Problem solved!!

The problem has been solved!

(Am I repeating myself again?)
After several days close scrutiny, the flood in my garage has been remedied - by none other than yours truly. I am feeling suitably smug and very manly. I am considering leaving my universally-acknowledged stupid career and becoming a jack of all trades - and master of a quite a few thankyouverymuch.

After ripping up floorboards in the adjacent room (no water there) and watching the garage floor closer than Paris Hilton watching her bathroom scales, the source of the uninvited water revealed itself to me.

It was a bloody loose connection on the washine machine. Which I tightened. Problem solved.

I would just like to take this opportunity to berrate every plumber in my town for failing to notice the problem for the past tw million months, thus making my garage - and consequently my whole house - smell damper than a tramp's feet in a mushroom factory. Cheers lads!

Anyway, this got me thinking.

Is it just me or is every problem down to a 'loose connection'? From my dodgy stereo and temperamental iPod to the wonky fridge door and the irritatingly broken remote control, it seems the problem can be traced to whant's known in "the trade" as a loose connection?

I think I've cracked it Watson. That's precisely what's wrong with the world these days. It isn't America's short-sighted foreign policy or our consumer society failing to grasp the consequences of our selfish actions - there's just a loose connection somewhere on the planet.

So, for the sake of the babies, could you all just check that the area around you is working OK and that there aren't any loose connections that are blindingly obvious?

If you find one, give me a shout and I'll be around in a jiff to sort it out.

Thank you

The Big Drip

My garage has a mysterious leak.

There is a small pool of water lying dead centre in the middle of the floor. Yet the roof is bone dry!
I have taken to sitting in said garage - on a child's chair, cup of tea in one hand, cake in the other - watching, waiting, ever alert. But no drip comes.

So where the hell is the water coming from? It's like an episode of the X Files (the old episodes, before it got really silly).

In the past five months my house has seen more plumbers than a national plumbing convention but not one has solved the mystery.

So, forgive my brevity, but I must return to the garage to sit a while longer.

Oh, is this really what my life has come to?

probably, yes

who, what, why, where, when...

I realise I've never quite got round to filling in the 'my profile' bit on the blog, not through any effort to protect my anonymity, just laziness I'm afraid.
So, in an attempt to 'reveal' a bit more here is some information which you will no doubt be of very little interest.

"Who are you?"
Whoo-whooo whooo whooo (sorry, dodgy Roger Dalrey impersonation)
I am Stark. That is all.

"Where are you?"
Halfway between Brighton and the Orkneys. Probably, although I haven't measure or anything. Or even looked it up. It just sounded good.

"Why are you here?"
Something to do with a Barry White song and a half bottle of vodka, but you'd have to ask my mum.

"I meant, why the blog?"
Oh, right, sorry. It seemed I was the only person in the world who WASN'T writing one. So, like the lemming I am, I got me one. The real answer is I need some discipline in writing - I need to be forced to do something, you see, no self-motivation.

To be continued...
(see I've ran out of motivation).

Tasty debates

My place of work is increasingly odd...

Tony Blair's imminent departure? Not a mutter.
The crisis in the Middle East? Hardly an eyebrow raised.
Terror threat across the country? Mmmm, whatever.

No, the real debate in open-plan hell, the chat which has raised voices and temperatures and people have almost come to blows over is...

"What were the best sweeties when we were kids?"

I kid you not, people have been having serious fall-outs over this. For the past few days, every sentence has begun with: "Oh, oh, does anyone remember..." usually followed by such teeth rotters of yesteryear like "Jubilees, flying saucers, Wham bars, splicers, Caramacs, that edible rice paper type stuff."

As hard as I have tried to remain aloof from this juvenile - and frankly inane - banter, I did have to interject when one poor misguided fool actually tried to defend the rather poor 'shoelaces' against the infinitely superior, and timeless, 'ten pence mixture.' I mean, really.

But seriously, this is precisely what is wrong with the world. I haven't seen my work colleagues so animated about anything since, well... ever.
Forget the worsening AIDS crisis in Africa, human rights abuses in Indonesia, or even rising petrol prices at home, it's sugar-coated nostalgia that's gripping the nation.

Maybe when Gordon Brown becomes PM he could learn something from this lot. "My right honorable ladies and gentlemen of house... do any of you remember aniseed balls!"