The sunshine came back today. After what seems like two months of continuous rain, we've been treated to 27C and beautiful sunshine. It won't last, but it's helped to dissolve the worst of the memories of the cold and rain since the end of April.
I saw this on the interweb the other week, it made me smile...Oh, this tossing iPhone is rubbish for blogging from. I can't insert a pic without it being a real arse. In face this iPhone isn't much good for making telephone calls from either. And receiving them depends on what mood it's in, and whether the wind is blowing in the right direction. Pile of crap. I shall return from the fully functioning facility of my laptop - fully functioning apart the network settings being fucked by the VPN, the display driver wiping out on me every twenty minutes, and only one speaker working.
Anyway (:@), happy sunshine while it lasts.
Sunday, 26 June 2011
Thursday, 23 June 2011
Be careful what you Google (part, the second)
Be especially careful what you Google if you happen to go by the name "Veganheart1" on Twitter.
I really don't need to add anything further to this, other than:
FUCKING LUNATIC!!!!!
I really don't need to add anything further to this, other than:
FUCKING LUNATIC!!!!!
Wednesday, 22 June 2011
Be careful what you Google
I never Google myself. And no, that's not a euphemism for masturbating. Googling yourself is generally borne of vanity and for that reason alone, those who do check out their internet footprints deserve to come a cropper. I don't like the idea of seeing the stuff that I do know is out there on the internet: old job profiles, angry forum comments, generally embarrassing stuff that I'd rather wasn't in existence anymore. But I'm certain that somebody like me, ie me, has crossed more than a few people who consequently rant on about me on the internet. Maybe I flatter myself.
Anyway, :@), for some reason last week, I decided to see if I could check out what was going on with people from my not too distant past. Nothing malicious intended, just purely out of curiosity. I happened to search for Marie, one of the few people who didn't drive me up the fucking wall at Base 2a when I worked at the falling apart hospital in Cheshire. I came across her obituary. This was Marie. She'd gone from being a relatively healthy 59 year old in July 2007, to being an obituary in August 2010. It shocked me.
Had I not undertaken my little espionage mission, I'd have thought of Marie on increasingly rare occasions and put her back in that box. Now I know she died, probably of cancer, in a hospice and left behind a grieving family. I wish I hadn't done it now.
Be careful what you Google.
Anyway, :@), for some reason last week, I decided to see if I could check out what was going on with people from my not too distant past. Nothing malicious intended, just purely out of curiosity. I happened to search for Marie, one of the few people who didn't drive me up the fucking wall at Base 2a when I worked at the falling apart hospital in Cheshire. I came across her obituary. This was Marie. She'd gone from being a relatively healthy 59 year old in July 2007, to being an obituary in August 2010. It shocked me.
Had I not undertaken my little espionage mission, I'd have thought of Marie on increasingly rare occasions and put her back in that box. Now I know she died, probably of cancer, in a hospice and left behind a grieving family. I wish I hadn't done it now.
Be careful what you Google.
Sunday, 12 June 2011
A rainy day in Bolton
I think it's raining all over the world.
Anyway (:@), things are never as simple as you'd hope, but that's life. I've learned a very interesting lesson in 'lectrics today. That being that shite ovens that come in modern houses are essentially plugged in to the 13 amp circuit (this is what makes them shit - no power) and when you want to change them for a decent oven, you have to have your house re-wired and part of the kitchen ripped out.
C'est la vie.
And why can't hairdressers do as you ask? I've had a really good hair cut, but "Sandy" was so horrified when I told her what I wanted, that I had to back down and go with something that she thought best, which is a really good cut, but it's left me looking a little like Elaine Paige.
C'est la vie.
Anyway (:@), despite everything I do have access to sharp objects and I might just snip the bits off that I told her I didn't want and suffer the consequences when I go back in six weeks' time. Is there supposed to be an apostrophe there? If I was as mental as I used to be, I'd know the answer to that question, but I'm a bit more relaxed these days. And no fucker reads this shite, so I doubt I'm going to be bundled, blindfold and gagged into the boot of a car and then beaten to within and inch of my life by the disciples of Lynn Truss for one errant bit of punctuation.
So I found myself alone early this weekend; normally I'd be with my other half until later on this evening, but I had to rush back this morning to be told I was a complete spaz for buying the wrong oven by my electrician. But never mind, I know about 32 amp circuits and stuff now, so it's not as bad as it could have been.... had I wired the oven in myself and burnt the house down.
Another year and we're not going to get a summer... again - it's pissing it down and 9°C out there, in June. Finding myself getting a little down in the dumps, I took myself off to Sainsbury's in Bolton, which is never a treat, but I needed coffee and something for my tea. Having decided that I wanted to watch the Kill Bills, I took myself to the DVD section where I found this:
Anyway (:@), things are never as simple as you'd hope, but that's life. I've learned a very interesting lesson in 'lectrics today. That being that shite ovens that come in modern houses are essentially plugged in to the 13 amp circuit (this is what makes them shit - no power) and when you want to change them for a decent oven, you have to have your house re-wired and part of the kitchen ripped out.
C'est la vie.
And why can't hairdressers do as you ask? I've had a really good hair cut, but "Sandy" was so horrified when I told her what I wanted, that I had to back down and go with something that she thought best, which is a really good cut, but it's left me looking a little like Elaine Paige.
C'est la vie.
Anyway (:@), despite everything I do have access to sharp objects and I might just snip the bits off that I told her I didn't want and suffer the consequences when I go back in six weeks' time. Is there supposed to be an apostrophe there? If I was as mental as I used to be, I'd know the answer to that question, but I'm a bit more relaxed these days. And no fucker reads this shite, so I doubt I'm going to be bundled, blindfold and gagged into the boot of a car and then beaten to within and inch of my life by the disciples of Lynn Truss for one errant bit of punctuation.
So I found myself alone early this weekend; normally I'd be with my other half until later on this evening, but I had to rush back this morning to be told I was a complete spaz for buying the wrong oven by my electrician. But never mind, I know about 32 amp circuits and stuff now, so it's not as bad as it could have been.... had I wired the oven in myself and burnt the house down.
Another year and we're not going to get a summer... again - it's pissing it down and 9°C out there, in June. Finding myself getting a little down in the dumps, I took myself off to Sainsbury's in Bolton, which is never a treat, but I needed coffee and something for my tea. Having decided that I wanted to watch the Kill Bills, I took myself to the DVD section where I found this:
Fucking yes!!!!!
So I did my shopping, got to the car and realised I'd forgotten this:
So I went back in and found these:
Wiggle your big toe to that!
This rain-soaked, miserable Sunday might not turn out too bad after all.
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
Chosen by you
Asda, part of the Wal*MART family. Dear Lord.
My opinion of Asda has gone up since moving here... not the Asda in the town nearest here, which is Hell on earth, but the other one, which is bigger so the nastiness is diluted over a wider surface area. Anyway, this has made me realise that, apart from having to be very selective about what you can actually buy in the store, the really horrible thing about Asda is the people who shop there; hideous cunts. This contrasts to the staff, who are by and large lovely. You tend to find that there's a kind of skewed distribution in the pleasantness of shops staff that's related to where the store is on the la-de-da scale.
I've tried to draw this here:
So my issue with Asda isn't the staff; it's the produce and it's the customers. So when the customers are allowed to have a say in the produce, you know that the outcome is going to be very, very bad.
There's this range of products at Asda called "Chosen by you" - this from people whose general idea of cuisine ranges from a bag of Quavers to KFC.
I don't think I'll be buying anything that's been chosen by People of Asda. I'll buy things from Asda that has been chosen by their buyers; things that I can make things from myself.
My opinion of Asda has gone up since moving here... not the Asda in the town nearest here, which is Hell on earth, but the other one, which is bigger so the nastiness is diluted over a wider surface area. Anyway, this has made me realise that, apart from having to be very selective about what you can actually buy in the store, the really horrible thing about Asda is the people who shop there; hideous cunts. This contrasts to the staff, who are by and large lovely. You tend to find that there's a kind of skewed distribution in the pleasantness of shops staff that's related to where the store is on the la-de-da scale.
I've tried to draw this here:
There's this range of products at Asda called "Chosen by you" - this from people whose general idea of cuisine ranges from a bag of Quavers to KFC.
I don't think I'll be buying anything that's been chosen by People of Asda. I'll buy things from Asda that has been chosen by their buyers; things that I can make things from myself.
Tuesday, 7 June 2011
Cold call
I'm forever having people call at my front door, annoying me. Nobody I know ever comes to the front of my house, so a knock is always a sign of trouble. It's usually not even for me. It's usually somebody from a power company asking if the previous owners want to change their energy company.
The answer is always no.
These people know this too. I tell them to make sure they know: "I'll just look on uSwitch and do a comparison there - there's no way I'm taking your word for it."
So why do they keep calling? Because they're paid to annoy people, be given the brush off by people having their evening meal, and to be growled at by the dog that has to be held because they always stand there with the fucking gate wide open onto the main fucking road.
Fucking idiots.
I feel forced into putting one of those horrid signs up that you see in the Easy Living catalogue: "No salesmen, No takeaway menus, No, No, No. Just whatever you want, NO!".
Or I could continue to take pleasure at watching them being dripped on from the guttering that seems to be leaking directly above where they stand.
Easy living
Is that what it's called? The little booklet that's the official Nazi Party version of the Betterware catalogue? It comes with the Sunday supplements every couple of months. Google tells me it's Easy Life (easy life if you're a member of the Daily Mail hang 'em high collective, that is).
I think they used to be Innovations, but they were clearly taking the piss. I'm sure some of the products are quite good if you're retired, bored have reduced mobility, but have too much money. However, some of the stuff is just really a bit mean spirited and designed with the intention of shooing things off, such as:
Here's to good health!
That was always the toast at Christmas and New Year. Add love and happiness and you can''t ask for much more from life. In fact, if you have all three, you're pretty much laughing I reckon.
If you have a chronic problem with your hip (for "chronic" read two months) it starts to get you down after a while. I'm starting to think that I might have done something to it while I was skiing. Anyway, I'm going for an assessment in a couple of weeks.
People keep recommending chiropracters and osteopaths to me. These people swear by theirs, who they've been seeing for YEARS with their back problems. I point this out to them. They don't get it. I also point out that homeopathy has been shown to be buncum, yet it's still sometimes funded from the Public purse, but the fact that osteopathy and chiropracterism (??) isn't offered on the NHS should indicate that they're viewed as even crapper than homeopathy.
Nothing is more effective than homeopathy.
Think about that one.
Anyway, I assume that the assessment will show that there's nothing can be done for me and that I'll have to rely on time and the correct exercises to help ease my problem. I guess it's also important to find out whether there's anything I should absolutely avoid doing.
I think the days of me getting my ankles round the back of my head are way behind me.
Bed time
You know, I have no idea where time goes.
It seems that one hour of not work time is worth three hours of work time. I swear I've only been home for two hours and it's bed time already. Yet I get to work at 8am, send off a load of e-mails, do some spreadsheety things, have a cup of coffee, go for a poo, look at the clock and it's 8:08.
I get home from work, prepare and eat my dinner, take the little feller out for his walk, come back, and it's bed time.
This is where I take him:
It's just up the road from here. He can run along pathways, bounce through the long grass, completely missing the fact that there are fifty rabbits bouncing around him. This evening the swallows were doing stunt flying at his height and within a metre or so of him. He didn't really notice because he'd found another dog's poo to sniff at from close up.
The answer is always no.
These people know this too. I tell them to make sure they know: "I'll just look on uSwitch and do a comparison there - there's no way I'm taking your word for it."
So why do they keep calling? Because they're paid to annoy people, be given the brush off by people having their evening meal, and to be growled at by the dog that has to be held because they always stand there with the fucking gate wide open onto the main fucking road.
Fucking idiots.
I feel forced into putting one of those horrid signs up that you see in the Easy Living catalogue: "No salesmen, No takeaway menus, No, No, No. Just whatever you want, NO!".
Or I could continue to take pleasure at watching them being dripped on from the guttering that seems to be leaking directly above where they stand.
Easy living
Is that what it's called? The little booklet that's the official Nazi Party version of the Betterware catalogue? It comes with the Sunday supplements every couple of months. Google tells me it's Easy Life (easy life if you're a member of the Daily Mail hang 'em high collective, that is).
I think they used to be Innovations, but they were clearly taking the piss. I'm sure some of the products are quite good if you're retired, bored have reduced mobility, but have too much money. However, some of the stuff is just really a bit mean spirited and designed with the intention of shooing things off, such as:
- Cats
- Spiders
- Flies
- Door-to-door salesmen
- "Foreign-looking and gypsies"
Here's to good health!
That was always the toast at Christmas and New Year. Add love and happiness and you can''t ask for much more from life. In fact, if you have all three, you're pretty much laughing I reckon.
If you have a chronic problem with your hip (for "chronic" read two months) it starts to get you down after a while. I'm starting to think that I might have done something to it while I was skiing. Anyway, I'm going for an assessment in a couple of weeks.
People keep recommending chiropracters and osteopaths to me. These people swear by theirs, who they've been seeing for YEARS with their back problems. I point this out to them. They don't get it. I also point out that homeopathy has been shown to be buncum, yet it's still sometimes funded from the Public purse, but the fact that osteopathy and chiropracterism (??) isn't offered on the NHS should indicate that they're viewed as even crapper than homeopathy.
Nothing is more effective than homeopathy.
Think about that one.
Anyway, I assume that the assessment will show that there's nothing can be done for me and that I'll have to rely on time and the correct exercises to help ease my problem. I guess it's also important to find out whether there's anything I should absolutely avoid doing.
I think the days of me getting my ankles round the back of my head are way behind me.
Bed time
You know, I have no idea where time goes.
It seems that one hour of not work time is worth three hours of work time. I swear I've only been home for two hours and it's bed time already. Yet I get to work at 8am, send off a load of e-mails, do some spreadsheety things, have a cup of coffee, go for a poo, look at the clock and it's 8:08.
I get home from work, prepare and eat my dinner, take the little feller out for his walk, come back, and it's bed time.
This is where I take him:
It's just up the road from here. He can run along pathways, bounce through the long grass, completely missing the fact that there are fifty rabbits bouncing around him. This evening the swallows were doing stunt flying at his height and within a metre or so of him. He didn't really notice because he'd found another dog's poo to sniff at from close up.
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