and a Happy Australia Day to me...

And just like that Im back in business - you little ripper...!

I've borrowed a friends computer, but only for 48 hours. He said borrow it till the end of the weekend and I was like "Nah, it's alright, I only need it for 24... 48 hours, for what I need to do".

Of course, now that I've got it home, got it plugged into my network where I am happily accessing files on my PC, whilst having got myself comfortably propped up on my new bed (which was bought yesterday), listening to Bavarian Radio and revelling in the 21st century - he ain't got a shit show of getting this little monkey back before Monday and, even then, he'll be lucky.

Shit - hope he doesn't read this blog!

My own laptop went "Crap - BANG" a while ago, or, more accurately, "blink" - and a terminal 'blink' at that. Of course, this happened 5 days after the warranty expired, on a Tuesday - black Tuesday, as it is now referred to in my head.

So, 'Sputnik' (that's its name, my first laptop was 'Larry', as in 'Larry the Laptop') has sat under my kitchen sink for 6 weeks now - a 'Dominator X1' of Sony technology - all of a year & a week old, before it entered, of its own volition, a cryogenic state.

Actually, I phoned a company today who will fix it for 100 quid, which is waaaayyy better than what Uncle Sony would have spanked me for it. Nonetheless, its great to have a laptop for 48 hours and to be reminded what life was like - when I could go to cafes and do work, or, at least, just leave my desk.

Right - this bastard 'Office Assistant' is doing my tits in (you know the one, the smug paperclip with an inane lightbulb beside it) - gotta go and remember how to tell it to 'fark orf...'

I know..

it seems that I've got my finger up my arse but, actually, I've been thinking... (and losing jackets).

With digits guiding a pen (vice, itching an annoyance) I was able to scribble down some good ideas for bloggin'. So whilst I have been a bit erratic with posts this new year, I'm feeling inspired to cut loose... (I'm getting on top of Flash too, so there is a bit to be done - bettter turn off the telly).

Subjects range from F-TV (putting the fark back into TV), the Herminator, a non-Thickee list, hover boards to imaginary friends...

to be continued (or forgotten, *sigh*)

:: I also know that this blog needs some serious graphic luvin' and to get hooked up to a database ::

has anyone -

seen my blue jacket from the party on Friday night (you know the one that commenced at 4:08 am)..? It looks like 'me in a jacket' but, now, without me in it - it looks like a hooded light blue jacket that is probably feeling pretty lonely by now.

I'm thinking Eve's partner or a girl called 'Rebecca' might have seen it - since they saw me when I stumbled came in. If it's anywhere, it's probably to the left of the telly...

Failing that it could be at one of 3 pubs...

Realistically though, I reckon its RIP to the only jacket that I own(ed) which I actually like(d)...

Midgets, you've been warned...

Very close to where I live there is a lane that leads to some shops. I wander past there on a regular basis and have constantly been intrigued by a series of signs that adorn one of the walls. They must be pretty serious because there is 3 of them, about 15' apart (there were 4 but someone ripped one down)...

I wouldn't normally dribble on about a sign (mmm, actually I might), but these ones befuddle me...

As you can see the sign clearly states "BEWARE ANTI CLIMB PAINT" which, obviously, is a pretty
direct message.

Now what gets me is that this wall is only 1 metre high, if even that. I've included a portion of myself for reference and I'm 5'11 3/4" tall.
(note: not 6 foot tall as much as I'd like to be. Every time that I've been measured I've clocked in 1/4" shy of 6 foot. Now, you could say why don't I just say 6 foot - well that would be a lie wouldn't it, or an exaggeration at best and I'm not prone to exaggeration, verbosity perhaps, but not exaggeration. I've spent a lifetime stating my height correctly, proudly maintaining my integrity and, no doubt, leaving some people thinking that I'm anally retentive - such is the price of your morals eh Cato).

I mean, the wall could provide a challenge to a midget but I don't think even the most diminutive of folk would be terribly troubled by it. So, all in all, it seems to be a pretty aimless sign or, as this case is, a collection of signs.

Having got closer and spent more time beside the sign than I ever have before, it has become clear to me that:
(1) there is no-one climbing it,
(2) there are no signs that anyone ever has climbed it (jumped it perhaps)
(3) there are no midgets nearby (as far as I could tell),
(4) this anti-climb paint does attract more than its fair share of bird-shit.

In fact, there is a tremendous amount of bird-shit on it and, if I know my bird-shit, I suspect that the culprits are seagulls (I live pretty close to the sea as a crow flies or, in this case, some full-bellied seagulls). So, perhaps, the local council could better use their time (& budget) by putting up some signs advising the seagulls that this is not a toilet.

Admittedly, its a long shot as to whether the seagulls are actually going to be able to read it, but, then again, I ain't seen any clans of free-climbing midgets lurking about either. So if they are going to put up signs they might as well keep it real - or surreal if that is their true purpose.

p.s. my neighbours now think I'm a weirdo taking photos of a climbing wall for midgets (hope they don't ask me how tall I am).

a pub conversation

Twitching with self-employed boredom, I decided to go to the pub last night in the vague hope that there was 'something' going on - which there wasn't!

There was, however, karaoke - which was being enthusiastically performed, alternately, by a Japanese chap (no surprises there) and 2 girls who, amazingly, were equally out of tune with the music - but perfectly in tune with each other (luckily the 'actual' music was turned down so low we could not even hear the proper song and only their inane screeching)...

As it turned out, in hindsight, the highlight of the night was a conversation with a smoker regarding the imminent smoking ban in the UK (Mar 26 I think). He, admittedly, was quite pissed but his point was essentially this:

Smoking is doing us all a favour because it hides the smell in a pub. And, in case you're wondering, that offensive smell is predominantly caused by blokes farting (& their breath, I think was the other contributor). At one point he declared to me "you don't know how much blokes fart" which, even at the time, struck me as odd - since I am a bloke and reckon I've got a rough idea!

So, while it was an interesting take on the smoking ban, he seemed to have overlooked a couple of salient points:
- the smell of smoke is pretty horrific to non-smokers anyway (especially in ill-ventilated and cramped pubs, as often found in the UK)
- he would not be much of an expert on the smell since his olfactory senses would be pretty fucked up thanks to his own smoking habit and I, for one, will risk the smell of farts anyway.

There would be more points I'm sure with greater thought, but these were the 2 that came to me at the time. I did begin to voice these thoughts but, as mentioned, he was pissed and like a lot of these types of conversations, it wasn't really going anywhere (or going to achieve anything). So, I nodded, smiled and murmured a non-committal "mmmm..."

detox...

Subsequent to the New Year's haze, I was wombling around a local supermarket with an adventurous spirit at heart. Every time I go shopping I try to get outside of 'my envelope' and buy something that I wouldn't normally buy or eat (livin' on the edge eh).

Normally, it is just some sort of weird vegetable or unheard of soup but this habit, combined with a refusal to throw food away (unless it is badly out of date), has happily introduced me to some great new things over the years..

On this furry day, I found myself in the organic section seeing what life-changing products could be found there. After a vague blank stare for a bit, my eyes dropped to the funky drinks department where I couldn't help but notice one little number which sucked me in with it's "I'll change your life" advertising. Picking up one of these bottles I started to read through its ingredients to see what this wondrous elixir may hold.

I read it for a second and then realised that I hadn't taken it in (no big surprise there - this was New Years Day and, unsurprisingly, there were to be no awards won for dynamic brain activity on that day). I re-read it again and realised that I didn't really understand something on it. I looked away for a brief second, to re-focus my eyes, and then looked back at the label again.

With further intensified study, I locked onto one of the main ingredients and confirmed that I had no idea what that ingredient was. I was intrigued by the word and pondered that further because, essentially, it was a straight-forward English word and I figured a brief review of its etymology would solve the problem or, at least, give me a major clue to its origin...

Nope.. nothing.

- I tried to say it in my head... and couldn't even do that.
- I tried to say it out loud and couldn't even do that properly.
- I was still stumped!

It was about then that I had my first true moment of clarity for the New Year and realised that I was speaking out loud - to myself - in a busy supermarket.. (maybe I did wear my pants back to front on my New Years Eve run)!

"What the crap is it" I thought and then menaced my own brain with "gimme an answer now" - where it happily filled in the gap by replying 'Cholera..'

"Mmmm-huh. Nice work brain..!".

A bottle of Cholera indeed. "Well," I thought, "you wanted to try something new - how about a bottle of Cholera then Biggles". Result! So in it went to the shopping basket, to join the rest of the rather eclectic spontaneous shopping clan.

To date, I still have yet to try it - but there is still a while before it expires (and a grace period after that before it becomes bubonic) so plenty of time yet. It has, however, been in and out of the fridge about 3 times to be pondered (and duly replaced) and has even been on a photoshoot – so I can't say I haven't got my moneys worth out of it even if it does taste like seawee.

telly blunder...

As the evening was drawing on, I'd already decided to work on through to the early hours of the Monday morning. Some background distraction was definitely required to keep my Gemini brain occupied while I did my accounts - so I trawled through the Radio Times to see what the telly-dribble there was on offer later on...

Low and behold I stumbled across this little number:


I hadn't heard of it at all and, frankly, found the title a bit off-putting, but I do enjoy a good bit of history.

As I read the blurb I was intrigued - a woman, with children, who departs 11th century England for Morocco (very much into the heart of Moorish Islam at that stage). As I thought about it a while I was beginning to scratch my head, wondering "really, that means she must be fleeing a few years after William the Conquerer invaded England". Wow, that must be quite some film (or, at the least, if it was a crap film it would be covering some interesting ground - literally).

So I settled in for a few hours of work and looked forward to an enjoyable late night movie that would keep me company in the early hours (since they've darn well stopped playing NFL on Ch5. I'm not biased, I appreciate sports from all countries even though currently I'm in the UK). Finally, 20-to-midnight rolls around and I flick on the box - only to discover that it's actually a story about an Englishwoman who escapes life in the UK with her two daughters, to adventure in Morocco in the... 1970's...

- twat -

*sigh*, semi-watched it anyway while working on ( slightly more dejectedly)