Today sees me able to report that my site has seen 10,000 page views generated and this feels quite significant for a personal website that I started last December when I was out of work and desperately trying to get into the consideration set for potential employers.

A caveat is probably required though because the statistics are just the basic Weebly set and I am not sure how well the standard Weebly offering stands up against Google Analytics. For example, I can’t tell how many hits I have generated myself in uploading and checking articles and I can’t be sure if Weebly recognises a returning visitor or just records another unique visitor.  
 
I started using Google Analytics in March 2012 and the fact is that the statistics reported differ significantly between the Google and Weebly applications and I have no idea why – although it is quite possible that user error in terms of the Google Analytics setup is a factor.  
 
Still, this uncertainty doesn’t detract from the pleasure I gain from producing content for this site and that is more important to me than any statistic.

Thanks to everyone that has taken the time to read my outpourings; I hope that you enjoy your time on the site. I am always happy to receive feedback (in fact some qualitative input would be much more valuable than the quantitative insight that the statistics provide) so please get in touch.

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Yesterday I wrote about the Olympics and how I would miss the coverage that had taken over the viewing schedule in the Baldwin household. Last night though I realised that every cloud has a silver lining. Whilst the TV was bereft of sporting excellence, I could instead start to watch some of the stuff that was recorded and then ignored for the past few weeks.

Mrs Baldwin was going out for a drink with a friend and that allowed me to watch “Behind the Beast” - not a gruesome horror flick, or a dodgy porno movie, but instead an Iron Maiden documentary aired on BBC 4 recently(ish). To add to the pleasure, this was followed by the “En Vivo” concert – more Maiden excellence!

“Behind the Beast” documented the trials and tribulations of the Iron Maiden band members, the event organisers and road crew throughout the Final Frontier world tour. There were some fascinating insights into the challenges faced and the incredible teamwork to bring the tour together– one poignant moment was when Bruce Dickinson was piloting Ed Force 1 and was ten minutes away from landing at Tokyo - the day the earthquake and tsunami hit! Needless to say, the plane was diverted and the Japanese leg of the tour cancelled.

This post hasn’t been crafted as a review of the programme (although I recommend you watch it). My intention is to describe the circumstances around my viewing schedule because there is some amusement value to be had, at least in my opinion.

Last night I put the kids to bed, then set up the ironing board and began to iron my way through a stack of crumpled clothes. So the scenario is me ironing to Iron Maiden whilst the wife is out drinking. Can you imagine anything less ‘heavy metal’ than that? 

Parenting, domesticity, financial responsibilities, shirts/ties/cufflinks and age have eclipsed youth, flowing locks, head banging, gig tee shirts, leather jackets, denim and regular concert attendance. It’s okay though because in the 25 years I have been following the band, the members have aged by the same number of years. And as a commercial pilot, I bet even Bruce Dickinson has to iron a shirt from time to time.

So, picture me stood at the ironing board – every so often I couldn’t help myself, I had to put the iron down and get my air-guitar out and shake my head (of short and greying hair) and sing along badly.

I once read Billy Connolly’s book Gullible’s Travels and in it he writes “never trust a man who when left alone in a room with a tea cosy doesn’t put it on his head”.  The same thing applies to aging rockers – never trust a rocker who when left alone in a room with the heavy metal blaring doesn’t get his air-guitar out.

Is it, or rather am I, sad? No I say (but then I would wouldn’t I) because the day I stop getting animated when Iron Maiden is playing will be a very sad day indeed – and quite possibly my last!   
 
So, the final comic element of this post is dedicated to the legion of maturing Maiden fans out there - some alternative slogans for your enjoyment.

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I have thoroughly enjoyed watching the London 2012 Olympics and am amazed to admit that I’ll miss the pleasure that the games have brought into my life over the last fortnight. Bearing in mind that before the games started, I used this blog to admit my lack of engagement with the event, I am amazed that I have been transformed into a fan. In a more recent blog post, this sentiment was starting to become obvious and this article picks up the thread. 

The media in the UK (and doubtless all over the world) is full of coverage and, as a result, I am not sure why anyone would be interested in reading about my observations – let’s face it I am no sports pundit. You’ll realise that I managed to overcome my reservations; but I scratched my head for a while before taking to the keyboard. 
 
My angle is to write about the experiences that helped me realise that my earlier lack of engagement was a failing on my part. Here is a collection of personal highlights from the games - things that captured my attention, generated enthusiasm, fuelled my imagination and made me prepared to admit that I was wrong.

1) On Saturday night, I watched Mo Farah run the 5,000 metres and I was totally gripped. As he ran the last lap, I was off the sofa and jumping up and down on the floor to spur him on. Even as I was doing so, part of my brain was analysing how ridiculous I must have looked and how my antics couldn’t possibly affect the race result. It didn’t matter though, the excitement was infectious and the pleasure of someone else achieving something amazing was hugely rewarding - to feel so good for someone that you have never met (and probably never will) is refreshing for one’s soul. 

2) Watching Jessica Ennis emphatically win the heptathlon – enough said! 
 
3) Watching Mo Farah and Usain Bolt swapping call signs for the media was delightful – excellent to see that these Olympians have a sense of humour and are good sports too.

4) Seeing the genuine delight of Tom Daley when he achieved his bronze medal. The Chinese chap (the silver medal winner), whose name I now can’t remember has a lesson to learn from him. 

5) Watching Usain Bolt or Michael Phelps and supporting them as vociferously as anyone from Team GB. And hearing the crowds doing the same thing.

6) Watching the wonderful clips of the BBC commentators off air getting as excited as everyone else despite the fact that they were medal winners themselves in the past

7) Realising how nicely grounded and sensible so many of the Team GB members are. The Brownlee brothers, Jessica Ennis, Greg Rutherford, Bradley Wiggins, Nicola Adams, Mo Farah – all decent role models for my children in my opinion – not like the average premiership footballer that earns too much money for his own good and has a limited grip on reality let alone family values.

8) Seeing the Queen prepared to show a sense of humour and be a good sport 
 
9) Chatting to my parents (both retired) and realising that they were as gripped as I was – they knew the names of the athletes and the results they achieved. In my 41 years, I have never known sports of any genre to command such attention from my parents. 
 
The list is by no means exhaustive but it is sufficient to prove that the Olympics made its mark. For a few weeks, the double dip recession was of little interest to anyone, the threat from terrorism seemed diminished, it felt good to be British and to be part of the celebrations, and we all got reminded just how much the human body and spirit are capable of when we are prepared to work hard and stretch our boundaries.   

Before the games started I was largely disinterested; although in my own defence I did state that I hoped the patriotic spirit would grip me when the sport started. The fact is that it did and I am glad.

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There is a saying along the lines of ‘disasters come in threes’ – this weekend saw the third event that I would put in that category in the last fortnight - car crash, ruined kitchen floor and now the latest challenge.

On Saturday afternoon (04/8/12) my 4ft fish tank, recently moved into my newly fitted kitchen cracked and began releasing its 38.5 imperial gallons (or 175 litres – this is a huge volume of water if you think that an average car fuel tank will hold 60-85 litres of petrol/diesel). 
 
We had visitors at the time and fortunately one of the kids spotted the problem and shouted to us. Chaos then ensued as every towel we owned (and then some belonging to our next door neighbour) was pressed into service to mop up the water as it cascaded out of the tank and down the units and the wall. Our very own flash flood and nothing to do with the pouring rain.

And in our brand new kitchen! AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHH!! 

It is fair to state that the stress levels in the Baldwin household spiked massively over the next frantic minutes.

I grabbed a syphon pump to suck water out of the tank and into buckets to start lowering the gravitational effect (and the water pressure) to stem the flow. The collected water was then taken to a stand-by tank and used to fill it so that the tropical fish wouldn’t be too shocked in the transfer from one space to another.

Before the water ran out, all the fish were caught and moved into their new home and luckily none perished in the in chaos.

Once enough water was out, Jez and I manhandled the tank out of the house and into the garden, which is where it is pictured (on its side and in disgrace). If you study the pictures you’ll see that the tank’s failure was spectacular – this wasn’t just a failed seal, this was a full-on fracture.

After the panic subsided and the mop up was complete I felt drained, distressed and depressed but a night of the best sport I have ever seen helped lift the spirits.

Jessica Ennis was mighty and her emphatic win of the heptathlon was nothing short of awesome. Then came Mo Farah and Greg Rutherford and their performances were just wonderful. I was enthralled.   

On Sunday things didn’t feel so bad; I hope that the house has escaped any lasting damage, the fish are all still alive, a new tank has been ordered and the sport just kept on engaging. Well done Murray!

That night, watching Usain fire quicker than a bolt of premature ejaculation was tremendous. All over in less than ten seconds and leaving everyone wanting more (to make sense of the analogy)! The 200 metres will only last slightly longer.

I wrote another piece a short while ago about luck. I finished that in the same way I’ll finish this; on Saturday I bemoaned my bad luck but the fact is that it could have been so much worse – the fish didn’t die, the tank didn’t crack when we were all asleep (which would have been truly disastrous) and we might not have had friends around that leapt into action to support us.

I am a little nervous though that our new kitchen has it in for me; does the room get colder every time I wander in to it? Maybe I have just read one too many Stephen King novels?

Jez and Julia, if you read this, thank you so much for your help. We didn’t exactly have the most relaxing of evenings!

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Oh yes amongst the wall to wall Olympic coverage, here is a little gem of a story! It comes with a video that is well worth a view, particularly if you are a parent with young kids. 
 
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/technology-19055707

Reading this article and watching the accompanying video took me back a bit (well a lot really) - the Vic 20 and later the C64 were computers introduced during my childhood – the C64 was a pretty good gaming machine too (in its time of course).

In my junior school years though both were predated by the ZX81 – this was the first computer I ever interacted with and I remember using up lunch breaks at Highover Primary School in Hitchin to have a go at programming it. And not a particularly rewarding endeavour if I am honest.

I never owned a C64 but a friend of mine did and he had a great game called Mission Impossible that you couldn’t get for my machine – the legendary BBC Micro Model B.  What you could get though was the marvellous, addictive, and challenging ‘Elite’ – the only computer game I have ever completely engaged with. Any of you remember Thargoids?  

There were some distinct advances in those early days of computing and because my dad was a systems engineer, it helped the Baldwin family climb the home computing ladder. Loading software was a nightmare with a cassette player, it took ages and often the uploading would fail just to add further insult. 

My dad came home from work one night with a 5¼ inch floppy disk drive, it was surplus to requirements and had been robbed of its outer case (so it didn’t look pretty) but for me it was a revelation – the difference that disk drive made was huge. And Elite was now achievable because you could save your progress easily and load it quickly, along with the game for that matter.

Elite remains etched into my memory despite the fact that I achieved Elite status and completed all the missions some 27 years ago now.  Interestingly computer gaming lost its interest to me after the joys of Elite, nothing else was rewarding enough anymore. 

To be fair, I probably just grew out of computer gaming and so I find it a little amusing that some of my close friends engage with Call of Duty, Modern Warfare and Grand Theft Auto on their modern gaming machines with the same kind of addiction I had for Elite. My excuse was that I was a young teenager, their excuses – God knows; better than talking to the wife perhaps!

In the office today, it is interesting how much of this early computing technology, including the Commodore 64, is unknown to my younger colleagues. Even when I mentioned floppy disks many thought I meant the 3½ inch variants that came much later (and of course were hard cased and harder to describe as floppy). 

Memory sticks these days hold a volume of data that was simply inconceivable on the 1980s and the processing power of my i-phone compared to the BBC Micro or the Commodore 64 is like comparing the Bugatti Veyron with a roller-skate.

Happy 30th C64 – your birthday reminds me again of the inexorable passage of time but nonetheless I am grateful to have known you. I hope that obsolescence and obscurity suit you well. 

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