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.

Bloody Petty, Money Grabbing...

(In the style of Muttley from Wacky Races and Catch the Pigeon) Rassa frassa rasssa...

I'm a bit angry really, 'cos a whole bunch of people who obviously think they don't have enough money yet, and who want to try and pointlessly fuck about with as many people's lives as possible in the process of getting that extra cash may soon cause me to have to quit my job.

Long story short, (with no names 'cos it really might get all legal eagle some time soon) I used to work with my dad and we ran a franchised company. I was a director along with him, but I left a year ago and went to work for a local company that are in the same line of business.
My dad closed down the company in the last month, and the franchisor is going mad 'cos he did it through an insolvency company in order to save himself as much money as possible, instead of closing it down through the contracted methods, which would involve paying lots and lots of extra fees and penalties to the franchisor.
He is perfectly within his rights to do this, but the franchisor is trying to claw back 'damages' for his actions, or something like that, basically trying to get back some of the cash they could have made for nothing if my dad had closed down the company by the book.

A now ex-employee of my dads is a complete tosser, and blabbed all this information about the business closing down to the franchisor in the first place, for no reason we can determine other than for petty personal revenge.

What I found out today is this tosser also told them that I work for a company in the same line of business, and so due to my personal agreement with the franchisor as a director, they can apparently legally force me to quit my job as it is a conflict of interests or some bollocks.

Absolute fucking bastards.

The company I work for now is in the same line of business but is in another league when it comes to volume of work and type of clientele, there is almost no possible conflict of interest between the two, so basically these people may force me to quit my job just because they can, it has absolutely zero effect on them in any way, but it fucks my life up royally. Once again, absolute fucking bastards.

If I ever see the tosser who blabbed this information out in the street, I am likely to do something very out of character, possibly several times.

Incidentally, 2 and a half years of climbing twice a week has given me arms like small steam pistons, and an incredibly strong grip which could probably form quite a good fist and punch with quite a lot of force.

Interesting, that.

I suddenly thought...

Ooh, can I add 'Groove is in the Heart' by Dee-lite to my list of 8 songs I could listen to over and over please? Is that allowed? Is there a cut-off date?

While i'm here, better add some important, useful content that people will want to read and possibly comment on.... erm...

Ah yes, me and Rach were doing the times2 crossword last night and we worked out the answer to the clue "four times bottle size" was 'Jeroboam'. (you know, like Magnum is twice a normal bottle size)

For me, it was one of those weird things that just stick in your mind for no apparent reason, and I am pretty confident that I will now remember it for the rest of my life. (Another useless fact to be stored away where it can take up space that would otherwise be used for remembering things like where I left my beanie hat)

I also looked up in Schott's miscelleany that 20 times bottle size is a Nebuchadnezzar (sp), and I reckon I will always remember that too now.

I'm going to be dynamite at the christmas party this year...

Blog overload

Blimey, 3 posts in one day? Something must be wrong, but like my approach to motor mechanics, I won't do anything about it until something either catches on fire or breaks irrepairably, leaving me stranded hundreds of miles from home with no AA cover.

Hmm, dodgy analogy.

I just had to mention that I just watched a comedian called Katie Brand being interviewed by Jonathon Ross, and I couldn't help but find her strangely attractive and I can't decide specifically why.
Anybody agree with me? Google her and let me know. (Clive, i'm looking to you for some support here)

Incredibly late climbing update

I'm sure nobody cares any more, but I wanted to write about the climbing competition properly, 'cos it was ace.

I speed-climbed a route that was at least a mile high (this may not be an entirely accurate measurement but it helps add a bit of bloggy drama and excitement, lord know we need some more of that.) in about 13.5 seconds, beating the nearest time by 3 seconds.
For this, I won a women's t-shirt, which was obviously not a huge amount of use to me (although I did try it on just in case) but should come in handy in about 46 days time.

I jumped 2.3 metres from handhold to handhold in order to get a third place in the, er, 'jumping from handhold to handhold' competition. It's called a Dyno competition but I didn't want to blind people with jargon.

I also climbed a load of short routes and one big long route without falling off hardly at all, (jargon removed for ease of reading) which helped to give me enough points to come second overall.
It could have been first but I was playing the thinking man's game and trying to work the percentages in order to get the best chance of winning. This was a stupid idea of course, I should have been playing the climbing man's game, seeing as how I was in a climbing competition. It all seems so simple looking back on it.

I got chatting to a guy who was writing an article about the competition for his Journalism course, he was a nice chap and ego boost aside, even though his work would probably never be published any more widely than on his University Intranet, being interviewed after my frankly incredible performance in the speed climb made me feel like a proper athlete and everything.

Second place netted me a huge climbing-hold thing as a prize, you are supposed to bolt it to a convenient wall and then regularly hang on it to practice your different holds and improve your grip. This would be great if I had a convenient wall to bolt it to. I tried to put it up at work, but I swear that I was told I couldn't put it up on work premises because of the health and safety implications. I will not go on about this, but it can be officially noted that 'health and safety' is very, very high on my list of things I want to be able to send deep into space on a very powerful rocket with no steering controls. (Just in case you were wondering, I would put Bono in the cockpit.)

Anyway, health and safety aside, I had a great time, the competition aspect of the event made it really exciting, I won something of actual monetary value, and I did much better than I thought I possibly could so my ego is suitably sated too.

I might have to enter a few more of these things.

1 thing, or possibly less.

Here is a very short post, just in case you fancy a bit of Aimless reading and you can't be arsed to read the massive post below.

I had a dream last night that I was trying to chat up Jo from S-club 7*. It was going pretty well and she told me her real name was May and not actually Jo, but then I was informed that she was an enemy spy and I had to chase her around a model of a desert village and try to shoot her with an automatic rifle.

I'm struggling to find the message hidden in that one.


*I'd just like to point out that I am not and never have been attracted to Jo from S-club 7, not when I was a hormone-driven teenager who would tend to want to boff anything without an adam's apple, and certainly not when she went on Big Brother and revealed herself as the rough Essex tart that she is**.


**I don't watch Big Brother either, but it's hard to avoid finding out what happens on it.

8 things, apparently.

Hey, look at me, an active part of the bloggy community and everything! Clive a.k.a Kitchentable (i'm not doing one of those linky coloured text things, follow the link over there >> the one predictably labelled Kitchentable) has passed on and asked me to fill out this list of seven lists of eight things (keep up).

If it had been sent to me by email it would probably have gone the same way as all the lottery win notifications and penis enlargement adverts I get, but as this blog thing is still all shiny and new and exciting to me, I will do my duty and fill it out.

Bit late I know, but, well, I can't even think of a reason why I should apologise for that, so nerr.

Here goes:

8 things I’m passionate about:

1. Rachel, blimey I'd get in trouble if I forgot that one. err, not that I would of course. Ahem.

2. Climbing. It's not got old yet, not even close.

3. Thinking through half-baked ideas but never putting them into action. I do this constantly and it's great fun. Passionate? yeah why not.

4. Telling people about really good films. I think I enjoy doing this more than actually watching the film in the first place.

5. Rotary engines. GEEEEEK! but trust me, they are cool.

6. Just fun in general really. Much preferable to, well, most things. Maybe this should be 'the pursuit of fun' instead.

7. erm... can I have Rachel again, I am really rather passionate about her after all.

8. I'll come back to this one, possibly.

8 things I want to do before I die:

1. Live quite a bit longer.

2. Build my own house with an interior balcony in the bedroom that opens out over an indoor swimming pool one floor below. Specific I know but I want what I want.

3. Spend a period of my life not having to worry about money.

4. Visit a good proportion of the countries of the world, I'm only on about 10 at the moment, and that's only if you count 3 Canary Islands separately.

5. Be my own boss.

6. Get something published. I genuinely don't care what it is.

7. Win a bloody climbing competition, don't ask.

8. Just before I die, change my will so that all my money gets left to a traffic bollard or something equally barmy. Although saying that, the way my mind wanders, I probably will be barmy if I live past about sixty five.

8 things I say often:

This changes quite often, and I tend to quote funny stuff from films and tv quite a lot, but right now it is:

1. Blimey

2. Aye Bambi

3. Hello beautiful.

4. wellll wellll welllll

5. Alright geezer (in dodgy cockerney accent)

6. Spider Dan, spider Dan.. (there is a whole theme tune, not made up by me I might add)

7. Slabby crack-crack (climbing related, not to do with narcotics abuse)

8. and a swear word to round it off, erm, I'll go for 'fucking cunty bollocks'

8 books I’ve read recently:

1. The Reality Dysfunction - Peter F. Hamilton

2. Fall of Kings - David Gemmell

3. at least six other David Gemmell books as I recently filled out my collection, so I'll mention a few interesting but not quite so recent books instead.

Breaking Vegas - Ben Mezrich (SP)

4. Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse - Robert Rankin

5. Anansi Boys - Neil Gaiman

6. Yes Man - Danny Wallace

7. Anything by Terry Pratchett

8. And anything old by Clive Cussler

8 songs I could listen to over and over:

1. The weird five beat to the bar song on 'Sea of the dying dhow' by Shels.

2. The whole Toxicity album by System of a Down (I can't just pick one)

3. Killing in the name by Rage Against The Machine

4. Walk by Pantera

5. Spread Love by Lenny Fontana

6. Blimey this is hard, erm, Weather Experience by Prodigy

7. Don't stop me now by Queen

8. Teardrop by Massive Attack

8 things that attract me to my best friend

1. She is also my (inverted commas) lover. Oh yes indeed.

2. Her complete lack of any crazy girlie type attributes. (Random strops, totally illogical arguments etc)

3. She is incredibly cool in all sorts of ways without even knowing it.

4,5,6,7 & 8. See 1, above

8 things I've learned this year:

1. Going out and getting drunk is fun, not scary.

2. 'Yes' is always considerably more fun than 'No', and a damn sight better than 'Maybe' too.

3. Blogging requires considerable commitment at times, much more than I thought it would.

4. Money really really isn't everything, it really isn't.

5. Just because you don't see someone as often as you used to, they are still just as good a friend as before.

6. I don't want to be a graphic designer.

7. Damn, I'm all out, seems I only learned 6 things this year, still, not bad going I reckon.

The Climbing Competition

Cor blimey have I ever been busy busy busy.
Still, not to worry, full report on the climbing comp to come I promise, stoopid t'interweb went down a couple of days ago otherwise I would have written about it sooner.

Just to quell the rising excitement, I came second overall, and I won one of the individual competitions too, which I was well pleased with.
A nice chap called Rich interviewed me for an article he is writing for his uni Journalism course, it may possibly get published in a climbing mag so that would be cool too.

So, yes, i will be back with more info soon, I was forced to go out partying last night for Hallowe'en ( I didn't want to I swear) dressed as Alex from A Clockwork Orange, and now I am a bit on the knackered side, so I'm off to Rachel's to make use of her excellent bed facilities. Night all.

Today I Was Mostly...

In a supervisory role at work.

As far as I can figure, this means I get to stand around and watch people do the work I would otherwise have to be doing myself.
I am apparently in no way obliged to lend a hand, indeed I would probably not be able to maintain my strict and total control of the situation if I were actually doing any work.

I was supervising one of our new guys while he got to grips with operating our full-colour digital printers, which will be his job for the foreseeable future. In what seems a bit of a blog tradition, I should give him some sort of code name instead of his actual name, I don't know why this is, but I'm willing to give it a try.
How about print-boy? hmm, smacks of half-assed superhero sidekick.
Oh sod it, let's call him Chris, you can pretend it's a code name if you really want to.

It seems the fact that I started using the printers about 3 days before he did, means I am qualified to teach him how to use them. The problem with what is essentially a £15,000 inkjet printer, is that it has about £15,000 worth of bits that can go horribly and expensively wrong, and with my 12 or so hours of crucial extra knowledge, I am supposed to be able to guide, ahem, "Chris" through all possible print-related pitfalls. I can't see it happening myself, but in my supervisory role, all I can do is sit back and hope nothing explodes and no small, essential parts of machinery ping off into the furthest corners of the room.

This has led me to conclude that another essential duty of a supervisor is to think of someone to blame when things go wrong.

I give Chris about 4 days*.


*Not really, he's a very nice bloke and I'm sure I won't be forced to fire him for at least a fortnight.

Good Things About Still Having A Cold

There are still none.

I haven't had one day off work (i'm so committed) and I still feel rubbish, where's the justice in that?

The climbing competition is on this coming weekend so I have bloomin' well better be better by then or I won't be best pleased.

Snot is not an aid to good climbing technique, apparently.

Good things about having a cold

.

..

...

Help me out here.

The Aimless Guide to Excruciating Pain

1. Get home and notice your chillies from your exceedingly hot, dead habanero chilli plant (R.I.P. Tim) lying on the shelf.

2. Decide to strip the seeds out, ready to plant them next year and grow lots of little Tim the 2nd's.

3. Complete your task and completely fail to wash your hands in any way.

4. Go for a pee.

5. Have a good old scratch around while you are there, it's the end of the day, you deserve it.

6. Wait 2 minutes

7. I don't need to draw you a picture. Inn fact I would refuse even if you asked nicely.

8. If you are not in enough agony, forget about the very recent discomfort you just endured, and rub your eyes after coming out of the shower.

I'll let you know when things aren't red and hurty any more.

Hurrah for Stress! (or lack thereof)

Today I am become Sign Maker, the maker of signs.

Not quite as poignant as the misquoted chap in New Mexico , but it's important to me.

Today marks my change in job position from graphic designer (stress stress stress and sitting down all day) back to sign maker (freedom to frolic amongst the self adhesive vinyls and worry about nothing more than what is for lunch and possibly whether I can scratch my balls without anyone noticing)

And considering I am on the same hourly rate whichever one I do, I know which one I'd prefer. (it's the sign making position, for those of you not quite up to speed, that's the better job)

So, yeah, I'm just dead chuffed really, and wanted to share the joy. Leave a comment and I will respond with joyful tidings and pleasantries, I'm that kind of guy.

Oh, and have another climbing picture, 'cos they are ace.

P.S. does anyone else notice that if you monkey about with posh stuff like links and pictures, it makes the formatting go all kooky? I wish I understood computers.

At the climbing wall...

Rich: "I can smell something funny around here, smells like fish."

Dandan: "That is the smell of fish."

Rich: "I wonder where it's coming from?"

Dandan: "It's coming from my bag."

Rich: "Why?"

Dandan: "Because my bag smells of fish."

Rich: "Ok, but why does it smell of fish?"

Dandan: "Because it's got fish in it."

Rich: "oh, right."

Well, you can't spend all night talking about overhangs and harnesses and the like.

Things You Never Wanted to Know and Didn't Ask #1

Why are light switches so small, when the surround they are mounted into is so big?

I Love Weekends

Obstinate Abstinence

I didn't eat any chocolate today.

This, in itself is no great achievement for me, I probably quite often go without eating chocolate for a whole day without even noticing.
The difference today is that I was offered some chocolate, and possibly for the first time in recorded history, I said 'no'. (I didn't literally just say 'no', that would be rude, I probably said something like 'no thanks, I'm off the chocolate, cheers anyway'. I'm quite polite in real life you know)

I'm training you see.

As you may or may not know (or care), I am a bit of a rock climber, and there is a competition on at my local wall at the end of the month. I decided I would enter it, and thought I could do a bit of training for the month leading up to it, just to give myself a little extra edge.

The problem with this is that I already climb regularly and pretty intensively, so the best aid I can give to myself is to alter my diet.
So I am cutting out the crap, albeit only for this month, and trying to balance my diet out to the best of my ability. This involves mostly guesswork if I'm honest.

Anyway, back to the point, I had to say 'no' to some chocolate today, because that is one thing that is most definitely not on my 'balanced diet' list, and I couldn't believe how difficult it was!
I'm lucky when it comes to digestion, I can eat a pound of butter fried in lard with a pint of grease to wash it down, and I never put on any weight, but consequently, I have never had to say 'no' to anything before.

I spent the afternoon fantasising about the chocolate bars sitting seductively in my desk drawer, I mean, look, I just used the would 'seductively' in relation to a cocoa based foodstuff!

I don't envy those people who do this all the time, and I certainly don't want to be strong enough to be like them and be able to say 'no' to stuff I want more often, saying 'no' is rubbish and denial is just not good for you.

I'm hoping I break my self imposed diet and pig out on the brown stuff soon, saying 'yes' is the way I like to do things, and I don't want to change just yet.

Fingers crossed for the competition anyway though.

Go easy please

Um, OK, for right or for wrong, for good or for bad, I just put up the first little bit of the novel I'd kind of like to write. It will be a heroic fantasy type of thing, but I hope to keep it at least slightly light hearted when appropriate.

You can find it here, Aimless Novel and if you can be arsed to read it, (it isn't very long) please go easy, it feels kind of odd to even put it up in public view.
It's kind of a prologue type bit, and I hope it kind of leaves you with an interest in finding out more. (wow, dandan has single handedly discovered 'the hook')

Well, enjoy, or don't I suppose.

R.I.P Tim

Get out your black suits and veiled hats, Tim is no more.

Somehow, and I have no idea how, (ahem) he contracted a severe case of 'Little-bugs-all-over-his-leaves-itis', and he was starting to turn yellow and manky, so I plucked his two fruits (are chillies fruits? vegetables I suppose) from his withering stem before they went manky too.

That as the last straw for poor Tim, with nothing left to live for, his babies torn mercilessly from his caring embrace (to go into my cooking pot), he gave up the fight for life. Bugs and manky leaves - 1 : Tim - 0.

He will be missed dearly, never again will I get to under or over water him on a regular basis, never again will I be able to forget about him for a whole week at a time, never again will his lack of apparent ability to produce any more than two chillies be a thorn in my side.


On a lighter note, me and Rach are going to put one of the habanero's into a curry, and I am going to dry the seeds from the other one, and grow Tim the 2nd next year!

So, coming soon:

Tim II - Ring of Fire
Just when you thought it was safe to take the toilet paper out of the fridge...

Two fingers to the Inevitable

I have some bad news.

I did something today that is a sure sign that I am getting older.

This is not good news.

I think Peter Pan had it pretty good, (not even counting the fact that he could fly, which is beyond enviable) never growing up sounds like a plan to me.
You think you will be able to grow older and retain your own sense of style and 'cool' (aargh, look, I'm even putting 'cool' in inverted comma's like I don't want people to think I would use it in a normal sentence, that wouldn't have happened 5 years ago) and most importantly, you think you won't end up like your parents, but you can't fight it, and it will happen.

Today I was thinking about my job, which I don't really like all that much and I would certainly rather be doing something more interesting and less stressful with a little over one third of my daily life, and I was wondering how I could get out of it, fast.
When I say fast, I don't just mean handing my resignation in, thereby generating 'the fear' which should spur me on to finding another, more interesting job while I serve my notice, (I have already proved that this does not work. January was a very lean month for me) I mean finding something that would enable me to quit, right now, and never go back.

My hot theory was to win the lottery, a tactic that could be called chancy at the very best, but then I thought maybe I could win something a little smaller, perhaps with some slightly better odds. I mean £3,000,000 would certainly see me off the 9-5 wagon for life, but even 10 or 20 grand might be enough for me to invest in something else I could do with my life, and allow me to quit my job right this second.

'Why not buy a few scratch cards' says my brain in a Jeremy Clarkson style inside my head (blame Kitchentable for that one) 'Or maybe play that deal or no deal online game you keep seeing advertised at the bottom of the MSN window, that thing looks like you are practically guaranteed to win tens of thousands of pounds'.

Now, here comes the bad bit, the indicator of impending oldness, the sign of the cardigans to come, the precursor to spending all day remembering when all this was fields, Here is what I did.

I ignored the voice.

I bloody ignored it, I thought to myself (in my own voice, not that of Jeremy Clarkson, he would have been straight down the casino, flipping chips onto the baize with reckless abandon) 'Nah, that's a stupid idea, I'll never win anything, and I can't afford to waste money on gambling'.

I'm so angry with myself, it starts with dismissing plainly idiotic ideas like trying to solve my financial problems by joining an online poker tournament, but who knows where it will end?

I might decide it is OK to think things like:

'No I can't possibly have a drink now, it's not even 10 a.m.'

or perhaps:

'this cartoon is rubbish, I wonder if the news is on'

or, no, it could never happen:

'yes, comfort is more important than performance when it comes to choosing a car'


Badly thought out actions are practically the essence of being young, I really don't want to lose that part of me.
Right, what's the address of that deal or no deal website...

Recommended viewing

On Friday, I went to see Hayseed Dixie live at the Brook in Southampton.

Think Banjos, think Dungarees, think inordinately large pork chop sideburns, (which I kind of liked come to think of it) and then chuck in covers of songs as varied as 'Highway to Hell' and 'I Don't Feel Like Dancing' and you are pretty much there.
I've never seen anyone play a stringed instrument so fast, the guys on the banjo and the mandolin were incredible, it was really impressive stuff, not to mention a really good laugh.

I had an awesome time, me, the lovely Rachel (who is still incredibly lovely by the way) and Jeff managed to get right up to the front of the stage, where we hoed down with the best of them.
I don't think I have ever found a justifiable reason to use this phrase before, but I can truly say I had a rootin' tootin' time. Hehehe.

I had a quick look at their website and they are only doing a couple more dates in the UK, like today and tomorrow and then that's it I think, but you should at least try and hear some of their music, it's great. There are a couple of videos on their site, go have a look.

Shameless plug, job done.

I'm tired

Really, really tired.

Moving is hard work, there is to be no discussion on the subject.

We are moving!

By 'we' I mean the company I work for, not the royal 'we', that would just be odd, i'm more bottom of the class than upper class.

Anyway, we are moving to a lovely big new unit just up the road, and it's all going on this weekend. I have taken two long-wheelbase-transit loads of stuff to the new place already today, and I just munched my way through a man sized BLT sarnie to keep my manly moving strength up.
I feel a bit sick now, i'm more of a little and often guy when it comes to food.

It's a sweaty business this moving lark, more so on a commercial scale 'cos there is so much to move, I'm thinking of stripping down to the vest and subtly flexing my muscles when I lift stuff. "hhhrrnnggh, sorry? oh, yeah, i do work out, suprised you noticed" *shy smile*

I'm so vain.

Up the literary ladder?

I'm trying to write a book!

I don't know if I mentioned this before but (like almost everyone else in the known world) I have always wanted to write a book, and the difference between me and possibly 90% of the people who share this aim, I actually have half a chapter all done and everything.

The possible difference between me and the other 10% is that they actually finished the book.

The aforementioned half-chapter, or chapette, did take aproximately 3 years to write, but hey, who's counting right? At this rate I could still publish a short story in time to supplement my state pension.

I am definately picking up pace, I reckon with some good sessions at the keyboard I could get to a whole chapter by christmas, new year at the very latest. I'm sure as I generate more of the book, the enthusiasm to finish it will grow, right?

Anyway, that's all good, I may put it up on here, or link it or something for you to peruse when I have grown my chapette into a fully housetrained, pedigree chapter.

Tim news: After a week of startling neglect, one of his leaves turned brown and fell off. No more chillies have appeared, but his dirt never seems to go dry, even if I don't water him for, oh, say, about a week.
I realised that the window he is next to gets approximately 0 hours of direct sunlight a day, due to the house next door and the big tree in their garden, this may well have been putting a bit of a stopper on any plans Tim had for photosynthesis and the growth of any more chillies for me to eat.

I have moved him to a sunnier shelf.

I've been working

far too hard.
I've done an extra days worth of overtime this week already, I can't say no 'cos I could do with the cash but it's not something I want to end up doing forever.
I wish I was allergic to stress so I could get a doctor's note advising that I do nothing more mentally strenuous than, say, peeling carrots, but alas, I just really really hate it, which doesn't count as a medical condition, apparently.

I've never wanted to go to work less than I do at the moment.

Pants.

On a lighter note, erm.... No, I've got nothing. Rubbish.

I kind of forgot about Tim (my new adopted Chili plant) for a day and half, rushed back to check on him when I realised how neglectful I had been, and when I got to the bookshelf where I had left him, he was fine!

This growing lark is easy, you couldn't get away with that with an adopted child. (And you definately can't eat bits of your children, I really can't stress this enough.)

Foiled

By my own enthusiasm. Damn.

I've been getting all excited about my blog again, hence the existence of some actual posts for once, mostly due to enviously reading Kitchentable's
page every day and attempting to be even half as prolific, interesting and jaw achingly funny.

So I have been back on my super geeky statistics page thingy which tells me how many people have been viewing me (my page, no voyeurism involved) along with a massive amount of other useless information.
I was really pleased to find out that yesterday I had a whole 7 (that's no typo, just 7, yes I am that unpopular) separate views, which is about 40% up on my usual highest daily views! (40% sounds better than 3)

They love me, they really l- oh, hang on.
I posted twice yesterday, which involves typing in my blog address, and then I looked at my blog to check for any comments, which also involves typing in my blog address. Dammit, there's my three extra hits then.

So the only fact I can glean from my super duper statistics reports is that I am around 40% more obsessed with myself than usual.

Sounds about right.

Typical

I just thought up a decent topic for a post, which I could have put in my 50th post instead of that load of warbly codswallop I wrote, ah well.

I have a Chili Plant!

His name is Tim, he's a Habanero chili plant (I think)

Ok, ok I didn't tend Tim and nurture him lovingly from a tiny seedling to it's present fruit-bearing, green-leaved glory, I got him for free.

Still, it's like adoption, you end up with a child, but you don't have to go through all that nasty night feedings and nappy changing bit, you can skip straight to the living vicariously through them and trying to control their life part.

I am planning on eating the chillies from Tim, I wouldn't recommend carrying the simile back across to the adoption world, seriously, don't eat any part of your children, adopted or not.

I'll put up a picture of Tim soon as.

Milestones already...

Well look at that, I've made it to 50 whole posts, who would've thought.

Actually, I would have thought.
I would have done it long before now, it has taken 9 months after all, but then you can't just churn them out and skimp on the quality.

It's been surprisingly hard to come up with decent topics sometimes, which I will use as my excuse for such intermittent posts, and also the reason I am blathering now about posting 50 times instead of talking about something interesting. Oops.

Well long live the blog, and I just hope the next 50 are vaguely interesting, for your sakes, mostly.

We went to the beach and...

I made a sandcastle!

I don't know why sandcastle-making is generally restricted to young rapscallions and the like, it's great fun!
I think perhaps I was supposed to be embarrassed about being the (considerably) oldest person on the beach trying to make an accurate replica of a medieval stronghold, but I'm far too ignorant to bow to the constraints of modern beach etiquette.
I do have to give half the credit to Climbing Rich who was my assistant architect for the day, he is just as oblivious of acceptable beach behaviour as me, ta Rich.

I reckon our castle was so good, next time I am going to put a hat down and see if I can make back the petrol money.

I wonder if professional sandcastle making is a valid career...

Diets that don't work #1: The Chilli Diet

Me and Rach went to the Chilli fiesta the other week, and stocked up on pretty much every chilli-based foodstuff available.
Rach used a bit of her chilli jam in some cooking she did in the week, but aside from that, most of it had remained untouched.
So, yesterday, after a breakfast consisting of half a brioche with a smidge of jam on it, we really got stuck into the chilli products.
Here is a step by step 'how-to' of the chilli diet, and the outcome. Follow it at your peril.

Have some chilli cheese. First, sample the afterburner, made with habanero chillies, then cleanse your palette with a portion of the much less aggressive jalapeno cheese.

Smack your chops and think, 'mmm chilli cheese is good stuff. I should eat this more often'

Have some chilli chocolate. The really dark, 73% cocoa one with bhut jolokia chilli powder (hottest chilli in the world)

Put the chocolate to one side after only eating half of it and think 'those jolokia chillies really are in the record books for a reason aren't they. I'll eat the rest, erm, later.'

Wash all this down with some cheap cava, then eat nothing for a couple of hours.

After two hours, stupidly decide that you could murder a curry, and manage to justify this, regardless of cost and health implications, by pretending to yourself that you've not had a curry for ages, which is almost certainly a lie.

Go to curry house, and neck a Madras-heat Rogan Josh, washed down with two pints of coke.

On no account should you take heed of the fact that you don't fancy a beer, and that this may mean your digestive system isn't exactly on top form. This is almost certainly not true, you great pansy, now keep drinking the fizzy brown acid...

Finish your curry and think 'hmm, feel a bit full. Very full in fact.'

Walk outside.

Stop.

Ignore the painful gurgles emanating from your waistline and try to shrug the nauseous feeling off as being 'a bit bloated'

Head to a pub, saying very little to your friends while you try to concentrate on holding down the rising bile in your throat, whilst simultaneously clenching your buttocks against the insistent movement in the lower intestinal area.

Walk briskly for 20 minutes, this will aid the fermentation, erm, I mean digestion process.

Ignore the first pub you get to, knowing you won't last the length of the queue outside the door, and continue mincing with buttocks clenched firmly to the next pub.

Get past doorman as politely but overall, quickly as possible, and head for the toilets.

Read on if you want to, I personally would recommend skipping a few lines.

Sit on a manky pub loo and pebbledash the bowl with something that will in all likely hood erode the enamel away permanently, whilst holding back from vomiting onto your legs, caused by a mixture of the rotten-gut feeling and the stench coming from the recently re-decorated toilet bowl.

Get out of there as fast as you conveniently can, hoping nobody sees you leave and links you with the ungodly odour that has set up camp in the lav.

Feel much better, and go and get drunk.

Let that be a lesson to me. And you hopefully.

A little visual treat (not made by me)

Hurrah!
I just figured out that my favourite-est artist on t'internet has started a blog! He's now in my 'blogs i am reading' list, under Jolly Jack, go take a look, his work is awesometastic in it's brillmazingness.
There is probably a link in his blog but he also has a website at http://www.collectedcurios.com/.
My particular favourite is his Sequential Art comic strip, once again, I really urge you to go take a look. (Insert suitable threat here to ensure you go and look at his work, just think of something nasty you wouldn't want to happen to you, then imagine that you will suffer that fate unless you follow the link. Go, now!)

In other news, erm... oh sod it, i'm off to look at Jolly Jack's website again.

I would just like to mention...

That I don't like rain.

The sooner someone comes up with earth-wide underground water dispertion system, the better.

I don't even like clouds much either.

Gah.

The Chilli Fiesta

On Saturday, me and Rach went to the annual West Dean Chilli Fiesta, somewhere in the wildlands north of Chichester.
It was in the grounds of a lovely old house, who's field I tried to churn up by drifting my car in the car park. (It had acres of fields, I refuse to feel guilty, I barely churned any of it up really, plus I was scared I might get shouted at by an angry Chilli Fiesta attendant)

It is quite an easy event to describe really, imagine a busy, well spaced out market with lots of stalls and stands selling things. Now imagine everything that could possibly be related to chilli in any way shape or form being sold on every single one of those stands. Thats it, you're there.

Among the more random things we saw were Chilli decorated tableware, chilli aloha shirts, and possibly my favourite, womens shoes that looked like chillis.

We bought a fair selection of more normal chilli related products, including chilli sauce, (flamin' nora brand containig the famed bhut jolokia chilli, more on that later) chillis stuffed with cream cheese, olives stuffed with chilli, 2 types of chilli cheese, and some chilli seeds.

This last item I am going to attempt to nurture through the, erm, fertilise-y bit where the shoot comes out, to the growing in a pot bit, through to the, um, harvesting of the chillis and making sphincter looseninlgy hot curries with them.
I bought the seeds from a stall that graded it's products with a letter, denoting how hot the chillis grown from any particular seed would be. M for Mild, H for Hot, VH for Very Hot, and so on.
I bought the seeds that said HHH++ on the packet. hehehe.

The first plant will be called Tim, then any subsequent plants that survive will be called Daisy, Mike, Brian, Marsha, Colin and Twist (cunning link, anyone?). Then one called Satan. After that it is anyone's guess.
As you may be able to tell, I think I have my work cut out for me, a horticulturalist I am not, but how hard can it be? I'll be sure to put up photos of my little darlings as they develop. (or die)

The other interesting thing we saw was a stall run by a guy who had products for sale made from the hottest chillis in the world. Don't quote me on this, but the Bhut Jolokia chilli has a Scoville rating (a measure of the heat of a chilli) of around 1,041,000, whereas your bog standard jar of tabasco sauce has a Scoville rating of around 3,000, making the Jolokia over 300 times hotter than tabasco!
What is even more amazing is that he had concentrated essence of chilli in a little eye-dropper type bottle that had a rating of 5,000,000 scovilles, and he was letting passers by try it by putting three tiny drops onto a piece of cracker and letting them eat it.
The ground around his stalls was actually, genuinely littered with people on their knees, on their backs, stumbling around, just completely reeling from the effects of the stuff.
Hilarious.
I wish I had bought some now, I could take it down the pub with me and spike the snacks. "Crisp, anyone?"

Hello stranger....

Cor blimey guv'nor, wots going on here then?

Yes, it's me, I'm back, I have no idea for how long or how regularly, but just be thankful for what you get, ok? And if you aren't thankful, then I will perform a very specialised rain dance that will divert some of England's abysmal weather to wherever you are until you do become thankful.
I can and will, you know.

Actually, I only really came back on 'cos I took a really cool picture and I wanted to post it up somewhere. I took this from a first floor window at the back of my parent's house earlier today, it is 3 pictures lovingly stitched together in Photoshop by my own fair hand.
Just when I thought the dodgy monsoon-type weather had finally gone into hiding until at least Autumn, (that'll be August 15th round here then.) this bloody great monstrosity came cruising cockily into view.
'Aha, look at me' it seems to radiate in surprisingly perfect english, 'you thought you would see the sun for a week or two, well tough shit sonny boy, get yer 'mac on watch out for trench foot, the rain is back.'



(It's too wide to sit well on the page, so I do recommend you give it click, it'll be worth it, trust me.)

So yeah, cool picture, and I promise to you I haven't monkeyed about with the colours at all, it really did look like that.

A slight anticlimax to the tale is that the rain never really made it to where I am now, (about 20 feet from where I took the picture) it just sort of passed by, and it looks quite nice out right now. If it helps, just imagine me sitting here under a plastic binbag with a load of pots and pans on the desk catching the drips from the deluge. If it helps.

Ohh, that was quite fun, maybe I'll do this more often.

Don't get your hopes up

I've been to New York, it was fantastic, but i'm afraid I still have the dreaded block, it's really worrying me now.
I have loads and loads to write about, I really must manage to get some down soon, as I know you don't want to read about me not being able to write anything decent.

Gah!

I still have bloggers block

Argh!

I think it might be the nice weather, I can't seem to generate enough interest in sitting still long enough to think up a subject for a proper blog. I'm definately partially solar powered.

Bear with me people, it's quality not quantity.

I have Blogger's Block

I can't bring myself to write a blog, it's not even strictly a block, I have ideas, I want to write about the unlikely series of really friendly train conductors I met the other day among other things, but I just can't do it, aargh.


Normal service will resume, eventually, I hope.

Don't worry, I sobered up

And I had a lovely bank holiday weekend, thanks for asking.

I'm just here to say sorry once again for lack of posty goodness this week, I just can't find the time!
I need to get myself a desk job again so I can spend all day chatting on MSN and writing blogs like I used to. *sigh*
Never mind, more bloggy action coming soon, I promise*



*I can't promise when the next blog will be, how good it will be, or whether you will like it, but aside from that I just generally promise. :)

I'm a bit drunk

Hurrah!

Inventive slang that makes me laugh Part 1 (and 2)

A woman who deems it necessary to parade around without any covering garments above the waist could be described as having "unholstered funbags" or "free range baps".

Thank you thank you thank you to little red boat for making me laugh uncontrollably for quite a while.

Relocation, relocation, etc.

I've just found two items which normally live on my mantelpiece, in the garage.

I didn't put them there, they don't belong there, they belong on my mantelpiece, doing what mantelpiece adornments do best, look interesting and give you something to fiddle with when you are standing around waiting.

But when I went out to perform open-starter-motor surgery on my car this evening, (the operation was a success, I would like to add) I opened the garage to look for tools, only to find my home furnishings nestling amongst the oily rags and underused power tools.

Why do people do that? I live with my parents, and until I can rectify that fact, am I doomed to have my stuff randomly relocated on a regular basis? I'm guessing my mum was behind it, but what makes her think "ooh, that strange pair of goggles (a-la my profile pic) and that bit of carved wood (carved by me, multi talented Dandan) would look much nicer out in the garage, I'll just move them for him", why would you do that?!

It's not even a shared mantelpiece, even though I live at home I'm very lucky to have my own living room, so it's my very own mantelpiece, I should be able to choose exactly what I want on it, I dont have to make room for my mum's dreaded Swarovski collection or my dad's jazz C.D's, it's mine!

Gah.

Still, I'm off now to go and put the sandwich toaster under the bathroom sink and move all my dads shirts into his sock drawer, I feel it's only fair.

Bleugh

I'm ill, it's no fun at all.

It is only a cold, but i'm a man so I am allowed to call it Man-flu and milk it for all I can.

You know what, I can't think of anything even slightly interesting to write about right now, I'm too pre-occupied with snot and phlegm and exciting things like that.

I really should stop starting posts with no idea what I am going to write in them, gah.

I'm going to New York!

Oh yes, yes indeed, I am actually going to have a holiday.
An actual real holiday that doesn't involve just taking a week off work and getting up at 2pm every day and then sitting around in my pants doing nothing productive.

Quite the contrary my dears, I am going to be very productive indeed, for I am going to the city that never sleeps, ( I assume this is done by some clever shift patterns, sleep deprivation is very bad for you) the Big Apple, (explain please) the, um, really interesting place with lots to do and see, I'm going to New York!

Rach booked the tickets today, so it's all confirmed and everything, hurrah! (Yes, obviously I am going with Rach, and no, she isn't paying for me to go, working for actual real wages means I can afford these things myself, how novel!)

I know it's going to be great, and we are going to do all sorts of touristy stuff, like the Empire State Building, Central Park, buying a hot dog from a guy on the, ahem, 'sidewalk' (check me out) standing over a steaming manhole cover, getting yellow cabs, that sort of thing.
That's all going to be cool but I wondered if anybody has any suggestions for anything we could do while there that is not necessarily on the tourist trail? Are there any little-known gems we should try and find?
All suggestions would be greatly received and investigated.
Well, considered at least.
Ok, I will read them but I can't promise anything.

I'm not going until May, so no rush, and I'm sure I will mention it again because I'm already very excited about it, but feel free to let me know of anything I simply have to see, dahling.

Pointless blatherings about random subjects will resume shortly. Thank you for your patience.

Machine cut perspex is sharp

Ow, ow ow ow ow, owee owee ow ow ow.

That'll learn me not to wear gloves. (it won't you know)

Yiffy

I'll be totally honest, I haven't researched this or anything, but I think I know basically what a yiffy is, it's somebody who likes fur.

Someone who likes fur, er, quite a lot.

I think my girlfriend may be a yiffy, and when I say 'think', I obviously mean 'know'.

We went out on Friday night for a friends birthday, and he wanted everyone to dress up as something furry, or failing that, as a cowboy, pirate or ninja.
Me and Rach both went as bears, well, Rach's costume never fitted quite right so she just wore the hat in the end, and I was wearing bear hands, feet and a head, all tucked into a proper smart suit. (my bear 'suit', get it? a-ha ha ha ha.)
Nothing wrong with that so far, I hear you say, (not literally, i'm not sat behind you as you read this or anything, don't be alarmed) but it was what happened the next day that got me thinking.

We had the most shamefully lazy day, spent almost entirely in bed, apart from trips out to get incredibly indulgent food, which was brilliant.
Around early evening time though, my bear hat made an appearance, and settled itself very firmly on Rach's head. (it's only a half-head type thing with ears on, it doesnt cover the face at all)
I think that all I want to say is that the bear hat did not leave her head until some time the next morning, and we sure as hell didn't spend the whole time having polite conversation.

So yes, I have done, er, stuff with someone in a bear hat, but it wasn't a problem, I found it funny at first, and then got used to it worringly quickly.
Oh and don't tell anyone but the bear hat may have found it's way on to my head in the morning too.

Erm.

Who's the Yiffy now, huh?

Not-so-extreme

Well what a turn up for the books, I'm still alive.

(And late with my post as usual, but I'm bored of saying sorry about that now so- damn.)

Yes, you'll all probably be glad to know the kite didn't cause my unfortunate and grisly (though probably locally newsworthy) death, and nor did it cause the untimely expiry of my friend Rich, which surprised me.

"Blimey, that's surprising" said I, when, after handing the controls (strings) to Rich, he managed to stay both upright and in contact with Terra firma at all times, "that's not supposed to happen" I said, after recovering from the surprise.

You see, I was kind of disappointed that the kite didn't send Rich hurtling off towards the nearest tree, cliff-face or 4 lane motorway, just to prove how brave and talented I was to fly it all the time. But it didn't, and although he admitted it was hard to hang on to, and it did manage to pull him a few feet in the air a few times, he reckons it was a huge amount of fun.

Fun?!

My 'extreme' sportsman facade is crumbling around my ears, these things aren't supposed to be fun, they are supposed to be EXTREME!

I might have to introduce some broken glass or live power lines into the equation, I can't be having this.


Oh yeah, and I didn't really want Rich to die, probably best I add that, for legal reasons.

Let's go fly a kite

I'm off in a minute to help a friend rebuild his car.
I do this partly out of a genuine interest in tinkering with greasy bits of metal, but mostly out of a sense of duty.

I did take the car apart for him in the first place and then convince him to spend several gazillion squid on shiny (soon to be greasy, keeps my interest up) new parts to put back in, so I feel like I really should help him get it running again.

That sounds like I am confident that it will ever run again.

I'm not, but don't tell him.

I'm also going to sling my power kite in the boot, and we may well go and fly it if we get bored of staring at bits of metal in various stages of the shiny/greasy metamorphosis and saying to each other "where the fuck does that go?"
I'm telling you this, because it is a 7.2 square metre kite, (think parachute but with longer strings) and it is only a matter of time before it is the chief cause of my gruesome and unfortunate death.
I've only ever flown it in light winds and I have been pulled a good 6 feet off the floor many times, and been dragged horizontally across the floor at shoe-burning speeds more often than I care to admit.

It looks like the breeze is picking up, it was nice knowing you all.

Customer Service

Me, "Hi there."

Yoof in the skate shop, "(Grunt.)"

"Erm, I'm after some wheels for my inline skates, I have an old pair of Majestic 12's and-"

"Yeah, they're well old" His expression could well be described as 'sneery' at this point.

"Yes, I know, thanks. So I was after some new wheels just so I can use them agai-"

"They were old even when I started skating" 'Sneerier'.

"Right, ok. So I've not skated for ages, I don't know which wheels I should be going fo-"

"anyfing really." Sell it, my friend.

"I'll mostly be doing park skating, so what size should I-"

"anyfing really." Go on, make that sale!

"Okayyy, could you recommend anything that would be half-decent?"

"anyfing really. There's these *Bobby Davro spin tastics* (Accuracy of brand names may vary), they're alright. Or the *ding dang doodle roly-polies*, they're alright. Or the-"

"Yes, I think I get it, i'll er, take those please."
I pointed randomly, ensuring a barely thought out purchase decision that I could have made on the internet by a series of random clicks, and probably saved some money at the same time.

Yoof rolls his eyes and sighs like the oppressed, over-burdened slave-worker that he obviously is. "I'll have to get the keys to open the cupboard."

"er, yes. ok."

Yoof sighs again, possibly hoping that this explanation of the great task I am asking of him will cause me to reconsider. I'm a nice person, but I need those wheels. Go get the keys, slave-boy.

After waiting for him to drag his carcass across the shop floor and back at *almost* trudging speed to get the keys, I am handed four wheels off the display shelf with no box. I think asking for a box may have been pushing it, the yoof was obviously under a lot of work related strain, and in all honesty I will only throw it in the bin anyway, i'll say I did it in the spirit of environmental awareness.

"Um, I'll need some bearings to go with these." Ooh, careful dandan, everyone has their breaking point.

Sigh, roll eyes, "there's these *spinny spin-spins*, they're alright. Ther-"

Ah, I see where this is going.

"Yes, I'll take those. Yes, that's fine."

"(Grunt.)"

At this point I was able to pay for my randomly chosen goods at a till staffed by someone who actually understood the basic principles of the retailer-customer relationship, this was a relief, I don't think I could have actually brought myself to hand real money the yoof.

I'm getting old aren't I?

Catch up

Hi.

Yeah, er sorry again. Every time I write on here I apologise for being so infrequent with my posts, I should really stop doing that.

Time for a blatantly plagiarised mantra:

Never Apologise and Never Explain Yourself.
(What I mean by that is you shouldn't feel the need to justify your actions, I didn't make that clear, sorry.)

Fact is, life is good, and contrary to what I would have thought six months ago, this is directly related to the fact that life is also very busy. (seriously, you could draw a graph and everything)
So I have less time to write, but more to write about, in theory. I'm still having trouble thinking up a single topic for each post to flex my wit muscle over though, but that may just be me being a bit woolly-headed.

I don't really want to just write "I did this, then I did that, then so-and-so did this which was hilarious and we all went here and got drunk, then end" as my life may be fun for me but it can't be that great to just read about my life, verbatim style.

I think it's time for some hilariously brief bullet points to sum up the last few days, just to keep everyone up to speed. Perhaps I can do this once a week or something in future...

*Got haircut. Ears are cold.

*Went to gymnastics again and damaged some muscles on the side of my ankles. Good to be back in my weekly injury pattern, I was getting worried for a while there.

*Had Birthday, got great presents from Rach, and a cheque from the parents, how thoughtful. (They will each be getting a cheque for half the value of my cheque on their respective birthdays, I bet they don't smile falsely and go 'ooh, thanks' like I did.)

*Got incredibly drunk on Friday, I'm getting quite good at it now, more practice still required I feel though.

*Had great indulgent weekend in general, spent it all with Rach which was awesome. (not even slightly humorous but very true)

*Played Frisbee for the first time this year, I love my Frisbee. Still not warm enough to avoid getting cold ears.

*Got a lead on a possible graphic design job at a place where a mate of mine works, I desperately want it. This is very good news.

*Bench pressed 70 kilos, more on this later.

There is more I'm sure but seeing as my brain shares many more common features with a badly rusted sieve than it does with, say, a filing cabinet, I am bound to miss a few minor things. Several major things too I dare say. It'll come to me, don't push it.

Ah yes, can I just take this moment to say lots of nice things about Rachel, because she really deserves it, more so than usual right now. (bitter hate-filled cynics may want to skip a paragraph.)
For my birthday, Rach is getting me something amazing and most probably expensive, which she hasn't sorted out yet, so she got me a couple of things on Friday so I had something to open. The amazing thing was, each item she bought was something that she remembered I particularly liked. Not just, 'oh yes, that's nice, thanks' (hi mum and dad) but properly 'wow, I love that!' she bought me, er 5 things, all of which were perfectly chosen for me.
I think that is brilliant.
I don't think I could think of 5 things I could buy that she really loved, I was so impressed with the effort and the thought involved, she really is incredible.
Not only that, but she mentioned some ideas for the 'big' present, and she wanted me to choose so she didn't get it wrong. Unsuprisingly, every idea she had turned out to be something I would love, so I told her she will have to choose something, and I know she will get it right.
I hope I can do as well on her birthday, blimey.
It doesn't stop there, she literally just called me to say she has changed plans tonight and is going to the pub with one of her ex-boyfriends instead of a mate. I don't mind this at all, (well, no more than any male would, we all have basic instincts after all) but she rang to tell me in case I found out from someone else and thought she was hiding it from me. Now that is thoughtful. It constantly amazes me when she proves just how much she cares for me, it's great! I love her a huge amount.

Welcome back bitter hate-filled cynics, time for a tale of personal triumph, go me.
At my new place of work, there is a weights bench sitting in the back yard.
Long story slightly short, I got challenged to bench press about 70 kilos after claiming I could do it, and lo and behold, I managed it! Comfortably!
I only weigh 10 stone (64 kilos) now and used to weigh nearly 2 stone more when I used to go to the gym, (2 years ago) I was really pleased! Seems the general high level of physical stuff that I do has kept me in good shape, even the muscles I don't specifically use.
That was self indulgent I know but I was really pleased.

I wonder if I could have lifted more if I hadn't had a Chinese, an Indian, two bottles of champagne, chocolate cake, toblerone, lots of beer and lots of J.D in the preceding 3 days, hmm.

So much else to write, I've still not given a lot of subjects their fair share of attention, but I'm sure this is enough blathering for one post. I'll try and get some more up this week.
Stay safe kids.

Me sporting my new hair with my friend Miaowcat.

I keep getting older

It was my birthday on Friday just gone, and damn if I didn't get a year older again, happens to me every time, it would be nice to get a year younger some time. It may be time to start lying about my age, I still look under 18 (even with a beard) so I'm sure everyone will beleive me...

So I'm 25 now, I can actually measure my existence in an appreciably large fraction of a century, that's kind of scary.
And people say life moves faster as you get older, bloody hell, it's moving fast enough as it is, this does not bode well.

I'm at work at the moment, and I've somehow found five minutes to write this, but I really can't concentrate properly (the amateur rapping you tube videos being played on the PC next to me may have a lot to do with it, argh) so I will post again today when I get home, promise.

I feel a Rachel based post has been a long time in coming so you may need to go find a suitable receptacle to vomit into, if you are easily soppied-out, sorry.

I'll be back (not like aArnie, I'm much less threatening)

I might...

Write a book.

Well, a novel, erm, a story, you know, fiction.

Please don't say 'ooh yes, do, as your blog is simply fab' (ok, you can say that if you like) because obviously it won't be anything like my blog, but I suppose it will carry my style along with it.

I thought I might post it on here, or perhaps make a new blog to post it on, kind of chapter by chapter or something. It would be a comedy fantasy type thing, think a pale shadow of Terry Pratchett meets a bad impersonation of Tom Holt, somthing like that only a bit worse.

I think I might you know. Even though I have absolutely no time in which to do it.

Looking forward to gymnastics already, and it's only monday, I fear this enthusiasm is but a precursor to some unwanted medical attention, probably of the spinal surgery variety. It goes like this: "hmm, gynmastics isn't until Thursday, I know, i'll practice that back somersault here, on this concrete floor instead, 'cos I just can't wait."

Still, the lay up in hospital may give me time to start my book....

I'm getting paid again!

So I obviously went and did the smart thing, and spent most of it at the weekend.

Go me.

I'm now officially in 'Saving' mode, most likely so that I can go live in Australia as soon as possible, I can get out there on a year visa as soon as my finances are in order, and it could be quite a task.
Rachel would ideally like to go and live out there as soon as the end of this year, so I am going to try as hard as I can to put myself in a position where I can go with her.
The short version of my situation is that I owe over £10,000 to various financial institutions and I really want to try and work my ass off and get it all paid up and sorted. (donations gratefully received by the way)

Going out at the weekend and pissing most of it up against the wall is not going to help me do this, naughty Dandan. Still, a slight stutter to celebrate my new earning status should be allowed I reckon, oh and another stutter this coming weekend because it is my birthday, erm, and somebody else's birthday in 3 weeks time, ah crap.

I'm still on the lookout for a proper graphic designer position, which should pay a fair bit more than what I am getting as a temp signmaker at the moment, that way I could spend more- I mean save more to sort out my yawning chasm of debt faster.

That's all for now really, sorry for the lack of sparkle and comedy compared to normal (a matter of opinion I suppose) but I felt so guilty about now writing for over a week that I had to throw something down.

Ooh yeah, and I went to the gymnastics thing this week and managed to completely not injure myself in any way whatsoever, quite a major achievement I feel. Go me again.

Sunday is a day of rest

Not due to my strict devoutness, (ha, thank God i'm an Athiest) just because I am the lazy type.

And therefore, I am going to write very, very little in this post.

The problem is, I have thought of something that probably deserves quite a lot of attention, but hey, whadd'ya gonna do.

I'm thinking seriously about emigrating to Australia at the earliest opportunity.

There was something else too, but it is so earth-shatteringly important that I forgot what it was.

Damn.

Flip, twist, spin, Crack.

I went to that gymnastics thing again.

I didn't land on my neck this time, which was a distinct plus.

I did headbutt the edge of the trampoline after a particularly spectacular (and entirely unplanned) dismount though.

Ouch.



The comments box can for this post be renamed as the 'sympathy box' or possibly the 'that'll learn you, you bloody nutbag box'

On a lighter note, I learned to do proper backflips, the ones where you go onto your hands then onto your feet again then hands, feet, etc etc, like Michelle Pfpfpfpeiffer does as Catwoman in Batman Returns. Not that I want to get dressed up in black latex and somersault through rain soaked night time streets or anything. Er.

Ouch, note to self, don't prod the red bit on my head.

Ah nivva deed thaa in me puff

Ah the wonders of accents, eh?

I am sometimes, admittedly rarely and usually by people with ludicrously thick regional accents themselves, accused of sounding a little bit like a farmer. Yes, sometimes I might possibly pronounce 'light' as if it had an extra 'o' in it, but that's as far as it goes I'm sure.
I don't say 'my luvverrrrr' and I don't own, nor have I seen in the flesh, a combine harvester.

I reckon (as I suppose most people do) I have a very neutral accent, kind of like the queen minus the poshness. I pronounce all my words the way they are written, vowels are strictly to be used as they are intended, and I don't use any weird regional slang either, or (and this really annoys me) do things like pronounce 'texts' as 'texes'. Argh.

Anyway, so there is me, Mr Neutral, and today I went to Bath to meet up with another signmaker to help him fit some graphics in the university library.

He came from Scotland

He even came from Glasgow.

He had the best accent. Ever.

The title of this post roughly translates as 'I never did that in all my live long years' which is one of the many hugely confusing but brilliantly interesting things he said to me today. I use that one as an example because it was one of the only things he said that I could actually translate, I found my self constantly saying 'pardon?' or 'sorry?' and then straining to pick out recognisable words so hard I swear it made me sweat a little.
We managed to do the job, more by gestures and pointing I reckon than by actual communication, (although I did figure out by the end of the day that 'skwidge' is 'squeegee', and 'cudd-a' is 'scalpel') but I had a whale of a time talking to him, and he was such a nice guy that I kept talking even though it was like holding a conversation with a badly plumbed house.

I'm going back tomorrow to finish it off and I will try to remember some of the slang terms he used and the phrases that he said, they were great.

So, Mr Neutral here is going to sit up all night and watch downloaded episodes of Taggart, so I might be able to piece some conversations together tomorrow, and because maybe secretly, I want to sound like that too.

'Ken ya pass me thaa thar wee rool so's aye ken chop this parna?'
(Would you be so kind as to hand me the ruler so that I may trim this section of vinyl?)

Sorry

Yes, look, i'm sorry, i'm sorry, I've been very very lax this last week, no posts for ages, I realise some of you out there have been crying onto your keyboards daily when you realised you won't be getting your Aimless fix again, sorry.

And the worst bit is, I have been doing loads of stuff that would make really good blog-fodder (can I copyright that term?) but I have had no time to write about it!

I went for a fantastic meal that I didnt have to pay for, I got myself a new job (temporarily), I've been travelling about a bit, met people, spent some money (a huge thing for me lately) all sorts of stuff I can't even think of right now. But the problem is that physics and the real world basically say that if I'm doing all this interesting stuff, I will have less time to actually write about it so you can read about it. Nuts.

And you won't get an update now either 'cos it's sunday and I can't be bothered. So nerr.

Flip, twist, spin, snap.

Every time I go climbing, me and Rich always finish off the session by doing a kind of handstand-from-sitting-position thing which is really hard to do but good fun and kind of impressive I guess.
Sometimes we also mess about doing a few back somersaults as the floor is covered with a nice thick, spongy rubber matting that, while probably not reducing the risk of severe spinal doom in the event of an accident, it at least inspires a little confidence, which is handy when you plan to throw your body backwards over your own head.

I have always said I would like to do more of that sort of thing, like gymnastics, but possibly with less spandex, so last week we went to a local adult gym class.
I turned out to be really, really good, and possibly the most relaxed and informal event that has ever dared call itself a 'class' and gotten away with it.
Basically, after some faffing around when we got there, I found the guy in charge, and he said to me, and these are his actual, exact words: "Come for the adult gym yeah? OK well the hall is yours to do what you want with (gestures to indicate fully equipped gymnastics hall) and just try not to kill yourself, OK?"
That was it, seriously.

Well, detailed and thorough induction out of the way, me and Rich cracked on with trying not to kill ourselves, which we fully managed, and in spectacular fashion I might add.

It was so much fun, and we had managed to not kill ourselves so impressively, that we went back this week too.
You know that point where confidence takes over common sense for just a brief moment, but that moment is long enough to cause some serious problems?
Like when you think you are 'chummy' enough with the bouncer at your local club to crack a bit of a piss-taking joke at him, and then you realise common sense obviously ducked for cover for a moment there when you realise the bouncer is advancing toward you with a grin (not because of your joke, which probably wasn't that funny anyway) and pulling a steel bar out of his sleeve.
You know that moment?

Well I had one of those, it occurred roughly when I was landing from a round-off to a back somersault.
My Common Sense said 'I'm just nipping out to get some milk, Confidence, I'm going to leave you in charge, don't do anything silly'
My Confidence said something along the lines of 'hur hur hur'.
I start to do another back somersault after the first one, Common Sense comes rushing back in and screams 'Nooooooooo!' but my body replies 'sorry mate, too late'

I landed on my head.

It's gone midnight

And I'm still up, fa la la!

OK, childish eagerness aside, this unemployed lark is certainly good for promoting unique sleep patterns, and it does give you a feeling of freedom, like I could do anything I want, whenever I want. Unfortunately you then have to read the small print which basically says *as long as it doesn't cost any money whatsoever, 'cos you have none, and you are earning none you bloody idiot*

So the opportunity to do anything I want, at any time, absolutely anything- usually results in me having a cup of tea and reading some more of my book.
I am being pro-active about getting a new job though, I even bought a jobs paper today.
No, I haven't read it yet, but I heard somewhere that it's the thought that counts.

I have sent my CV and a grovelly fawny letter to every design agency in the vicinity though, asking about junior designer positions or even work experience, and so far have received 1, yes 'one' reply.
And that said 'no thanks'.
Nuts.

Well next week is officially 'lower my standards' week, I will go out and look for a job, any job, just so I can afford to exist for the foreseeable future until something I really want to do comes along. So, I'll be looking for any openings for bed testers, chocolate tasters, climbing hold testers, you know, just bread and butter stuff.

Seriously if anyone knows of something, anything I can do that will earn me a fraction more than minimum wage, please let me know, my wallet has been on a diet for so long I think it has eaten my national insurance number card and all my old receipts.

Not that i'm desperate or anything.

Pleeeeaassssseeee.

Right, i'm off to do something that isn't usually done in the middle of the night, just because I can. I might fly a kite, or go down the beach.

Better and better

His surroundings slowly sharpened themselves back into focus and he looked around.

As always, he had become a little too absorbed by the Su-Doku in front of him, paying little attention to anything else until the numbers had all found their rightful place, but as he clicked the tip of the pen closed, he once more focused on the train carriage around him.

His mind focused on something else as well, a weight pressing on his right shoulder, not heavy, but solidly there, reassuringly there.
The weight was her. She had fallen asleep in the seat next to him, with her head resting against his slightly lowered shoulder.

From where he was, all he could see was a mass of brown and blond wavy hair, (hair that she thought was a tangled mess and he thought was just perfect, not immaculately styled but always effortlessly suited to her) and he could just smell her, no perfume today, just her natural fragrance, not strong but still intoxicating and unmistakably unique.

He was happy. He had every reason to be happy. Recent events had all been good, the weekend went well, meeting some of her friends and experiencing a little London living for a change had been exciting and interesting.
His life in general was good, changing jobs soon promised to be both frightening but positive, friendships were strong and getting stronger, the world was full of opportunity and positivity.
But even without these things, he would be happy, even with a lot more stress and unpleasantness in his life, he would still be happy, because he had her.

He had fallen in love in a very short time, and incredibly as far as he was concerned, she had too. She constantly called him amazing, but he knew that it was her that was making him so amazing, he was responding and interacting with her like never before and this meant everything he said seemed to be just the right thing, at just the right time.
If he wanted to make her laugh, (which he did all the time) the right words would come straight away, and her gorgeous close-lipped smile would appear, then her lips would part, showing a glimpse of her incredible tiny teeth as she laughed, always without a hint of self-consciousness.

He could rely on her to be there for him, whatever the situation, but even more incredibly, he knew he could rely on himself to be there for her, seemingly without any effort at all. It was what he wanted to do, what made him and her happy and it was so easy.

He knew she was special, maybe more special than anyone he had met before, and he knew he was exactly where he wanted to be. It may have just been a train, swaying and clunking it's way through the dark back to Southampton Central, but it wasn't about where he was physically, it was because he was with her.

He was happy and he knew it.
Then the train clunks harder than usual and the weight lifts from his shoulder as she wakes up.
She immediately turns her head to look at him, he looks straight back at her and she smiles, as gorgeous as ever.
He immediately knows everything he just thought about is right, just seeing her face, looking at him like she does, confirms that what they have is incredible.

Then just from looking at him, her smile eventually cracks wider and wider, and he thinks:

"It just gets better and better"

Can I have a job please?

I'm a bit scared.
I'm scared of looking for jobs, the things people expect of the applicants scares me, I'm scared of the thought of the interview, and I'm generally scared of not finding something that I will be able to do.

So, can someone just give me a job please? Like "turn up at 9am, we'll have a desk waiting for you" sort of thing?

It's not the job i'm frightened of, it's getting one that scares the crap out of me.

I love my Hat

I have a hat.

It's a very nice hat, well, a beanie technically. It's black and made of something that for the sake of argument I will say is wool, and it has a little label thingy that sits over my right eye.
That's it, nothing showy, nothing expensive or special, but it does do a very good job of covering the top of my head and if I'm honest, that's all I can ask of a good hat.

I have had it for so long that I can't even remember where I bought it, but in my own time honoured tradition, I bought it because I lost the hat I had before. I never go out shopping and see, say, a pair of sunglasses, and think "hey, you know what? I already have a pair, but these would look much better at the beach, ooh, and those would be good for when I'm rock climbing, I'll get them all." If it does it's job, and doesn't need washing too often, I'll just have one at a time thanks. In fact I'd probably only have one pair of pants if they didn't need washing so damn regularly. (not due to me making them unwearably dirty due to some deviant fetish, I just like clean pants)

My hat has been all over Europe with me (it can't go on it's own, obviously. It doesn't have it's own passport), it has ridden proudly atop my bonce as I skied down various mountains in Soll in Austria, and hob-nobbed with the hats of celebrity skiers in Val D'Isere in France.
It has sat in my bag while I drove the 1800-ish miles from Calais to Alicante in Southern Spain, taking a beanie to Spain in August may have been a slightly ridiculous idea, but you never know...
Closer to home, it has watched from the beach as I learned to Kite-surf on the Isle of Wight (with considerable success I might add), and it has stubbornly refused to leave my head when I rather embarrassingly found myself the owner of an MGF convertible and decided to go down the motorway with the roof down. In March. At night.

My hat has climbed nearly as many walls as I have, I may take my jumper off, and maybe my t-shirt too, but most of the time the hat stays on. (it doesn't go as far as that Tom Jones song though, you filthy minded people)
It keeps me warm in my car while the heaters stubbornly refuse to live up to their name, it deflects all the great British weather if I ever make the mistake of walking anywhere.

My hat has been soaked in snow, rain and sleet, it's been wet and dried so many times it has lost all elastic properties, it has been covered in oil, grease and anything else that drips off the underside of a car, and it lived with my unwashed hair for over 4 weeks when I tried to see if my hair would clean itself. (it didn't)

But it is still looking good (for a given range of 'good') and it still does what it is supposed to do, plus it's really comfy too.

So I love my hat, and I wanted to let you know.

That is all. Ta.

Epiphanifanot

Erm, well that didn't work then did it.
Even if I have decided I can write short posts, I still can't manage to make it one-a-day apparently, rrrubbish.

Pah, well I have been spying on you lot, and it turns out I've had less than 200 visits since I started the blog, so it's not like I'm disappointing millions with my lack of posts. Oh, yeah, and I know where you all live, so keep reading my blog or I will come round and jab you in the eye, apart from the 3 people from the south-eastern U.S, you are pretty much exempt from any visits from me unless I win a substantial amount of money any time soon. But come back and read again anyway.

In other news, I spent yesterday sat on the roof of a van, in my socks, using a heat gun to warm up my icy cold toes. Who says signmaking doesn't introduce you to new experiences.

I also saw Rachel for the first time in 3 days, yes, 3 DAYS! I missed her loads which is really sad I suppose, but i'm really chuffed that we like each other so much that 3 days apart does feel like far, far too long, it's great! It may be the honeymoon effect, but i'm loving it so nerr. We had a fantastic evening, dinner, friends over, wine and dvd's, and then a bit later we, well, you know what I mean, and yes, it was incredible. Snigger, giggle.

Oh yeah, I will do a post soon about my upcoming career change, or distinct lack of it thus far, so prepare yourself for some serious procrastination.

Epiphanifany

Hey, you know what, I just realised something, I still might manage this one-post-a-day malarky, because I've just read this: http://kitchentable.blogspot.com/ (I still don't know how to make that come up as a clicky linky that shows a word of my choice and not the actual address, leave a comment and tell me how, you smart, smart people, you.) and it seems you really don't need an incredibly long post about a definite subject every day, you can sometimes make it short (check Monday, Jan 15th) and still make it well worth reading and in this case, very funny.

So I'll do that, short posts, if I have no time for a long one, and if I can come up with something decisively truncated and witty. And it starts here.

Better stop writing then, erm right.

Uh, bye.

Monkey Bath

This is something I have done for a while, but never realised it had been given it's very own term until now.

Picture the scene: (play along at home, delete as applicable)

Dandan gets home from work/the pub/climbing, all sweaty, and possibly aching too from all the exertion and effort he put into making signs/drinking JD/dragging himself up walls.
He is such a committed employee(ha)/drinker/climber that after putting in so much effort he is in dire need of some relaxation.

He can't afford a massage parlour/sauna/'special' massage parlour, so his only option is to run himself a nice hot bath, and hope that it will suffice instead of the massage/steamy room of sweaty hairy naked guys/immigrant girl stealing your wallet when you fall asleep. (according to a, er, friend of mine, anyway)

So he turns on the taps, puts the plug in (usually after wondering why the bath is not filling up after ten minutes worth of steaming hot water has headed down the drain) and waits for it to fill up.
Perhaps he adds a little bubble bath/bath salts/er, something else (I may be a modern man but I can't name 3 things you could add to bath water, unless you include bodily fluids) to make the experience a liitle more foamy/fragrant/um, if it involves adding bodily fluids, it would make the experience a little more brief, thats for sure.

He takes off his work uniform/jeans and tshirt/bear suit (that genuinely happened once, I swear) and checks the water, perhaps adding some more hot water to make it nice and steamy.

Then, with the work/pub/climbing done, and the making signs/drinking JD/dragging himself up walls finished for another day, and with no massage/sauna/'special' massage in sight, and the bubble bath/bath salts/fluid of dubious origin added, and the work uniform/jeans and tshirt/bear suit well and truly discarded, he climbs gently into the hot, steaming bath, and says:

"Ooh, ah, ooh ooh, ah ah ah!"

And that my friends, is why it is called a Monkey Bath.

Good Intentions

Look, right, this was never a new year's resolution to start writing this blog on a daily basis, so the fact that I have been very slack recently does not mean I have typically failed in upholding a resolution within the typical timeframe. (i.e a few days)
The fact that I started it on the first of Jan was just lucky more than anything, and now the fact that I can't seem to manage a daily post just means i'll have to adjust my aim a little bit, I haven't failed at anything!

Anyone see the defensiveness creeping in a little here?

Well, I did intend to write this daily, or at least end up with an equivalent post count (two in a day if I miss a day sort of thing) but it seems I underestimated how busy my life is now, and it turns out there is absolutely no way I can do it.
I am a little disappointed with myself, because a kind of daily diary would have been cool, but then again if it meant having posts like "at work, on lunch, ham and cheese roll is nice, some signs fell down today, i'm off to the pub tonight, gotta run, busy" maybe it's all for the best.

The whole point was that each post would not only interest me if I read back through it, but might keep other people entertained too, so I need a decent amount of time to sit down to write each post, and I really can't find the time in every day.
I'm not losing interest in writing the posts at all, it really is a case of getting a chance to do them. I would like to say it's because I'm such a hard worker and I work every hour in the day, only stopping to sleep for 20minutes when my vision starts to fade, but in all honesty it's because I'm having too much fun going out and enjoying myself.
Hang on, that's a great reason for not being able to post, why am I feeling guilty about it?! (ok, maybe not guilty as such, it's not exactly like I have a 'public' to let down, but I do wish I could do this daily.)

So it looks like for the forseeable future, posts will come at about a 2-3 a week sort of rate, obviously if I can post more I will, but I'll try and make it that many at least.

Thats it for now, strangely enough, i'm off to enjoy myself, so I can't write any more, sort-of-normal service may or may not resume next week. Ta.