Home Makeover: The Extremely Slow Edition

Man, but y'all are just too impatient with your constant clamouring for photos of Alien Wally and Mags' new kitchen.

What y'all have got to understand is that these things take time. Here's roughly how it went down:

* Psychological preparation to cope with breaking the house after paying a $h*tload of money for it – 2 months
* Breaking the house – 2 weeks
* Fixing the house – 1 month
* Finishing touches (euphemistically referred to as The Last Few Little Things) – 3 months

You see? Time.

The old kitchen was just that. Old. Eighteen years old, in fact. Having a kitchen that's old enough to vote is perhaps a clue that a style update is required.

Style considerations aside, however, the old kitchen was proof that MFI kitchens do last for longer than five years, despite the almost desperate attempts by some other so-called premium kitchen companies to convince Alien Wally and Mags otherwise... “Only our kitchens will last longer than ten years.” Oh, really? And, let's guess – that's why we'd have to pay ten times as much for your kitchens, right? Right. Moving on.

Needless to say, Alien Wally and Mags didn't buy from any of these obviously delusional kitchen companies. In spite of the proven durability of the old kitchen, they didn't buy from MFI either, as a result of MFI experiencing a slight wobble known in the industry as Going Out Of Business.

The old kitchen may have outlasted the company that made it. But it couldn't withstand the combined destructive force of Mags and Alien Wally. After Mags had done the hard work of the first hole in the wall, Alien Wally got the easy job of removing the rest of the kitchen.

After which the friendly-neighbourhood-kitchen-contractor-who-lives-down-the-road-and-sometimes-brings-wine-to-make-all-the-chaos-seem-much-easier-to-handle-and-the-bill-easier-to-cope-with took over and made everything all pretty again.

After he'd left and Alien Wally and Mags could restore some order to the house by moving the kitchen out of the dining room and the dining room out of the lounge and the lounge out of the cat basket, they got right to work enthusiastically sorting out all those finishing touches like flooring and beading and painting and hanging pictures collapsed in a heap and didn't do anything until they'd slept for three weeks solid.

Finally, though, it all got done. And, here, at last, to appease the masses, are some pictures:

Game Review: Hunt The Hot Water Valve

A fun game to play, particularly in the Winter when the stakes are higher, however having not yet completed it, this reviewer is forced to give it a low 3/10.

The story begins with the player performing what should be a relatively straightforward task - removing a radiator from the wall in order to redecorate. Things get complicated however when this causes a leak in the central heating system. Having drained the central heating system, repaired the leak and restarted the system with the help of a future contractor, things seem to be back to normal. However, this wouldn't be much of a plot if this was the case, so the player awakes the next day with a raging hangover from an office end of year function only to discover that while the central heating works, there is no hot water in the house. Cue more assistance from the future contractor, who sends the player on a hunt for motorised valves that should control hot water to the hot water cylinder.

Most of the gameplay involves wielding a crowbar or similar tool of mass destruction, ripping open floors and tearing down walls looking for the elusive motorised valves. Things are made more interesting by the player not actually knowing exactly what these valves look like, beyond the fact that they must be located on one of the central heating pipes.

The only saving grace to this game, and the reason why it scores 3 instead of 0 out of 10, is its realism. Aside from superb graphics and realistic sound effects, the in-game characters really bring things to life. From nagging wife complaining about cold baths to spooked cat getting underfoot while crowbars are swinging, it's all been included. Here are some screenshots highlighting the level of detail:

The utility room: oh well, the floor needed to come up anyway.

The bathroom: located an access hatch that was covered over by a layer of tongue-and-groove panelling, but no valves.

In summary, an entertaining game involving much destruction, however little satisfaction is gained, and this reviewer has yet to complete it. He predicts the forums to be buzzing with gamers trying to find out how to complete it, that's if anyone else actually buys it since he definitely cannot recommend it.

Proof That Our Parents Don’t Really Read Our Blog?

Alien Wally and Mags are convinced that their parents don’t really read this blog. After all, if they did, surely they would have commented on this series of pictures?

By “commented”, Mags doesn’t mean write a comment on this actual blog, although that would have been an option. After expecting some sort of reaction – emails full of exclamation marks, phone calls full of verbal exclamation marks, heck, even a carrier pigeon come to poop on their heads – Alien Wally and Mags feel rather disappointed.

It can’t be them, of course. Oblique? Never. Nevaaah. Those pics-of-the-day were as clear as, well, day.

But, just in case this is one of those “it’s not you, it’s us” moments, here’s a more obvious picture.

If this doesn’t elicit any kind of appropriate parental response, well, then… consider that proof of parental neglect, and the appropriate authorities will be informed. Don’t y’all know that children need some discipline and boundaries? Otherwise they go out and do things like buy motorbikes. Oh. Wait… too late.

This, by the way, is Charlie. Alien Wally didn’t want to name his bike, but Mags insisted that Ruby’s new brother be called something. Why Charlie? Well, he’s a Honda CBF600… in phonetic terms, that’s Mr Charlie “Bravo” Foxtrot to y’all. Well, except to Alien Wally, that is. He still refers to Charlie as simply “the bike”. How boring. But, not oblique. Nevaaah.

We’re Moving To The Country

For some of you this is old news. Others may be wondering why Alien Wally allowed his music collection to be boxed up over the weekend. ‘Tis true… after many months of searching, Alien Wally and Mags found themselves a hoose, as well as a solicitor patient enough to answer their many queries regarding the Scottish property system, and a bank willing to throw money at them in the midst of a credit crisis.

Along with said hoose comes a garden for the MacNoodle and adjoining farm fields (not for the MacNoodle per se, but which she will appropriate as hers in due course as is Madam’s wont). Yes, folks, Alien Wally and Mags are moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches drink a lot of whisky. Did they mention yet that Glenkinchie Distillery is a neighbour?

Another neighbour is the Local Laird, to whom Alien Wally and Mags thought they had pledged their serfdom under the Scottish feudal system when they read the following single sentence gem of legalese in the title deeds:

“CONSIDERING that we are about to feu off the said subjects in separate lots for erection of dwellinghouses and relative offices or other buildings and that we are about to execute in favour of feuars feu Charters or Feu Dispositions and that it is proper and expedient to set forth and declare the various reservations, real burdens, conditions, prohibitions, declarations, obligations and stipulations incumbent respectively upon the proprietors and prospective purchasers, and that in order to avoid repetition ad longum of all such reservations, real burdens, conditions and others in each of the feu rights, conveyances or other writs to be granted by us or our successors we have resolved in terms of the powers conferred by Section Thirty Two of the Conveyancing (Scotland) Act Eighteen hundred and seventy four to execute these presents so that the said reservations, real burdens, conditions and others may (in so far as applicable) be imported by reference to these presents into all feu rights, conveyances or other writs to be hereafter granted by us as aforesaid or our foresaids as well as into all conveyances or investitures to be hereafter granted of or relating to the same by a reference or otherwise to these presents Do therefore and in virtue of the said Act Hereby PROVIDE, SET FORTH, and DECLARE but that without prejudice to the addition in specific cases of further reservations, real burdens, conditions and others or to the real burdens and conditions, if any, already affecting the said subjects…”

Stop! Stop that! Did you get that? Alien Wally and Mags didn’t. Luckily, before they had purchased their pitchforks, sackcloths and ashes, their solicitor informed them that the feudal system had been abolished a few years ago and their dwellinghouse was indeed theirs to, um, dwell in, without any conditions. Well, apart from a lifetime of slavery to the MacNoodle, that is.

How May We Be Of Excellent Service To You Today?

Alien Wally and Mags are nothing if not helpful folk. They hadn’t realised quite how helpful they were, however, until they looked at the keyword analysis* of the stats for this blog and saw the range of queries with which they’d assisted people over the past few months.

[*search terms that people have typed into Google, which have led them to this blog]

What (Not) To Wear:
A common concern amongst some folks appears to center on “what should I wear to Nick Cave” and “what to wear for Mark Knopfler concerts”. Now, Alien Wally and Mags are a tad concerned that people are looking to an engineer and a woman who only owns five pairs of shoes and shops but twice a year for fashion advice, but they’re willing to rise to the challenge. Their considered advice: jeans. Well, Mark Knopfler was wearing them, and it would just be rude not to follow his style cues. Nick Cave, on the other hand, wasn’t wearing them. But then, he and The Bad Seeds should really be the only people in the room wearing suits.

Tide Timetables For Cramond:
As mentioned in the post on Cramond Island, the tide times on the ‘Net and at Cramond itself are not telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Alien Wally and Mags advise going earlier and being prepared to leave later than the fuzzy logic of the printed times would have you believe. And, of course, remaining observant of what the water and other folks are doing. If you ignore others leaving the island in droves and the causeway steadily disappearing under the water and you get stuck on the island overnight… well, don’t come a’crying to us. Consider yourself warned.

How To Pronounce “Fionnphort”:
Finn-a-fort. Now you, too, can sound like a local.

Captain James Blunt:
Yes, Alien Wally and Mags love James Blunt’s music. But, this blog is probably not the best place to come if you’re looking for in-depth information on the erstwhile Captain. To the many folk who arrived at this blog looking for more than our little snippet of information on the concert we attended, we apologise for disappointing you. To the rest, we hope we have been of excellent service today and look forward to assisting you more in the future!

True Love

Overheard in the Wally abode last weekend, while watching the TV broadcast of the Scouting For Girls set at T In The Park:

Mags (M): They’re doing the same song again.
Alien Wally (AW): No, they’re not! What song are you talking about?
M: The one they did a little while ago. I don’t know the words, but the chorus goes something like “na na na heartbeat!” It’s the same song… listen, here comes the chorus….

Band launches into a chorus completely different to “na na na heartbeat!”

Long pause as Mags assimilates this.

M: Well, it sounds the same. Different words, but it sounds the same.
AW: You know, it’s a good thing we’re not actually at T In The Park right now. You’d be singing “na na na heartbeat!” loudly, and there’d be an ever-widening circle around you as people back away slowly.
M: Ha!
AW: I’d be in your ever-widening circle, though. I wouldn’t abandon you. I’d have a video camera handy and I’d be taking a video for YouTube, but I’d so totally be in your ever-widening circle with you.

How To Go To John o’ Groats And Back In A Day (With A Detour Via Ullapool)

Get up really early in the morning

Alien Wally and Mags usually sleep in late on Saturday mornings. And Sunday mornings. And even sometimes during the week, when the snooze button can be pushed to the limit and then some.

But, on Going-On-Holiday Day, there is no snoozing. Places to go and people to see means that Alien Wally and Mags can overcome their natural slothness and actually jump out of bed at 04:00. Okay, so jump out of bed may be a bit of an exaggeration. More like an ooze and a stumble and a crawl and a yawn or three or ten. But up they did get, beating the sun, and they were out the door by 04:30.

Live in a small country

Scotland may be the best small country in the world, but by definition it is therefore a Small Country. Which means that Alien Wally and Mags can leave Edinburgh at 04:30 and have breakfast in Inverness at 07:30 and be in John o’ Groats by 11:00 without even breaking any speed limits. The far north of Scotland isn’t so far, after all.

Spend five minutes looking around John o’ Groats itself

Okay, so Alien Wally and Mags had to go there. They’ve been to Lands’ End, and had to see the opposite end of the country. But it turns out that there’s not that much to see. John o’ Groats is a bleak and windy place, fascinating in its bleakness, and yet ultimately kind of boring in its bleakness. Did Mags mention that it’s bleak?

A short distance from John o’ Groats, the natural scenery is a tad more interesting in the form of the Stacks of Duncansby.

And a slightly further distance from John o’ Groats is Dunnet Head, the most northerly point of the UK mainland, another bleak place, offering panoramic views of the bleak bog that leads up to it. Driving through the far north and north-east of Scotland feels like driving through a world leached of its colour.

Drive round the north west of Scotland and down to Ullapool

The scenery around the north-west of Scotland starts to get a bit more interesting – snow covered mountains, sparkling lochs and greenery. Luckily Mags doesn’t get car sick, otherwise Alien Wally’s joyful driving around the many twists and turns of the single-track road may not have been so joyful after all.

Eventually the road leads down to Ullapool, a stunningly pretty town on the banks of Loch Broom. Ullapool is the gateway for ferries to many of the western isles, and Alien Wally and Mags marveled at the size of the boat that was just starting on its journey to Stornoway. The Lord of the Isles that took them to Mull paled in comparison!

Then… Have some Neds break into your flat

Yes, folks. Crime happens in Scotland too. Alien Wally and Mags had just settled into a pub in Ullapool when they got The Call. Luckily (or unluckily, if Alien Wally’s glum expression was anything to go by), Alien Wally had only had two sips of his pint, so he was able to drive back to Edinburgh. Mags, on the other hand, decided that some alcohol-induced courage was required to deal with the situation, and downed her vodka orange.

After explaining the situation to the guest house owner, who very kindly refused to take any payment for the room, Alien Wally and Mags were back in the car and heading for home. Although it had taken them the full day to get to Ullapool, given their detour via the north of Scotland, Ullapool is in fact only an hour’s drive from Inverness and so they were able to get home by 22:30 that night… not planned, yet proof that one can go to John o’ Groats and back in a day!

Postscript: The amazing bouncable PS3!

Alien Wally and Mags’ next door neighbour is usually a quietish lad. However, last Saturday, faced with two teenage boys breaking into Alien Wally and Mags’ flat, he found his inner beserker and beset upon the two young Neds with a golf club. Unfortunately, the teenaged criminals got away, taking only the PS3 with them as they scarpered. In their haste to escape the Avenging Neighbour, they dropped the PS3 as they fled over the fence, causing it to fall approximately three metres as it bypassed ground level and landed in the lower ground level parking lot. It bounced, and then all was still. The police carefully bagged it up and returned it to Alien Wally and Mags later that night.

After the PS3 was dusted for prints the next morning, Alien Wally tentatively plugged it in, expecting the worst. After all, the case looked a bit scronked, and even though the visible damage was mostly at the back where it could be ignored, who knew what had happened to its innards? But it worked. And continues to work. Bet Sony never thought bouncability was a feature!

Q: What Do Painters Talk About While They’re Working?

A: Their underwear.

Q: How on earth did Mags come by this pertinent piece of information?

A: The metal balcony railings on Mags and Alien Wally’s block of flats are currently being repainted. As Mags sat working in her office one day, the blinds angled so that she could see out but the painters couldn’t see in and didn’t know she was there, she got to overhear their conversation.

Q: So, pray tell… what underwear do painters wear?

A: Long-johns.

Q: Why?

A: Because it’s April in Scotland….

Beam Me Up, Scotty.

Mags has always known that the aliens were coming to get her. She just didn’t know that they were so close. She should have twigged, of course…. Alien Wally. Alien. Wally. So obvious, in retrospect. Hindsight is always 20/20. But then, Mags’ eyesight is so bad that without contact lenses she can’t see her hand in front of her face. She didn’t stand a chance. This is obviously how Alien Wally managed to sneak in a funny fluffy thing from his home planet to keep an eye on Mags during the day when he’s out at work.

Martini. Vesper Martini.

At least once in one’s life, one has to try the original, dinkum James Bond martini. Alien Wally and Mags have now had one of these twice. Er, had two of these once. Er, had one of these once and then another one once again on another occasion. Or something like that. They are therefore now highly qualified to provide you with the following warning should you wish to shake (not stir) this classic cocktail yourself: Try this at home. At least there, the only people to witness you crawling about on the floor, desperately trying to get your sea legs while the ground beneath you pitches about like a ship caught in a hurricane, are your partner who loves you dearly in sickness and in health, in drunkenness and next day hangovers, and your cat, who already knows that she is vastly superior to you, and doesn’t care what you’re up to anyway as long as the central heating is on and her bed is in front of the radiator.

The cocktail book was not kidding when it described this drink as containing “enough alcohol to floor a rhino”. What Mags wants to know though, is how 007 managed to raise his Golden Gun after consuming one of these…?

Uncertain Certainties

As some of you are aware, Alien Wally and Mags currently spend their Sunday afternoons poking inquisitively around other people’s houses. Legally. It’s called House-Hunting, you see.

Those of you who have been through this before will be familiar with Estate Agent Speak, where every suburb is “popular” or “sought after”, even those that many Edinburghians will tell one in hushed tones never ever to enter, especially after dark. Unless you’re wearing a hoodie and carrying a bottle of Buckfast, that is. What is also fascinating about Estate Agent Speak, however, are what Alien Wally and Mags have started referring to as The Uncertain Certainties. A prime example is “May require modernisation”. Because, the estate agent just never knows… perhaps you do want to live in a house that looks like a throwback to the 50s. And not in a nice, stylish retro way either. More like in a "this-house-hasn’t-been-cleaned-since-the-50s" way.

But The Uncertain Certainties are not only confined to Estate Agent Speak. Oh no. They seem to turn up anywhere that (m)advertising takes place. For example, what on earth were Carlsberg thinking when they decided that they were only “probably the best lager in the world”? Because they just don’t know… they might be the best, they might not be, they just don’t know….

And lastly, a special mention has to go to the Royal Bank of Scotland, who proudly announce to their customers on their website that “[they] deserve a better bank”. Perhaps we do, RBS, perhaps we do….

Now, RBS, who would you suggest we transfer our money to? Who will give us the best deal on our mortgage towards our purchase of a house that may or may not require modernisation? We’ll celebrate your answer by drinking Carlsberg… only probably the best for us, that’s for sure! Or is it?

Ruby, Ruby, Ruby, Ruby

Alien Wally and Mags have a new addition to their family. Her name is Ruby and she’s a week old. She lives outside, but she doesn’t mind, especially since Alien Wally and Mags bought an ice-scraper for when she gets a bit frosty.

Yes, folks, Ruby is a Ruby Red Seat Ibiza. Seat as in "say it”, not “see it”, and definitely not “seat” as in something you sit on, because one does not sit on Ruby - one sits very comfortably in Ruby. And Ibiza as in "Ibeetha", like you have a lithp. Despite never in their wildest dreams ever thinking that they would buy a red car, Alien Wally and Mags fell in love with Ruby as soon as they saw her. So much so that the Saturday morning shopping trip, ostensibly just to look at cars, ended up with them signing on the dotted line.

Here she is. Ain’t she cute?


PS: Full marks if the title of this post had you singing along to Kaiser Chiefs in your head. Or out loud (with consequent scaring of your colleagues). Alien Wally and Mags played "Ruby" as the inaugural track on Ruby's sound system. And yes, before you can make the comment - they are that corny....