Actual Emails to our IT department

 

 

 Hi guys

Just a quick query if I may

My email accounts being

Locked every day

Each day I unlock it

But each morning it’s locked

It’s a mystery

And I’m going out of my box

 And the worst thing about it

Is I can’t get through

The call waiting tunes awful

Please put on something new

 I’m running out of new passwords

I’m not that creative

Pretty soon my brain will become vegetative

 So please can you help me

Please sign my release

Please code out the issue

Please give me some peace

 Many thanks,

Ian Gasson

__________________________________________________________

Dear Ian Gasson,

Incident Reference Number:  INC0310971

Short description of Incident: NHS Mail - Account Password Reset/Unlock

We are pleased to inform you that the above incident was resolved

 

 

 

__________________________________________________________________

Hi chaps,

Just to inform you that the issue with my email account locking me out persists. It locked me out twice yesterday and again this morning.

On the positive side, I have not had to change my password the last few times I have unlocked it. This is great news as I am fast running out of passwords that I can reliably remember.

If it is not possible to stop my account from locking me out every day I may be forced to start using passwords from well-known Hollywood blockbusters.

Swordfish will be at the top of my list.

Many thanks for your continued support,

 

Ian Gasson

 

__________________________________________________________

Dear Ian Gasson,

Incident Reference Number:  INC0310972

Short description of Incident: NHS Mail - Account Password Reset/Unlock

We are pleased to inform you that the above incident was resolved at 15-01-2019 10:32:57 GMT with the
following resolution notes:

NHS Mail - Password Reset/Account Unlocked. Please remember that you can unlock or reset your password without contacting the HBL ICT service desk by answering your security questions by clicking the "forgotten password" option on www.nhs.net

 

 

___________________________________________

Hi Team,

It saddens me greatly to have to inform you that; despite your staffs valiant and ceaseless effort on my behalf, my email account was once again locked out this morning.

Whilst I appreciate the herculean amount of resources that you have already employed investigating the problem; unfortunately I must entreat you to go ‘once more unto the breach dear friends’ .

I can only imagine how demoralising it must be to have sent me so many emails saying that the problem is resolved, only to taste the bitter tang of defeat the next day when it turns out that it was not resolved at all.

 

As you can no doubt deduce from the fact that I am using email. I have already unlocked the account myself. I must therefore request your assistance in the more delicate problem of finding out why the account is constantly locking me out each day.

I once again wish you & your companions every success in the endeavour. Perhaps today is the day that we will crack the conundrum for good.

 

‘Gentlemen…. to today’s fox!’ [insert sound of an expensive Chrystal wine glass being smashed on the ground from horseback]

I remain yours very thankfully and sincerely,

 

Ian Gasson

Trying to make my Dads Christmas present sound less Boring

 

Congratulations on purchasing the Stanley Fatmax 20” fine cut panel saw. You hold in your hand the culmination of more than eleven years research & development by our specialist tool team.

We started out with a simple vision. ‘To redesign the classic panel saw from the ground up’ . Using state of the art computer modelling and wind tunnel technology combined with today’s laser engineering capabilities; Stanley has been able to realise the dream of a panel saw for the twenty first century whilst still retaining the aesthetic beloved by the artisans of yesteryear.

Bi-material handle screwed and ultrasonically welded for comfort and security

Teeth are precision set to generate clearance of kerf for the blade to cut on both the forward and back stroke increasing cutting efficiency by 30%

3 sided precision ground teeth offer razor sharp cutting edges at every stage of the stroke

Induction hardened teeth stay sharper twice as long
Fine cut blade 11 tpi

Specially tempered handle

Designed to feel more like the blade of a conquering knight than a mere tool

 

The Fatmax 20 an ideal addition to any tradesman’s toolkit. Whether it be for joinery, home diy projects or simply when relaxing in the company of friends. The Fatmax 20 can be enjoyed as a companion to red and white meat or on its own.

We believe that, in the Fatmax 20,  you have purchased not just a saw but a statement. And that statement is:-

 

‘This is a saw’

 

 

We at the Stanley family of tool smiths would like to wish you many years of trouble free sawing.

Trying to Understand Football 3: The terminology

So we are now 'all in' with this football malarkey. Football boots - check. Properly sanctioned shin pads - check. Team football kit & practice ball - big expensive cheque.
He may not be able to keep hold of the ball worth a damn but, by crikey he looks the part out there.

One of the drawbacks to never having watched any football is that I have a woefully inadequate grasp of the rules and culture of the game.
This means that my offspring and I are often left in a state of bemused incomprehension at football training as the coach raps out orders like 'Mark up and stay around the box', or 'receive it on the back foot and then finish'.

What in seven hells are these people talking about? Words appear to completely change or reverse their English meaning when exposed to football.
'He conceded the goal' does not mean that he stood aside and let it roll in (although this would be a rather apt description of my son's performance in goal to date). Apparently it just means that a goal has been scored?

Perhaps commenters can assist me with the following bewildering sayings or add some of your own.

- playing through the ball
- a good engine on him
-Finishing
-down the line
-back foot
- first touch
- close control

One thing I am very happy about is that the practice of 'Shirts and Skins' appears to have been dropped in the twenty first century. I hope that most of you are too young to recall this method of identifying teams that was prevalent amongst PE teachers when I was in secondary school.
Basically, one (lucky) team would be allowed to compete fully clothed, whilst the other players would be forced to strip off their shirts and play 'nipples out'.
Generally speaking; sadistic PE teachers would always place the fattest children on the 'Skins' team so that they could be berated and cajoled into shame by their fitter classmates. I can vividly recall one unfortunate boy in tears following this practice as the whole class chanted at him to 'get his glands out for the lads'.  Poor chap. I hope that he recovered & is living happily somewhere.

Trying to Understand Football: 2 The first session

So I have enrolled my son in the local football team. Saturday morning arrives and I receive a message stating that all children must have 'Shin Pads' in case of 'Hard tackling'.
I don't really know what would constitute hard tackling (something to do with fishing maybe) but I know that we don't have any shin pads & the shops won't be open in time for me to obtain some prior to practice commencing.
Amazon drone delivery where are you now! I take it all back; we need you.

My son is already keyed up for his first practice so there is nothing for it but to try and fabricate some shin pads from items that I have lying around the house. My mind starts whirring with the complex algorithms known only to dads who are trying to bodge together a last minute fix for something.

TO THE SHED!

Now I need to make sure that these shin pads are reasonable enough to pass casual inspection. My son will  already have to put up with a parent who stalwartly refuses to converse with other parents at the edge of the pitch & has never watched a football match. The last thing he needs is to be bullied for having ridiculous 'home spun' shin pads.

The final product is one that (I have to admit) I am quite proud of. The shin pads are a composite of polystyrene, cardboard, damp proof course, staples and lots and lots of gaffa tape. But to the casual observer, they look ok. We have some difficulty getting them onto his shins but in the end I manage to staple them into place and assure him that that is what all the top football players have to do.

'That's why Roonie always looks so edgy'  I say, 'it's coz the staples are digging into his shins all the time'.
We set off for the recreation ground and I get instantly confused as there are around six different groups of children practicing with coaches variously bellowing instructions at them. We finally find the correct group and I usher my sporty offspring in the direction of the other children.

'No Mercy son...there is no fear inside this dojo'

This is what I think about saying. But I keep it all inside. My son is at least a head taller than any other child on the pitch so I guess he will be alright. The gaffa tape shin pads look stunning and I notice that some of the other kids have arrived without proper leg protection after all.
Pathetic. Don't their parents own sheds. A point to team Gasson!

I try and mentally prepare myself for the ordeal ahead of me. Training will last an hour but, all my previous experience of football inclines me to believe that this will equate to around four and a half hours of relative time once the boredom sets in.

I should point out here that I am  one of those blokes who has no interest in football. I don't understand it. I never have.
I just can't see the appeal. Maybe it's due to the fact that no one in my family supported a team or ever watched football. We would watch 'Ski Sunday' together as a family (God knows why as we have never been near a ski slope), but never football.
I was taken sailing and understand what a spinnaker is but I've never been to a football match.

Football (whenever I have had to watch it) appears to go on for a mind numbingly long time without anyone ever scoring.
I have heard that a hundred years ago, score lines were much more interesting (7-2, 12 - 4 etc) & surmise that this is due to peoples smaller stature in years past which made it easier to score and consequently more interesting to watch. One should never underestimate the entertainment value of violence in the stands either.

I would therefore like to suggest to FIFA that all goals be made two feet wider. Also, if; at the 90 minute mark no one has scored; the referee can remove a player from each team every five minutes until there is a decisive result.
If these changes were made, games would be a lot more interesting to watch and I might go to a match. Also streakers should be made compulsory and should be sponsored by their respective teams. The amount of time they evade capture on the pitch should count towards their teams league position.

I was surprized to find that the practice session was quite interesting to watch and the hour seemed to pass quite quickly. My son has never experienced football before so it was quite a lot of new information for him.

I left having made the decision that if we are going to do this then we might as well go 'all in'. Time to visit 'Sports Direct'' and lay down some cold hard cash.
Perhaps I can part exchange the home made shin pads for a store discount.

Hello...

My name is Jane. I am a blind student at Massachusetts Creative Arts College.
Over recent months, I have become increasingly aware that someone at college has been stalking me.
It started with the hairs on the back of my neck raising when I would be in the corridor between lectures. I was sure that someone was following me, staring at me and 'perving' at my butt. The corridor was always too crowded for me to be able to identify who it was but I gradually became more and more aware of this presence.

Then I started to become aware that the same person (a man I think) was often calling me on the phone and hanging up or passing outside my door. 'Hello' I would say, 'is it me you're calling for' but there would just be the sound of heavy breathing and then he would hang up.
I was sure now that it must be someone I knew at college. Maybe one of the other students or a janitor or something. Now that I came to think about it; I remembered always feeling strangely uncomfortable in drama classes. As if someone were staring intensely at me so...maybe it was someone from my drama course.
But when I mentally went through all the guys on the course, it didn't add up. I get on great with all of them, they aren't put off by my blindness. Always joking about me tripping them up with my cane in the corridors at college.

Finally things came to a head one afternoon in the summer. As usual, when alone in the corridor, I became aware of a presence in the hall with me. This time it was very close though.
'Hello..' I called out. But as usual there was no response. This time though he was close. I tapped against his foot with my cane and somehow managed to trace my other hand over his face before he turned and ran away.

It was time to confide in someone in authority. By this time I was feeling anxious all the time & the thought that this man had nearly got me alone made me feel sick.
I booked some time with Brenda (my personal tutor) & she was shocked but very supportive.
'Somehow we'll find a way to identify this perv and catch him' she assured me. But it was difficult to identify him as there was no way that I could give any useful physical description to the cops.
In the end, Brenda hit upon the genius idea of my trying to sculpt his features in my ceramics & clay sculpture class.

I had been taking 'Advanced Clay Sculpture' as an elective on my degree and am told that my busts are pretty impressive by my peers (no pun intended!).
Apparently, they bear an uncanny resemblance to the subject even though I am blind and can only really approximate what they look like by feeling them with my hands (which is often hilarious).
People are always asking me to 'do them' in class.

Brenda spoke to our ceramics lead and she set me up with a big pile of fresh clay & I went to work.
After just a couple of hours I had finished to the best of my recollection.
The response from everyone in the room when I turned it around to show everyone was dramatic to say the least.
The room was filled with shocked gasps and cries of anger as all present immediately recognised the man I had felt up in the hall as Mr Phillips our drama teacher. Even despite the fact that I had used up all of my extra clay on his hair so that it appeared that his face was being consumed by some kind of hair creature. I was told that it was unmistakably him.

Immediately my best friend Tommy bust out,
'' I'm going right now and get that sorry son of a bitch. He can explain to everyone what he means by perving on his blind female students. That sick F*#k isn't going to get away with it any more''.

A few moments later he returned with Mr Phillips in tow. Apparently Tommy had told him that 'something was happening in the sculpture class'.
I quickly confronted him with my big haired evidence.
'' this is how I see you'' I exclaimed in triumph.
He was obviously shocked at having been rumbled as he seemed to go a bit crazy & started walking around the room, singing to everyone that he was the one that I had been looking for or something.
What a psycho.

He was arrested later that day and will not be able to work in education in future from what I am given to understand.
I have stuck the clay bust of his head on the fence outside my flat as a warning to other 'would be' stalkers.

Bin Done Wrong

Come on guys
just tell me true
What I did that's offended you?

So that my bin stays uncollected
Upon the kerb, sad and dejected

No room inside for anymore
Instead our surplus rubbish stored
in plastic bags around the bottom.
Like illegitimate kids forgotten.
And from it's depths such fearful stench.
Oh bin men
please come bear it hence.

Flu Vaccination

My employer has a drive to get everyone flu vaccinated & has rigorous targets to achieve. At the same time they are anxious to point out that the process is purely voluntary & that people are welcome to not have the vaccination if they so choose.

If (like me) you prefer not to however; the iron fist of the organisation descends and you are required to email many people explaining that no...you genuinely do not want the vaccination. The tone of interaction is such that you are made to feel quite bad about this.

I was once again asked to send an email to the team explaining that I wanted to officially 'opt out' of vaccination. By this time I was thoroughly sick of the whole process and felt that setting a target on a voluntary activity was a little silly.
I sent the vaccination team the following:-

Hi team,

My service line lead has asked me to conform that I do not wish to have the flu vaccination.

Whilst I would have thought that my absence as any of the many available flu vaccination days would have been evidence of my intention not to be vaccinated, I am emailing to make my position completely clear in line with her request.

 

I do not currently require or desire a vaccination from flu. My reasons for this are complex and personal and I do not feel that I should need to fully essay them here.

Suffice it to say that, I very rarely sully my Bradford factor by taking days off sick and, it would seem to me the height of irony to take a day or two off in order to recover from a flu shot (as most of my colleagues have) which was designed to prevent such absences in the first place.

I will soldier on with only the highly developed and sophisticated human immune system as a barrier between myself and the forces of influenza.

Should this prove to be a move made in hubris, I will be sure to humbly remove my melted Icarus wings and enrol for next years vaccination however. You should not think that my position in any way degrades the excellent work that your team has been doing in raising the profile of HPFT flu vaccination clinics.

I do hope that this clears up any confusion as to my absence & I wish your team every success in meeting your arbitrarily mandated target without me.

Regards,

 

Ian Gasson

___________________________________________

 

This email apparently caused a flurry of anxiety and 'referring up' in the organisation. This culminated in a meeting with my clinical supervisor who had been approached by senior people wanting to understand my reasons for emailing thus. They were apparently considering sending a 'peer vaccinator' over to speak to me in an effort to win my compliance.

My supervisor had laughed and explained my 'odd sense of humour' to them (in the NHS this counts as 'any sense of humour at all'). Advising them that it would be best not to pursue the matter further.

 

I have since received yet another email this week and so have composed the following Haiku in response:-

 

Vaccination -NO!

My arm will remain un bruised

Low Bradford Factor

 

Also a short poem:-

 

Oh Influenza

Killer of Children

Widows Wail.

Now you are no longer

the harbinger of grief

and yet somehow I am hounded still

by the denizens of your extinction.

 

My supervisor has advised me not to send any more emails.

 

 

Trying to Understand Football: 1

It all started when I attended one of my son's sports days. I arrived with many other bored and cold parents waiting for what seemed an inordinately long time for the children to come out. Then began the inevitable demonstration of genetic superiority over humble hopes and 'can do' attitude. The stronger and bigger children easily outperforming their  physically inferior classmates time after time.

There were a few 'pity events' organised for the more dyspraxic participants. These appeared to involve sporting activities never witnessed in any professional arena.
You will never attend the Olympics and witness the 'throwing the beanbag more or less into a hoop' event or the 'just mill around and fall over each other a bit' 100 metre relay farce.

Now I am not 'sporty' & my experience of sports day as a participant was always that of being thrashed into the ground by everyone else. Teachers would force us to participate in feeble activities such as those above despite our obvious ineptitude.

I was therefore expecting very little from my own progeny & was mumbling  to the other parents along the lines of 'it's not about the winning, it's about the participation & letting them all have a go' etc.

But then my offspring started his first race and won. And then placed in the second and won the third.
This had a hitherto un experienced effect on me.
From being a casual, mild mannered observer. I somehow transformed into a rabid, 'foaming at the mouth', bellowing 'mutant parent'.
The fickle flame of hope had ignited in my dry & blackened soul & I found myself shouting encouragement (& projecting withering scorn in equal measure) from the side-lines.

'COME ON HOUSE GILBY...THESE OTHER KIDS HAVE GOT NOTHING!! EVISCERATE THEM. KILL THEM ALL AND DANCE A JIG ON THEIR ROTTEN CORPSES THE SUBHUMAN SCUM. YOU CAN DO IT SON...REMEMBER, SECOND PLACE IS JUST ANOTHER TERM FOR FIRST LOOSER'

Once I had been led away & calmed down by kind people, my blood pressure returned to normal and the red mist receded enough for me to realise the terrible truth.
My son is good at sports.
This means that I will have to attend sporting functions in future. Possibly even help him to practice.
I will have to finally go into 'Sports Direct' and deal with the protein crazed sales assistants there. I might even have to try and understand what a 'technical area' is.

My sons performance at sports day portended a grim future with only one certainty on the horizon.
I was going to have to enrol him in a Football club.

Trying to Learn Piano: 6

I'm going to need to get a proper piano.
Having spent a disgusting amount of time checking out what I refer to as 'instrument porn' on the internet, I think I have narrowed the field to about four models. The field concerned is so massive and confusing that one wonders whether anyone has ever escaped it.
 One thing that the multiple forum posts I have perused all agree on is that you have to go and physically play the things rather than drooling over 'spec sheets'. So I sponge the saliva from my computer keyboard and set course for Bonners of Reigate. A piano emporium catering to the needs of the modern connoisseur.
Now I am used to the frenetic pace and bowel loosening anxiety of the electric guitar showroom. Where lightning boys wank up and down the fretboard in dark corners, sweep picking away their middle years whilst penitents such as myself embarrassedly ask for 'a go' on whichever lump of hardwood and plastic is currently plotting to separate me from my credit rating.
I can hold my own on guitar but still succumb to 'guitar shop syndrome', where, upon picking up a prospective instrument, I instantly forget how to play even basic chords and a cold terror grips me as I wrestle with the baffling assortment of knobs and dials on unfamiliar amplifiers.
The shops are always busy and intense somehow.
Bonners was like nothing I have experienced before. A short distance off of the Dartford toll (which I am now filled with paranoia about.... have I payed? Are they watching my car with drones?) I arrive and am greeted by a seemingly empty temple to the art of piano forte and the gentle smell of well cared for wooden cabinetry.
eventually, through the maze of dazzlingly expensive grands, I find a lone shop assistant who it seems is very happy to just let me prat about with her expensive stock for over an hour.
I am sure that everyone within earshot is thoroughly sick of my multiple renditions of 'Easy like Sunday morning ' by the end. But the piano technician I speak to is very complimentary about my fledgling skills.
I am now off to pay my Dartcharge and to concoct some manner of brilliant scheme that will enable me to get one of these gorgeous creatures into my house by next February. Perhaps if I convince my wife that It will add value to our property and move her up in the all important social strata of our local primary school parental peergroup. I will promise her that it will make my hair grow back on the top of my head and stop sprouting from my nose like some tiny toilet brush was stuffed up there by an angry gnome.

Trying to Learn Piano: 5

My first piano lesson:
I rock up at my new piano tutors door on a rainy Harlow night. I am quite nervous but hopefully she will be impressed with the fact that I can already play a bit of 'Night swimming' by R.E.M & have learned some scales and notes.
I am not a fan of Harlow.
It certainly has it's strong points. There is no better place in the country to purchase cheap gold sovereign rings or pawn recently stolen goods. But I try to avoid it these days in case I am mistaken for a cream horn by one of the amply cushioned residents & accidently consumed in the high street.
I used to work for drug and alcohol services in Harlow and the office was cited directly above Wetherspoons (no lie), which tells you everything you need to know about the place.
My piano teacher is a nice lady with a difficult to place accent (perhaps Russian, I am too embarrassed to ask). She shows me to her piano (which appears to be around a thousand years old and is junky as hell). My teacher is apparently a classically trained harpist who studied in a conservatory for many years. This seems very cruel to me. My parents have a conservatory and it is always too hot in the summer and too cold in winter. My dad insists on keeping a cover on the wooden dining table therein, in case it becomes sun bleached.
I find myself feeling sorry for my teacher and imagine her wearing fingerless gloves as she trys to practice the harp surrounded by cat litter trays and old local newspapers.
My teacher says that learning to read music is important and is happy that I have learned to identify notes on the stave. She is however, anxious to impress upon me the vital importance of counting. 'You have to also count Ian, this is so so important for music'.
This is great news as I am already pretty proficient at counting. I once counted to one thousand and seventeen (which took ages but it was a really boring meeting at work and my boss was sitting too close for me to be able to doodle). I can count to almost any number you can imagine. I know she is going to be impressed with this.
She is not impressed.
Instead she feels that there are significant gaps in my musical knowledge (this will happen if you are a self taught guitarist) and wants me to start with some basic stuff before we move forward into my beloved and beloathed Bach prelude. She introduces me to the above book which is the most hilarious thing ever! I am a forty one year old man now straining in total concentration over playing 'Old Macdonald had a Farm'.
Overall my first lesson was very discouraging. The teacher offered me a sweet at the end which is apparently 'de rigour' for her younger pupils. I suggested that she buy some scotch for our next lesson.
As I am leaving I pass a mother and young daughter in the hall who look at me a little strangely. I try to give the impression that I am not there for a lesson but for some much more grown up reason like conducting an affair or something. I clutch my lollipop tightly in case the little sod tries to nick it off me as I brush past. Back to Bach I suppose.

Trying to Learn Piano: 4

The cheeky fellow in the picture above is from a new Ipad app that I purchased in the hope that it would speed up the painful process of learning to read sheet music.
His sprout like visage has replaced the previous picture (some sort of Ipad update) which was of a very grumpy looking Mozart.
Grumpy Mozart would appear to scold me whenever I failed to score acceptably highly on his music reading tests.
‘Screw you Mozart’ I would think. ‘It’s not my fault that you have ridiculously high standards’.
Probably if my father had forced me to practice piano for hours and hours every day in a locked room, I would also have been a child prodigy.
Mozart’s father would today have had a safeguarding case opened on him by social services faster than you could say ‘Minuet in G major’.
I picture poor child Mozart rather like a white wigged Michael Jackson. Forever staring plaintively from his practice room window at the happy boys and girls playing outside. Knowing that he could never be a part of their normal world. Maybe Mozart also had a creepy Neverland style ranch (although in his case it would have probably been themed around the brothers Grimm). Maybe he spoke in a high girlish voice and Moonwalked onto the stage for piano recitals.
I have started listening to more stuff on classic FM in recent weeks. I suppose that classical music is much like any other genre & that for every ‘Automatic for the People’ perfect album there are hours & hours of mind numbingly awful ‘ filler’ tracks.
I have in the past few weeks heard one or two pieces of music which made my blood thrill, my balls feel bigger and brought me closer to God. For every one of these I have heard probably couple of hours of repetitive scratching on violins and people approaching the piano as if it were an Olympic ‘speed playing’ event rather than with the intention of playing anything worthwhile.

It is my understanding that piano’s could not be manufactured until after Bach’s death and so they are a relatively new kid on the block. But seriously, come on people. No wonder folks are so slow to jump on the classical music bandwagon when it appears to actively discourage new passengers. This week I accidently turned on Classic Fm late at night and it was totally different. Music from films and modern videogames. Tunes you could really hum. Why can’t they play more of this stuff during the day. But no, back to our regularly scheduled program of Baroque scratching and Alled Jones milking the crap out of his career.
I tried to learn violin some years back but it wouldn’t stay on my shoulder properly so I stuck it in the loft for a while. I found it the other day and the fretboard bit had come away from the body.
I smashed it up and burnt it in my shed.
It felt good.

Although the noise that I was able to get out of the violin could not have been described as ‘thrilling the blood’. It was heavens sweet song compared to the plastic saccharine tones dished out by my Aldi keyboard.
The keyboard boasts over 100 tones & I believe it. I have taken more than one hundred craps in my life but I would not presume to digitally capture them and claim that they were workable instrument facsimiles.
I have been through all of them & managed to find five which do not cause me to wince with every key depression. Despite this, my children love playing the horribly arranged demo songs and my daughter has developed her own words and dance to one of them which she insists on doing whenever she finds me trying to practice scales in the shed (the keyboard is not allowed to live in the house with my other instruments).
Oh well, let’s see if I can score more than nine points this time.

Trying to Learn Piano: 3

The Well Tempered Clavier?... More like The Bad Tempered Keyboard Guy.
 So I checked out some guy on the internet and he advised that Bach's prelude in C major is an ideal starter piece of music. I happened to be in Sawbridgeworth and their charity shop had a book with it in.
Sawbridgeworth is quite a middle class and well to do place, so you can expect to find a much higher strata of stuff in their charity shops!
Now this is my first foray into the world of proper classical music and I must say that it appears poorly organised. For one thing;  none of these composers appear to have much talent when it comes to naming their songs.
Bach wrote this book of fugues (don't ask me...I thought it was something to do with being a naked crack chef in breaking bad). He has called them all things like 'prelude 1' or 'fugue 2 in B major'. This is very lazy in my opinion and highlights a poor work ethic.
Surely it would have been the work of but a moment to come up with a cool title like 'Things about to get Fuguey up in here y'all' or 'Captain fuguetabulous's journey to the centre of funk'. Maybe you can suggest some titles in the comments section.
In any case, the book is called 'The well tempered Clavier'. I'm not sure what a clavier is (was it a type of Vauxhall?) or why it should be in such a great temper. Whenever I try to. To play prelude in C major, my temper frays to the point of near incandescence & I shout at the kids to stop making so much damn noise and leave me alone to fugue in peace. This is probably ironical in some way.
Also, Bach did not bother to write a proper index at all. Oh no, he just put in the first measure of each tune (so not terribly accessible Mr Bach, maybe think about marketing implications). He also has no twitter account which is just rude.
Next week I am going to tune my car radio to Classic fm. Classic fm is a thing that you have to listen to if you are trying to be a proper musician. They have kindly presenters with smooth bassy voices designed to make middle class white people feel safe and stop worrying about local kids playing too close to their hedges.
I pity the Fugue who doesn't prelude in C major

Trying to Learn Piano: 2

Piano players are impossibly talented? How do you ever develop that amount of skill without performance enhancing drugs. All I have is strong coffee and domesdos.
 So here I am, week four of my journey into learning piano. To be honest, I don't remember guitar being this difficult to get to grips with. A quick chat with my sister disabuses me of this notion however. I apparently sucked for (in her words) 'a really really long time'.
This week I started to try and learn to read music. This has been something I have managed to avoid for over twenty years on guitar. For the 'non musicians' among you; it is not necessary to read sheet music in order to play an instrument. A lot of musicians learn to play by ear or from 'YouTube ' lessons or from tab. Which is to 'sheet music' what shandy is to whisky. A sort of 'paint by numbers' for your fingers.
No. I have been putting off learning to read because I am a bit dyslexic. My experience of taught sessions is one of abject fear, as information swells over me like a tidal wave. Consequently I completely loose my sense of what is being taught and quickly forget even the stuff that I thought I knew. The idea of booking a 'one to one' teacher was quite daunting & I needed someone I didn't know so that there would be no relationship implications if I had to sack them.
Eventually I find a nice lady in Harlow but the stupid website that I used wants more than ten quid before it will pony up her phone number. Now I'm all for free enterprise but this is just too much money. I'm already down £70 wing wangs for my crappy Aldi keyboard. In the end I circumvent the website and find her details on the interwebs. We are in business. Lesson booked, anxiety building!
I start to glean some information from the net in preparation for the lesson. Apparently there are two clefs (bass and treble) and these can have dots on the same lines but the dots will be different notes depending on the clef (kind of like windy can mean blustery or meandering depending on the context of the sentence). So simple pimple! We are off to a good start. Unfortunately the only acronyms that I can remember for the notes are all too rude to publish here. Suffice to say that by the time I had converted the acronym to the note and found its corresponding twin on my plastic piece of crap keyboard; small nations had been birthed and developed into mighty superpowers.
We need to rethink this technique people.

Trying to Learn Piano :1

Piano players are surely gods in human form? This is the conclusion I have come to in my journey to try and learn piano.
So in early September I decided that it was high time that I learned  piano (and also to read music after playing guitar for like 20 years).
I am tired of being embarrassed by the 'real' musicians in our band. Sneering at us 'mere mortals' who don't understand 'intervals' and 'deceptive cadence'.
So with hope in my heart and £70 English pounds in my pocket I took a trip to Aldi and purchased a handsome keyboard (which promised to hone my technique by the use of red lights on the keys).
Although none of the instrument tones on the keyboard appear to have been modelled by anyone with human hearing, I was undeterred and proceeded to find a YouTube teacher (Andrew Furmanzyk). Andrew promised to teach me piano in seven easy lessons (& 34 very hard ones). Unfortunately for me,; lesson three (or thereabouts) appeared to be.. 'Go and learn to read sheet music' & so I was stumped.
No matter. I can't expect to be great at piano after only playing for three weeks. I will employ the services of a 'bona fide' piano tutor to 'warp speed' me through the process. 'Make it so Mr Laforge'. 

 I fired up google from the comfort of my office (away from the prying eyes of my boss) & accessed a list of local piano teachers only to be met with a fresh dilemma. I knew most of these people very well... our children play together, I drink beer with their husbands  from time to time. I can't employ someone to teach me who I may very well have to sack. They might prove inefficient in turning me into a balding Chopin inside of six months. It would ruin a perfectly good friendship. What if I need to ask them to babysit for me in the future but they won't speak to me anymore because I poo poo'd their pedal technique or something?
Tune in for the next thrilling instalment of Trying to learn Piano' The next time I can be bothered to write it. I have to go and practice Bach's prelude in C Major on  my keyboards 'popular tones' setting again.