Today's National Health Service is a mess, but I guess it was always doomed to failure, or more fairly, inadequacy.
Anyway, it's a mess, quite literally. And today across the entire NHS we were celeberating "Think clean day", which means that managers have to get under patient's bed and see if they've been cleaned, while nurses and doctors have to actually wash their hands after going to the toilet (believe me, there are a surprising number who don't). So today's purpose was another government waste of money/initiative to highlight the blindingly obvious about keeping things clean to prevent spreading infection.
My department took this to heart: an intermittent water supply that meant there was a game of Russian roulette whenever you went to the toilet (would it flush? could you wash your hands?) and the kettle had to be filled from the water cooler. It was very risky business passing a solid, and with my nervous disposition, I've been a nervous (and rather uncomfortable) wreck most of the day. Then the ladies' toilet flooded. Think clean indeed.
They'll be having us walk down to the canal with pots on our heads next. I blame Tony Blair of course; I've still not forgiven him for eating all my Tesco hot chilli peanuts (it must've been him, it's always him that steals from me - him and his mate Gordon "gasp like a goldfish" Brown).
Monday, 28 February 2005
Saturday, 26 February 2005
Living with ninjas
Living with ninjas
I wish I had ninja skills. As well as the ability to inflict horrible and merciless death on masses of people who piss me off - by a variety of imaginative methods involving my fists and sharp objects - I'd also love to be able to do that thing where you throw yourself up off the floor by swinging your legs over themselves really fast.
Aahhhh, if only I was Beatrix Kiddo....
I wish I had ninja skills. As well as the ability to inflict horrible and merciless death on masses of people who piss me off - by a variety of imaginative methods involving my fists and sharp objects - I'd also love to be able to do that thing where you throw yourself up off the floor by swinging your legs over themselves really fast.
Aahhhh, if only I was Beatrix Kiddo....
Bassssssstaaaarrrrrdos!!!
GE Capital Bank have secured a place on my top 5 list of people/things for annihilation. They provide the most horrendously expensive credit and have the most woeful customer service imaginable.
If you have a UK store card, chances are it's financed through them. They also provide hire purchase finance for big things like cars and furniture. Their interest rates are very uncompetitive. They are shite.
When I was fat, I had an Evans store card. It's the usual thing of going into the shop, making some purchases, being offered 10% off if you open a store card there and then. "Duh, oh, ok then". A lot of people have fallen into that trap. When I lost weight, and started buying clothes from Dorothy Perkins (a sister company selling equally vile stuff), I fell into their storecard trap too - but this is essentially the same card as the Evans store card.
Anyway, I have two of these fucking things. I wanted to pay the Evans one off this week, the balance was £1.46. I chose to use GE Capital's convenient and easy automated telephone service because a bank transfer wouldn't go through in time. Having gone through the whole rigmorol of the "press this for this and that for that", I fell victim to "computer says no" and was informed that the minimum payment was £4. Why?
I needed to speak to a real person about this, so I went through more automated menus and spent another 5 minutes till I got through to the equally automated "Nicole". I explained and asked her "Why can't I just pay off the amount I need to and close the account?",
Nicole: "Because the minimum payment is £4."
"But I want to know why. I want to pay this amount before you start writing nasty letters and phoning me up to demand money."
"Because that's our policy. If you want to pay any less, you have to go to a store, pay through your bank, or send a cheque. Don't worry about being phoned up because of late payment, you have a few days' grace"
"If I'd wanted to do any of those, I'd have done them. I want to pay over the phone, now. I want to pay now and close this account. I paid off this balance last year, but I didn't get chance to close the account before you slapped £30 card insurance on it, I don't want this to happen again. Why can't I pay £1.46?"
"The minimum payment is £4".
"But if I sent a cheque to GE Capital for £1.46, you'd be able to accept it?"
"Yes."
"So why can't you accept a Switch payment for £1.46 now?"
"Because the minimum payment is £4. Do you want to pay £4?"
"NO! I want to pay £1.46!"
"Then send a cheque, go to a store, or pay through your bank."
Stupid twat. I could've stayed on for hours, but I was getting more and more irate and was close to swearing at her. What's the point of being able to speak to a customer care "associate" if you can't get any answers out of them? Wankers.
The following day, GE Capital phoned for me while I was at work. They phoned again last night while I was out. The fucking twats phoned again this morning while I was trying to have a lie-in. "I get up at 5.30 am each morning in the week, I'm trying to catch up on some sleep on a Saturday and you phone me before 9am," Mr Hollingsworth, if you ever read this, you're a complete nob and I hope your job gets given to somebody in India!
They phone you up and ask YOU what your address, postcode and date of birth are. "But you phoned me! Surely you should know?"
Mr Hollingsworth: "Please answer the question."
I wonder what would've happened if I'd have refused...
So I answered his question and was then informed that I was overdue payment £7.85 on the Dot P card by 3 weeks, would I pay them? Of course! I'd be over the fucking moon to pay them! If only I could open my eyes to see the numbers on my debit card. I wonder if the amount was £1.46 they'd have accepted payment over the phone? Bunch of fucking arsehole cocksucking wankers!!!
Thank heavens the world can start turning again now they've got their fucking payment.
Am I being paranoid, or am I being harrassed because I dared to question their terrible systems?
The lesson? Don't ever have any dealings with this company - ever! I had a car financed through them once and they were constantly phoning me and writing to me to ask if I wanted more finance. They don't leave you alone. And when you want something from them, they're shit. They're basically a fucking racket and should be closed down.
If only I had a Samurai sword...
This is me, on my way to their head office and the call centres so I can do away with the lot of them. Fucking imbeciles.
If you have a UK store card, chances are it's financed through them. They also provide hire purchase finance for big things like cars and furniture. Their interest rates are very uncompetitive. They are shite.
When I was fat, I had an Evans store card. It's the usual thing of going into the shop, making some purchases, being offered 10% off if you open a store card there and then. "Duh, oh, ok then". A lot of people have fallen into that trap. When I lost weight, and started buying clothes from Dorothy Perkins (a sister company selling equally vile stuff), I fell into their storecard trap too - but this is essentially the same card as the Evans store card.
Anyway, I have two of these fucking things. I wanted to pay the Evans one off this week, the balance was £1.46. I chose to use GE Capital's convenient and easy automated telephone service because a bank transfer wouldn't go through in time. Having gone through the whole rigmorol of the "press this for this and that for that", I fell victim to "computer says no" and was informed that the minimum payment was £4. Why?
I needed to speak to a real person about this, so I went through more automated menus and spent another 5 minutes till I got through to the equally automated "Nicole". I explained and asked her "Why can't I just pay off the amount I need to and close the account?",
Nicole: "Because the minimum payment is £4."
"But I want to know why. I want to pay this amount before you start writing nasty letters and phoning me up to demand money."
"Because that's our policy. If you want to pay any less, you have to go to a store, pay through your bank, or send a cheque. Don't worry about being phoned up because of late payment, you have a few days' grace"
"If I'd wanted to do any of those, I'd have done them. I want to pay over the phone, now. I want to pay now and close this account. I paid off this balance last year, but I didn't get chance to close the account before you slapped £30 card insurance on it, I don't want this to happen again. Why can't I pay £1.46?"
"The minimum payment is £4".
"But if I sent a cheque to GE Capital for £1.46, you'd be able to accept it?"
"Yes."
"So why can't you accept a Switch payment for £1.46 now?"
"Because the minimum payment is £4. Do you want to pay £4?"
"NO! I want to pay £1.46!"
"Then send a cheque, go to a store, or pay through your bank."
Stupid twat. I could've stayed on for hours, but I was getting more and more irate and was close to swearing at her. What's the point of being able to speak to a customer care "associate" if you can't get any answers out of them? Wankers.
The following day, GE Capital phoned for me while I was at work. They phoned again last night while I was out. The fucking twats phoned again this morning while I was trying to have a lie-in. "I get up at 5.30 am each morning in the week, I'm trying to catch up on some sleep on a Saturday and you phone me before 9am," Mr Hollingsworth, if you ever read this, you're a complete nob and I hope your job gets given to somebody in India!
They phone you up and ask YOU what your address, postcode and date of birth are. "But you phoned me! Surely you should know?"
Mr Hollingsworth: "Please answer the question."
I wonder what would've happened if I'd have refused...
So I answered his question and was then informed that I was overdue payment £7.85 on the Dot P card by 3 weeks, would I pay them? Of course! I'd be over the fucking moon to pay them! If only I could open my eyes to see the numbers on my debit card. I wonder if the amount was £1.46 they'd have accepted payment over the phone? Bunch of fucking arsehole cocksucking wankers!!!
Thank heavens the world can start turning again now they've got their fucking payment.
Am I being paranoid, or am I being harrassed because I dared to question their terrible systems?
The lesson? Don't ever have any dealings with this company - ever! I had a car financed through them once and they were constantly phoning me and writing to me to ask if I wanted more finance. They don't leave you alone. And when you want something from them, they're shit. They're basically a fucking racket and should be closed down.
If only I had a Samurai sword...
This is me, on my way to their head office and the call centres so I can do away with the lot of them. Fucking imbeciles.
Friday, 25 February 2005
Computer says no
I've been having a few "Computer says no" problems so I've not been posting so much. But this is good!
Monday, 21 February 2005
Cool, cool
Angry Chimp: Thoughts whilst queuing in McDonalds
I thought this post was quite interesting; nice rolling topics too. It was the picture of the cow that caught my eye. Cool.
People who say "cool" are not quite right in the head. Saying "cool" makes the speaker sound anything BUT cool. Perhaps that's the whole idea. When a comedy writer writes for the character of a bit of a twat, you can almost guarantee that the character will punctuate their speech with the word "cool".
I thought this post was quite interesting; nice rolling topics too. It was the picture of the cow that caught my eye. Cool.
People who say "cool" are not quite right in the head. Saying "cool" makes the speaker sound anything BUT cool. Perhaps that's the whole idea. When a comedy writer writes for the character of a bit of a twat, you can almost guarantee that the character will punctuate their speech with the word "cool".
You give me rrrrrrrrroad rrrrrrrrrage!
Apparently, the Department of Transport is having a look at the stuff that the roads are surfaced with (stone mastic asphalt, SMA) here in the UK after concerns were raised about its safety. In Ireland, there are strict 30mph limits on those roads with this particular surface because they recognise that it's got exceptionally low skid resistance and vehicles don't stop on it in an emergency.
BBC News "Hidden menace on UK roads"
Charming. Not content with taxing the UK motorist to death, this bastard government is trying to do away with us in one big multiple pile-up!
Interweb counters
I got a new counter that I'm trying while I see if my other one comes back to life.
Some pics
I was going to post some humorous pics, but I can't be arsed.
Why do ring doughnuts only come with icing sugar on these days? Yet you can get granulated sugar on a jam doughnut. Bloody stupid.
My tosspot neighbour was knocking nails into the wall adjoining my bedroom till gone 11pm last night. Not that I have to get up at 5.30 and try to work suffering from sleep deprivation because of their fucking low-life selfishness or anything. Wanker wants to try working for a day or so himself, inconsiderate fucking thick as pigshit bastard that he is. The thing is, it's not as if he couldn't do this DIY during the day when the rest of us proper people are out at work. Probably too busy whinging to social services. Bunch of useless twats. I wish the roof space between the two houses wasn't bricked up, I'd get myself in there and set fire to it; making sure that I completely destroyed the wife's horrendous record collection (she thinks she's Patsy bleedin' Kline ("Crazy, crazy for feeling so lonely..."), stupid, useless, thick, noisy and VERY COMMON wench). Perhaps I'll just continue to live as Beatrix Kiddo in my head and think about what I'd do to them if I had a very sharp Hattori Hanso samurai sword. If only.
Senor Misterioso
This guy would sort them. Is he an extremely dangerous man, or just a harmless socialite in a glowing suit? He's just a red cross in a box at the moment because the image venue server seems to be having a moment. It may come back, but if it doesn't it's probably something to do with Senor Misterioso's mystery that's interfering with the server - keeping him of identity unknown! You can check him out at the Archie McPhee website.
BBC News "Hidden menace on UK roads"
Charming. Not content with taxing the UK motorist to death, this bastard government is trying to do away with us in one big multiple pile-up!
Interweb counters
I got a new counter that I'm trying while I see if my other one comes back to life.
Some pics
I was going to post some humorous pics, but I can't be arsed.
Why do ring doughnuts only come with icing sugar on these days? Yet you can get granulated sugar on a jam doughnut. Bloody stupid.
My tosspot neighbour was knocking nails into the wall adjoining my bedroom till gone 11pm last night. Not that I have to get up at 5.30 and try to work suffering from sleep deprivation because of their fucking low-life selfishness or anything. Wanker wants to try working for a day or so himself, inconsiderate fucking thick as pigshit bastard that he is. The thing is, it's not as if he couldn't do this DIY during the day when the rest of us proper people are out at work. Probably too busy whinging to social services. Bunch of useless twats. I wish the roof space between the two houses wasn't bricked up, I'd get myself in there and set fire to it; making sure that I completely destroyed the wife's horrendous record collection (she thinks she's Patsy bleedin' Kline ("Crazy, crazy for feeling so lonely..."), stupid, useless, thick, noisy and VERY COMMON wench). Perhaps I'll just continue to live as Beatrix Kiddo in my head and think about what I'd do to them if I had a very sharp Hattori Hanso samurai sword. If only.
Senor Misterioso
This guy would sort them. Is he an extremely dangerous man, or just a harmless socialite in a glowing suit? He's just a red cross in a box at the moment because the image venue server seems to be having a moment. It may come back, but if it doesn't it's probably something to do with Senor Misterioso's mystery that's interfering with the server - keeping him of identity unknown! You can check him out at the Archie McPhee website.
I'm so excited because I'm going to be having proper home-made chips with sausage and beans (and perhaps also a regg) for my tea tomorrow night. They're being cooked for me by my lovely friend. I love lovely people.
Sunday, 20 February 2005
I hear a wind, whistling air, whispering in my ears
Anyway, it's so exciting stalking somebody's air journey. Apparently, Flight EK432 has started the final leg of its journey to Aukland; setting off from Brisbane a short while ago.
It's almost like being with my sister on the flight, only much better because I don't have to suffer being with her. Fantastic! I have a strange relationship with her; the further away she is, the more I care about her. I really loved her millions when she lived in Oz for a year. That's Australia and not the Emerald City/Munchkin Land Oz, unfortunately. Jeez, if she'd have landed her house in Oz, I bet the Munchkins would've soon wanted the Wicked Witch of the West (East, whichever) back.
Ho, ho, ho-only joking. She's great. But I'm the nice, popular one, obviously.
Don't know where my web counter has gone, but if it's broken for good, I'm not replacing it with something where I have to advertise. They can arseholes!
It's almost like being with my sister on the flight, only much better because I don't have to suffer being with her. Fantastic! I have a strange relationship with her; the further away she is, the more I care about her. I really loved her millions when she lived in Oz for a year. That's Australia and not the Emerald City/Munchkin Land Oz, unfortunately. Jeez, if she'd have landed her house in Oz, I bet the Munchkins would've soon wanted the Wicked Witch of the West (East, whichever) back.
Ho, ho, ho-only joking. She's great. But I'm the nice, popular one, obviously.
Don't know where my web counter has gone, but if it's broken for good, I'm not replacing it with something where I have to advertise. They can arseholes!
People at the gym
I could start a soap opera about this; you see all sorts down there. Today I couldn't help laughing (to myself) at a couple of older ladies who were using the machinery as I made my way to the changing room. One, who must've been in her eighties, was wearing a purple cardigan while the other was tangled up in the machinery. I'd have helped, but I was laughing too much, making that snorting noise - it would've been unkind to laugh in their faces.
Some muscle man changed the handle on the lat pull-down, but didn't swap it for the normal one after his god knows how many reps. The blokes are a pain in the arse; they use the weights machines, do their stuff, then sit there for a few minutes, contemplating. Then they set off again, do a few more reps, contemplate a bit more. And all this time, you're just waiting to get on that last bit of machinery before going home. Sometimes you get two or three in a gang and they hog the machine for an hour at a time. Arsewipes.
There was an extremely tanned, blonde woman (she wasn't born blonde) wearing a two piece: shorts and cropped top with "Baby" emblazoned on it (front of the top, backside of the shorts - tit). Baby my arse - mutton dressed as lamb. Well, complete slag, I'll wager. Anyway, she was very thin so I hated her. She had the oddest technique on the rowing machine. And her skin was ruined from sunbed abuse - Hah!!!
Then I wanted to get on the mats and do some sit-ups, but some selfish bint was layed across two rather than lying on one - the stupid bitch needed a really hard kick up the arse with an open-toed sandal. Fucker. And when I went back into the changing room to retrieve my stuff, some lazy twat had left a squeezed-to-death tube of hair styling product on the bench and another had left a used tissue on the floor. Lazy bastards want a good slap.
Sometimes when I go, there's a bloke with long hair and he wears a sleeveless vest and trackie bottoms. You can see his armpits and it's horrible. Worse still, he smells and if you're unfortunate enough to get next to him on the cross trainer and he starts really pumping it, it can cause disturbed breathing that leads to a fatal arrhythmia. I call him Stinky Cheese Man and I avoid him at all costs.
There's also an oriental man - he too has long hair in a ponytail. He wears shorts, so you can see that he's wearing normal trouser socks (either grey or brown). He looks really funny because he holds on to the top of the running machine as he runs (too fast); makes it look like he's going to lose it and fall over.
Another bloke only seems to do stretching. He wears a hat and I want to know whether he's bald.
If I was to describe myself? Jeez, strange shaped arse, bingo wings, can't run, goes very red, surely should tie hair back, sometimes farts while on treadmill or cross trainer, never showers after a session. You're DEAD RIGHT LOVE! Of course I don't shower while I'm there, I'm not some sort of attention-seeking exhibitionist! Fuck me, public nuditiy? Whatever next??
Half an Identity
Half an Identity
Wow, a thriller unfolds on the Interweb! Somebody is writing as if they have a new identity from the Witness Protection Programme. This can't be for real. Either that or the author is fucking insane. Funny thing is, the name they've been given is Sam Black. I wonder if that's the same "sexpot Sam" whose phonecalls I kepty getting on my mobile??? The bitch deserves to die!!!!!
Another thriller unfolding on the internet is the progress of my sister's journey to Aukland. She's done the Manchester to Dubai leg, changed at Dubai and is now about half an hour from landing at Singapore. Enthralling. Much more exciting than a blog about somebody's experiences in the witness protection programme any day!
Tum-te-tum.... Waiting on the tarmac at Changi right now! (12.17).... 28 hour journey in total. That means losing over a whole day. In that day, imagine the things that could be achieved. All those episodes of Will and Grace on repeat.
Wow, a thriller unfolds on the Interweb! Somebody is writing as if they have a new identity from the Witness Protection Programme. This can't be for real. Either that or the author is fucking insane. Funny thing is, the name they've been given is Sam Black. I wonder if that's the same "sexpot Sam" whose phonecalls I kepty getting on my mobile??? The bitch deserves to die!!!!!
Another thriller unfolding on the internet is the progress of my sister's journey to Aukland. She's done the Manchester to Dubai leg, changed at Dubai and is now about half an hour from landing at Singapore. Enthralling. Much more exciting than a blog about somebody's experiences in the witness protection programme any day!
Tum-te-tum.... Waiting on the tarmac at Changi right now! (12.17).... 28 hour journey in total. That means losing over a whole day. In that day, imagine the things that could be achieved. All those episodes of Will and Grace on repeat.
Saturday, 19 February 2005
Film extras
Rob Roy's on the telly next door; I can hear Scottish people getting massacred by the English. If only. I like the extras in films like that; Titanic and Lord of the Rings are classics for it. It fits the age-old winning formula that dates back to the biblical classics like Ben Hur and The Greatest Story Ever Told. There would be cities or communities that were facing death and destruction from invaders or disaster (where all the "Middle Eastern" and African people had bright blue eyes??) and they'd show the men running about and falling over, and the women huddled up together with the children, looking "scared". The same scene could've been taken from any one of those films and cut and pasted into another (sinking of Titanic, the death of Christ in Ben Hur, attack on that city thing in Return of the King).
In fact, Lord of the Rings was ruined by the extras and the stupid comedy moments (Merry and Pippin - whichever the irriating Jock shit was); why do they always have to put a quirky comedy character in films that would be so much better if they were kept serious? Must be to appeal to stupid people who can't concentrate on the plot for more than 5 minutes at a time.
Pile of shit, you wouldn't find that in a gritty Northern drama.
In fact, Lord of the Rings was ruined by the extras and the stupid comedy moments (Merry and Pippin - whichever the irriating Jock shit was); why do they always have to put a quirky comedy character in films that would be so much better if they were kept serious? Must be to appeal to stupid people who can't concentrate on the plot for more than 5 minutes at a time.
Pile of shit, you wouldn't find that in a gritty Northern drama.
Blog descriptions
Random, ranting musings (and ramblings of course)...
Here are some descriptions of people's blogs - a "random" selection of the first ten (English ones with descriptions) I came across by clicking the "next blog" button.
Here are some descriptions of people's blogs - a "random" selection of the first ten (English ones with descriptions) I came across by clicking the "next blog" button.
- My random rants, confusing citations, raving reviews, shocking surveys and so much more about tech, sports and pretty much everything all the way from heaven to hell .....
- The only fair fight is one that I am winning
- My own little slice of the internet where I can bitch and moan. I hope those who visit "Hot Sweaty Change" will enjoy themselves
- "If dogs run free, then why not we. Across the swooping plain?My ears hear a symphonyOf two mules, trains and rain."
- I'm a scientist. I work in the NHS. Haven't worked out yet how I ended up here. All postings are my opinion only. They are my interpretation of events. Actual contents may differ from those pictured.
- Emotional Warfare and Other Rantings
A dream journal, private thoughts, public opinion and general non-sense. - Ramblings and discussion about the New York Mets, sports, and life in general.
- Because it's free and we are now of the age where it's practically required...
- If you like the SBP, the Scotchy-Scotch Revolution, and Brother Dar, then you will love his daily rantations. Now 50% more rantatia-rriffic, and comin' at you live from Hot-lanta...Can you DEAL WITH IT?
Ramblings, rantings, work gossip. Cakesniffing.
It'd be really fantastic if that bloke who Kevin Spacey played in Seven (John Doe) had a blog, that'd be worth a read. It might get a bit boring after a while. In fact, how many people who contribute to blogs are actually psychotic killers in real life? Just think, you could be reading the blog of a serial killer. Some of the things that people go on about in their blogs is scarily similar to what John Doe wrote in his journals; all those nasty thoughts about people they know, written for the world to see. People like to remain anonymous because they fear the recriminations of their identities being exposed. Doesn't this make blogging the modern day equivalent of poison pen letters? Who gives a shit, a bit of gossip and bitching is great for the neutral observer!
I've just had a number 6 poo. These are the ones that trick you into thinking that they're a fart, then when you try to squeeze them out, you shit your pants. (For poo categories, go to "Things you shouldn't like, but just can't help yourself" and "Bristol Stool Form Scale").
I have achieved sod all today. That's what happens when you're up and at 'em at at 8am on a Saturday instead of languishing in bed until dinnertime (that's lunchtime to the uneducated).
Is this such a bad thing? Hell no! Bloody hell, getting up early at the weekend is essential for a person to descend into a state of mindless boredom bordering on a Zen thing. You can score extra points for losing time in hour blocks - I managed two hours of Will & Grace repeats and didn't even notice, and this evening has disappeared completely (it's now bedtime and this is an edit).
I can see a new horizon
Underneath the blazing sky. Wouldn't it be great if you woke up one day and it was 1985 again? You could live your life as if you were one of the characters from St Elmo's Fire or the Breakfast Club (essentially the same people repackaged). I particularly liked Wendy Beamish in St Elmo's Fire; for her fashion sense more than anything: I never imagined that there were so many shades of pink (can you spot her in the poster?)...
Talking of funny photos, check this out. It's from an old primary school photo and I have no idea who it is.
Talking of funny photos, check this out. It's from an old primary school photo and I have no idea who it is.
Friday, 18 February 2005
Pee
Pee is almost as good as poo for making you marvel at the wonder of human physiology. I like the way it has different varieties of colour; ranging from almost colourless, to quite dark brown. I have two particular favourite wee colours: fluorescent yellow and orange/brown. The orange/brown one tends to happen after you've not had a wee for about 8 hours. I've no idea what causes fluorescent yellow. Another great pee colour is purple after you've had beetroot.
Of course, it's not only the colour of pee that comes in different varieties or is affected by diet; the odour changes too. It generally has a chicken noodle soup (yellow) or concentrated chicken stock (orange/brown) smell, but I understand that asparagus makes it smell really weird.
Women at the gym don't half get dolled up sometimes. There are a couple of variants: young, lithe cow (they're not cows really, but they're thin, young and pretty and I hate them just because of that); and the older 40-50 year old. I'm sure some people put on full slap and do their hair before going the gym, then while they're there, they hardly do anything physical. I dread to think what some of these women-only gyms look like. Bet you go into respiratory distress from all the hairspray and perfume.
Swing that gospel axe!
After checking out the Jim Vanblurdedurnsmum blog, it seemed fitting to upload some more scary album covers, although I can't compete with the handless organist.
Of course, it's not only the colour of pee that comes in different varieties or is affected by diet; the odour changes too. It generally has a chicken noodle soup (yellow) or concentrated chicken stock (orange/brown) smell, but I understand that asparagus makes it smell really weird.
Women at the gym don't half get dolled up sometimes. There are a couple of variants: young, lithe cow (they're not cows really, but they're thin, young and pretty and I hate them just because of that); and the older 40-50 year old. I'm sure some people put on full slap and do their hair before going the gym, then while they're there, they hardly do anything physical. I dread to think what some of these women-only gyms look like. Bet you go into respiratory distress from all the hairspray and perfume.
Swing that gospel axe!
After checking out the Jim Vanblurdedurnsmum blog, it seemed fitting to upload some more scary album covers, although I can't compete with the handless organist.
Thursday, 17 February 2005
Motorway information signs
"Think! Don't drive tired, take a break". It was flashing at me on my way home again this evening. I'd love to take a break, but it's not practical on my way home from work and you need a mortgage to buy refreshments at services. Strange that this "warning" notification only started at the same time that some local motorway services opened.
The thing is, you see these things flashing in the distance and you wonder whether you're heading into the back of a multiple pile-up. Then you're finally enlightened with some useless infomation: Think! Don't drive tired; Think! Don't drink and drive; Think! Don't use your mobile while driving. Just fuck off and tell us something useful, like whether there are hold-ups ahead that can be avoided if we get off the road at the next junction. Or the footie scores or something like novel ideas for things to do with cous-cous or raffia. Actually, they could publish useful household tips up there. That'd be more useful than being woken up by all those flashing lights while you're trying to have a snooze in the traffic jam. 
I must say, I'm very impressed - most useful while you're doing 90mph in the fast lane.
Arsewipes.
The thing is, you see these things flashing in the distance and you wonder whether you're heading into the back of a multiple pile-up. Then you're finally enlightened with some useless infomation: Think! Don't drive tired; Think! Don't drink and drive; Think! Don't use your mobile while driving. Just fuck off and tell us something useful, like whether there are hold-ups ahead that can be avoided if we get off the road at the next junction. Or the footie scores or something like novel ideas for things to do with cous-cous or raffia. Actually, they could publish useful household tips up there. That'd be more useful than being woken up by all those flashing lights while you're trying to have a snooze in the traffic jam.
There's a fantastic facility on the Highways Agency website where you can click on an area of the UK map and see what each of these signs are communicating at any one time.
I must say, I'm very impressed - most useful while you're doing 90mph in the fast lane.
Arsewipes.
Plastic spoons and used teabags
There are a variety of modern facilities in the works' kitchen here at base number 2: fridge; hot water dispenser; microwave; dishwasher; cutlery; bin, to name but a few. For some reason, somebody keeps putting a plastic teaspoon in the sugar bowl - despite the fact that there are oodles of steel ones in the drawer. I put these nasty plastic things in the bin at every opportunity. Leaving things like that in sugar bowls constitutes a health hazard in my book, and if you need to leave something in the sugar bowl, why not use one of the hundreds of steel spoons? I just think that you use a fresh spoon to dole out your coffee, the same spoon to dole out your sugar and then you use the same spoon to stir your drink - the spoon should then go in the dishwasher (or sink) and not, not, NOT on the work surface or draining board.
Similarly, if you make a cup of tea, put the used teabag in the fucking bin - don't put it in a used mug that's been left on the draining board. Seriously, how difficult is it to put a used item in the bin? It's the same as the sealing tags off the milk bottles - they never find their way in the bin either and they just end up lying about on the worktop. I'd like to find the culprit(s) so I could have the opportunity to interrogate them and try to discover their motivation and reasoning for this behaviour. There probably isn't a reasonable explanation. To coin a phrase - some people are just complete fucktards.
Oh yeah, and tea and coffee spillages left to dry out on the worktop too. That's just bloody lazy.
Similarly, if you make a cup of tea, put the used teabag in the fucking bin - don't put it in a used mug that's been left on the draining board. Seriously, how difficult is it to put a used item in the bin? It's the same as the sealing tags off the milk bottles - they never find their way in the bin either and they just end up lying about on the worktop. I'd like to find the culprit(s) so I could have the opportunity to interrogate them and try to discover their motivation and reasoning for this behaviour. There probably isn't a reasonable explanation. To coin a phrase - some people are just complete fucktards.
Oh yeah, and tea and coffee spillages left to dry out on the worktop too. That's just bloody lazy.
Wednesday, 16 February 2005
Everybody goes to Bollywood
For some reason, I've found myself making exclamations in a weird Bob Dylan-esque whiny singing voice. I've found myself living in a Bollywood musical - without the Bangra, the bling and the dancing. Actually, it's nothing like a Bollywood film, it's just me being a twat.
People at shopping centres are ignorant fuckers. They walk along; 2, 3 or 4 abreast and they barge straight into me and shove me out of the way. Bastards. I wonder if it has anything to do with me being a 2 year old gypsy child.
Anyway, if you're the type of person who walks along in shopping centres and expects everybody to get out of your way, you're a complete tosser and the whole world wants you dead! Well, it'd be nice if you showed a bit of common courtesy. So think on and look sharp!
Having had a look at the postcards at the Postsecret site, I think I might start a service like that for readers of this blog (all 2 of 'em) to post any secrets they'd like to get off their chests. All posts will be treated in the strictest confidence and nobody will laugh at anybody. Of course, such a setup needs to be monitored by a suitable person who has no skeletons in their closets. So it's only fitting and right that I should volunteer my services for that role.
People at shopping centres are ignorant fuckers. They walk along; 2, 3 or 4 abreast and they barge straight into me and shove me out of the way. Bastards. I wonder if it has anything to do with me being a 2 year old gypsy child.
Anyway, if you're the type of person who walks along in shopping centres and expects everybody to get out of your way, you're a complete tosser and the whole world wants you dead! Well, it'd be nice if you showed a bit of common courtesy. So think on and look sharp!
Having had a look at the postcards at the Postsecret site, I think I might start a service like that for readers of this blog (all 2 of 'em) to post any secrets they'd like to get off their chests. All posts will be treated in the strictest confidence and nobody will laugh at anybody. Of course, such a setup needs to be monitored by a suitable person who has no skeletons in their closets. So it's only fitting and right that I should volunteer my services for that role.
whoohoo.co.uk - The British Dialect Translator
whoohoo.co.uk - The British Dialect Translator
Thanks to Barbara for letting me know about this - I can see this one doing the rounds on Friday. I quite like the idea of the Jolly Well Spoken translator, wot, wot?
Thanks to Barbara for letting me know about this - I can see this one doing the rounds on Friday. I quite like the idea of the Jolly Well Spoken translator, wot, wot?
Always look on the bright side of life
Jesus help me. One of my colleagues is incapable of just having a conversation and then moving on; he has to follow everything up by Googling it and downloading anything connected with a subject. Another colleague has just been talking about hearing "Always look on the bright side of life" as somebody's ringtone yesterday and as a consequence, I've just heard the fucking thing on loop myself for the past 10 minutes! He's a really sweet bloke, but he's obviously not busy enough. And yes, I realise that that's coming from somebody who's writing blogs in work time too - but I can multitask.
Tuesday, 15 February 2005
RARRRRR I'M A BLOG
RARRRRR I'M A BLOG
Yep, he's a blog alright! I like things like this, this is the sort of crap you get e-mailed on a Friday. Some of the scary album covers make up one of the best Powerpoint presentations I've ever seen - I may post them if I can be arsed. Let's just say, "Julie's 16th birthday" is in there with them.
Yep, he's a blog alright! I like things like this, this is the sort of crap you get e-mailed on a Friday. Some of the scary album covers make up one of the best Powerpoint presentations I've ever seen - I may post them if I can be arsed. Let's just say, "Julie's 16th birthday" is in there with them.
You have to be a complete tit to forget to put your headlamps on while driving at night!
Only complete nobheads forget to put their headlamps on while driving at night. Drivers and pedestrians use elaborate methods to draw errant motorists' attention: pointing; flashing their own headlights; running after the car, mouthing "Your lights!"; and my own particular favourite is to turn my own headlamps off then on again.
My "Your lights!" method came about because of a scare story that was circulating Manchester about ten years ago. Apparently, it was a gangland ploy to attract motorists as targets for random (I've used "random"!) assassinations: drive around with your headlamps off, then track down and shoot the first driver that flashes their headlamps at you. For some reason, I thought that turning my headlamps off then on somehow disqualified me from being the recipient of a bullet to the head - I've no idea how I came to this conclusion, but there you go. Even more worrying was the fact that nothing corroborated the gangland assassination rumour and, an even more serious symptom of my paranoia was that I was living in Coventry at the time!
Anyway, only complete tossers forget to put their headlamps on while driving at night. However, a really ineffective way of alerting people to their forgetfulness is to flash your headlamps at them as they're waiting to pull out of a junction that you're turning in to - they just think that you're flashing them to go. But anyway, I'd like to express my thanks to the nice Renault Laguna driver who flashed me as I was pulling out of Tesco's petrol station this evening; I did eventually put my lights on as I got on to the main road. Tit.
Eye-hand coordination
Having just purchased a massive tub of olives from Tesco, I've discovered that somebody must've switched the garlic-stuffed olives with the plain, unpitted variety somewhere in between me spooning the things out of the bowl and them landing in the tub. How do things like that happen?
Your mind plays tricks on you, don't trust it.
My "Your lights!" method came about because of a scare story that was circulating Manchester about ten years ago. Apparently, it was a gangland ploy to attract motorists as targets for random (I've used "random"!) assassinations: drive around with your headlamps off, then track down and shoot the first driver that flashes their headlamps at you. For some reason, I thought that turning my headlamps off then on somehow disqualified me from being the recipient of a bullet to the head - I've no idea how I came to this conclusion, but there you go. Even more worrying was the fact that nothing corroborated the gangland assassination rumour and, an even more serious symptom of my paranoia was that I was living in Coventry at the time!
Anyway, only complete tossers forget to put their headlamps on while driving at night. However, a really ineffective way of alerting people to their forgetfulness is to flash your headlamps at them as they're waiting to pull out of a junction that you're turning in to - they just think that you're flashing them to go. But anyway, I'd like to express my thanks to the nice Renault Laguna driver who flashed me as I was pulling out of Tesco's petrol station this evening; I did eventually put my lights on as I got on to the main road. Tit.
Eye-hand coordination
Having just purchased a massive tub of olives from Tesco, I've discovered that somebody must've switched the garlic-stuffed olives with the plain, unpitted variety somewhere in between me spooning the things out of the bowl and them landing in the tub. How do things like that happen?
Your mind plays tricks on you, don't trust it.
Recycling
Getting a new mobile can be a pain when you have to learn new technology and also tell people that you have a new number. It's so very irritating to have to change your number within 3 months of getting it because you keep getting phonecalls and messages for the last person to have that number. Apparently, no new numbers can be generated, so old ones are recycled - but only after they've been out of action for 2 years (allegedly).
Well, if your name is "Sam" and you used to have the number: 07976 938 365, thank you very much! You could've told your huge circle of associates (and I've heard from most of them) that you've changed your number. Thanks very much also to the muppets who want to contact "sexpot" Sam after over two years without being in touch. Dickheads. Thanks also to the mobile networks for providing second hand numbers; perhaps they should wait for a number to be out of use for 5 years before they fob it on to somebody else.
Some advice for our American friends. We British are pretty good at deciphering your odd spelling, grammar and punctuation, but I know for a fact that the Americans are pretty stuck in their ways when it comes to their quaint interpretation of the English language. Not only stuck in their ways, but annoyingly crap with it. So, a "mobile" is what those in the States would insist on calling a "cellphone" or even worse "cell" (dur!).
It's the fact that they insist on continuing to use their odd spellings and words when in the UK that is rather tiresome. If an American was in France, speaking French, they'd speak French (one would assume). So why then do they speak American when in the UK? They throw in words that we don't use here, use stupid spellings that make words look ridiculous. Arrogance, that's what it is.
One of the most annoying things is computer software such as the Microsoft Office applications that always default to American English, no matter how many times you set the default to UK English. A frexample is e-mailing using Microsoft Outlook: you can set the default language to UK English, but as soon as you reply to a message or forward one on, it reverts to US English and changes the spellings of everything - making the author look a complete tosser.
Some may think this "analyzation" a little over the top (seriously, some Americans make up words like this and how they ever managed to sneak a "z" into analyse in the first place is beyond me), but it really does piss me off. It's bad enough having their crap spelling forced on us in books and webpages, but us lot in the UK and the rest of the English speaking world accept it as them being too stupid to learn how to spell properly. However, when Americans tell us that we're spelling things incorrectly or using the wrong punctuation because we're using our own language? That really gets my goat up!
The bastards!
Well, if your name is "Sam" and you used to have the number: 07976 938 365, thank you very much! You could've told your huge circle of associates (and I've heard from most of them) that you've changed your number. Thanks very much also to the muppets who want to contact "sexpot" Sam after over two years without being in touch. Dickheads. Thanks also to the mobile networks for providing second hand numbers; perhaps they should wait for a number to be out of use for 5 years before they fob it on to somebody else.
Some advice for our American friends. We British are pretty good at deciphering your odd spelling, grammar and punctuation, but I know for a fact that the Americans are pretty stuck in their ways when it comes to their quaint interpretation of the English language. Not only stuck in their ways, but annoyingly crap with it. So, a "mobile" is what those in the States would insist on calling a "cellphone" or even worse "cell" (dur!).
It's the fact that they insist on continuing to use their odd spellings and words when in the UK that is rather tiresome. If an American was in France, speaking French, they'd speak French (one would assume). So why then do they speak American when in the UK? They throw in words that we don't use here, use stupid spellings that make words look ridiculous. Arrogance, that's what it is.
One of the most annoying things is computer software such as the Microsoft Office applications that always default to American English, no matter how many times you set the default to UK English. A frexample is e-mailing using Microsoft Outlook: you can set the default language to UK English, but as soon as you reply to a message or forward one on, it reverts to US English and changes the spellings of everything - making the author look a complete tosser.
Some may think this "analyzation" a little over the top (seriously, some Americans make up words like this and how they ever managed to sneak a "z" into analyse in the first place is beyond me), but it really does piss me off. It's bad enough having their crap spelling forced on us in books and webpages, but us lot in the UK and the rest of the English speaking world accept it as them being too stupid to learn how to spell properly. However, when Americans tell us that we're spelling things incorrectly or using the wrong punctuation because we're using our own language? That really gets my goat up!
The bastards!
Monday, 14 February 2005
Bitching
Bitching
This is an old blog, but I found it really very funny. It just shows the anger and hatred that can build up towards somebody who you really do not enjoy living with. The mental torture of whoever wrote this oozes from every paragraph. "I HATE HER, I HATE HER, I HATE HER!" Brilliant.
Actually, I just had to double-check the date on this to make sure it wasn't from 2001 when I was giving my lodger a hard time (I ignored her for 2 months till she moved out). It's all well and good having a bitch about somebody in a blog, but you have to remember that they could well be doing the same about you.
This is an old blog, but I found it really very funny. It just shows the anger and hatred that can build up towards somebody who you really do not enjoy living with. The mental torture of whoever wrote this oozes from every paragraph. "I HATE HER, I HATE HER, I HATE HER!" Brilliant.
Actually, I just had to double-check the date on this to make sure it wasn't from 2001 when I was giving my lodger a hard time (I ignored her for 2 months till she moved out). It's all well and good having a bitch about somebody in a blog, but you have to remember that they could well be doing the same about you.
Sunday, 13 February 2005
Serving up a treat
We've all seen lame serving suggestions on food packaging and in adverts, but I was rather stunned to see what Kwik Save (40 years of low prices!) was suggesting in their latest flyer:
I don't think I'd be best pleased if somebody offered me a slab of raw beef or a selection of raw pork chops - no matter how much it was dressed up with fresh herbs! Very reasonable prices though, there's no argument with that. And Christmas was never Christmas without the "Liquor saving Kwik Save" ads on TV.
Next door's washing is still on the line. Unbelievable. I might go round and tell them that Birds Eye fish fingers and Kwik Save 'steak' cut chips are half price this week. It'll save them eating from McDonalds or the chippy every night. Deep breaths and calm thoughts.
Wigs on fire
As I was drying my hair this afternoon (yes, afernoon, it's SUNDAY!), I noticed either smoke or steam coming off it. No wonder the smoke alarm's been going off.
True Romance
My sister has just noticed me writing this post and she asked "Have you got a bloke?". Eh? Apparently she thought I was writing an e-mail to somebody "special" - well, I could do that, but I might get a court order put on me for stalking. She's obsessed with finding somebody for me. Jesus help me, I might go and take holy orders. Saying that, I think I'd suit a wimple and I quite like navy. I know most of the words to the Sound of Music too, so I could do well.
Moustaches on women
It's not attractive, but it's something that starts to happen in women's mid twenties. If we're not careful, we get the full beard to go with it by the time we're 35 too.
I don't think I'd be best pleased if somebody offered me a slab of raw beef or a selection of raw pork chops - no matter how much it was dressed up with fresh herbs! Very reasonable prices though, there's no argument with that. And Christmas was never Christmas without the "Liquor saving Kwik Save" ads on TV.
Next door's washing is still on the line. Unbelievable. I might go round and tell them that Birds Eye fish fingers and Kwik Save 'steak' cut chips are half price this week. It'll save them eating from McDonalds or the chippy every night. Deep breaths and calm thoughts.
Wigs on fire
As I was drying my hair this afternoon (yes, afernoon, it's SUNDAY!), I noticed either smoke or steam coming off it. No wonder the smoke alarm's been going off.
True Romance
My sister has just noticed me writing this post and she asked "Have you got a bloke?". Eh? Apparently she thought I was writing an e-mail to somebody "special" - well, I could do that, but I might get a court order put on me for stalking. She's obsessed with finding somebody for me. Jesus help me, I might go and take holy orders. Saying that, I think I'd suit a wimple and I quite like navy. I know most of the words to the Sound of Music too, so I could do well.
Moustaches on women
It's not attractive, but it's something that starts to happen in women's mid twenties. If we're not careful, we get the full beard to go with it by the time we're 35 too.
Muesli and other tortures
"Sometimes I think muesli is God's way of making Shredded Wheat seem interesting." For some reason (habit), I have a combination of the two for my breakfast; today, there's a bit of mixed dried fruit thrown in there too. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough milk to cover it all, so it's a bit of a struggle. They could've used this stuff in the witch trials.
For most people, the weekend is great; anticipation of Friday evening is just about the one thing that sees us through Monday mornings. Once Monday mornings have been negotiated without incident, a kind of numbness descends that anaesthetises us for the rest of the working week. If we're lucky, Monday to Friday brings us no challenges greater than battling to and from work, or fighting to hold off on a king size Twix in that period between 3 and 4pm when blood sugar plummets. Unfortunate people have to use their brains and other skills to do work. Eeeeugghh. Whatever happens, the working week is tiring and it's a huge theft of our time that's never compensated enough by our salaries. The weekend gives us the opportunity to relax, to be ourselves, to do the things we want to do, to ACHIEVE something!
Odd then, that somebody who looks forward to the weekend so much, has wasted this entire couple of days by having ridiculously long lie-ins! In all fairness, these were fuelled by late nights, sleep that was disturbed by strong winds and the cats being upset because they thought the strong winds were actually a big monster outside that was coming get them (if only). Nevertheless, I've wasted the entire weekend and I still feel crap.
Any excuse to avoid going to the gym and I'll take it! It's not that I don't want to go, it's just that I ache so much and I've got a pain in my ankle/shin that was brought on by having my trainers fastened too tight while I was running the other night. I think I'd cut off the circulation around my ankles and it didn't half ache, now it's a bit painful to walk on. Some people just aren't made for physical exercise.
Arsehole bloggers who mess about with their page templates to remove the Blogger header bar thing really piss me off. The header bar is the bit with the search box and the "next blog" button. It's sometimes fun to scroll through the blogs to see what's going on, but sometimes, you'll get to one where some dickhead has buggered about with the template and removed the "next blog" button because they think their crap page is so great that you'll never want to move on to the next one. Fuckers. Oh, and music in blogs is shite too. But the worst combination is a foreign language blog, with music, where the "next blog" button has been removed - great for when your having a sneaky look while you're at work and you can't navigate away from the page. Thanks very much.
For most people, the weekend is great; anticipation of Friday evening is just about the one thing that sees us through Monday mornings. Once Monday mornings have been negotiated without incident, a kind of numbness descends that anaesthetises us for the rest of the working week. If we're lucky, Monday to Friday brings us no challenges greater than battling to and from work, or fighting to hold off on a king size Twix in that period between 3 and 4pm when blood sugar plummets. Unfortunate people have to use their brains and other skills to do work. Eeeeugghh. Whatever happens, the working week is tiring and it's a huge theft of our time that's never compensated enough by our salaries. The weekend gives us the opportunity to relax, to be ourselves, to do the things we want to do, to ACHIEVE something!
Odd then, that somebody who looks forward to the weekend so much, has wasted this entire couple of days by having ridiculously long lie-ins! In all fairness, these were fuelled by late nights, sleep that was disturbed by strong winds and the cats being upset because they thought the strong winds were actually a big monster outside that was coming get them (if only). Nevertheless, I've wasted the entire weekend and I still feel crap.
Any excuse to avoid going to the gym and I'll take it! It's not that I don't want to go, it's just that I ache so much and I've got a pain in my ankle/shin that was brought on by having my trainers fastened too tight while I was running the other night. I think I'd cut off the circulation around my ankles and it didn't half ache, now it's a bit painful to walk on. Some people just aren't made for physical exercise.
Arsehole bloggers who mess about with their page templates to remove the Blogger header bar thing really piss me off. The header bar is the bit with the search box and the "next blog" button. It's sometimes fun to scroll through the blogs to see what's going on, but sometimes, you'll get to one where some dickhead has buggered about with the template and removed the "next blog" button because they think their crap page is so great that you'll never want to move on to the next one. Fuckers. Oh, and music in blogs is shite too. But the worst combination is a foreign language blog, with music, where the "next blog" button has been removed - great for when your having a sneaky look while you're at work and you can't navigate away from the page. Thanks very much.
Saturday, 12 February 2005
Spank me on the bottom with a Woman's Weekly!
Valentine's Day is here soon, Monday to be exact. As a person who's never been on the receiving (or giving) end on Valentine's Day (awwwwww), it's always been quite an interesting occasion to observe as an outsider. If you care about somebody, your partner, you should really tell them as often as possible, but folk get busy and it's easy to forget those things when there's so much other stuff going on. Because of such pressures, Valentine's Day is obviously a good occasion to take time out and use the opportunity to tell somebody that you care. And if, like me, you have nobody (unbelievable, I know), then it's just one of those things; maybe, one day, someone will come (in the words of Mick Hucknall).
It is totally incredulous that a load of people will make plans to commit mass suicide on this day while logged on to an internet chat room! Not knowing what their motives are, it's not fair to judge, but if folk are so depressed about not having anybody special, they ought to get their arses out of the house and do a bit of socialising with real people. They shouldn't be cruising the internet for other people who are living in similar vacuums.
In the main, chat rooms are great fun; they give people from all over the world the chance to "meet up" and have a laugh. Sometimes, real friendships and relationships evolve when people get chatting over the internet (I have some very real and very wonderful mates who I met on tinternet). Chat rooms can also provide a dynamic forum for discussion on many different topics. However, some users do take things far too seriously and trouble can result. Having been a regular visitor to a particular room for a good 6 months a couple of years ago, I saw the whole spectrum of chatters (there were some complete weirdos) and I'm the first to admit that it can be a very compelling activity, mainly because it's such good fun. However, when it switches from being fun to being an absolute essential for your daily existence, then you're in trouble.
I wonder how many bloggers used to or still visit chat rooms; it seems a natural progression.
Woman's Weekly?
You've got to be a British comedy fan to understand what that means.
Google Adsense
No idea how it picks which ads to display over there but it has absolutely nothing to do with me, Your Honour. Apparently, it scans the content of your blog, or website, and it posts adverts that are relevant to your topic areas. Strange then that there are no ads for colonic irrigation aids, incontinence supplies or hired hitmen.
The Adsense thing only went up today and the last time I looked, it had earned me 7c! I knew my writing would earn me some cash one day, but I won't be buying that cottage in Lancashire for about 23,000 years at this rate. Oh, to be discovered....
It is totally incredulous that a load of people will make plans to commit mass suicide on this day while logged on to an internet chat room! Not knowing what their motives are, it's not fair to judge, but if folk are so depressed about not having anybody special, they ought to get their arses out of the house and do a bit of socialising with real people. They shouldn't be cruising the internet for other people who are living in similar vacuums.
In the main, chat rooms are great fun; they give people from all over the world the chance to "meet up" and have a laugh. Sometimes, real friendships and relationships evolve when people get chatting over the internet (I have some very real and very wonderful mates who I met on tinternet). Chat rooms can also provide a dynamic forum for discussion on many different topics. However, some users do take things far too seriously and trouble can result. Having been a regular visitor to a particular room for a good 6 months a couple of years ago, I saw the whole spectrum of chatters (there were some complete weirdos) and I'm the first to admit that it can be a very compelling activity, mainly because it's such good fun. However, when it switches from being fun to being an absolute essential for your daily existence, then you're in trouble.
I wonder how many bloggers used to or still visit chat rooms; it seems a natural progression.
Woman's Weekly?
You've got to be a British comedy fan to understand what that means.
Google Adsense
No idea how it picks which ads to display over there but it has absolutely nothing to do with me, Your Honour. Apparently, it scans the content of your blog, or website, and it posts adverts that are relevant to your topic areas. Strange then that there are no ads for colonic irrigation aids, incontinence supplies or hired hitmen.
The Adsense thing only went up today and the last time I looked, it had earned me 7c! I knew my writing would earn me some cash one day, but I won't be buying that cottage in Lancashire for about 23,000 years at this rate. Oh, to be discovered....
Ow!
My bloody eye is killing me. Contact lenses make the user so much more attractive. Yeah right, if red,weepy eyes turn you on, then contact lenses are great! And I defy anybody to say that they can see better through contacts over specs of the correct prescription.
Healthy it isn't, but I feel I must add one more comment about my lovely neighbours. In the photo (below) you'll notice that an item of clothing had been torn from the washing line in the strong wind and rain that's been battering us since yesterday. I've just noticed that it's been put back on the line! It beggars belief. Seriously, that washing has been out in the most horrible weather for about 3 days. Anyway, grumbling about shitheads isn't good for anybody; pouring petrol through their letterbox and setting it alight is!
Digital photography is something I discovered this time last year and it's brilliant; it's revolutionised the types of photographs people take. In the past, photography was generally reserved for taking pictures of occasions, people posed in settings out of their usual context, it tended to provide a kind of skewed imagary cross-section of people's lives. Of course, this was almost entirely due to the costs of consumables and processing, and also the time-delay between taking the photograph and seeing the result (which could turn out to be disappointing). Digital photography is instant, and without the additional consumables and processing costs, it gives the user scope to experiment and learn about photography without making expensive mistakes.
This is a photo of my nan that was taken when she was a child. I find it odd that a photo of such a "normal" thing as a child, playing in the street should be taken way back when not many people had cameras and things (sometime around 1910 I think).
What the devil is this prat going on about? Well, digital photography enables people to capture ordinary life: photos of family and friends being themselves; images of your normal environment that you take so much for granted that it would never normally warrant capturing in a photo. A whole life can be recorded in real images. Acquiring a digicam prompted me to go and explore things around me so I could take piccies of nice things; I discovered that I enjoyed going up hills, where you can see for miles (conditions permitting) so I could take photos.
So, if you've got a digicam, don't leave it stuck in a drawer, try taking some photos of the every day people and things in your life. Who knows, one day you might want to look back on life. If you haven't got a digicam, check out the Canon Powershot range, they were coming out top of the shop in all the reviews when I bought mine last year (a Canon Powershot A70). For digital camera reviews, visit Digital Camera Resource.
Healthy it isn't, but I feel I must add one more comment about my lovely neighbours. In the photo (below) you'll notice that an item of clothing had been torn from the washing line in the strong wind and rain that's been battering us since yesterday. I've just noticed that it's been put back on the line! It beggars belief. Seriously, that washing has been out in the most horrible weather for about 3 days. Anyway, grumbling about shitheads isn't good for anybody; pouring petrol through their letterbox and setting it alight is!
Digital photography is something I discovered this time last year and it's brilliant; it's revolutionised the types of photographs people take. In the past, photography was generally reserved for taking pictures of occasions, people posed in settings out of their usual context, it tended to provide a kind of skewed imagary cross-section of people's lives. Of course, this was almost entirely due to the costs of consumables and processing, and also the time-delay between taking the photograph and seeing the result (which could turn out to be disappointing). Digital photography is instant, and without the additional consumables and processing costs, it gives the user scope to experiment and learn about photography without making expensive mistakes.
This is a photo of my nan that was taken when she was a child. I find it odd that a photo of such a "normal" thing as a child, playing in the street should be taken way back when not many people had cameras and things (sometime around 1910 I think).
What the devil is this prat going on about? Well, digital photography enables people to capture ordinary life: photos of family and friends being themselves; images of your normal environment that you take so much for granted that it would never normally warrant capturing in a photo. A whole life can be recorded in real images. Acquiring a digicam prompted me to go and explore things around me so I could take piccies of nice things; I discovered that I enjoyed going up hills, where you can see for miles (conditions permitting) so I could take photos.
So, if you've got a digicam, don't leave it stuck in a drawer, try taking some photos of the every day people and things in your life. Who knows, one day you might want to look back on life. If you haven't got a digicam, check out the Canon Powershot range, they were coming out top of the shop in all the reviews when I bought mine last year (a Canon Powershot A70). For digital camera reviews, visit Digital Camera Resource.
Friday, 11 February 2005
You don't have to be mad to work here...
Why is it that some people insist on saying things like "We're so mad here, it's brilliant!"? It's the sort of thing said by characters who have been parodied so brilliantly by the likes of Victoria Wood.
Another one is "I'm being good" or "Yes, it's a low-fat yoghurt and Rivita for lunch!", to mean that somebody is avoiding treat foods because they're watching their weight. But why is avoiding treat foods "being good"? A treat is just that, a treat: something you have that's not necessary for survival, but is a bit of a luxury to add a bit of enjoyment to your day. I think "being good" shouldn't mean "being completely miserable". Surely, having a healthy diet and lifestyle must include things like the odd packet of crisps or a chocolate bar every now and again? One of the most annoying things about people who have spent all of their adult lives dieting is their obsession with those who have had some success at getting in shape. And herein lies the answer to the relative success or failure of people who want to get in shape, or at least the way I see it is. Those who are constantly battling with their weights are, to varying degrees, obsessed with dieting - addicted to it I reckon. However, those who have some success in changing their bodies to their liking are probably not that worried about things on such in such an intense manner: a decision is made to change something/s about their lifestyle and they stick to it, rather than following one fadish diet after the next. It's all a matter of degrees.
People who leave their washing out for days on end in all sorts of weather conditions are utter scumbags and they should be shot. They're the same sort of people who claim incapacity benefit for "depression", "stress" or "back pain" all their lives so they never have to work and can get a house for free plus all the additional freebies that go with it. All paid for by poor bastards who struggle on by, working long hours with nothing to show for it. Working long hours and getting up ridiculously early, but not getting to sleep till late because their scumbag neighbours are up decorating their free houses with stuff that's paid for by the poor old worker. They're just basically stupid, lazy, inconsiderated, down-right nasty fuck-ups who should be rounded up and shot.
I also like the primary-coloured playground furniture and other garden ornaments here. Ahh, the sounds of the children playing (screaming) in the summer and the cackling of the harpees as they enjoy a barbecue and drink on their patio, which simply must be accompanied by very loud music (just to rub it in as I get home from a 9 hour day at work on those warm summer afternoons). All paid for by the British tax payer of course. This garden has been put together and is tended by somebody who never works, but who I understand claims incapacity benefit for having a bad back. I suppose filling out all those benefit forms and striving to make as much collective noise as possible must be very stressful and they probably get a few quid for depression too. Bastards.
Bastard firewalls are a pain in the arse. Having just upgraded Zone Alarms (why oh why do I do these things?), it seems that it needs to learn which internet sites are allowed. To do this, it blocks everything until you've repeatedly reloaded the page and it finally cottons on that the BBC News website is safe to view. And all this is because some little shits around the world have nothing better to do than cause trouble by trying to hack into people's machines.
Fingernail clippings go everywhere. Surely somebody can invent something that clips nails and catches the clippings rather then the bloody things letting fly into your coffee, or landing somewhere and hiding themselves until their discovered by an obsessive-compulsive visitor.
Another one is "I'm being good" or "Yes, it's a low-fat yoghurt and Rivita for lunch!", to mean that somebody is avoiding treat foods because they're watching their weight. But why is avoiding treat foods "being good"? A treat is just that, a treat: something you have that's not necessary for survival, but is a bit of a luxury to add a bit of enjoyment to your day. I think "being good" shouldn't mean "being completely miserable". Surely, having a healthy diet and lifestyle must include things like the odd packet of crisps or a chocolate bar every now and again? One of the most annoying things about people who have spent all of their adult lives dieting is their obsession with those who have had some success at getting in shape. And herein lies the answer to the relative success or failure of people who want to get in shape, or at least the way I see it is. Those who are constantly battling with their weights are, to varying degrees, obsessed with dieting - addicted to it I reckon. However, those who have some success in changing their bodies to their liking are probably not that worried about things on such in such an intense manner: a decision is made to change something/s about their lifestyle and they stick to it, rather than following one fadish diet after the next. It's all a matter of degrees.
People who leave their washing out for days on end in all sorts of weather conditions are utter scumbags and they should be shot. They're the same sort of people who claim incapacity benefit for "depression", "stress" or "back pain" all their lives so they never have to work and can get a house for free plus all the additional freebies that go with it. All paid for by poor bastards who struggle on by, working long hours with nothing to show for it. Working long hours and getting up ridiculously early, but not getting to sleep till late because their scumbag neighbours are up decorating their free houses with stuff that's paid for by the poor old worker. They're just basically stupid, lazy, inconsiderated, down-right nasty fuck-ups who should be rounded up and shot.
I also like the primary-coloured playground furniture and other garden ornaments here. Ahh, the sounds of the children playing (screaming) in the summer and the cackling of the harpees as they enjoy a barbecue and drink on their patio, which simply must be accompanied by very loud music (just to rub it in as I get home from a 9 hour day at work on those warm summer afternoons). All paid for by the British tax payer of course. This garden has been put together and is tended by somebody who never works, but who I understand claims incapacity benefit for having a bad back. I suppose filling out all those benefit forms and striving to make as much collective noise as possible must be very stressful and they probably get a few quid for depression too. Bastards.
Bastard firewalls are a pain in the arse. Having just upgraded Zone Alarms (why oh why do I do these things?), it seems that it needs to learn which internet sites are allowed. To do this, it blocks everything until you've repeatedly reloaded the page and it finally cottons on that the BBC News website is safe to view. And all this is because some little shits around the world have nothing better to do than cause trouble by trying to hack into people's machines.
Fingernail clippings go everywhere. Surely somebody can invent something that clips nails and catches the clippings rather then the bloody things letting fly into your coffee, or landing somewhere and hiding themselves until their discovered by an obsessive-compulsive visitor.
Computer says no
Well, after a week or so of techno problems, the misery seems destined to continue: no internet access at home, while here at work, we've lost a lot of functionality because of a fire at the main server building. They have this daft system where people's profiles and data are stored on the one server at a central site so users have to log-on to the network to do any work. If the network goes down, we all go shopping for an hour! I just got a bargain Nike top for the gym for a tenner from T K Maxx.
Car colours
There are far too many silver cars on the road. This is probably because most cars look very good in silver. However, here are some other car colours that are very attractive: metallic mustard/gold, blue, maroon, and not forgetting, black (which I find particularly sexy). I'm talking the Audi paint jobs here because they're lovely, particularly the paint jobs for the A4 convertables.
A survey said that people find drivers of silver, black and red (I think) cars most attractive - in that order. Makes you wonder what proportion of cars on the road are silver, black and red... Perhaps the government will introduce quotas to bring about equal proportions of car colours. Imagine being last in line and getting white or green? I had a white car once. By the time it reached the end of its life, it was "Manchester white", or cream, as it's more commonly known. Stupid colour for a car.
Trade offs
Living on a budget, as most people have to, there's a constant trade off when planning what to spend hard-earned money on. I go for real things - tangibles they call 'em - all the time, and I always put a luxury item in terms of tanks of petrol since this is my biggest outlay each month (after debt repayment). So, a week's holiday in the sun is 3 months' worth of petrol and this can translate into the tangibles: 80GB hard drive; 256MB RAM; DVD-RW drive; a pair of Timberland roll-top boots AND an iRiver personal jukebox. It's no competition really and it looks like I'll be staying in England for another year.
Wednesday, 9 February 2005
Conspiracy theory
My ongoing technological problems would've had paranoid people reaching for the tin foil and wrapping their houses in it in the belief that all their systems were under surveillance from the spooks!
I'm suffering java problems on my PC here at home (and I'm not talking spilt coffee in the keyboard), file download problems on my machine at one work base and hotsync problems at the other. Such things shouldn't get to you; the machines still work alright, they're not functioning optimally, but there are ways around the problems. It's just so goddam annoying when you know there's a little problem and it becomes an all-consuming part of your life until it's resolved. And the solution is never a simple one, or should I say, the action taken (by me) is always very drastic - sledgehammers and nuts, that kind of affair. I'm having javascript problems here, therefore I need a new computer. I can't hotsync at work, so I obviously need a system rebuild and a new PDA.
I changed my last car because the internal blower fan had lost its oomph and I couldn't be bothered to get it fixed. It was also due an MOT, road tax and a wash. Quite sensible when you think about it.
There's probably a name for people like me, like a medical condition. However, the best one is probably "twat".
Cats are strange creatures. There's one on the desk in front of me. This particular model is OK because he tends to lie down and keep still, as opposed to another one of the beasts who insists on doing caged tiger prowling up and down the desk in front of the PC monitor and all over the keyboard. Max's nose is dripping; he's a bit trashed because he's been on the catnip for the past couple of hours.
Online shopping can prove to be a frustrating and disappointing experience if your happen to be looking for something that's quite difficult to get hold of.
I'm a bit fed up.
I'm suffering java problems on my PC here at home (and I'm not talking spilt coffee in the keyboard), file download problems on my machine at one work base and hotsync problems at the other. Such things shouldn't get to you; the machines still work alright, they're not functioning optimally, but there are ways around the problems. It's just so goddam annoying when you know there's a little problem and it becomes an all-consuming part of your life until it's resolved. And the solution is never a simple one, or should I say, the action taken (by me) is always very drastic - sledgehammers and nuts, that kind of affair. I'm having javascript problems here, therefore I need a new computer. I can't hotsync at work, so I obviously need a system rebuild and a new PDA.
I changed my last car because the internal blower fan had lost its oomph and I couldn't be bothered to get it fixed. It was also due an MOT, road tax and a wash. Quite sensible when you think about it.
There's probably a name for people like me, like a medical condition. However, the best one is probably "twat".
Cats are strange creatures. There's one on the desk in front of me. This particular model is OK because he tends to lie down and keep still, as opposed to another one of the beasts who insists on doing caged tiger prowling up and down the desk in front of the PC monitor and all over the keyboard. Max's nose is dripping; he's a bit trashed because he's been on the catnip for the past couple of hours.
Online shopping can prove to be a frustrating and disappointing experience if your happen to be looking for something that's quite difficult to get hold of.
I'm a bit fed up.
Monday, 7 February 2005
Techno, techno, techno, techno!
In the words of 2 Unlimited, there's no-no, no-no-no-no, no-no-no-no, no-no, there's NO LIMITS to the frustration that technology can heap on a person. With the internet, as websites become ever more sophisticated, you never know whether there's a problem with a site or a problem with the settings on your machine. In truth, there's probably no problem with anything, but by the time you've pissed about trying different security settings in Internet Explorer and Norton, Zone Alarms and whatever other things you have protecting your machine, you've completely mashed up your system and broadcast all your credit card and banking details to the world.
There's a German rock band called Rammstein, they have all flamethrowers and stuff in their live acts. Now, there's a health and safety disaster waiting to happen if ever there was one!
Thinking about the I hate my flatmate blog, it's quite easy to construct a blog of things that really piss you off about the people you live or work with. All you have to do is take every day goings on (or occurrances if you prefer the non-ranting alternative) exaggerate them a little bit and write about them with as much anger and as venom as you can muster. Today's problem with John Doe's flatmate was that she'd left a bit of jam and a few breadcrumbs in his margarine. Well, excuse me, but when you have to live with my parents, that's nothing buster!
I once had a housemate who invited her dolescum boyfriend to live with us FOC (without asking us) and they'd cook porridge on the stove each morning. They'd cook porridge in the smallest pan they could find and let the stuff bubble all over the cooker. And then they'd leave it. Till it baked on. Really, really hard. Instead of writing blogs about them, we used to take direct action like throwing away their dirty pots after they'd been left in the kitchen for three days. It got the message across. And they were really noisy when they had sex - theirs was the bedroom directly above mine. "Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeith!!!!!!!!!!!!!" He was really skinny and he thought he was an artist and that work stifled his creativity. Lazy fucker.
We also had a housemate who had the attic room (it's always the attic room) in a different house. The bathroom was on the same floor as her bedroom and we could hear her talking to herself in different voices as we'd go up the stairs. That was scary, especially during the heightened emotional state that everyone was experiencing during finals. I had a walk-in wardrobe that was sort of beneath the stairs and I once dreamt that she was a witch who had a secret passage from her attic coven into my wardrobe. That was on the day of my final final exam: I'd gone to bed exhausted in the afternoon after the exam; I was woken by that dream and threw up immediately.
Housemates are fun. I think people in that sort of situation should make the most of all those irritations because it gives you something to look back on when you're finally settled in a place of your own where the kitchen bin is emptied when it needs emptying, where there's always toilet paper, where it doesn't persistently smell of curry or garlic or onions, and where you don't get slug trails up your cooker because there's a three day-old chilli con carne sat on there.
Lodgers, on the other hand, are a complete fucking nightmare. Lodgers want to be housemates, yet the lodgee just wants money and to never set sight on the lodger.
There's a German rock band called Rammstein, they have all flamethrowers and stuff in their live acts. Now, there's a health and safety disaster waiting to happen if ever there was one!
Thinking about the I hate my flatmate blog, it's quite easy to construct a blog of things that really piss you off about the people you live or work with. All you have to do is take every day goings on (or occurrances if you prefer the non-ranting alternative) exaggerate them a little bit and write about them with as much anger and as venom as you can muster. Today's problem with John Doe's flatmate was that she'd left a bit of jam and a few breadcrumbs in his margarine. Well, excuse me, but when you have to live with my parents, that's nothing buster!
I once had a housemate who invited her dolescum boyfriend to live with us FOC (without asking us) and they'd cook porridge on the stove each morning. They'd cook porridge in the smallest pan they could find and let the stuff bubble all over the cooker. And then they'd leave it. Till it baked on. Really, really hard. Instead of writing blogs about them, we used to take direct action like throwing away their dirty pots after they'd been left in the kitchen for three days. It got the message across. And they were really noisy when they had sex - theirs was the bedroom directly above mine. "Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeith!!!!!!!!!!!!!" He was really skinny and he thought he was an artist and that work stifled his creativity. Lazy fucker.
We also had a housemate who had the attic room (it's always the attic room) in a different house. The bathroom was on the same floor as her bedroom and we could hear her talking to herself in different voices as we'd go up the stairs. That was scary, especially during the heightened emotional state that everyone was experiencing during finals. I had a walk-in wardrobe that was sort of beneath the stairs and I once dreamt that she was a witch who had a secret passage from her attic coven into my wardrobe. That was on the day of my final final exam: I'd gone to bed exhausted in the afternoon after the exam; I was woken by that dream and threw up immediately.
Housemates are fun. I think people in that sort of situation should make the most of all those irritations because it gives you something to look back on when you're finally settled in a place of your own where the kitchen bin is emptied when it needs emptying, where there's always toilet paper, where it doesn't persistently smell of curry or garlic or onions, and where you don't get slug trails up your cooker because there's a three day-old chilli con carne sat on there.
Lodgers, on the other hand, are a complete fucking nightmare. Lodgers want to be housemates, yet the lodgee just wants money and to never set sight on the lodger.
Saturday, 5 February 2005
Things I hate about my Flatmate
Things I hate about my Flatmate
Fantastic! If only there'd been a forum for me to vent my spleen when I had a sponging twat of a lodger a few years back.
Fantastic! If only there'd been a forum for me to vent my spleen when I had a sponging twat of a lodger a few years back.
Tap-dancing ballerina fairy princess veterinarian
I thought it timely to introduce a post with cakesniffing relevance in honour of this blog's name, so I'd like to pay tribute to the very "in" volumes that have emanated from the typewriter of Lemony Snicket. Why cakesniffer? Well anybody who's read the Unfortunate Events books will have come across this term in the 5th of the series, The Austere Academy, where Handler brings in the delightfully vile Carmelita Spats in the Prufrock Preparatory. Carmelita is basically a stuck-up, spoilt bitch and a bully who gets worse as the stories progress and she uses "cakesniffer" (and its derivatives) as a derogatory term for just about anything. Normally, we're led to believe that bullies always get their come-uppance, but there's no sign of this yet and Carmelita is wonderfully horrible in the latest (11th) offering, The Grim Grotto, where she insists on performing her "tap-dancing ballerina fairy princess veterinarian" dance recital at every opportunity - fantastic. But this is the problem, isn't it? Through our childhoods, we're generally taught that such behaviour is unacceptable, that nobody likes spoilt kids, that we can't always get what we want - this is usually reinforced with a slapped arse and, in all honestly, a good smack on the bum is an excellent cure for brattishness. However, wouldn't it be brilliant if we could get away with being Carmelita ("Are you deaf as well as cakesniffy?")?
There are various websites related to the Snicket books and The Quiet World (http://www.thequietworld.com/books/funnyquotes.shtml) has a load of entertaining quotes from the series. In addition, a good synopsis of the first 11 books can be found at Muggle net - a Harry Potter fan site.
Veggielesbianism is a term coined by Fat Fighters leader, Marjorie Dawes in Little Britain, it's quite funny. Vegetarianism is so civilised compared to eating meat; I hate the idea of farming animals and transporting them to abattoirs and slaughtering the poor little things. I love meat-free foods, I really enjoy meat substitutes - I'd love to go veggie, it's so much more healthy, but I can't. Pathetic, isn't it?
There's something not quite right about listening to Christmas songs in February.
There are various websites related to the Snicket books and The Quiet World (http://www.thequietworld.com/books/funnyquotes.shtml) has a load of entertaining quotes from the series. In addition, a good synopsis of the first 11 books can be found at Muggle net - a Harry Potter fan site.
Veggielesbianism is a term coined by Fat Fighters leader, Marjorie Dawes in Little Britain, it's quite funny. Vegetarianism is so civilised compared to eating meat; I hate the idea of farming animals and transporting them to abattoirs and slaughtering the poor little things. I love meat-free foods, I really enjoy meat substitutes - I'd love to go veggie, it's so much more healthy, but I can't. Pathetic, isn't it?
There's something not quite right about listening to Christmas songs in February.
Friday, 4 February 2005
Things you shouldn't like, but just can't help yourself
Squeezing blackheads and spots, particularly other people's, ESPECIALLY greasy men's, is one of those divine things that never ceases to bring great pleasure. They come in all sorts of shapes and sizes; you can measure the satisfaction against many criteria (wiggliness of the blackhead goo, splatter pattern of spot goo, whether the "seed" of the spot is released on the first attempt, number of refills); and it's an activity that can be done alone or shared with friends, lovers, family members. Fantastic!
Of course, related to this is "draining the cat's abscess": cats get into fights, they get bitten, bites get infected without you noticiing, big abscess bursts while you're stroking kitty. And my God, do abscesses go on!!! Unfortunately, they also stink to high heaven, so you need a pretty strong stomach for that particular activity. They also have the associated costs of vets' bills for proper cleaning and medication, so the pleasure is lost somewhat by the financial implications.
Smelly farts. Now, this is a weird one. Why do we like to smell our own farts, yet are sickened by those of others? Odd, isn't it?
Gooey, post-cold snot. It's great at the end of a bad cold when your sinuses finally start to clear and you get productive snot: that really gooey, yellow/green/bloody stuff that leaves your head clear as it makes its exit. You know it's disgusting, but you just can't resist having a look. Another great nasal pleasure is the post-nosebleed blood clot. If you have a bad nosebleed and have to hold a pack under your nose to absorb the blood, when you remove the pack, there's often a huge blood clot that pulls away with it. You can feel it coming out from your nasal passage and it feels GREAT! After a few minutes, there should be the confidence for a good nose-blow and this often results in excellent bloody goo release too. It's that instant of sudden freedom from the suffocation that had been caused by the clot (or snot): in that second, you sudden come alive again and it's as if your brain can breathe too.
Gooey, post-chest infection phlegm. Again, you shouldn't look, but you do, don't you? There are different stages of this stuff. When you've been really poorly and it's just coming up, it's sort of dark green, olive-coloured and it really, really hurts. It also smells bloody terrible and you can sort of taste it as you breathe, but you can't do anything about it. Yak.
Last, but not least: big, massive poos. They're just the best thing in the world and I can't imagine what it must be like to only go every now and again. I love the Bristol Stool Score, and there should be a pic of this posted somewhere on the b-log (log!) if I've managed to use picassa properly.
Filth, pure filth.
Of course, related to this is "draining the cat's abscess": cats get into fights, they get bitten, bites get infected without you noticiing, big abscess bursts while you're stroking kitty. And my God, do abscesses go on!!! Unfortunately, they also stink to high heaven, so you need a pretty strong stomach for that particular activity. They also have the associated costs of vets' bills for proper cleaning and medication, so the pleasure is lost somewhat by the financial implications.
Smelly farts. Now, this is a weird one. Why do we like to smell our own farts, yet are sickened by those of others? Odd, isn't it?
Gooey, post-cold snot. It's great at the end of a bad cold when your sinuses finally start to clear and you get productive snot: that really gooey, yellow/green/bloody stuff that leaves your head clear as it makes its exit. You know it's disgusting, but you just can't resist having a look. Another great nasal pleasure is the post-nosebleed blood clot. If you have a bad nosebleed and have to hold a pack under your nose to absorb the blood, when you remove the pack, there's often a huge blood clot that pulls away with it. You can feel it coming out from your nasal passage and it feels GREAT! After a few minutes, there should be the confidence for a good nose-blow and this often results in excellent bloody goo release too. It's that instant of sudden freedom from the suffocation that had been caused by the clot (or snot): in that second, you sudden come alive again and it's as if your brain can breathe too.
Gooey, post-chest infection phlegm. Again, you shouldn't look, but you do, don't you? There are different stages of this stuff. When you've been really poorly and it's just coming up, it's sort of dark green, olive-coloured and it really, really hurts. It also smells bloody terrible and you can sort of taste it as you breathe, but you can't do anything about it. Yak.
Last, but not least: big, massive poos. They're just the best thing in the world and I can't imagine what it must be like to only go every now and again. I love the Bristol Stool Score, and there should be a pic of this posted somewhere on the b-log (log!) if I've managed to use picassa properly.
Filth, pure filth.
Falling apart
That's how it feels sometimes. Especially now, having just ordered a pair of orthotic insoles to help prevent the pain I get in my crappy feet when I exercise. This is very probably metatarsalgia, apparently, although there's the possibility that it's Morton's Neuroma and the likelihood of this being the problem is increased because of my squished feet and also the symptoms that I get (see http://www.spinalhealth.net/inj-foot.html if you're interested). It'll be a 24 hour girdle and incontinence knickers next. You know, the type of things you see advertised with crap 1950s-style black & white diagrams in the Sunday papers, or those daft little catalogues that accompany them. I don't remember what age I'd reached when I looked at those catalogues and for the first time thought, That looks good, but I know I'm there now. The Kleeneezee book is great too.
It beggars belief, but there are Eastern European-looking girls walking the streets of Manchester (Curry Mile in Rusholme) who carry bundles that they claim to be babies; they come up to you, holding out their hands, begging for money. Arseholes to that! There was one this evening and she was carrying a bundle of something, but it sure wasn't a baby. I gave her a very stern and angry "No!" and brushed her off. I've known sympathetic fools to have handed over cash and been told it wasn't enough because it was less than a fiver. Round 'em up and send 'em back. Bloody thieves. That sort of behaviour is absolutely unacceptable and there's no doubt that these lasses are essentially working for pimps. Disgraceful. If nobody gave them anything, they'd soon give up and piss off. People are too soft and stupid in this country.
It beggars belief, but there are Eastern European-looking girls walking the streets of Manchester (Curry Mile in Rusholme) who carry bundles that they claim to be babies; they come up to you, holding out their hands, begging for money. Arseholes to that! There was one this evening and she was carrying a bundle of something, but it sure wasn't a baby. I gave her a very stern and angry "No!" and brushed her off. I've known sympathetic fools to have handed over cash and been told it wasn't enough because it was less than a fiver. Round 'em up and send 'em back. Bloody thieves. That sort of behaviour is absolutely unacceptable and there's no doubt that these lasses are essentially working for pimps. Disgraceful. If nobody gave them anything, they'd soon give up and piss off. People are too soft and stupid in this country.
Hotsync, NOTsync!
Bloody technology is great when it works, but when it goes wrong, it's a complete pain in the arse! Still, spending the entire morning pissing about trying to find out why a rogue file keeps trying to sync to my Palm - resulting in a spectacular crash - is much better than using the equivalent energy working. Even better, the effort involved produces a furrowed brow that gives the impression of deep concentration!
Fridays are good, not only because it's the end of the working week for most, but Fridays also coincides with a frenzied e-mail activity from people who seem to have an endless supply of humorous video clips, jokes and cartoons. Apart from the getting up early and the stress involved in getting to work, Fridays are essentially a freebie day off for a lot of people. I'm talking public sector here of course. The pay's crap, but you get to piss about a lot.
Fridays are good, not only because it's the end of the working week for most, but Fridays also coincides with a frenzied e-mail activity from people who seem to have an endless supply of humorous video clips, jokes and cartoons. Apart from the getting up early and the stress involved in getting to work, Fridays are essentially a freebie day off for a lot of people. I'm talking public sector here of course. The pay's crap, but you get to piss about a lot.
Thursday, 3 February 2005
BBC NEWS | England | Tees | Petrol addict banned from shops
BBC NEWS | England | Tees | Petrol addict banned from shops
Well, with in an interest in sniffing things, this story could hardly be ignored. What a freak! Then again, the smell of petrol is rather lovely.
Well, with in an interest in sniffing things, this story could hardly be ignored. What a freak! Then again, the smell of petrol is rather lovely.
Thursday
Oh my God! I can't believe it's Thursday already. I actually thought it was Friday when I woke up all fuzzy-headed this morning so it just goes to show how your perception of time changes depending on how much you need a wee.
Oh to be more cat-like
OK, here's something to think about: some things really get our goats up - more often than not, these are things that are done by other people and that we have no control over. However, what about those little things that, as individuals, we really get annoyed with ourselves about? Things like trying to pick up a credit card off a flat surface, or bending down and trying to pick something up off the floor, but repeatedly missing. Simple tasks that should be achieved really easily sometimes screw you up for what seems like an age. There are mental equivalents too, like having somebody's name, or a fact, or a song title on the tip of your tongue, but being unable to get it out. Annoying, isn't it?
You see, it'd be great to be a cat or a dog because they take full advantage and turn such situations into games that last them a whole lifetime (e.g. washing the end of their tails). And they probably don't have the mental capacity to recognise music so they never have to worry about losing at Beat the Intro. You can imagine them sniffing another animal's arse and thinking I know who you are, I just can't quite place it, it's on the tip of my tongue (quite literally, the dirty buggers). They don't half allow themselves to get worked up into a right old lather with a catnip sack though.
I hate the Thelwall Viaduct
That's all there is to say about that.
Oh to be more cat-like
OK, here's something to think about: some things really get our goats up - more often than not, these are things that are done by other people and that we have no control over. However, what about those little things that, as individuals, we really get annoyed with ourselves about? Things like trying to pick up a credit card off a flat surface, or bending down and trying to pick something up off the floor, but repeatedly missing. Simple tasks that should be achieved really easily sometimes screw you up for what seems like an age. There are mental equivalents too, like having somebody's name, or a fact, or a song title on the tip of your tongue, but being unable to get it out. Annoying, isn't it?
You see, it'd be great to be a cat or a dog because they take full advantage and turn such situations into games that last them a whole lifetime (e.g. washing the end of their tails). And they probably don't have the mental capacity to recognise music so they never have to worry about losing at Beat the Intro. You can imagine them sniffing another animal's arse and thinking I know who you are, I just can't quite place it, it's on the tip of my tongue (quite literally, the dirty buggers). They don't half allow themselves to get worked up into a right old lather with a catnip sack though.
I hate the Thelwall Viaduct
That's all there is to say about that.
I hate some of the people at work much more; a few can be really ignorant and rude. The bastards.
The BBC must be the saviour of so many bored office-based workers here in the UK. More specifically, the BBC news website is absolutely brilliant and it's easy to get lost in its pages and features. In addtion, having Internet Explorer open on the BBC news website is so acceptable that it's almost written into contracts (for those people that have contracts). So, well done BBC! Of course, it be a lot different if the firewalls and IT police allowed access to porn sites.
My car had a flat tyre when I got in from work. Yet by the time I'd phoned the garage to warn them that I was bringing it down (the spare's one of those ones you can't use at speed), got changed, got the tools out of the boot, shouted at my dad and moved the car a bit so it was on the flat, it had miraculously reinflated!
Finally for today, or at least till I think of something else, a thank you to those people who can be bothered to read this crap and take the time to comment on it.
Really finally...Breathing (10.30pm)
Something odd is happening with the formatting and the line spacing has gone double. Anyway, I've realised what I'm doing wrong on the treadmill at the gym. I went tonight and I discovered that if you run with your back as straight as possible, your head up and you actually breathe in deeply, it makes the whole task a lot easier. I managed quite well and could've gone on longer only I had other infernal machines of torture to subject my poor, aged body to.
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