Ooops

I should remember to keep things simple.  The only bits I know about technology are through trial and error and through having somebody on hand to repair the damage when I mess things up.  In the absence of my sorely-missed 24hr tech support guru, I should know not to mess.

I messed.

I fucked up the old blog (you can try the link, but I assure you, it's fucked).

Ah well.

But fuck.  FUCK!  BIG, MASSIVE FUCK!

Why do I have to mess?  What can't I be one of these people who lives within the limits of their intellectual capabilities, one who knows to leave well alone?

Because I'm a dick.

Anyway (;@) what's done is done.  Move on.

Twitter
I've been trying twitter this week.  I don't get it. Admittedly, I've been contributing to this blog for years now, but I didn't start out with any expectation that anybody would read it.  People did, and it was flattering when folk left comments, and fun when people from Stornoway started arguments with me in their funny little illiterate Bebo-esque way, but I always write things here as a bit of fun; it gives me the opportunity to digest my thoughts and reflect on my experiences instead of reacting and going on the rampage.

But Twitter?  It's for people who expect an audience - like a text message to the world in the expectation that all who care to know the most mundane things about our existence, like where we are on the Bristol Stool Form Guide on any particular day.

It's not that different to this I suppose, only for the illiterate.  And I just don't get it.


Christmas
Christmas approaches, it has been doing for the past six weeks I suppose, but the TV adverts are telling us to panic buy in readiness for the supermarkets being closed for two days RIGHT NOW!  This year, I'm going to be enjoying the true spirit of the season - time with loved ones and family being highest on my priority list.  This is mainly because I'm skint and I can't afford to buy any presents, but I don't expect to receive any either.

The thorny issue of where I'm spending Christmas has already been resolved, and I'm happy that the solution doesn't involve me eating two Christmas dinners, but I do get to wake up on Christmas morning with my beautiful girlfriend.

Compromise is something you only need between the ages of 15 and 80 - outside these limits and you're justified in telling everyone else to go fuck 'emselves.