Area 136

All of you nut jobs.

But many many many thanks to AJ, Lynnds and Landers for doing it all again and giving us some fun.

They put in a load of effort and we should all say "Well done blog organising type fellas!"

Now.

I is going to beds.

See yas Monday, unless I find an internet bar with topless barmaids.

After the impending weekend I will be posting pictures galore.

There will be old old buildings.

There will be churches.

There will be waterways. (sigh)

There will be piccies of people overindulging in the realms or alocmahol, foodings and chocomalate!

But those ones may have to be fiends only.

That is of course, if I remember to charge up my camera battery tonight.

Have a good weekend.

May see you all briefly at the bloscars.

Hmmms

I hav impressions of not mush goings on roundz eeer.

I has the quiet. I HAS IT.

I have just noticed that my new pair of trousers has one of those little labels stitched onto the inside flap of the fly that reads

“Never stop exploring”

Eh?

I have another pair of trousers that I got from the outdoorsy outfitters next door with the same label in them.

What does it mean? Is it encouragement to someone who may undo my flies to not stop and keep going no matter what I say?

Or is it (and lets face it, as these trousers are on me it probably is) a warning that “you may have to rummage around a bit to find anything in here”

Even my clothes are against me.

Meh.

As my desk area is awash with managers and boring worky swots, I am late with my first hallo of the day.

Now tonight is the bloscarmathingy, and much as I want to be there, I may only manage an hour before I have to go to bed. I has the early starts – I has its!

Yeah we are going on a stupidly early train to Brussels, then on to Bruges so sleep will need to come into it somewhere.

But have fun. Remember, it’s not the winning or the loosing or even the taking part that matters, but how good you looked!

It would be stupid of me to lie and say I don’t care if I don’t win one, because I want to win one. Mainly because I am tight fisted and want to get another free pro account for a year.

And I know that some people out there have done the usual bitching and moaning that they do each year, but it IS just a bit of fun.

So I will be around (if I can get Shipscook to tape Ashes to Ashes for me) for a bit anyway.

Now I am off to hire a pirate themed Tux.

Mental and I love it.

Night before last, 7 and a bit hours sleep = felt like 18lbs of shit in a 5lb bag all day.

Last night, a bottle of wine and 4hrs 45mins sleep = feel much better.

What the bloody hell is that all about then eh?

EH!

You may recall that I blogged about the lack of usable toilet facilities in this office a while back, my dear and steadfast 0.5 of a reader. Well things have taken a turn for the worse and even the bizarre.

This building was built in 1963, which is quite old for an office block in central London of no architectural merit whatsoever. Buildings this ugly are normally ripped down and something shiny and full of atriums erected in its place. But no, this slab-fronted heap soldiers on (and those few of you who have seen this edifice on our staggers from pub to pub can testify to its utter munter status)

So the toilets are a bit old too. They need work and attention and of course cleaning a lot, because some people in here are bloody animals. So the ancient toilets are often shut due to leaks or shut for cleaning. This means that I often have to scour a number of floors and stairways looking for a toilet that is open.

A new and wonderful twist to this situation is the shadowy presence of “The Blocker”

This is an individual who, according to the engineers and the rumours going around, is deliberately blocking the toilets and rendering them un-usable. And as it takes our cleaners and engineers hours to do anything this can put a toilet out of action for the best part of a day.

And the arrival of “The Blocker” raises a couple of important questions.

One, what sort of person goes round deliberately blocking toilets in an office block?

And two, and the one you don’t really want to dwell on too much – How are they blocking them? Do they ram reams of toilet paper down them or are they on some special diet that enables them to produce “Brown Octobers” of such size and girth that not even the best flush that Armitage Shanks can muster can shift them?

Somebody in this office is bloody odd.

And for once its’ not me.

I have just eaten TWO "all day breakfast" sandwiches from Pret and I feel rather stuffed.

Why are there no sofas in this office!

I want a lie down.

Than sitting in a candle lit room, drinking wine and listening to AC/DC playing "Walk all over you"?

Well ok, laying in a candle lit room having all your sexual desires met by the most stunning person you have ever seen would top that, but you have to go with what you've got no?

(I is only doing posty thingeyness as its quicker than trying to read posts and respond to comments on this gas powered pc of mine)

THIS F**KING COMPUTER! its is an electronic slug of a thing, low on virtual memory (as it keeps telling me) and my "broad band" connection tricles through like golden syrup through a fine wire mesh.

I cant look at any posts that don't appear on the first page as it times out when I try, I have to make two or three attempts at commenting on friends posts for the same reason, and I cannot even edit my profile to correct the spelling of "Amicable"
(would you believe I am getting my spelling checked by people from miles and miles away, although she must be blind as she said she thought I was cute as well)

Watching any you tube vid put up by anyone is a total waste of time unless you want to hear the song in loads of 1.5 second snatches every 3 seconds, and frankly I am VERY ANGRY!

If I had not had to replace my digital camera I would have spent that xmas money on a new pc with out monitor and such, just to have something a bit more speedy to blog on. But no, I had to go loose my camera. Daft daft bugger.

And I am damn sure that this post will not go up as it will time out as I am doing it. LLWNT!

(and those of you of a technical inclination regarding computers - please dont bother with the advice and the glavin, I wont understand and I dont care. As soon as some money comes up, I am taking a stroll throuhg the inards of this pc with a huge lump hammer and starting my trip on the outside.)

At least I have some red wine!

And rest.

Wanna buy some in ear headphones? Specialy designed for you?

Yes folks, much to my annoyance the left earpiece in my MP3 players earphones has died! Bugger, another bloody bit of shopping to do!

What do you do?

Do you put it in the middle of your day so that morning and afternoon are about the same length, or do you have it a bit later so the post lunch working day is shorter than the pre lunch span?

Me, since moving back here I tend to hang on till 13.00 before going, which makes the afternoon fly by seeing as I leave at 16.00.

I did you know, I got an early night last night. Well early for me, I was in bed before midnight and sober to boot.

So why do I feel so shite this morning? Why have the faeries of sleep taken the bags from under my eyes and polished my brain to a sparkling crystal razor of wit? Why is the fact that the IT guy is yakking away in the server room next to me with the door open making me want to go ram his head into a bank of electrical stuff (that’s a technical term for whatever all the spaghetti and flashing light stuff in there is)

I think I may have to stay up late tonight just to reset myself to normal.

As some of you will no I am not a big fan of sport. Except F1 of course – yes, I do get up in the middle of the bloody night to watch the qualifying even!

Looking at the times displayed in the last full on testing session, it is obvious (or appears to be, as you never know what these sneaky F1 teams are doing) that McLaren and Ferrari are going to be the fastest two teams again.

But down the slow end things look like they are going to change. Because the slowest two cars were the Hondas. OK there was one car slower than them, but it was a bit sick on the day and not really giving it’s best.

Honda’s slogan is at the moment “The Power of Dreams” or some such rubbish. I think in Jenson Buttons case it should be changed to “The Power to rob you of your dreams”

Oh well.

Or musicians in general.

Even drummers.........ahem.

This group thingey. Should we not have one where we can yak about Van stories, worst ever gig experience, recording, Effects pedals, Amps, guitars, other halfs and their reactions to our addiciton to buying "another guitar, but you already have two!"

Those of you who have been lucky enough to actaully do the music thing and make some money out of it could gloat and tell us where we all went wrong, us poor knob heads who never got anywhere could tell you about the best ever fight we saw at a bikers party we were playing at, and such........

Whaddya reckon?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHTrousers!

I has to do more shopping stuff.

Bugger.

Well I don't actually have to. I got the boots sorted so the major thing I needed is done.

But I want a new iclke table top tripod thing for may camera, and I need a new pair of trousers. Well I don't neeeeed a new pair, its just that I have a couple of pairs that are still servicable and less than a year old but now have no pockets in them due to coinage wearing holes in them.

I do try and spend it as quickly as possible but the damage has been done.

But I have a strong dislike of shopping for anything that is not guitar related........so its like just tooooo much hassle dooooooooooooood.

But then if I did go shopping I would have brief new things joy........

Arrrgh. I am not in the mood for all this confusticatory imotional shopping turmoil.

I am in the mood for sleep.

Oh it’s so hard to get the brain working after the weekend.

What should I be doing?

I could check the “folders” and see if any work has come in, but there was bugger all in there on Friday afternoon so there probably isn’t anything there now.

Hmmm.

I must remember to get another one of those little bendy tripod things for my camera. Could come in handy on the trip next weekend.

I could wiki my destination just to check it out a bit. But I am not sure how you spell it. Bruggs? Bruges? Broooooshgermerwhatsit.

Whatever.

Oh Meh.

I do hope your all on sparkling form this morning.

I just hit Mrs F in the heeeed with the freezer door.

No don't look at me like that! she was bending over getting something out of the fridge, which is below the freezer and I was standing behind her getting ice cubes out of the afore mentioned cold thingey....

This will never stand up in a court of law will it. And the more I try and explain, the more smutty its going to sound.

So.......how is your sunday evening going?.......been to church at all?....gardening?........relatives?.....dog walking?......

I think I should go now.

If I'm quick I may be able to catch Shipscooks cock under the toilet seat.

Oh hang on, that was out loud again wasn't it.

Eeeeeeeeeeeep!

A wine glass with the capacity of your average bucket sits to my left. It is full of Mavrodaphe - a rich, dark, sweet and potent Greek desert wine.

Tis very good stuff, and has an odd effect on you.

Found this on Wikipedia.

"Achaia Clauss (the main producer of the wine) claims that the heavenly taste of Mavrodaphne was the reason why the austere Prussian Field Marshal, von Moltke, laughed for a third time in his life right after he was offered a glass of it, the other two being when he was told that a French fortress was impregnable and when he was notified that his mother-in-law was dead."

So it makes you laugh. Makes you have weird dreams as well. It is a bit of an inhibition stripper.

Hmmm. Maybe a big bucket sized glass of it is not such a good idea.

Oh well, I take these risks so you don't have to.......

It's a dirty rotten stinking job, and all of that.

Into shoe shop, see boots I want, check the price £30 CHEAPER than in central London, Give one boot to the girl in shop and say

"Could I have a pair of these in size 9 please"

She brings them back you take the box to the till and pay!

Mrs F said, "Erm, don't you want to try them on?"

"No! They are exactly the same boots as I am wearing now, in the same size that I am wearing now. This is how blokes shop for shoes. I am a bloke in a shoe shop and all I want to do is run screaming out of the front door"

The two girls at the counter laughed and handed over my new boots, and I left with all due haste

Job done.

Is stalking me.

Slowly, I will admit. Or has it taken me so long to notice....

I have a Wah pedal (its the effect at the start of voodoo child by Jimi Hendrix for those of you who have no clue of the finer things in life) called -

Bad Horsie.

I also have a distortion pedal called....

Bad Monkey.

These are not names I have given them (like I would call anything a "Bad Monkey" with my problems with the howling and the monkeys and the glavin"

These are names that the people that make these pedals gave to them.

Mind you,

I bought them.

So maybe I was trying to tell myself something.

Or not.

(and I got them both ages ago and yes it has only just fallen into place and no I did not spend my boot money on them despite being tempted to run screaming into a guitar shop and buy some stuff after trying to find some boots for half an hour in london and I know that does not sound like a lot of time to you ladies for the shoes and the hunting there of but its a fucking ice age for a bloke and I am having the post traumatic shopping disorder and so there and such and arg. a bit. a lot. Flashback city.)

Any way.

I like guitar pedals more than shoes.

So sue me.

And this is one of the few.

meh.

Have a good weekend everyone, if you can.

I has been workings

I has.

I do you know.

That is why I blog so much - I does the work as quick as I can then blog.

This morning was all reporty collatey bollocks and send off to interested parties.

And if anyone knows where the title of this post comes from you win a virtual Lamborgini Miura.

Now, a bit more work.

Or as some of you know her, Row.

(yes, she did used to be a man.)

ahem.

Hope you have a great day.

XXX

But it may make you laugh.

Many years ago, I was 19 and living at home. Yes I was 19 once. For about a year I think it was.

Anywhay,,,as you may remember I had a black Labrador called Wonka. He used to sleep in my bedroom, curled up on the floor near the head of my bed. I noticed that when he woke up and sat upright, he used to do the same thing every time. He would lick his top lip and then click his teeth together as his tongue went back in.

Anywhat..I woke up one night and needed to go to the toilet. I slept naked then as I do now so I got up to go to the loo and was going to get my dressing gown from the back of the door. The room was dark, because the sun does not stay up at night in Dagenham for some odd reason.

I got out of bed and in doing so roused the sleeping Wonka who was at his usual floor station. He sat up and did the thing with the tongue and the lip and the clicky teeth thing.

But.

It was dark.

I was stood too close to him.

When he sat up, his cold doggy nose met my wedding tackle

Trust me that wakes you up.

But.

He did the tongue lick snap thing.

And (look away now sensitive readers) his tongue managed to pull the very end of my foreskin into the way of his clacking teeth.

OOOOOOOOOOOWWWWCHHHHHHHH!

That Reeeeeeeeeeeeely wakes you up.

I just had to read the label inside the tongue of my boot to remind myself what size feet I have.

Told you I don't go shoe shopping very often.......

When I got to the top of the hill on which sits “Rancho Collapso” last night and walked down the short flight of steps to the front door I was greeted by a wonderful sight.

Ptolemy, that well know bacon-stealing bastard of a cat otherwise known as Shipscat 1 was sat on the lawn munching on a fat juicy and now headless wood pigeon. Charming crunching noises were being made as he worked his way into the chest cavity to extract the goodies within, and the cheeky little sod looked at me as I opened the front door as if to say, “Oh good, I can sit under my favourite radiator with this and dine in comfort”

I gave him the look and said “Oh no you don’t matey” and shut him out with his prize.

His sister Cleopatra (Shipscat 2) was sitting sweetly outside the back door waiting to come in, thankfully free of beheaded wild life. But she did go strait for the plants in the dining room for a quick munch.

Maybe she’s a veggie.

I. You have to look up page 123 in the nearest book to you.
II. Look for the fifth sentence.
III. Then post the three sentences that follow the fifth sentence
IV. Tag five people to do the same.

I have included the fifth sentence to make four, don’t know if this is right but so what.

From “Thud” by Terry Pratchet.

“No excuses at all. Once you had a good excuse, you opened the door to bad excuses. He had nightmares about being too late.
He had a lot of nightmares about Young Sam.”

I tag Twisted, Jacobite, Not bob, Rampage, Esspee.

So there.

G-spots.

Bastard things - Causing much debate and “rummaging” in bedrooms across the land. “If he can’t find it, he must be crap”

Well no actually. It turns out (I read in the metro this morning) that not every woman has one. Doctors have been able to see, via ultrasound scan, that some women have a thicker coating of sensitive flesh in the “G-spot area” than others. Some women don’t have enough of this special sensitive flesh and so will never experience a “Vaginal orgasm” and will have to get all there fun from “the little man in the boat” as it where.

So there. If you can’t find it, there may not be one to find.

(Mind you, if you do find one chaps…Bingo!)

All I have done today, apart from mime working for the benefit of the top boss and attend a dull meeting is -

Sort some things out with a friend (very good thing to do.)

Read Loads of "100 things" memes!

I must have read about 900 facts now and I am getting a bit "facted out"

Its all been good but it is stopping me from sharing my stunning wit and close formation wisdom with you! My dear 0.5 of a reader.

For example

erm

Did you know that........

Ah.....

And once I.....

Oh bugger.

I think I used up all my bloggable stuff doing that damn 100 things thing.

Well best pop out and do some more hugely inadvisable
and immature stuff then eh!

I am in a meeting.

And doing this.

and the meeting, you know the one planned to take the place of yesterdays meeting that was postponed due to the lateness of the manager who had arranged the damn meeting, which was supposed to start at 10.00 today had not yet started.

But at least the manager is here this time.

In other news.

Monkeys.

Oh fucking great.

EDIT - I have just recieved an email from the manager WHO IS SITTING TWO SEATS AWAY telling me that the meeting is re scheduled to 11.00. Thats about two minutes away. Fuck me.

It would seem that overnight you have all done that 100 things meme.

Bastards!

Yes I know I did it as well but, but....BAH!

Now I have to read them all and I am supposed to be having a meeting at 10.00 (to replace the one that we were supposed to have yesterday) so I don't know if I have got time.

If I get sacked its all your fault right!

Due to big boss woman turning up 45 minutes late, the meeting is cancelled and I can go home now.

But we have to do it tomorrow.

She better pick a better time, her time management skills are rather poor, to put it nicely.

So.

That's me done for the day.

That Landers started, its bloody hard innit!

Just over 50 and the only way I am going to be able to do it is to include some "You did WHAT" "Oh Gross!" and "Hang on, that's physically impossible" style revalations.

Which means it will be friends only.

If I ever finish the bastid thing!

What does it take for some people to realise they actually have no sense of humour? What for example possesses someone to actually expend the energy to get a pen out and add a hand drawn, blue biro “0” into the sign in a lift that says “Maximum capacity 8 Persons” thus making it look, hilariously, like the lift can hold 80 people.

Do they feel good that they will be making everyone who uses that lift chuckle all day? Are they convinced they are helping lift workplace morale and reducing the amount of sick leave taken due to stress?

Probably.

The big boss will be in today. Great – minimum Blogging opportunities. I am sure you will miss my wondrous streams of wit.

But the worst aspect is that she wants to have a meeting with me and my line manager, starting at 3.00 and scheduled to end at 5.00!, an hour after I normally leave. Oh great, I will be hitting the tube at the peak of its crammed in-ness. Such joy. But none of her meetings ever start on time or finish when they should so god knows what will happen.

In other news, sorry for talking bollocks last night, and sorry for the comment. Yes I only annoyed two people, so that was a better evening than it could have been.

Total rubbish post BUT.

I just remembered.

When I was going through that bag of t-shirts the other day, I found a rather special one.

It's special in a very small way, but it is the only t-shirt I have that has a list of bands who played on the day the shirt "commemorates" and I was in one of the bands printed on the back!

yes it's a sad little fact.

Yes I am bored and want to leave.

Yes I am killing time.

So sue me.

My back hurts. Again.

More reasons to seek "medicene"

Erm. Making lots of new friends. Which is good.

Allowing you a space to vent, also good and very therapeutic in a public sort of way.

Giving you new people to worry about. Oh thanks for that blog world, but I suppose I shouldn’t be such a saintly wondrous person of great goodness and careiousityness. Ahem.

Information, yes that’s good – although I find the fact that I now know more about a colleagues attitude to underwear than I actually ever wanted to rather disturbing.

Something to do when there is nothing on the telly, well yes it does this but if I am at “home” the pc is deadly slow so I have taken to practicing scales on the guitar while waiting for it to respond.

And stuff.

This is a pointless post but I have a head full of rubbish and stuff today, so I am going to take it all down to the pub and get it all out via a nice sit down with my copy of Guitarist and a nice cold drink.

So there.

My boots are needing replacement. This means I will have to go shopping.

For shoes.

Urrrgh.

I hate going in shoe shops. I mean it will be OK because I will not be shopping for shoes with a woman and therefore will just go in, find the pair of boots I want in the size I want them and buy them and leave. Not spend bloody ages saying, “They look fine, just like the other four pairs did. Yes get them. No just get them. Please just buy a fucking pair of shoes before anymore of my life passes before my eyes!”

But it’s the principle of the thing.

I have to actually go into a shoe shop.

Eeeeeeep.

Maybe I can make the boots last longer by taking longer strides, then they may last till summer and I can ditch them and start wearing trainers……..

I hope that your significant other has serenaded you from beneath your balcony with a rose between his lips, and is taking you out for a slap up grill at the very least.

Hope your day has been full of everything you could wish for on a birthday.

x

No hang on, it is.

Let me make with some exploinage.

Have you ever had that thing where you trot from the kitchen with a couple of freshly buttered slices of toast on a plate, and got to where you where going to eat them and stopped, only to be struck by the laws of momentum and had the toast continue moving due to its low grip characteristics on the shiny plate surface, and sail off to land buttered side down on the shag pile?

Well a Martini is just like this. Due to the big wide topped glass thing a good Martini is always served up in, and the fact that it is always nearly brim full, you have to move very carefully with a Martini to avoid it ending up on the floor due to sloppage or down the front of someone you are trying to impress.

Now this knowledge causes you to move very carefully when Martini drinking. In fact you have to move slowly and smoothly. So they do in-fact make you either look very calm and graceful, or like you are trying to do an impression of someone getting beaten up in that old tv series "Kung Fu" (ie - in slow motion)

And no, I have never spilled a Martini down someone.

At least not without offering to suck it out of her bra anyway.

In other news, Sarah had a good day today being looked after by me and Shipscook, playgrounds where investigated and played in, Fish fingers and potato smiley faces where had for lunch (yes - by us big hairy blokes as well, because deep down we are still 8 years old) and massive fairly liquid fueled bubbles where blown in the garden.

Sarah has gone back home now with Jo and now Shipscook, Mrs F and I are off to a restaurant down the road for some nosebag.

May see yas all later.

Well I have worked harder today than I have all week. Up ladders and step ladders, twiting myself into awkard stances to reach that out of way bit of wall and slap some paint on it,

Standing at the top of a step ladder fighting with the stubborn wires that just won't go into the new ceiling rose no matter what you do. Its amazing how tired your arms and shoulders get when your doing all that.

And my lower back is getting a bit creaky. Yes, I know I'm old, but I used to do this stuff all day for a living (sort of) and it didn't affect me.

Oh yeah, I was twenty at the time.

Ho hum.

Anyway, soon Sarah and I are off to S&F's to await their arrival home from work.

We promise not to set too many booby traps....

Back in the mists of my youth, I can remember being told that the Americans had spy sattelites that could read the headlines from orbit on a paper being read by a man in Red Square.

I heard the same old stuff a couple of weeks ago BUT by now, should they not be able to read the tiny little by line crediting the reporter? (Justin Dunski?)

And I was also told, while at school in the 70's fer fecks sake (when most of you wher not even ova) that an area the size of a football pitch is cut out of the Brazilian Rain forest EVERY DAY.

Soooooooo, either the Brazilian Rain forest is a lot bigger than it looks on sattelite pictures, because they still say that football pitch thing, or there is about a four foot square patch of it left, crammed full of animals and native tribes - and the media and David Attenborough have been keeping it quiet because it now turns out that the bloody oceans are the "Lungs of the planet" and they feel silly.

Also I remember being told that computers would mean we would all be doing about 2 hours of work a day and have a lot more leasure time.

Oh hang on...........

Google, well know search engine and lover of tarting up its logo to commemorate whatever the blinking gusset is going on at whatever time of the year, have replaced two of the letters in their logo with a "Delightfully cute" old couple, tottering along hand in hand, with the woman holding a nice bunch of red balloons.

Is this supposed to say that we will be with our true love until she is so decrepit that she needs half a dozen helium filled mini zepplins to keep her upright, if of course it's true love (because if it was not she could stay in that damn wheel chair forever while we hump her less elderly sister in the next room)

Or is it supposed to say "Don't worry! even with a colostomy bag fitted you can still pull!"

I will let you know next year. (before any of you lot say it!)

No not Valentines Day, well not totally, but I have actually spent this morning working (mostly)

I even pre did a few songs to appear on Channel 136 during today, last night at S&F's using the edit date stamp option. Because I knew I had something to do this morning.

So bloody THERE!

And I am not in tomorrow so I really had to get it done.

But I think I may have to laze around abit this arvo, don't want to strain myself now do I.

In this wonderous and interesting job working with spreadsheets of data and compiling and editing reports all day, I do a lot of cutting and pasting.

One of the commands I click on my pc on a regular basis
is "Delete Row"

At least I feel guilty about it.

Sorry Row. It's nothing personal.

Wait till the person sitting opposite you is talking on the phone to someone important, then stick a postit note to each of your eye lids and flutter your eyelashes at them.

I read in the paper that the three teenagers who got drunk and kicked a man to death have been sentenced to life. But for some reason this means the little charmers will be up for release in about 12 years. Oh really. Right. A life of 12 years?

A lot of people have said in the media that “life should mean life” and there is much talk of how we are going to curb yobbish behaviour caused by drinking. But the truth is we English have been drinking like yobs and behaving badly, brawling in the streets and generally making inner city areas not good places to be since, erm, at least the 1700’s.

There is something wrong in our national makeup. And I don’t have a single answer or idea how to stop it. Some people say the parents should instil a better attitude towards drinking in their children, some people say drink should be banned, some call for more police in the inner city areas.

But what I think will happen is the Government will just hike the price of booze up to a level that makes it too expensive for any anti social violent types to afford. Obviously they will deduce that all the violent and anti social types are represented in the lower paid levels of society. And then put a booze scanner in the ports and airports so anyone below a certain level of affluence entering the country with cheap booze is pounced upon and goods confiscated and blows exchanged in a quiet back room for good measure.

So those of us who can actually have a drink and not attack anyone or run riot in the night will suffer as well.

Bugger, I am emigrating. Somewhere with cheap booze I think.

I am going to do my bloscars voting thingey.

You can't vote for yourself right?

Just checking.........ahem.

Last minute bribes and such are welcome.

Well sort of.

Last night I went through a bag of about 20 old t-shirts of mine that I have not worn for a while. We need to throw some stuff out and give the clothes to charity or whatever so I decided to investigate this bag.

Blimey. I was going through it going “That’s were that one got to!” and came up with a grand total of five t-shirts that could be thrown away.

Most of the ones I kept are going to be worn but I did keep a few for sentimental reasons. Like the 80’s gig and tour t-shirts I discovered, featuring the likes of Ozzy, Anthrax and Dumpys Rusty Nuts – waddya mean you never heard of them! Peasants!
Even found my old Wolfsbane T-shirt that a friend thought I had had custom made. This was because on the back it had

“HOWLING MAD SHIT HEAD!”

In glowing letters, “It’s just so you!” was his comment.

The only problem with these shirts is that the sleeves have all been cut out, one of the 80’s more drastic style choices, and therefore they are not suitable for a geezer in his mid forties to wear. But could I chuck them out…

Oh no.

Tagged by twisted English Rose, I am doing this thing here below.

a. list seven habits/quirks/facts about yourself
b. tag seven people to do the same
c. do not tag the person who tagged you or say that you tag "whoever wants to do it"

1 – I talk to myself when I think I am alone. Like there is someone else in the room with me. It can get rather embarrassing when someone walks in on you.

2 – I hate spiders.

3 – I was convinced Dave Prowes (Darth Vader in Star Wars) was dead about five years ago. To the extent that I was sure I heard a radio announcement to that effect. I was rather surprised to read that he would be attending a Star Wars convention a year later.

4 – I once found my Dad in his shed defusing two hand grenades he had acquired during the war.

5 – I do not dress as a pirate all the time.

6 – I am actually shy. But I also notice I seek attention on occasion. (Ahem) I tend to use attack as the best form of defence and come across as outgoing and confident.

7 – My pet Labrador “Wonka” used to be able to unwrap boiled sweets by holding one end of the wrapper between his paws and pulling the other end with his teeth. OK, that is not a fact about me, erm, I found it very funny. There.

I tag.

Naughty
Jacobite
Juzzy
AJ
Subs
Row
Soy.

Happy Birthday!

Years and years and oodles of time ago, I had just started smoking. I had the decency to wait till after I had left school, unlike a lot of my friends, and waited till I was at college. I did try to keep it a secret from my parents but of course they found out.

A Christmas arrived, as they do with alarming regularity and I asked my parents for an electronic and groovy lighter. By that I do not mean it was actually “grooved” but that at the time, electronic lighters were all the rage.

They said no. In fact my mum said “We ain’t encouraging you to smoke!”

Ho Hum.

A year passes and another Christmas is doing the looming thing. I am actually thinking of giving up the vile habit (as I would do a couple of years later. For ten years! Why did I start again? – long dull story.) and did NOT ask for an electronic flame spitting toy. Oh no.

What did I get for Christmas? Yep. A slim, flash, shiny electronic lighter.

The Christmas after, I seriously considered giving up playing guitar. This would ensure that my parents saved up and got me my first ever Gibson Les Paul right?

Did it work?

Did it bollocks!

Just saw a headline on the side of an Evening Standard van outside:

"Go ahead for £25 congestion charge given"

Fuck me!

I don't drive and never have but even I think thats a bit much. I know it is supposed to keep cars out of the centre of the city and improve the air quality (so then they can stop us smokers from enjoying our vice on the streets grrrr!) but I know some people that have to commute by car. Crowded underground trains are not an option if you have claustrophobia.

But that does not matter, until there are badgers and Roe Deer running free along the streets of the west end the price will just keep going up.

At least the wildlife will attack the bastard cyclists and give us all a laugh.

I get attached to things.

Stupid really. Cheap things, expensive things - in my head they have the same value if they are connected to some memory or person.

For example: In my rucksack I have a pen. A simple fibre tipped pen. But this pen reminds me of a warm summers night in Cyprus, because it was purchased on such a night from the little shop over the road from the Nereus Hotel so I could write the album title on a cd copy of an album that I was going to give to Andreas at the "No Name blues rock bar" after I had finished playing CD's over the bar pa that night. It was purchased during that part of the early evening when the sky is still lit but the sun is down, the heat is starting to go out of the air and the restaurants are just getting ready for the night. In my immediate future was a pint of long island iced tea poured by the woman who looked and sounded disturbingly like Orvil the duck behind the bar in Papa Georges, and after that a fantastic meal in the Princess Georgia with Sarah and Jo, then down to the "No Name" with said girlies for the rest of the evening and a few very "free form" games of pool with the littlest one of the two.

So that pen, that cheap little bit of very replaceable rubbish means something to me. Everytime I use it, I am crossing the road back from the shop, waving to the guy outside "Othellos", clucking (?) at the parrot in the cage outside "Vines" and looking forward.

Another Object of no actual value that I have much affection for and would be very upset to loose is the little foot high cardboard cut out Santa, that has been part of every xmas for as long as I can remember. Every year when he comes out and is stood in the fire place I tell Sarah how old he is, and that he appears in the background of xmas photos of me with my mum and dad taken at home when I was ten, and I can't remember a single festive period without this very cheap once colourful and now a little faded icon featuring in it. If I lost him, I would be very upset.

And lets not forget the cheap plaster black panther that my sister won at a fun fair back in the 70's and gave to me because I took a shine to it. Not full size of course, its only six inches long. It's behind me now, sat ontop of the right speaker of the stereo with a small Johnny Bravo figure standing next to it (Johnny used to stand on my Rack system at gigs via the magic of blue tack)

None of these items is worth a penny. But for some mad reason, they are some of my most prized possesions.

Daft bugger that I am.

(written at 22.53, 11/02/08)

“Nick, you know that new phone of yours”

“Yes”

“When it receives a text message, does it go Beepbeep beepbeep beepbeep like your alarm clock, at all, remotely?”

“Erm, no. It goes bingleybonglybling”

“Right. So why did you, on receiving a text last night just after midnight, reach over and turn your alarm clock off, causing us to be stood here rammed into a tight little tube of people and next to a man who has a jacket on that smell vaguely of fish while having the sharp corner of some womans bag introduced repeatedly to the soft parts of our below the belt area? Hmmmmmmmmmm?”

“Cos I’m stupid?”

“Yes. Yes I think that will be it. It can’t be that you actually wanted to be an hour late could it!”

“no”

“Right!”

But I am buggered if I know how.

The planet in question is "Planet Rock", the digital radio channel playing classic rock music and a smattering of new bands in the classic rock mode.

The thing is the owners of the station have put it up for sale and if they can't get a buyer.....it's hasty bannanas.

I mean Hasta la vista. (I have watched too many bugs bunny cartoons)

Anyway. Even if they get a buyer, the buyer may change the format. Which is a bugger.

So what to do.

Anyone got a spare shed load of money?

I will have to listen to something else when I am blogging then.

ARSE!

I have now got picture messaging enabled on my phone.

Hmmmmmmmm, we shall see.

And yes Akasha, Naughty and faffa, I did phone them up and say "Heyeeelp!" in my best Penelope Pitstop voice.

Which did not impress the girl on the other end of the line at all.

So they sent me the voodoo gubbins via the ether that I had to poke into my phone with a magic wand and, well what?

I think its working.

But have no way to tell........

EDIT It is working.......oh yes. MWaahahahahahahahahaha

Worries,

Whistles,

Smokes ciggies,

Checks inbox of email.

Meh.

In other news,

Jacobite gave me the rather large instruction booklet for my new phone this morning (he being the generous sort to have spare phones laying about going erm, spare) so I will have a lot of reading to do. Bugger this technology malarky! I can take piccies and send messages and call people and they can do the same to me, so that's fine. Can't recieve picture messages though, might have to hit it with a stick or something.

I have actually been doing some work so that is why this riveting and potentionally award winning post (ahem) is so late.

Hope you all had a good weekend.

My feet are bloody freezin! At least the coffee is hot. Maybe I should pour the coffee over my feet.....hmmmm. maybe not.

I am sort of trying to catch up on posts and stuff, but have to have a shower soon and get dressed as we are orft to the pub for lunch.

Right, oh yeah!

Office drinky thing on friday - we travelled many a mile to the boozer. Well OK we walked over the road to the pub that is practically oposite the main entrance to our office and due to the total lack of big bosses talking about work for fecking hours had a very good time. I think I drank a number of pints of guiness (6 ish?)

Some on said "Are we going to have a whip?" and I said "Yayy! we're going to soho" and bounced up and down in my chair like an excited kid. But we were not. Well some of the chaps went for a meal in Chinatown later but I came back to rancho collapso while I could still walk.

Yesterday woke up with a mouth that tasted like stoat had died in it and headed off to that there fancy the london and went about the business of pointing my camera at things, drinking things and eating things. All down by the river. What is it with me and rivers? I really love them.

Went to some of the places we have had london blog piss ups in as well and remembered how well every single blogger behaved at all of them. Ahem.

Anyway must go get showered and dressed and go to the lunchy pub place.

In other gadet news, a very wonderous and generous person has given me their old mobile phone, which is not that old. So now I have a phone that can recieve pictures! (its a motorola skinny thin wossname phone - yeah, thats its name) So no more having to go to the vodafone website to retrieve the "sent while tired and emotional" pictures then.

You won't believe how good the smell is here at Rancho Collapso.

Shipscook has made a morrocan style prawn dish with cous couse. The whole house smells fantasticly yummy and I am just about to sit down with him and Mrs F to eat it, accompanied by a large bottle of chilled white wine.

I quite like it here.

Work related drunky type "oh shit I didn't" memories ahoy for tomorrow.

Am in an odd mood now.

Not bad.

Just, a sort of "why?" mood. Which will make no sense to any of you.

This world is not as it should be.

Sooooooooooooo

I will go drink till it is.

Yayy!

Now a question for you to ponder, and I dont want the answer because I is gone as soon as this is posted, but:

If you put instant coffee in a microwave oven and turn it on, do you go back in time?

Have a good weekend if you can people.

Stay happy.

Now we all know that songs become linked with memories of specific times, people and places. A certain song can conjure up a picture of a time in our past that can make us go all funny.

But I don’t want to know about all that romance and blah, I want to know what songs keep bringing up fairly normal memories whenever you hear them for no good reason other than the song got stuck in your head at the time. Let me exemplify:

Whenever I now hear “Re-hab” by Amy Winehouse (and trust me I go to great pains to make sure that is not often at all) I remember sitting in Selfridges in London waiting to get my tattoo done and being all nervous. Hearing that song twice didn’t help much so I sought solace in my MP3 player till it was time for ink.

Also last night (which is what prompted me to write this) I heard “Fast Car” by Tracy Chapman coming out of a passing vehicle, and was immediately back in the Ruskin Arms on a summer afternoon, setting up the backline and drums for a gig we were going to do that night. That bloody song was played on the jukebox about six times during the course of the day and it got stuck and linked to that memory forever.

So, leaving aside the examples of lost loves and such, what songs bring back what mundane or odd memories for you?

This evening, I is off on the out with the people from work.

No, it's not one of those awful forced out by your boss to bond drink type things, but a leaving drink for my old line manager, mentioned on occasion in this here thing as "Old Oirish rock fan bloke".

He is a good bloke and was a good line manager - fun, firm and fair.

So going out for a drink with him and the rest of the crew is no hardship. Thankfully the big bosses are not here today or that would really screw it up!

And apart from that, I will be drinking to dull the pain of my latest heartbreak, yadda yadda yadda.

For a spot of practice I may nip down to mollys in an hour or so. Just to make sure I am capable. I may have to cry on the barmans shoulder after the way I have been treated by SOME people round here....

1. What would be the contents of your perfect pie?

Steak and ale.

2. Lift your eyes from the screen - what's the first thing you see and how did it get there?

A very very stupid motivational poster. How it got there, god only knows.

3. What, if anything, would you like to get rid of in your life and why?

All these women treating me so badly - Am I never to be happy (ahem)

4. If you were building your own house what one room would you include that you don't have now?

A wet room.

5. When you were little people asked "what do you want to be when you up?". Does your answer then match what you do now?

Oh god no. I wanted to be an artist, or a graphic artist. Closest I came was a brief period working in a small printing firm preparing camera ready artwork for printing plates and such. Also wanted to be a rock star in my teenage years, and look how well that worked out

A conversation with a “friend” on the phone last night, and we talk about a mutual “friend” of ours on blog.

“Oh we’re engaged apparently – she asked me to marry her”

said my “friend”

“What! But she was engaged to ME!” I wailed, heartbroken and shocked at the same time.

Women.

OK, so Soy has dumped me for someone younger, prettier and with a fascination for guins.

It would have been nice to hear it from her own lips though.

Every time I see those dark lovely eyes gazing out of that profile picture, my heart will break.

Soy, what did I do to deserve to be thrown away so callously? And I hope Phoenix82 is happy she stole you from me.

Sniff sniff, whimper whimper. Blub.

Breaks out billowy shirt and heads off for windswept clifftop.

I always knew it. Brussel Sprouts. The bastards.

They can stunt your growth! STEP AWAY FROM THE SPROUT!

Researchers compared the size of aphids in the wild that fed on sprouts in one field with the size of the aphids in the next field that were eating cabbage. The aphids that touched not the sprout were bigger and healthier!

This evil does not stop there, but passes up the food chain. The wasps that live on the aphids in the sprout field were also smaller than the wasps that lived off the fat juicy cabbage fed aphids in the field next door.

So there you have it, sprouts are a total waste of space.

Or the ultimate slimming food.

But who would want to talk to someone on “The Sprout Diet”?

Parp.

Fuck!

Meh!

Grrrr!

in rotation.

That is all.

Edit - I will also be smoking even more than normal.

.

There I was, sat sitting in Mollys chatting with my new bestest beer serving friend - Phil “Gayer than a summer parade” the Barman.

So the time comes for me to go outside for a ciggie, and I excuse myself and leave my pint and my Magazine at my window seat near the bar, no danger of my seat being taken because Monday to Friday – I constitute the entirety of their “lunch time rush”
(Which is why I go there, the only pub in the area that I know of that is on a busy London street and is not crowded at lunchtime)

I go for my ciggie, and return full of bad chemicals and tobacco, and all is good.

Phil looks at me quizzically; “Do you smoke roll ups?”

“No, why?”

“It’s just your very quick”

“Well, I have a strong suck on me”

Phil turns slightly away, places his hand on his chest and takes a deep breath, and breathing out says

“And Relaxxxxxxxxxx!”

Hehehe!

I am a bad bad boy.

When I lived at home, one of the corners of my room was "bad" apparently.

The first hint of this was when my dog, Wonka, freaked me out one eveing. I was sitting with my back against the bed on the floor reading or something, and he was asleep at my side.

He suddenly sat up, looked intently into the corner and put his head on one side, then the other, then looked at me and shuffled closer. He kept staring into the corner. Then the cowardly fecker left the room.

He never did it again after that night and showed no worries about coming into the room again, but it was spooky.

Also a girfriend of mine at the time was a bit "gifted" in seeing things most of us can't see, and told me she didn't like that corner either. "Something not exactly good is in there"

This information was given to me AFTER I had moved my bed to a different position in the room. For a couple of months I had been sleeping with my head in that "bad corner"

Shit, that could explain a lot.

Something bad got into my brain.

That's my excuse and I am sticking to it.

I feel like a fighter pilot. But where am I going to get one at this time of day! Boom tish!

Sorry. No I mean I feel like I am sitting around waiting for something big to kick off. Like the RAF pilots in France at the start of the Second World War. Nothing much going on, doing the occasional little sortie, wondering where the enemy are.

Then bam! They have to run like buggery back to England as the full force of the enemy turn up and it all gets serious and hairy. Then the Battle of Britain and all that bollocks. (And no Juzzzy – I don’t remember this first hand. It’s an analogy or a fable or an old charter or something)

What I mean is, I am still – as you can see – able to blog. My fellow workers who have recently been told there is no place for them in the new template are still here, and they are still doing the work. I am doing the work as well, but without them doing it as well, it would be much harder. And I am very grateful. But soon they will be doing other things and then I will not have time to scratch my arse, never mind blog.

And then the “Phoney War” will be over. And the office will fill up with Messerschmitts and Fockers. Especially Fockers.

Or something.

There is a shed load of road works going on in jolly old Lahdahn Tarn right now. They say they are “Replacing the Victorian sewer system” - probably with something that will last about 10 years before needing to be dug up again.

These road works are adding up to an hour on the car commute of my good friends Mrs F and Shipscook, which pleases them no end.

Another effect of this tunnelling is that the maze of one way streets in Soho has become even harder to navigate. Dean Street is closed to Traffic at one end, Soho Square has become a bit of an obstacle course for vehicles and pedestrians and Greek street has big holes in it that restrict its already narrow width.

The only fun thing is watching those calm and polite kings of the London roads, the White Van Drivers, as they try to make deliveries and generally get where they are going.

A wonderful display of steering wheel banging, U turning where it’s not technically possible and freeform close formation swearing seems to be running constantly on the streets. As for the lorry drivers – whole new levels of blood pressure are being reached in cabs all over the borough.

Not that I am taking any pleasure in their misfortune and distress at all you understand.

Ahem.

If only it was pissing off the cyclists as well…..

Today is Pancake Day, and tonight I will be performing my yearly ritual of making pancakes for the three of us.

Now what I want to know is how many of you our there can actually make pancakes, and turn them over in the traditional way, i.e. propelling them into the air and getting them to land back in the pan with no sticking to the ceiling, hitting the floor or landing on the cat.

Yes, I want to know how good you are at tossing pancakes.

I am brilliant at it.

Which will come as a surprise to no one.

How about you?

I don’t read many papers. I got fed up with the way they all told me what to think about the news they were passing on. “Ban this sick game” when it should of read “Game complaints rise” or something, “Stamp out this evil drug” when a violent criminal stabs someone when off their face on skunk, that sort of thing.

I mean just tell me what has happened and let me make up my own mind eh?

That’s why I like reading the Metro, it doesn’t tell me what opinion to have even though it is rather biased on the travel page “London Transport is fantastic and getting better” Hmmm. Well that is because it is distributed in the tube and rail stations so it has to be nice to the hand that feeds it.

Anyway, I saw this morning that some Spanish motor racing fans had hurled racist abuse at Lewis Hamilton during the F1 test session in Spain. Some even “blacked up” and wore wigs. This is unforgivable and stupid beyond belief. I don’t need a paper to tell me that.

The metro said that the FIA were considering sanctions, the Sun (glimpsed over someone’s shoulder on the packed tube) was running a headline along the lines of “Punish these racist bastards!”

I find the Sun going on about racism rather strange personally.

And its all got to go somewhere!

Blimey.

The practicalities of ending a relationship are a bit fecking annoying, once you have waded through all the maddness of the emotional wossname.

Where the fuck did I get so many distortion pedals! and lets not talk about the other pedals.

And the CD's and the.....other stuff!

When your not expecting to have to move, its amazing the stuff you actually have that makes you think "Why!?"

Maybe a big skip and a shovel are needed.

Oh well.

Sitting here smutting up various people around blogworld, I thought to myself what a wonderful world "have I gone deaf?"

But no.

You see when I thought, about an hour ago, about putting the fecking radio on for a bit of classic rock, I should have actually got up and fecking done it.

What a twat.

That, my dear friends, is the danger of red wine.

Makes you lazy and deaf. No not deaf. Just lazy.

and bingo was his name. Oh.

Or any working day. I don’t want to be here as part of this team anymore, I am fed up with chasing people who make much more money than me and trying to get them to do their jobs and find out whether or not the customers they are looking after are paying for the services we give them. Bastards.

I will have to go and see my new bestest friend behind a bar in the world. Yep, the barman in Mollys. Camper than a row of tents but a nice bloke – he must be, I give him money and he gives me booze, it’s a perfect relationship.

When I left on Friday lunchtime he said “You in tomorrow?”

“What Saturday? Are you mad?”

“Well I’ll be here, well I’m always bloody here me”

I think I’ve pulled.

A fellow blogger has just reminded me it will be Lent soon.

A period where you are supposed to give something up.

Hmmm.

Smoking - bugger off.

Drinking - ditto.

Swearing - fuck right off.

I know. I will try something new and challenging. Very challenging in fact.

I will give up giving a fuck.

Yes. Cold and heartless and angst free.

Hang on, what was the first one again?

Edit.

Impossible. I could never do it.

I have been fed spicey food, drank hoppy beer, snarfed hot pickles with smelly strong goats cheeses, roast duck mixed into creamy pasta sauce....

And then they complain when I go off.

But god, even I don't like sitting near me.

This has been a "More information than we actually wanted" announcement, from the British Flatulence Council.

How do you do it!

You sod.

You pick a year that is very complicated to write about (not fecking 1919 as you first suggested) 1991 was one of them "interesting" years.

Bugger.

sod.

This will take some thinking about and re visiting some very
sore memories.

but I like a challenge. Well sometimes.

Be back later.

Going for a medicinal bloody mary.

I pack my lungs full of smoke from the last cigarette in the packet and spin wildly around in my own head in the cold fresh night. My hand flaps for the door handle of the back door as the tobacco fires up the alcohol in my system and the cat looks at me from her furry curls on the kitchen floor and I wobble wildly in a flurry of intoxication.

I negotiate the complexity of eye to hand to door handle and brain to leg machinations and get through the door and back into the warm.

The cat is not impressed with my dancing on the tightrope of intoxication and total abandon. She is also not impressed by my dressing gown, the only garment I have been wearing for the last five or so hours flapping open. Well, what cat would be- I have no spikes on my penis.

I step over the bear trap gaping white and discarded underpants in front of the washing machine that the cat seems to be lording over and grasp the doorframe as my head shifts into some other far more disjointed reality, I find that doorframes are good for this - Its the wood, it's honest and un-drunk and speaks of sap long spent and used up in the service of man and his building ambitions. Mind you, I have met many a man in a bar late at night that could say he has given the same of his life to women.

I walk on legs that are apparently rented and come from a country where they apparently walk on the other side of the everywhere into the hall and try and remember what I am, where I came from, what the music is and where my lighter wants to be, as it has been giving me a strange look all day.

My bestest buddy in the world sidles out from behind a rustle of silk behind me and says:

"Oh for fucks sake Nick, stop trying to be a writer and go sit down and have a coffee and a vodka. Stop being so pretentious. Ya c*nt!"

So I try to climb the Himalayas of the shag pile carpet with my confused toes and seek out the sofa, which looks at me with deep dark eyes and cushions of lust and says "take me".

Bastard furniture.

So I succombe to its charms and fall, bounce, rebound and end up on the floor. happy.

A shadow falls over me.

Cheekbones and curves and dark hair and, oh what - an accusing pointy finger, but at least a smile too.

"You daft tit"

"Yep, Gisasnogden!"

"You charmer, get up and get me a drink and stop sitting there at the computer typing and pretending any of this actually happened. Why would anyone want to be Hunter Thompson anyway. He's dead,"

I is a tad hammerd so excuse the spelling.

What is your greatest fear?

That the vampire duck from the pond will sneak into my bedroom tonight and suck the life out of me. Well I wish someone would!

What is your earliest memory?

Blogged this before. A huge wall of fur passing in front of me. It was our dog "Tuna" and I was sat on my nappy in the garden. Tuna was not that big being a mongrel, but I was very yery small.

Aside from property what is the most expensive thing you bought?

Second hand Gibson Les Paul(S). I think the most I paid was £1299.00. Yep, I know.

What would your super power be?

To not be seen.

What part of your life would you go back and erase?

That episode with the nuns and the wet suits with the bums cut out and the bucket of soapy frogs and the video camera maybe.

Have you ever said "I love you" and not meant it?

NEVER.

What is the closest you've come to death?

Talking to OAP's at bus stops.

How would you like to be remembered?

As that old git that looks like Francis Rossi, got laid alot and had a right attitude problem. And didn't die.

What is the most important lesson life has taught you to date?

Never ever ever stick that in there again.

ahem.

(click on the above to get the bigger size and see the BLOOD RED EYE OF A KILLER!)

My left nipple reeeeely itches.

Goodnight.

(if that don't win me "most cerebral blogger" I don't know what will)

You can hear the constant “tish, clish, spash” of a silver chain laden wrist moving over a wooden desktop.

When you can hear cries of “oh fucking work you stinking piece of Bollocky shitwank!” on days when the network is slow.

When you get into the empty lift but are met with a stunning wall of evil funk, and can hear someone on the floor the lift has just come from giggling like a loon.

When you’re sat in a meeting called by the head of the team, who turns up 45 minutes late after saying how important this meeting is for all to attend, and someone at the back says “Oh you still work here then?”

When a perfectly innocent remark between you and another colleague about using one of the power outlets on your desk along the lines of “Can I plug this in your spare socket” is instantly greeted with an “Easy tiger!” comment from out of nowhere.

When you can’t get through to anyone by the phone on your desk all day, then realise that someone has dismantled your phone while you were getting breakfast and swapped the 4 and the 6 buttons over.

Then you have an Old Nick in your office.

God we are damn annoying to work with.

Well I say “work”…………..

EIGHT!

EIGHT!

Are you all fucking NUTS!

Of course when I don't win a single one I am going to look such a twat!

but. erm. Thanks.

1. What was the last thing you complained about?

Being nominated as Laziest blogger in the bloscars! Grrrr!

2. When was the last time you really got really great customer service?

From a place who's where I got some pickups from, they were great.

3. What's your policy on leaving a tip?

Fuck 'em, or 10% of fuck 'em depending on my mood.

4. Are you one of the people trying to reclaiming your credit card or bank charges?

reclaimingmywhatnow?

5. Call centres are ________________________

Satans waiting rooms if your in one, Gods biggest joke if your calling one.