oops

Sorry about the lack of posts, my computer is still in pieces on my mate's desk, which makes it quite hard to access the internet with it.

Normal service will resume one day, I imagine.

In the meantime, why not ask yourself some interesting 50/50 questions, like 'if you had to give up music or hot food forever, which would it be?' or how about 'you only have one bullet, who would you shoot, Adele (sp) or Kate Nash?'

TTFN for now.

Alanis Morisette has nothing on me

I cancelled my PC technical support contract yesterday morning.

My computer died in a spectacular fashion yesterday afternoon.

There's a link here somewhere...

My Girlfriend isn't posh but....

I'm not sure Rachel is quite au fait with the delicate social structure of football and the basic make-up of your average football fan, as I think this conversation shows:

Rachel: I'm going to watch a football match at the Saints stadium! It's a free corporate thing with work and we will have our own box to watch the game from.

Me: Yeah? thats cool. My friend Chris from work is going to watch that match too.

Rachel: Really? What box is he in?

This week I have been mainly...

Arguing with estate agents.
It's actually quite fun, especially when you know you are in the right and you can sit back and wait for them to figure out their own operating policies in order for them to realise they are wrong and then apologise to you. (they are still at the figuring out stage at the moment.)

It has made it a bit hard to get any posts in so I'm sorry about that but the whole situation is generating some blogging gold for use when I have the time to write about it, like when my dad almost physically shoved the lettings managers head inside our newly-rented, mouldy fridge to prove it was not fit for storing food.

You can't make that up.
Well, you could, but then it wouldn't be true and it's much funnier when it really happens.

Pogonophobics, you're ok by me

I always thought people were faking it when they professed to having weird irrational aversions to things like pumpkin seeds and men wearing floral shirts, but then I realised that I really can't explain why I retch when I smell overripe bananas.

Discuss.

Punch someone today, you'll thank me.

Have you ever noticed how, when someone is killed in an accident or possibly murdered in a gruesome manner, it always turns out that they were, according to their friends and acquaintances, the most incredible person that ever lived?
Perhaps a schoolboy gets killed crossing train tracks or gets blown up in a freak science lab experiment (slightly less likely these days due to health and safety laws meaning the most dangerous chemical you can use in school is lemon juice), which isn't nice obviously, but then the headteacher is recorded as saying he was the smartest, nicest, brightest boy in the school, then his friends say everyone loved him and he was always happy and smiling etc etc.

It's kind of odd isn't it?

So I have a theory about this, that may one day save your life.

If you find yourself being told constantly how great you are, or you never seem able to upset or annoy anyone, then be a bit worried.
If the absolute worst happens and somebody remarks "you know what, you are the most popular person around here, you're really great you are." then I recommend that you run, fast and far, 'cos your life is in the balance.
I reckon the world has an inscrutable plan to rid itself of the nicest, friendliest, most popular people (I don't know why, it's a theory, not a law), so if you think that might be you, then start being a bit of a nobhead, and quickly.

I'm off to pour tea on the bosses lap, just in case.

I went to fit some signs at the new Terminal 5 at Heathrow Airport today, it was pretty cool.
Aside from having to carry a van full of signage around the site on foot, (no trolleys allowed yet, and no little electric buggies either, another dream unfulfilled) we got to see bits of the terminal that the public won't see, and we got to experience the bits that the public will see in a very different context, i.e completely stark bollock empty.

It's really weird walking quietly through a 1/2 mile long tunnel under the busiest runway in Europe and then realising that you can see both distant ends of the tunnel and not spot a single person. It's a bit like being in a Bond film, sneaking through the evil kingpin's secret underground lair, only Bond probably doesn't carry a toolbox full of masking tape and surface cleaner with him.

We also found ourselves at a departure gate in building B (which is just plain massive, as compared to building A which is the largest free-standing building in Europe or something like that) without another soul in sight, and we could see the length of the building, past about another 20 gates. It felt like 28 days later, a completely normal place that becomes incredibly odd simply due to the lack of any human life.

Blimey it's all gone a bit philosophical round here, sorry.

I rode the second longest escalator in the country too, misses out on the top spot by one step so I was told. (beaten by the Angel tube station) Personally I would have re-designed that bit of the building to require a slightly longer escalator, say about two steps longer, but that;s my competitive nature for you.

Better late than, er, later.

Don't worry, im still here, just put the lack of posts down to the holiday season or something.
In fact I have been busy doing the christmas thing, this is the first christmas I have spent with a proper, serious girlfriend (not saying that Rach is particularly stern, just that she means a lot to me), and it turns out she has a family that needs visiting at christmas too! What a coincidence.
So I have had to do double the family gatherings this year, which isn't a bad thing as I got more presents and Rach's family are actually very nice.

In other news, I got an Xbox 360 from Rach for Chrimbo, and I bought her a Wii so I have a feeling that between the two of them, I may be busy for a few more months ahead too.

Ooh, ooh, the most important news of all of course, is that I am finally moving out! Yes, sadly I am a 25 year old child and I still live in the family homestead, but as on the middle of next month, me and Rach are renting a flat in town, hurrah! I am very excited, we have been shopping for toasters and kettles and I am still excited, so it must be exciting.

Feel free to express your happiness for me via the medium of the comments page.

It's all about the willpower

It has finally happened, I have at last succumbed to the only remaining geeky vice that seperates us from them. (although now I might be a 'them' and not an 'us' anymore, so you are all 'them' to me and we are now 'us'. Uh oh.)

Yes, the other day I downloaded the free trial of.....

World of Warcraft.

I mean that's it, that's the end, I am now a MMORPG'er, and I must succumb to all that it entails. All my free time will be spent at this desk, I can no longer socialise like real people, my only friends will be those that I know of as things like Throgborn Skullsmasher (Peter, 12, from Uxstable in Kent) and Elviras Smutmistress (Arthur, 59, Bognor).

I will lose all interest in physical activity, my skin will fade to a pasty, light-starved grey colour, and my muscles will atrophy into formless blobs.
I will feel compelled to buy the least fashionable pair of glasses possible, and make sure they don't quite fit properly so that I have to keep pushing them up my nose. I may also develop an odd nasal condition that affects my voice.

I'll end up - Oh, hang on I'll have to finish this later, I have to go to the pub with my girlfriend.

Reality - 1, WoW - 0.

All parties shall remain nameless

And bloody right too, I saw an old friend from school in the pub a couple of nights ago, and he explained to me exactly how he made a vibrating model of his penis out of latex as a gift for a girlfriend.

He didn't come right out and say it as soon as I saw him, (Hi there, how are you? Want to hear about my cock-moulding experiences?) we did the usual pleasantries first, but he was suprisingly forthcoming with his description considering I haven't seen him for probably 5 years or so.

I won't go into details, but rest assured, he did.

I may need counselling.

Unbelievable Sick-Note Excuses #12

Sometimes, just sometimes, you might get your hand trodden on. It happens occasionally if you aren't paying full attention, and usually when your hand is, for some reason, in close proximity to some wayward feet.

Good examples of this may be if you are knelt on the floor involved in some activity which may require a hand placed on the floor for extra balance or leverage, (minds out of gutters please, I mean like reaching for something heavy at the back of a low cupboard) or possibly if you have fallen over in some manly team sporting activity and another participant of said sporting activity can't change direction quick enough.
These would be perfectly acceptable situations in which you may unfortunately have your hand trodden on.

You'd think you would be safe from this sort of misfortune when clinging to a climbing wall, 30 foot off the floor.

It could only happen to me, I'm telling you.

My thumb is killing me.

Location Location Location

I saw this in Hounslow at the weekend when I went to Rachel's mums with her, and I thought it was so funny I had to take a picture, and of course, share it with you folks.

Talk about fierce competition...

Don't let the door hit you on the way out...

I read an article in a newspaper this weekend (the newspaper shall remain nameless 'cos otherwise you'll all assume I read it regularly and will form some weird judgements about me based on my preferred daily reading material, which isn't true, it was on Rachel's mum's coffee table, but you'd never believe that) that was about a failed asylum seeker who wanted to go home because he said the British 'Weren't very nice to him'.

The council gave him a free flat, but it wasn't nice enough so he refused it and then moaned when he was put in hostel accommodation.
The council gave him food vouchers but he moaned about those because he wanted real money instead. (As obviously you can buy more food with real money than with denominated vouchers, everyone knows that)
He is getting free NHS treatment for his shopping list of ailments and he says he deserves it because he can't afford it back in his home country. Nothing to do with the fact that he was unemployed in his home country, oh no, definitely not.

Oh and he gets free public transport, but that's probably not good enough for him either 'cos he doesn't get his own Bentley and chauffeur or something equally ludicrous.

Now, this guy wants to go home to his (possibly) war torn and (almost certainly) third world country because we are so mean and nasty and the only question I want to ask is this:

Why haven't we sent him back yet?!?!

This is as political as I am ever likely to get, inane ramblings will resume soon, promise.

From the thoughts of, er, John Smith...

Somebody called me at work the other day saying that they had tried to serve me some legal papers at my home address. I obviously wasn't in, what with being at work and everything, but my neighbours told him I didn't live there any more, so he had 'somehow' got my work number and was trying to track me down.

It seems I may soon become a fugitive from the law, we are through the looking glass here people.

Any future communications will be placed under a pseudomyn until the heat dies down a bit, and if anyone asks, you ain't seen me, right?

There's sharks in them there waters...

After work today I 7-balled my boss on the work pool table. (this isn't a euphemism, it means I potted all my balls and the black, not even letting him get one ball in.)

I reckon the result of this is a toss-up between being respected for my superb cueing skills, and having to empty the bins for the forseeable future.

I'm taking a pair of marigolds to work tomorrow just in case.