Ho-ho-ho

I haven't been blogging or commenting much lately though I still take time to stalk some blogs here and there. New job, away a bit and numbness (cause unknown but I suppose a visit to a doctor might help) in some of the fingers on my left hand have played their part.

I just wanted to say Merry Christmas. If you're a non-Christian raised type and have another religion I'm still saying Merry Christmas because, well.... it is Christmas and I'm not the sort of P.C. arsehole who's gonna go round pretending it's not (lest any petals take offence).

Enjoy your presents, family, loved ones (usually they're different people, let's face it), eat sensibly, drink irresponsibly and I might see you all on the other side, or not. Personally I intend to be so bad that I'm going to need an elevator to take me up to St. Nick's.

Kennedy conspiracy video

I saw something tonight that made me want to break my sabbatical/quit temporarily. The BBC nightly political and current affairs program Newsnight had a report from an Irish Journalist who's discovered something that seems to break new ground relating to the Kennedy assassinations and has uncovered known anti-Kennedy CIA operatives in film taken before the assassination of Bobby Kennedy. You can see the film in his report which starts 16 minutes 40 seconds into the program. The link to the page is here, then go to the right column and click on the Newsnight video button, first of three buttons in that column. As the program is nightly it may only be available for 24 hours.

If you've got 15 minutes, watch it. If you know someone else who'd be interested tell them where to find it.

Stop

I need to put in a lot of effort at work at the moment. As time is finite I think one of the first things to go has to be this. I only started blogging to learn something about the web and so I was curious when MSN started their Spaces blogging service in December 2004 and was one of the first to sign up. I moved to Blogger in April this year, some of the old entries have been migrated across, some haven't, the old blog and it's archives being here. Most of it is crap though there are some funny posts here and there, the sort of thing I like reading when I cruise other blogs. To those who call here occasionally, thanks for reading... and commenting. I don't know if this will be permanent or merely a sabbatical so I'll leave it up for now.

Britney

I'm no fan of celebrities. They usually live in a bubble world very much detached from the rest of us, it seems to matter little whether they're an A lister or a Z lister. I'm sure no-one won any money from the split of Britney and K-Fed, one of the surest things most likely to happen in anyone's books. Events like these do, however, remind us that they're as fragile and flawed as you and me, perhaps more-so. They dated for only 2 months before getting engaged, him leaving his pregnant partner to be with Britney. You and I would be hearing bells here. They then went on to wed 6 months later having been a couple for 8 months. By all accounts the marriage was lucky to survive beyond Britney's first pregnancy but being the clever couple they are they thought having another child straight away was a good idea. Surely the spawn of these genes is not something that will enhance the human race unless 2 idiots can make a genius. The children are unfortunate victims and I shouldn't mock. You have to feel sorry for anyone who, despite not having the money worries the rest of us have to deal with in our day to day lives, have such inability to gauge a situation that will forever change their life and the lives of others. In fairness to Britney he seems to be a bigger idiot than she is and I imagine a messy divorce will allow his true colours to come even more to the fore.

For the record Britney, I'd sign a pre-nup, use contraception (and remind you to) and stick to careers I know I'm good at, won't even think about becoming a bad-ass rapper. And I'd have done you in the Toxic video.

p.s. of course you'd have to become smart and change your hair colour back. Don't pretend you're not giving it some thought.




Readers, please note the top picture isn't really a picture of Britney but of a girl from Iowa called Emmie and was taken by Eric Striffler. Actually, looking at the bottom picture, Emmie has first dibs.

Boke and Guinness and Soap

I'm feeling unusually refreshed for a Monday. Friday night was spent out drinking with a couple of friends. To avoid unnecessary (and redundant verbosity) the highlights were as follows.

• 7.20 pm. Got picked up by taxi, the driver stating that it would have been much handier for him if I'd walked down to the main road.
• 7.21 pm. Taxi driver seemed unable to comprehend that if I'd done that I wouldn't have needed him. (1st note to self - remember to fart so hard before getting out in future that taxi driver thinks you've shit yourself).
• 7.36pm. Arrive in Heddonism Central. Select bar/restaurant and take seats for the "chat". The chat involves male bonding type banter which builds up over the next few hours before concluding that all women are psychotic bastards.
• 10.00pm. Shift bar to one where the ladies will get the benefit of our new found wine induced confidence and witty repartee.
• 10.02pm. Bump into a previous incumbent of my job who's out entertaining what are now mutual clients, though we're now competitors. I do the shaky hand thing with them and smile a bit before being lumbered temporarily with him. He smells of boke (definition). (2nd note to self - remember to wash or wipe your boke smattered ear next time you end up getting sucked in to a conversation with this dickhead).
• 10.05pm. Became a smoker again for the night. Drink = Dark Side.
• 10.10pm. Customary bullshit and ogling.
• 11.40pm. Change bars. Elbow room now required (and faster service).
• 11.41pm. Arrive at neighbouring bar 20 feet away. On arrival my route to the bar staff is blocked by an English soap star. I badger him into ordering for me which allows me chat up his girlfriend who turns out to be from my hometown.
• 1.05am. Although my "humility" script for ego-centrics is quite good I eventually run out of things to say to said soap star. He was beginning to see through lines such as "It must be a very interesting job you have, opening supermarkets ....".
• 1.45am. Get picked up by same taxi driver.
• 1.58am. No, I don't want to be dropped off at the main road you decaying old fucker.
• 2.05am. Nod. (3rd note to self - as soon as you hear yourself saying "I'm just going to have a quiet night" you've just given the evening the kiss of death. It's as predictable as Abracadabra and a puff of smoke or Bush lying when he opens his mouth).
• Saturday. Drag out hangover until at least 5pm. Deny to everyone you have a hangover even though they can still smell the drink off your breath. Convince yourself your liver doesn't hurt, it's mind over matter.

No sé nada

Long,long ago (well, July) I vowed never again to be embarrassed about my almost complete lack of language skills. I went through a process of elimination to decide which language I should learn. I studied Latin briefly at school but as Centurions never quite made it to these parts and I didn't want to be a flower arranger or human butcher there was never really a need. I then migrated to French which annoyingly I can read pretty well though have no desire to know perhaps partly from the knowledge that in the last 200 or so years the only words the French themselves needed to know were Non! and Je me rends. So Spanish was chosen for my adult re-education. I dug out the cloth eared Collins Gem Spanish phrasebook I bought a couple of years before and started to read up on it, check pronunciation, download the few available podcasts etc.. One of them mentioned a speed learning technique that tapped into the sub-conscious (which suits me as I usually am) and just seemed to make sense. As you learn buy a novel in Spanish that is also available in English, and just read. Vocabulary, grammar, speech patterns etc. are, according to the theory, just absorbed and constructed jigsaw-like by the grey, walnut sized organ that sits between the ears. My walnut read lazy learning. So, before boarding my holiday jet home I procured my first pair of Spanglish novels. At this point I should, therefore, be able to regale you with word of what progress I've made and share whether I can converse in a way that would have you think I'm Enrique rather than a dubbed bandito in a Fistfull of Dollars. Needless to say I lost the bloody book. Well, you weren't expecting a happy ending, were you? ¡Bastardos groseros!

Boo!

Hallow'e'en. Pre-daddy days it meant getting tidied up and going to do some serious damage at a flange infested embibing emporium. How times have changed. Now, father to the funniest (and smartest, eerily knowledgeable in a way that would make you believe in re-incarnation) toddler around you'd think I'd have happily swapped my days of debauchery for an evening full of tot sized games and amusements. No. My (smartest, funniest, Elmer Fudd-on-helium speaking) toddler is afraid of Hallow'e'en masks and even painted faces. As fireworks are officially banned now, thanks to the wee spides who fire them at pets and ambulances, that makes for an interesting Hallow'e'en.


I can't be done for child abuse just for taking her into a bar can I?

confused.com

My new job means I have to provide my own car which in turn means I have to insure it. I started to get prices last week and the thought of repeating answers ad nauseam to several insurance companies' call centre staff didn't exactly tickle me so I took confused.com at it's word and typed in my details on-line. Theory goes that they feed the data to 18 insurers and come back with all the prices and main variations in cover. Having driven a company car for a while I knew I'd have lost some of my no claims bonus so wasn't expecting a low price. The cheapest came back as £900 with most others somewhere between £1200 and £1300. My flabber was well and truely gasted but as I could see all 18 on a web page I thought I'd have no alternative but to plump for the £900 and swallow it. As a just-in-case, I thought I'd go the old fashioned way and ring a broker. £600. Quicker than I could fill in a web form. Piece of piss. There's a moral here isn't there. I was well aware internet retailers weren't necessarily cheaper, and if you're buying something tangible that customer service is invariably slow and shite (3 months to get a refund on a defective MP3 player from Pixmania, French cunts) but on something like insurance you really do expect the web to come up trumps. After all, it's you who's doing all the work. But 1/3 cheaper, or 50% more expensive depending on which way you want to look at it? So forget confused.com. They're stacked full of insurers who operate under multiple brands for different distribution channels. They rely on us either

1. believing that the web is usually significantly cheaper or
2. being too busy/lazy to ring a phone number during normal business hours and talk to a real person

On the plus side however, technically I've saved £300. So how should I treat myself?

Lowest common denominator

I've been tardy again, haven't I? New job you see. I've been trying to get my new technology delivered and working. The first part's hard and the second makes the first look easy, if that makes sense. Complete pain in the arse.

It's with great delight, therefore, that I give you Percy.

adopt your own virtual pet!

Things

It's funny how "things" create or stir emotions in us. Inanimate objects. When we're babies it'll be a blanket or a dummy or a wee cuddly toy. Life goes on, the years pass but there'll always be "things" that we hold dear completely unrelated to their material worth. A photo, a letter, a watch, jewellery, a ticket. All for different reasons but with the common theme running through that they make us feel comfortable, comforted. Happy memories. Now, as a grown up (more usually groan up) I always feel that way about cars. Doesn't matter if it's been an old banger, a heap of scrap or a an expensive lump of German metal, the feeling's the same. This morning my car's being taken back by my old employer. I need a new blanket.

Seventies smells

Boarded the plane on Wednesday to find my luggage sitting behind my seat. Seat number 8. Seat number 8 of an eight seater plane that looked, smelt and felt like a 70s car inside. For the first time I saw every single passenger pay attention to the safety briefing on what had turned into a blustery day. Every single mile of the flight would take place over water. Cold water. Five minutes and you're dead water. I line up The Smiths on my MP3 player.

Air safety

Do you ever have to/choose to fly? How safe is your plane? Pretty safe? Extremely safe? All those airport checks, shoes off, no liquids on board. Must be fine?

But what if some of the cargo is NEVER checked? What would you think if you discovered it was standard procedure and for a parcel to avoid being security screened all it would have to have would be one of 1,500,000 approved security numbers (for U.S. patrons).

A recent trial exposed this accepted loophole in security when a Fed-Ex employee "sold off" these secret numbers to a drug gang looking to ship drugs avoiding security checks from the U.S. to the U.K..

Re-assuring isn't it. Full story here.

Baby Charlotte

It's Monday morning and as sure as the sun rises a story emerges from the news that just makes you despair (well, me anyway).

I'll precis the story but link to an article with more detail.
A couple had a child extremely prematurely. At birth it weighed 1lb and had multiple underdeveloped organs. The medical team, against all probability, kept the child alive through constant resuscitations but in the end asked the parents for permission not to resuscitate if required again as the child had no quality of life, no chance of recovery, had a very short life expectancy and was drawing on hospital resources to the degree that other sick children could not receive treatment that would improve their quality of life. The parents fought, and won, their legal battles at times when their child was gravely ill, the taxpayer bearing the substantial cost of their case.

Fast forward to today.... the parents are to separate and neither is to take care of the child.

Whilst as a parent I understand their natural desire to see their child live one has to wonder what motivated these people to fight so strongly before yet now seem so disinterested in her plight.

Could it be that now the media spotlight is off them and the newspaper and magazine exclusives have dried up they see the world differently?
Could it be that for the first time in 3 years they've actually listened to what the medical staff have been saying all along?
Could it be that they just don't love this little girl after all, at least not in her broken state?

It's a tragic, tragic story where no-one wins. Not the tax-payer, the hard pressed hospital staff, the parents and family and certainly not Charlotte (OK, perhaps a handful of barristers earned a bucket full of shekels and are no doubt donating that all to children's charities as we speak).

It does, however, remind me that perhaps some adults, for the sake of others, just shouldn't have any rights at all.

Personal best

I know it looks like I've temporarily abandoned this wee blog, just been away with work all week, still am now. I've been meeting and getting to know people, some drink has been involved and, unusually, I haven't shamed myself-well, except for falling asleep in 3 separate presentations.

As I'm away next week, however, there's time yet. In fact I don't officially start work for a couple of weeks so I could set a personal best for shaming myself, offending my betters and getting sacked comfortably before I even begin.

Now there's a challenge.

Queen of the ball

If you're petty and small minded like me you'll like this. Somehow I missed the story first time round. You know Richard Branson? OK. Well he was throwing a 21st birthday party for his son, the theme of which was The Madhatter's Ball. Paris Hilton heard about the party and asked if she could come dressed as Alice, therefore guaranteeing her a starring role. Sir Dicky agreed. When she turned up however she found Tricky Dicky had asked all 60 waitresses to dress up as Alice too. To rub salt in to the wounds he deliberately asked Paris for a drink when she approached him. Quality.

p.s. do you think she's lost a contact or just about to be on the receiving end?

Bolloxing about with Blogger Beta

Well, I eventually took the plunge and swithced over to the new Beta. What's the difference? It's easier, for the most part, to customise and for the first time it's possible to position elements of the page rather than have them nailed in a specific location for each template.

I was able to move most of my junk over and paste in in to new html/script elements. In fact I think the only thing I couldn't do was put back my comment hack which showed the names of all commenters below each post. For the time being I've made do with something else for comments though I'm not sure it's working in real time and seems to be a bit behind. Hopefully you should be able to see the most recent comments somewhere in the sidebar though I'd really like to be able to have that functionality again.

On the whole I think the changes are good and allow the majority of non html savvy bloggers to tweak and customise. The downside is that Blogger wrote a new programming language so it's more difficult to mess with the template itself. I imagine the hackers are already on it though and some new bells and whistles will be along soon for the brave and foolhardy.

There still seems to be some glitches. Some elements don't like certain page positions so some of my page elements aren't where I want them. I imagine it'll get sorted out.

It's also now possible to post photos directly to the blog from flickr rather than simply have them hosted. Haven't tried it out yet so don't know if it's for individual pics or slideshows too.

I've spent 2 or 3 hours changing things around. Not happy with eveything yet so I'll probably have a go again tonight to see what else I can come up with.

Microsoft Vista. Quel surprise

I've been aware of this for a while now hence my sudden interest in learning Linux, specifically Ubuntu Linux. It gains special significance when you know that Microsoft will withdraw support (security patches etc.) for XP 12 months after Service Pack 3 which is expected in about 6 months. So that means 18 months and then you have to migrate to Vista.

I don't think so!

Vweewy wucky

Being an accidental parent as I am I'm still not completely used to being a daddy. I love seeing my daughter learn things, especially things I have taught or shown her. It's a very warm feeling. I love her smiles and her enthusiasm for the world and the looks she gives me and I especially love her funny little Elmer Fudd voice.
Right now I'd settle for her staying just as she is.


p.s. when searching for Elmer Fudd pics I ran into this. Google must be a good place to work.

Dearly beloved....

About to change job as I am I'm wrestling with what I should use the next 2 to 4 weeks wind-down time doing. I've thought about clearing my office and getting it proper business like for the new job, doing some electrical and decorating work around the house and clearing all the hedges and shrubs I don't like from the garden. Yawn. They're not getting your juices going either I see. What's a man to do with 4 weeks on his hands that'll make a difference to the world, leave a mark, a permanent reminder that I was here, that I was worth something (first one to say delusions of grandeur signs their own death warrant).

So.... I've come to the obvious conclusion that it would be a good idea for me to start a new religion. A cult if you must. A misspelling if you insist.

I need a bit of help though. Some other bored buggers have got in ahead of me and have pillars and commandments and the like. We (yes, you're invited) need to come up with some original rules and practices we can base our religion on (and that we can live by without making too much effort).

So, on you go then.

Something to play with

Borrowed from Blunt Cogs.

Move your mouse and go to "more".

2 what-ifs, no weddings and (nearly) a funeral

A forty-eight hour trip to London is hazardous to your health. Life threatening even. Let me explain.

It all started when I was driving to the airport. I was just in the process of turning off a roundabout to throw my car into a private car park opposite the airport when a bus bombed through without seeing me. I managed to get stopped just in time. Had I assumed he would've/should've seen me I'd have had 17 tons of metal to play with. I think it's safe to say I might have got hurt. Thirty seconds later I'm dropping my keys off and contemplating the what ifs. That lasts for most of my journey.
Five and a half hours later I emerge from the Tube network to commence my two days in London. I'm getting better at it. Not afraid to get the bus now. Know how to get to some places. Well, as long as some kindly soul has given me chapter and verse on the directions/changes etc. but the guy I usually go over to see lives on a main bus route. It's a piece of piss and bus stops are right outside his front door. So, a quick freshen up and off we go. Pills and drink. Drink and pills. Three hours a night sleep but only if absolutely necessary. Plenty of craic. Visits to illegal 24 hours off-licences, you know how it goes.

Fast forward. Return trip home. Flight delayed. Flight takes off and gets to within 3 minutes and 1000 feet of landing. Pilot applies full throttle and sends us sharply skyward again. He bing-bongs to tell us that "we" have a problem with the brakes. He fancies flying around for a bit "to do some tests" (like Mr T used to say "I ain't no fool", he's going to dry off his seat, calm himself the fuck down and try to take us in again when 1./ he's stopped shaking 2./ the fire appliances have been scrambled 3./ we have less burny liquids on board). It gave me my 2nd what if moment of the weekend. As I'd already done my homework on Friday I settled down to scrolling through my MP3 player for what might be my last song - a nine minute version of How soon is now by The Smiths.

So despite my best efforts,the efforts of bus drivers and aeroplane captains, I'm still here. Well, for another week anyway.

Short

Spent this week trying to cough my lungs inside out. Nearly succeeded.

Still off the smokes. Want one badly (purely medicinal to help the cough).

Who am I?

Thanks to my blog friend Sarah I came across this site that shows your celebrity lookalikes.

Shy as I am I've left my moniker out but apparently these are the celebs I'm most similar to.

What the fuck? OK. I can understand Stephen Chow (whoever that is). I must've been smiling a bit too Chinesely in the pic I submitted but Tom Yorke??? Even on a Sunday morning after 2 hrs sleep and an indulgent Saturday night full of vices I don't look like that bag 'o spanners.

So there you are. I am approximately 65% to 72% of the above. Scary.



Update - ran Mini-me's pic through it.

Now, the more observant among you will notice that my daughter's supposed to look reasonably Japanese, with a smattering of Shirley Temple, Tyra Banks and Wacko.

I'm going for a paternity test.

London calling

Next weekend I'm popping over to see a friend and help him celebrate his birthday. I've been quite a few times over the years, seldom lately though. My current job was supposed to take me to London on a regular basis but that never materialised and the city's still a big mystery to me. I had intended to meet a fellow blogger (now ex blogger) last year but couldn't get a date organised that suited for work and childcare etc. Anyway, I'd probably have made an arse of myself. Back to London. If I move around it in daylight, with a map and plenty of time I can manage to get lost only once every 30 minutes or so. A proper result. Don't ask me which Tube stations link with other lines and stuff like that. As I'm colour blind the Tube map makes no sense to me. It's like spaghetti with name tags. Buy a day ticket and be loose on meeting times. That's the way to do it. For most places public transport is quite good, though can be slow, slower if you get the wrong Tube or bus. Essential if you're injured. Last time I was there I was in Camberwell and the three of us who were meeting stood at a bar like a human three legged stool and, without moving for six hours, talked bollocks to each other while drinking double vodkas with shot chasers. Needless to say I acquired an injury on the walk home from the bar. So next weekend when you're drawing the curtains and turning out the lights think of me and my walnut sized liver fruitlessly trying to process drugs and alcohol at a rate that will keep me out of hospital.

Insomnia

I haven't been sleeping well lately. Late to bed, early to rise. Broken sleep. Weird dreams. Pains in the chest.

I'm contemplating a job move. Harder work, much bigger challenge, potential of more money. About £30k more than I can currently earn where I am. There are some very big "ifs" that come along with it. It'll be shit or bust. I'm stagnating where I am.

Hot, hot, hot

Two Sundays ago I stopped smoking, except for a 10 pack bought on a drinking spree last Saturday night. Regretted next day of course. I intend to stay off them though I've been an on and off smoker from day to day, week to week for years. One of the things I notice , but is becoming more obvious, is that when I stop my body warms up. All my extremities seem to be getting more blood all of a sudden, my feet and hands feel like they're radiating heat. I believe I have in fact become a thermo-nuclear device. Now, that has to be good. Even if it means I now contravene the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty.

I don't care, impose sanctions on me all you want I'm not going back on the weed again. And, I'm going to save a fortune on heating costs this winter.

i c u

I used to get lots of visits from various cities in China. I think they've unGoogled me now. I had a visit a couple of days ago from somwhere in West Africa. Nigerian scammers no doubt. And not so long ago The Democratic Peoples Republic of Korea (that's the undemocratic North Korea to you and me) and even Saudi Arabia last week. I get occasional visits from the police, hi coppers (though strangely from London, not where I live), somebody who claimed to be a spy and then of course there's the usual bunch of misfits who leave comments. Annoyingly I still get comment spam even though I've got the word verification activated. I'll have to shoot those fuckers. They just won't take a hint. But isn't this clever .....I'm so impressed with those Google people. Now, when should I put the multi-lingual ads up?

Missing, presumed dead.

Somewhere between the turn of the millennium and now I lost my Mojo. It didn't happen on any specific day or because of any particular thing happening. It just went. I've tried looking for it but no matter how hard I look I can't seem to find it. I'd love to get enthused about being enthusiastic. But I can't.

Ubuntu, free and easy.... ish.

As you're aware I've been playing with an Open Source Linux operating system called Ubuntu. What with Windows going all "Windows Genuine Advantage" and Vista going ... who knows, well, I thought I should take a look at some Linux flavours again.
So here's a brief synopsis for those of you willing to dip your toe in the water.
I've assumed the reader knows nothing so don't take offence if you know this already.
The main reasons to go with an Open Source OS are

1/ it's free
2/ it's more secure than Windows and generally you won't need an anti-virus or firewall
3/ it comes complete with mail client, web browsers etc.etc.

Users can have both Linux and Windows operating on the same p.c.. This is referred to as "dual boot" as you will be given a choice at start-up in the black BIOS boot screen as to which OS you want to boot into every time you turn the p.c. on.
You can order a CD of the complete Ubuntu OS for the price of postage/free or download it from here. It's a big file, 700MB.
New users can run what's called a "live session" meaning try out Ubuntu without it being permanently installed. This gives you an idea of how it looks and feels, try before you buy.
All the instructions for installing etc. are on help pages like this. It's pretty idiot proof. You should defragment your hard drive before installing to tidy your hard drive up. This page probably has the best install instructions I've seen along with pics of what you'd expect to see at each step.
Ubuntu has been set up to detect just about all your drivers and attached devices on start-up. Linux has come a long, long way and it's fairly much plug'n'play now with the exception of wireless. A hard wired LAN connection is no problem though so it'll probably be completely painless for you to put on your main p.c. for a trial run. Lots of help is available.
Ubuntu comes complete with loads of software on the install disc/download that will duplicate the functionality of the Windows programs you're familiar with. You can also download a Linux program called Automatix that will download and install a lot of useful plug-ins and media codecs automatically.
For Windows programs that you don't want to give up there are emulator programs that act as go betweens and should allow the Windows software to run under Linux fairly well.

Of course there are other flavours of Linux. Here's another, Linspire, that's supposed to be a dawdle do set up.

Guerilla penguin

I did take on a biggy. Install a Linux OS and get it running on my p.c. wirelessly. Now accomplished. Sort of. For those of you who are not close to the penguin Linux is a multi-flavoured Open Source (the important bit is FREE here) operating system, a more secure, and apparently stable alternative to Windows. It's constantly in development so bugs and issues get fixed quickly and the way Linux works means you don't normally need a firewall or anti-virus program. The only problem is that hardware manufacturers don't do a lot to support Linux users in terms of drivers so there are all sorts of workarounds. I know this because I must have spent the equivalent of 20 hours pouring over forum threads about wireless networking to get my own (albeit obscure) wireless USB adapter working. It set up a wired LAN network automatically but wireless.....that's a bit different. And I still haven't been able to get it configured with security enabled. But I will, eventually.


So, if you're one of my neighbours and have attached yourself to my network (I know who you are)..... that wasn't me earlier looking at pictures of naked Australian women, but yes, they were tasteful. And that wasn't my bank account I was checking either. If I were you though I'd batten down the hatches because thanks to Linux I've just discovered two open source cracking utilities that'll mean I'll be able to unzip your WEP key post haste. You better hope you don't have any "artistic" pics of your wife on your hard drive.


Viva la penguin!

My book

When I get time, which might be around Christmas but could be two weeks, I'm going to write a book.

Advance copies of "Imploding with style but not necessarily dignity" can be purchased via credit card and Paypal.

'Til then....

Project Ubuntu

I can't help myself. There may be pain ahead. Here I go, head first.


Ubuntu

Muslims need to do more

The threat from Muslim extremists is not abating. Muslim leaders in the UK place themselves somewhere between denial and justification of suicide bombers and their ambiguity is both unhelpful and dangerous. They can protect both their own community and the wider secular community best by saying more, more often in public and without the "but...." tag that seems obligatory in their interviews and statements. They can encourage their fellow Muslims to report suspicions to the appropriate authorities or the special team the anti-terrorist police have created to handle these. When the next attack does succeed (as one inevitably will) I want them to feel that their conscience is clear. After all we keep hearing about "the religion of peace" it would be good to see some positive action from these leaders rather than news-bite lip-service.

The ball's in their court.

Fly boy

Who had to fly on Thursday morning?

Who still has to get home on Friday afternoon?


That's right.

¡No habla español!

Having a wee one who is only compatible with short flights to go on holiday means I have to learn a language over the next 12 months. I don't have to, I just feel more than a bit pathetic not being able to speak more than a few words when I'm in someone else's country.
So the question is which country, which language? Let's see. Countries close to hand are Belgium, Holland, Germany, France, Spain, Italy, Portugal, Finland, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Greece, Albania, Turkey, Poland, Switzerland and Austria.
I'll drop the cold ones. And Germany and Austria. German sounds awful. The words are too big too. Polish, well, they're all coming over here so that can't be good. Portugal, they drink sherry and make bad wine. No, No, NO! Italy, full of Italians and thieving Albanians. Albania, see Italy x 10. Who am I left with?
France, Spain, Greece. Greece is history, no Roman alphabet. And.... you have to throw your dirty bog roll in a basket rather than flush because their toilets were built with exit pipes the size of beer bottle necks. Very clever!
So France or Spain.
France, full of French. Sorry, got to go. No work ethic, think everyone owes them a living and the lowest spenders on deodorant products in the EU. Best export is surrendering on hearing a loud noise and hoisting up anything white.
Spain it is then. And at least Spanish is phonetic.

More on this soon.

They're taking the piss

I saw this headline when catching up with the news this morning.

"Barry Manilow needs hip surgery"

Surely the most myopic journo ever?

Blographobia

That's what I have. In case you don't know it's a condition where the symptoms are ....

• not going to visit other blogs much
• when I go out I seldom speak to anyone
• I like to look through other peoples' windows though

I think I know what the cause is but I don't know of any treatment.

S T U P I D

Remember to backup a copy of your template, boys and girls, to your hard drive.......just in case you somehow tinker to the point where you completely fuck it up and have to start again.

Of course, I don't know anyone stupid enough to do that.

Back to drudgery

I have to check the tickets. The ones I bought before I left. Someone won £11m. "It could be you" as the lottery ad says. I hope to fuck it is. Work doesn't seem very attractive to me right now. Spain seems too warm at this time of year but with £11m I reckon I could find somewhere suitable. Fingers crossed.

off

It's that time of year. The time when I pack up my suitcase and worry twice as much about work as I do when I'm actually supposed to be working. This year's photo scrapbook will be of Marbella. When I return it may be to resign. Something for me to think about.

Help yourself

Anyone want to join me for a drink? Help yourself to the contents of the drinks cupboard and fridge.

And bring me that bottle of whine.

Learning to walk?

Some things leave me cold.
Some things leave me angry.
Some things make me want to hurt somebody.

So hungry I could kill

Hotels. Hate them. Or at least the last one I stayed in. Two nights in a row they couldn't take me for dinner when I needed fed and the head waitress seemed to smirk gleefully when telling me. I'll have her, down one of the back corridors. Quick twist of the neck from behind. Two crunches and she's a floppy doll. She'll never see it coming. And then on the second night when I did eventually get seated I was on my main course and still no sign of the wine so they gave me a full bottle. I had death in my eyes and they chose wisely. Gave me a bottle of Chilean red. House of the Devil was the literal translation of the label. I'd agree. Bloody dinner had obviously not been made fresh but had been reheated in an oven or microwave. More neck cricking to be done in that establishment I fear.

Got to keep moving. Very busy trying to get some work done before my hols. Plenty of stuff needed on the personal front too. Must make a list. Must get stuff on the list. Arrange holiday parking. Arrange airport transfers. Must start to pack.

just click

Not related to my previous entry but I saw this and had to stick it up here.

Click me

Bursting my balloon

That's what I need to do. Here or elsewhere. Stay tuned.

Druids R us

Ever had a day that went on an on? A sloooow day? Today's the day. Summer solstice. From here on in the days get shorter, S.A.D. increases, the barbeque gets aired even on rainy days and children are forced to play outside in the rain because "summer will soon to over". In case you were wondering this isn't a meeting of the Klan. It's just some druids doing what comes naturally (if you're a pagan). If you look closely you'll be able to spot the one they're about to sacrifice.

8 from 3

**

For reasons that are completely beyond my control (like greed and discipline) my healthy eating splurge never got beyond a fortnight and lip service (and I don't mean the Asian "happy ending" lip service either). This means that as of Sunday I still had 11 pounds to lose. Due to buying an MP3 player (which, after 3 days, is already on it's way back to the supplier, but that's another story) I did, for the first time in years, manage to go for a short run in Parliament grounds near my house which had the astonishing effect (coupled with reasonably sensible eating) of raising my metabolism for sufficiently long to lop another 3 pounds off. Three weeks left. Hence 8 from 3. Is it feasible to lose 8+ pounds in the remaining 3 weeks or should I just accept man-breasts and faux pregnancy for yet another holiday album?


** This may or may not be an accurate representation of how I currently look.

Sick bitch

What sort of poisonous, sick bitch does this?

Drag the bitch behind a car for 5 miles. Roll in salt, oil and chilli powder. Crisp with a blowtorch.

Find me

I'm hardly elusive. But if you did want to find me here's a few tips.

• I'm the man in the checkout queue behind the old biddy who has waited for three customers to pay before opening her purse and then start counting the exact amount in coppers.
• I'm the man who excitedly opens up his latest purchase when he gets home only to find something's falling off, it's broken, stained or damaged. Always.
• I'm the man who phoned you but you couldn't hear me (see above).
• I'm the man who's just arrived late (everywhere).
• I'm the man who's just waited 20 minutes at the bar being ignored by the bar staff as walk-ins walk away arms full of drinks and.....
• when I did eventually get served got half a pint of Guinness spilled on my crotch.
• I'm the man swearing at the computer.
  
• I'm the man who's drunk.
  

Proof

Proof, if any were needed, that women are different.

Noctilucent Clouds

Call me a nerd. Geek. Freak. I don't care (you won't be the last).

I've been trying to catch these for about 2 weeks, finally caught them tonight around midnight out the back window of my office. They're a natural phenomena whose cause is still unknown. They're clouds on the edge of space, where clouds shouldn't exist (90 miles up) much, much higher than ordinary clouds which are normally up to 5 miles up. They luminesce neon colours and are only visible in darkness (I used a manual shutter of about 6 seconds). More on them here.

A night at the opera

If I'd been brought up with a silver spoon in my mouth it would have been different. I wouldn't have to walk through life carefully balancing the chips that sit comfortably either side of my fat working-class neck. And therein lies the cause of Friday night's problem, a work related black tie dinner sandwiched between 2 parts of an opera. Not just any opera but an exclusive performance set in an old stone built barn (about 300 years old, set in the grounds of an old country estate) which could only hold 200 patrons, performed by an amateur company complete with an amateur orchestra (bar the conductor). Several things struck me during the night.

• The performers are unbelievably dedicated to rehearse for so many hours to make the performance as polished as it was (and some of them were extremely talented), though why they'd do that so that they could perform only once to a half drunk, overdressed bunch of snobs who are only there to say they'd supported the opera and been to ....on Friday and "wasn't it simply fabulous...." is beyond me. Too much in for too little out. The books just don't balance in my head.

• Drinking Bordeaux and Champers from 5pm on one the hottest days of the year is akin to doing the 4 man bob-sleigh at the winter Olympics without brakes or crash helmet and with your eyes closed. There's only going to be one outcome.

• Opera is a play ruined by singing.

• Why are there times when 3 or 4 characters are facing the audience all singing different tunes and lyrics. What the fuck is that about?

• Drink, me and cigarettes are the Holy Trinity.

I'd rather spend an evening naked, clubbing seal cubs to death with a blunt rusty ice pick dipped in chilli sauce than sit through one of those again, though I did have an out loud laugh at a lady in the chorus who overemphasised so much that I thought she'd just rolled in from a gurning contest after taking 10 E s.

Scorchio!

5 straight days of fantastic weather (24 degrees, that's about the hottest it ever gets here). In the same decade. In the same year. In the same week.





Nah!

Stop

I've done this many times. Stop. Start again. Repeat ad nauseam. Every time I restart I wonder why. One always leads to another. I can get addicted to anything. I'm quite sure if all there was in the world was air and water I'd get addicted to them instead. This time I have to make it stick though. It's making me look old (good god, I've realised I am vain), making me unhealthy, making me smell and I don't want my daughter to associate me with the smell of a stale cigarette though she never sees me smoking ( I hope she isn't imprinted already but fear it might be too late). I'm not even worried about the money. I used to be so fit. Seven miles over hills in 36 minutes. 140 sits ups in one sitting. Two minutes of anything now would place me uncomfortably close to my maker. So 60 hours ago the last Marlboro red was tossed away (after a good toke). No-one's dead and nothing of any real value is broke. But I could kill for a piece of nasty tasting gum.

Tits and arse

Now and again a tiny sparklet fizzles across the vacuum that currently occupies the space where my brain used to reside. It's never the genesis of a eureka moment like Newton's third law or the Archimedes Principle. Today's spark came after being away for 2 days and drinking heavily last night into the wee hours as I mooched around the airport awaiting my flight home this evening. Was I a tit or an arse man? Told you! Of course the answer changes from day to day and whoever happens to be the unlucky recipient of my gaze at the time. The decision du jour appears to be dependant on such weighty aesthetic variables as;

• size
• presentation
• setting

I'll try to explain each in turn. Size, I'm not saying big's good and small's bad. It's more complicated. It's a combination of shape and size. There's an X factor. I think there must be an optimum rate of curve programmed into mens' heads that just presses buttons. That's why cleavage works and Wonderbras sell. Which brings me on to .....presentation. Ladies, do yourself favour and get a proper fitting bra (try one back size down and a cup size up) and see what happens. Now turn sideways and adjust it properly. See, that didn't take long. I used to sell those things a long time ago. Can call out a bra size at 40 paces (or alternatively, close up with my eyes closed), a unique talent that is completely fuckin' useless to me. And buy a nice bra. Never buy a cheap bra. Same goes for matching pants (knickers, U.S. peeps) Don't buy a size too small here though or you'll separate things that just weren't meant to separated. Thongs are seldom a good choice, they don't help to shape anything. Proper pants and knickers please though not Bridget Jones'. Bums can benefit from jeans, trousers, skirts, dresses, yep anything, as long as they're a complimenting shape. If you've got a big arse wear a top or dress that narrows your waist. Keep away from baggy stuff. Same goes if you're a skinny arse too actually. Can't work out why so many women get it wrong. O.K. So now I've given you a perkier chest and rounder arse I have a dilemma. Which looks best? Actually, that's the simple one. Setting, just depends if I'm standing in front or behind.

If you need free, unbiased, confidential advice on these important issues my mailbox is always open for sample photographs.

Today's entry has been sponsored by dirty old men everywhere, Gossard and Victoria's Secret.

Testing, testing

Sharper readers may have picked up on the fact that I have not, in fact, spent a weekend with Monica Belucci. Wishful thinking. Much baby minding on Saturday and Sunday, good fun though. Today, although sort of a holiday, my time has and will be spent doing CBT and on-line exams. About fuckin' time I exercised my diminishing grey matter.

P.S. can someone smart explain this to me, please?

Dirty weekend

Is it that time again? It always creeps up on me. Once in a while an old friend comes to stay the weekend. You see, we had a torrid affair many years ago and ...well, she just won't let go. I know I should say something but ...she's a good person, average looking, smells nice and has made a packet in the movies. So, out of the goodness of my heart I allow her to be my fuck buddy. Magnanimous I'm sure you'll agree. We mostly stay indoors if you know what I mean. It's not as if she gets recognised when we go out or anything, even after she did that Matrix sequel. It's just that she's a bit of a minx ....and she's sooo into me. So if you don't hear from me for a day or two you'll know why.

"Celebrities" you'd like to push in front of a bus

Celebrity. What a misused term that is these days. Through reality shows and fly on the wall documentaries we've been bombarded through lazy programming with faces new and not so new, almost all of dubious talent. Most of the others prostitute themselves "for their fans", complete attention whores or speak/act in a way that suggests they think a different set of rules apply to them.
Everyone can be a celebrity if they can get their mug on t.v.. And the more they're on the bigger the celebrity they've become.... or so they'd like us to believe.

It's time to fight back. Time to nudge the so-called celebs in front of the bus. Here's my list of some who should meet their maker post haste.

• Paris smug Hilton
• Britney smug and extremely stupid Spears
• Tom did I tell you I'm in love Cruise
• Snoop unreformed gangsta Dogg
• Mariah royal diva Carey
• Elton ugly diva John
• Whitney powder my nose Houston
• Joan original chin now just above belly button Collins
• Victoria pouting cheap porn boob job Beckham

Feel free to add your own. If I see them I'll push them. That's a promise.

Don't do this

There are things in life one just shouldn't do. No ifs or buts, they're just not clever. I'm not saying I've done any of these but take it from me that I have it on good authority that the following are NOT recommended.

1. drinking Guinness whilst entertaining someone of the opposite sex. It's o.k. if you stop at 2 but if you drink on or if your meal is particularly rich or mix it with a quality Merlot..... well, let's just say have your excuse ready for later on. Or make sure your coat is handy. If they'd been able to mass produce that noxious gas during WW1 think how many lives would have been saved.

2. lighting a cigarette from a camp-fire. I know it'll seem cool and avoid the problem of having to find who's nabbed your lighter or fight the slightest of breezes to ignite your cancer stick of choice but you'll only succeed in giving yourself male pattern baldness in 2 seconds flat. And your eyelashes and eyebrows will look just a tad silly when reduced to black shrivelled stubs.

3. falling asleep after sex only to awake in excruciating groinal pain due a condom still being in place, wanger, for the first time, as big as a baseball bat but having the appearance of the most massive blood blister you can imagine. Not a good look.

The Empire strikes back

We all need a boost once in a while. Does us the world of good. An ego stroke. So Saturday I was supposed to be meeting a friend for a drink. When we arrived at our chosen imbibing emporium, The Spaniard (which is smaller than my living room) he told me that we might be being joined by a girl he met a couple of nights before and her friends who were supposed to be travelling on to see a live band somewhere else. Rock chicks. Well, as sure as constipation follows 2 bowls of All-Bran they turned up not 5 minutes later. Not his type I thought but what do I know and she seemed chatty enough, good fun. One of her mates had more chins than Jabba the Hut and the other ... well, there was something about her. Black shoulder length hair, 5' 4'ish and very smiley. I'm a sucker for smiley. After some persuasion we decided to join them at the Empire. Smiley kept Jabba company and my mate's new "mate" bobbed between him and me and them. Smiley and me kept catching each other looking. She popped herself over beside me at the bar and we chatted (or rather I berated her) at the fact she still lived at home at the age of 25. She mentioned that she spent more time at her boyfriend's house but.... well, she kept getting close. Kissy close. You know that moment when you both realise you're too close to do anything other than kiss, when you feel the electricity, when you feel oblivious to everything else happening around you. That's one of the best feelings anyone can have.

Aduki here, Aduki there, Aduki everywhere.

Having lost 5 lbs so far with little to no adherence to my new healthy diet I know I must "step up". Part of this will be eating more vegetable enzymes (most of which are destroyed by cooking) so that means raw veg. Alongside is my first successful result in sprouting Aduki beans (said to increase their nutrients by 500%!). I plan to include these little buggers in my blended carrot drink (mmmmm) and on salads (along with Raspberry and Rioja balsamic dressing).

Goal is 16lb weight loss by 9th July. 5 down, 11 to go....

Fly me

Hectic couple of days. Planes, trains and automobiles and several miles of wearying footwork. After less than 3 hours sleep I checked in for a plane trip. I was last on the plane ....again. Not my fault this time though as the Flight Attendant/check-in person decided to invite me to an air hostess (sorry, Flight Attendant) party in a couple of weeks time. Of course I should decline (though I said I'd see if I could make it) but, given my record of normally having the ground crew have to ask the Captain if I can board, it may be a wise move as sooner or later my charm/attitude are going to let me down. And you never know, I may even have to queue less in future. When I turned my mobile on immediately after landing from my return flight it beeped a reminder at me.

Monty! Party sat 3rd june at XXXXXXXXX. 5 mins from XXXXX airport! Hope 2 c u there. Hollar nxt time u r tvl'n ! Tracy o.

Decisions, decisions.

Fun

Wake up, do some work, take some grief , deal with arseholes, suffer a bit of rejection, eat, sleep. Rinse, repeat ad nauseam.
How do you get through when life just seems an interminable grind. When ups are short lived and few and far between. When normality feels like an ever lasting bout of the shits interspersed at random with unanaesthetised tooth pulling. Fun, with an f.

I wish I'd worked harder when I was smart. I wish I'd taken more chances when I could afford to. Now I wish I'll buy the winning lottery ticket.

Perhaps I need to get healthy again. Perhaps it's just the after effects of too long a day in London yesterday. Perhaps I need a little luck. Something needs to change. I need to change. I can't keep living with that little f.