WASHED AND READY TO EAT

For some reason, I’m in regular receipt of emails from a company called VieclamBank in Vietnam with headers reading Thong Tin Tuyen Dung Trong Tuan. Although I’m not up with the local lingo, I think it roughly translates as “This week’s great job opportunities”. If I want to be a Japanese-speaking Customer Services Officer in Hanoi or a Sales Supervisor in Ho Chi Minh City, then my birthday and Christmas have come at once. Some of the English copy could do with a bit of tidying. JV-IT, we learn, “usually send its good trained engineers to Japan for various IT projects with full supports of life, accommodation, etc”. And sex/age discrimination legislation doesn’t feature large in this part of the world either, by the looks of things. Supermarket Managers for Uni-Charm (Vietnam) need to be men aged between 28 and 40. I thought I just about qualified until I read that "data thinking & analytical ability & challenge spirit is requested.” That knocks that one on the head,...

Aliche calls us the Tapasians. She's referrring to people who are prepared for a real night on the town and aren't content with the idea of heading home after just a couple of quick G&Ts in a local boozer. Unfortunately, Aliche herself isn't a Tapasian, as the lure of a Ruby Murray prepared by her boyfriend was more attractive to her than a trip to the Navarros Tapas restaurant in Charlotte Street. Whatever. Russ, Kevin, Caroline and I weren't going to be deterred by la Liche's lack of enthusisam. We went completely loco and tapped into the local Spanish tapas with el gusto. Caroline told us about her holiday plans and is worried there may possibly have been a misunderstanding that has led to her sharing a room with two female companions and a jacuzzi. Russ discovered a unique dessert on the Navarros menu which is described as being "literally the Gypsy's arm". Kevin has an instinct for anything that might be ever-so-slightly politically incorrect ...

Kevin's legs, Kevin's elbow, but without a doubt, that's a Gypsy's Arm. Quite literally.

La Caz creeps up on Washed and Ready to Eat's very own Phil Woodford.

On holiday, Caz will be sharing a room with two other women. In the meantime, she's making the most of the male company available to her in a fashionable London tapas bar.

Aliche's former boss, Trusty Rusty, with a protective and fatherly arm around her shoulder.

Don't do it! One of Gormley's men threatens to jump from the Queen Elizabeth Hall. Click to enlarge. Took the family up to town today to see the Antony Gormley exhibition on the South Bank. I have to say - and I'm not really much of an arty farty kind of person, if I'm honest - that a lot of his stuff is actually quite good. It's genuinely thought-provoking and original, although there's quite a bit of pretentious guff in the programme. Gormley's an old-school Cambridge archaeology and anthropology graduate, who clearly sees deep meaning in 400 pieces of toast slapped on a wall. I just see breakfast. Well, that's not fair. I see quite a fun idea that doesn't really deserve too much analysis. The highlight was when we went into some kind of glass room that was completely filled with water vapour. You really couldn't see your hand in front of your face and it was very weird. A bit like how I imagine an old pea-souper fog might have been. ...

One of the best things about having kids is, of course, that you don't need any excuse to watch children's TV. Of the programmes that the mini-Ws view regularly, my favourite is Raven . Groups of youngsters are given faux celtic names like Kinsa and Venga and taken off to the Highlands to compete in a series of tasks. Some games are designed to test their physical prowess and involve elaborate assault courses, while others get them solving riddles. The whole thing is held together by a presenter called James MacKenzie who motivates the children (or "warriors") with promises of gold rings and feathers which they can fly on their medieval standards. His patter is scripted in cod McOlde Worlde vernacular. "Make haste, brave warriors, for the sun is getting lower in the sky and we have but one task to complete before the morrow." My eldest daughter doesn't like my impressions of MacKenzie's Raven character - probably because they're so uncannily accu...

An intriguing story from CNN caught my eye tonight. It's about a library that straddles the US/Canadian border. People who park up in Quebec to return their Margaret Atwood have to cross the national boundary to enter through the front door, which happens to be in Vermont. Within the building itself, there's a line drawn across the floor. On one side, we presume the books are in French, while on the other they're in American. US federal authorities are now twitchy about the potential for illegal immigration. http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/05/26/border.quirk.ap/index.html

Our genuine new Roman pizzas are not 'like mama used to make'. We have no idea who 'mama' was.

I've now studied the Special Constable poster in more detail (see blogs passim ) and can reveal the idea is even more complex and bizarre than I first thought. You'll recall that a Special is on some seedy looking street corner, just yards away from where a drug deal is in progress. He's keenly observing events and looks ready to take some kind of action. The copy says that Specials wear uniform and always have back-up. But this guy is on his own in plain clothes. Worrying. Perhaps he's off duty but just can't leave the policing thing alone? Once a part-time copper, always a part-time copper. But wait. There is back up. It comes in the form of the constable's own reflection in a puddle. If he took his eyes off the criminal activity for just a second and took the trouble to look down at his feet, he'd see that in Puddle Land, he is wearing a uniform and carrying a radio. There's enough material here to fill a semiotics seminar for a day. If I disco...

In my local rag, there's a touching story about a tortoise called Baby who went missing for week but has now been recovered. Her owner, Linda Hay, blames the adventure on the creature's hormones. "I think it was the time of the year that made her escape - I think she was on the look out for a male," she tells the Richmond Guardian . Maybe I'm being a bit thick, but how exactly does a tortoise make an escape before you realise? It may be looking for a boyfriend, but it isn't likely to be speed dating.

I'm teaching just off Aldwych on a Thursday night and walk back across the river to Waterloo station. At around 8.45, there are a surprising number of empty rickshaws on the road, touting for business. I've been very close to giving one of them a try. After all, I've been on my feet for a couple of hours talking about marketing and advertising and suchlike, so I deserve a bit of comfort. The problem is that I don't know anything about rickshaw etiquette. Do you hail them like a taxi? Where's the meter? How much does it cost? Can they charge whatever they like? Do they want a tip? I just have no idea how it all works and this rather puts me off. I suppose like all these things, once you've done it, you've done it. And then you know how it works for ever more. I remember trying the internet for the first time about ten years ago and not knowing my Ask Jeeves from my elbow. Now I'm a dab hand with the old blogging and whatnot. I have another five or six wee...

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Like a mug, I got sold a book of 'novelty' stamps a month or two ago. When I opened it up, they had messages like "thank you" and pictures of balloons and suchlike on them. One stamp was particularly difficult to use because it bore the legend "New Baby". I thought about encouraging my sister or one of my female friends to have another sprog, but worried the stamp might get lost in my filing system during the gestation period. As a result, I've finally taken the plunge today and sent it to my bank.

I've blogged before about the "panoramic" lift in the Novotel Euston that has a panoramic view over the... er ... Euston Road. Back for another overnight stay, I discovered that the manufacturer is a Swiss company called Schindler ( www.schindler.com ). I've therefore concluded that this must be the famous Schindler's Lift that everyone says you need to see at least once.

If you live in London, you'll almost certainly have seen the current posters designed to recruit Special Constables to the Metropolitan Police. These are the people who get into policing because they like it and don't mind the fact that they don't get paid. The ad in question shows a constable in action. He's on the mean streets of the city, where a drug deal is in progress. A girl in an alleyway is getting her regular fix from a fat bloke in a hat. It's a sickening sight, designed to make the blood of any law-abiding citizen run stone cold. The dope-peddler is a vicious bruiser with a cavalier disregard for the victims of his trade and the junkie is an exploited wretch who finds herself enslaved to an addiction that she's unable or unwilling to kick. But never fear. The activity is being meticulously observed by our 'special' hero, who is dressed in plain clothes and peering around the corner with all the subtlety of John Prescott in a china shop....

This story in The Times caught my eye. Nice headline, if a tad over the top. http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/science/article1805711.ece In essence, an academic has discovered that dolphins off the coast of Wales whistle in a different dialect from those off the coast of Ireland. Let's hope that none of our tax dollars were invested in this wacky research. If the boffin concerned extends his investigations, I think he'll discover that the dolphins' traditional costumes vary too. And that the cost of living is much higher for bottlenoses in the Irish Republic.

It's my USB stick that I'm talking about. I was teaching at the LSE the other night and the computer equipment there seems to be a little old-fashioned. The USB port is right down at the bottom under a flap, at an angle of about 80 degrees. Know the kind of set-up I mean? Very difficult to get it in. And I should have taken much more care when it came to removing it. Instead of delicately extracting it vertically, I wrenched it horizontally. It now has a kink. If I have time in the next couple of days, I'll see if I can take a photo to show you.

Much as I admire the education system for alerting the mini-Ws to the plight of this small Class M planet that we inhabit, I have a feeling things may be going a little too far. As part of a government-sponsored "Walk to School Week", the kids have received a colouring book with rather overt political messages. What next? Draw a picture of a house. Then show sea levels rising until it's engulfed. Make sure to depict the wretched inhabitants as they yell helplessly for assistance.

A lovely testimonial from a lady called Mary who's written about Washed and Ready on Richie's Smart People blog (see posts passim). "His blog posts," she writes, referring to those penned by yours truly, "are like salted peanuts--hard to stop with just one." I know exactly what you mean, Mary. I always intended to stop with just the one myself, but I got carried away. "Thanks for adding one more potential addiction," she continues, "to the dangers awaiting me in the blogging world. :)"

I was reading today about Michael Todd, the Chief Constable of Greater Manchester Police, who agreed to be tasered by his officers to demonstrate just how safe the non-lethal weapon is (see http://www.manchestereveningnews.co.uk/news/s/1007/1007128_top_cop_tastes_a_taser.html ). I think he survived, but I can't help feeling this kind of stunt is on a par with former Tory Ministers feeding their kids beefburgers in the height of the mad cow scare. Batons are often highly effective too and don't usually result in death, but you don't see so many people volunteering to try them out, do you?

This seems to be the position in which my old friend Dickie (aka "Richie") Dowling has found himself. His blog, which has a good following among the ex-pat community in Spain, is well worth checking out: http://smartpeopleinastupidworld.blogspot.com/

I'm increasingly conscious that I've become a rather sad little man who writes embarrassingly pedantic letters. This is not something I'd ever have imagined would happen to me, but it's the natural outcome of any atrocious kitchen installation involving various companies, their contractors, their sub-contractors and the regulatory body that's responsible for electrical certification. I won't bore you with all the details, as I'd prefer it to be a surprise when you see it on Watchdog in due course. I can reveal, however, that I've spoken to a solicitor about it all more than once. I've also spoken to Trading Standards. I've even been to visit my MP for the first time in twenty years. (Back in the 80s, I used to hassle some terrible Tory about the Thatcher government's policy on nuclear weapons. Now, I queue up to talk to the resident Lib Dem about Part P building regulations and the practices of a multinational that has the nerve to dema...

Click on the image above to enlarge and you'll see a rather unique kitchen feature spotted by Mrs W in the local property paper. In London SW14, parents clearly understand the need to entertain the kids while they wait for their food. Next door are planning to install a see-saw.

This guy claims to have traded one red paperclip for a house. In about fourteen easy stages. Nice idea. You can read his story here: http://oneredpaperclip.blogspot.com

I've started teaching an evening class for Birkbeck College and the rooms we use are at the London School of Economics. It's a bit of trip down memory lane for me, as I was a student at the LSE back in the late 80s. The place is a hell of a lot smarter now - a great deal of money's been spent - but some things never change. I spotted this poster, for instance, advertising a meeting about an obscure nineteenth century German philosopher. The speaker, Alex Callinicos, is a Marxist academic and long-time member of the Socialist Workers Party Central Committee. I'm pretty certain that you could have attended exactly the same meeting with the same speaker back in 1987. The only difference is that the collapse of capitalism is obviously much closer today.

Obstructing the highway: Washed and Ready to Eat maintains its reputation for cutting-edge cultural reporting with this close-up of an Antony Gormley figure on Waterloo Bridge. Taken, as always, with the trusty Canon A95 Powershot. Click to enlarge.

I like to think that I keep up with most of Mrs W's viewing habits, but she's been watching more and more trash since emerging from her hospital trip and things are spiralling out of control. I understand the need for rest and recuperation, but fear the virus has eaten away at the part of her brain responsible for quality control. Somehow or other, I've never previously settled down to How to look good naked on Channel 4. For the uninitiated, the show is presented by a man called Gok Wan who has the kind of face you could happily slap for a week. No, make that a fortnight. Mr Wan is a firm believer that a woman hasn't lived until she's dressed herself up as a tart and paraded herself naked in front of TV cameras. The only thing holding her back is her self-esteem. With the help of hairdressers, make-up artists and a load of disingenuous patter about how great the girl is now looking, he persuades her to sway down a catwalk in lingerie and pose on a chair like...

Regular readers may remember my post last year about an old friend (anonymous for obvious reasons), who's a mystery shopper. His job is to check on the quality of pies on sale at Craven Cottage, home of Fulham FC. The club slip him a fiver and he heads off to a pre-selected pasty vendor. Nice work, I thought. Mystery shopping surely doesn't get any more bizarre. How wrong I was. I picked up the spring newsletter today of my local Primary Care Trust and the front-page story is Young mystery shoppers target sexual health services . We learn that youngsters across the borough of Richmond in south-west London have been specially trained to go and ask for advice on sexual matters. They then report back on their findings. A council official congratulates them for the "skills" they've developed. Skills that will no doubt come in highly useful in the future. When they... er... need to go and ask for advice on sexual matters.