The Befouled Weakly News
1 March 2009 Good morning and hope everything is fine and dandy with everyone, everywhere. It’s been a pretty good week with fairly tolerable weather and a couple of good training sessions at work. The arctic temperatures have dissipated, the snowdrops and crocuses are up, the daffodils are not far behind and there are tiny shoots appearing on some of the foliage as well as the slightest tinges of green around and about. Friday afternoon, while I was out cycling (more of which to come) Penelope began her annual onslaught on the garden and, to my great delight, she has started tilling the raised bed to accommodate the broad beans, one of my favourite vegetables.
Had a nice bicycle ride on Friday – the day started with some nice sunshine and temperatures of about 12 degrees (about 54 Fahrenheit) and although it had clouded over a bit by the time I set out and the breeze had picked up, it was still a very pleasant outing. It was one of my “usual” routes, about 16.5 miles and I was delighted to note that my little bike computer told me that I had averaged about 21 km/hr (about 13 mph) and my top speed was 62.5 km/hr (38.8 mph). Now, I share that information with you not because it is particularly outstanding but rather because I was struck by how pathetic it is when compared with the professionals. The guys on the recent Tour of California average about 30 miles per hour over stages which contain significant hills and mountains and stretch to more than 100 miles. At one stage on my ride on Friday there is a long stretch which is fairly flat and the wind was on my back. So, to see what it’s like to trundle along at an average speed of 30 mph, I put my head down, got into a high gear and pedalled furiously. For about two and a half miles, I did, indeed, manage about 30 mph. The contrast is that the guys on the tour do this while sitting up, chatting and joking with their fellows in the peloton as they float along the road. Similarly, my top speed of 38 mph doesn’t really compare with the nearly 60 mph these guys do when coming downhill. I guess I won’t be competing in le Tour this year after all. By the way, we were delighted to hear from Sallie that she, Rod, Amelie and Ash had gone down to the finish line in Escondido to catch the end of the final stage of the Tour of California although unfortunately we couldn’t see them on the coverage we had. Not sure we’ll ever have a finish in beautiful, downtown Byfield or even in Banbury for that matter. Signs of Spring
Don’t know if you’ve had any of the coverage of the current controversy surrounding the former CEO of the Royal Bank of Scotland, Sir Fred Goodwin, who was sacked recently as the government moved in to bail out the bank. He has apparently received a pension settlement of £693,000 per year (just a fraction under a million dollars a year) for “leading” the bank to a £10.8bn loss this year, a record-breaking UK corporate loss (and, you need to appreciate that a British billion is actually much more than a US billion. In the US, if my memory serves, a “billion” is 100 million; in the UK it is 1,000 million). So, in dollars this eye-watering loss is … wait for it … $154,429,935,379,538.28 if I have done my sums properly. However much it is, nice work if you can get it – run the bank into the ground and retire on a measly million dollars a year. Where do I sign up? Ran across the following on the BBC web site which raised a smile:
How nice to see a reference to another Rose Bush! Love to you all, Greg When the wise company president learned that his employees were tanking up on no-trace vodka martinis during their lunch hours, he issued the following memo: To all employees; If you must drink during your lunch hours, please drink whiskey. It is better for our customers to know you're drunk than to think you're stupid. Five cannibals get appointed as engineers in a defence contractor. During the welcoming ceremony the boss says, "You're all part of our team now. You can earn good money here, and you can go to the cafeteria for something to eat. So please don't trouble any of the other employees". The cannibals promised. Four weeks later the boss returns and says, "You're all working very hard, and I'm very satisfied with all of you. However, one of our janitors has disappeared. Do any of you know what happened to him?" The cannibals all shake their heads no. After the boss has left, the leader of the cannibals says to the others, "Which of you idiots ate the janitor?" A hand raises hesitantly, to which the leader of the cannibals replies, "You fool! For four weeks we've been eating Team Leaders, Supervisors and Project Managers and no one noticed a thing, and you had to go and eat the janitor!" That fateful day finally arrived: Forrest Gump dies and goes to Heaven. He is met by St. Peter himself at the Pearly Gates. "Well, Forrest, it's certainly good to see you. We have heard a lot about you," St. Peter says. "I must tell you, though, that the place is filling up fast, and we've been administering an entrance examination for everyone. The test is short, but you have to pass it before you can get into Heaven." "It shor is good to be here, St. Peter, sir," says Forest. "But nobody ever tolt me about any entrance exam. Shor hope the test ain't too hard; life was a big enough test as it was." "Yes, I know, Forrest, but the test is only three questions. First: What two days of the week begin with the letter T? Second: How many seconds are there in a year? Third: What is God's first name?" Forrest leaves to think the questions over. He returns the next day and sees St. Peter, who waves him up and says, "Now that you have had a chance to think the questions over, tell me your answers." Forrest says, "Well, the first one -- which two days in the week begin with The letter 'T'? Shucks, that one's easy. That'd be Today and Tomorrow." The Saint's eyes open wide and he exclaims, "Forrest, that's not what I was thinking, but you do have a point, and I guess I didn't specify, so I'll give you credit for that answer. How about the next one? How many seconds in a year?" "Now that one's harder," says Forrest, "but I thunk and thunk about that and I guess the only answer can be twelve." Astounded, St. Peter says, "Twelve? Twelve!? Forrest, how in Heaven's name could you come up with twelve seconds in a year?" Forrest says "Shucks, there's gotta be twelve: January 2nd, February 2nd, March 2nd---" "Hold it," interrupts St. Peter. "I see where you're going with this, and I see your point. Though that wasn't quite what I had in mind, I'll have to give you credit for that one, too. Let's go on with the third and final question. Can you tell me God's first name"? "Sure", Forrest says smiling, "it's Howard." "Howard?!" exclaimed an exasperated and frustrated St. Peter. "OK, I can understand how you came up with your answers to my first two questions, but just how in the world did you come up with the name Howard as the first name of God?" "Shucks, that was the easiest one of all," Forrest replies. "Don't you know the Lord's own prayer? 'Our father who art in heaven, Howard be thy name...'."
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We’ve been enjoying “Nature’s Great Events” over the past couple of weeks, another terrific nature programme from the BBC. It’s based on the theme of great migrations and so last week we had the salmon run in the northwest and this week the migrations of the wildebeest in East Africa. As usual, the photography is stunning and the “stories”, narrated by Sir David Attenborough, are very moving. This week’s episode, on the wildebeest migration, revolved around the impact the migration has on a particular pride of lions in the southern part of the Serengeti. When the wildebeest are in their territory it is a time of plenty; as they migrate north following the rains, the pickings for the lions are pretty bleak and several of the lion cubs in this particular pride don’t make it through the year until the migration returns. Really worth watching out for it if it makes an appearance on a television near you.
