyway it wasn't exactly a formal match report.

What's with the Strawberry Yoghurt thing?

Well, I had to call it something. And I do like strawberry yoghurt. Really. And "Fat Sad Middle-Aged Bloke with Various Annoying Obsessions" seems a little lacking in poetry; and indeed, judging by some of the other blogs I've seen, I imagine it's already taken.

So this is not an entirely serious, pure and high-minded fruit'n'dairy-product review site?

Lamentably, no.

And the anonymity?

I think I cover this in the "About Me" bit. As I explain there, it's partly work-related; it's partly to not make life too easy for lazy Googlers; and so on. It's not exactly a nuclear-hardened level of security but I like it. I also, I suppose, like having a spare identity to play with.

And the ranting?

Rants lower BP, lessen risk of brain exploding, maybe occasionally help work through things. Or not.

And the ranting about Virgin businesses?

More to come.

Why Vogel von Neustadt?

More to come. But why not?

So are you really an ex-cavalry officer of aristocratic birth, raised in some unspecified but probably German-speaking country somewhere in The Middle, where coast is somewhat scarce but mountains ten a pfennig?

Er ... Yes?

And yet at other times you seem to attempt to claim to be a northern working-class son of toil, whose Dad's generation was the first in the male line of descent not to go down t'pit, eee 'appen?

Er ... Yes. Odd, isn't it?

Who is Sprengel?

More to come.

What is the name of the Imp of the Right Shoulder?

More to come.

Who are Tamsin and Colin?

More to come.

Your blog seems rather lightweight?

Yup.

And doesn't really deal with the Bigger Issues in Life?

Nope.

But where is The Profundity?

Erm. Friern Barnet? Is it that new wine bar?

The Angst?

Lost me there, guv

Do you really expect your readers to believe that your life is as jolly and straightforward as you portray it?

Yeah.

Didn't you mean this to be an FAQ?

No.

Oh go on, then, I'll bite: <sigh> why, pray, is this called an FIQ?

Frequently Imagined Questions

How should one pronounce FIQ?

Hmmmm – I suppose it comes out sounding a bit fick?

Talking of pronunciation, what's this thing about Reveille?

More to come.

Why do your children have titles, each one in a different language?

The European aristocracy is jolly complicated.

Do you actually read it?

More to come.

Photos

More to come.

Mr Thompson?

More to come.

Mrs Thompson?

More to come.

An ting?

Ah yes. You have Althea and Donna to thank for that.

Zorb Grelzer and The Grokuloids

I wonder whatever happened to poor old Zorb and the gang? Zorb Grelzer and The Grokuloids, eh? There’s a name to conjure with: frankly they just don’t make bands like that any more.

Bugles (and a Trumpet?) at Henry Allingham’s funeral

I see the sad obsessive type who runs the Last Post Bugle Call page has written something about Henry Allingham’s funeral. It would seem that expensive and perhaps even painful research has led him to write a line or two describing what happened. One rousing (aha) cheer.

I must say that, as always (uh?), I’m astonished by the way in which, if you know anything about a news story, you quickly realize how much inaccuracy creeps in (like ejector seats in a Whitley!) and so I fear it has been with this story's coverage in the mainstream media. Journos and others happily assert what they think may have happened, or what their prejudices tell them happened, or even (horrors!) what a press release told them happened. In the meantime you, if you happen to know anything about bugles or yoghurt or aircraft or football or crochet or archaeology or theology or sociology or phrenology (OK OK) or just to have Been There When It Happened, you sit there chewing your knuckles in rage and muttering how could they possibly write that until the nurse arrives with your medication. What? Oh yes, sorry.

I remember once many years ago when the local paper did a piece about a dig on which Mum was working as a volunteer. This was my first encounter with Press Disillusionment, harmless really though it was. There was a nice photo of Mum holding up an artefact and the caption said “look, a piece of 12th Century pottery!” Great. lovely, nice story. Why’s this a problem? Well, no-one died but I do remember Mum pointing out that (a) she’d never said anything of the kind and (b) it wasn’t C12 anyway but a bit (a century or two or three) younger than that. In other words, the journalist simply made it up or, if we are to call a spade a spade, they – er - lied. Now as I say no lasting harm was done but experiences like that do make you suspicious; and every subsequent story of which I’ve had personal knowledge has been wrong in some detail or other … and of course the message is that if on my or your small sample of personal-knowledge stories there’s always something wrong, then how right is all the rest of what’s published?

And indeed does it matter? If some little detail is wrong in every story then it still means most stories are say >95% right – maybe that is good enough, and obsessing over pottery or bugles profits us naught. Sigh. I dunno. What do you think?

Anyway, back to the funeral. It was a splendid, impressive affair, and hardly sad at all – which is pretty reasonable, when you think it through. The musicians were great and their performance enhanced the whole thing immeasurably (yes, I would say that, wouldn’t I?). It was especially good/interesting/whatever to hear the French guy play Aux Morts, and to hear the Royal Marines at the end play the Naval Reveille, which took me more than a moment, though it should not have, to recognize. All good stuff.

Picture credit: The image showing the French player in mid-call and the two Royal Marines ready to go next was “borrowed” from the BBC News story mentioned above, thank you.

Oopsie-Beebs-a-Blog™ – witless over Whitleys. (fixed)

Auntie has an interesting story about a WWII bomb being blown up on the site of a 1940 Whitley crash. The story is quite good until the author’s imagination gets the better of them and they write:

“The crew of the plane all safely ejected from the aircraft.”

Ejected? Really? I don’t think so.

I don’t mean to be rude but I do wonder what the journalist was trying to accomplish here. In earlier references (this particular story is a kind of rehash based upon there maybe being more dangerous remains to dispose of) like this and this they get it right, sticking to words like parachuted and baled out, but it’s only in this last one where the need to rewrite - and perhaps to try to sex it up a little? - has led the journalist into sad (but funny) error.

Ho hum. I have wroted to them. I wonder if they will fix it, and/or send me an amusing reply? The Beeb is sometimes quite remarkable in these matters. I will keep you posted, dear reader.

Oh yes, there’s a nice photo gallery here too, in case you’re interested.

Vogel out. Jump jump jump.

Appendix The First (and only): for those Benighted Persons Who Are Currently Going Uh Well Like What’s Wrong With That Then Er Yuh Duh?

Articles from Wikipedia (the online encyclopaedia anyone can ruin):

• The elderly Whitley bomber, designed in the mid-30s and obsolescent at the outbreak of war;
• The ejector seat, first used for real in 1942, barely making it into a very few production aircraft by 1945, and far from commonplace for a few more years after that: to most intents and purposes a post-WWII technology.

Are you starting to see the problem, Tamsin? Attagirl!

Update (a little later in the day); it now reads:

“The crew of the plane escaped from the aircraft.”

- which reads rather weakly to me, but is at least true. Sadly I have had no funny email from some nice BeebEditPerson to make me laugh. Ho hum. But well done Auntie for correcting it.

No, no, no, no, no, NO! 2/10, poor effort, see me.

Look. Heaven knows I have tried to help but this is frankly NOT GOOD ENOUGH:

Dear Valued Customer,

Lloyds TSB has sent you a mail to update your account but still you are unable to complete your account details,As a result of this, We are making an extra security checking on all of our Customers account in order to protect their information from theft and fraud.

Update Your Account [link saferized by Vogel’s Safe-o-Links™]

What can we do when standards have slipped this far? I blame the parents.

Oopsie

From an all-staff email today:

Dear all, this is to let you know the talk below has been cancelled as the speaker is unwell.

Division of Infection Journal Club presents: [and so on]

I know, I know, I am a bad and pathetic person. It just made me smile a bit, is all.

Well that’s just ignorant that is

I have been having a lovely time on the Dutch high-speed rail website trying to book some train tickets.

Even before this, it’s been a long and frustrating story of nearly getting what I wanted and then being thwarted at the last minute. When, however, I got onto this site it all seemed to be going terribly well and I really thought I’d cracked it. Yeah man.

But how absolutely idiotic of me not to realise that:

“The specified order cannot be found, or the order is already paid.”

- actually means:

“You need to enable third-party cookies in your browser.”

… as any fule kno.

If only I were clever enough to have realised the true meaning of this perfectly sensible, ordinary, customer-friendly bit of IT Talk™ I could have saved myself much anxiety during the entirely fun and wacky process of trying to buy rail tickets from Brussels-Midi to Bergen op Zoom (as you do). I could have avoided the time spent trying to phone their helpline (you can’t); trying to get their guess-the-question system to give me some help or a valid-from-the-UK phone number (haha forget it buddy boy); the multiple retries, the gibbering, the swearing … the whole thing really. Thanks Hispeed and Worldpay for a very annoying experience.

Marvellous. And yes, I did (with the help of my friend Dr Google) suss it in the end, and yes I have got the tickets. Woo yeah. It’s just that I feel a touch resentful over spending a chunk, however small, of my life trying to sort out something they could and should have told me in one pithy and pungent sentence. (No, Tamsin, not that one.)

I could do with a nice cup of tea now.

Eee appen brass brass eeee

Oh dear it's a long story which I shall have to try to make shorter but:

Preamble:

1. I am up to my eyes in it, really quite badly, at the moment. Yes Tamsin I know that "sounds familiar" but please try not to sneer, dear. It is unbecoming and if the wind changes you may well stay like that.
2. Much of what I am up to my eyes in is harmless, necessary, even fun (though some of it is not) but the real killer isn't the individual items but the combination of them. The same stuff as I am doing these two months spread out over say four of them instead would not be a problem. Well I mean I would still whinge and b*tch like the old drama queen I am but I might actually hack it a bit better. (Please Colin do not make that noise in front of the ladies and gentlemen.)

Anyway anyway.

Matters arising:

1. One of the many nice things is that on Sunday there is a Stonking Monster Party at the Grand And Grandparental Mansion of Muehlenfeldplatz. This celebrates: a quite significant birthday of my dear Mother-in-Law (a birthday with a zero at its end though an officer and gentleman such as like wot I am would never tell you which digit precedes this); and the fact that my wife's family and their Viking neighbours have lived in the said Mansion for fifty years, yep fifty, count 'em kiddo; and finally I think some mention may be made of the fact that on the 14th - yes Tamsin, Bastille Day, good girl - my Dear Wife Bless Her and I will have been married for twenty-five years without actually killing each other! This is all good stuff.
2. We have enough brass players in the extended family to put together a small brass ensemble.
3. I duly received orders instructing me to put together a small brass ensemble.
4. What do'you think I am, some kind of rebel? (“Spartacus? Yeah, that's him over there mate. Cheers.”)
5. We rehearsed last night in the "playroom" at the said housoid (see pic).

Now read on:

This was a hoot and a half. We had an interesting mix of players, from really quite good (older grandchildren) via a couple of adults to really quite beginnery (younger grandchildren). The Infanta Marfs has even been coaxed out of retirement to play her tenor horn (to some readers this is an alto or Eb horn but don't worry, it's not in the exam).

Let us make no mistake here: I have been in a complete flat spin over this.

Exactly why, I am not sure, but it's been ... oh, a mixture of things. Nevertheless, we were eventually all there last night with some instruments and some music and it happened. I spent a few minutes beforehand going through the "easy" trumpet part with the littler trumpet players and then we launched into What Shall We Do With The Drunken Sailor and you know, I'm not kidding, it sounded fantastic. Well OK it's not Philip Jones or Canadian Brass or Whoever but, just for a little thing for a party, I thought it just sounded wonderful. And yes I am a touch biased.

The very fitting main arrangement we are doing is by the Iarlles Loötës and is of the classic Our House by Madness. Geddit? Good. Some of the older party-goers won't geddit, actually, but that doesn't matter as they will be enchanted by the cute antics of the tiny offspring anyway. This is a suitably storming arrangement of this fine song and will I have no doubt be well received.

I wanted to do an arrangement of The Way You Look Tonight, starting in the style of Gabrieli then merging into the song. Don't laugh, it sounds great in my head. Unfortunately it got no further than this so will have to wait for some other gig. Sue me.

What I did do, though, is dig out some old (bought) brass arrangements I already had from gurt yonks ago, dust them off, replace missing parts (or fail to, or do it badly), add the easy trumpet parts and so on. So the other thing we are doing is the Junior Just Brass (Philip Jones's easier line) arrangements of three sea shanties, this being where WSWDWTDS comes into it. This gives us that tune and also Shenandoah and Fire in the Galley. That's a respectable amount of music for the event; we can repeat it later if people want; and I'll also have some quartet/quintet music and maybe some jazz and busker books, in case the spirit moves the more experienced players to go on a while longer while the littlies recover from their trauma with ice-cream and cake.

Sound good? You bet it did.

Lineup:

• Trumpets 5 (three experienced players, two not but they are great)
• Tenor Horn 1 (live and direct: the Infanta Marfs)
• Trombones 2 (both experienced players)

- so this is, frankly, doable. With the exception of me, these are really very musical people and it makes up in musicality and enthusiasm anything which it may lack in stuff like, ooh, you know, precision an ting. 

Like I said, I have been very very very worried about this brass thing. If I told you how pleased I was with it last night you would probably feel quite unwell. But it was really great. We are already thinking - assuming we all survive Sunday - that we must try to do it again sometime. It was too much fun not to. Playing together is just the biz.

Note: whenever I talk to horn players about transposition I get a headache trying to follow their outrageous mental processes. I was disturbed to find that Martha has now joined this bizarre brother- and sisterhood. As a person with a very good sense of pitch but very little experience on horn she found it almost impossible to read the transposed horn part. She had fingerings written in, which helps, but the pitch was baffling. What on earth she is now doing is beyond me to understand - I think it sort-of involves reading the treble-clef part in bass clef (though that would still leave you in the wrong octave, but hey) and adjusting the key to suit. It seems to work, is the point.

Note on the note: the worst-ever conversation I ever had about this was with a pro horn player in Bristol. After a while he confessed that what he'd really like best would be for every note to be written as a C, with the appropriate transposition indicated. There are some very odd people out there.

I could go on about this more, but had probably better not. I might, if I ever get caught up a bit, write a bit about what happens on Sunday.

GoodBooks: GornBooks

I was very very sad to hear that GoodBooks are shutting up shop and going their four separate ways. Their blog tells us that their set in Glastonbury this Sunday morning will be their last.

I liked this band. Obviously, my head was turned by the heady days of 2007 when Lottie and I had a glorious couple of gigs deputising as some/all of their horn section. We had, as long-term readers will know, a poptastic time. But that apart, I thought they were an original, interesting and clever band with some wonderful songs.

Of course, they are also four very talented individuals, and nice with it, so I have no doubt that they will prosper in their next enterprises. I'll look forward to hearing more about these.

I hope we'll get the Glasto coverage on some sort of televisual broadcast thing. That would be nice. I can't make my mind up whether I want them to do Passchendaele (great song, nice to hear it) or don't want them to (green with envy and a bit sad because we're not there). Hmmmm and ho hum, eh?

If I have one regret it's that I never got to join in the chanting in Walk With Me. I'd have liked that. Here we go: "Oh, come on, walk with me, I want you to walk with me!" See? I'm good at it! The next time my pop-o-tronic pop music career erupts poptrumpetastically on a helpless and astonished universe (this is scheduled to be in about 2032 I think) I reckon I'll have to be a bit more proactive about asking (nicely) to do (nice) things.

Bye bye boys, it was great.

Update-o-blog-o-irony: I wrote that last night. This morning, in one of those piquant little twists that a slightly bored Fate enjoys teasing us with, the very first two things that came up on Random Pleyel on my Wretched Young Persons' Portable Phonographic Device were the unmistakeable sound of GoodBooks (The Butcher [We All Fear for You] since you ask) followed by the equally unmistakeable sound of the lovely Ian McMillan Orchestra, who of course were one of the other acts in the Radio 4 Loose Ends programme that was such a jolly jape. (Just for the sake of completeness and my mild OCD let me tell you that they were performing The Shanty Attacker.) So the first few minutes of my journey into work were a sort of little recapitulation of the flavour of that enormously enjoyable gig.

Now OK, randomness is random, which is why they call it "random", and a statistician could tell you why this little coincidence probably isn't really so amazing, because that is pretty much what we pay them to do. Even so, it was quite a cool moment, and I liked it.

• GoodBookDex™

Photo by courtesy of James at Mallinsons.

Links-I-Liked

So, farewell then:

• Living with Bert - very amusing, sometimes tinged with a touch of, erm, affectionate bitterness or something. Not updated since 15th April 2008. Your guess is as good as mine. I miss it.
• Punclox: inexplicable group writing by Wretched Young Persons™. Do not let your auntie read it. Well that's what it used to say. However, your auntie cannot now read it anyway so that risk is past; indeed only members of the Punclox Inner Circle™ can read it as it is no longer public. Where on Earth will confused people go looking for Donnie Darko hints now? The world is a duller place without Punclox and I salute it (attempts to make complicated saluting gesture but falls over).

I have removed these two from Links-I-Like and I have officially recategorized them as Links-I-Liked. They are now to be found in storage at Wookey Hole caves.

ITG 2009 – miscellaneous weebling on about stuff

I thought I might use this page for some miscellaneous weebling on about stuff, if that’s OK with you?

• ITGdex 2009

ITG 2009 - travel

Yes it’s a laugh a minute with Vogel’s adventure-o-licious travel stories.

Er, or not.

• ITGdex 2009

ITG 2009 - venues

Oh alright then. I’ll regret this, I can see it now.

• ITGdex 2009

ITG 2009 – food

Did you really expect me to ignore this important, nay consuming (ahahaha) topic? No, me neither.

• ITGdex 2009

ITG 2009 - Harrisburg

About the very pleasant city. Am I including venues in here? Hmm not sure, watch this space.

• ITGdex 2009

ITG 2009 – Gettysburg

We went to Gettysburg. I’m working on my write-up. Honest I am.

• ITGdex 2009

ITG 2009 - gigs

Well you’ll find lots of coverage online – see my main ITG 2009 page for links – so I am just going to pick out a few things which appealed for one reason or another.

• ITGdex 2009

ITG 2009

Well at the risk of stating the obvious I did make it to ITG 2009, the International Trumpet Guild’s 34th annual conference, in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Here are some external links:

• Main conference site
• ITG conference coverage
• Twitter
• Trumpet Herald forum
• Facebook
• ITG home page

It became pretty obvious that I couldn’t even attempt to do proper blog entries while at ITG so instead I'm going to try to do some short sketches in the hope of getting something of the flavo[u]r down. I’m not quite 100% clear in my head (well actually I am usually not even 8% clear in my head, but that’s another story) how exactly I will structure this … but I’ll think of something.
I had a wonderful time!

Oopsie bumbum - never wrote a word. Shall I just zap the lot, or keep them here in the hope that one day I will write something, perhaps when the guilt overpowers the laziness? What do you think? Tamsin? Colin? Anyone??

• ITGdex 2009

ITGdex 2009

• ITG 2009 - Intro and external links
• Food
• Gettysburg
• Gigs
• Harrisburg
• Miscellaneous weebling on about stuff
• Travel
• Venues

Yes, they’re in alphabetical order after the home page. Or did you think I’d just put food first anyway? Thank you Colin, see me afterwards please.

Horrible crap disaster reporting

Distraught relatives prepare for the worst as they wait for news of Air France flight 447, which disappeared off the radar between Brazil and France early on Monday.

Well thank goodness they were allowed to do so in the calm and privacy of, er, having 63 cameras shoved up their noses. I should think that that will have made them feel much better, plus we the public really needed to see those photos. Come to think of it, maybe they could be asked to pose again, looking a touch more photogenic, and with more tears visible please? And get that woman to move her hand so we can see her grief-stricken face better? That would be nice.

I know I sound like a retired colonel, more and more so, but really, is there no room for restraint at all in a story like this? Hmph.