My Antiques Roadshow shock

The following might come as a shock to anyone who regularly watches The Antiques Roadshow.

You know the big reveal - the bit where a keen collector is told the broach he found buried in his garden is actually worth a five figure sum? That doesn't actually happen.

Not in the way it appears on TV anyway. In actual fact the antique's owner has already been told how much their prized artefact is worth, often by the same person who 'reveals' it to them and the TV audience.

Having spent an afternoon observing a filmed section of the show in picturesque Bolton Abbey in North Yorkshire with my girlfriend's family, I can now reveal the somewhat shocking truth.

As TV scandals go it's not quite up there with the Blue Peter cat-voting fiasco or Queengate, but it certainly surprised me.

As it turns out the middle England, tea-and-scones world of the Antiques Roadshow is actually a lot more hustling and bustling than you would imagine.
Posh-sounding Oxbridge types hurry round waving clipboards while antique owners sit around nervously sit around nervously waiting for their pride and joy to be evaluated. A disturbing number of (mostly male) people also seem to be there purely to see Fiona Bruce, the BBC2 Sunday tea time equivalent of Angelina Jolie.

One item brought along by my girlfriend's father garners a lot of interest, and after much waiting around he was ushered in front of a camera crew, with the other members of our party lined up in the background.

Our job was to look shocked and surprised when the value of his medal was disclosed, perhaps even gasp a little. Given that we had already been told its value, we didn't produce the look of shock that was required of us and were asked to do it again.

I'm not sure we did any better the next time round, but given the traditional perception of Yorkshire folk being less than animated the viewer at home probably wouldn't notice anything amiss.

Will I ever get my hands on Glastonbury tickets?

Is anyone else out there in Glastonbury ticket-buying hell? I only ask as a little communal whingeing might make me feel better as I tear my hair out in pursuit of a pass to this year's festival.

It's now getting on for midday on Sunday - for the last three hours I have been clicking my mouse and pressing redial on my phone to the point of repetitive strain injury.

Things are not going well.

Demand is expected to be lower this year, due to the near biblical weather of last year's festival and a lack of really show-stopping headline acts.

But the £160 tickets are still proving harder to get hold of than a suitcase in Heathrow's Terminal 5.

For a few shining minutes at around 10.30am, I thought I might have cracked it. After finally getting through on-line through Seetickets.com I was able to put in my registration and debit card details in.

But after progressing to the final screen I was told my registration details had already been used. WHAT? How could this be? Had I drunkenly passed my registration code over to someone while on a night out - or perhaps someone had hacked into my account?

The most plausible explanation is some kind of IT error. I needed to press 'back' at one point on my internet browser, perhaps this tricked the overloaded ticket booking system into thinking I had already bought mine.

Essentially, this means the on-line option has now been ruled out for me. All that is left is trying to phone the hotline with one phone while trying to get through to the Seetickets helpdesk with the other phone.

This probably hasn't done much for my chances of staving off a brain tumour in later life, but there's no going back now.

Anyway - back to it. During the time I have spent writing this blog another thousand tickets have probably gone. Another 200 or so redials and I might actually hear a human voice.

1.15PM UPDATE: I finally have my tickets! Like an unfit man staggering over the finishing line of the London Marathon, I feel exhausted but with a strange sense of accomplishment.

It turns out that when the website told me my registration details had already been used, it was actually telling me I had just bought the tickets. I later got through my phone and got another pair just in case - this way I can get a refund if I actually bought two sets by mistake.

If nothing else, the whole experience has taught me the merits of persevering. But reports on the radio seem to indicate that there aren't too many left - if you're still without you'd better get redialling.

Are you trying to buy Glasto tickets? Let us know how you're getting on here.

Homeless hostel could be anyone's saviour

One conversation with Darren Maltby was enough to show me how easily any of us can fall through society's cracks.

Smartly dressed, well groomed and articulate, he could easily be mistaken for a busy professional as he relaxed in his flat in Daybrook.

But just a matter of days ago the 40-year-old father-of-two was living on the streets.

The flat in question is one of 21 provided by homeless charity Framework at a total cost of £2.1 million. People referred by council officials in Broxtowe, Rushcliffe and Gedling will stay there on a short-term basis to help them back to independence.

On my visit to the Elizabeth House facility this week I learned that cooking and budgeting classes are included for the service users. Darren, a qualified basketball coach and former school governor, doesn't need any educational support. What he does need is help getting his life back on track.

Two years ago his marriage broke up, with the resulting stress meaning he lost his job and quickly found himself without a place to live. He spent three months living on the streets in Nottingham before finding lodgings in Gedling borough - but after seven months there someone else needed the room and he was again homeless.

"I became very introverted," he said. "Having come from what I thought was a normal family with a normal job in the community being homeless was like nothing I ever envisaged."

I found it hard to credit that someone like this could have ended up with nowhere to turn.

But if his example shows anything, it's that even those with everything going for them can quickly spiral into darkness. Most people, including myself, would struggle to cope with such a dramatic change of circumstances.

It's precisely for this reason that Elizabeth House exists. It was not universally well-received - in January residents submitted a petition in protest at possible anti-social behaviour as a result of the site being located next to a children's playground.

Only time will tell how well grounded their fears will be, but there's no question about the importance of the service the hostel provides.

What do you think? Is Daybrook the right site for the new homeless hostel?

Do we take driving dangers for granted?

It's ironic that, for all the attempts to raise our road safety awareness, it can take a near-miss to realise how we take our own lives in our hands every time we get behind the wheel.

3,172 people died in road traffic accidents in Britain in 2006. Despite this fact, myself and many other motorists feel safe in our cars - protected from the risk of accident by a combination of the latest safety technology and our own presumed invulnerability.

Though I see and hear the effects of road accidents on a near-daily basis in my job, it's all too easy to drive just a little too fast or too close to the car in front.

But a few days ago I had a wake-up call.

Setting out from my house in the dark, the ice had not entirely cleared from my windows as I approached a junction in Mapperley. With nothing coming in either direction I pulled out, only for an unseen cyclist to emerge from my right and be thrown over the bonnet of my car.

The cyclist was fine, though a little shaken. But having failed to spot him - perhaps because of a lapse in attention and the lack of visibility - the impact on me was, I hope, more long-lasting.

After seeing the damage that could be done by a car travelling at low speeds, I'm now taking steps to reduce the risks of any further accidents. Aside from driving a little slower and keeping more distance between myself and other cars, it's a matter of being ready for the unexpected lane changes and corner-cutting that characterise city centre motoring.

This week's report by the World Health Organisation - predicting that road accidents would cause 20m deaths worldwide between 2000 and 2015 - should have been a chilling reminder to motorists of the dangers of driving.

But in reality those who saw it in this weekend's papers would barely have acknowledged it.

Even the regular tales of road accidents and their horrific consequences barely register, happening to other people and not ourselves.

Driving a car is arguably the most dangerous thing we do on any given day. No matter how careful we are, a momentary lapse of concentration could have disastrous consequences. But would I be so careful if the Mapperley cyclist had driven past me 30 seconds earlier?

What do you think? Do Notts motorists drive dangerously?

Posted by Rob Parsons on March 25 2008.

A decent costume is a bear necessity

It's always nice to learn something new, even if that something means exposing yourself to humiliation. My lesson this week? Entertaining children isn't as easy as you would imagine.

As part of Nottingham Castle's attempt to stage a world record gathering of Robin Hoods on March 8, I was invited to come and dress up as Robin Hood along with Heart 106 DJs Sam and Amy at Bluebell Hill Primary School in St Ann's.

Pupils at the school, who had been given Ready, Steady, Cook-style voting cards for the occasion, would then choose whose costume they liked the best.

Getting hold of a costume was hard enough. The internet company I bought my outfit from didn't tell me they had visited my house to deliver it, so I was forced to make a last-minute dash to a fancy dress shop in town.

Even with the finished outfit on, I still had my doubts about whether I could win over a hall full of children in the face of competition from Sam and Amy, who are clearly two showbusiness pros. But then, an epiphany.

Remembering I had an old bear costume in my wardrobe (the reasons for this don't need to be discussed just now, but involve a fancy dress wedding) I put it on and wore my newly-bought Robin Hood outfit over the top.

The result looked like something from a rejected Noel's House Party feature - but would at least give me a fighting chance in the vote. Everyone likes fluffy polar bears, don't they?

In reality, it possibly wasn't such a good idea. The down sides of a giant polar bear outfit are numerous, heat and an inability to see where you are going being just two. But actually the main problem was that my feathered Robin Hood hat kept falling off my head.

It must have been the heat that prompted me, when asked to tell the Bluebell Hill children why I should win their votes, to promise a "special polar bear dance" if I won.

In the end I didn't win - but had to do the dance anyway. Being unable to see wider than 20 degrees in either direction meant I couldn't tell how well my comical flailing was going down, so I carried on regardless.

My consolation for not winning was that at least my outfit proved popular with the pupils, who were only too keen to wave at me and give me high-fives as they walked out of assembly.

And my respect for the likes of Mr Blobby and his pratfalling peers is now higher than ever.

Robin Hoods dress for world record success

Breaking world records is a funny business. Based on my experiences of watching kids' television in the 1990s, it normally involves doing something so pointless or unpleasant that those are more to be pitied than praised.

"158 consecutive hours in a bath full of congealed baked beans, with just a hug from Cheryl Baker and a badly-made medal as a reward?", I remember thinking to myself as a cynical teenager. "Not likely."

At first glance, you might think something similar about Nottingham Castle's efforts at assembling the biggest ever gathering of Robin Hood impersonators.

But the practice of dressing up as Notts' favourite son with hundreds of like-minded people actually has a long (ish...well actually less than a year) and glorious tradition in the county.

Nottingham Building Society set the ball rolling with 165 in April, though several months later Ravenshead Primary School's improved mark of 307 was recognised by the Guinness Book of Records. The current record of 606 was set in October.

Thanks to the power of social networking site Facebook, news of the latest attempt on March 8 has spread like wildfire among Nottingham's student community.

Doubtless many Evening Post readers have their own plans for the day, so why not let us know by e-mailing here? Any particularly impressive or zany attempts might well earn you a place on the Evening Post's website.

For my part, I'm putting myself forward for potential humiliation by getting dressed up as Robin Hood for a pre-event costume challenge in a couple of weeks. But more on that later...

Given the anticipated numbers for the event and the relative scarcity of green tunics, green tights and hats with feathers in them, I'm starting to wonder if the mass deluge of Robins on Nottingham city centre might have some unexpected consequences.

Sales of Robin Hood outfits on eBay could go through the roof. The market value of companies which make green felt could explode, stunning stock brokers in the City.

I suppose taking advantage of this astute financial insight might constitute insider trading, though now I've mentioned on this website I'll probably get away with it. But don't be surprised if Nottingham's charity shops are busier than normal between now and March 8.

Spoiling for a fight over housing plans

Communities across Notts are up in arms at the possibility of housing development on green belt land in the county. At the first public meeting to protest the plans, Rob Parsons assessed the mood.

It was standing room only at the Watnall Women's Institute building as the campaign against new houses gathered speed.

In fact, there was barely even that much space. Residents, councillors and other interested parties squeezed themselves in and hastily found spare chairs and even a piano stool to sit down on.

They gathered to hear the latest news about housing plans for Watnall after the Evening Post revealed large chunks of land near the village were earmarked for possible new homes.

Despite the wealth of other options available on a Saturday morning, as many as 100 residents came from Watnall and the surrounding area wanting to be part of it. With two minutes to go until the start of the meeting, those wanting to be inside were still queuing out of the door.

Council officials urged residents not to panic earlier this month - saying many possibilities were being investigated and analysed before a shortlist of preferred sites was produced.

But judging by the turnout at Saturday's meeting, few of them were assured by this.

Locals have experience in this area. In 2003 plans emerged for 750 homes and a business park on nearby green belt, only to be removed from Broxtowe Borough Council's local plan after widespread opposition.

And among the attendees on Saturday there were a myriad of reasons for objecting to any more housing around Watnall this time round.

Some worried the green belt might disappear under a carpet of concrete, others about the impact on traffic and public services. Finding myself stuck for half an hour getting out of the village after the meeting, I could certainly sympathise with the latter.

But the prevailing concern was that Watnall, which considers itself distinct from Greater Nottingham's suburban spread, could find itself submerged into nearby Hucknall.

The meeting itself was organised by the Broxtowe Conservative group, and unsurprisingly given the importance of the subject there were a few attempts to gain political capital at the expense of the Labour government.

But in general all present were unified by their common purpose. Having seen off housing plans just a few years ago, many were keen to try and do again.

The women's institute building - more used to painting classes and cake sales than high-octane debate - was bulging at the seams. A nearby log cabin was prepared as a standby just in case, but nowhere in the village was there an available building big enough to comfortably seat 100 people.

And in essence that tells a story about why development around Watnall is so widely opposed.

Conservative councillor Philip Owen noted that people come to live there because they don't to be part of city life, preferring instead a village existence. If Watnall's boundaries start to blur with those of Kimberley to the south and Hucknall to the north, that village identity will be threatened.

There's a long way to go in the process of deciding which sites in Notts will feed the ever-increasing demand for new homes.

But if all communities in the county are able to mobilise themselves the way Watnall has, it's a safe bet that the inevitable wave of new development won't go through without a fight.

Johnson takes to the stage in Nottingham

It used to be said that the Queen must think all hospitals smell of fresh paint, such were the efforts made by staff to refurbish any building she might visit.

In the case of Health Secretary Alan Johnson, it must seem like each hospital he goes to has just achieved success with a new medical innovation.

Mr Johnson was in Nottingham to visit City Hospital and see its state-of-the-art stroke referral service, which allows victims of strokes to be taken from their GP directly to a specialist ward. The service has already helped 110 people in Notts and even saved a policeman's life earlier this year.

But from the Government's point of view, it gives the NHS a chance to show the positive things it is doing around the country in the face of some generally cynical media coverage.

Visits of Government ministers to the provinces are usually pretty chaotic from a journalist's point of view. We generally spend most of the day sitting around in waiting rooms as the politician concerned meets the patients and staff, while a slightly flustered team of public relations officials circle round and try to head off any unscripted moments which might send them "off message".

By the time I joined the rest of assembled press pack at the City Hospital, the health secretary was already running ahead of schedule. This might not sound notable, but for a Government minister making stops around the country it is virtually unheard of.

Soon the carefully scripted procession though the stroke and urology departments took Mr Johnson round to the waiting reporters. As I waited in an interview room for him to finish speaking to the television news reporters I struck up conversation with a middle-aged woman whom I assumed to be part of the PR team.

It turned out to be influential Guardian columnist Polly Toynbee, accompanying the health secretary on his visit for an upcoming article. Given her reputation as a New Labourite and supporter of many government policies, some may say the distinction from the rest of the PR team isn't that vast.

In the end, I didn't get quite as much chance to grill Mr Johnson on the NHS in Notts as I would like. After giving him an easy question about the new stroke service, I only managed to ask two more questions about the hospital trust's superbug record and financial situation before my interview was cut short due to time constraints. Even the Evening Post photographer was stopped from taking pictures after only a few snaps.

A few minutes later a relaxed looking Alan Johnson (with Polly Toynbee) strolled out of the hospital door and onto a waiting patient link bus. It might have been a big event for the local media, but for him and his team it was just another day in the never-ending drive for positive publicity.

What do you think of visits to hospitals by Government officials? Are they important for our NHS or just a photo opportunity?

Winter Blues? I'm too busy doing Yoga

Even if you're not one of those superstitious types who insist on having their Christmas decorations down by the sixth of the month, January usually feels as empty as a bookshelf in Paris Hilton's house.

Finances are tight after spending all our cash on brightly coloured paper and sprouts (two-thirds of which went in the bin), there's nothing to look forward to and the weather is dire. On Friday it was so dark outside the Evening Post's office at 1pm I was worried I had set my alarm 12 hours late and accidentally got up in the middle of the night.

The depressing nature of this time of year is even backed up by science. According to a formula devised by Dr Cliff Arnall of Cardiff University's Centre for Lifelong Learning, the most depressing day of the 2008 is set to be a day or two either side of January 21.

(For those who want to calculate it themselves, the formula is ([W + (D-d)] x TQ) ? (M x NA). W = weather, D = debt, d = money due in January pay, T = time elapsed since Christmas, Q = time since failed New Year's resolutions to quit smoking, drinking etc, M = general motivational levels and NA = the need to take action.)

I can easily believe it. In fact if I didn't have to be at work on the 21st - which falls on a Monday, naturally - I would probably spend the day listening to Radiohead records in a darkened room.

The only way out of the rut which looks set to lead me to the crazy house (or a severe case of Seasonal Affective Disorder) is to do something drastic. Hence, as of this week, I plan to enlist in a class at night school.

It might not be up there with bungee-jumping off the top of the Empire State Building in terms of sheer exhilaration, but I'm pretty sure I'll get something out of it.

There's no shortage of options either. A quick glance at the websites of some nearby colleges or that of the Notts branch of the Workers? Educational Association reveals a wide variety of courses to save from me from another evening of watching TV on the sofa.

In the Arnold and Woodthorpe areas alone I could, should I wish, learn more about psychology or Buddhist philosophy. I could pick up a brush and do some watercolour painting, even learn the rudiments of yoga.

It's probably no coincidence that these course always start in January, when the uncommitted such as myself are most vulnerable to attempts at self-improvement. Many of the classes only last for two weeks before being called to a halt due to lack of numbers.

But whichever course I end up choosing, I'm determined to go the distance.

It might mean that the beer section of my nearest supermarket takes a hit due to my reduced loafing time, but at least when I'm finished I might be able to do a passable watercolour painting.

Do you have any New Year's resolutions? And how do you get through the winter blues?

US hopefuls give campaign a personal touch

If you've ever felt like the build-up to a general or local election is going on for ever, the chances are you wouldn't have enjoyed living in Iowa for the last few months.Thursday night saw voters in the mostly rural US state cast the first meaningful votes of the country's elections by taking part in the first caucus of the season, signalling the start of a race for the White House which will only get more fevered as the final vote on November 4 gets closer.But in reality, the jostling for position, fund-raising and criss-crossing of the country in search of vital votes began months ago.

Given how high the stakes are, it's hardly suprising. With candidates spending more than 100 million dollars each on their campaigns, they're leaving nothing to chance.And though the electoral system in the USA is as convoluted and incomprehensible to outsiders as they come, the tight margins could be a forerunner for our own General Election come 2009 or 2010.

The USA's image as a bastion of democratic purity has been tainted by scandal in the last two elections. Few will forget the recounts and farce of the 2000 presidential election, where George W Bush won despite failing to win the popular vote.Four years later Vietnam veteran John Kerry was defeated in part because a campaign to cast doubt on his outstanding military record.

Many believed the Bush administration's master of the dark arts, Karl Rove, was responsible.This time round though, the old guard has been replaced (Hillary Clinton and former New York City mayor Rudy Giuliani aside) by a bunch of largely unknown candidates, and the race is wide open.

A case in point was back in December, when Democratic hopeful Barack Obama joined talk show host Oprah Winfrey in a series of rallies across three pivotal states.In the next few days Obama's staff were busy contacting as many of the thousands of attendees as they could to make sure of their voting intentions. In the lead-up to the Iowa caucus, volunteers trudged through the snow of a mid-Western winter to put promotional hangers on residents' doors.One Iowan resident interviewed by reporters was able to play messages from staff representing all the Democratic candidates left on his answer phone, asking whethern he would be turning out on the day.

Election time in the UK seems almost quaint in comparison.Those aiming for our votes limit themselves to a few photo opportunities or a visit from a prominent party official, but conscious of our voters' suspicion of grandiose displays they shy away from overt displays of electioneering.The high-intensity campaigning from the US hopefuls might sound desperate - but I can't help but think it would have been nice for some of the prospective MPs to have lavished that kind of attention on my house when the UK chose its leader in 2005.What do you think of the techniques employed in the US elections? Should our voting system be more like theirs?

Snow excuse for failing to deal with winter weather

If there's one thing that always captures the nation's interest during the post-Christmas lull, it's the arrival of snow. For many people the first sign of white flakes around their ears is great news.

Kids get to go sledging and make snowmen, TV camera crews get to shoot heart-warming footage of them doing it, and the more elderly (or at least those who haven't already used up their Winter Fuel Allowance) get to compare the winter in question with those from decades ago - which naturally were colder and longer than the newfangled modern ones.

But in the main, the arrival of snow in the UK usually precipitates a particularly British kind of mild chaos. Office workers have to sit at their desks in mittens and scarves because the boiler is broken. Children get the day off school because of the half inch of snow around their houses. Previously busy roads become impassable.

As the cold snap swept in across the UK towards Notts this week, phrases like "travel chaos" and "fleets of gritters on standby" were already being bandied about. Luckily the cold snap is expected to be over by the weekend or you would be worried about the whole country grinding to an icy halt.

For all the panic over our transport infrastructure, it's not like our snowy spells are even that arduous. Other countries seem to manage - during a year I spent studying at the University of Wisconsin in the USA the authorities dealt with inches of snow and temperatures dipping past -30C with consummate ease.

The omens for Notts aren't too promising. In 2005 a 5cm flurry of snow across parts of the county prompted police to warn motorists against travelling, as drivers slid around on ungritted roads or were forced to wait in traffic jams.

If the snow does come this week, the city and county councils will doubtless spring into action with gritters and other measures to keep our roads open.

But I still can't help but wonder why, in what is supposed to be one of the most advanced countries in the world, we are always taken by surprise by a spell of cold weather which we know will always come at least once a year.

What are your experiences of snowy weather in Notts? Do our authorities cope well when the weather turns bad?