I’ve been wanting to start posting stuff on this blog for a while now. One of my New Years’ Resolutions was to try and post something once a week, although clearly that didn’t quite pan out how I’d hoped.

I think this time I need to keep things short and sweet (well bittersweet is more likely if I’m honest). I don’t have the time to write online essays and I very much doubt anyone has the time to read them. Plus, I don’t really have anything of any real importance to say. I’m not even ill. (Yeah, alright so I wasn’t really ill last time).

Anyway, let’s give it another go and see how it goes…

(The picture is Resurrection Bay in Alaska by the way, it was taken by Steve Deger)

As an Englishman I am quite naturally obsessed by the weather. This is understandable as weather itself was invented in the UK. Travel much further north and everything has a near constant covering of snow, travel south for a couple of hours and everything is a barren sun baked desert. England however boosts a little bit of everything, all neatly interspersed with a variety of rains. Various Colonial Territories boast similar weather diversity (New Zealand laying claim to 4 seasons in one day, for example) but no-one can match the UK for our capacity to complain about whatever comes our way. As I write this we're in the grip of 'the big freeze' and it's impossible to turn on a TV or Radio without hearing the words treacherous, chaos and plummeting.

When I was still at the early stages of denying to myself that I actually wanted an iPhone I often played with the ones owned by friends who had already surrendered to their desires. Naturally the Apple supplied weather app was one of my first ports of call. It was disappointing for a number of reasons. Firstly, unlike the calendar which changed the day and date each day it was always sunny and always 23 degrees. (When it's sunny and 23 degrees in the UK, they run stories about 'the heatwave' on the news). I mean come on, that's a bit of failure in this day and age surely? The next disappointment was that the weather that I got when I opened the app wasn't the weather where I was. Sure, you can specify different locations and scroll between them, but as an Englishman I don't always know where I am, and I certainly have no intention of asking anyone.

I went to the App Store and looked around for a free alternative. I downloaded AccuWeather. AccuWeather has the ability to give you the weather where you are, and you can also store actual locations and scroll through them. You can also have an hour by hour view and there's a 15 day outlook on there as well. The actual weather forecasting is pretty average - but to be honest that's exactly what I expect. When I caved in and handed over my £180 to Mr Jobs AccuWeather was one of the first things I installed. And for months I happily entrusted all my mobile weather information needs to it without a second thought.

Over time I installed lots of apps, some stayed, others went. Front page real estate values rocketed, the apps on the front page needed to be pretty special. Then one day I decided that I wanted a weather app with a sunnier icon. The icon on the AccuWeather app is an entirely appropriate cloudy sky, where the sun may, although probably won't come out.

I invested £2.39 in WeatherPro, which sadly just isn't anywhere near as good as AccuWeather's free app. The icon is sunnier, but while there is the option to find the weather where you are you can't set it to open that location as soon as you launch the application. The hour by hour option is actually 3 hour by 3 hour unless you pay for premium data. What's that all about? I'm sufficiently interested in the weather to pay for it. Ah, but are you so interested that you'll pay a little more? Frankly, no. It's got some satellite shots on it, but again only basic stuff because you need to go premium in order to get the fuller features.

So the moral of this tale is that if you're looking for a weather app go for the free one from AccuWeather.

Although, it's only fair to say that AccuWeather is still on the second page while the pretty but unused WeatherPro sits on the first page.

When I was married a good few years ago some of my closest friends abandoned the John Lewis wedding list in order to buy my wife and I a PlayStation. I like to think of it as an investment to ensure that they didn’t lose me entirely to a life of domesticity, and one that over the years has paid off. They didn’t actually buy me Gran Turismo with it, the assumption was that like a disgraced officer left alone in a room with his revolver I would do the decent thing. Instead my wife and I spent much of our first day of our married life fighting each other on Tekken. A few weeks later I did the decent thing and somehow found the £44.99 required to buy the original Gran Turismo.

It was great, I loved it. I started off tentatively bouncing an Aston Martin around the track in arcade mode and then over the following weeks started progressing my way through the career mode. I covered all the traditional bases, tuning up a Skyline that would rocket past anything with the turbo on boost and barely start moving when it wasn’t. Then I started winning tournaments that rewarded me with cars that far outshone any of my home-made attempts.

When Gran Turismo 2 came out a couple of years later I rushed out to buy it and devoted a similar amount of time to it. I even graduated to Gran Turismo 3 when I moved onto a PlayStation 2. I didn’t finish that one, but I did complete the endurance races and pick up one of the Formula 1 cars that became a favourite when racing with friends. There was a second Gran Turismo for the PS2 and even one of the PS3, but by that time my available gaming time had been severely curtailed by the ever increasing demands of real life.

When one of the same friends who paid for my original PlayStation moved to New Zealand he gave me a PSP as a leaving present. Yes, I know that’s not really the way these things are supposed to work but it was a free PlayStation what was I supposed to do? That was 2005 and a PSP version of Gran Turismo was hotly anticipated that April. It never appeared. Numerous release dates came and went and I came to look on my PSP purely as a medium for shooting people. Then in October 2009 the unthinkable happened and the Gran Turismo for PSP was finally released. I had originally intended to ask Santa for it, but a business trip to Canada meant that I had no choice to buy it before my journey.

Having played the game on and off for about a month now, and having graduated through the vast majority of the Gran Turismo franchise, here are my thoughts.

The first thing that you notice is that instead of choosing either the arcade or career mode you get a hybrid version of both. Also all the tracks are available as soon as you start, including real tracks like Monaco, Le Mans and the Nurburgring. It’s like the old arcade version because you pick a track and away you go, there are no cups and multi-race tournaments. Each track starts on level D where all the cars pootle round in a brainless fashion and if you have a big off you can usually catch them up quite quickly. As you pick up first places on individual tracks the level progresses through C – B – A – and eventually S. By the time you get to S the AI in your opponents is similar to that of your mates when you get back from the pub, expect them to punt you into the gravel if the opportunity arises. You also get the option to select the level each time you race a particular track. The higher the level the greater the prize money. The race length also boosts the prize money. The greater the number of laps you select the greater the pay off at the end. Also longer tracks are worth more per lap as well.

Another big difference is that you don’t need to complete all the driving challenges. To be honest completing them is the quickest way to get your hands on enough money to ditch the Golf you start with. Proper cars start at around a million credits and that’s an awful lot of laps around Trial Mountain in a Golf. I saved up and blew my first million on the same Castrol Tom’s Supra that I favoured in the original Gran Turismo. The game will automatically place you against similar competitors in each race. There’s a complete list of cars here. You also only get 4 retailers at a time in the game so you often need to wait for something you want to come up. (At the moment I’m waiting for the Ferrari F1 car to make another appearance having saved the 8 million it costs).

Getting all the tracks and the ability to buy decent cars quite quickly had me sold, as did the ability to avoid completing all the driving challenges. There is also the option to race with the racing line shown on the track, which makes it a lot easier to race on tracks that you’ve never played before. I’m sure hard-core racing game fans will see plenty wrong with that, but it’s perfect for me. The ability to buy old cars and fiddle about with them is gone. I’ll admit that was lots of fun, but I quickly realised that it was just a means to an end once I could get my hands on a serious LM car so I can live without that too.

What really puts a PSP spin on the game is the ability to effectively customise each race by picking the ability of your opponents and the duration of the race. If you’ve got 10 minutes to kill you can get in a couple of laps of Laguna Seca, if you’ve got a long journey to get through you can clock up 50 laps round Monaco between movies.

The only thing is does lack is the ability to play other people online, although the ad-hoc multiplayer is fantastic. The system will impose start delay penalties to even out races and you keep the money you make in multiplayer too. You can also choose to give your friends your cars (and still keep hold of them yourself). You both need to game to play multiplayer, but with multipliers and winner-takes-all bonuses you can make more than enough cash to fill your garage very quickly.

The most recent discovery I made is that if you buy the UMD version has the option to install the game onto a memory card for faster loading. (There’s an option under the Other menu.)

My greatest moment with Gran Turismo PSP to date came when I was playing on the plane on the way to Toronto. I had my iPod on, listening to some UNKLE tracks and I was racing round the backwards version of Trial Mountain when we hit some turbulence. It got quite bumpy, I’m not sure how the rest of the plane reacted but for me it was like being plugged into an enormous dual-shock controller. I like to think that memory will stay with me for a long time, and that I’ll have the game to hand next time I’m flying and it gets a little choppy.

Just back from the doctors and in the interests of continuity I thought I should record the meeting here. (Earlier instalments in the Diary of a Man With Nothing ‘Actually’ Wrong With Him can be found here and here.)

I walked into the doctors’ office and he fixed me in his gaze and told me that in all his years of medicine he had never been so amazed by an individuals’ capacity to endure pain. He continued eloquently and at length about how touched he had been by my stoical refusal to give in to my suffering, and then the tears in his eyes became too much and he was overtaken by deep sobs...

Actually, none of that is remotely true. I walked in, we exchanged pleasantries and he gave me his ‘What can I do for you?’ look. I reminded him that he had wanted to see me, probably regarding my various test results. He pulled up the details and flicked through them with some accompanying dialogue intended more to indicate that he was engaged in something relevant than to provide me with any useful information (I do it myself with people all the time). My Glucose scores were normal, he swivelled the screen at that point to show me the Normal Level text on the screen. Reassuringly all the normal parts were in green. I was in the red for my calcium, which means another blood test at some point. He didn’t think that this would have any impact on chest pain though. (I thought that maybe some Mr-Jordan from-Casualty diagnostic genius from the ED may spot something, give me a quick  jab of some unpronounceable drug and I could skip away a cured man).

The doctor mentioned a couple of referral options and looked at me with the same politely quizzical look that I last saw on flight AC848 following the question 'Chicken or Beef?' I told him that he should send me off to whoever he saw fit as I had no idea what either options involved. I didn’t voice the fact that truth be told I didn’t much fancy the nuclear medicine option.

So, my next stop is the Chest Specialist. This one requires a password to book an appointment, which will be sent to me. I will check to see if it’s something along the lines of t1mew@5ter or n0t-1LL.

I did make a point of saying, ‘Look, I don’t feel like I’m about to drop down dead tomorrow, although I am starting to feel like I’m just wasting everyone’s time’, just in case he thought I should just get on with it and stop moaning. He said that he thought we should investigate anyway, although he didn’t know what was causing my chest pain. To be honest, I’m starting to which I hadn’t mentioned anything now.

On the plus side, I can now add diabetes to the list of ailments I don’t have.

When I checked in yesterday the kindly lady at the check-in desk swapped my aisle seat for an aisle seat in front of the exit. This has never happened to me before, I always try to get an aisle seat but further than that I’m not really too bothered where I sit.

Saying that I had always been given to believe that if getting upgraded to First of Business class is like winning the lottery then getting one of these coveted seats just for turning up a little early is like matching 5 numbers plus the bonus. (I should probably point out that I rarely get the luxury of booking a flight more than a few weeks before I need to fly, so I never get a great choice of seats). Anyway yesterday, with some excitement, I settled down into seat number 31C for my 8 hour flight.

To be honest, it’s not all that.

You get a fancy screen that you can pull out of your chair, and indeed a fancy table. I like the folding table because you can have it half open and have a mini table. You don’t get the encroachment of the back of the seat in front of you, but then again you don’t get the seat-back pocket either. When I get to my seat the first thing I do is stash a bottle of water, my book, iPod and PSP in the pocket of the seat in front before. In an exit seat you end up stuffing these into your pockets, or into the seat beside you. And there's nowhere to shove all the napkins and plastic cups that you find yourself accumulating on long flights.

The main bonus is obviously the legroom. But, as the Exit seat is right behind the washrooms there is a constant stream of visitors and hoverers. This means that if you place your feet any further from your seat than you would do in a standard seat then they will end up being trodden on. When the coast is clear you can stretch your legs, although you’ll probably just end up tripping up a member of cabin staff rushing to assist someone experiencing problems with the volume of their movie.

Then of course there is the proximity to what I politely referred to above as the washrooms. Let me tell you, when they’re right in front of you it soon becomes obvious how few occupants are going in there to wash. It gets a little smelly after a while

So there you have it, the reality behind the fabled Exit seat. Next time you’re struggling to shake your foot into life and you look enviously over, take it from me,  unfortunately it’s not that special.

I’m sitting in my kitchen putting the finishing touches to a presentation (who I am kidding, desperately trying to write a presentation!) that I’m travelling to Canada to deliver. It’s a wet and miserable day outside. It’s been raining steadily for hours. All the fence panels in the back garden have that thoroughly sodden look to them and most of the drains in the street became clogged with fallen leaves and overflowed hours ago. But, it is still the day before I have to leave and so everything is swathed in an unnatural beauty that is being home.

It’s a journey that I’ve made before. I’m going somewhere that I know quite well. There are plenty of people there who I regard as friends and if everything goes to plan this time next week I’ll be back here in this kitchen.

What’s more I know what I’m doing where international travel is concerned. All over the house gadgets are charging that will make my journey, and any time I spend in the hotel, a little more bearable. I never manage to sleep on planes but I can handle an 8 hour flight without the need to watch a movie if required. What’s more, I can move with the speed and stealth of a hardened commuter through the most arduous of security checks.

And I appreciate that no-one believes me when I tell them it’s not glamorous. Airports are places we pass through when we go on holiday, piled high with cheap tobacco, alcohol and designer handbags. Having to spend a few hours sitting around one is hardly the same as being water-boarded. Hotels have the same connotations, who wouldn’t appreciate a little solitude and someone to bring them their breakfast on a tray each morning?

As I work in the City I probably see more Ferraris than lots of people. I saw one today in fact, which prompted me to write this. In the flesh they are even more beautiful than the pictures you see of them. I was even impressed by a gray 612 Scaglietti I saw squeezing its way between the buses on Threadneedle Street the other day. You may suspect that the twisting Alpine road is the true habitat of the Ferrari but the unfortunate reality is that you’re far more likely to find them in your local Central Business District. And if you thought that the current economic climate would make their thrusting stockbroker owners reluctant to take the dust sheets off them, well you’re just not the sort of person to drive a Ferrari are you?

The example above is not typical of the ones I see, which are invariably the very latest versions of the latest model. Any City boy worth his salt would mock you mercilessly for arriving at work in anything less. My illustration is a 328 GTS from the mid 80s. It’s very similar to the 308 driven by Magnum PI, and if I had one I would ensure that I kept a Hawaiian shirt, stick on moustache and had the Magnum theme tune ready to play each time I rolled out of the garage. The 328 is a little bulkier and well, 80s compared to the 308, but it’s still the one for me. A good friend has driven one and he told me it was very powerful but a little loose at the rear. He followed his description with “You’d love it, it’s your dream blend of Cortina and Ferrari”. I was sold.  

Unfortunately, I’m in my 30s now. (The omission of the prefixes early- or mid- should tell you where about). I have 3 daughters. You’ve only got to look at their mother to see how they’re going to look when they grow up. If I were to own a Ferrari, at some point I would be called on to drop off or pick up one of my children in it. What would that look like? Sitting in a Ferrari with a stunning woman young enough to be my daughter (in this instance for the very good reason that they are). I know that many men would love that, but that’s not really me.

I’m not in the market for a Ferrari right now, it’s incredibly unlikely I ever will be. But I do play the Lottery each week so I can never really rule out the possibility that I will own one. But at what age is it no longer appropriate for a man who wants to cling on to his dignity to be seen driving a Ferrari? Is there perhaps some rule of thumb whereby you can always get away with driving the one that was launched when you were in your first years of Big School? If not those Big Money Balls will need to get a move on.

I felt the need to share this Bonfire Night story before it’s too late, although I have no doubt that in the telling it will turn out to be one of those funny at the time moments. I apologise unreservedly in advance.

I should point out that I’m not a Catholic, although my wife is, as are our children. I’m not particularly religious myself, but I do think if you’re going to go in for that sort of thing it’s worth doing properly. From time to time I have to attend the C of E family service with my daughters through Brownies. I’m always struck by the  “If you don’t want to pray, just bow your head for moment” inclusive nature of it all. Personally I prefer a bit of fire and brimstone. I want someone yelling at me to get my head down and pray unless I want to burn in the fire of Hell for all eternity.

I should also point out that I love Bonfire Night. It has also seemed to as the most uniquely British of our celebrations. Obviously it’s steeped in British history, but also the whole approach to it. Try explaining the non burning Guy Fawkes stuff to a small child. “So the fireworks are to celebrate the fact he didn’t blow up Parliament?”, “Erm...” I’ve always seen it as a celebration of what might have been. I mean who gets excited about the bonfire on Bonfire Night? It’s all about the fireworks.

I like the fact that because sparklers are required you have to dig out your gloves for the first time, so you end up wrapping up with hats and scarves for the first time of the winter.

I live about a mile from our local display on the Great Lines which is organised by the Royal Engineers (they know a thing or two about fireworks) and it’s completely free. One of my favourite moments is the crowd of people in the surrounding streets when it finishes, the roads that are closed, and the roads that are rendered impassable by the throng of people.

Anyway, the point of all this. Last night we went to see the fireworks at the lines with friends and the kids. We saw them light the fire, we did the sparkler thing and then we had the fireworks. By long standing tradition we “ooh” and “ah” enthusiastically (And have done for years, long before the arrival of the kids). Last night amongst our foolish comments my wife pointed out the fireworks that zig-zagged upwards screeching were in fact the souls of sinners trying to ascend to heaven. I should point out she wasn’t serious, but it was one of those comments that stuck in my mind, and once there I couldn’t get it out. Having sat through a fair few Masses in my time I pointed out but that surely if they were sinners they wouldn’t be going upwards. “But you can see they don’t get very far...”

Silly I know, but I thought it was a uniquely Catholic perspective on the celebration. And I can’t hear those screeching fireworks now without smiling and finding it all a little sinister.

A quick update of the ongoing saga that is my health for anyone interested. I spent slightly less time than anticipated last Friday at the Rapid Access Chest Pain Clinic. I had another ECG, a poking and prodding session and a discussion about my symptoms before being reliably informed by the Cardio Team that they do not believe that my pains are heart related. Hurrah! And given the long and illustrious history of dodgy tickers in my family, Hazzah!

However, having failed to get the Angina charge to stick, I am now in the frame for Diabetes. They’ll never get that one to hold. Me and sugar are like brothers. The times we’ve had together are some of the best of my life. Even on the dreariest of days sugar has always been there for me. And to think they expect sugar to betray me now? Not a chance!

Still, I’m booked in on Thursday for a Glucose Tolerance Test. My instructions are to fast for 14 hours and bring a book. I understand that there might be a few needles involved, on which I’m not keen. But on the plus side there is a sugary drink at the start.

The Cardio Team did tell me that they would refer me back to my GP and that he may decide that I need ‘further investigation’ of my stomach. You can insert your own 'Plenty to investigate there!' joke in here. I’ve noticed a bizarre habit of not using the word stomach during my hospital visits, everyone I’ve spoken to my washboard hard midriff, alright flabby belly, as my ‘tummy’.

My initial feelings were that I didn’t care what the problem was as long as it wasn’t my heart but having wasted this much time I’m starting to feel duty bound to find out what the problem is. Popular diagnoses at the moment are Wind and Indigestion (usually delivered with either a smirk or a shaking head).

For the record I start get the same pains. They tend not to last long, they’re hardly debilitating and whenever I have to discuss them with medical professionals I feel like an idiot. I fully expect that in a few days from now I’ll start coughing and the Alien will burst out of my stomach. I only hope that I can utter the words “I told you I was ill!”

(The image above is Glucose by the way. I put it there to prove how tolerant of it I am).