Timbo

Ellie always buys me a colander for Christmas but the days just drop through the holes. You don't half end up with soggy socks when a month of wet Sundays land on your feet! What day is it?

Welcome to my world and a question I will ask my long suffering Ellie about ten times a day, seven days a week and three hundred and sixty five days a year. If you have spent any length of time in my company you will know that as a result of my strokes I have absolutely no sense of time. Yet as a historian and archaeologist I'm obsessed with it. My brain processes time and memory quite differently to other people. My short term memory ranges from appalling to nonexistent. I can ask the same question several times within minutes. I will struggle recalling a word, name or number minute to minute. At the same time I suffer from hyperthymesia which means I can recall in exact detail events and conversations that occurred weeks, months, years or decades ago. It makes for some interesting arguments. I might not remember what we were arguing about twenty minutes ago, but by hell will you catch it in a couple of weeks time! For someone that spends a lot of time with computers and technology my aids to memory are old fashioned. I rely on my analog wristwatches which I seem to accumulate like a dog does fleas. Even more numerous are my un-hackable notebooks and journals. I make copious amounts of notes in a day, written with a fountain pen in cursive, all in a shorthand of my own devising guaranteed to wind up Ellie when she sees pages titled 'Present ideas for Ellie's Birthday' and then she can't read the list underneath. Technology does come into play in the form of various alarms set on my phone. My new phone has a brilliant feature where I can set an alarm, give the alarm a title which is displayed and the phone will not only ring but the virtual assistant will tell me the time, the day and date and what I'm supposed to be doing. So, there's the 'Take Tablets', 'Take Ellie to Work', 'Pick Ellie Up', 'Pick Gracie Up' and 'Walk Dogs' alarms. Even though the alarm will have told me it's time to take Ellie to work and what day it is, I will still ask Ellie 'what day is it?' when she gets in the car. Five minutes later when I drop her off at work she will still need to remind me of the day and what time she needs picking up at. I will drive home, make a coffee and then I will ring Ellie at work to ask her what day it is. As always she will answer without sounding exasperated. Tomorrow is a fun day. "What day is it?" "It's your birthday." "I know that, but what day is it?"

I once spent a very enjoyable evening sitting at one of those table space invader games in a squash club bar feeding 10p pieces to the old chap getting well and truly ratted and manically shooting aliens. It cost me £5 in change and I'm sure I bought more rounds than he did but I got to spend several hours in the company of Spike Milligan. Worth every penny!

Who says that? The evils of tea drinking are all too prevalent. I can spend all night in the pub drinking alcohol while my Mrs sits at home drinking tea. I just quietly go to bed when I come home but she spends all night shouting and smashing pots!

I couldn't resist it either Vaughan! I've been following this since I read about it in a briefing earlier in the year. I think Richard Leafe, the Chief Exec in the Lakes NP, made a couple of important points. "We need to be able to sell the national park to everybody in Britain, all society, and it is important that it doesn't become exclusive to one single use group. The moment we get into that position I think national parks lose their relevance and therefore the very reason for calling it a national park and spending public money."

If my memory serves me right, when we brought RT back across Breydon, Ali and I spotted a couple of channel markers laying on a barge or marque or perhaps on the bank. I did make some comment about 'torpedoes'. I will have to look through the video footage I have.

I do miss Night Owls Nook! Iain and I were habitual night owls through various bouts of illness. He'd do his moderating, I'd do my level best to give him something to moderate and keep our minds off things. For those that can't remember Night Owl's Nook, it was a thread masquerading as a late night Norfolk Radio Station. The fictitious host Silent Simon Sloth would be joined by local guests such as Councillor Gladys Dogthrottle of Yarmouth who had come along to talk about her hobby of knitting a collection of Beecham Pills from cat hair. There would be phone ins where locals such as Ms Camille Toe of Horning or Felicity Baumflaugh would get in contact. There was entertainment from local musical groups like the Martham Ladies Over Seventy Nude Madrigal Society. Many of the names and topics for discussion suggested on the sly by Iain in the wee small hours! Merry Christmas Iain!

An NBN Christmas Carol Grendel Scroogeloder head modelrater sat all two-square on the botty by the flickery light of a candlopper, all scowlage on the facebole and grumpymost there. In a far corm of the NBN modelrater's orifice, shivery and cloudymost of the breathloder, Maxwellian Scratchit sat doing summage while around him readling postits were the modelrators all scribbly with a quill-pen in the gloomy. “I suppole you expeckly day off tomorrole?” said Grendel Scroogeloder to the modelraters. ““Well it is Chrimbole Sir” says Maxwellian Scratchit, all mumbly and averty eye contacker. ““Chrimbole? Humbugly!” said Grendel Scroogeloder. That evelyn, Grendel Scroogeloder trickly-how down the garbage path all fumbly for the house key, when the dorm-knocky transforl into a distorty fizzog. Grendel Scroogeloder rubbage of the eyebold all disbelievey. “Humbugly!” he scrile and rushit inside. Later, all sittage by the fireloder making modley of Pottley Higham Fridge from toenail clippage and ear waxage, Grendel Scroogeloder twitchy of the eardrobes at the clankage and rumbly of iron chains all draggit along the floor-boarms. A translucel apparishy appeared all moany and frightfole, wavey chains all rustly in a menacey manner. “ Grendel Scroogeloder I am Jabsco Marlers all hauntage and warny about throo spectroles planning a visit afore mordy” “Jabsco Marlers? But I saw your deceasy corpse all stuffit in the sarcophagole and ashey to ashey amen!” said Grendel Scroogeloder all quakey in the boots and widely eyebold. “Indeel, but because of greedymost life and lack of compashy for the fellow human specie, I am condemned to trickly-how in the gloomage all chain-rattly and ‘wooOOooo’, instead of all restage on a celestibole cloudy . Folly folly.” said Jabsco Marlers waggit fingerlopper at Grendel Scroogeloder. ““Bah humbugly to Ghostloppers! Must have had too many tilty-elbows!” said Grendel Scroogeloder and falolloped up the stairloder and climbage into the four-posty bedlopper. In the middly of the nightloder, anothy ghostlopper materialisey by the four-posty bedlopper and tappage on the noggin laid on the pillop. “Grendel Scroogeloder. I am the spirry of Chrimbole passit!” The spirry grabbed Grendel Scroogeloder by the handlopper and transporty over roof and housage, all pointy down at scenes of a young Grendel all smileage and chirpymost with hair on his noggin! At a Chrimbole party for the Viking Reinactole, youthfole Grendel Scroogeloder twirly on the dance florm, all wasp-waist and swivel-hippy and show a pretty girm his big chopper and moo walk. Deep joy! “Grendel Scroogeloder!” said the apparishy. “Remembole being all chirpymost and back-slappy with joie-de-vivre and skiply step?” “Folly folly! That was years ago before life all disappoil and miserabole and NBN peeploders postit argumenty with cabin feverly in winterage needy modelrating!” scrile Grendel Scroogeloder. Whoosh! With much use of cheap speshy effectloppers Grendel Scroogeloder fallalloped back on four-posty bed all aquivile! At half-past throo in the mordy, Grendel Scroogeloder awakey to a boomly voice all Brial Blessed and loud in the eardrobes there. “Grendel Scroogeloder! I am the spirry of Chrimbole present. Falollow me!” In an insty, Grendel Scroogeloder peery through the gloom and saw the insile of Maxwellian Scratchit's house. The furnishy all worn and creakymost and nothing like IKEA. Oh no! A familode all sitly round the table with knifely fork all ready for the Chrimbole feast. “Oh folly folly” says Mrs Scractchit. “A measlymost meal for Chrimbold, with no Iceland prawnly-ringloder or Markly-Spencer classymost dineage. And tinily Timbo will be disappoil that Santy Cloppers has brought only a brokel dinky car with one wheeloder; no Nintender or X-Bocker. Oh folly indeel!” Maxwellian Scratchit looks all lovey dovey at Mrs Scrtachit. “But we all togethey, and Chrimbold is not about indulgey food or expensy toys. Oh no!Chrimbold is a celebrashy of the deep joy of friend and familode. Now fetch tinily Timbo and take the Potly Noodle from the microwaveley. Deep joy!” Tinily Timbo clump into the room all wobbly on the walky stick all grinnage with not a tooth in his facebole there. “Blessage, everybole!” sprayed Tinily Timbo. Whoosh! Grendel Scroogeloder once agail transporty to the clammy bed sheets and lie there all shakey in the bones. So frightly of another ghostloder, he tried to avoil sleepage - he watched old episoles of QI and Toply Gearloppers on Dave, but eventuole, his eyebolds all closey. Grendel Scroogeloder was awakely by a mustymost smell all sniff sniff in the nostrales, and a low, moanage sound like Fiona Brice radly news. “Who are you apparishy? Announcely self! Are you the spirry of Chrimbole yet to happel?” A sinistel figure nodly head in a spookilymost cowl and pointed with skeletal fingerdrobes and transported Grendel Scroogeloder to a churchyardy. A gravestole, all covery with snowl stood all depressy in the cemetale. All engravey on the gravestole there was 'Grendel Scroogeloder'! Smoke then all whirly like NBN Chairman chain-smokely, and Grendel Scroogeloder was gazey at the Scratchit's empty room, with Tinily Timbo’s walkly stick all abandony there. “Oh deepest folly! Poor Tinily Timbo! What miserybold git I’ve beel. Folly folly!” shouty Grendel Scroogeloder. In the mordy, Scroogeloder awakely with droply sweat on the fore-noggin and with trepidashy, trickly-how to open the curtey. Outsile, snow had falolloped over streel and pavey, all brightly sparklage and cheerfole there. Snowflakers trickly-how onto treel and shrubby like diamols and glitter at an X-Factol final. Scroogeloder all dancely and skippety-hop with deep deep joy. Openy windole, he shouty at a small boyl all skiddy-skateage down the roam there. “What is todale, boy?” “Why it’s Chrimbold, Mr Scroogelopper!” Grendel Scroogeloder threw down his creddy carm to the boyl. “Trickly-how to Morrisoles and buy the giantymost Turkley, and delivery to Maxwellian Scratchit. The PIN is throo-seps-throo-fido.” “Immedially Mr Scroogeloder!” said the boyl. “And buyly self a MacDonal Sausy MacMuffer!” “Ooh gratifole!”, and the boyl falolopped down the streel to the offy to buy bottle of voddy and twenty Bensoles. Grendel Scroogeloder lean out of the windole and shouty to everybole. “Merry Chrimbold! Deep, deep joy!”

Who should advertise the Norfolk Broads...apart from the six not for profit tourist development organisations, three business development NPO's, two charitable trusts, two federations, five initiatives, a directorate and several national organisations tasked to this, all found on the first three pages of a Google search? Just the tea and biscuit budget for that many committees would pay for a significant advertising budget! They advertise regularly, often and very effectively is the answer to that one MM! The question these days is not so much Who should advertise, but how they should do it? Nail, head, wallop!

Here's how it works on my Samsung... Here's the home screen on my phone Press this button... Gives you a list apps

It's twenty days, I think, to my 54th birthday. For the past few years I've received brochures for 'holidays for the over fifties' on the run up to Christmas and my birthday. This year I've only been sent funeral plan brochures!

The earliest joke in Griff's joke book is Grade II Listed and reads something like this. Et nobiliori , quaerit: "Servus tuus et mater erat in domo mea?" "Non, pater meus esse hortulanum," respondit autem duplex. Translation: A noble on seeing his double asks "was your mother a slave in my house?". "No my father was the gardener!" replied the double.

Congratulations, keep up the good work and...brace yourself! PM winging it's way to you!

Sorry to hear about Macie, Griff. She certainly put the beagle brothers in their place at last years wooden boat show. Thoughts are with you, shout if you need owt! Tim

Members unlucky enough to have to ring me up will know that I tend to answer the phone claiming to be a number of institutions and organisations from 'Gainsborough Morgue, you stab 'em we slab 'em' to 'Bentley Pit Bottom' or even 'Lady Ethel's Home for Fallen Women and Pantomime Dames'. If I don't recognise the number when the phone is ringing I will still pick up the call but my greeting is usually 'Thames Valley Fraud'. Quite a few unknown callers put the phone down at that point. Calls that come through that start with a moments silence before the accident claim lawyer call centre operator comes onto the line are in for some fun. "According to our records you were the victim of an accident!" "I knew it!" "Was a vehicle involved in the accident sir?" "Several, shall I tell you what happened?" "Could you answer a few questions first sir?" "of course." If I get an eager one on the line I've even managed to describe the opening sequence of a random Bond Film before I get to tell them I'm Daniel Craig's stunt double. "So your name's not really Bret Storm? You're wasting my time sir!" "You rang me!" As far as shopping on line goes, I've never had many problems. I always use PayPal where I can, I check each transaction form thoroughly just like I would do with any contract. I also double check the company I'm purchasing from through either eBay or Amazon. I've had some right bargains too. My table saw should have been £900 and I snapped it up at £300 brand new full warranty. Don't ever, ever buy makeup or perfume online. Nine times out of ten it is fake or old stock. Although perfumes don't have a sell by date on them they do have a date or batch number that corresponds to a date at which point in time the fragrance will have oxidized and will no longer smell as the perfumer intended it to smell. Just before this date, unsold fragrance is withdrawn from the shop shelves and sold on to the online discounters. eBay customers watch out next year as the PayPal contract with eBay ends and a Dutch company will be taking over the payment transactions. You will still be able to pay using PayPal, but PayPal will no longer be the default setting, you will have to hunt for the PayPal option to get the added security it provides.

My experience of excavating in Egypt...I'd be more impressed if he couldn't locate a tomb in a pyramid! I'm way past sceptic and into full contagion. I don't do flat earth, unicorns or big estuaries!

Dowsing? Divining? Ley Lines? Guaranteed to get a rise out of an archaeologist, often quicker than Tropical Linda. These days most archaeology done is 'rescue archaeology' getting as much information we can before the archaeology is destroyed by climate, developers, conservationists and the local amateur archaeology group dis-ably assisted by Ted the local dowser and his coat hangers of doom who happened to notice that you can draw a line on a map connecting Yare House, Wussername's Wall at Reedham. JM's slipway and Tkalčićeva Street in Zagreb. Mind you, thinking about it, I reckon we should apply to get Wussername Grade II Listed!

Granddaughter Grace put her Christmas tree up at home over the weekend. Meanwhile Santa's little helper is looking for his Black n Decker to assemble her presents and thinking he might have left it on the boat!

If the other feller is the 'good' doctor does that mean I'm the 'bad' one?

Anyone looking at the Broads Authority site would be incorrectly told the Broads was once a vast estuary in the Roman period. With what information is readily available over the internet subject to an easily manipulated search algorithm rather than the accuracy of the information being presented, I quite like checking out the information in the location I find myself. Although some of that information can be suspect too. I was having a bit of a chuckle Peter about where we would put your blue plaque on the rhonde or Yare House? A bit like the plaque to Nelson in 'Carry on Jack' which Kenneth Williams' Captain Fearless keeps tripping over? I saw a moorhen on Barton Broad last month. It wasn't until I saw it that I realised I hadn't seen one in years! Meanwhile back at home and talking of 'blue plaques' I've run across a case of blue plaque fitters who got lost. A local history group in town raise money to pay for blue plaques celebrating various historical figures involvement in the town or notable bits of architecture or architecture long gone. The only problem is, they either don't put them anywhere near the place they are supposed to commemorate or when they do get it right put the plaque so high up a wall that you can't read it.

I've been hunting my book shelves and discovered where I put the book I was going to recommend. Here is the current definitive read and set text on the geology and archaeology of ancient Broadland. "Ol’Man River. Geo-Archaeological Aspects of Rivers and River Plains by Morgan De Dapper, Frank Vermeulen, Sarah Deprez and Devi Taelman of the University of Ghent. It is a tad expensive though!

He was also the chap that realised how contrived was the evidence of the Great Estuary theory and kickstarted much of the modern research done by the archaeologists and geologists from Cambridge and Birmingham universities north and south of the Broads respectively.

I'm not talking about them falling over...you know who I'm looking at over my glasses ... I've just spent an afternoon at my day job advising a landscape management authority on the content on their tourist information boards. The authority involved had received quite a lot of negative comment from visitors and stakeholders about the information contained on these notices. The main complaint can be characterised in one comment. "I wanted to know about the history of the location but the only information available was about non-descript brown birds which we could not see." This instantly struck a chord with me. I recently brought RT back to the Northern Broads and moored up for the night at the Tea Gardens. "I wonder why they are called the Tea Gardens?" asked Alli who had been volunteered as crew. "I don't know. There's a tourist information board over there, let's go find out!" I replied. We sauntered over to find a a board full of information about non-descript brown birds which were hiding and not visible at the location at that time of year at that time of day and nothing about the history of the location. As part of the meeting today I was confronted with a blinkered wildlife organisation also attending the meeting while we were on a site visit. "There's no history here, the wildlife is the important thing that we need to get visitors to appreciate!" said the wildlife bod. While we walked along the path we were caught up by a group of American Tourists. As we walked along I picked up shards of Roman pottery, a whet stone, several neolithic pot boilers and an Elizabethan silver penny from the plough soil by the headland. The tourists were fascinated and asked so many questions I went into 'tour guide mode'. I pointed out the remains of the abandoned medieval village. We spoke about the plague, agricultural revolution, I gave them directions to the next village along which was the former home of one of the Pilgrim Father's which was one of the reasons they were visiting the area. The tourists moved on leaving me £60 in tips which I donated to the management authority as my contribution to their new 'inclusive' tourist information boards. The rambling point I'm getting to, is that the information boards around the Broads are in a similar state. Other than at specific recognised historic locations such as St Bennets or Potter Bridge, there is little or no information included on signage for the tourist interested in things other than non descript brown birds. Norfolk is a landscape shaped by man. It's a landscape so drenched in history you couldn't swing a duck, if you can find one, without hitting archaeology. So please, could we start to have signage which is inclusive of all interests? Rant over, I'm now off to report my finds to the county archaeologist and finish this article on 18th Century perfumers.

There are several books that I'm waiting in fevered anticipation to be published or in fact written. These include: An Idiots Guide to the History and Hostelries of the Norfolk Broads by M Mynah Off the Wall and the follow up Ponderer on the Palisade by A Wussername Great Heart the History of Hearts Cruises by Vaughan Let Them Eat Cake by D Brundall Navy A guide to the baked goods of the Norfolk Broads. Ow much? A history of Yorkshiremen in Norfolk by B Ambition. Morning Mardle A collection of short stories set in the Norfolk Broads by A Wussername and V. Ashby Course it'll fit! The memoirs of Ex-Pilot. There are a few others...

When it comes to my food...I'm 'finicky' as we say up here. I pay very close attention to the quality of what I buy. Price is also a factor but cheap crap is cheap crap and I can spot and taste cheap crap a mile off. A recent altercation over the price of carrier bags in one store resulted in Ellie indulging me in a spot of research. We used several supermarkets and local vendors over several months to assess quality and price. It was quite an eye opener. We discovered that a weekly shop in Marks Food Hall was only £2.14 more expensive than the same weekly shop in Lidl. We discovered our local butcher far cheaper and superior in quality for meat joints than any supermarket and we discovered there is a vast difference in quality of 'own branded' products. The consequence is that we now split our shopping between several stores for several products based on quality rather than price as the price difference is minimal. We no longer shop in Morrison's because Ellie won't pay 50p for a 5p carrier bag!