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Gavin Baldwin            

My First Website

8/25/2009

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Building a website is a funny old game. I’ve wanted one for quite some time now, but I must admit that paying someone to do it for me seemed like an awful lot of trouble. I had visions of long and protracted phone conversations with some faceless bloke in Wolverhampton, followed by endless emails, passing photos and bits of personal information back and forth for months on end, trying to get it all setup the way I wanted it. Of course two months down the line everything would be out of date and I’d need to go through the whole sorry process again. So I fast came to the conclusion that it’s something you really need to do yourself. Having said that, I just don’t have the time, patience, inclination or aptitude to spend weeks learning how to build one from scratch. I never really got to grips with French at school, so I figure the chances of learning any other language (especially a programming one) are pretty much zero.

Luckily for me however, there are now a whole bunch of free website builders out there in intra-web land. They mostly follow the chunky button, Fisher-Price, My First Website, approach which is absolutely perfect for me, making it no longer necessary to pay someone a small fortune to build and maintain one for you. And of course with all of the cost and technical mumbo jumbo taken care of, the whole process becomes really rather fun. Once the realm of the privileged few, now every Tom, Dick or Gavin can have a professional looking website for little more than an hour or two’s investment at lunchtime.

Obviously one of the first things you need for any website is a theme. The list of sites currently available on the net is mind-boggling large and growing daily. Perhaps the only thing more amazing than the number of sites available being the diversity, with just about every service, need, requirement, hobby and fetish is catered for. If you want to standout in any way from this rather eclectic crowd, it’s going to be a pretty tall order. For some of course, standing out, is not such an issue. For them it’s enough to merely have a presence out there in cyberspace. They feel it’s sufficient to register a domain name and then sit on it until either the subscription runs out or some mega-corporation buys it off them. For some it’s all about expression of a lifelong passion or the inner workings of their troubled and, in some cases, twisted mind, while for others it’s purely a business decision and an aide to making a few more quid. One thing is for sure, having a website is now about as common as having a cell phone or a business card and, in many situations, just as necessary.

Despite all this however, I wasn’t quite prepared for the thrill and excitement of setting up my own site. As websites go it’s nothing really startling; it’s purely about me. It’s built around the premise that I am an ‘Artiste’ (in more than one sense of the word) with stuff to offer, and by visiting my site, Joe Public may just decide that I’m exactly what they need for some highly visible and extremely lucrative, upcoming project. I’ve resisted the urge to swamp the pages with information about my hobbies and interests – my Ford Capri doesn’t even get a mention – and mercifully there are no pictures of pets or children’s birthday parties. There are no holiday snaps or out of focus pictures of my last night out. There’s none of those hideous little rotating gif images, beloved of certain sites or nauseating background music that has you pouncing for the mute button in the office. I’ve even opted for a straightforward, black and white colour scheme so hopefully shouldn’t offend the purists too much.

Now I know what you’re thinking; “That all sounds pretty bloody boring”. But before you dismiss the site completely, I can tell you that I’ve done some research and come up with what I think is a sure fire way to help my website stand out from the crowd. There’s absolutely no porn.
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Phew What a Scorcha!

8/22/2009

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Now I’m not really one for keeping fit. Don’t get me wrong I like to be fit; I just don’t really have the will power to work at it. I do quite enjoy cycling to work however and this, coupled with good genes and a clever tailor, seems to be keeping the middle age spread a bay – for the moment at least. My route to work is a very gentle, six mile trundle along a leafy green railway line. It acts as a very good wake-up in the mornings not to mention de-stressor in the evenings. Dressing appropriately however is utterly impossible. I may as well wear scuba gear and a sombrero.

We sure do get a lot of weather up here in Aberdeen. After years of wet and windy holidays, 2009 was of course to be the summer to break all records, or at the very least, have us sweating in the way only British folk can. Living in Aberdeen of course, we were all naturally cautious about the glorious summer prediction. So far we’ve had precious little evidence of there being any change from the norm. Torrential downpours most afternoons, the odd sticky lunch break, overcast weekends and plenty of chilly north wind. Watching Wimbledon this year, it occurred to me that Aberdeen City Council should probably forgo the normal refuse collection and regular bus service and simply pay for a retractable roof. Imagine the difference that would make to people’s lives.

A wise man once said ‘There is no such thing as bad weather, merely the wrong clothing.’ Well that person clearly never lived in Aberdeen. They have yet to invent clothing suited to the Aberdeen climate, and in particular the ‘train wreck’ that passes for our summer. I very much doubt whether the hot, sticky, wet, cold, rainy, sometimes haily, often windy days exist anywhere other than Aberdeen. There’s certainly a gap in the market for some budding textile genius. It’s a most unique lifestyle experience.

Once at work, my desk looks out on to the busy Aberdeen streets – it also looks into a bunch of flats on the other side of the road but that’s an entirely different story – anyway, most days I sit watching the sun beat down through the rainy, sleety, hail, wondering what items of clothing I should use to get me home in one piece. As the weeks progress I tend to build up quite a wardrobe of clothing next to my chair from which to make a selection. My colleagues will often make suggestions as the afternoon passes, but as the home time bell draws near, their ideas begin to change faster than an ebay auction price at closing time. Of course inevitably I’ll end up choosing my trusty old lycra cycling tights. Keep a look out for me if your SatNav breaks and you find yourself this far north, they look great with the sombrero.

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Families Eh!

8/13/2009

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I helped my sister to the train station with her suitcase one morning. It was just the usual pull behind you, cabin bag type of affair but by the time we arrived she was really quite puffed. It was a warm day, so on getting to the steps I did the decent thing, shouldered my laptop and picked up her case. To be honest it wasn’t all that heavy, she was only going away for a few days. Not that the duration of the trip is always directly related to the quantity of stuff being hauled of course, but in this case (no pun intended) it was reasonable. At the bottom of the stairs I attempted to drag it along behind me as she had been doing. It then became instantly apparent why she was so tired. The little wheels didn’t go round, and judging by the size of the flat spot on the left one, hadn’t done for quite some time.

This amusing incident had me thinking about other little moments relating to the various members of my family. What a wonderful gift our relatives are. I know that anyone reading this will have experienced many similar incidents and I would invite you all to give us a laugh and write in with the funniest ones.

My father was a constant source of amusement. If I thought long and hard I could probably come up with a book’s worth of stories just about him. I remember standing in a checkout queue at ASDA one time, watching him make funny faces at a toddler in a pram. The child was clutching a tube of sweets and staring at my father with a rather puzzled expression. The next thing I knew, my dad was trying to prise the sweets from the poor child’s grasp while the parents weren’t looking. He had such a wonderful way of doing things. Anyone else caught stealing sweets from a three year old would be locked up, but had the parents spotted my dad doing it, they probably would’ve just smiled.

I think one of my favourite stories involving my father occurred on my wedding day. I was married in a small Welsh Chapel and for the order of service we decided to have one English hymn and then one Welsh hymn, just to balance things up. The choice for the English hymn was Jerusalem – a tremendously rousing anthem and a real favourite of mine. The name of the Welsh hymn escapes me at present however my father, who had a wonderfully strong singing voice but spoke no Welsh, opted to sing the words to Jerusalem a second time, commenting later on that, “They just seemed to fit rather well”.

Of course I am certainly not immune to having the odd ‘senior moment’ as my dad would have called them. I remember losing my car keys a few years ago while enjoying a day out with my two boys. We’d gone to a motor racing circuit and the problem only came to light as I started making my way back to the car-park. After emptying my pockets and my rucksack, I retraced my steps and spent the next hour fruitlessly searching the grandstand for the missing keys. Sadly they were nowhere to be found. Eventually I was lucky enough to find someone who gave us all a lift home, whereupon I duly deposited the boys and picked up the spare set. Returning to the car I found it exactly as I’d left it… with the key in the ignition and the engine running.

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Drug of Choice

8/6/2009

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Everyone has their drug of choice. Now I’m not for a minute suggesting illegal activities here, although I realise many will almost certainly dabble in that area. Most of us however, will be drawn to something far less controversial, though often no less addictive. Take adrenalin for example. Adrenalin junkies must surely outnumber many other dependants out there; the overwhelming need for that daily rush of endorphins. I can get it cycling to work if I take the hilly route but the office doesn’t have a shower, so for the sake of my co-workers I tend to keep on the flat. For some however only the gym will do, while for one or two more extreme souls it requires throwing themselves out of airplanes or off bridges – hopefully after making some kind of provision for the landing.
 
Then of course there’s the big two; booze and fags – alcohol and nicotine – drink and cigarettes. Many end up going for both; I’m told they work quite well together. Personally, given the choice of liver disease or lung cancer, I’ll take the former any day of the week. I don’t mind a game of cards every now and then but doing both just seems like too big a gamble to me. When I think of just how much of a hold those two have over so many people around the globe, it’s incredible. I could no more give up alcohol than I could driving. Of course if a doctor came up to me and said "pack in the booze today sonny", it would be a different matter, but to simply give up? No chance, I don’t have the will power.
 
Of course no discussion on recreational drug use would be complete without doffing the proverbial cap (or cup) to caffeine? Coffee, as we know it, was introduced nearly 500 years ago and is the staple pick-me-up for millions around the globe. Most office workers, like me, seem to be on a near constant drip feed of instant or long over-brewed coffee. And of course caffeine has also now found its way into the fizzy drinks market. Only last week, feeling a little sluggish, I foolishly drank two cans of Red Bull. The sluggishness certainly disappeared but I felt utterly terrible for the rest of the afternoon.
 
Finally, hand’s up all those who are addicted to Phenylethylamine? It’s a pretty addictive substance. In fact your brain produces Phenylethylamine, or PEA, during times of intense feelings of love. I’m sure we all know one or two people who prefer the feelings associated with courtship and conquest over perhaps a more long term relationship. This “in love” drug, as I’m sure many of you ‘think you know’ is also found in chocolate. I say ‘think’ because similarities between being in love and eating chocolate unfortunately end there. There’s actually 25 times more PEA in a wedge of cheddar cheese than there is in chocolate. Not surprisingly however, the broken hearted don’t often turn to a plate of Cathedral City for post relationship comfort.
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Rock 'n' Roll Glory Days

8/5/2009

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I recently attended a show on what will almost certainly be AC/DC’s final world tour. The concert was quite simply a master-class in old school rock ‘n’ roll. A bunch of guys, who probably should know better, giving it two hundred and ten percent for two and a half hours to a stadium full of like minded, albeit somewhat inebriated, souls. They managed to cram in everything you would expect from such a show. All the classic hits, a few songs from the new album – which is far better than anyone ever thought it would be – two gargantuan video screens with custom made cartoons to accompany some of the songs, a fantastic set, complete with steam train, lasers and enormous inflatable woman, and a simply phenomenal firework display. For reasonably good seats I paid the princely sum of £60. Now in my days at college I would certainly never conceive of spending that kind of money on a two and a half hour show. In fact even now it still seems rather a lot. But just take another look at what they threw in to it. Weeks afterwards and I’m still talking about the damn thing. I’m meeting some friends for a few drinks tomorrow night and I know that the AC/DC extravaganza will come up again, along with yet more photographs, it simply was that good.

To be honest, growing up I was never really a ‘died in the wall’ AC/DC fan. Although a regular down the local rock club, I always liked a few ballads on my rock ‘n’ Roll smorgasbord, and as any fan will tell you; DC don’t do ballads. I do own a good few albums though, and pranced around to many a hit during my days at college. What made this concert so special however, was that this time I was able to take my nine year old son along with me. Cai has been listening to an increasingly diverse range of music over the last year or so and I figured this would be an excellent addition to his musical education. Being old school, I was also fairly confident that bad language would be kept to a minimum. Needless to say he absolutely loved it, from the opening cartoon to the last, deafening rocket. I’m glad to report that short of one or two subtle (and one or two less than subtle) innuendos, I was also proved correct in my assumption about the language. Consummate professionals have no need to ‘F’ and ‘blind’ their way through a gig; their music does the talking for them.

Unfortunately however, this was all in stark contrast to some of the rubbish, laughably calling itself support. I’m not in the habit of naming names but I’m sorry to say their music was as pointless and appalling as their language. Thankfully Cai remained un-phased by it, wondering only why the automatic ‘beep’ didn’t cover up the swearing.
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Here Nessie Nessie!

8/3/2009

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Stories of a terrifying beasty, inhabiting the cold, dark waters of Loch Ness have been around for over a thousand years. Indeed, if such a thing as the Loch Ness Monster really exists, then the current tenant would have to be a long distant relative of that first recorded creature. Personally I love the idea of a monster in a lake. In fact, I’m pretty much up for believing anything from Bigfoot to UFO’s and everything in-between. It’s perhaps not surprising therefore that, upon finding myself holidaying near Inverness recently, I jumped at the chance of a quick boat trip around the world famous Loch.

Our party headed for the small town of Drumnadrochit, situated on the shores of Loch Ness. As you might expect, it’s decked out with large amounts of touristy regalia and plays on the Loch Ness Monster theme pretty heavily. As you arrive, two seemingly identical Loch Ness visitor experiences – with accompanying museums and exhibitions – sit within a stone’s throw of one another. We opted for the second of the centres for no other reason than the lady who served us in the first one was possibly the most miserable woman working in the entire service industry today. Note to reader – first impressions almost always count.

And so it was, that after a pint of Nessie Ale, and with my companion’s seemingly insatiable appetite for tacky fridge magnets temporarily quenched, we headed out for our much anticipated cruise. The Loch is every bit as menacing as I’d hoped. The water, inky black due to large quantities of peat, chopped and rolled in the chilly afternoon breeze. A light rain started to fall, and as we pulled away from the harbour wall we were told by Edward, our Captain, that the Loch could become extremely rough in bad weather. Edward has worked on Loch Ness for nigh-on forty years, and he’s mapped and sailed every square inch of it. As well as taking visitors on pleasure cruises he also helps out with various studies into the ecology of the Loch. His commentary, as you might expect, is enthralling, wonderfully detailed and was rattled off purely from memory. Unbelievably, the Loch is over eight hundred feet deep in some parts; that’s five times the depth of the North Sea, and it contains more fresh water than all the lakes and rivers of the UK put together. Edward also had sonar onboard the boat and was therefore able to map the bottom and sides of the Loch as we went – fantastic stuff. My favourite statistic of the day however, was that if you drained all the water out of Loch Ness, there would be enough room to accommodate the entire population of earth, with room to spare. Well worth remembering in times of recession.

It wasn’t long into our trip before talk of the monster itself took centre stage. Edward has sighted the creature on numerous occasions, and early one morning in 1986, he even managed to snap a blurry, nondescript, picture on his camera. The photograph is pinned up around the boat with the option to purchase postcards of it to help with his continued research. According to Edward, the limited sightings, coupled with the relatively small quantities of food in the lock, pointed to a wholly aquatic, cold blooded, plankton feeder. Sounds plausible! And as Dinosaurs died out long before Loch Ness was even formed, the conclusion would therefore seem to be that it’s a fish of some kind – albeit a bloody big one. I lapped it up and spent the entire trip scurrying from cabin to stern so as not to miss anything.

The trip around Loch Ness was undoubtedly the highlight of my holiday; so much so in fact, that I may make beasty tracking a theme for future Baldwin excursions. I mean, Battlefields and Castles are all well and good, but nothing quite compares to the thrill of sailing on the murky waters of a monster filled lake, with the rain in your face, a Sean Connery soundtrack and a sack full of terrible fridge magnets.
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    Some thoughts on Blogging...

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    Goodness me, there are literally hundreds of outlets for the creative mind these days. Whether it's such a good thing, putting all this verbiage out there for general consumption, remains to be seen.

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