Mac is back in town

Oh happy days. My Mac is back! It's all fixed and running like a dream. The manky PC has been chucked back up into the loft where it shall stay for ever and ever. Ha ha ha!

The thing is, now I have my iMac back home I've got tons of catching up to do - photos to upload and mess around with, movies to work on, emails to read, calenders to update, podcasts to listen to and, and what else?

Oh yeah. Bleedin' blogs to write too.

Long fuse

Someone really, really angered me yesterday. I'm still extremely annoyed even today and can feel my wrath rising as I write. This is very unusual for me. True, I do develop mild road rage (call it road irritation) when I'm driving, but otherwise it takes a lot to rile me. I am blessed with a very long fuse.

However, yesterday just blew me away. I shall spare you the details but I will say that the person concerned was completely unreasonable and staggeringly rude. Now I didn't react to the situation. I remained calm and professional but was boiling like a kettle on a volcano underneath. Now I mention my lack of reaction, because although I have the longest fuse on the planet, when it goes, it goes.

When I was about six one of my classmates at school began trying to bully me one day. I was an extremely placid little chap but that day, my young fuse burnt right out. I smashed the child's head, several times, onto the sharp edge of a sturdy wooden bench. If I remember, the lad ended up with a couple of stitches on his scalp.

I've never so much as prodded another living being in anger, for the past 34 years. I came very close yesterday though. Now I'm nearly back to my usual relaxed (and wonderful) self and my fuse is still intact.

Until next time ....

Wimbledon - a British wasteland

Wimbledon started today. The last Brit to win the men's singles at Wimbledon was a very nice gent called Fred Perry. That was in 1936. The ladies have fared a tad better with big-haired Virginia Wade lifting the trophy in 1977.

Since then however, the Brits have had more success at the luge than we have had in tennis. However, most years some poor bugger (John Lloyd, Annabel Croft, Tim Henman etc)is shoved into the limelight and for that year, becomes the 'chosen one', otherwise known as the Great British Hope. Of course, the poor bugger in question is doomed to failure amidst a hugely disproportionate amount of media and public fervour.

Thus the cycle of Wimbledon fervour and failure continues. This year's poor bugger is Andy Murray. The flag-waving hasn't kicked in yet but when it does, this clearly talented Scot will be crushed by the pressure and claustrophobic expectancy of the fans and the Press.

Oh for the days of Willie Renshaw. He was Britain's most successful tennis champ ever. He won 12 Wimbledon championships between 1880 and 1889. No media hassle or screaming hysteria from the fans for Willie. No paparazzi intrusion, candid holiday photos appearing in Heat magazine or sordid sex claims in the Sunday papers for Mr Renshaw. Oh no. In fact, no-one even seems to have noticed him at all. Perhaps the old-fashioned way is the best way after all.

Better get Andy Murray a flat cap and a packet of fags.

Freezers and football

As it's Sunday, it's been decided that we'll defrost the freezer. Obviously. So the freezer's sitting in the garden, in the sun - melting. Well, the freezer itself isn't melting, rather the layer upon layer of permafrost that have been building inside the bloody thing since the last ice age are melting. Slowly.

It was so frozen in there that the temperature contol dial wouldn't move. And as the ice began to melt I discovered the tusk of a mammoth, which was a surprise as I don't even remember buying a hairy elephant.

You may deduce from this rambling and rather poor post that I'm just filling time. You're correct in your assumption. Alright, I confess - it's 'cos of the football again. Sorry. I know. It's just that England are playing Ecuador later on in their first knock-out game of the World Cup and my mind is a bit pre-occupied at the moment. We have to win. Simple as that really.

However, after the game I shall re-focus and bring you some exciting updates on my life. Oooh I can hear the excitement already as you prepare for another installment of amazing facts, astonishing experiences and ubelieveable, action-packed stories.

Best plug the freezer back in.

iHospital

Oh woe and damnation. My iMac is poorly and I've had to take it to the hospital. It's actually a little problem I've been waiting for as it's a known issue with my model. So that's OK.

But hold on a second. Much as I'm a fair and objective bloke, what makes this whole thing really grim is that whilst my iMac is away at the iHospital, I've had to dig out my aged PC. Honestly it's a behemoth of a thing and even though it's only been one day, I'm finding it all a very 'grey' experience. I use a PC at work but have to admit that I always look forward to getting home and using my Mac.

So I have, potentially, two weeks on this bleedin' lump of a machine. No iTunes, photos, movie-making and just plain fun are to be had. Yes, I know I'm being a infantile saddo and worse things do happen at sea but it's how I feel, so there.

Now I know why Bill Gates is leaving Microsoft.

Behavioural modelling and footie

I went to a seminar yesterday. I bloody hate seminars. OK, perhaps 'hate' is a bit strong. Let's just say I find them rather contrived, worthy, dull and self-important. However, the one yesterday was not too bad at all. I shall not though, dear reader, bore you into a liquified mass of blood and bone by re-living the whole seminar with you.

What I will say is that I am now an expert on 'behavioural modelling'. Which is nice. It's one of those typical trendy phrases that accompanies a typical trendy new training methodology or management style. However behavioural modelling is, despite it's intellectual-sounding name, nothing more than persistent nagging. Now those people who spout this stuff tell you it's all to do with human characteristics, psychology and neural pathways. Neural pathways? As far as I'm concerned it's just going on and on at people to do what you want, until they can't be arsed to resist.

And here's my case in point. I went to the seminar with a colleague. She's Scottish. And (obviously) a woman. These two factors combined work very strongly against her ever wanting to watch a footie match. Let alone an England footie match. She really dislikes footie and especially England-playing-in-the-World-Cup footie.

Now as soon as the seminar ended, the England match was due to start. How was I going to convince my colleague to watch an England footie match? I had a cunning plan which I had been putting into action for a number of days. I'd been nagging her about how fab footie was. What a great atmosphere you get when you watch a big match in a crowd. How much fun it is to enjoy a few beers whilst watching the match and revelling in all the friendly banter between your fellow drinkers. I re-iterated these 'positives' over and over, in little snippets for nearly a week. And the result? She watched the entire match, drinking beer in a packed Irish pub. She even cheered and screamed when England scored their two goals. Oh yes.

Behavioural modelling? Cobblers was it. It was persistent nagging that changed her mind and I'm sure her neural pathways didn't even notice.

I feel a seminar coming on.

Spread the word

I'm a very typical human being in many ways. One of these ways is a trait which I really shouldn't be too proud of. Namely - ego. I don't have a gargantuan ego but I do love to think of the decent folk of this fair planet actually reading the utter tripe I write on this here blog.

So, for the three or maybe two of you who, by accident or as a punishment, actually have read any of my posts, I would love you to let your friends (including those who are currently in prison), family and trusted work colleagues know about 'You're born and then you die'. Now if I do actually get some more visitors and contributors (thanks to those who've sent comments), I promise to post more regularly. I'll even try and make some of them mildly amusing.

Subject to availability. Your statutory rights are not affected.

Up, up and away!

In just over a month I shall be embarking on my first ever hot air balloon flight. I'm so excited at the prospect of floating silently above the beautiful Peak District on a warm July evening. It promises to be a spectacular and memorable experience.

The only problem is that I am having trouble deciding which moments of this momentous journey should be captured on video and which on a stills camera. To be honest I'm going to look like a complete saddo/tourist as I struggle to contol my equipment (oo-err) in the tight confines of a wicker basket, packed in like sardines with a dozen or so wind-powered thrill-seekers.

Oh well. It's a minor thing and as long as we at least a) take off and b) land, I shall be a happy man. Mind you, I'll be even happier if I manage to emulate my dad's 60th birthday balloon flight. As they landed in a ploughed field, the basket tipped over and my dad landed on a 'large-chested' lady. A soft landing after all, as he recalls.

Fingers crossed then.

World Cup conundrum

So, as you know, I didn't deliver a single post in the last month. And now I'm in the situation where I could write a post three times a day. Why? The World Cup is on and there's going to be so much happening and I'm so excited and, and, and .....

Whoa. Easy tiger. Do you really want to readabout the World Cup on here when it's wall to wall coverage everywhere else (unless your country failed to qualify) and you can't get away from it all? Well, I've decided not to cover the footie, unless England do anything spectacular and amazing, like win a match.

So enjoy my predominantly non-football blog and my continuing witty observations on life. Unfortunately I can't think of anything at all at the moment apart from the fact that it's been sweltering here in England for the last week and I'm loving it.
You can't beat being able to wander around your house and garden in your pants.

Unless you're one of the neighbours.

Naughty blogger

Oh I don't believe it. A bleedin' month and not a single post. Trust me, I have slapped my wrist until it's red raw. So much to tell you and yet such a feeble effort on my part. I shall resume forthwith (that means very soon) with my usual rapier wit and cutting sarcasm.

Forgive me.