When is a cake not a cake?

For many this may seem a somewhat irrelevant question. However, when you have declared at the start of the year that you would give up the 3 C's - Cake, Crisps and Chocoalte, the distinction can be extremely important.

As is often the wont, in UK offices, when a team-member has a birthday, they often buy cakes to celebrate.

This may appear, to the uninitiated, somewhat back to front, but hey who said that life makes sense?

Today, was young Debbie's birthday - well I say young, I think that she may now be 44, which according to the Evening Standard is the worst possible age to be - and she brought in some "cakes".


Oat, cranberry and yogurt clusters - which clearly sounded healthy?




Rocky roads - which I've been on a few of in my life, and...




...Jaffa cakes




It was at this point that the conversation - seemingly in an attempt to deprive me of any enjoyment, or food - turned to the difference between biscuits and cakes. This was partly due to my insistence that a Jaffa "cake" was not actually a cake at all, but a biscuit.

Such was the opposition to this view that I was forced to undertake some detailed research and did in fact establish (this is true!) that: -

Under UK law, no VAT is charged on biscuits and cakes — they are "zero rated".

Chocolate covered biscuits, however, are classed as luxury items and are subject to VAT at 17.5%.

McVitie's classed its Jaffa Cakes as cakes, but in 1991, this was challenged by Her Majesty's Customs and Excise in court. This may have been because Jaffa Cakes are about the same size and shape as some types of biscuit.

The question which had to be answered was what criteria should be used to class something as a cake or biscuit. McVitie's defended the classification of Jaffa Cakes as a cake by producing a giant Jaffa Cake to illustrate that their Jaffa Cakes were simply minicakes.

They also argued that the distinction between cakes and biscuits is simply that biscuits go soft when stale, whereas cakes go hard. It was demonstrated that Jaffa Cakes become hard when stale and McVitie's won the case.

The issue was revisited in an article entitled 'Are Jaffa Cakes really, biscuits?' published in the Journal of Unlikely Science (Volume 1, issue 7,2005).

The article attempted to classify biscuits via a scientific analysis of various features (size, shape, filling etc.) and determined that the Jaffa Cake should be regarded as a biscuit, or 'pseudobiscuit'.

Now I think that it is rare that the HM Customs and Excise ever get (or admit getting) anything wrong, and so I decided to side with them and declared the Jaffa cakes to be biscuits are proceeded to take one to eat....

...until I was reminded that even if they are a biscuit, they are a chocolate covered biscuit, and that I had also pledged to give chocolate up as well...

Mmmm..anybody got a carrot to munch?

The curse of noise pollution

I have noticed as a long standing (albeit to be fair, usually sitting) commuter that the collective patience of my fellow travellers can be tried by the most simple of things.

Whilst on some routes maybe noise and laughter abound, on my regular 6.35am journey into London, the silence is only punctuated by the occasional snoring of already tired executives and the turning of newspaper pages.

These noises are generally classed as acceptable, as are the gentle tapping on laptop keyboards, as last minute presentations or briefing papers are prepared for early morning meetings.

However, there are unwritten noise limits, which if broken - such as by very loud snoring, or heavy handed thumping of keyboards - will bring a collective turning of heads that couldn't be better synchronised, if it had been choreographed by...by...someone famous for choreographing simultaneous head turning events - i.e. NOT Arlene Phillips!

Anyway, generally everyone stays within the rules, noise levels are low and eye contact generally avoided.

Every so often somebody new will join the carriage, which is sort of OK, as long as they don't sit in my seat, or opposite me and take up more than their half of the table (Not that I use the table, or that they don't need more than their half, but just that it is a line that shouldn't be crossed. In fact, it would be far better if the tables had permanent markings showing each passenger's personal working space or allowance !) or stretch their legs beyond their half of the floorspace etc etc.

These new people, especially if one of a pair and (not wanting to stereotype but, if they are over 60, female, wearing headscarves, slightly deaf, overly excited about going to London - most probably for the first time in their lives - and overly anxious about going to London - most probably for the first time in their lives...can you you see a theme emerging here?) travelling together, are invariably way too LOUD.

However, today's annoyance - which appeared to cause more frustration than yesterdays 6 hours of commuting time - was the fact that somebody was sending a text message, with the key "tones" switched on.

Had it been Beethoven in the carriage, bleep, bleep, bleep , bleeeeep, might (although I'm not totally convinced) have been accepted as potentially, the inspiration for something greater than a mere text message.

(For historians reading this blog (Ha!) I do accept that the above suggestion is somewhat unlikely given that Beethoven died in 1827, the first passenger train didn't arrive until 1833, and I didn't invent the videophone until 1969 but it was used for illustrative purposes only.)

Anyway, the musical texter in our carriage was no Beethoven, in fact he was more like Tolstoy (yes I know he's dead too - such a shock!) as his text was akin to War & Peace, with each letter emitting the same monotonous musical note.

How he got to the end of his novel/text message without having his phone implanted somewhere as dark as where both Tolstoy and Beethoven are buried I'm not sure, but survive he did, as did we.

However, I do think that tomorrow we should all practice our collective tutting, which over time has got slightly out of synch!

British Rail Network needs counselling

A week ago I started my day with an extremely pleasant walk across London (From Victoria to Trafalgar Square via Hyde Park Corner, Green Park & St. James' Park, in the early morning sunshine.

This morning I have endured what can only me described as total travel chaos!

The 6.35am train into London didn't arrive until almost an hour later. This was due, we were told, to "sensitive rail conditions".

Now the weather this morning was a little bit chilly (but not freezing) and it was quite foggy (but trains generally travel in straightish lines, without junctions to cross or roundabouts to manoeuvre around) but I'm not sure what additional difficulties this would have caused.

In addition, whilst Science wasn't by best subject at school, I had always thought that metal, and in particular iron, was a fairly "hard" substance, a relative "skin-head" of the material world, and not one that could generally be described as "sensitive".

(Whilst 2 previous blog entries have explored the question of "What is irony?", and whilst rail tracks are "irony", I'm not sure the articles will provide a great deal of assistance.) What might have caused this level of untoward sensitivity? Could it have been by an inability to "go off the rails", (given that they are the rails), or the fact that they are always on the "straight and narrow"?

Maybe this is just petulance, and a a sign of their need to rebel once in awhile. If so, one can draw parallels with the police, who with a "no-strike"clause in their contracts, took to the streets in a fit of 'police pique' last week by way of a 20,000 strong peaceful demonstration. I have no problem with the latter, especially as their protest was made in their own time.

For that matter, if the rail network wants to freeze up or melt down or take whatever action it believes is appropriate, at any time between the hours of 2am - 5am, then I would not mind. I feel the same about caravans - let them go where they like in the very early hours of the morning as long as they don't inconvenience me!

However, today's rail sensitivity contributed to a door to door journey time of four and a half hours to travel - in a straight line - about 40miles.

Compare this to the fact that when not totally fit, and whilst somewhat overweight I managed to jog the 26.2 miles of the New York Marathon in 4hours 20 mins, and I may have identified a cheaper, greener and almost time effective method of getting to work!

Or maybe not.......

Sheila's Wheels

I have never known much about cars - and whilst having secret (ooops!) ambitions to own some flash red sporty number, (or even a car like a Aston Martin DB9) I have never been, nor will ever be, in a position to afford one.

My knowledge of cars is also confused by some of the terminology. Take 'brake horse power' as an example. If a car has 285 bhp - does that give me a lot of brakes? a lot of power? or enough horses to greatly enhance my chances of being the winning trainer of a Grand National winner? (and indirectly more likely to afford a DB9).

It appears to be a totally nonsensical combination, which could just as easily be - Stop, Cow, Go or Left, Pig, Right!

Consequently I have tended to own reliable, but somewhat boring modes of transport.

However, people's attitudes to cars differ greatly, and many years ago, some of our neighbours in Wiltshire used to seem to derive more satisfaction from mending, or "dabbling " with them, than actually driving them.

Not mentioning any names but, due to the above, some cars - often owned or driven by the wives of the above mentioned male "dabblers" - barely ever made it off their drives, with the respective Sheila (used in the Australian sense of one woman's name - Sheila - being an expression used to refer to all women, rather than anybody actually called Sheila!) actually having to use public transport, rather than be able to use her own "Sheila's Wheels".

Hopefully, the insurance company of the same name, hasn't based it's statistics on such individuals because a claim that: -

"Women make the safest drivers,
We could save a bunch of fivers"

could be found to be somewhat misleading given that its hard not to be safe when your car doesn't ever get on the road!

Havant a chance?...Oh yes they had!

Liverpool had to come from behind twice to beat Havant & Waterlooville and reach the FA Cup fifth round.

Havant, who in league terms were 5 divisions and 152 places behind Liverpool were not over-awed and played magnificently.

Given that they were only denied a third goal with a superb save from the Liverpool 'keeper, and that Peter Crouch was offside when he scored the fifth for the Anfield side, Havant could even have got a lot closer.

Richard Pacquette's header put Havant ahead before Leiva Lucas equalised for Liverpool with a superb 25-yard curler.

Alfie Potter restored the part-timers' lead with a deflected effort, but Yossi Benayoun made it 2-2 from 15 yards.

Benayoun drove in just after the break and stroked home from a rebound to complete his hat-trick before Peter Crouch tapped in to make it 5-2.

The Hampshire side earned the respect of the Anfield Kop who stayed behind to give the Conference side a standing ovation, need we say more - they will never walk alone!

A distant memory

It may surprise you, but when I first started writing this blog, one of the early comments received was along the lines of "...so little to say, so many words to say it in!", which to be perfectly honest hurt me a little.
However, I suppose that yesterday's blog entry was, some might say, another example of this.
The "passage" is repeated below, but this time with the lyrics of Memory, inserted at the relevant points, by way of a demonstration of how life can, at times, imitate art!

By way of a rather convoluted "link", it is sometimes quite amazing how our memory works, or on occasions doesn't.

Yesterday I was completing an 'on-line' form at work which required me to enter my home address and I instinctively started to type the address of the house (in Wiltshire) that we moved out of over 13 years ago!
Maybe our return there the other weekend had a deeper psychological effect on me than I realised.

There was also the time when someone close to me entered a competition to create a new slogan for advertising Marmite.

Her brilliant entry was "Marmite, the growing up spread that even grown-ups never grow out of!"
This creative, descriptive, succinct slogan could have spawned a new career in advertising...but for the fact that it was in fact the existing slogan for Marmite!

Memory can for some, or maybe it's just me, be triggered by smells.

Memories of a visit to my Aunt & Uncle's house in Beeston, Nottingham in 1970 (ish) can be triggered by the smell of a certain type of plastic, due to the fact that I was collecting 1970 Football World Cup England figurines at the time, and we stopped at a petrol station (Esso?) on the way to get some.

So I can remember an event 37 years ago just by sniffing a bit of plastic, but can't remember where I currently live!

Forgetting where you put things can also cause some problems.

A good friend of ours once took a chicken, that she was cooking out of the oven, to check on its progress, and then put it back to finish it off. When the cooker timer rang some time later she went to get it out of the oven, but it wasn't there...mainly because after she had checked on it earlier she had put it back...under the sink!!!

And as we end the week we can only wonder at: -

• the poor memory of Peter Hain, the former UK Work and Pensions Secretary, who resigned after "forgetting"to declare £100k of donor's money;
• the poor memory of the Societe Generale trader who appears to have forgotten what he did with £3.6 billion (I wonder if he's looked down the back of his sofa, because it is amazing what you can usually find there);
• the poor memory of Kevin Keegan, the new Newcastle United football manager who recently said that he would never return to football manager;
  

BACK TO YESTERDAY'S ENTRY

Unlike on New Year's Eve when we watched the London firework extravaganza surrounded by 700,000 other revellers, last night, as I went for a late night walk, [MIDNIGHT] all around me was quiet.

Not wanting to spoil this air of tranquility I walked slowly and silently. [NOT A SOUND FROM THE PAVEMENT] Up above, the moon [HAS THE MOON LOST HER MEMORY] shone in a hazy night sky with no sign of any stars [SHE IS SMILING ALONE] and I was even unable to make out the features of the man, (or woman), in the moon.

Whilst just after midnight, the streetlights still shone [IN THE LAMPLIGHT], with some old and decaying leaves from surrounding trees, (despite the fact that Autumn is theoretically long gone), still swirling around my feet [THE WITHERED LEAVES COLLECT AT MY FEET] , as a gentle breeze started to build [AND THE WIND BEGINS TO MOAN].

[MEMORY, ALL ALONE IN THE MOONLIGHT] Such solitude made thinking easier, and whilst life is so good now, I wondered if I'd ever look back with fonder affection of days gone by [I CAN DREAM OF THE OLD DAYS]. It wasn't that I couldn't remember happy, and some might say beautiful, times [LIFE WAS BEAUTIFUL THEN], I could, but I wondered whether such recollections were, or would, eventually become better than the present reality? [I REMEMBER THE TIME I KNEW WHAT HAPPINESS WAS] No doubt I'll dream about this walk one day and re-live these memories again [LET THE MEMORY LIVE AGAIN].

As I walked, the regularity of the streetlights in the distance appeared to flicker [EVERY STREETLAMP SEEMS TO BEAT] in the growing mist, like slow beating hazard lights, emitting some kind of fatalistic warning [A FATALISTIC WARNING].

It appeared as though I wasn't alone in the moonlight for as I turned the next corner a dog-walker (odd looking face) passed me and quietly muttered "'Evenin'" [SOMEONE MUTTERS] as the streetlight above us spluttered [AS THE STREETLAMP SPLUTTERS] and went out, plunging us into temporary darkness. His dog (who he called "Lord") apparently oblivious to the many cats that were silently roaming the streets at this late hour. [SOON IT WILL BE MORNING]

The close relationship...

I was thinking how much the UK is influenced by activities in the US, when I was reminded of the following joke (?): -

A man was walking along a beach and stumbled across an old lamp. He picked it up and rubbed it and out popped a genie.

The genie said "OK, OK. You released me from the lamp, blah blah blah. This is the sixth time this month and I'm getting a little sick of these wishes so you can forget about three. You only get one wish!"

The man sat and thought about it for a while and said, "I've always wanted to go to America but I'm scared to fly and I get very seasick. Could you build me a bridge to America so I can drive over there to visit?"

The genie laughed long and loud and said, "That's impossible. Think of the logistics of that! How would the supports ever reach the bottom of the Atlantic? Think of how much concrete...how much steel. The Waves, The Wind, the Weather No, think of another wish."

So the man said OK and tried to think of a really good wish.

Finally, he said, "I've been married and divorced four times. My wives always said that I don't care and that I'm insensitive. So, I wish that I could understand women....know how they feel inside and what they're thinking when they give me the silent treatment....know why they're crying, know what they really want when they say 'nothing'....know how to make them truly happy...."

The genie said, "You want that bridge two lanes or four?"

Memories of a midnight walk...

Unlike on New Year's Eve when we watched the London firework extravaganza surrounded by 700,000 other revellers, last night, as I went for a late night walk, all around me was quiet.

Not wanting to spoil this air of tranquility I walked slowly and silently. Up above, the moon shone in a hazy night sky with no sign of any stars and I was even unable to make out the features of the man, (or woman), in the moon.

Whilst just after midnight, the streetlights still shone, with some old and decaying leaves from surrounding trees, (despite the fact that Autumn is theoretically long gone), still swirling around my feet, as a gentle breeze started to build.

Such solitude made thinking easier, and whilst life is so good now, I wondered if I'd ever look back with fonder affection of days gone by. It wasn't that I couldn't remember happy, and some might say beautiful, times, I could, but I wondered whether such recollections were, or would, eventually become better than the present reality? No doubt I'll dream about this walk one day and re-live these memories again.

As I walked, the regularity of the streetlights in the distance appeared to flicker in the growing mist, like slow beating hazard lights, emitting some kind of fatalistic warning.

It appeared as though I wasn't alone in the moonlight for as I turned the next corner a dog-walker (odd looking face) passed me and quietly muttered "'Evenin'" as the streetlight above us spluttered and went out, plunging us into temporary darkness. His dog (who he called "Lord") apparently oblivious to the many cats that were silently roaming the streets at this late hour.

With the mist coming down a bit more it was getting a little bit eerie and I decided to jog the rest of the way home.

It had been a pleasant walk, and it had cleared my head after a busy day at work.

For some, more creative types, such "free thinking time" could have been the catalyst for planning a great adventure; or the start of a book, or the lyrics of a song...

...But which song?

Whilst "breathless" after the jog home, there were no police to be seen, so it isn't "Every breath you take".

Blacker than black?

Further to yesterday's blog recounting the woes of "Black Monday", it appears that one Australian man has the answer to the question "How much worse can it get?"

In fact he has two answers!

The man in question was attacked by a crocodile and then shot by a colleague who was trying to save him.

Jason Green was bitten on the arm by a crocodile while he was collecting croc eggs west of Darwin yesterday. In an effort to save him, his colleague Zac Fitzgerald fired a pistol, and one round accidentally hit Mr Green in the elbow.

Mr Green's *estranged wife told reporters that she was surprised that he was even at the zoo as he was under notice of redundancy, and had just returned from the joint funeral off his parents who had been murdered the week before.

Having had his own home repossessed, due to severe financial difficulties caused by his drug addiction, Mr Green had at least hoped to move into his parents' home following their untimely deaths, however sadly it burnt down, after being struck by lightning in a freak storm.

Mr Green, who is known as "Lucky" to his friends remains in a stable condition at Royal Darwin Hospital.

* PLEASE NOTE: - from this point on the events are somewhat (OK totally) fabricated!

How black is black?

If I had to assign colours to the days of the week there is always a chance that Monday, depending upon the range of colours that I was able to choose from, would always be black, or at least a shade of grey.

Contrast that grey/black Monday morning feeling with a Friday afternoon in June which most definitely has a golden yellow feel to it.

Or the green of a Thursday, the red of a Saturday, the blue of a Sunday or...(as some would say) "whatever" colours work for you.

However, whether signified by an association to colours or not, one's views of how good or bad a specific day is, will also be dependent not only upon your outlook but also upon your circumstances.

If you are homeless, jobless, friendless, and penniless - every day may be grey or black (or yellow for that matter), and are less influenced by outside events.

A fall in house prices - matters little when your "home" is a cardboard box! A rise in unemployment - is potentially an increase in neighbours!

The 3rd Monday of the year (as yesterday was) being the day when apparently more workers are off sick from work than any other, has been scientifically"proven" to be the "blackest" day of the year.

However, this means diddlysquat when you are absent from work every day of the year, being one of the long term jobless, and would swap with anybody for just one day of paid employment to be able to buy a coffee or a hot evening meal.

As for the stock market crash and the prospect of recession? "Bring it on!" they shout.

A fall of 323.5 points on London's FTSE 100 in itself may be a source of warmth. More headlines and "column inches" dedicated to the world's financial woes, mean more newspaper pages and with them more protection against the cold as one lies in a doorway in a City somewhere.

So as you sit and moan about the reduction in your "net worth" or paper asset value, look around you. If you see four walls, a computer screen, a TV, a hot meal (or the remains of one) a friendly and familiar face and a glass of wine....then whine no more.

If you see a doorway, empty fast food containers, a cardboard box and a sleeping bag then...

...Well you won't actually because readership of this Blog has barely reached the affluent masses, let alone street people, and even if it had, you don't see many of them with a BlackBerry!

Cue music playing in the background - Ian Drury and the Blockheads -Reasons to be cheerful, 1, 2, 3....