So who do you think is better: a Goth or a Chav? I'll tell you what, don't decide, just fight it out...

I've been rather interested to note Ollie's level of enthusiasm over the past few weeks regarding his radio journalism - this idea of randomly walking up to people and asking their opinion on things. He really seems to have a natural flair for it, and as I've always said, there aren't many people who don't like him (apparently that's the nicest thing anyone had said to him all day when I spoke to him earlier, so I'll put it in type too :)). All I manage to do is tell random grumpy men in "quiet coaches" on trains to shut up. Ollie seems to think that takes more balls, but I'd never be able to do the former. I would crumble at the thought of asking someone, "so, do you like the new bus service" and fear their absuive reply. I think this disposition developed a year or so ago when I handed out leaflets for the gym in Oxford. We were standing by a display in the Westgate Centre, with a rowing machine in front of us (anyone who wanted a try, could give it a go). I handed this gentleman a leaflet and he then lanuched into a ten minute rant on how awful gyms are and what was the point of exercising if you weren't going anywere: fair point, but it scared me. Never again will I hand out leaflets if I can help it. Anyway, all of this ramble is building up to saying that I finally understand Ollie's enthusiasm, his passion and the buzz he gets from having a "scoop". And on that ambiguous note, I leave you hanging.

A train I was on today was delayed whilst the police came on board to arrest someone. Which was interesting and I wished I'd had my microphone and minidisc recorder with me to interview all involved.

I'm finding it hard to go through daily life now without wanting to run up to people and ask them about stuff that's happening. On the platform opposite me at Chippenham station, a teenage girl dropped a bag of food that clearly contained among other things wine and eggs, because a delightful mixture of blood-red liquid and egg yolk seeped gradually out of the wreckage. Her friend, also a teenage girl by the looks of it, went off the handle completely. I even found that worth an interview. Everyone has also taken great delight all weekend in pointing out stories from local newspapers to me and asking when I'll be going to cover 'Dad delivers baby in bathroom drama' (Wiltshire Times).

Tomorrow's big interview is with representatives from the local council and a bus company about a new Park & Ride bus fleet being delivered to Taunton (whose Park & Ride service launches next month). We've finally wangled it so that I get to ride in one of the new buses with these people and interview them as we go along. Then it'll be back to the studio to edit that audio, then back out to the official unveiling of the buses at midday to gauge public reaction.

Today my mother,father, grandfather and I went to paint the woodwork and bathroom of my flat. The walls and ceilings were done yesterday. The plan was to paint the doors and surrounds, skirting boards etc + the bathroom today, so we didn't have to return tomorrow. We brought my grandfather along a) to be nice and so he feels "involved", and b) because he offered to help with the painting and my Dad thought his help would be useful. I was told catagorically that I would not be doing any painting. My painting skills would be restricted to things like the inside of wardrobes (the furthest my Mother has got in 36 years of marriage). Anyway, it turns out that my grandfather is no longer so good at painting as he was. He's a fighting fit 80+ yr old and feels much younger most of the time, but painting? Sadly no. Paint everywhere. Paint on his shoes (which spread) and lots and lots of patchy bits on the door he did (we're re-doing it next week. sssh). I really appreciated his help, and the fact he wanted to join in, but it soon became apparent that with him being cornered off by my Mother to "help her clean", if my Dad was painting the rest of the place he would be like one on the workmen on the Fourth Bridge: by the time he finished, he'd have taken so long he'd need to start again. So that's where I came in. An instruction crash course by my Father, and then a door. Then another door. And then another. And then because grandfather had totally stopped painting now, three door surrounds. Then skirting boards, door and surrounds in the bathroom. And then more painting here there and everywhere. And then by back gave way, luckily as the brush made it's final strokes. The end result is rather good. I'm quite proud of myself. From a painting virgin, to painting in the deep end, I think I've done well and bar a few little hiccups, it looks damn good too :) Following on from yesterday's assembly of a computer table - a really fiddly IKEA jobby with lots of sheves a sliding table-top and a drawer - perhaps there's a backup career here in home decoration. That said, one day is a novelty. Two is good, and ther's a sense of achievement at the end, but more than that? No thanks.

And now? A few photos are up, the place looks like "mine", and the flatpacking is being done next week. The air is bound to be a little blue...

Look, we have managed to have an entry for 28th August 2002, 2003, 2004 and now 2005.

I'm back at home for the bank holiday weekend, after a journey yesterday via London that wasn't particularly pleasant. Today is going to be a day of stuff that I haven't been able to do during the week, all done on the laptop with wireless access, in front of the TV with the Ashes on. I've just seen Andrew Strauss take an outstanding one handed catch at second slip to get Gilchrist out, taking the Aussies to 170-8. At the moment it's all looking good. Now, I don't wish to tempt fate, nor am I saying that anything is guaranteed, but... what's going to happen at the BBC Sports Personality of the Year Awards if England win the Ashes? Until this summer, I'm sure that Liverpool had the team award wrapped up, and Steven Gerrard probably had the individual award. Liverpool's Champion's League...

Another wicket. Jones bowled Kasporwicz plum middle and off. 175-9.

As I was saying, the European Cup going to Anfield was not only unexpected, but well deserved, and very romanatic. But the Ashes, surely, most trump it, and I presume Flintoff for the individual award. Interesting. Of course, there is still all to play for, and those Aussies are annoyingly resilient, a bit like cockroaches.

A team talk from Jose Mourinho. Allegedly. I can't help but feel it might not be the real thing though - the Mourinho I know can't hit that top C. (Opens in Windows Media Player.)

Choice clip for those who can't/won't open the audio file:

Mourinho: Drogba! First half. Pathetic.
Drogba: No, no! No, no, gaffer, no!
Mourinho: It is no problem. If you want, I can replace you...
Drogba: No-
Mourinho: I can, I can replace you. Is no problem.
Drogba: No!
Mourinho: I can do it! (sound of typing) Double-U double-U double-U dot amazon dot co dot uk, search word 'Rooney' (hits return), thirty five point five million. No problem. I can do it. I can do it. You want me to press 'Buy'?
Drogba: No! Please gaffer!
Mourinho: You want me to press 'Buy'?
Drogba: No!
Mourinho: Then listen to the Special One.

No, not one of Ollie's mortar bees, but the fact that I may have finally got into cricket. I watched some of the first three tests, and found myself feeling rather patriotic, but this afternoon my Mother and I sat down with the cricket on and I actually got excited. It was a brilliant day. Some fun cricket, a few attractive players and interesting comment and analysis. I appreciate not all matches are as exciting, but I think I could become quite hooked.

My entire Friday was spent occupied by the phenomenon that is the mortar bee. These little fellas don't go round in swarms like normal bees, but instead burrow their own tiny homes into old, soft mortar.

This means Taunton's Castle Hotel, with some masonry going back to the twelfth century still intact, offers plenty of accommodation for both humans and mortar bees. The archway above the Castle Bow walkway, which the hotel owns, has been home to mortar bees for so long that the masonry is coming loose and has started to fall down - in quite sizeable chunks - onto the shoppers below. So the walkway has been closed off and the builders are in to repoint the masonry, since the bees can't get into any mortar that isn't old and soft. Even so, tunnelling through mortar was never likely to crop up as an answer on Family Fortunes to 'things bees do', so it's very interesting.

In the morning I went down to the hotel (once I remembered where it was - stupidly, I initially went to the wrong side of town) and interviewed the hotel manager about it. I wanted to bring a representative of Somerset Beekeepers along with me but, alas, it turns out the entire organisation has decamped to Ireland for a bee conference. As you do. So instead, we ended the interview by having one of Somerset Sound's main presenters impersonate a policeman issuing the bees with, oh yes, an 'anti-social beehaviour order' and instructing them to 'buzz off'. We then added bee sound effects. I really do love this job.

In fact, the best thing about it isn't the bee-related hilarity, it's the sheer variety in what you do. There's finding the news item (in a local paper, none of this wandering around Islington asking shopkeepers nonsense), getting in touch with people about it, going and interviewing those people, editing the audio into a three-minute segment, taking a fifteen-second clip from the audio for the news bulletins, writing the script for the news item that will go with it, writing the script the presenters will use for the interview itself during the breakfast show, and producing a shorter two-minute version of the interview for an hour later in the programme. So there's the actual interviewing, production work, and written work - if there was a bit of website design thrown in, it'd be everything I love doing.

The bee interview will be the lead item in Tuesday's breakfast show, which is rapidly becoming a 'When Animals Attack' special. Aside from the bees, there is a live phone interview with a vicar whose parish has suffered £8,000 in damages caused by squirrels, and a piece on bird scarers (i.e. loud bangs) employed at Somerset cricket ground to keep birds off the pitch (which begs the question, will it be in use for the women's one day international there on Tuesday afternoon?). I have therefore been instructed to compile a top-ten 'Best Of' about animal attacks. If anyone has any particularly interesting stories of animal attacks, pass them on please!

Along with all the other millions of things that have been sorted for the flat, I've arranged for a BT landline to be (re)installed. Today, was the day I was to be connected. Around Midday I received a text, on my mobile, from BT stating that my landline to 0208... had been connected and if there were any problems to phone X between 9am-5pm Monday to Friday. So I find out about my landline, through a text on my mobile. How times change, and perhaps therefore this begs the question: If ET was remastered, would his immortal lines now be "ET Text Home?"

Not proportional representation, but public relations. There's an interesting brief piece on the BBC website about comments made by Andrew Marr (see Dayorama passim.)regarding the lack of PR skills in politicians. I thought that most people thought that there was too much spin in politics and little else, rather than the other way around? (I will agree with him, though, that many politicians would flunk a basic public speaking course.)

There's a Dayoramoblog post below from this morning, with me out in the hills at 6:30am. Day was dawning as slowly as the realisation that I now had a good hour and a quarter to wait, out in the cold in the middle of nowhere, until the Somerset Sound reporter turned up. So I sat in a field full of sheep and read more of my book by Andrew Marr (a man whose surname sheep can pronounce with great vigour). Nowhere in the book 'My Trade', written by Mr Marr as an expert in broadcast journalism, are there any tips on how to pass an hour in a field.

I've also interviewed the Mayor of Taunton - who happens to be blind - on his charity work for a news item on a campaign to increase the number of charity trustees, which was the first proper interview I've done for a 'real' radio station. It'll be broadcast at 7:20am tomorrow, as well as a clip in the hourly news bulletins.

I would have had a piece about Berry's coaches cancelling their B22 service from Wellington to Taunton, too, but for a minor snag. The plan was to go to the Taunton bus stop in time for the 2:15 service and interview passengers about the doomed route - how its closure would affect them, etc. So at about two o'clock I turned up and there were loads of people there. I asked them all if they were waiting for the B22 service, but no, it seemed no one I asked was. When two Shearings coaches turned up, every single person got on one of them, leaving me on my own at the stop. The B22 duly arrived and didn't even stop, the driver casting barely a cursory glance to see if anyone was waiting for his coach. This will be why Berry's had given us the excuse of 'not enough passengers' for closing the route - they weren't kidding.

It has to be said that I am having a lot of fun at Somerset Sound. The staff there seem genuinely concerned that I'm not getting enough to do, even though I spent from 7:45am til 10am and midday til 4pm working pretty constantly. This is a good thing, because if I'm getting a lot out of it without even apparently really being tested, that bodes well. So far, broadcasting certainly knocks spots off work experience at local papers (though both those outings remain valuable for lessons learnt, I assure you), and I'm getting on top of new techniques, technology and tricks every day. I'm even getting out of bed at 5am to go and work for nothing. That has to be a good sign.

Just a piece of useless information I picked up along the way today: Did you know that English folklore says you're not meant to pick Blackberries after the 29th September? Apparently on that night the Devil is said to spit on them, and after that they go mouldy.

That's what you get for wasting your morning watching UKTV Food. The above snippet was courtesy of the Two Fat Ladies.

At 6:30am this morning I found myself near Crowcombe, in the rolling hills of Somerset, en route to the house of someone getting their GCSE results for BBC Somerset Sound. This was a good hour and fifteen minutes early, so I decided to record an audio post (in hushed voice too, though I'm not entirely sure why given that there was no one remotely near me).

If you listen to the post you'll hear me explaining a little more about what I was doing there, describing the joys of being in the Somerset countryside at such an ungodly hour, and pondering on whether turning up stupidly early for things is a family trait.

Just thought I'd share with you two bits of information, which I hope you will find useful (and hopefully will prevent you getting wet and looking like an idiot, as I did earlier);

1. Don't wear flip-flops (yes OJ, you win; they are impractical). And if you do, don't walk through a puddle, because your feet get soaked. And then, if you have to drive, make sure you change your shoes (as I did - wet flip flops and driving? I don't think so), but make sure you dry your feet. Otehrwise you squelch your way home. Also, make sure you put the heating on really high, otherwise your fingers will turn blue. Yep, and it's August.

2. Never trust an umbrella your Dad (or anyone) has left in your car. On coming home from work I parked in our village and walked to the Post Office, in the rain. I took an umbrella, my Dad's, from the boot of the car. Little did I know that it had a diameter of about 2 metres (I kid you not) and practically doubled my height. I felt like such an idiot. And it was very awkward to put down when entering a small, local shop.

Is it possible to make the world OJ-proof? Regular readers, and I’m sure there are some, will surely be aware of my propensity to take the slow train from Paddington to Oxford, usually without being aware of doing so. Today, however, I think I found salvation. I journeyed from Victoria to East Croydon and back, which I can’t say is a particularly nice trip – something I relayed to Ollie as I passed through Streatham. Croydon itself lived down to my expectations, but I was impressed by its station, which was the best thing going for it. In particular, there was a board inside that told me where the next quickest train to various places left from. Since Victoria was such a popular destination, they also told me the second and third quickest trains – and it turns out that you can identify the slow trains from the board! Marvellous. As I came back through Victoria, I also spotted one from there to the South Coast as well. How long before Paddington invests in something similar to help dolts like me?

I've just finished the second day of a two week placement at BBC Somerset Sound, housed in a picturesque little cottage on the outskirts of Taunton town centre. Somerset Sound is a radio station broadcasting for seven hours each day - breakfast, late morning and afternoon - then filling the rest of the schedule by opting in to the BBC Radio Bristol output. It also takes news and weather from Bristol. So Somerset Sound is home to a motley crew of presenters and producers either on air or dashing around trying to find and record content to fill their shows, with little else visibly going on.

There are probably about ten full-time employees there (if that), but they're assisted by what seems to be an amazing conveyor belt of people like me on work experience. At the moment there are three people there on some form of placement or other, and I've seen two others come into Broadcasting House (which I think should be Broadcasting Cottage) asking about a placement some time in the future. Not that anyone is complaining about people coming in to work for free, of course.

The first couple of days have been fairly quiet, although Somerset is living up to its reputation as a county. On Monday morning I went with a presenter/producer team to a cider mill (not the ubiquitous Sheppy's), from which the pair will broadcast the afternoon programme on Friday. They were checking that the outside broadcast unit will work properly in the right place on the day. Not only did I learn that the concentrated smell of cider is actually powerfully intoxicating (and nicely so), but I also discovered that an Anglo-Saxon stone had until a few weeks ago stood on the site as the burial stone for the family cat. Until, that is, a local man sent a photo of it to a museum, whereupon it was discovered that it was worth over £200,000. If only I'd been working there a few weeks earlier! (Not that I've had even noticed it was Anglo-Saxon, let alone had a hope in hell of realising it was worth that much).

I spent Monday afternoon doing the dreaded vox pops in town, although it's a lot easier when you're doing broadcast and not print journalism. You only need the voice and not the name, location, age and all of that nonsense that was needed when I did experience with newspapers. This means people don't get quite so scared that they're being held accountable for their comments, plus microphones also look cooler and more exciting than notepads, so the public generally reacted more pleasantly to me this time. A few were still a wee bit sceptical, although one gentleman produced such a crisp, succinct, witty and wise response to my question, in booming baritone, that I did wonder why on earth he wasn't a broadcaster himself.

Tomorrow brings more stereotypical Somerset - the station's breakfast show is coming live from Priddy Sheep Fair, near Wells, which is now in its 695th year, making it one of the longest-running annual events in Somerset if not the country. I was going to be going to the fair myself to help, but it means leaving Taunton at 5am, which is impossible considering I'm coming in from Minehead (an hour's bus journey) in the first place. Instead, I'll be getting in to Taunton at 7am and helping from the studio, which will still have control over much of the show - only the actual talking from the presenters will be coming, sheep FX and all, from the fair.

Once that finishes, I'll be working on my 'baby', which is a report on Taunton's new park and ride. The new fleet of buses will be unveiled and the contract to operate the service officially signed at a ceremony in Taunton next Tuesday, and I'll be in attendance ready to produce a short report for Somerset Sound on it. I'll hopefully be travelling on one of the new buses with the County Councillor responsible for transport, interviewing him on the pros and cons of the new service, and talking to plenty of local people about what benefits (or otherwise) they'll receive from it. I've already started the latter to an extent, having spent my entire bus journey home today talking to a 59 year old lady from Washford, who used to live in Lane End (near Stokenchurch, my home in Buckinghamshire). She had a lot to say about the roads in Somerset and the new park and ride, so that bodes well for next Tuesday.

If you're up between 7am and 9am tomorrow morning, go here and listen live to the breakfast show from Priddy Sheep Farm, knowing I'm somewhere in the background helping it all reach the air...

Yesterday was certainly a day for ducks. My Dad and I spent sometime gardening yesterday afternoon, and after tidying up a few parts of the garden we both decided that it was about time that we attacked our pond. It isn't a big pond, but it has fair number of fish and other pond life living in it. A few years ago we even had a snake. It's a good job that OJ wasn't on the scene then. Anyway, we began to clear out some rather dominant Iris. I got splashed a few times, and then as we delved deeper and deeper into the plants, I gradually got wetter and wetter, and muddier and muddier. There came a point that I was so covered in sludgey brown gunk that I just didn't care. I was also full of little green duck weed. Rather ironic as my mother was cooking duck. The only near-miss inicdent to falling into the pond occured when I was walking across a plank we had laid over the pond. The plank was wet. I was carring a lot of weed. I over-balanced and had to lunge myself to the side, as if I was a goalkeeper, and just hope that I hit the bank. Luckily I did, and eventually we finished clearing everything and even got the fountain working (it will break again within a week). Daisy had a wonderful time chasing little creatures around the lawn. And then, to complete the duck saga, we actually had a pair of ducks floating around on the pond later that evening. A very satisfying afternoon, albeit one that required a shower afterwards.

There was no point to that random musing by the way. And I have a sore nose. Why does it always hurt so much when you hit your nose on something?

Food blogging is big elsewhere in the blogosphere, but until now, a lack of kitchen access and skill (certainly on my part; Amy is quite a skilled chef) has meant that Dayorama has ignored this trend. No longer.

Last night, my friend Tom andd I cooked a very manly steak. It was utterly delicious, washed down with the two very good bottles of wine (Tom is keen in that area). The meal was pretty basic: steak, grilled mushrooms and tomato, home made garlic bread and a bit of salad. The centre piece was the steak. We actually took a picture of it, and when I have it I will post it here. I've never seen such a large single piece of meat. It was rump steak, and effectively a cross section of the cow. It cost £16, and was worth every penny - thick, tender and full of flavour. Even after cutting a quarter off (which is in my fridge, awaiting something to do with it), it was the largest steak I'd ever seen. It took up a whole dinner plate, and we could barely fit it into the pan. But wow. It was so good. We cooked it on a very low heat, to make sure that it would cook all the way through (it was so thick that we were worried that we would brown the outsides and not even touch the middle), and it was worth the wait. No doubt as the year continues, I'll have more cooking tales to tell. But now that my two regular dining partners are effectively no longer in Oxford, it looks like I'll be doing more of spending money on good ingredients and eating in, rather than heading out.

'Bromwell High' is Channel 4's new flagship adult cartoon series, as was evident from the heavy rotation of trailers for it across the network all week long. So I sat down to give it a chance and it was bloomin' great.

Bromwell High is a secondary school in the failing London suburb of your choice (more on that later). The teaching staff and pupils are locked in competition, struggling to be that much more irresponsible and underhanded than their other half - it might be a tired premise, but it works here. We all know teachers like the wry, detached, scheming geography teacher, or the absurdly naive pair that absent-mindedly adopt a doll believing it to be a Romanian orphan. Teachers like that do indeed exist.

So most of the humour was possibly a bit predictable, but still good enough to raise laughs. However, I think most of the time I was finding Bromwell High funny because it was true. Take, for example, the shutting of a small girl in a locker by three older girls. They explain that it's a ritual to shut the younger ones in lockers and then pound them with their bare fists. A new, smart girl turns up and declares that it'd be much better if they used hockey sticks to beat the locker instead, which they do.

After one week of secondary school, a bunch of older kids tried to shut me in a locker and beat it with hockey sticks (having done it to other people in my year). I avoided this fate by first delaying it ('not now, but you can shut me in it at break'), then scarpering (I didn't go back at break and then went home at lunchtime before they could get near me). A small series of events later, involving sports kit that I hadn't brought home, a furious mother and a startled deputy headmaster, I got a letter of apology off the lot of them. I then also got abuse all the way through the final end-of-year ceremony before they left, but that was bearable. It was very funny to see the other side of the coin, and to know that it's the same old locker-and-stick technique from private school to inner-city comprehensive.

My biggest laugh was reserved for after the show ended, though. I popped the title into Google, more to check that I'd got it right for the title of this post than anything else. The number one search result is a page containing this snippet from January this year:

Looks like there's been a name-change for Hat-Trick's anarchic school toon "Streatham Hill". C21media reports that the adult-skewed show is now being officially touted as "Bromwell High". [source: Toonhound.com]

Streatham Hill eh? Guess where I'm moving to next month...

Things have become a little heated in a war between window cleaners in Manchester, it has emerged:

A window cleaner who stole a rival's ladder, leaving him hanging onto a window ledge, has been ordered to do 18 months community service.

...

The court heard Akhtar began threatening window cleaners working in the same area last year.

Akhtar claimed that one of them, Stephen Fairbrother was stealing his clients, and on a number of occasions had approached the cleaner and told him to leave the area.

He and a friend pulled the ladders from under Mr Fairbrother and left him hanging from window ledges - the window cleaner managed to jump into a garden. [source: BBC News, "Ladder stolen in cleaner turf war"]

Once again I have been proved spectacularly in the wrong by OJ (it's usually Ollie, this makes a change). The post I referred to as the 1000th post, wasn't in fact the 1000th post. Instead it was the 1045th. This is something to do with Ollie deleting some posts, and also adding others from the original website. Thus, our entry system records my post as number 1000, when in fact it should read 1045. Apparently, this will probably please Chris (Ollie's Dad) who would have hated the thought of the 1000th post being a tribute to an ex-Labour politician, with the title derived from a quote by an ex-Labour leader. Instead, the true 1000th post was written by Ollie (jammy whatsit: I've been waiting to do the 1000th post for days), entitled Gyppo Chairman Ate My Webpage. That's a suitably right-wing title.

I think it’s right that we mention the death of Mo Mowlam. She died earlier today, aged 55, in a Hospice in Kent. No doubt we’ll comment further on it later, but perhaps it is fitting that such a remarkable lady gets to be the subject of our 1000th post.

The Guardian have an interesting article in their G2 supplement today. It concerns the former chief executive of an NHS Trust who has admitted to magistrates that he lied on his CV. Apparently, at the beginning of his career, Neil Taylor lied about having a degree and postgraduate qualification. He has had job after job, before finally being caught out.

The article quotes a bundle of statistics: apparently out of 3,000 CVs sent to a company which is designed to spot lies in CVs, over 25% contained an average of three lies. It seems if you tell one, you tell a few more. But, how many more CVs tell lies. The columnist highlights her own CV: what exactly does having “French” mean under a heading “Skills”. How many people have put they can speak French alongside a GCSE qualification, knowing full well that all they can manage these days is to ask for a coffee? And even then half the sentence will be in English.

I suppose many CVs contain fabrications of the truth. You walk into an interview hoping that there isn’t someone there who knows that “floor manager in X cake factory” actually meant that you were the one who got to wash the most cake tins, or whatever and wasn’t a position of hierarchy whatsoever. Surely employers know that CVs are created by individuals with the intention that they show them to their best abilities. However, I think employers should accept this. What I do disagree with is “actual lying”. Sure, there is a fine line between a fabrication of the truth and a blatant lie, but if someone has made up a degree then that person reprimanded. And, employers should have a duty to check the legitimacy of CVs.

But, in the case of Neil Taylor, I feel slightly different. This guy lied. Once (we assume he is trustworthy in other instances: it would be up to an employer to if they could trust him). He was probably about 20 at the time, and just wanted a job. As the years progressed, it would have been harder to erase the lie. He had an incredibly successful career, showing that you can get somewhere without a degree. He may go to prison, and his chances of future employment have diminished, but ultimately he was good at his job and clearly had done well for himself. Does it matter whether he had this degree or not? I know he lied, and that is wrong but I feel he could be being made a scapegoat: a sign to all those other hoaxes out their to watch their back.

As your Mother always told you, and the commandment “thou shalt not bear false witness” states, it’s quite simple: don’t lie!

I've been watching 'Lost', Channel 4's flagship new show, since it launched here in the UK a couple of weeks ago. It's bloomin' good, and chances are I wrote about it a week or so ago, but I can't remember.

I believe it was one of the most expensive pilot episodes ever, if not the most expensive, and the attention to detail is one of the reasons why. Charlie, one of the passengers on the aircraft which subsequently crashes on an island in the middle of nowhere (the basic premise from which the plot evolves), was the bass player in a fictitious band named 'DriveSHAFT'. Lo and behold, the makers of the series have created an entire website for DriveSHAFT, which you can find here.

The detail on that website is amazing. There's a six-year band history buried inside a news section carefully crafted to make it sound absolutely authentic. It even mentions iconic UK venues (it's a Manchester band) like the Glasgow Barrowlands, which aren't particularly well known outside the UK, so the makers clearly got someone very well versed in band terminology to work references like that in. Of course there is reference to the 'missing' Charlie after his plane crash, but someone has gone to a lot of trouble to make this seem as real as possible. The only clue that it's all false is the links page, where the top link is for Manchester United. Clearly done by Americans. As we all know, bands from Manchester do not support United (Doves, Oasis, Badly Drawn Boy... all City).

Alas, it's all a bit too real for some people. There's a guestbook area where visitors can leave comments. Here are some examples:

Mark, Thursday, 18 August 2005 07:55 Is this like a real website, I'm confused about Lost etc.

Pete, Thursday, 18 August 2005 09:36
Is it just me or is this all madness!!! :cool:

Bex, Thursday, 18 August 2005 13:00
okay, im confused. why is there sites set up like the oceanic n driveshaft site? i fought lost wasnt real!! ahhhhhhhh! lol.
this is soooo weird!

The 'Oceanic' reference in the last quote pertains to the website for Oceanic Airways, the fictitious airline whose aircraft supposedly crashed in 'Lost'.

More representative of opinion on the guestbook, and of my opinion too:

Pink Cherry, Thursday, 18. August 2005 07:58 GOD!! just how creative are the makers of lost?? it's amazing! -just trying to find out what it all means- c ya

The BBC has unveiled plans for an 'ultra-local' news service, accessible via digital TV. The scheme is being trialled in the West Midlands and, if successful, could employ 'more than 300 journalists'.

Nearly 40 staff will be appointed for the pilot, including six journalists on each site - one in each area being a specialist community user/user-generated content producer.

News lies at the heart of the content, along with public service information, sport and weather. In addition, there will be an information service appropriate to the time of day and items which celebrate local heroes, the arts, entertainment and heritage.

Once the pilot is completed, an independent public value test will be conducted, including an assessment of its market impact in the West Midlands and detailed scrutiny by the BBC's Board of Governors.

Subject to this appraisal, the BBC then hopes to introduce around 60 similar services across the UK as a key part of its Out of London strategy. [source: BBC Newswatch, "'Ultra-local' news pilot revealed"]

From comments appended to a post on the weblog 'Biased BBC':

Just what is the BBC's 'remit' and where does its broadcasting hegemony stop? It is the 'superpower' of the broadcasting world, the equivalent of the USA, which it is so constantly criticizing.

Were we asked if we wanted license fee money thrown at this on our behalf? Of course not. The publicly force-funded BBC will trample all over the competition until there is little choice left.

When do I get a say? [source: Biased BBC, Tuesday, August 16, 2005]

Naturally, I'm thrilled. Three hundred new jobs for broadcast journalists at the BBC gives me three hundred new openings by the time I get out of my postgrad diploma. But it's always interesting to read 'Biased BBC', partly to get myself wound up by people who genuinely believe the organisation exists purely to knowingly distort the news, and partly because it challenges assumptions I make about the way people react to news broadcasting.

As an example of 'Biased BBC' coverage:

I was sorry to see the other day that the actress Barbara Bel Geddes, who played Miss Ellie in Dallas, had died at the age of 82. Whoever wrote the Ceefax report about her life and death knew that the first priority was to tell us that she was a heavy smoker and that this caused her fatal lung cancer.

Those Ceefax boys never let a chance for moral instruction pass by. Incidentally, the US average female life expectancy is 80.67 years. [source: Biased BBC, Wednesday, August 17, 2005]

I don't know how to deal with a person who deeply and genuinely believes that the lackey writing up reports for Ceefax mentioned the lady's lung cancer as part of a liberal nanny-state agenda. If they hadn't mentioned it, would the BBC have been exposing its conservative, pro Big Tobacco stance?

Hmm. I sat down after a busy, yet interesting day at the CAB and decided to watch some trashy tv. There was nothing that really took my fancy at 5.45 apart from the remaining 15mins of an old Casualty on UKTV Gold 2. I sat down and watched that, got quite into the idea of "Casualty" and so when it finished at 6.00, I switched back to UKTV Gold +1 to watch the Casualty starting on that channel. I get 1minute in and realise it is the same episode that I have just seen the end of. Really really useful. Why does Gold 2 show a newer episode earlier than Gold +1. Ho hum. UKTV Drama gives me the opportunity to watch a really really old episode of Casualty. I gave up and I'm now here. What a load of rubbish.

Oxblog hasn't made the Feedster Top 500, allowing me to curl up in a steaming, warm puddle of contentedness.

Not that I'm competitive or anything.

And not that I think we're pulling remotely near the same number of visitors as Oxblog. In fact only if I mention Oxblog many many times over, such as a sentence consisting wholly of the word Oxblog:

"Oxblog Oxblog Oxblog Oxblog Oxblog Oxblog Oxblog Oxblog Oxblog Oxblog Oxblog Oxblog Oxblog Oxblog Oxblog Oxblog..."

... could I possibly hope to lure visitors of the calibre they attract. And then they'll see this, dismiss Dayorama as a petty ball of vindictiveness from someone now studying somewhere so new that it's not even old enough to qualify as a poly, and get on with their lives.

But they're not in that Top 500.

Of things that I read, Neil Gaiman's blog, Diesel Sweeties and Overcompensating made the list (and the ubiquitous Boing Boing).

I should have put lots of links in here but I'm tired (owing to cricket and alcohol), stressed (as my dad just discovered on the phone) and in an oddly vengeful mood (see above), so I haven't. You can pop anything that interests you into Google.

In reference to my previous post OJ and I had an MSN Conversation, which went something like this:

Amy says:
Did you like my post?
OJ says:
yes
OJ says:
it's very satisfying when that happens
OJ says:
that's one of the good things about petrol pumps
OJ says:
even though when you hold them down fast, you can still control it down to a pence by pence level
OJ says:
god
OJ says:
that's a very OJ statement

Enough said.

After a pretty mediocre day, there is something strangely satisfying about going to Tesco, buying a multitude of different things – mainly for the cat - and the bill coming to £15.00. And then, filling up with petrol to exactly £30.00. Small things make me smile. The fact I have just spent £45 on “nothing”, isn’t so satisfying.

I have a friend - well, acquaintance shall we say, since I rarely talk to him these days - called Dan, who is taking a year out to go and work as a volunteer in Port Kaituma, Guyana. He leaves in three days. He has just sent out an email to absolutely everyone who helped him raise the money to go. It contains extracts from what is "effectively a very explicit visitors' book" that holds advice proffered by the volunteers of previous years.

Here are a few of the more interesting examples, all written by people who have been there:

Name and distance of nearest commercial airfield and railway station: The railway station and line sadly closed 12 years ago. (What actually happened was the government decided to dismantle and export all the railway tracks. Who wanted to buy all Guyana’s railway tracks I don’t know.)

Type of accommodation: A two storey house/apartment, part of a block of 4 in the teachers’ quarters. Your next door neighbour on one side is mad, but the others are normal ... Water is collected from a tank outside. Water from the Kaituma canal is also pumped to the house every morning ... This can be made clean by bleaching it, boiling it and filtering it. (Yes, bleaching all your drinking water. With bleach.)

Any other health issues: Nobody will last the year without diarrhoea, so bring dehydration salts and Imodium tablets. (Let me put this into perspective: Here in England we talk about the weather quite a lot. If it’s a nice day, we comment on it. If not, we say so. You could say that the weather is the big variable in our lives. In Guyana, the weather is always the same, so there’s little point in talking about it. The big variable in their lives has more to do with the state of their bowels. It may be that when I come out of the toilet Greg asks me how it was today, and I’ll look at him and give a hand gesture to say “Not good, not bad”. Just so you know.)

Now when I say Dan is taking a 'year out', I mean it. He'll be there for the entire year, in a school with one - maybe two - qualified teachers, in a locality with no railway line and no doctor, where letters from Britain will take five weeks to arrive, if they arrive at all (according to this book). If nothing else, the man is brave.

Yesterday was a very busy day for me; most of it was spent in Surrey visiting a client, and on my return to Oxford I immediately met up with some friends from Princeton, and then after that, friends from College. As both Amy and Ollie will attest, I was rather battered when I came on MSN last night. Props to Amy for ringing to remind me to drink a pint of water before bed; alas I didn't get the message until the morning, although thankfully I did remember to drink some water.

Part of the fun of going to Surrey was the fact that I got to drive myself down there. This was fun because not only had I not driven since Easter, but I also had the fun of driving a manual car for the first time in over two years, as well as venturing onto the M25 for the first time. No wonder Amy was slightly concerned. As it turned out, the drive there and back was absolutely fine. The only problem I had was with the rush hour traffic on the Oxford Ring Road, which meant that I had to sit around for about 45 minutes longer than I had expected, and very nearly missed returning the rental car on time. Oh, and circling a couple of roundabouts twice, because I couldn't find my exit.

Long time readers of Dayorama will know that all three of us are quite happy to criticise companies that don't serve us to our expectation. It seems appropriate, therefore, to praise when our expectations are exceeded. First, a word about my car: a nearly bottom of the range Vauxhall Corsa. I was impressed by it. Vauxhalls have come on a long way in the last generation of vehicles. As Amy knows, I admire the new Astra for its looks and price. The reputation of Vauxhall as a fleet brand will never go, but my perception of it based on their mid 90's products is thoroughly undeserved. Driving a manual come back to me naturally, which was a pleasant surprise, which is probably a reflection of the fact that I drive an automatic in my head like a manual. There was no stalling, even though first gear was very raw indeed. Still, it was a very small car, and it had the biggest blind spot I have ever had to negotiate - a result, I am sure, of the fact that I had the seat as far back as possible, in order to fit my legs under the steering wheel (and even then it was still awfully cramped). But overall, not bad for about £60.

On to the company. Enterprise Rent-A-Car, I salute you. In fact, I have written a letter to their head office praising the experience I had yesterday. I have never experienced such outstanding customer service, from the guy who picked me up from College, to the guy who kept the office open a little bit longer so I could get the car back. I was aware from various reports that Enterprise was a very good place to go, but that doesn't do their company justice. It was summed up best, I think, by a sign they had inside their reception. It was a typical American mission statement thing, which started with "The customer is more important to us than we are to the customer." You're damn right I am, and thank you for realising it. It makes a noticable difference, and a lot of other companies could learn from it. But for now, a glowing recommendation from me is as best as I can do in the Dayoram quest to single handedly inprove customer service in Britain.

This evening, I sent an email confirming my work experience at BBC Somerset Sound to the kind gent I'd arranged it with a month or so ago. I asked if it was still okay to come in this Thursday to get a feel for the place, and how smartly I should be dressed. Alas:

Out of Office AutoReply:

I will be out of the office until Monday 22nd August 2005. All emails will be dealt with on my return.

Well that's bloody useful then! The person who is supposed to explain everything to me on Thursday won't even be in the bloomin' office til Monday! I'll have to ring up tomorrow and get someone else to decide what should be going on. Or set Amy on them. She's good at that kind of thing.

Over the weekend, in a hotel in Bradford, I watched the first two episodes of new series 'Lost' back to back. It's a US import once again, but comes highly recommended by US critics writing about it.

The last time I was persuaded to watch something on that basis, it was 'Desperate Housewives', which was decent enough and kept my interest for a few episodes. But after a while I gave up making the effort to try to commandeer the communal TV at uni to see it, and got on with normal television-less life again.

This time round, I'm not sure that interest will wane so fast. 'Lost' is not your ordinary series. To my delight and sheer terror, they've introduced an element of the supernatural (don't worry, that's as far as the spoilers will go) which had me on the edge of my seat - well, bed - in fear. My dad texted me from the hotel room opposite to tell me what time he reckoned we should go for breakfast the next morning, and when my phone vibrated on the bedside desk, I nearly jumped out of my skin. One US critic wrote that 'Lost' had reinvented 'must-see TV' because you simply had to find out what was going on, and he wasn't wrong - there is no way in hell I am going to miss the third episode, whenever Channel 4 screen it.

Happily, my mum recently bought a TV licence for her flat, so there really is no chance of me missing it. She bought it ostensibly to watch a series on dieting, but it's going to be immensely handy for 'Lost' whilst I'm down in Minehead for the next few weeks.

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention the Lost website. Do you remember the film Donnie Darko, released a few years ago, that quickly became a cult classic? Its official site still exists here. The 'Lost' minisite borrows heavily from the innovate concept of the Donnie Darko site, which invited visitors to take part in a complex, elaborate, devilishly-conceived point-and-click adventure accompanied by unsettling music and imagery. 'Lost', which carries the same ethereal air as Donnie Darko, gets plenty of mileage out of the same trick - you keep on clicking without finding much out that makes sense, but that's no excuse to stop clicking.

Channel 4 is doing a roaring trade in suspense right now. If 'Lost' won't get you, The Ashes will. I sat in almost the same state of paranoid terror watching the final session of play between England and Australia today as I had experienced watching 'Lost', only 'Lost' didn't leave me quite so disappointed. Stuffy bloody Australians. ONE wicket! Needless to say I, like a lot of other people, will happily admit I care far more about the cricket than I do the Premiership right about now. This series has been easily the greatest in my short lifetime, and I flit agonisingly between being too emotionally engaged to be able to stand watching it, to being so engrossed that I can't tear my eyes away. Not only that, but having played no cricket this summer I'll have to wait until next April to even get a chance at some action! It's going to itch away at my mind all winter. I'm desperate to actually play.

There's something satisfying about getting an email in your old university account inviting you to follow the link for the forthcoming term's lecture list. Been there, done that, got the degree, don't need to go to another Oxford lecture again. Not that I did anyway :)

Just before I rush off to work, I think it is right to post about OJ and I’s journey home last night. We left Exeter St David’s at 17.58. The train should have got into Paddington (according to our tickets, and according to thetrainline for the same train next week) at 20.16. Instead, we ended up on a slow train. Slow? Snail pace. It took forever. Finally we arrived at Reading at 19.00 – where OJ got off – and I was bemused as to how it could possibly take us 1hr to get into London. That question was soon answered when we didn’t leave Reading for 20mins. Anyway, the most amusing bit of the whole journey was that I was teasing OJ, saying that it was his fault that we were on the slow train, and that we would get a disease from being on it (throwback to the days of Anthony and the Mitre). We joked that we would soon be passing Appleford, Culham, Radleigh and Tilehurst. What happened next? We passed Didcot Power Station, followed shortly by Didcot Parkway, and then of course we passed those infamous stations. OJ’s face? A picture. He had to get off at Reading and turn round to get the next train back to Oxford, once again travelling through Appleford, Culham etc. Luckily I managed to get to Paddington at 20.54. I looked at the taxi queue and thought better of it. Jumped on the tube and ran for the 21.18 (from Victoria to home) with a minute to spare. Good timing. So we arrived back, on schedule, but that slow train? Gees. I’m just glad we weren’t in front of the same family we were going to Devon. One classic line, from this moderately affluent family: “Oh darling, give Rebecca a snack. I think she’s got some pistachio kernels to munch on”. One day, just one day I will be able to afford first class.

Panic over. The "Day After Tomorrow" isn't about to happen: there's the usual summer lul in the news, it is all bright outside and therefore we must be back to August.

Sometimes, even in August it seems like Christmas. OJ and I are in Devon, it is raining and we are snuggled up indoors with good food, wine and company. The athletics provides ample entertainment, as does the cat who fell peacefully asleep on OJ earlier. It is dark outsid, and we are safely in the warm, about to watch a dvd. All worries are left in deepest Kent (as per Chris), Oxford, or London and we can just enjoy the rest and relaxation that being "at home" provides. Well, that was until we had a temporary tis-was about not having the dayorama entry web address. Not to worry, Ollie was 'phoned and he could provide it. I spoke to him when he was in a restaurant, apparently in Bradford, and asked him "are you with a woman, a bloke or the band". When he replied, "I'm with my Dad", I still wasn't any the wiser (sorry Chris :p). No doubt we'll all meet up for a chat sometime soon. A dinner was promised...

Anyway, this is a post to say that despite all our worries, hassles and future posts (I'm planning a letter to Monsoon re. some sub-standard flip-flops...), all seems right with the world.

Oh, and we're crap at athletics right now.

With Amy and I heading to Devon this afternoon, it'll be interesting to see how Dayorama will cope with three of us away from the action. Will this be the spur to bring Ollie back from the depths of indie music action?

Dayorama, 10 August 2004: "Only a week left to go with the job! And for those who doubted the Heathrow problems last week, it was on the front page of the Telegraph today because they still have vast quantities of German luggage to send out (such a shame...)."

BBC News, 11 August 2005: "British Airways has cancelled all flights in and out of Heathrow until Friday evening because of unofficial strike action by ground staff."

You'd better believe I'm glad that I'm not an Activity Leader this summer.

I went to Staples today to purchase a CD-R to copy a CD for a friend. I wanted one, maybe two, I'd have settled at five. I ended up coming away with 50 for £4.99. What's that about?

In the last few years, lots of electrical items have dramatically come down in price: televisions, dvd players, fridges, microwaves etc. However, the humble kettle remains expensive. I've been hunting around for a branded, cheap-ish kettle for the past week. Can I find one? No.

Kettles seem to range from £9.99 - for a plain plastic job - to £59.99 - for a top of the range in-built brita filter thing (we have the latter at home, and it's definitely worth the money)). I've tried Sainsbury, Tesco, TJHughes (discount place), Currys (mega expensive), Comet, Argos and last but not least, Robert Dyas. I would have quite like a silver jug kettle reduced from, let's say £29.99 to £14.99 or something. I've picked up so much stuff which has been discounted, why should the kettle be any different? However, wherever I looked it was the same story - nothing for less than £19.99 unless I wanted an unbranded plain white kettle. I'd just about given up on finding a bargain, so was about to purchase a white boring kettle for the grand price of £12.99 when my attention was caught by the advert for "limited stock, reduced, "£19.99". I had budgeted for £20, so that was ok (although wanted something for less). On display was the cutest little kettle. A Morphy Richards, "Classic Florence Kettle". It looks more like a tea pot to be honest, is metal, and only holds about 1litre (but who cares, I don't really use the kettle much anyway - hence I was so angry having to spend so much) but it is very sweet. It even has a tea pot-esque spout. So, principles out of the window, cuteness and in-practibility have one the day. Good job I saved £20 on a griddle pan. Ho-hum.

The brains behind the TV License accounts department must be very strange. I have purchased a TV license for the coming year. The license costs around £125, so I wanted to pay by direct debit. That was all set up, and then I discovered that they were charging me £25 each month for the next five months. Huh? How does that work?

So I telephoned them. The gentleman I spoke to didn't seem at all shocked by my enquiry. In fact, he replied with such confidence that he must explain this phenomenon to people every hour of every day. It turns out that the TV license people like to be a little bit different. I have to pay for my first license in equal payments during the first six months (five in my case). Only after that can I pay for my next license in 12 monthly instalments of around £11 each - six before it begins and six after – so I am always six months ahead of myself. Of course, the TV license sum does not divide into twelve equally, so these instalments won’t be equal.

Talk about screwing you for money in the strangest possible way.

My rat-bag of a cat has just cost me £2. I purchased a wedding present and some wrapping paper earlier today. The wrapping paper came in a roll, £2 from Sainsbury. I was about to wrap the present, so opened the roll onto the floor. However I had forgotten scissors, so I left where I was and went into the kitchen. On my return, there was a happy little kitten underneath the wrapping paper. There were teeth marks and scrunched up areas all over it. There is enough decent paper left to wrap a matchbox. Needless to say, she hasn't been told off! How was she supposed to know it wasn't for her?!

Just a useless little musing: Last week OJ and I simultaneously booked tickets via the trainline. We must have clicked "confirm" within seconds of each other. Our booking references vary by four digits and whilst OJ has seats 14A on the way and 37A on the way back, I have 56B and 23B. We didn't book together as it doesn't really matter what seats we get; we'll probably use the unreserved seats anyway. But if it is really busy and we need to stick to reserved seats, at least I get the table :) In actual fact, the whole episode could be a disaster. The plan is for OJ to get to Reading from Oxford and wait on the platform for the train from Paddington to Plymouth/Penzance, which I shall be on. We will then travel to Devon. Last time we tried this it was only by accident that we actually got on the same train. If I remember correctly OJ was expecting me to get off my train and for us both to wait for another train. When will he learn eh?

And in other news, I've just purchased the James Blunt album.

Another weekend spent away from Oxford, this time in Bow and Kent with the delightful Ms Kennedy (as she puts on all her bills now). A real highlight of Saturday was going to a giant Ikea at the Lakeside shopping... county? It's a very very big place, and my first time back in Essex for, ooh, probably a decade. It was also my first time through the Dartford crossing and over the QEII Bridge, which was fun and reminded me of New Jersey. Essex twinned with New Jersey? That sounds about right.

One of the best things about spending the weekend at Amy's was being able