C'mon!

Filth!

Anyway, what's been going on? Oh, the usual... it's getting freezing-my-tits-off cold now. And it's dark to match as we descend into the depths of winter. Bums.

Trump may have found a buyer for her house. This would be amazing and great, but I'm not counting chickens.

I've forgotten how to type.

I'm trying to remember what I was going to blog about, but Trump is playing maniacally on her Nintendo DS. It sounds like a Super Mario game. I like the way she does the sound effects. I have convinced myself that it's endearing.

She sometimes plays on her DS at bedtime, this isn't nearly as irritating having to listen to BBC Radio 4, which I despise. It's politics 90% of the time. People droning on and on and on. It's maddening. Last night it wasn't politics, it was some woman with the poshest voice ever talking about one thing after another, seemingly without paragraphs; cooking, travel, knitting all sorts of things in a plum in her mouth monotone.

And then the relief.

A lull in the talking and the sound of Sailing by started. I was relaxed in an instance. This piece of music transports the listener the deck of a boat, drifting in a slight summer's breeze. It is lovely and is used to introduce the Shipping Forecast every night. The forecast itself is enough to send me to sleep happy.

With all the digital channels that the BBC has, why can't it give one over to have the shipping forecast and Sailing By on loop, 24 hr a day? Perhaps inter-dispersed with a few numbers station broadcasts from the Lincolnshire Poacher.

It'd be far more entertaining than most of the utter shite they churn out. It pisses me off that they think they can get away with producing self-indulgent rubbish because they don't have commercial sponsors to answer to. The other day on 6 Music, listeners were subjected to a good ten minutes of tuneless noise, simply because they could play it. Arseholes.


Childless benefit
AT LAST there's some benefit from the tax man for not having kids. After ten years of being screwed over time and again for the sake of people who keep breeding, those of us without kids are smiling. HA HA HA!!!

Well done Gordon!

A pound?

I went shopping with Trump and her mum yesterday. Of course, there being 25% off everything at Debenhams meant that I simply HAD to buy a suit jacket for £60 and a leather jacket for £160! Tit. Still, £165 instead of £220 is a bargain as far as I'm concerned.

And I've put a claim in for my last six months' worth of petrol expenses, so that should cover it.

I nipped into Poundland to have a look at the batteries, picked up a pack of 15AAs and took them to the till. "Can you do a price check on these please?" I enquired of the teenage assistant at the counter. She looked at me with disgust: "A pound?". Oh yeah, of course, silly me.

Now then, what the fuck was I going to blog about? There was something interesting...


Spirito di Connie
My new car isn't a Fiat Punto (hence "Spirito di Punto" reference), it's a Nissan (no difference there then) Almera (big difference there!), which is OK and it has some nice features that the Primera didn't. One such thing that you'd think would be quite handy is parking sensors - really useful for a nob like me who tends to use her rear bumper as a parking sensor. Anyway, rear parking sensors are so fucking annoying; they're the electronic equivalent to having your elderly mum sat in the bag, going on at you:

Beep! "Oh look you're going backwards, be careful now!"

You edge backwards slowly:

Beep, beep, beep "Hrrm, I'm getting a bit nervous now, don't you think you've gone back far enough? I'm sure you can stop here, it's fine here."

But you know damn well that you've got miles of room behind you, so you keep going:

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP (rapidly) "Now, this isn't funny! I wish you'd just stop, please. I'm coming over all unnecessary"

Oh fuck off, there's acres of bloody space (not that I'd ever tell Connie to fuck off!):

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!!!!!!!!!!! "You. Have. Killed. Me!"



House doctor
Trump's house is on the market. We've been redecorating, getting new carpets, trying to de-clutter. There is a viewing tomorrow; me and Rocky have to get out of the way while people are being shown around. Trump has been instructed to tell viewers that her husband is dead (not as in "He is dead to me" because that wouldn't give the right impression) and that she wants to move out to be close to her elderly parents - things that sound good to certain prospective buyers.

Got to do a sweep of the house to remove stray pairs of knickers from here and there.


Northern Lights
A few years ago, a talented British author wrote a trilogy. A masterpiece called His Dark Materials. The first book was called Northern Lights. There's a film out on 5th December called the Golden Compass; Northern Lights as it was published in the States. Why did they have to change the name of it? The story is about the Northern Lights, Lyra's journey there and stuff. Yes, the alethiometer is very important to the story, but it's not even called a golden fucking compass. For fuck's sake. Anyway, the film looks really good, so I'm going to go and see it.


Stranger than fiction
This is a good film too. I really recommend it. Emma Thompson is brilliant in it.


Still can't remember what I was going to blog about, but it was something that got me really annoyed.

Don't forget the cannoli

I'm not sure I like mobster films, but I love The Sopranos. It's been the same old scenario whereby I encounter a TV phenomenon as it's coming to its conclusion. I did the same with Spaced, Frasier, Friends and now I'm currently watching The Sopranos on DVD. It's not a bad thing. At least this way, I can get it all over and done with relatively quickly and get on with my life, without having to wait for them to make the programme first.

But yeah, mobsters. Having an Italian dad, I've often wondered what it would've been like if he'd been on slightly the wrong side of the tracks. Fucking brilliant I bet. Imagine having a mob leader for a dad! A phonecall here, a quick word in the ear there, all problems sorted. The nearest we get is him being greeted with a respectful handshake and bowed head at the local Italian restaurant: "Good evening, Mr Donato, I have a fine table for you just here, not too draughty."

The thing I can't cope with in gangster films is all the characters, most of them called Paulie or Sal. It's all too confusing, especially when you can't hear what they're saying with they're mouths full of manicotti and peanuts.


Wiidow
That's what I am. Trump has rekindled her love for Zelda on the Wii. She doesn't half shout and swear a lot when she's playing these games. And here's me thinking they're supposed to be fun and relaxing.

The music is quite sinister. It's making me a bit scared, what with the sounds of running feet and swishing of swords. Her character keeps getting killed, you don't get that in Wii Sports. I wonder if she'd do better if I made her a little outfit to wear, might help her be the main character.

I don't think the main character is called Zelda, I think this is Link, although it could be called "You stupid fucking twat!", from what I can gather.

From what I understand, the Wii will be in short supply yet again this Christmas. Fucking brilliant marketing ploy from Nintendo, as with others; let the whispers out now that stocks are low and hey presto, everyone rushes out to buy the must have present.

It is a brilliant console though.


Clever puppy
I got in from work this evening to discover that Rocky had destroyed: a rental DVD; bank statement; postcard; car insurance correspondence. He has abandonment issues. He also has cat issues, slipper issues, vacuum cleaner issues and Asda puppy food issues.

He doesn't have any girl issues since we had him castrated a couple of weeks ago. That's nothing compared to what we have planned for him for Christmas - dinner jacket and bow tie!

And he likes to pretend he's pack leader. I don't think so!

Shitbumtitwank

It's been a while, but that just about sums things up.

Things have been busy, to the point that it feels a little out of control. Stuff going on, decorating bits of Trump's house, getting my car written off, dealing with that, having to buy a new car, shit like that.

But there's always one constant that comes back to haunt and taunt me every few years: power tools.

I fucking hate drilling holes in walls for the purposes of screwing things to said wall. You see folk on DIY programmes on the telly; drill hole, insert wall plug; screw bracket - or whatever - to the wall. LIARS!

In Sniffy's experience, it works this way:

• Climb up rickety ladder
  
• Take the thing that's to be fixed to the wall and mark screw holes on the wall
• Take drill, and select a masonry bit that matches the diameter of the wall plug
• Climb up ladder
• Climb down ladder
• Plug the drill in
• Climb back up ladder, position drill bit on the screw mark and start drilling
• Compose yourself, attempt to patch up the wallpaper that's been ripped up by the wandering drill bit, FIRMLY position the drill bit a the site where the hole is supposed to be, then start drilling
• Climb down ladder, find wall plug
• Climb up ladder, attempt to insert wall plug into freshly drilled hole, curse
• Retrieve drill and drill into the existing hole, wiggling it about to widen the opening
• Use a hammer to knock the wall plug into place
• Repeat for hole number two
• Take bracket and position over newly drilled holes, with wall plugs inserted
• Ponder how the holes can't be in the right position after all that planning
  
• Curse
• Screw into one hole, hammer into the other

I won't go into the palaver of fixing the other bracket to a plaster board wall, but let's just say that it's a miracle how a shower curtain rail can be held in place with a solitary screw and half a tube of No-nails.

And why is it that the colour on the outside of a can of paint NEVER matches how it looks when it's on the wall? The bathroom is now the colour of mint ice cream, as opposed to the more earthier pale sage colour that appeared on the can. I don't understand why they even bother putting those little coloured labels on at all. They should call the whole range Russian roulette or Tin of Tombola because what you end up with is a total lottery.

I suppose it serves me right from migrating from magnolia or natural hessian.

DIY is crapola ultima.

Rubbish.


Gadget schmadget
Having to get a new car has its ups and downs. I'm now driving something newer, with a rear windscreen wiper that works and an accelerator as smooth as anything. It's also nice having new bits to play with - mainly the stereo and climate control system - but also playing mind games with the rear parking sensors. On the downside, I'm down on half a litre of engine capacity, I'm in a smaller car with less power and no CD changer, just the single CD slot. Bums, eh?

For a while, I've wondered why car stereos don't come with a USB slot for use with a flash drive MP3 player. It seems obvious to me. Imagine having 4GB of music for Trump to skip every track?


Mistletoe and why?
Christmas is around the corner, Cliff has his 2008 calendar out. Jesus.

Something else for the ladies
As if the lovely Peter Pants of Pop wasn't enough, here's something else for all hot-blooded women to consider: have you ever managed to put two tampons in at the same time? I did it yesterday - not deliberately, obviously. It was really uncomfortable for a couple of hours and I couldn't quite put my finger on it, so to speak. Imagine my surprise when I came to powder my nose...

I wonder how many I could fit up there. It'd be a bit like those competitions where people see how many basketball players can be squished into a Mini. I suppose it depends on what format they took. I mean, you could fit quite a few in if you hacked them up into bits then liquidised them first.