in which the bike pleads for a very modest overhaul

I was reading another bicycling saga when it got me thinking about the condition of my own main bike.

From a distance it still looks pretty OK, but close up there are various signs that little things need to be done.

Bicycle chains are supposed to last a few thousand miles. The odometer for this bike is reading 8,200 miles and I don't remember replacing the chain at any time. And I don't always use the Garmin, so there's probably at least a few hundred more unaccounted miles. A quick google says a road bike needs a new chain after 3,000 to 5,000 miles, although as I don't see any sharks teeth shaped cogs, so I might just be in time. It's has been a pretty good SRAM chain and still seems in good condition.

I do apply some of that chain wax to keep things smooth running, but a close look at the bike and my black striped right leg indicates that it probably needs sorting out. A new chain won't break the bank.

Of course, wiping off residual gunk sometimes transfers to my hands too, so I think there's probably a need for some more of that bar tape. I'm thinking white again. It may show the dirt, but the fizik stuff I use does wipe clean well. At least until the tape frays, as is the case at the moment.

The brakes and wheels are still looking fine, although I've got a temporary Quick Release spindle on the back wheel after I accidentally squashed the fancy DT Swiss one, which looked good but was made of plastic and very thin aluminium.

As for the saddle. It may look worn, but I'd say it's comfortable just as it is.

So a few fiddly bits to buy, and hopefully I can get it looking good as new again.

Royal Academy Summer Exhibition

I can't remember how many pictures are submitted to the Royal Academy for their show every Summer. I think its something like 10,000 open entries, which get down selected to around 1,000 works.

It's a fun show, and this year they have set up rooms with different themes which also pull it away from any sort of portraiture dominance.

There's well-known Royal Academy artists like Quentin Blake, Norman Ackroyd and Tracey Emin, a whole room full of tapestries by Grayson Perry - referencing 21st century moral anguishes (The Vanity of Small differences) and plenty of other artists with RA after their names.

Alongside all of that are the open submission pieces. I guess it's a way to push continuous new ideas into the show, reflecting contemporary thinking.

The exhibition starts with El Anatsui's huge 'TSIATSIA - Searching for Connection' which adorns the outside of the Gallery.

Inside amongst the fine work are a few whimsical pieces, like Cornelia Parker's 'Stolen Thunder', which is a frame surrounded by the red dots used to signify purchase, and underneath it an equally large number of people actually buying it. A snip for the digital pigment print at a mere £250.

I might not afford the artwork, but the triumph and even the aroma of a copy of the enjoyable catalogue bursting with energy is still with me.

around waterloo sunshine

It seems to be the wrong sort of day to be stuck indoors in an office doing paperwork. The spreadsheets are having a scooby-doo moment, all going wibbly.

In the distance I can hear the jangle of an ice cream van. Unless it's a sound mirage. Mediterranean folk may laugh at 'Only 26 degrees', but for we Brits this is pretty good.

And at just after 11, I can already see that many have figured a means of escape into the sunshine.

That will be my plan too, from about 14:00.

all the sevens?

Back from a sizzling hot cycle ride at about 2:15pm, just as the first ball of the Wimbledon men's final was being played.

I'd noticed the streets had cleared and guessed that most people were in combinations of barbecues and watching the tennis.

I was pretty -er- warm from the cycling and should have headed straight to the shower, but instead found myself joining the spirit of the exciting tennis final. The changing fortunes of the players were matched by remarkable switches in the pundits' commentary.

A great win for Andy Murray and 77 years since a Brit wins the mens' Wimbledon final on today : 7/7.

Curiously, I think Virginia Wade won the women's final in... '77.

tales from the countryside

In need of strawberries, blackberry vinegar and maybe some spicy chutney, we headed along to the farm shop on Saturday. We were surprised to see the volume of traffic along what is usually an obscure country lane. Some was being turned away to an adjacent overflow field.

It turned out to be some sort of special event, and fortunately I knew a walkable short cut through a field and under a bridge where I sometimes cycle. We cut past the stream, which had duck racing in progress, and into the event, which was in full swing.

Pretty much a feelgood sign of summer. Pimms in abundance , smokey barbecues and ice creams all round.

oops something went wrong

I suppose it was inevitable that after Windows 8 said it needed to perform an urgent update, that something would stop working.

I ran the update and aside from the speedy rush to 91% complete, followed by a five minute pause, everything seemed to be fine.

Reboot and back to normal.

Until I used the usually immensely reliable Netflix in that machine. "Ooops," it said,"something went wrong." Or words to that effect.

Groan.

It gave some kind of lengthy error code and said the computer wasn't connected to the internet, implying it was my fault and that I'd unplugged something.

I checked. Yes, it was connected to the internet. I rebooted the router to be sure. No change. Then I switched off all the Norton stuff and tried again. Nope. Reboot. Nope.

By now I've spent 45 minutes on systems administration instead of entertainment. This is all wrong.

And it worked yesterday, before the important system update for Windows 8.

In desperation, I decided to try the clutching at straws approach of re-installing Silverlight, which is a piece of Microsoft extra-ware used in some video setups. None of the instructions or diagnostics suggested this.

It worked.

I don't know what I'd do if I was a regular consumer level user.

incensed?

No one has commented on the similarity of the new Apple Time Capsule to one of those fragrant candles used to instil a sense of well-being.

I had the older type Time Capsules, but also an unfortunate track record with them, where they overheated and then expired. I lost two of them that way, before I eventually discovered it was (allegedly) a well known fault. Apparently the non-cooled power supply would get too hot, a capacitor would pop and that would be the end. For a time there was a web-site dedicated to the problem, which appeared to happen after an average if 19 months and 20 days

When it first happened at rashbre central, I took one apart to have a look, and noted the absence of ventilation. Instead of making some holes in the base, it was covered with a rubber compound, no doubt because of the internal mains supply. I still have a 2009 picture of it in the bin sans disk. The internal metal layer was perforated, but the engineers didn't have the last word on this industrial design.

It caused me to reconfigure the rashbre central backups to a separate disk system, instead of using the disks inside the units and I added a large metal heatsink (an old disk drive) to the outside of the remaining capsules to radiate away the warmth. Fortunately they were out of sight.

The interesting advantage of the newer type seems to be their increased speed. Even with the old ones, the wireless communication between them was more reliable than using a wire-based LAN connection across the mains supply (from upstairs to downstairs.

I'll try a couple as a Wifi extension to see whether I can get the higher internal speeds advertised.

a small South Bank sign of summer

. .

In which Glastonbury reminds me of the need to sit in a field

Watching some of Glasto on telly this weekend, I realised that we're not booked into any festivals for the whole summer.

This year the closest I've been to the live Glastonbury experience was an escalator behind a lone camper at Paddington station. She had what looked like all new camping gear, a fancy backpack and a 10 litre water bottle with maybe 4 litres in it. I couldn't help thinking it was a lot of heavy gear to be carrying, let alone from the train station and the likely long walk into the festival. Tomorrow I'm sure I will wistfully notice the (presumably) big round car park stickers as people return towards London.

Usually we're are at one or two big field gigs in the summer, so I suppose there's still time for something to turn up. Maybe a small field this year.

It's interesting to watch some of Glastonbury on television. There's good coverage of some of the live bands, but it can't really capture the experience, despite all the cutaways and TV presenter inserts.

Similarly the scale gets diluted, even with the ranging overhead cameras. The 45 minute walks from one area to another, strange blisters from wellington boots, the street food, beer and cider diet, random weather and even more random experiences with strangers.

Sunday's headline act is Mumford and Son. The top picture here is when we saw them at Glastonbury playing The Park. We sat on the grass in front and I could casually wander to the front for a few snaps. I doubt if it will be like that this evening on the Pyramid Stage.

sign of the vines?

A few of us had a meeting close to Leadenhall Market on Friday. I was early and wandered into the main market area ahead before heading to the assigned plate glass office block.

It was mid afternoon and I was struck by the lively bustle from the various pubs. When working around the City, there's an oft quoted saying that economic conditions can be determined from the pubs and wine bars. When graphs dip down the pubs are quiet.

This was 3.30pm and most of the pubs were jammed and standing room early.

Too early for it to be those finished for the day, so more likely to be extended lunch-times? And Leadenhall Market is hardly an upstart area. Slap bang in the middle of the City, the original market dates back to the 14th Century. It's served its share of liquid lunches.

I'm wondering; the dilemma that if this extended Friday tippling really is a sign of economic improvement, then is our money safe in their hands?

a visit to the sugar factory's legacy

I was in Tate Britain during the week, as a break from my office-based side project.

The recently completed massive re-hang of works has cubed them into a sweet chronological order. Yes, Tate was founded by the importer who created those little sugar cubes.

The Tate Modern (the other London Tate) has more variability, contrasting pieces from different eras, but here in Tate Britain it is genuinely helpful to be able to select a period from 1540 up to modern day, step into a relevant room and to see how art work has developed.

It's also created a surprisingly good mix of 'Greatest Hits' type works interspersed with (to me) lesser known pieces. It's totally impossible to take it all in one go, and much better to spend time in a few areas and maybe contrast the styles and developments.

There's early portraits, then development of surrounding scenes, landscapes, social commentary, abstraction, the conventions of the painters, both formal and sometimes humorous. It's easier in the new format to see it unfold through the different rooms. There's some - like the huge picture of the Lady of Shallot after the mirror shatters and she makes her cursed way downstream to never reach Camelot. Just one picture can take an age to absorb.

To the side of the huge galleries are smaller side exhibits which can be rotated with individual spotlight shows. I visited a couple related to the main show and a couple of very specific additional gallery collections.

I've dotted a few pictures through this blog entry. That top installation is from Damien Hirst. I think I saw it first in the old Saatchi gallery, which used to be on the South Bank. The Acquired Inability Escape. A curiously familiar scene? It's odd how some of these pieces seem to travel around London, probably at dead of night.

The middle picture is the Cook maid, by Sir Nathaniel Bacon, from around 1620 and the final one is the Lady of Shalott, 1888, by John William Waterhouse. Tate have also put around 500 of the works online into a useful gallery, which is here. Dive in for a Bigger Splash.

The Drowned Man - Punchdrunk

I've been told not to say too much about the evening. There's others expecting the full range of surprises, so I'll keep this oblique.

A visit to an almost derelict building around the back of Praed Street, where a line of people formed quietly alongside one of the loading bays. No signage to indicate the purpose, just recognition from others attending.

We were there for a preview of 'The Drowned Man', the latest production from the theatre company Punchdrunk, this time set in Temple Studios, the London outpost of Hollywood's Republic Pictures.

I've been to Punchdrunk at other venues and it's a rather unique theatrical experience. In this case a multiple story building for the multiple stories of the production.

200,0000 sq ft of space to create a series of offices, movie sets and so much more. The detail is there too, look into artists' rooms and their lives are spread out before you - blending early 60's London with Hollywood.

There were around 600 of us at this National Theatre preview performance, although the unguided nature of the show meant that sometimes I could find myself alone in a broad town square, a forest, a caravan or ... I'd better not say more. Go with friends, but expect to completely lose them for at least part of the evening.

Other times there would be action unfolding with more than a hundred masked audience following a single actor as they moved to a new scene. Kind of audience as character. Or a couple of audience sitting alone on a swing. Someone sleeping on a bench. A significant and sometimes guarded barrier. A song and dance number being performed on a sound stage for the cameras. Or two shots of happy and one shot of sad.

The walk-around (promenade sounds too structured) nature of the show means there really isn't a fourth wall to break, because it's quite possible to find oneself in amongst the Tinseltown action. Sometimes quite graphically.

It's safe to say that every visitor's acquired performance will be unique. It's a type of Dream Factory, one of the old nicknames for Hollywood. It worked, both whilst I was there, and the later present of sand in my shoes and unexpected dreams when I returned home.

I'll go again, for more and a different story, when it's past the previews.