Area 136

These 'ere optical mouse bastard things.

The ones with that red light jobbie in the bottom of them instead of a trackball.

Why the fuck does mine keep whizzing off to the top or bottom left hand corner of the screen every now and then and making me close and open things I don't actually want!

Little bastard.

The one at work does it as well.

It's a conspiracey.

Got back home today before Sarah and Jo had got back from church, and while having a ciggie in the garden I noticed a very neat round hole punched through one of the windows in the conservatroy and glass all over the piano and the floor!

It turns out that our next door neighbors son is not a patch on Tiger Woods when it comes to golf. Its all cleared up now and they are going to pay to replace the glass and get it done.

Also Jo had got a new little pc desk to put in the music room and we have moved the bigger desk back into the lounge. Now Jo can prepare work for her course without having to kick me off the computer as we are now a two pc family.

Just going outish to pubwards to lend support and ears and shoulders. As you do.

But cannot not no stop it not never be staying up too late as I have to be up at

"Christ your a twat, they just go round and round in circles" o'clock to watch the Japanese GP live from somewhere near Mount Fuji.

Lewis on pole, Jenson in 6th and the prospect of rain..... oh yes.

OK I will eff off then.

Well it is a bit wet out there.

In the garden that is, where I am popping for the odd cigarette.

And due to said wetness I have to look very carefully where I step being all bare of foot and all. And of course the very very small amount of alcomahol in my system makes it sooooo much easier.

Oh yes what was I talking about....

Slugs!

Not good things to stand on in bare feet. You not the slugs, the slugs wouldn't have bare feet as they don't erm, actually have feet as we know them. Cephalopods of course are just one big foot technically.....

where the fuck did THAT come from...

Never mind.

On with the motley!

Sorry, what is a blog again?

You know, the comment that both compliments you and insults you at the same time.

Tell meeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I'm bored.

Me?

Mine would be when a girlfriend said.

"The first time I saw you naked I didn't know whether to fuck you of feed you some chips"

Eh? Well thanks, I think.

(That was a long time ago by the way. Chips have been consumed since.)

Some song by some band on my mp3 came out with the crystal clear decloration

"None of my friends don't drive BMW's"

Eh? EH!

WELL DO THEY OR DON'T THEY YOU TWAT!

I am off to lunch to read some more of "The Toyminator" By Robert Rankin. Yes I study the classics, what of it?

The song “Superterrorizer” by Black Label Society starts with the wondrous but dumb line

“Like a suicidal doomsday machine”

EH?

A doomsday machine would not be suicidal as it is supposed to bring about doomsday and therefore end its own, and every other fuckers existence – not exactly how I would describe suicidal. Maybe said Doomsday machine is feeling suicidal because it has been told it will never bring about doomsday and therefore feels it has no purpose in life, who knows. The concept is not adequately explored in the song, as it just gets right on to the big de tuned riffs and mental guitar solos.

Like all good metal should.

The bloody air con is still going wapp-a-wapp-a-wappa

AND

the soding finance system has frozen so I have to re boot it

AND

it's too cold in here. Could be all that wapp-a-wapp-a-wappa bollocks

AND

I cant find a decent vid for "born with a tail" by the Supersuckers on youtube!

AND

no matter how many records I investigate the damn file seems to be just as big as it was

AND

I am going to get my nipples frozen off outside having a ciggie.

Well it just is OK?

Got my two sizes too large black nylon bomber jacket out of the wardrobe today and lost myself inside it. This orange lined thingy was purchased from one of them there stalls at Camden Lock, just behind Dingwalls, which is where I also got most of my fatigue/combat trousers from. They also sell things like handcuffs, gasmasks and pilots helmets. Yes, I know. Strange but fun.

Why am I all coated up? Well the bloody weather was supposed to be windy and cold and wet but typically for me, when I get round to changing from autumn to winter style clothing the weather gets better. It was quite warm out there this morning.

In other equally exciting news (stop yawning at the back!) The air-conditioning vent in the ceiling just behind me is making a “wap-a-wap-a-wap” noise and is driving everyone nuts! Thank god for MP3 players.

Looking forward to tonight as it will be big drinkies and home cooked meal stuffing in boat race activities at S&F’s tonight.

Hope you all have a great day. I feel in a rather good mood for some strange reason.

That better fucking last!

1 - A pirate (gasp! no reeeeely)

2 - A panda. Proper big animal suit thingy.

3 - Both halfs of a furry Rhino. On different days obviously.

4 - A Roman Centurion. Good bloody costume that was, the best Maurice Angels could supply.

5 - A fictitious band member. Looked a bit like the pirate in 1, but with shades and a leather jacket on. Who said I am not adaptable.

6 - half of a conjoined twin. OK, this was me and the late Mr Kelly standing in one leg each of a big pair of trousers as ours had got soaked in the downpour as we rode over to Kizlodes house. I think he has a picture somewhere.

Erm, cant think of anymore. And now its time to go home.

Your go! What have you dressed up as.

Coffee is needed in abundance.

I am fighting a file that has over 300 records in it that I am supposed to investigate, and I (after our jolly meeting) cant be arsed.

But I must show willing. Actually the wind has been knocked out of our collective sails a bit, but we will soldier on regardless.

I don't actually know why I am in such a reasonable/good mood.

Must continue to fight the good fight.

God I can't believe I just said that........

Basically, yes you have to do some more work and help out the other team with the calls that will be generated by the gazillion letters they will be sending out. So customers will be calling up and having a go at us over some service we want them to pay for, but have (at the moment) no idea how the service works or how it is implemented. That will make us such informed commentators and a pleasure to talk to that no one at all will loose their temper with us. Never mind the fact that they will not be in the best of moods when they call in the first place. But we have to show willing BECAUSE

Next Wednesday we have another, bigger meeting attended by the entire department where they will, amongst other things, tell us how many jobs there are going to be and whether or not we have to re-apply for our own positions.

Yep, we may have to re-apply for our own jobs. Mad innit?

And of course, we may not get them. Which will result in us getting tossed into the doldrums of our company policy where they will either offer us redundancy or another job somewhere that will be a git of a bastard of a boring thing in the hope we run screaming to the job centre.

Fuckers.

Mind you, its all the same old same old……

We have a two-hour meeting today starting at 10.0am. Our good natured and friendly line manger happened to mention as he was handing out the agenda that this meeting would “no doubt upset some of you”. Now he was joking when he said it, well at least it was said in a jokey way, but that’s a bit worrying.

Are they going to cut off our Internet access?

Are they going to give us more work to do?

Are they yet again going to move the goal posts?

Who knows?

I suppose all will be revealed.

It is actually, without a hint of a smidgen of an iota of a wisp of a doubt, cold in London this morning.

Proper “see your own breath” chilly out there, and when the wind gets up it is bloody freezing.

True we do have a beautiful clear blue sky and the low angle of the sun light is making the trees glow, and the full moon looked fantastic hanging there ghostly white above the roof tops on my way in – but it is chuffing cold OK?

So why then have I seen a number of men without any form of coat this morning? Two blokes in just shirts and one guy in a t-shirt! What? (And before you start – yes they had trousers and shoes and such. Don’t be so literal)

Most people have gone for fleeces or proper winter coats today, so what where these oddballs up to eh? Trying to make the rest of us look like wimps?

Could have been Geordies I suppose.

Said Mrs F as I left S&F's house this morning. She is concerned for my welfare bless her. Its just a cold woman!

And anyway, I was born in Dagenham - I'm well 'ard!

ahem.

Sniff, cough, chew, yuck!, drip, wipe.

and such.

In other news,

Due to my sartorial senses being little more than "grab something clean and put it on" I am dressed in a white t-shirt and black fatigue trousers, which makes me look like a badly poured pint of Guiness.

Have a marvelous day and it is NOT my fault Row has a cold. No matter what she says. She lives in a blame culture or something.

This could possibly fit under walkdontruns request for “what silly thing have you done on dope” stories, as this occurred at a party and the parties I used to go to had a bit of the old “wacky backy” floating around. But was probably due to huge amounts of booze.

And I have probably told you all this before, but I’m bored so its high time you were.

It is 5am on a bright summers morning. Kizlode and I are sat in his garden, with music playing quietly in the front room and drifting out to us. It is the morning after a party and we are still up. Everyone else has gone or gone to bed.

I say we, because Kiz has fallen asleep now, sat on his chair and is snoring. So I go and get myself yet another drink and have yet another cigarette.

“Kiz! Kiz! Wake up you Llwnt!” nothing.

I gaze at the big fellow as he lists to one side looking like a super tanker with a leak. I glance down and notice that he appears to be sitting on a purple cushion. I say appears to be, as I can see a little corner of it sticking out from under his groin area.

Then I remember – Kiz has a whole in his jeans and THAT is not a bit of purple cushion. Its his scrotum, complete with a bit of the filling shall we say. I start to giggle and then, as if by magic, the little demon appears on my shoulder.

“DO IT!”

So I take out my lighter and spark it to life, and deftly play the flame over said “purple cushion” for at least two seconds in an attempt to wake him up.

NOTHING!

This makes me giggle even more – which actually wakes Kiz up! So he gets another drink, we chat for a bit and then decide it would be possibly a reasonable idea to get some sleep. He goes up to his bed and I hit the sofa.

After about four or five hours we are back up and setting about a brace of breakfast beers, purely to stave off the lurking hangovers you understand.

“I should have come in from the garden last night instead of sitting out there with all them Gnats and midges around” says he.

“Why?”

“One of the little bastards has got in through the hole in my jeans and bit me on the left bollock, its really itching!”

I started to giggle and, looking as sincere as I could while shaking with laughter, apologised and confessed all.

Lucky for me, he saw the funny side of it.

Sorry about that one mate.

Sniff, drip, cough.

Damn, have to wait till Friday for some more money. I have some at the moment but not as much as I want - who ever has that much, but I think I have enough to make it if I live like a church mouse.

So that'll be me scurrying about on the floor going "eeek eeek" for the rest of the week.

But this financial situation also means I cannot afford a big lunch time pig out excused by the saying "Feed a cold and starve a fever" which is a pain because I effing starving.

Oh well. Lets drag my dripping carcass down to the sandwich shop and see what is on offer. If I drip on some stock I might get them cheaper.

What? who said "gross!"

Well my nose and trains.

What is going on there then eh?

I mean, right now I have a stinker of a cold – NOTE not “man flu” I am at work, so there. But I am full of snot and my head feels like it is packed with Styrofoam insulation.

I walk to the station and my nose is what it is, just a nose. A rather big pointy one – but just a hooter, nothing more. No drippage, no escapes of nose tadpoles – nothing.

Yet get on a train and it seems that I have had a tap grafted on to the front of my face. A tap with a bit of a leak, which has to be constantly attended to with tissues and wiped regularly. How bloody charming I must look.

Get off the train at the other end and, as if by magic, all liquid expulsions cease!

What is going on there then eh?

Is stuck to the bottom of my monitor in front of me.

It says "Get money on way home"

This is to remind me to get out some money to pay off half my credit card bill. The reason I am only paying off half of it is that, due to the wonderful timing of said bill, there is less money in my account than I owe the credit card. Not that it is a huge bill. It's just "that time of the month"

Dont get paid till friday, last date for paying the bill is the 5th of next month soooo, it will be close. I will get half of it delt with and try on Friday to sort the other half.

So my expensive call girl habit will have to be put on the back burner for another week.

Well you have to behave responsibly some times don't you?

On Saturday night I was sat at the pc round at S&F's as I so often am, when I just started sneezing. Six in a row out of knowhere. Odd, I thought and then realised that my nose was running and my throat was sore!

Talk about rapid onset nose tadpoles! yeeek!

So now I have a voice that has gone all husky, I am thinking of doing some part time work on a sex chatline, just to help pay the bills you understand.

ahem.

Anyway, on the subject of sneezing - are you one of those restrained people who sneeze very quietly or do you let rip and enjoy it? I have noticed that on average women tend to sneeze in a very restrained way, but where is the fun in that?

I am a little damp around the edges this morning.

It was very much pissing down when I got to Liverpool Street station and a mass of commuters where standing looking at the rain blasting past almost horizontaly and thinking "I am NOT going out in that"

My heart was uplifted by the sight of a young woman with a very short skirt and wonderful legs running quickly across the concourse and up some stairs. Not a good choice of clothing for today lady.

So I am sitting here at my desk slightly steaming as I dry off and hoping that the liquid content of the atmosphere subsides before lunchtime.

Hope the weather is better where you are as we dive into the first day of the working week.

Got to get dressed and go play my guitar at a tree in the garden.

In other news,

Tapas makes you poo and fart.

I am not mad.

Thank you.

Would be a great title for a post about the time Jo and I had a meal in a, erm, restaurant thingy.

In france, with fucking scary waiters who could appear out of nowhere in an otherwise empty gaff to scare the living shite out of us. OK me.

But I is am a bit drunk (gimme gimme gimme best pissed up bloggerage award type thingamy again you swines!) and very knackerededidedous due to waking up at 05.00 this morning. And still not being bed ridden.

So in conclusion, boats.

"Right, off to Brighton tomorrow with S&F. What do I need to take with me?"

"Sun cream?"

"Are you nuts! this is England! your "swarthy" complexion will provide you with enough protection from the sun. It's the rain and wind you wanna worry about."

"Camera?"

"Of course, just in case you see anything photogenic"

"Bucket and spade?"

"Oh do grow up! Sarah is not coming with us and you do look such a tit building sandcastles on your own when your 44"

"lots of 2p bits so we can go on those roll a 2p bit machines on the pier"

"Are you having a laugh! there is culture to be had and byways to wander! you can go in the pavillion, OK - it may be a disgusting shade of bad stomache bug after effect green, but in side it is very pretty. OK over the top. Well OK, it looks like the inside of a tarts handbag but it is "pretty" in an over the top way"

"Shorts"

"FUCK OFF! you are not scaring the residents of Brighton with your hairy Gorilla fur legs! and see above - its not going to be shorts wearing weather."

"Sunglasses? probably not after your last comment"

"Oh no, you can never look too cool. You in fact could try starting"

"Llwnt!"

"Takes one to know one"

I am sat here at my desk working like a mad whirling working thing (ahem) wearing a rather old black t-shirt. Emblazoned across the chest in big orange Day-Glo letters is the word

“INCREDIBLE” and the little logo of Pop will Eat Itself. Down back on the right hand side there is a similarly bright column of “glyphs” that look like they would be at home trampled into a cornfield and viewed from a balloon.

I got the t-shirt at a gig years ago in the Marquee in the Charing Cross Road, after watching said band. The main memory of this rather fun night was the seating arrangements that had to be made for one of the lead singers (Kurt or the other one) as he had broken his leg below the knee.

So they had a seat attached to an extension from the lighting rig, which was about 10ft above the stage and extended out over the front row. He sat in it all night with his plastered leg sticking out, radio mike in one hand and megaphone in the other (for the shouting bits down the mic) and shook his little mop headed bonce and sang or “rapped” his parts all through the gig.

Dedication is what you need obviously. Great gig as well.

No not the luscious and weird swirly paint scheme available on some USA custom guitars, but actual water – burning.

It seems that some mad boffin type Professor Frink character has come up with a way to make water combust. Basically he bombards it high frequency radio waves until the Hydrogen and Oxygen in the water separate and are turned into gas, which you can then burn providing the gas is in the field of the radio waves.

Eh?

Cheap fuel? And more importantly, green fuel – as the waste product from burning this gas is basically water! So you can burn it again!

Of course if this is true the energy corporations will have him shot and his work made to disappear.

But I read it in the paper this morning, so it must be true.

Walking to the station from work last night, I heard a female voice behind me say
“Excuse me! Excuse me please!”

I turned round and there behind me was a young lady on a bicycle trying to get past me and the other commuters trudging along City Road. Trudging along the Pavement of City Road.

I made “a face” at her and gestured at the big expanse of tarmac next to us, commonly know as “the road” and ignored her. What I really felt like saying was “Get in the fucking road you ignorant bitch!”

But she was pretty. So I didn’t. I have such strong convictions no?

I also seem to remember that at some point during the past weeks there was talk on the news about having a day when cars are banned from central London and only bikes allowed.

If this should happen I am going to go to work with a Baseball Bat, so I can beat a path through all the bloody inconsiderate bastard cyclists riding on every available flat surface and tutting at the pedestrians.

Hmmm. How much does it cost to run for Mayor?

I watch people. When I am outside having a smoke, I gaze at the people passing with no particular thought in my head. I look at the way they move.

Most people just walk - regular normal stride, nothing unusual. Some people move like they are on strings or have far too many elbows and knees, they look ungainly. Some people strut - this says "I know I look great and today the world is mine" whether they do look great or not, you can tell that that is how they feel. Some people try to move invisibly, or know that they are not invisible but wish they were. It says "I don't want to be seen, I don't want to be here, leave me alone"

When I was young I used to walk with my hands in my pockets of my coat all the time and my head down - chin on chest. This was so I could physically hug myself for comfort(I think this now, looking back.) and with my head down I could not see all the people round me, looking at me and thinking things about me. Nuts I know, well I do now but that is what I felt like at the time.

Of course later on I learned that if you look up, you can spot and avoid trouble before you walk into it. Well you can if your long sighted like me.

Anyway. I often find that if someone moves or walks well it makes them seem much more attractive. It gives them a few extra point on the "Attractiveness scale" if you will, and obviously if someone moves badly it knocks some off.

Maybe I'm weird, maybe its just me.

As I appeart to have worn out my blogging muscle yesterday yakking like a pirate and coming up with all that smut.

Even though I am as bored as a bored thing here at work.

Ho hum

And can I just say sorry to some of you who got that list thing email I sent out due to said boredom. Tried to do it on my computer and couldn't fill the bugger in. So sorry for that. Don't worry about doing it yourselves.

In other news, I think the elastic in the top of my pants is on the way out. Everything is feeling a bit loose down there.

ahem.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOOOOOOOOOOO

XXXX

Slip the moorin' lines and prepare to ride the late evenin' tide!

Tis time I was off, Captinin the Starfish on a new adventure. I could be gone for a wee while me dearies, possibly a year at the very most. For I has me in my possesion - a map.

A map that I got by dint of stealin' it of a man whose friends best mates wifes' sister was a shaggin a man who had it in his possesion up until the time of its a stealin' and finding its way into my pocket. Just now.
Oo'er there it was, behind that there tavern. Or sumpin.

Anyway this ere map leads, possibly erm, probably in fact to the last know hiding place of a very rare fancy. A fancy that I be knowing a certain rich collector will be right glad to exchange many bits of gold for.

The voyage will be perilous, there will be danger, rough seas and rougher women. But 'tis the very sort of lark that gladdens a pirates internals an all.

I am off to a thing that is the very last of it's kind.

The legendary "white dogs egg"

Arrrrrrrrrrrrg! Wish me luck!

Them that dies will be the lucky ones!!!!!!

Ahh, Feet up and a glass of something looted from parts forreen!

Now when us pirate cap'ns get the rare moment alone to unwind, we tend to favour a pipe o' baccy. The style of pipe is very important also, what with there be so many of em, Corncob, Mearsham and such.

But I like nothing better than popping the stem of a church warder between my lips and drawing hard till the delightful flavour of rough Navy Shag hits the back of me throat.

Arrrrrr, excuse me while I disapear in a cloud of smoke shipmates....

Yes me darlin's tis punishment duty!

Yes, if ye has been bothered by anyone, in your persnal life or by some figure of so called "celebrity" or "authority" and would like to see them in chains and forced to walk along a length of wood to a watery grave, let's hear about it!

You nominate them, an' I will prod them with something sharp till they drop off the end o' the plank.

Tis a public service I tell eee!

Arrrrg.

Now I am finding me self a wee bit on the short side of staffed after this mornin’s thinning of the heard. So I need some recruits.

I appear to be in need of a first Mate, as Mr Padds be mizzen. (It’s an old naval joke, don’t eee worry yerself over it)

But I do have a few good crew members still on me decks. Leading wench like duties be fallin to the ever ready Mrs F, who is always ready to lend a hand and get mucky wi tha best of em. A treasure she is.

And down in the galley there be the steadfast Shipscook, who be a damn fine provider of victuals to starving sailors.

On the subject o’ food, us pirates do love a bit o’ fish. I mean the bloody sea be full of the buggers so why not. In fact manys the time I have come on deck, got the cabin boy to fetch a cloth, and seen various members o’ the crew standin’ at the rail, eyes fixed on the horizon with a contented smile on there faces as they dangle their tackle over the side.

The supply of fresh fish keeps Cookie busy. And he is a master of the art of mixing batter. In fact his batter be soo light n’ delicate, even if’n a food can be such, innocent tastin’ as the crew have taken to callin it “Baby Batter”

If you ever find yerself wanderin into the galley, you often find old cookie there, his elbow a blur as he knocks out a fresh batch of his Baby Batter. Arrr, tis a sight to behold. He as to change hands sometimes, such is his commitment to fillin’ his bowl.

Strange how nun o’ the crew wanna lick them bowls clean though, not even ships cat’ll go near em.

SO.

I need, gun crews, gunnery officers, loaders, lookouts, riggers, friggers, cabin crew and general hands. And some loose wimmin wouldn’t go amiss either.

And if ye is all good, I may extend my plank later jus like las’ year.

And we all know wha that means dun we!

Arrrrrr.

Some ye may be remembrin’ last year and my last chat with you all. I told ee I was off for a run ashore for some wenchin’ and grog. Which I did, oh yes.

But I awoke in the mornin’ with the clap! Yes, in irons no less and tossed vigorously into a wretched lil’ ‘ole I was for a year. That will teach me to be careful what I drink and no mistake.

So imagine my shock when I dragged me poor weak carcass back to the docks and boarded my ship, and found my Starfish full of strange Seamen! Not one of the hands on my Starfish was known to me! A shocking state of affairs, true enough she was still tightly lashed to the harbour as I had instructed Mr Padds to do, but all these new faces were just too much!

And where was Mr Padds?

Now I like to have my starfish filled with seamen I know of, as it were. Them as I have sailed with and got a taste for. So what to do with this new gaggle of wretches?

Well being the ruthless, cruel and quick to anger Cap’n I am there was only one course of action I could take.

I lined them all up on the Starboard side and tossed them all off into the harbour!

Blimey my wrist ‘urts I can tell eee!

And I would like to offer up an apology to the Admirals Daughter, who jus so ‘append to be out for a row with ‘er manservant and passin’ by the Starfish at this moment. The look of surprise on her face as discharged seamen rained down about her skiff was a sight te be seeing matey!

Good job she ‘ad that parasol wiv ‘er, or it could have ruined that nice dress!

But now I seem to be a bit short on crewmembers. Bugger.

Arrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

Arrggg me pretties! Tis I – Cap’n Nick - fresh out of prison after an evil time in a dank hole that smelt o’things best not spoken of at breakfast time. Out on good behaviour says I! Yes me! Who would a thought it eh? Took a lot of suckin’ up to the guards but in the end I managed to pull it off!

So excuse me a while, an I will tell you of my return to my beloved ship The Chocolate Starfish, as I prepare once again to sail the seas o’ smut and poor taste.

Yes it is that time o year when my beloved Starfish braves the salty spume once more!

And just remember one thing me darlin’s.

The Cap’ns word is final!

As the dear departed and much missed Phil Lynott almost said -

Is there anybody here with any pirate in them?

Is there any of the girls that would like a little more pirate in them?

Ahem.

See me tomorrow, I may be in need of a crew.

Yarrrg!

Yesterday I mentioned Liver, as in the eating of same, and was very interested in the resulting comments.

No one said "well, yeah it's OK. Dont mind it" much as I expected, it was either love or hate.

Now this morning I read the letters in the metro and people were discussing that other controversial foodstuff - Marmite!

Right - straight off I need to say I love it. But this guy in the papers was advocating readers to try the following sandwiches as he thought they were great.

Are you ready for these?

Bacon and Marmite.

Peanut butter and Marmite.

I would try the bacon and Marmite one, but that's just me.

What about you?

Sitting here chipping the ice off my hands to enable me to type (the things us smokers have to endure for our vice) I can't help but think back to the glorious hot days of the summer just past and think -

"Hang on! we never bloody had one!"

Oh well.

Another thing that is bothering me. I have a line from a Black Sabbath song stuck in my head going round and round. Actually it's from Metalicas cover of it and I cant remember the name of the track but the silliness of the line is what makes it so annoying

"The thoughts and images,
The unborn child that never was concieved"

Eh! If the child was never concieved how is it unborn? It never existed! its just a sperm and an ova, or whatever. No conception means no nothing, so there is nothing to be unborn or born or anything!

ARRRRRRRRRG!

STOP IT!

And it blew up!

Yes, the Hindenberg is the subject of a rather long documentary on telly tonight.

What did you think I was talking about.

Shame on you!

I find airships fascinating. I mean, what a mad idea.

"Lets cralw about the sky taking weeks to get anywhere, in a huge container of flamable gas, lets have a smoking room, lets be comfortable and have drinkies as we chug along in a huge bomb. Come on everyone! It'll be fun!"

So this "Drama documentary" is on from 09.00 till 11.00 or something. About the length of time it would have taken the Hindenberg to travel its own length in a light wind, but I will give it a look.

And it has nothing to do with the phallic symbolism of it all.

Hmmmm, wonder if paddy will be watching.

On Saturday I was standing outside in the sun having a crafty ciggie when I heard the sound of approaching Aero engines. Two of them in fact, deep sonorous sounding and coming from high behind the trees to my left.

And then they appeared - A Spitfire in the lead with a Hurricane in formation on its wing, they banked to the left and did a long turn, passing high over the church in front of me as they did, light reflecting off their wings as they moved through the clear blue sky.

We saw then agian off in the distance fifteen minutes later as we walked through the park, still in formation and going round again, looking great.

On Sunday Mr S read out a story from a paper that said a Hurricane from the Battle of Britain flight had crashed at an airshow, diving into the ground for no apparent reason.

I hope it was not the one that we saw.

Right.

Last night I had a very nice meal. I thought it tasted fantastic and would eat it again any time.

But some people find the main ingredient of the meal a total turn off and would run screaming from the room if asked to so much as watch someone eating it.

What did I have?

Liver and bacon with mashed potatos and some peas.

Personally I love liver.

But what about you? Which side of the liver debate are you on?

Vegetarians need not bother preaching replying

Our bosses boss is in today, along with her boss (which makes her the bosses bosses boss I suppose) so we are all looking like an efficiant hard working team.

Ahem.

When I came back in from having a ciggie, Top Boss woman was standing next to our desks doing that "connecting with the team" bullshit that they feel they have to do for some reason.

"So no one has any juicey gossip to tell us then?"

She was saying as I strolled up to my desk. Everyone shrugged.

"Nothing at all? what a pity" Said she all smiles.

Then the little demon appeared on my shoulder and said unto me "go on. DO IT!" so I said to her, with my face a total blank.

"Well I've got a spot in an embarrasing position if you want to talk about that."

Coffee was spat. Giggles were supressed. Work mates smiled and shook their heads in a "There he goes again" sort of way.

"Erm, yes. Well that could be a little too much information there Nick but thanks for sharing."

Well she started it.

As you know we took Sarah to St Albans on Saturday to see some of the roman relics and have a picnic. The site of the old Roman city is now a very nice park, and as Mr S was trying to tell Sarah about the romans he was constantly thrown off track by Sarah squeeling "OH look at that doggie! He's soooo cute!" and "Ah baby duckies!" and so on. Still we did try to tell her some edjamacational stuff.

When I got home on Sunday there was an "arrangement" of fruit and veg picked from our garden laid out on a little plate, that Sarah had done. She had laid four Pears on their sides and arranged them in a cross with on pear standing up in the centre, and filled in the quadrants with some little tomatoes.

I looked at this pattern and had the feeling I had seen it somewhere before. Then it clicked.

"Sarah, this pattern you have made"

"Eh?"

"Is this supposed to be the pattern of the big tiles on that Roman floor we saw yesterday?"

"Yep. I did it from memory"

So some culture got through to her then.

This months Guitarist has a feature on my favourite form of electric guitar - The Les Paul!

A nice big shot of one on the cover and loads more inside.

I think I will go down to the Angel at lunch time and sit and lick the cover!

Mmmmmmmmmmmmm Les Paul guitars.

I think I need help.

Or a bigger bank balance.

Another week here at the temple of pointless boredom. Well it's not exactly pointless because they pay me money - so that would be the point, but you know what I mean.

Looking foreward to Wednesday. hehehehe.

And in a way, not.

In other news, a report just in from the "too much information" desk - A badger appears to have crawled up my rear end and died, judging from the smell. I personally blame Mr S's fish stew that we had on Saturday night, and the pan fried salmon with garlic we had on Sunday. Which could explain why S&F opened all the windows in the house on Sunday morning. Hmmmm.

Excuse me in advance.

And no matter what I say, DONT pull my finger.

I have been very remiss in my efforts to put my hat in the ring to win the "Best drunken blogger" award AGAIN (yeah, desperate for recognition - low self esteem, yadda yadda yadda)

But here we am in that part of the night that can only be fairly described as tomorrow and, god dammit, I find myself a tad overly "refreshed" and in need of a vat of black lace top stockinged nuns in olive oil.

Well, one can but dream. Of course in this dream the nuns are not the old cashew nut faced efforts they are in real life, but firm of thigh and pert of wossname and pleasing to the eye. And not that devout.

Ahem.

Well, its my twisted sick little mind and I will live in it thank you very much!

So.

How is it all going out there in sleepy land?

Oh right, answered my own question there didn't I.

you will have to excuse me now as a pussy is calling for my attention.

What? Jesus you lot are dirty minded!

It's Cleopatra, Mrs F's cat - she is padding up and down behind me making those little cat "merp!" noises that mean "Stop that blogging and drinking malarky and FUSS ME! or I will scratch your legs to buggery!"

So, in light of this shocking development and the fact that Cleo is now licking my feet, I will away.

Hic!

Now hang on.

I know that coming from me, that statment could be taken in a couple of ways, but I mean I am awake and dressed and ready to go.

And by ready to go I don't mean....Oh stop it! you know what I mean.

I am off out with Sarah in about 40 mins with S&F, to go get sum edjamacation and look at the Roman relics and stuff at St Albans. Verulanium, I think it was called. We are taking a picnic, and are hoping for decent weather. Jo is up in London attending the first day of a course on, erm, something or another.

So I hope the rain holds off so we can have a good day.

What ever you are all up to I hope its good and gladens your hearts.

Don't get squashed or mashed.

Get home - house empty, goooood.

Put the Marshall on standby and fire up the Vox tonelab.

Break the seal on the bottle of Glenrothes single speyside malt Select Reserve that Mrs F and Shipscook got me in Edinburgh and pour a glass out.

Pick a les paul, plug in, tune up, take a sip

And play.

Ahhhhh.

Much, much better.

Try to remember how to play "Limelight" by Rush the practice the opening riff of "The Spirit of Radio"

Have a bash at "Brown Sugar" by ZZ Top.

Try to remember how to play the solo to "Alright Now" by free note for note. Hmmm. nearly.

A swift blast of "I don't know" by Ozzy and Jo and Sarah arrive.

Time to cook.

Tension gone.

Result.

And now to watch a programme about Marc Bolan on BBC 4.

I forget sometimes.

I know that most of you, well you lot on my friends list that have been there for a while know I am fairly harmless.

I think, but I could be wrong, that I come over as a "nice" person.

Yep, I do like to make smutty comments but it is all done with the tongue firmly in cheek. Or at least somewhere wet and warm. (jeeez look! I'm doing it again!)

So anywhat, there I am having a quick trot round some new blogs, find a new person and say "helllloooooooo" as I sometimes do, and yes. Made some comments.

In my own styleeeeee erm, thing.

Thankfully they seem to have a sense of humour and have not flagged me as a pervert.

But give them time.

Mwahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaacoughchokepukesplutter.

sometimes for good stuff, sometimes for bad stuff.

Not that today is, technically, bad.

It is just the fact that I am working on a file of the purest shite, I cannot access AOL through my favourites list, but instead have to get to it via google (which makes me think the IT bods have blocked access to it somehow. Well you cant have access to the outside world while your at work can you children) and I do actually let myself get worked up over silly things like trying to arrange stuff with friends like an adult.

Deep down I am still a little kid. Or totally lazy. I want everything sorted out by the "Adults" and I will just go along with it all happily. Which is bloody unfair and must make me a right pain in the arse to have as a friend.

The thing is a lot of people I know are rather decisive and good at sorting stuff like tickets and travel on the net. So I defer to them in all instances. I just say "OK, I would love to" and they make it happen.

I am spoilt really. The only time I get decisive (and a bit "tetchy" shall we say) is when I'm surrounded by people saying stuff like "I dunno, what do you want to do?"

Then I just go all "RIGHT" and make decisions that are not thought through properly, which normally kick start the other people into making plans that will not actually get us all killed, mugged, arrested or whatever.

If I ever came up with a "best laid plan" for a mouse or a man, it would be a damn miracle.

That's my nice relaxing Friday at work that is.

I have been trying to sort out some dates with some friends as to when we can all go and get our brains expanded by seeing some exhibitions, and it does not help that the exhibitions in question (The Terracota army in the British Museum, and the King Tut stuff at the O2 arena) are very popular.

Looks like the British Museum trip will have to wait till January as a birthday suprise for sarah, and as for gawping at King tuts bling - undecided yet, maybe December.

So what with that and this bloody pathetic file that I am trying to work through (really you should see the "information" I am given to find the customers, they must think I am some kind of magician!) I am now feeling a little tight around the shoulders.

I do get wound up so easily. I think its to do with having a short temper.

Now just had an email suggesting another date - 27th October. Yes just book it! arrrg!

Jo, who looks puzzled, calls me to the phone,

“It’s for you, I think it’s the bank”

EH?

“Hallo Mr Nick?”

“Yes, what is this call for!”

“Oh erm, its just a courtesy call, how are you this evening….”

“Right. Has any money been taken out of my account without my knowledge?”

“Er, ah no, erm not that I am aware of, its”

“OK, then there is no point to this call really. DO NOT PHONE ME AT HOME. Goodbye”

And click.

If I want to discuss something with you, I will come and see you. Or there is this little thing called the internet which I believe is quite popular in banking circles. Fuckers.

An Eglishmans home is his castle, till he gets a phone put in.

I pulled open the door of the angel and before it had even swung shut behind me, Brendan was pouring me a pint of Stella. I frontled up to the bar (which is a manouvre much like sidled, but is more direct) and smiled him a smile and spake thus,

"A pint of Guiness please"

"Well you can have one of them after this pint of Stella"

He does delight in having your drink pouring before you walk in through the door. He used to be able to do this quite well as he could spot me on the other side of City Road waiting for the lights to allow me to cross - the Zebra crossing almost deposits you on the pub doorstep.

To combat this, I have taken to sneaking up on the bar, by way of crossing at the Old Street roundabout and therefore appearing, all sudden like, outside the pub just before I reach for the door handle.

It's little games like this that make working in this dump bearable.

In fact, it was my first visit to the Angel since Thursday last week. I must be slipping. Or trying to loose weight.

And a pre recorded, disinterested northern accented female voice says,

“Please be aware, that some users cannot access the mainframe, and this is being dealt with under ABC12345, should your call be urgent then ……”

So you know that I cant actually do any damn work then? Oh Good. No hint of a clue of a predicted possible time that we might, possibly maybe perhaps be actually able to maybe connect to the mainframe then?

Thought not.

This could be linked in with my not being able to access my email. But seeing as I can get on here, and any other damn site I choose EXCEPT AOL, I am confused.

So I can’t receive or send emails, can’t get notification of replies to posts or PM’s, and I cant do any work.

Ciggie time?

I think so.

Can't get to my email account from here!

Fuck it!

I can't read the torrent of emails praising my writing and my wit, I am missing all those offers from hot young women to send me pictures of them naked, all the book offers from publishers and invitations to wild parties!

Well, I can dream can't I.

Till the bastard site starts responding I may well have to do some work!

Fuck.

1. If you had to play a roll in any film past or present , what film would it be and what character would you play?
"A Matter of Life or Death" David Nivens character, the bomber pilot (can't remember the name) Or Kyle Reece in the terminator film.

2. If you had to choose another name for yourself, what would it be?
I actually like being called Nick, but as I have to choose I will say, erm, Horatio. No I have no idea why so dont ask.

3. What is the first thing you notice when meeting someone of the opposite sex?
Depends what angle I am approaching them from. OK enough with the smut, face/eyes. Actually it would be logical to say that I would notice the most noticable thing about them.

4. If you had to move to another country, where would it be?
Cyprus.

5. What are you most proud of about yourself?
I taught myself to play guitar or that I managed to get a certificate in Egyptology.

6. if you wanted to impress someone what would you cook.
My spicey sauce for pasta - creamy and hot. Easy tiger.

7. Name five things you associate with Sweden.
Blondes, beer, mountains, snow, porn.

8. If you were given £300 that you had to spend on yourself in just one shop, what shop would that be?
One of the guitar shops in Denmark street. But it wouldn't go far.

9. Name one living person you would like to meet. And who would that be??
KEEF!

10. If you were to be remembered in the history books, for what would that be?
Not Dying? Being the first man in history to grow all his hair back naturally? The first person on the planet to see the point of golf?

Oh well.

Soon it will be here!

Once again, it will be that special day.

Oh yes me harties!

Aaaaaaaaarrr!

Not since the last time I worked in Old Street actually.

There I was having a ciggie outside, When a man walked past me. He had long hair. Well so what, so do I. But I am not wearing full make up, a little summer dress with a nice cardigan over the top, a clutch bag and flat shoes.

Now this was most defo a man, trust me. He looked as feminine as Justin Hawkins from The Darkness, and he was fully dressed as a woman.

And as he went past, I couldn't help thinking "You go for it fella"

Well imagine the crap he will have to put up with.

I used to get enough shit for walking around with long hair and a leather jacket on when I was in my 20's (hit, bottled, run over on the pavement) but he must get even more, given the broad minded nature of this country today.

Each to their own I say.

Tonight Jo has to take her car to a mechanic because she suspects the clutch is on its last legs. I agree judging from the appaling smell of burning that greeted us as we stepped out of it at the weekend after our drive to Huntingdon, and the fact that it now accelerates like a mobility scooter.

So while she coaxes the poor damaged thing round to mr fixits, I will be taking Sarah to Brownies.

Which is in the church Hall.

Which means the Choirmaster bloke may be there. Remember him, the one who seems to think my guitar playing and singing will be perfect for the band the church are thinking of putting together?

I am thinking of being subtle if he is there.

Something along the lines of

"Fuck off god boy!"

Might work.

Who knows.

The tall blond girl that occasionally works in this office is in today. She is all in black, which goes well with her very dark almost black eyes. But she is very “slim” and the black clothing enhances this.

Frankly she could use a pie or two, but that is just my opinion. She is probably quite happy as she is. Who knows? She is certainly attractive but…

Eat for god’s sake.

And another thing, on the subject of pretty but too damn thin – Keira Knightley!

Saw her doing the old “Red Carpet” bit at the premier of her latest movie, very pretty face – body of a toast rack!

Now I have been out with some very slim girls in the distant past, and some very round ones too (equal ops boyfriend, that was me) so I am not a “chubby chaser”, but some females just make you want to take them for a damn good feed up!

I have no bloody idea what the point of this post was.

So, erm, I’ll go back to messing around with that file and listening to music then.

Eeeeep.

Has been discovered in a file, which I will now toy with for the next hour or so.

These rare gaps in the workload are great when you get them, but you do have to show willing.

So that is what I am going to do. Prod at this file in the manner of a carnivore in a vegetarian restaurant. It won’t kill me and it will look good but I don’t reeeeely want to.

Ho hum.

That is, of course, if the information on BCUK is correct.

If not, fuck off I'm sorry.

Abi, have a great day.

Luv ya.
X

The end of another day of rubbish.

Well thats' what happens when you accuse me of not blogging enough. This will make 8 or so posts, filled with the finest twaddle I could think up.

Don't expect such largess tomorrow, because I don't think I can spell it.

Or understand it.

or something.

Anyway, as my train sinks slowly in the east and comes up somewhere further east, I will try to get the next one and say farewell, harry verderchi (whoever he is) and see you all tomorrow.

If I'm lucky, the hangover will be a small one.

enjoy your evenings people.

Again.

You see, Jo is the one that takes Sarah to church on Sundays so Sarah can go to Sunday school. Thats fine, I fill her in with the pagan stuff if she asks just to balance the books.

Now Sarah is a good singer and has sung a number of songs in nativity plays in said church, even a couple of unacompanied solo parts. Everyone comes up after and says what a good voice she has and so on. The choir master did try to get her into the choir before she could read, which could have been a bit of a problem as I pointed out to him.

Well now the church has decided to get a band together to play on Sundays at the church, and guess who is on the choir masters hit list?

Yep.

"Oh Jo, Nick plays guitar, do you think he'd be interested in joining our band in church"

"Well, I'll ask him" Said Jo, Visions of flat out Marshalls pushing the elderly congregation against the back wall with the sound pressure levels.

I said no.

Yesterday Jo came back from the church commitee meeting with the news that they were wondering if I could sing? and would I like to yadda yadda yadda....

NO!

I mean, really. Me, Churches and music do NOT go together.

Have they not noticed I am not a "believer" yet!

Was it something along the lines of

"I know, if I use a picture of girl cut out of a magazine and leave the creases in the picture it will look more real, because even if people come to check out the profile when they get an invitation, they never check the blog itself. So after they see that and read my interests they wont bother to look and see the blog is just full of stuff about flogging houses and property to people. Yeah that'll work"

Oh well.

I do so love being invited by those "business" blogs.

You know that deeply wonderful feeling you get when you realise that even though half the day is gone you have hit all your targets and done the work of two people?

No, niether do I.

Early Autumn over here.

Every time I come back in from having a ciggie outside our office, my hands are numb from the cold!

On the other side of Old Street the sun is beating down in a blaze of light.

Huh!

There were blokes on the other side wandering around with their shirts off for christs sake and I am stood on this side with nipples like organ stops!

Mind you, these blokes looked like roofers or scaffolders - the sort of male that removes their t-shirts at the mearest hint of sun. I am sure you ladies know the chaps I am refering too.

So I'm getting frost bite and they are getting skin cancer.

And so the world turns.....

This was what I asked S&F, in the morning light of the afterwards which inevitably jumps on you after the night before. This "after" was also an "ago" being as it occured a long while hence.

I had skinned all the knuckles of my right hand. And it felt like I had sprained my thumb on my left hand.

“No, you did that when you fell off the wall”

“What wall?”

“Mr Wolfs front garden wall. You were laying on top of it while we were all outside of the party taking bets as to how many kicks it would take that bloke to get his Triumph motorbike started.”

“Oh yeah. I sort of remember that,” said I.

“We turned round and you had gone. You hit the pavement quite hard, hence the broken blood vessels in the side of your nose.”

“And the left thumb thing?”

“Ah, you were sat on a kitchen chair eating Mr Wolfs cats biscuit things. They were thinking they were going to get a feed and you reached under the chair to pick one up, and the chair skidded out from under you and you landed in a heap on the floor on your left hand”

“Ah. Wondered why my mouth tastes a bit funny this morning. So I didn’t hit anyone?”

“No, but you did threaten to bite the cab driver. Which did get us home rather quickly as it turns out”

“Why or how did I get so drunk?”

“That would probably be due to that drink thing you invented – the pint of everything”

“The wah?”

“You started with a pint of lager and drank a quarter of it, then topped it up with cider, drank a quarter of that, then filled it with whatever came next on the drinks table when ever you had drunk enough to squeeze something else in. It looked particularly horrible when you put the baileys in and the cream separated out on top.”

“Oh fuck. What’s for breakfast then!”

What can I say? I was young and stupid. That’s what the 80’s were for!

There I was in the Tesco Metro paying for my purchases, and the woman behind the counter was chatting to her mate behind the next till.

"Oh that Anita Roddick has died 'an all"

Now I don't have any bad feelings towards her, I think she did a fantastic thing by building body shop up and championing ethics in business and all that, but I heard someone say, in a voice deadpan voice exactly like mine -

"They're going to change the name to Dead Body shop now"

Sometimes I wish I had that little filter that just stops you saying the thing that would be the most tastless utterance, at the worst time.

Just as pure market research/scientific interest sort of thing and not just a cheap shot at flinging some smut about of course.

But.

In the metro today the stars for Aries go like such -

"Today's solar eclipse greatly incresases your ... appetite, shall we say, and I don't mean for food. Grab a partner and get a room, before you and your urges drive the rest of us bonkers"

Now.

I have been out with a few Aries females and they were never very, erm "backward at coming forward" as it were at any time of the year.

So, totally in the interests of science, how are you Aries types feeling today eh?

Yesterday I mentioned that my line mangager is out all week and work was a little thin on the ground here at casa del wage-slaves.

And someone accused me of not writing enough and wondered what I was doing with myself.

WELL! How very dare you! To borrow a phrase from that woman that is soon to probably ruin Dr Who for all of us.

So today, and it's all their fault so don't go moaning at me, I will spew forth all sorts of absolute tripe as often as I can.

But what will I write about? how will I generate enough wordage to even justify dragging my sorry arse to the blog face?

Well I seem to be doing OK so far.

And now, coffee and a ciggie.

A bloggers work is never started, as they say.

Well it's like this.

Work - scarce on the ground today. But I am here at my desk for one more hour, all keen and such.

Manager - on leave for the week. In fact both managers are out today hence the slow stream of people walking past my desk heading for home. Damn part-timers!

Blog - here and begging for me to fill it with wonderous words and wit. Well blog, your shit out of luck!

Time, it's there for the wasting!

(see "Are they 4 real")

Things could be worse you know.

For example that child could have been born in Cornwall during the 1700's

The Cornwall Record Office has been compiling a list of amazing genuine names used in the area during that time. The fine list of names includes these jems.

Absolom Beaglehole.

Boadicea Basher.

Honour Bound.

Philadelphia Bunnyface.

Narcissus Backway.

Fanny Cobbledick.

James Jam.

Ostrich Pockinghorn.

Fanny Scum.

Good way to start the day, half awake in the shower washing my hair. Then somehow, and if I knew how I would be able to avoid doing it again, I managed to tie my hair in a knot as I was working the shampoo through to the ends.

Bugger.

Now I don't mean it was knotted as "in need of a brush through" but knotted as in "Oh fuck how did that happen"

So I made a vain attempt to see with blurry morning eyes how all this wet and shampoo filled hair could be released but it was like trying to un tangle the headphones for your mp3 player!

So I slapped on a ton of conditioner and let gravity and water pressure sort it out.

Which it did. Thank christ.

Thought I was going to have to shave my head earlier than planned there for a minute.

Hope your first steps into today were blessed with more grace than mine.

Sit in office and crack open "good quality" jar of instant coffee (if there is such a thing) which you have purchased at ridiculous expense from the crook who runs the shop next door.

Put two big teaspoons of coffee in your mug, fill with nothing but hot water and when cool enough, drink. BUT don't drink the last quarter of an inch.

Let that go cold and when you want another coffee, add another two big teaspoons of coffee and add the hot water. Drink as detailed above an leave same amount of double density stuff in the bottom of the cup.

Repeat about four of five times and the last one you make should have reached critical mass.

This should give you a "little" lift, well enough to make the train anyway.

I am sat at my desk eating a "Healthy Feta Salad"

Ok, it tastes great but....

Where did it all go wrong?

Oh yeah, about half a stone ago.

To be working on this file at work.

Raindrops on Roses. Or any other excuse for Julie Andrews to sing.

Any form of raw Celery in anything I ever eat or even think about eating ever again.

Plots in porn films.

Thank you.

Drove in through the not as bad as it should have been traffice with S&F this morning and discovered via the radio that the tube strike was off BUT hardly any trains were running.

Make up your fucking minds!

In other news.

I have found those six pounds that Ker lost.

Bugger.

Of this office, trying to stay awake and a few other things.

Even though I have an hour to kill waiting for my lift I am going now.

Have a good evening.

That is the sound of my head hitting the desk. Not because I fell asleep, but pain keeps you awake.

Hmmm, its not enough.

Shall I slam my soft dangly bits in the desk drawer?

Too many people in the office to be dropping ones strides.

More coffee?

Could there be any more coffee. I am at one with the coffee. I am the coffee and the coffee is me. We are both steaming.

It is getting a bit sureal in my head at the mo. Delerious.

I am actually thankfull that my connection to our finance system has been down for the past two hours as I just can't get it together to work.

But look on the bright side. This feeling is disturbingly like being stoned!

I am doing a lot of sitting and staring and thinking.

eh?

sorry, zoned out there for a bit.

If I can't a connection to the finance system after another cup of coffee, I may well chop down some of the unsused profiles on my friends list. Just for something to do.

Or try and find somewhere in this building to hide away and sleep in.

One for the chaps.

Now we all know how we like it when our partners get dressed up in a sexy fashion for, erm, well sex obviously. But lads, what have you ever worn or been asked to put on by your partner?

and did you?

And did it have the desired effect?

And ladies you can tell us of your requests and if they were met and did they work as well.

If you want.

Now back to trying not to fall asleep.

Since the weekend I have been totally exhausted. Normally this would be just put down to the excesses of said weekend, but this is getting silly.

I could lay down now and sleep for a couple of hours and its only 10.00!

I slept like a dead thing last night and the night before but I am still tired.

I have a sneaking suspicion that an old problem is raising its head again.

About 10 years ago I got Glandular Fever. My wonderful doctor signed me off for a week because I went to see him with an aching knee joint and he just assumed that was all it was, not even bothering to get off his arse and prod me. For a couple of weeks after the week off (which I spent sleeping) I would literally nod off at my desk from 9.30 onwards even though I was going to bed at 6.00 straight after my evening meal and sleeping through to 6.00 the next morning. Pensioners were overtaking me when I walked down the street, everything was a total effort.

It passed eventually but a couple of years ago I had to go see a different doctor as the glands in my neck and under my arms had swelled up and were hurting like mad. After some blood tests he told me that it seemed I had had glandular fever and this was a recurrence. Which he said would happen every now and again for many years to come and there was nothing to be done about it.

Oh good.

Since then, if I am run down or ill, the glands under my arms hurt like insect stings and come up like hard little lumps. They are OK at the moment, but it might explain why I am feeling so fucked.

I got the minor fevers again!

Unclean! Unclean!
Unzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

To central London. Train was a little busier than normal but you have not been saved from another day of my pitiful and badly spelled waffle.

Only the pile of dull work that I should be doing right now can do that.

Just sat on the sofa for an hour and three qaurters with my brain in neutral and watched an ejoyable silly monster and big guns film.

It got slagged off by loads of people on its release but I actually found it a rather enjoyable if a bit hard to swallow sci-fi monster pick.

Yep. I am admitting to enjoying "Alien Vs Predator"

I just liked watching two different types of alien kick the crap out of each other and rip humans to bits in the parts where they couldn't get hold of one another. I willfully ignored the plot holes and just sat and enjoyed it.

So there.

Goodnight all.

I am so bereft of drive and energy today it is not funny. Seriously unfunny. We are talking unfunny so high on the scale that only Clowns lurk above the level of unfunnyness this has reached.

So I have next to me a cup of coffee.

It is so dense and dark that photons are unable to escape its pull. Light is sucked hissing into its dark swirling innards. We are talking coffee with an event horizon.

But I don't think that is going to do it on its own, not with the file of boring crap I have to work on.

I think it may need just a drop of dark matter.

I'll check the fridge.

As I am bored and trying to stay awake.

I once swallowed the lighted end of a cigarette. It got knocked off when I was putting it out on my tongue.

thank you.

I used to go out with a girl called Phillipa.

But because of my accent, all the time we were together I called her "Flippa"

Don't think she ever noticed.

Thank you.

When I was young, I used to eat raw sausages.

Thank you.

Mobile phones.

They are called "mobile" phones FOR A FUCKING REASON!

Take it with you when you leave the office, or if you are going into a meeting TURN IT OFF!

And no, they are not on our team so I am not picking it up and taking any messages. But I am so tempted to pick it up and see if it survive the fall out of the window and four floors down to Old Street.

In other news I am tired and hungry. This could be why I'm snappy.

Oh and my jobs boring.

and

ah forget it.

Watching Heroes last night, I was struck by how lame a super power “flight” turns out to be. Being able to just take off and fly were ever you want with out the aid of a plane is often mentioned and wished for in memes on this forum, but think about it as a “super power” – its not that good.

Other people on the show can bend time and space, pass through solid objects, have super strength, can read minds, emit radiation… and one bloke can fly like a jet plane.

Great for cheap holidays or to escape bad guys but what then?

OK, you could pick someone up and fly him or her to safety but there would come a point where you would meet someone who was too heavy for you to move.

Or for example you fly at high speed to the coast where a man is trapped in 200 feet of water in a disabled submarine and do what exactly.

“Thank god you’re here Fly about all over the shop man. Can you save my friend trapped under 200 feet of water in a disabled submarine?”

“Erm. Did you know I can fly? I’m reeeeely good at it”

“But my friend”

“Erm, I’ll just go for a little fly and, erm, get some help. Some lightweight help that I can carry back easily. How much air has he got again?”

“Two minutes”

“Bugger!”

So the ability to fly, just on its own, is a bit pants as a super power. You need the super strength and some form of laser vision to go with it I would imagine.

Mind you, whenever I am on Easy jet with a screaming kid next to me, I still think it’s a desirable ability.

Stolly straight from the freezer, a splash of Feorelli dry vermouth....

Is there anything more pleasing than a crisp chilled Vodka Martini?

OK, I cant find the bitters, but what the hell.

I blame watching Goldeneye last night.

Oh well.

When I say well, I mean that mum and dad are in need of sleep, and the baby is doing all the normal puking, pooing and making of dirty washing that is required of small new children.

Yep, popped over to see Kiz, Nikki and little Pete this afternoon. Have not seen them for ages. Well to be truthfull I have never seen Pete before in his or my life, but he only just got here so give me a chance. Probably wont see him till he is, oh - around 10 or so given my ability to visit old friends. (sorry dudes)

Pete is a cute little thing with brown eyes and does a good line in Patrick Moore impressions, and it was very good to see Kiz and Nikki again.

Much talk of sleep depravation, the madness of hospital maternity workers and officialdom, poo and napies and all sorts of child related stuff.

I will try to see them before the turn of the century I promise.

Sat here in my dressing gown listening to Planet Rock and catching up on some blogs while the other half and Sarah are out bothering God.

Funny old weekend. Some very heavy conversations with friends. Some "mild" consumption of Alcohol. Quite a bit of fun in the end. A bbq that went well and despite the clouds, did not get rained on. And some visiting today. If I can find Kizlodes new address. Which he has only given to me about three times or something.

Mr oganised thats me.

Another cup of coffee I think.....

And maybe a leftover burger. Yum.

That is actually getting a bit painfull.

Eh?

No sorry, I mean my left looking through orb thing. Yes I am so drunk I have forgotten how to spell Eye. Aie eyy iii eye aiiiiii! (it must be one of those)

No. No one could be that drunk shhhhhhurrrrrrly?

Anyounceofsense, What did you ask me again?

No no, sorry. Can't measure it.

Well actually can't blinkin see it right now.

So that just means it's me and.........

Ah right.

Just me.

OK.

And here is me without a billowy shirt to my name, and no windswept clifftop within easy reach. DAMMIT!

I could reeely pull a great dramatic pose right now.

ahhh well.

better go have a last ciggie and then, as I am sure your fascinated to hear - hanging on my every very carefully typed and badly spelled word that you are- I will away to my early morning bed.

possibly.

Good, erm, morning?