Monthly Archive for March, 2008

eBay Arms Dealers?

In perhaps one of the most bizarre eBay listing I’ve ever seen, someone is actually selling the shell of an Australian Ikara anti-submarine missile. The seller quite rightly has gone to great lengths to point out that the missile itself has been stripped of all internal workings and is an inert museum piece.

I’m a bit disappointed that nobody has yet placed a bid for the missile, but then I can’t see the usual eBay shoppers having much use for it. Wonder what it would look like sitting on the back of the bike…

Keeping it in the family

If you don’t get it just laugh anyway.

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Why must all AI fight like STALIN?

In general I’m a fan of Real Time Strategy games but there are certain clichés that really annoy me.

Firstly there is almost always an enforced tutorial level or even an entire bunch of them. This is evident even in the games that have a separate tutorial campaign that you can completely avoid playing. Worse still are those tutorial levels where you can’t skip over the tutorial to get to the half hearted bit of action. I’m talking about the games that actually FORCE the player to prove they can drag to select multiple units, click to move them etc. DEAR GAME DESIGNERS WE ARE NOT IDIOTS. If we had been idiots the chances are we would have bought something without the word STRATEGY in the description.

Limited unit selection. Now in the real world I can understand why you might have a limited selection of units. The combat theatre might be half a world away from where your. Wait just a minute here. In the real world the first units into Afghanistan and Iraq were all elite, well equipped and highly trained Special Forces. I’m pretty sure the Taliban and Saddam’s Republican Guard would be laughing up their burkha’s if the allied forces had sent Sergeant Bilko’s motor pool against them. Why oh why then do we have to put up with it in the games? The only thing that prevents the limited units from being a total game breaker is the fact that levels are usually designed with this in mind. The enemy normally have only their most basic troops as well which would be fine, if most of these levels didn’t take place deep inside the enemy’s territory. Where were the super units, On holiday perhaps? DEAR GAME DESIGNERS, WE LIKE BIG GUNS AND WE CANNOT LIE.

If a limited selection of units wasn’t bad enough when you finally have access to all those kick ass weapons and units you have to navigate through a convoluted technology tree to get them. They normally only become available somewhere near the last act of the game, hours after the point where they would have been really useful. Normally you also have to go through some half assed mission to recover or steal the technology from your enemies which in turn often leads to an escort mission (see below). DEAR GAME DESIGNERS, SHOW US THE UBER UNITS, WE’RE THE GENERALS HERE AND THE WORLD IS AT STAKE!

The clichés above are upsetting enough, but they’re usually easy to live with provided you spend some time working out the moves to make to counter the enemy. When you finally have that figured it the game normally springs a limited unit number level on you. That’s where the enemy has either a large force or a large base capable of churning out countless units and you have a handful of troops that have to destroy it. There’s one of these in the otherwise very good Warhammer 40K: Dawn of War from Relic. In this hell of a level you’re given a small army to take out an entire enemy base staffed by thousands of Ork units which are run by the world’s most berserk AI model. If you don’t hit it hard and fast while simultaneously taking away the resource points the game can be over before you even spot the enemy base. Now don’t get me wrong, this level can be great fun with certain races but with others it’s an unbelievably hard slog that more often than not ends in total failure. No army in real life would take a fortified position like that with only a handful of units, why should it be like that in a game? DEAR GAME DESIGNERS CHALLENGE US; DON’T ENDLESSLY FRUSTRATE US WITHOUT GOOD REASON.

Finally there’s the worst of them all, the escort level. This bastard of a cliché transcends all modern game genres to annoy, upset and enrage everyone that ever pressed the WSAD keys or clicked a mouse. They always appear somewhere in the middle of the game when you least expect it, creeping up on you like a jakey. These are the levels where an important cargo has to be transported on the world’s slowest truck, an important soldier has to escape and evade the enemy by running through their main base, or an important area has to be held against waves of enemy troops. It’s almost guaranteed that you will fail. Inevitably the enemy sends in some cheap ass troops and you triumph, then he sends in some mid range troops and you do ok. Then finally he sends in more super units than it’s possible to build in one game. They ignore all your units and destroy the target you’re escorting. This isn’t fun it’s just a pain in the ass. DEAR GAME DESIGNERS WE’RE FED UP ESCORTING IDIOTS ABOUT SO HOW ABOUT A SWITCH? YOUR PRECIOUS AI CAN DEFEND WHILE WE TEAR IT A NEW ASSHOLE!

There isn’t an RTS in existence today that doesn’t fall back on these tired clichés and I’m sick of it. I demand some originality, some true challenges based around an interesting and unique premise. Hell I demand that I get to actually use some STRATEGY.

The great Tea Famine

So it was in the spring of the year of fat purple hedgehogs that a great tragedy befell the kingdom of the GreyKodiak. The fabled urn of Tetley tea ran dry and the people gnashed their teeth and pulled on their beards in despair. The high priests invoked the god Makro to deliver them from the famine but Makro listened not. The king sent forth emissaries throughout the kingdom in search of a magical brew but alas none could be found. Now the great Tea urn lies empty and the entire kingdom holds it breath awaiting a champion to deliver them in their darkest hour.

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Yes I’m out of tea, and yes I do have to be that melodramatic about it.

Decaf ma arse!

My brain has been misfiring all day and it’s probably something to do with the fact that we ran out of Tetley teabags and had to make do with some of Asda’s own brand decaffeinated crap. Sometimes I get the feeling that working eight-till-four is a bit like being in the Matrix. The lack of regular injections of chemical stimulation causes the illusion to break down and your mind starts to revert to a more primitive state.

In my experience this usually happens fairly quickly over the course of the day:

Here’s a quick rundown of today with some elements of absurdity and hyperbolae added to amuse the reader.

0800 to 0805 - I arrive at the office only to be confronted by a bulging paper Inbox and an equally packed email inbox. It’s time to weep quietly and get a cup of tea to perk myself up.

0805 to 0830 - Discover the cleaners have made reefers out of your remaining tea. You scavenge through the deserted office in search of substitutes but all you can find are decaffeinated.

0830 – 0835 - I finally manage to make and drink my first cup of tea of the morning. I’m still half awake so I make the mistake of using water from the insta-boil urns in the staff kitchen. Still not convinced that’s real water, smells a bit funny…

0835 – 0900 - Start working through the emails. They’re mainly automatic reports from various corporate systems that are produced over night. I reckon I’m the only person in the whole business that even reads the damn things.

0900 – 0905 - Second cup of Decaf tea, this stuff is rotten by I can’t overcome my tea making programming. I spend a couple of minute hallucinating due to the stench from the overflowing bins in the staff kitchen. Well I hope I was hallucinating, but there are some very ugly people at my work so that might explain the dancing goblins chatting about spreadsheets.

0905 – 1000 - It’s now ten o’clock and I’ve spent the better part of the morning sifting through the emails. I’ve finally succeeded in removing all the stupid chain emails and so called “funnies” from my inbox. Quarter of the day is gone and so far I’ve achieved zip.

1000 – 1005 - It’s time for another cup of this toothless decaffeinated tea. Unfortunately without the extra chemical kick the tea doesn’t do a thing to my energy levels which have reduced to somewhere near zero. I contemplate jumping off my chair and ending it all, then I remember it’s not that far to the ground from up here.

1005 – 1015 - A Magpie lands on my windowsill and taps at window in a berserk manner. I toy with the idea that it’s my spirit guide come to rescue me and return me to the sweat lodge. I remember I’m not Heap Big Chief Indian and bang my head off the desk.

1015 – 1045 - Having realised that I still haven’t done anything constructive I redouble my efforts to get something done. Dispatch several strongly worded emails to individuals that are not complying with our code of practice.

1045 – 1055 - I suddenly find myself overwhelmed by the effort required for those amazing bursts of activity so I decide it’s time to take a dump. When I get to the bathrooms I find that I have to queue for the disabled toilet as since it’s now the only operable toilet in the building. The rest have been blocked by what can only be described as the PHANTOM UBER-TURD BOMBER. Plumber has been called but it’s too late to prevent the whole system backing up. Mental note – disabled toilets are creepy places…

1055 – 1100 - It’s time for another cup of tea, it’s got a definite aftertaste. I’m not sure if it’s from the hot water urn or due to the lingering smell of raw sewerage in the air.

1100 – 1115 - I spend an age on the phone to a colleague that takes a deep gasping breath after every second word. I barely manage to resist the urge to refer to him as DARTH VADER. He drones on forever with what ultimately proves to be a problem requiring a four word answer. I promise to hunt him down and dance on his head while shouting RTFM!

1115 – 1120 - Stressed out I robotically make another cup of tea after absent-mindedly drinking the first one while on the phone to Herr Von Walloper. Detecting a definite hint of ass pickles in the water now, also concerned about the stains it’s leaving on the cup, wonder what it’s doing to my insides…?

1120 – 1200 - With a sudden burst of energy I manage to produce some reports. The boss isn’t happy as they make it look like we’ve manage to improve by precisely -10% over the preceding week. I slope back to my desk with express orders to “not lie” but make sure the figures meet the important targets. No thought given to the underlying problem, just make the numbers look better.

1200 – 1230 Lunchtime at last and I’ve managed to boost my energy levels by eating cheese and pickle rolls that I managed to smuggle in past the thuggish canteen staff. Discover to my horror I only have enough change for the “Scottish” Sun. I have to resign myself to looking at the pictures and shaking my head in disbelief at the problems in Dear Deirdre.

1455 – 1500 - I make yet more tea and I’m now convinced that the waste pipes from the backed up toilets are being redirected into the hot water urns. I voice this concern to a couple of the other members of staff who turn a bit green and don’t drink their tea.

1500 – 1555 - I find my energy levels have returned to a more normal operating level and I hack the report I created into a bastardized version of itself. Introduce pointless trend lines and bright colours. Boss demands more graphical analysis, PIE CHARTS he suggests. I explain Pie charts are meant to illustrate percentages not trends over time; he overrides me and demands them anyway. I make a pie chart; he leaves early and doesn’t look at it.

1555 – 1600 - I get the starting blocks in place and my stuff packed into my pockets ready to head for the door.

1600 - I’m off the mark and through the door like a missile on speed. I don’t even bother opening it this time as I leave a GreyKodiak shaped hole in the thing. The team watch me go and hear the echo of “YASS GET IT UP YE!” fading into the distance.

In the final analysis I may be drinking too much tea…

The only monster here was the writer

Those of you with a long memory will recall my less than favourable review of film called Megalodon. It boasted terrible special effects, abysmal acting and a story that was basically a cross between The Abyss and Jaws without the good bits. It also had an unforgivably fake CGI prehistoric shark that looked like it was a stop motion puppet made by the red headed stepchild of Ray Harryhausen.

These two points bring me directly to the case of the made of TV film Ogre which may in its’ own way be worse than Megalodon.

The movie opens in the remote village of Ellensford, Pennsylvania in 1859. Ellensford itself is a bit of a strange puzzle: For a start it’s a remote farming community that doesn’t have any farmland. The village is surrounded on all sides by thick woods and is choking under the weight of a long winter. Plague is ravaging the inhabitants and worst of all the village is clearly either the original set from M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village or a very close replica.

The Village itself was a flawed classic, a suspenseful period thriller that was spoiled by its’ creators desperate need to throw in shock twists at the conclusion of his movies. It could have been great but it turned out purely mediocre. In fact the main reason I watch this film was the mistaken belief that it was a low budget version of The Village. How wrong I was to make such an assumption.

The instant the movie begins we’re presented by a bleak orchestral score and images of two men burying people in a mass grave. This is followed by a family covered in boils being locked in an underground Pit of DoomTM due to fear of the plague sweeping the village. The town mayor dies of the plague without us even getting a look at the actor’s face (easy money there eh?) The fearful villagers turn to the local evil wizard Henry Bartlett looking for an answer. Seems a bit weird that a mid 1800′s town in Pennsylvania would have a wizard but no local minister doesn’t it, sort of makes you think there might be something weird going on. Whatever the reason it’s clear that something is rotten in the town of Ellensburg.

Bartlett as the local power mad evil wizard type manages to get himself voted mayor before he’ll lift a finger to help the rest of the villager. Then in a fit of over dramatic arm waving he casts a spell over the village that frees them of their plague. Unfortunately for everyone in this sorry excuse for a village Bartlett doesn’t know any actual healing spells, so he dials infernal enquires on 118-HELL instead who promptly give him the number of a man eating monster. This is doubly unfortunate for the poor family incarcerated in the Pit of DoomTM the evil plague is condensed and made manifest as a monster inside their prison. No idea what happens to them after the flash of light but I assume it’s not good. Strangely the magic also converts what was a shallow dugout into a deep underground cave for reasons that will become apparent later.

The scene cuts to some time later with a voice over from Bartlett. This exposition explains that every winter solstice they have to choose and sacrifice one of villagers in payment for their continued deliverance. Two armed men dutifully drag a protesting prisoner out in the snow and chain him to a set of stocks in the middle of the village. He struggles to free himself, his attempts to free himself become more and more frantic as footsteps and noises approach from the woods. Now if the prelude had stopped here it would have been OK. Tension was building, suspense was building. If the monster had even remained out of shot when it grabbed the sacrifice things would have been fine and I wouldn’t have knocked 10 points of the score. Instead we’re treated to the image of a lumbering pot bellied beast that looks like a shaven gorilla zombie stomping out of the woods. Seriously, this thing looks like a fan made render of the trolls from Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings.

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The difference is those things had character, they were brutish engines of destruction who demonstrated immense strength and resilience. The Ogre just looks like an angry fat man with a bear gut. It’s about as scary as a chinchilla. It also walks like a grossly overweight man who shat his pants after neds stole his mobility scooter for a joyride. The troll roars and mugs at the camera for about five minutes before finally ripping the hapless sacrifice off the stocks and dragging his body into the woods.

The real story begins over a hundred years later as four modern day teenagers are searching through a bleak New-England forest for the town. To call any of these four empty headed fools as characters is a disservice to any real characters that ever existed. Hell I even baulk at the idea of referring the four people playing them as actors. For simplicities sake and because I lost interest in them within minutes I’ve decided to name them based on their overriding character feature.

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Clockwise from the top left we have Terry, Mike, Jessica and Leigh.

Terry who instantly drew my attention simply by the fact that he is sporting a totally unexplained black eye. No attempt is made to explain this prominent wound at any point during the movie. I would dwell on this all day, but he promptly fell and broke his ankle too. In honour of this incredibly bad fortune I’ve decided to refer to him as Lucky. Now Lucky is the reason they’re out there in the woods. In true movie style he’s bought a map off the internet that shows where Ellensford should be, he’s also got a book full of paper clippings that show evidence of its’ continued existence.

He’s quickly joined on screen by Mike, who I’ve decided to call Keanu-a-like because he looks like Keanu Reeves in Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Keanu-A-Like complains about being dragged out into the woods on a fool’s quest but admits that it’s, and I quote “a fun excuse to go camping”. He also quickly establishes that there’s no mobile reception, oh goody now they can’t call for help (horror movie cliché checklist at the ready folks).

Keanu-a-like is quickly joined by Jessica the prerequisite Feisty Brunette who helps him in berating Lucky for dragging them out into the wilderness.

Then finally there’s Leigh who I’ll call The Blonde, who’s not all that blonde but she acts like every stereotypical “Blonde in Peril” since the first silent era movie. Her greatest hits include such gems as protesting that “she doesn’t know how to set up camp” and that she’s “had it with the stupid trees.”

With the introductions and argumentative character building over, Lucky promptly falls over a line of stones that mark the outer boundary of Ellensford. He breaks his ankle and they four decide to split up. Keanu-A-Like and The Brunette decide to go and get help leaving Mr Lucky and The Blonde to fend for themselves in the woods.

Naturally the two rocket scientists head straight towards the legendry town instead of backtracking to civilisation. This mainly involves a drawn out march along a long abandoned dirt track that’s easily followed due to the 4×4 tracks running along it. Those puritans and their legendry coal driven ghost jeeps need to be more discrete in future. The pair then crosses through a barrier saying in Ye Olden English “Towne Closed and No Trespassing” and head on up the remarkably clear road. Incidentally I refuse to believe that there’s a square centimetre of the Eastern United States that’s outside the reach of a mobile phone tower nowadays.

Meanwhile Lucky is back on his feet hopping around the forest in search of clues to the fate of the town. He argues a bit with The Blonde as she dutifully follows him around moaning her way through some character development. Without warning they come across a pair of old wooden doors built into the side of a mound of earth. It’s the Pit of DoomTM from earlier. Naturally Lucky does the only sensible thing and bursts them open to look into the pit. It’s suddenly got a lot deeper and more like a cavern that a dugout. That Ogre’s been busy. Lucky has another bit of banter with The Blonde and then a huge badly made CGI arm drags him into the pit, chews him up and spits out his severed leg for The Blonde to catch. The Ogre then clambers out of the Pit of DoomTM.

The Blonde is naturally disturbed by this turn of events as she screams at the Ogre and high-tails it out of dodge. The ogre follows her, shambling along with his pants still full of crap.

Feisty Brunette and Keanu-A-Like meanwhile have found Ellensford. The town looks exactly like it did in the prologue and nobody has aged at all in the intervening century and a half. They spy on a town meeting where Bartlett chooses the next sacrifice for the Ogre. This time it’s his daughter’s boyfriend Stephen and she tries to protest against it to no avail. Feisty Brunette and Keanu-A-Like are predictably captured and thrown in the town lockup while protesting their Miranda rights etc. They beg for some help for Lucky and The Blonde and Bartlett sends some men out to find them reasoning that he could sacrifice the four strangers instead of some of his own people.

The Blonde meanwhile is running through the forest. Irrationally she decides that the best thing to do with a three story high monster chasing her is to stop and have a wee cry for ten minutes allowing the shambling half-mile an hour fat ass to catch up with her. Seriously now, if this thing moved at the pace of a human I could just about believe it, but it plods along like it’s on its’ way to a weight-watcher’s line dancing class. It doesn’t even sneak up on her, you can hear it coming a mile away but she turns round, looks it in the eye and whimpers a bit. The Ogre then roars a bit, mugs some more for the camera and with a couple of big slashes to the torso The Blonde exits stage left.

Feisty Brunette and Keanu-A-Like are still in the town lockup where we’re treated to a bit of exposition from Stephen on the origins of the Ogre. Meanwhile the Ogre slaughters some villagers that were sent out to find Lucky and the Blonde.

Bartlett’s daughter Hope argues with her father about why he’s done nothing about the Ogre for all this time. He refuses to see it her way and sends her away with a flea in her ear. News reaches Bartlett that their search party hasn’t returned and he becomes mighty annoyed.

Hope then overhears her father’s plans to sacrifice the strangers in place of his own people. She takes it upon herself to rescue them and her boyfriend from the lockup and the four flee towards the edge of the town. The Ogre chases them forcing Keanu-A-Like, Feisty Brunette and Stephen across the ring of stones around the town. The Ogre can’t follow due to a force field of some kind Stephen bursts into a bright light and disappears. Feisty Brunette and Keanu-A-Like run away into the night at Hope’s urging without even taking a minute to look for their two friends. The village wakes up to find that the sacrifice has not been carried through and the Bartlett has disappeared.

Hours later Keanu-A-Like and Feisty Brunette are plodding through the forest arguing about their next course of action. They find a tarmac road and follow it to civilization.

Meanwhile Bartlett is confronted in the woods by Hope. She suddenly reveals that he has taught her lots about magic and she’s packing a magic pendant that protects her from evil. The pendant repels her father who she accuses of being evil. It’s revealed that her father caused the plague to gain power in the town and used the ritual to do away with his rivals and critics in the town. Hope abandons him in the woods where Bartlett is confronted and killed by the Ogre. Yet again this huge lumbering pant’s crapping bad rubber monster manages to sneak up on a perfectly health human being. Bartlett tries to use his magic but the ogre just looks at him funny and then gives him a short back and sides. He calls it an “Unclean beast” and just stands there as it kill him. Doesn’t anybody know how to run in this movie?

The people of the town call a panicked meeting and start slinging blame around like a middle management meeting of the local council. Hope bursts in and announces she can save them all. She gives them all magic candles to ward off the Ogre.

While Ellensford is imploding on itself Keanu-A-Like and Feisty Brunette do the only sensible thing when confronted by a supernatural mystery: They hitch a ride with a passing car to the local sheriff’s office where the sheriff quickly laughs his ass off at them. Unable to convince him Keanu-A-Like and Feisty Brunette do the only other sensible thing. They steal his police cruiser from outside the sheriff’s office while he and his deputy stare after them in awe and stupefaction. Damn city slickers.

The drive until they get stuck on the dirt road then retrieve a shotgun from the boot and hoof it the rest of the way towards Ellensford. Surprisingly there’s no sign of any pursuit by the local sheriff. You’d expect at least a police helicopter by now surely or maybe some distant sirens? The Ogre meanwhile is getting in some exercise as he slashes the crap out of the second search party.

In Ellensford Hope has managed to get everyone to throw salt around the doors and light magic candles to keep out the Ogre. The Ogre initially isn’t impressed and tries to attack the village anyway but it finds the barriers around the village impenetrable even to its’ monumental beer gut. Naturally one of the asshole villagers manages to knock over their candle and cant get it lit resulting in their brutal slaughter by the enraged ogre.

Keanu-A-Like and Feisty Brunette turn up at the village and blast the Ogre with God’s own weapon, the shotgun sending it fleeing off through the forest. The town calls up another meeting and they manage to convince themselves that living forever with a yearly bloody sacrifice isn’t all that hot after all. They come up with a plan to bait the Ogre while Hope cooks up a spell to do away with it forever.

The half dozen remaining villagers arm up with muskets and pointy sticks and lay an ambush for the ogre with Keanu-A-Like as the bait. The brainless big bastard wanders out of the forest in his unclean underwear and has a go at eating the teenager only get his foot stuck in a bear trap and be force fed 00-buckshot instead.

Hope meantime is busy chanting away trying to break her fathers spell. The villagers tear into the Ogre with bows and muskets but it breaks loose and starts slaughtering them one by one in spectacularly gruesome style. Realising they can’t stop the thing with hot lead Keanu-A-Like and Feisty Brunette run off to lure it to the edge of town. Once there they distract it with shotgun shells till hope can cast a spell to destroy the creature once and for all. Finally after a couple of half arsed attempts she manages to catapult it over the edge of the stone line demarking the town and it explodes in a burst of light. Hope says thanks to Keanu-A-Like and Feisty Brunette and disappears along with the rest of the villagers in a flash of light.

There’s still no sign of the local authorities after the theft of the cruiser though as Keanu-A-Like and Feisty Brunette return to the real world no doubt to jail time for grand theft auto. That’s if the local law enforcement don’t manage to pin Lucky and The Blonde’s murders on the pair of them. Should be fairly easy as their bodies are mostly missing, the sheriff’s guns been fired repeatedly and all the witnesses have all disappeared in a flash of light.

All in all Ogre is a terrible movie, and for the straight to video/made for TV market that’s saying something. The Ogre himself is a terrible lumbering beast but his character could just as easily have been a remorseless psychopath like Jason Vorhees. The cast were wooden and unlovable to the extent that I spent the movie looking for anachronisms and plot holes, some of which I’ve outlined above.

C’est Terrible.

Drive a stake through its account

Today is Debt Freedom Day according to a news article on Reuters. Seemingly that’s the point where you’ve made enough through your wages to begin to pay off the interest on your debts. I have serious doubts that the people who came up with such an idea have any idea what a debt really is. Maybe we should have some kind of bank holiday to celebrate; after all it looks like they’ve earned it. Maybe they could get their heads together and have a lottery for everyone in the UK and pay off the winners debts.

Meanwhile back in the relentless realness of reality it’s that festive time of year again when the Student Loans Company sends out their yearly statement and asks for proof that I’m still too poor to pay them back. This year their ever helpful letter tells me that I now owe them a grand total of £12,608.10. The letter then tells me that my estimated monthly repayments will £177.73. I estimate that at those rates I would be able to pay it back in about six years. The best part however are the magical words in the last paragraph of the letter: “If your gross income is not more than £2107 a month you may be entitled to defer payment for a 12 month period. Thankfully I still make less than half that so I get off Scot free for another year, three cheers for merry old queen Liz and a huzzah for living on the proverbial bread line.

There’s no other debt in the world that would let you get away with this level of non-repayment. If you were so bold as to even consider not paying back a loan or mortgages to the bank you’d be fighting off the sheriff’s officers with a stick before you could say “How much %APR?”. The old system of Student Loans that I fall under is a bit of a mash-up. It was a political compromise they brought in after mass protest about the abolition of the Student Grants at the end of the last Tory government and it has all the hallmarks of a Maggie ThatcherTM idea. It seems simple enough, stop giving those damn unwashed students a free ride and allow rampant capitalism to run its course. Naturally the Tories weren’t crazy enough to believe that everyone of the thousands of students that took out a loan would get a top job. Some degrees have little to offer anyone that doesn’t make it into the top academic flight *COUGH* Sport Science *COUGH*. This naturally meant they had to find a way to prevent sudden and widespread bankruptcy across the post-graduate world.

The solution of course was the inelegant system of deferment letters that I’ve mentioned. So long as you can prove that you’re not making a certain wage then you can put off payments for a whole year. The loan still accumulates interest in that time but compared to a bank loan it’s next to nothing. The debt itself makes little or no money for the loan company while it’s deferred. Those that do have to repay often find themselves in a dilemma. It’s unusual for any first job after graduation to be particularly well paid, even in top flight areas such as software engineering, law, medicine or dentistry. The majority of these graduates find themselves in the odd situation of making boat loads more money than their peers and yet flushing 150 – 200 bucks of their wages down to the student loans company. It’s important that I stress the fact that this money goes out via direct debit, so it’s extracted from your take home pay, not from your gross top line. It’s little wonder that this cumbersome system of deferment letters and fixed monthly repayments was quickly done away with in 1998. Sadly the government also took it upon themselves to throw the already greatly diminished Higher Education Grants out the window at the same time.

The system that replaced the deferment letters and monthly repayments is far more slick and insidious. Repayments are collected through your wages in a similar way to national insurance and income tax. You have a set threshold based upon your gross salary (or equivalent). If you earn £15,000 a year or less you pay nothing towards the loan. If you go over that level then a proportion of your wages are sucked away as repayments by the Student Loans.

The more I think about it, the more the student loans company seems like some kind of strange vampire lying in wait in the dark. It’s out there poised to spring like a panther the instant it senses even a hint of blood money. I suppose it’s a small mercy that if I was under the new loans system I’d be paying them about a tenner a month right now. It would only take about 105 years to pay them back at that rate.

Missile with a man oan it…

This morning I climbed on the bike and said to myself, today is a good day to go fast, really fast. Then I cycled all the way over to Gardner Street in Partick via the Millennium Bridge, Broomhill Drive, Crow Road, Clarence Drive and Dumbarton Road. My self imposed mission was to not only dive down the very steep Gardner Street that I mentioned in an earlier post but to record it for posterity! I decided not to pedal on the way down after I got some serious wobble on my practice run.

Like all good stories, this one has a beginning:

Top

A middle (click the picture to see the video):

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As an aside, I’m not sure if YouTube has straightened itself out yet, but the links it gave for related videos gave me a laugh.. So far it’s came up with Lauryn Hill, Faith Hill,. Cyprus Hill and best of all BENNY HILL. Wonder if I can set a version of this to Yakety Sax…?

And of course it has an end:

Bottom

In the absence of a cycle computer to give me a definite answer I’ve had to do a little math to work out my speed. For those of you that remember standard grade physics I need Distance and Time. The distance from the give way line at the top of the road, to the edge of Muirpark Street where I turned left at the bottom is approximately 940 feet. The trip takes about 25 seconds roughly so according to the video so that works out at about 37.6 feet/second. That sounds quite fast doesn’t it? Well compared to a car it’s nothing, in fact it means my average speed down that hill was only about 26 miles per hour. I suppose the difference in perception makes it seem a lot faster. With a car you’re in a more or less wind tight metal box on a comfy seat, you’re also used to cruising about 25 MPH at minimum whereas most folk on a bike are lucky to be able to sustain fourteen to fifteen MPH on the flat.

I was a bit disappointed by the eventual failure of my makeshift rig; it held out for most of the way down and then came loose as you saw. It sort of spoils the effect when all you can see of the fastest part of the hill is the sky and a few top floor flats. I’ll try to refine the process and have another go at some point in the near future. I’m also considering getting up early on a Sunday and doing the same on the Rottenrow and Hill Street in the city centre. They both lead abruptly onto high traffic roads though and the danger of getting sideswiped by a bus is high.

88 MPH…

Glasgow is a strange city, it’s predominantly built on a flood plain between the White Cart Water, Black Cart Water, Molindar Burn, River Kelvin and of course the mighty River Clyde. Oddly these great swathes of flat land are interspersed by a few very, very steep hills. Take the picture below for example:

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This is Gardner Street in Partick and it taunts me with it’s magnificent steepness. In the very near future I intend to ride down this and five other very steep hills for my own personal amusement and I’m tempted to try and document the attempt and the results be they good or bad. Now I know hurtling down an asphalt road in the middle of Scotland’s most populous city doesn’t seem to compare to the danger and excitement of proper mountain bike downhill, but with blind side roads and asshole drivers it has a danger level all it’s own.

A place of your own

In recent weeks I’ve been giving some serious credence to the idea of buying my own flat. There are several underlying reasons for this but the main one is the fact that I’m growing tired of having to ask for permission from some shadowy landlord figure every time I want to do something. The flat came fully furnished so I can’t throw out the grotty, half collapsed old settee without getting the nod from the owner let it’s “value” comes out of my security deposit. The peeling paint in the bathroom and creeping flower like growth of damp patches above the shower make me want to reach for the DIY gear, but the lease prohibits it.

Please don’t get me wrong, I quite like my current abode, it’s served me well for almost three years now. The letting agency is generally friendly and for once they don’t feel the need to charge admin fees for every single little thing they do. I’m also perpetually grateful that they haven’t yet felt the need to increase the rent on the place either, it makes budgeting a lot easier when there’s not some asshat throwing a spanner in the works. I get enough of that kind of crap off of Scottish Power every quarter but that’s another rant entirely.

In past years I would have slapped on the old rocket pack and headed over to S1Rentals but a quick glance has shown very few places that look remotely appealing. To make things worse rental prices seem to be slowly climbing through Glasgow.

I currently pay £400 a month in rent for a small but relatively spacious one bedroom flat on the South Side. It’s within walking distance of the west end and the City Centre (well for me at least). Supposng for a minute that my rent were to remain constant at £400 and I stayed in the flat for 25 years (the dureation of a fairly standard mortgage). That means I’ll have shelled out £120,000 on rent alone. Last year one of the upper flats in the building was on the market for offers over £69,000. While out and about in Kinning Park, Ibrox, Finnieston and Charing Cross I’ve spotted quite a few flats up for sale in half decent areas that are in the £60,000 to £100,000 price range. It sounds like a lot of money, hell it IS a lot of money but it’s not beyond the realms of possibility even for someone like me. The banks seem to be becoming more and more cavalier with giving out mortgages. Naturally this has backfired on one or two of them, most notably in the recent case involving Northern Rock but I’m sure there are plenty of the other big banks willing to throw money out there for desperate first time buyers.

I’ve given the matter some though again lately and I believe that I would probably do alright with a mortgage for a couple of reasons. First and foremost is what The Kat calls the Tendering ProcessTM. I think that’s a polite way of saying I’m tight with money. I like to think that I’m more cautious and careful than tight. I like to weigh up my options, think about what I’m doing before I jump headlong into it. I’ll admit that it takes me three weeks to decide if I’m going to buy a pair of shoes or a DVD so imagine how long it’s going to take to decide if I want to buy a house.

On the other hand there’s the ever present problem of having enough money to afford to pay for everything within the house. With a rented place if something fundamental like the heating or washing machine breaks down, or someone tans one of your windows a short phone call will sort it out straight away. In my own place I’d have to find, deal with and pay off tradesmen to carry out the work. I’d be the one having to lay out cash for replacement appliances and in Glasgow I’d be the one shelling out ridiculous fees to incompetent factors.

I don’t suppose given my ever precarious financial position that I’ll ever manage to collect much towards a deposit. It’s something worth working on in the meantime, even if I don’t eventually buy a flat it’ll be a nice backup for when Scottish Power put the prices up again. It would be nice to have a place to call my own though.