Goo-d Stuff

I love this amazing Sheffield-themed design and digital art stuff from Steel City-based designer and digital artist Matt Cockayne, t/a Goo Design.

I freely admit that most of the mugs, t-shirts etc will probably mean a limited amount to anyone from outside Sheffield, but I was toying with doing this post when the man himself tweeted this, which swung it immediately.

r2d2

That is, of course, R2-D2, clearly displaying amorous feelings for a Bessemer Converter – one of the staples of steel production in Sheffield since the mid-1800s. However, given the size difference (here’s my daughter standing underneath a reasonably sized model)…


…this probably “in’t t’droid he were lookin’ fer”.

Click here to have a look at Matt’s work and the products available on his shopify site.

P.S. Having been brought up around both the initial Star Wars franchise and the Kelham Island Industrial Museum, I am astounded, somewhat incredulous and somewhat disappointed that I had never spotted this now strikingly obvious R2D2/Bessemer Converter similarity before.

Stevie’s Positive Thoughts

Happy stuff from robot-voiced super scientist Steven “Happy Happy Joy Joy” Hawking this week:

Professor Stephen Hawking says a disaster on Earth within the next 1000 or 10,000 years is a “near certainty”.

Oh good.

“We face a number of threats: nuclear war, global warming and genetically engineered viruses,” Hawking told the Radio Times ahead of his BBC Reith Lecture.

“Although the chance of a disaster on planet Earth in a given year may be quite low, it adds up over time, to a near certainty in the next 1000 or 10,000 years.”

The first sad thing about Professor Hawking’s warning is that he tends to be correct on the stuff that he shares with us, his work on the wave function of the universe, singularities of gravitational collapse and cosmology, and the development of irregularities in a single bubble inflationary universe springing immediately to mind.

The second sad thing about his warning is that it was an answer to a question posed by a schoolboy who wanted to know whether the world was likely to end at the hand of humans or from a natural disaster.

Is it just me, or should schoolboys rather not be thinking about that sort of thing? They should be thinking about whose side they’re going to be on in the break time footy match, or – if they’re older – Katie* Chapman in the Lower Sixth. Not impending doom. Not the end of civilisation.
No man – something’s up there. This schoolboy needs some sort of assessment before he goes postal on his classmates, especially now he’s had this sort of answer from the world’s leading genius.

* Or Keith Chapman. Or both. Each to their own. 

K.I.S.S.

2016 is the year of simple cooking.
Buy fewer, better quality, ingredients. Did I get the punctuation right there?

I’m not saying that I’m going to be buying less good stuff. I’m saying that I’m not going to be buying as much stuff, but that the quality of the stuff that I will be buying will be better.

I think I did get the punctuation right.

Anyway, to that end, I took the smaller child to the local butcher yesterday morning and we bought some homemade boerewors and a phat chunk of fillet, which I braai’d in the  afternoon. It was eaten with some fresh crusty bread and some green salad. Nowt fancy.

image

The fillet marinade was smoked paprika, coriander seeds and Hendo’s. Nowt fancy.

I recognise that Heston Blumenthal is spinning in his grave at the lack of polystyrene candy floss, and he’s not even dead yet, but I’m of the mind that when the food is of a decent quality, it should be allowed to speak for itself.

This, though I say it myself, chatted rather beautifully.

We Asked Max Power How He Got His Name And You Won’t Believe Who Replied!

His Mum. It was his Mum who replied.

Yesterday’s post about Wigan Athletic footballist Max Power was a big hit. I honestly thought that I had somehow gained some insight into the process involved in naming him. But what’s the point in honest thought or indeed any sort of speculation when you can get answers straight from the horse’s mouth footballer’s twitter account?

Thus, I asked. And waking up, 6000 miles from civilisation… and ever so slightly further from Birkenhead, I found a reply – from Max’s Mum!

Fullscreen capture 2016-01-14 084643 AM.bmp

First off, fair play to Mrs P for responding. Presumably she monitors tweets sent to her son after important games, on the lookout for unjustified nastiness directed his way. The ones I saw on there yesterday seemed to be mainly friendly (like mine was), so maybe she had some extra time (unintentional football pun) to get back to me. Thanks for that.

Secondly 11lbs 4oz? Christ on a moped. That’s 5.103kg! So yeah, you can name him what you want after that kind of effort.

Max seems like a nice guy too. His rather errant shooting in the warm up on Tuesday resulted in him hitting a young fan behind the goal. And then this happened:

Anyway, any further confusion over the Max Power nomenclature saga seems now to have come to an end. We now know that he was named after his Mum, and not the family labrador. And that he was booked in the 87th minute of Tuesday’s game. Which finished 3-3.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, takes us full circle.

UPDATE: Except to say that Maxine did get back once again to tell me that they had a labrador named Max.


Fullscreen capture 2016-01-15 093658 AM.bmpLegend.

3 (three) and Max Power

Having played an hour or more of 5-a-side in the howling wind and still sweltering sun, and then returned home to move furniture around for another hour and a half, I was only able to make it to just after half time in last night’s football matches before sleep overtook me (on a solid white line, too). The Newcastle game was enjoyable though, and so it was fortunate that it was the one I chose to watch. Meanwhile, over on the other side of the Pennines, my beloved Blades were taking a beating at Wigan Athletic. Unpretty.

But waking at some point in the early hours and checking the final score, I was delighted to see that we’d somehow salvaged a 3-3 draw, with a last 20 minute comeback of some note:

_20160113_085202

Great stuff, but then I can’t help but think that we’d have found ourselves in a somewhat better position if we were to have scored those 3 goals without allowing the opposition to score three of their own first. Yep, call it naive, but if I were a coach, I’d be concentrating on scoring more goals than the other team, working through two basic steps, namely:

  1. Stop them scoring three goals, and
  2. Score three goals.

It just might work.

But then, maybe we were not given the luxury of choice yesterday evening. Because beagle-eyed readers will have noted that Wigan were playing at with Max Power, who was booked in the 87th minute.

Max. Power.

I did some in depth research into Max Power, by typing his name into Google and opening the Wikipedia page entitled “Max Power (footballer)”. And under the “Personal Life” I found out some further details about his schooling and his mildly unusual nomenclature.

Power attended Wirral Grammar School for Boys

Yep. Born on the Wirral, attended the local boys’ school. Reasonable.

…and is named after his parents’ pet labrador

Yep. Named after his parents’ dog.

Wait. What?

I imagine Mr & Mrs Power sitting down together one evening and pondering the possible names that they could give their soon-to-be-born son. It’s a tough one, an important decision. They’ve already rejected several (or more) possibilities, either by mutual consent or by individual veto, that being the standard protocol for these kind of things. They’re rapidly approaching the twenty-sixth and final chapter of the Modern Book of Penguin Names – I’m sorry – The Penguin Book of Modern Names: it’s been no help, and Zebedee just seems a bit too religious.
Exhausted, the heavily-pregnant Mrs Power closes her eyes and begins to drift off to sleep. Sighing, Mr Power searches the room for inspiration. Their other kids, Full, Will, Super and Knowledge-Is are quietly watching TV. The dog is lying lazily in front of the fire. Wait. The dog! Let’s name him after the dog!

Because then we can call them both in from the garden with just one shout. It’s genius!

Quickly, he wakes his wife:

“Corridorsof! I’ve thought of a name!”
She awakens: “What are you going on about, Hydroelectric?”
“A name! For the boy! Max!”
The dog looks up.
“But that’s we called the dog.”
“Yeah, but he won’t last forever.”
“Good point. That’ll do then,” she mumbles and dozes off again.

…and that’s how it happened.

Further information on Max Power:

He once feared that he was named after Homer Simpson’s alter ego in The Simpsons episode “Homer to the Max“, before discovering that the episode aired when he was six years old. He has also posed for a motoring magazine which shares his name. Power has a son, Max.

Imaginative. Although I should point out that all this information came from the Daily Fail. So, you know, it could all be nonsense.

Apart from the story about the evening he got his name. That’s 100% true.

UPDATE: Even better, it turns out that Max’s mother is actually called Maxine (and not Corridorsof). But he clearly states in the article that he was named after the dog, and not her.

‘Thankfully, the labrador won,’ says Power. ‘My mum’s name is Maxine, so I’m glad I didn’t get that.’

But if you work it out, that means that they named the dog after his Mum, and him after the dog. Bonkers!