Christmas, cars and cash

Yeah, yeah. I know. I have become the Internet's most inconsistent blogger ... possibly. Well, it's been sort of busy this month. My work is mental right now and I'm working some pretty long days where I have to be nice to moaning people and behave as if I'm having the most fun a human being can have. Yay.

Anyway, I forgot to blog over Xmas itself so sorry and Happy Xmas! Better late than never I say. Unless you're talking about a kidney transplant which is actually better sooner rather than later.

I digress. Christmas was very jolly and my wife adores her new iPod Nano which I bought her. In fact she covets it rather like a lioness with a new cub but with less growling and picking it up in her mouth. Anyway, I enjoyed spending my cash on my family and friends. 'Cash for kindness' I like to think of it as.

Boxing Day was a joy too. I worked a ten hour day. At least there were plenty of other poor sods working too which cheered me up no end. God, I sound like a right miserable bastard don't I? My apologies. It must be my age. 41 is one of those ages that's neither here nor there. It's not "the big 4-0" and it's not even mid-forties. It's sort "the big 4-0 plus one. Mind you, I'm quite keen on being an anonymous age. I think I'll become even keener as I get older.

So that's Christmas and cash mentioned. What about the car? Well driving home from worl last night my car developed a very alarming and serious-sounding noise from around the front wheel/suspension area. It's a hard sound to describe but it reminded me of a metal tin full of bolts and bits of piping, being shaken with fervour every time I went over a bump in the road. I'm no mechanic, but I'm sure this is not a good noise. Furthermore, I'm fairly confident that it's an expensive noise. Yay again.

I shall keep you posted on the situation. Rest assured, it's going to be bad news and very costly news. Which is a good thing ... for you. You see, although we don't like to admit it, other people's misfortune often makes us feel better. It's that "well it could be worse, I could be in his/her situation. It's the sort of thing you say when you get a slightly higher than expected gas bill, only to then see a news item where some poor bugger's house has just blown up following a gas leak. You get the idea.

So dear reader, my festive cheer to you is the gift of my vehicular misery. Whatever traumas or stresses you've had over Xmas, just wait until you hear about my car. That will put a smile on your face as the year draws to a close. I hope my Vauxhall-inspired misfortune brings you joy!

Yay again ... again.

It's Xmas. Go Elf yourself!

http://www.elfyourself.com/?id=1594926865

Ups and downs

We all have our ups and downs and despite being a blogging legend, I too can feel the force of life's highs and lows. Winter doesn't help. Especially the miserable sodding affair that is the British winter. Rain, rain and more rain. It's enough to depress Mr Happy Hap McHappy from Happytown in Happyshire.

Nonetheless, us Brits are used to cack weather and so find ways and means of distracting ourselves during the long, dark winter months. One of these ways is to talk about the weather. Whilst meteorology is a fascinating subject, you can have too much of it, particularly when you've been getting soaked, blown and frozen by it for weeks on end. So I don't talk about the weather much between November and March.

Instead I prefer to revel in the joys of films, my Xbox 360, football, my iMac, food, shiny electrical objects of desire and my wife. Obviously this list is written in reverse order. So when confronted by a really crappy winter's day, I cheer myself with an hour or two of high definition machine-gunning and grenade-lobbing, followed by a joyous time in the kitchen, preparing my latest tuna-based culinary delight and topped off with a cracking film starring Sandra Bullock or that woman out of that film with the hair and eyes.

Suffice to say I have plenty of ammo in happy-happy-joy-joy arsenal to keep the winter blues at bay. However, talking of 'blues' - Birmingham lost today which has put me in a foul mood so I'm going to bed.

Winter my arse.

Laugh? I nearly died

Laughing is great isn't it? I'm very fortunate in that I laugh quite a bit. I even, on occasion, make myself laugh - usually when I'm naked. Seriously though, having a good titter, a hearty chortle or coronary-inducing hysterics does wonders for you. Now this is going to sound a bit mental, but I have developed a way to make yourself laugh on demand.

Admittedly, I discovered this 'skill' when I was still at school, aged about 15, but I've tried with literally hundreds of people over the years and it has worked every single time. Obviously, if you've just returned from a funeral, are about to beaten up by 44 football hooligans, or have just learnt that your parents don't really belong to you, then inducing a belly-laugh or even a mild titter would clearly be impossible. However, you do not have to be in a jolly mood for this to work. All you need is patience.

So what do you do? OK, this does sound a bit mentoid but bear with me:

1. Sit or stand comfortably
2. Tilt your head back as far as it goes.
3. Stare at the ceiling. Sky is no good.
4. Start an irregular, gutteral 'laughing' sound - like a motorbike engine idling.
5. Keep going with your 'laughing' and keep staring at the ceiling.
6. Keep going until you suddenly start laughing like a simpleton.

This ALWAYS works. Sometimes it takes a few seconds and sometimes a minute or longer. But it really does work. the trick is to keep going. the sound 'laughing' sound you make is similar to that "huh huh huh uuuh huh huh" thing that Beavis & Butthead used to do. Of course my version pre-dates B & B by about 18 years!

So, dear readers, why not give it a try? People may think you are a bit 'special' but you will be rewarded with a spontaeous and hysterical laugh. Try it on a bus, in a meeting or (my favourite) whilst 'busy' on the lav.

You'll die laughing.

Derby Playhouse closes down

Bollocks.

McLeish leaves Scotland for Blues

Hooray!

Brucie leaves Blues for Wigan

Bugger.

Non-horticulurist

Following on from my posting expressing incrdeulity at the appearance of a rose in November, I've since been advised that this is, in fact, entirely normal. I'm gutted. I thought I'd discovered a once-in-a-lifetime event with important climactic consqequences.

Er, no.

A rosy future?

I kid you not. I tell you no lie. As God is my witness. I swear on my life. I promise you. It's mid-November right? I live in the northern hemisphere which means that November is winter, right? Winter is very cold and it is a time when all the flora in your garden either stops growing or dies. Hope you're still with me.

So winter is not spring or summer, traditionally seasons where things grow. OK, good. I just wanted to clarify that. Why then, in the winter, in the UK has a rose just flowered in my front garden? It really has just appeared in the last few days. In fact there may even be two of the amazing little buggers sitting pretty amongst all the wintery deadness. I have to admit that I'm quite staggered by this. It's not even as if a rose that flowered in the summer has managed to stay alive until now. This actually bloomed during the winter.

So is this the effect of global warming? Has the weather been so incredibly mild that this bog-standard little flower thought it was spring or summer and decided that it must be time to pop it's head above the parapet? If so, that's a tad concerning.

However, it could just be an unusual freak of nature that, whilst uncommon, is not completely unheard of and is not in fact an indication of impending global doom. Either way, it's really quite impressive but I'm sure the neighbours think we're carrying out genetic research on the vegetation.

Which would explain the size of my marrows.

Non-league WAGS

Victoria Beckham, Cheryl Cole (nee Tweedy) and Colleen McLoughlin. Part of a group of women known collectively as WAGS. WAGS (in case you don't know, stands for 'Wives And Girlfriends') was the phrase that came into popular use during the 2006 Football World Cup in Germany.

In partcular, the term referred to the lady-friends of the England football players. These women became celebrities in their own right and as their erstwhile fellas strutted across the hallowed grasses of various German football grounds, they glided down cobbled streets, wafted along busy roads in enormous Mercedes Benz's and grazed in the exclusive clothes and jewellery shops of the nearest hautpstraße (high street).

The media loved them, following them to shops, shops and more shops. The WAGS loved the attention too. They became famous for being famous and for having such extravagent lifestyles and fabulous clothes.

It's not quite the same for the wives and girlfriends of the players at non-league Burton Albion. I went to see them play last week and sside from the ususal joys of visiting a non-league footie match, there was an extra treat in store. About 15 minutes before kick-off (against Kidderminster Harriers no less), 3 or 4 women appeared and stood chatting beside the pitch. Several players (who were warming up) came over and exchanged a few words and a quick peck on the cheek. These women were clearly WAGS.

However, they were not quite Beckham, Tweedy and McLoughlin. They were a gaggle of slightly lumpy, massively fake-tanned purveyors of TK Maxx's finest. Tight, white, semi-transparent trousers, black t-shirt tops with huge swathes of shiny, gold material wrapped around the belly area. The shoes were high and golden but with scuff-marks aplenty. The hair was sort of permed but not. However, even the stiff breeze which whipped across the Pirelli Stadium could not blow a strand out of place. It was industrially rigid. They looked magnificent. And common. I felt like I had discovered a new breed of human - the 'non-league Wag'.

It truly was, a gourmet feast for the optic nerves. The best bit was the fact that were loving the whole thing. Standing there chatting, laughing and preening. Wearing clothes that no-one else would have been seen dead in and living the dream. The dream of being a gorgeous, glamourous, fabulously wealthy footballer's wife.

In Burton on Trent.

Writers' block

I used to be SO good. My postings on YBATYD occured every few days. Then I had a break. Now I'm back, I seem to have lost my flow. What's that all about then?

Well it must be one of two things: 1. Absolutely bugger all is happening that's worth writing about, or, 2. Plenty is happening but I just can't put it into words.

This is clearly a problem for a blogger.

Perhaps I'm just trying a tad hard. Trying to come up with amusing, exciting and eminently readable stuff, when in fact, the mundane stuff is what actually turns out to be the funniest. I've just been looking back at some of my musings from my 'golden era' in 2006. I wrote about all sorts of crap and most of it was really quite amusing. So I'm hoping that will inspire me again.

It's not as if there's not been plenty happening in the world recently: wildfires in California, postal and rail strikes in the UK, famous people dying and the funniest thing ever on the telly. Hang on, that last one is a cracker..

... If you have never watched or even heard of Top Gear then I'd ignore this posting and go and have a cup of coffee or milk the cat. On Sunday's Top Gear, old Jezza Clarkson did one of the funniest things I've seen on telly. Jeremy introduced a almost unheard of 1950's car called the Peel P50. It was/is the smallest production car in the world. It's only 54"(137cm) long 41" (104 cm) wide. Jeremy decided to drive it to work. He is 6' 5" (198 cm) tall. I shall say no more other than this is brilliant television. Oh, and when I say he drives it to work, I mean he also drives it in work.

Enjoy

Naughty pussy

Apple yesterday launched its new operating system (OS X 10.5) Leopard. Now don't worry, I'm not going to prattle on about all things Mac but I I just want it put on record that I'm quite excited.

I love shiny, techie, gadgety things. So I will love Leopard. However, out of all the things that people have written about concerning Apple's latest OS - Spaces, Time Machine, Stacks, Core Animation etc, the best thing I've seen is pictured above.

Some chap was poking around his Leopard (so to speak)and this is what he said: "I am running Leopard and in the Finder sidebar under 'shared' I noticed there were different pictures for Macs and PCs on the network. The Macs look like the new iMac but by the pc it is a crappy looking monitor displaying the 'blue screen of death'! Thought I would point this out. Apple is funny… "

Isn't it great that with all this super-advanced technology and incredible complexity, the art of good old fashioned piss-taking is not lost? Nice one Mr Jobs. Your cat is well trained.

Meow...

An England 1-2-3

Yep. We did it again. We lost at football, rugby and Formula One, all in the space of a few days. England lost to Russia in the Euro 2008 football qualifiers. This means there's a good chance we won't make the finals next summer. England lost 15-6 to South Africa in the rugby world cup final and Lewis Hamilton finished seventh in the Brazilian grand prix, to miss out on becoming world champion in his first year. There's still some hope for him though, due to alleged fuel irregularities by Williams and BMW Sauber. If all the affected drivers are disqualified, then Lewis takes the title. It's a long shot, but it's our only hope of restoring a bit of national pride...

Unless Timmy Mallet makes a TV comeback.

Alt Gr joy

I have to use a PC at work. I always hanker after my lovely iMac when I'm away from home because I just prefer Mac's to PC's. I know that Macs will always do the things I want in a way that makes me smile.

So imagine my surprise when I discovered something completely by accident today. Something I cannot do on my Mac. It was near the end of the working day and I was gazing at my beige keyboard - as you do. My eyes landed on a key that I'd never really noticed and certainly never, ever used. It was the 'Alt Gr' key.

I asked my esteemed colleague, if she had any idea what the bloody hell this key was for. She thought for about 11 nano-seconds and then said "no". So I pressed it. Nothing. Then I pressed it and held it down whilst a bashed numerous other keys. Nada. So then I held it down again and using my fist, pressed about 13 keys at once.

The screen went black. "Ooops" I thought. And then, "oh shit". The screen was upside down. And the mouse controls were reversed too. My colleague fair pee'd herself laughing. Frantically, I re-booted. It came back - upside down. The whole thing. Everything had gone anitipodean. I was laughing too, but it was that slightly nervous, how-do-I-explain-this-to-IT sort of laugh.

I held down the 'Alt Gr' key once more and tried to think rationally. I surmised that 'Alt Gr' probably stood for 'alternate gravity' - obviously. This made sense to me because the screen was upside down and that was sort of what would happen if gravity was reversed right? OK, I was thinking like a complete tit, but it was all I had. Anyway, I guessed that if I was holding the 'alternate gravity' key down, then the best key to press along with it (to restore gravity, as it were) would be the 'down arrow' key. I pressed it.

The screen went black and then ... bingo! The screen was back to normal with the top bit at the top and the bottom bit at ... well you get the idea. I was overjoyed. I pressed the 'Alt Gr' key again and this time combined it with the 'left arrow' key. The screen flipped onto its side! What joy.

I had discovered a fantastic way to bugger up your work colleagues/friends/family's PC's that would leave them stressed, confused and wanting to cry. Now obviously I am not endorsing playing such a cruel practical joke on people.

But now you know how to do it ...

Leaning Desk Syndrome

My desk at works leans. My colleague's desk leans too. So either we both co-incidentally, have leaning desks or the whole building is on the wonk. Now if that's the case then it means my workplace has subsidence which is clearly a major safety issue. Therefore, I shall have no option but to leave my job which will result in me being unable to pay the mortgage and then it will get reposessed by the bank and I shall end up living in a Zanussi freezer box, near the bins behind Dolland & Aitchison.

Alternatively, I can just place a small piece of cardboard under the legs to correct the lean and then everything will be fine. Unless, whilst lifting the desk up and stooping to place the cardboard under the legs, I cause my vertebrae to collapse, rendering me unable to walk which will mean I can no longer work which will result in me being unable to pay the mortgage and ... etc etc.

Actually, how do you use a spirit level?

A week?

Bloody hell. I just came on to do a little posting and to my shock, discover that I've written diddly squat in the last seven days. I reckon senility must be creeping up on me cos I'm sure I wrote something the other day. Or was that just a shopping list?

So, what is the subject du jour? I've no idea, so I'll just have to see what happens as I type. Er ... hmmm. Well ... Er ...

I'll get back to you

A ridge too far

We had a tornado. Yes we bloody well did. Yesterday morning at about 6.20am. Honestly we did. It may have only been an itsy bitsy, teeny weeny, yellow polka-dot bikini of a tornado but it still happened.

And even if it wasn't a tornado, it sounded like one - a great roaring noise followed by the terrible sound of utter destruction and devastation. Yes, we suffered damage to our house. One of ridge tiles was ripped from its' very foundations and smashed into a billion pieces ... on the drive next to my wife's car.

This was all very exciting and scary. Not quite hurricane Katrina I grant you but this is Britain and we have to make the most of dangerous weather. It was quite rainy too. In fact there was a major flood at my work. A large area of carpet got soaked when a drain outside overflowed. It was total chaos ... until the maintenance man got the wet-vac on the case. Again, not exactly the Indian ocean tsunami of 2004, but still ...

I am mourning the loss of that little ridge tile

Knickerbocker Glory-days

Whatever happened to the Knickerbocker Glory? I haven't seen one on a dessert menu in years and the thought occurred to me at 6.04am this morning, that it may have disappeared for ever.

Firstly, you may ask, why was I awake at 6.04am on a Saturday morning? Well I was simply responding to a 'call of nature'. Actually, whilst we're on the subject, don't you think that the phrase 'call of nature' is a little grand? I mean that phrase conjures up an image of the instinctive migration for millions of birds across the globe, or the natural desire for great herds of wildebeest to sweep majestically across the great plains of Africa. It doesn't make think of having a wazz.

Anyway, I digress. The Knickerbocker Glory has a significant place in my heart. Why? Because when I was a kid, the culinary landscape of Britain was like a flat, vapid, grey and brown terrain of bland flavours and unspeakably bad restaurants and eateries. God forbid you should decide to have a meal at a pub. If you chose to dine during the day, you could expect a cheese sandwich (two doorstop slices of bread, a tiny film of margarine, 3 thin slices of processed Cheddar and a penny-sized smudge of pickle), a packet of 'plain' crisps and a small bottle of warm tomato juice. Yum.

Eating out at night was often little improved with dishes such as gammon (with pineapple ring), chips and a wedge of lemon or chicken in a basket, chips and a small heap of processed peas. Yay.

So, with this in mind, try to imagine how enormous a gourmet experience the Knickerbocker Glory offered as you gazed at it, sitting proudly at the top of the dessert menu. A huge, tall glass stuffed with fresh melon, strawberries, grapes, vanilla and strawberry ice cream, strawberry sauce, squirty cream and a fan wafer, all topped off with a glace cherry. It was pure, unadulterated food heaven.

The Knickerbocker Glory was like no other dessert or pudding. In fact, it was like no other food. It was a God amongst edible things and I adored it. And what made it even more special was the fact that I only ever got to experience one a few times a year. You couldn't just pop down to Tesco and buy one. Oh no. You had to eat at a proper restaurant like a Berni Inn or a Little Chef. It was a rare treat indeed.

So, I shall raise a glass of Blue Nun to this great British institution that began in the 1930's and may, we hope, still survive somewhere in the quaintest backwaters of the UK.

Somewhere like Mansfield.

Cheerio Mourinho

Oh bless his little cotton socks. Details are still sketchy but the jolly, laugh-a-minute ex-Chelsea boss has departed Stamford Bridge with a rumoured £20,000,000 pay off. I just hope that softens the blow for little fella.

Ain't life cruel sometimes?

Un-social Networking? Update

Brilliant! As you'll see below I mention a made-up website. Well guess what? It actually exists - and it really made me titter. So I don't spoil the surprise, I won't name the site here. The best thing to do is read the posting below and then click on the title of this posting to take you to the site.

It's a funny place the Tinterwebnet

Un-social Networking?

Whether it's a fad or a phenomenon, 'social networking' is certainly hugely, globally popular. Personally, I hate the phrase but I can't deny it's success. Websites such as MySpace, Facebook and Bebo have attracted millions of users who have discovered a whole new way of socialising in a virtual world.

If you've no idea what I'm talking about then here is how Wikipedia explains it: "A social network service focuses on the building and verifying of online social networks for communities of people who share interests and activities, or who are interested in exploring the interests and activities of others, and which necessitates the use of software".

It's essentially an online meeting place for friends. A place where your identity, life, interests and activities are shared amongst those people you deem to be your friends. You can share photos, movies, messages and even throw virtual cakes, join a common interest group or draw a pretty picture. One of the most popular features on Facebook, is the ability to let your friends know what you are doing by 'posting' what you're up to at any given time.

So who uses these sites? We're told that it's mainly people under 25, but that may be changing. Where I work, a few people joined Facebook a while ago. Now there are roughly 25-30 people who have a 'profile' on Facebook. Many of them are over 25 and some of them are not even regular computer/internet users. The reason they joined was because once you join, you gain 'friends' with whom you begin to communicate and share. And it's this communicating and sharing that people find appealing and rewarding.

We all love to have friends but many of us lose touch with our chumsover time. Furthermore, we make many acquaintances over the years and although these people would never be classed as friends, some of these acquaintances are still people we'd like to be able to stay in contact with. Social networking sites let you do this but without the need to make any sustained commitment to the friendship. So you can just drop your friends and acquaintances whenever you like, with no apparent consequences. Thus Facebook is, essentially faceless.

And that does make me think. How social are social networking sites? I have to admit that I have a Facebook account and according to my details, I have 103 friends. This is ridiculous because of these 103 'friends' only about 15 or so are people I would ever, in the real world, have regular contact with and whom I would be able to call real, proper, actual friends. So I have to, unfortunately, be selective.

Social networking sites allow you to 'dip' in and out of friendships without any need for the usual social etiquette. If you don't fancy contacting someone, you can just ignore them. I actually have one or two people in my 'friends' list whom I've never contacted. That's just crazy.

So yes, online social gatherings are good in the sense that you can make contact with people you may otherwise have lost touch with altogether. However, paradoxically, it's easy to end up with a huge list of 'friends' with whom you are certain to have little or no contact for the very reason that there are just too many people in that list. These people are then, actively ignored. And they all know this.

So, are social networking sites actually un-social? Yes, I think they may be because every time I log on to Facebook, I'm confronted with many requests, messages and invitations (most of which I just have to delete or pretend don't exist) which is in itself, un-sociable. I'm actually forced to ignore my friends. Now that can't be right can it?

So the paradox continues and I now ignore more friends and acquaintances than I have ever done because I have more 'friends' than I can cope with. The weird thing is that I know that everyone else is in the same boat. For me it's like trying to juggle 103 balls at once, whilst smiling and chatting to every single ball as it passes through my hands. I just can't do it but I wish I could. So I've decided that there's only one feasible answer. A new website which allows you to have an online presence but without the pressure of social networking. No-one can be your friend, send you messages or throw virual tripe at you. It has a name:

www.ihavenofriends.com Sorted.

Filler

Hey don't worry dear readers. My schedule has slipped a tad, so this posting is just a filler. God knows how Samuel Peyps kept his diary going every bleedin' day.

Anyway, I shall give you some interesting thoughts on otter sex tomorrow and maybe some other, thought-provoking chit chat.

Although otter sex should be enough.

Microshaft

Now for fear of legal reasons I shall not use words such as "liars", "corrupt" or "bastards" in this posting. I shall merely convey my feelings with a subtle use of language.

Microsoft are fine purveyors of the art of the making of the 'porky pie' and have an inate ability to cleverly imitate the characters immortalised in that fine film by Francis Ford Coppola starring Marlon Brando and a horses' bonce. Oh, and they are bastards*. *Allegedly.

I'll cut the very, very long story short. I bought my Xbox 360 in May 06. It broke in November o6 and was repaired, under warranty, by Mircosoft. It broke and died in July 07 - two months outside its' one-year warranty. It's death is a mystery, but basically, there's no power, no lights, nothin'.

After several million phone calls and the odd email, the delightful lady at Microsoft informed me that had my original Xbox breakdown been due to the '3 red lights' issue then I would have been alright. By the '3 red lights' issue, she meant the well-publicised hardware problem that many Xbox 360's suffered. Microsoft admitted this problem and promised to repair all affected consoles, including those out of warranty, for free.

When my Xbox broke in November, it was not due to the '3 red lights' issue, but another crippling hardware failure. Had it failed because of the sodding red lights thingy, I would have been given a whole years' worth of additional warranty. This would have meant that when my console died this July ... it would have been covered by the new warranty and repaired for free. Instead, they will charge me £70 to have it fixed.

The woman on the phone actually agreed with me when I said that it was clear that my console had suffered the 'wrong sort' of breakdown in November. Yes, she agreed! If you look around the Tinterweb, you'll find plenty of information about the huge number of Xbox 360 failures there have been since it was launched. Despite this, the *%^&$+£'s from Redmond have only reluctantly agreed to repair the most known about and publicised problem with their console. All the other buggered Xbox 360's are simply being ignored, and left to be used as doorstops or generously-sized paper weights.

I wonder if my console would fit up an arse. If I really shoved it?

VFM day

I've got a real thing about not wasting your days off from work. You know how some days just seem to fly by and when you look back, you feel like you've not done really anything at all? And then before you know it, it's bath-time and up the wooden hill to beddy-byes.

These sorts of days are bad VFM - Value For Money. I bloody hate 'em. So, bizarrely, on my days off I get up at the same time (or even earlier) than I do on work days, just so I can make the most of not being at work. Is that mental? Possibly. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. This is because it's all very well dragging yourself out of your fetid pit at 7am, but if you just waft around the lounge in your pants for three hours, you're not exactly giving yourself an action-packed day.

So today, as I'm not working, I'm up early and have plans: have a light, yet nutritionally balanced breakfast (peanut butter on toast and a pint of coffee); head down to Tesco to buy ingredients for making a big, homemade pizza for tea; go the gym for an hour; phone the council about an erroneous postal voting thing they sent us; write and send a 'congratulations on your engagement card' (which I should have done before today); finish writing my presentation (more on that tomorrow); phone Microsoft and complain even more bitterly than last time about my deceased Xbox 360; go to the toilet; iron the cat and have a shower. Oh, and make, bake and eat the pizza with my wife.

Now I reckon that's a pretty full day. Some of it is fun, some mundane, some tiring, some irritating and some a pain in the pooper. Nevertheless, it will be a really good VFM day and I'm sure I shall feel a real sense of achievement when it's all over.

Or I may just waft around the lounge in my pants for thirteen hours.

Tie-land

Oh dear. My father-in-law is quite eccentric sometimes. He phoned me today and said that he'd being looking through his collection of ties, as he was preparing to go to a wedding.

He chose one that appealed to him and as he was examining it he found the label that showed were it was made. "Guess what?" he said, "It was made in Thailand!" He then proceeded to explain that it was Thailand, spelt T-h-a-i ... I told him that I'd got the joke. He was still chuckling to himself as I ended the phone call.

Humour - it's an art.

Gadget fatigue

I am a big gadget fan. Well, being male I'm pre-disposed towards shiny things that make noises as it is but it goes much further than that. I adore technology but even I start to wilt under the immense pressure imposed on us all by the constant tide of new, 'improved' or 'revolutionary' products.

Don't get me wrong. If I had the cash I could spend hundreds or even thousands of pounds a month on products like plasma telly's, computers, iPods, games consoles, mobile phones and bluetooth underpants. It's just that the companies who make all this stuff have got us over a barrel. They constantly tweak and develop their goodies in such a way that the phone (for eaxample) we bought 2 months ago quickly becomes the 'old' model because the 'new' one has a number of slightly better features which suddenly make your recent purchase seem ever so slightly adequate and even inferior.

Now most people can cope with this sudden obsolescence of their new toy. However, even the least materialistic of us eventually come to realise that their phone (or whatever)is truly out of date, unstylish and lacking in so many ways compared to every other phone out there. Thus the only option is to go out and buy a new one.

Years ago, when you bought a product like a telly or a CD player, you were pretty safe in the knowledge that for the forseeable future, you would be the proud owner of something that was not only up to date but did everything you wanted and needed it to do. Now however, the manufacturers update things so speedily, you hardly have time to enjoy your phone/computer/telly/ etc before realising you own an historic relic.

And there's my dilemma. I hate being dictated to by bloody manufacturers and salespeople but I adore new technology and shiny things that make nosies. So Apple's latest update to their iPod lineup doesn't help. I don't need a touchscreen, widescreen iPod with WiFi ... but I want one. I can't afford the £199 or £269 they're asking either ... but I want one. So what do I do? Well ...

I wait for a few days or weeks until something else shiny, new and that makes noises, gets announced by Apple or Hitachi or Nokia or Fisher Price and start drooling over that instead. And so it goes on. A cycle of drooling, waiting and drooling again until I can afford to buy something. But then what? I daren't buy something because I know that a new, improved, fuller-featured, faster, brigher, more powerful, greener, revolutionary version will be out soon. Aaaargh!

So maybe I, like so many of us, find ourselves trapped in this vicious cycle, created entirely by those who want to sell us things we don't really need. Even my mum who is in her seventies succumbed to this retail treadmill a while ago when she found that her existing phone just wasn't as bright and shiny as the newer ones. She held out for two years, which in technology terms is like the length of the Jurassic era, but the pressure finally told and she conceded defeat. She bought a new one.

So what is the answer to this never-ending story of consumerism? Easy. Go outside, take a deep breath, stretch your arms and legs and go for a walk - in the real world with real people. It costs nothing, is always bang up to date and you get to make all the decisions.

Try it, it's fun.

Cat(s)nip

One of my esteemed correspondents has informed me that her pussy ... cat (I'm not dumbing down THAT much) is about to have a bit of routine surgery in the trouser region. Now there are several reasons for having your cats' love-spuds lopped off. These include the obvious one of preventing him from fathering a veritable clan of ASBO-prone, feral felines along with a few other benefits. Benefits such as a much calmer cat, a more loving cat, a less territorial cat and a cat that doesn't spray that rancid wee stuff over plants, car tyres and your 37" LCD telly.

Now this got me thinking. I'm a bloke. No really, I've checked and everything. As blokes go, I'm fairly placid, affectionate and responsible. Not all men are like this. You may even know some. So, imagine, if you will, what sort of a world we would have whereby all those violent, aggressive, drunken, promiscuous n'er-do-well's had their hairy chestnuts hacked off (in a proper, medical way of course)instead of being thrown in jail for their crimes? Would those unpleasant and disturbing traits disappear, just like they do with our kitty-bretheren?

If it did work, we would be blessed with a whole new type of man - knackerless but well adjusted and pleasant to be with. The criminal justice system would be transformed and the world would be a safer, happier place.

As long as they didn't start bringing dead birds into the lounge.

Oh go on then

Oh I knew it would happen. I just couldn't let YBATYD die could I? Especially as I've been asked by loads (well a few) of my loyal former readers to get back on the net and let rip ... typographically speaking.

So, here I am and You're Born and Then You Die (YBATYD) is back on the block. I intend to carry on in the same vein as previously with one difference - swearing. Now I'm not going to dumb down to the lowest, basest style of writing - like The Sun, but I've decided that a teeny bit more 'adult' language is, where necessary, entirely acceptable.

If you, dear reader peruse through any or all of my old posts, you'll find no sweary-business at all, which is just fine. However, sometimes, just sometimes, the addition of the word 'bollocks' for example can lift a boring sentence to new, humorous heights. Indeed, the word 'bollocks' itself provides several funny alternatives: 'tats', knackers, love-spuds and the Franglais version - 'tats d'amour'

So, in my first posting of the reborn YBATYD I shall use my new-found freedom to tell you that my new iMac (pictured) is the dog's bollocks. I bought it a couple of weeks ago and although my old iMac was bob-on, this one just makes me a little damp with joy. Furthermore, it's even caused stirrings in my loins which may, just may lead to the resurrection of the YBATYD podcast which ran for about 4 glorious episodes before sinking like Derby did today at Liverpool (6-0).

So, things are a changin' and you are welcome to come along for the ride. And if you are new to YBATYD, then "welcome" and feel free to invite your friends, family, colleagues and carers to pop in every few days for a bit of light reading.

And swearing

Hmmm...

Should I bring back YBATYD from the dead?

You're Born And Then ...

... You Die. No, don't worry dear readers, I'm not dead. I know this for two reasons: 1. I'm breathing and 2. I'm writing this. So who or what am I writing about? Well, I'm writing about this 'ere blog.

I've decided to end YBATYD. I've really enjoyed putting my thoughts, observations and even the odd, amusing comment down 'on paper' for the world to enjoy. However, I feel that now is a good time to call it a day. I began YBATYD on December 31st 2005 and really didn't expect it to last more than a week, so it's been a pleasant surprise to see that it has lasted for 212 posts and 17 months.

Thank you to everyone who has posted comments and given feedback - there's a great deal of wit and humour out there! So thank you again to all of you.

Finally, let's not see this as a loss to the Tinterweb. I just like to think of it as making a bit of space available for someone else to have a go. Seems fair doesn't it?

I hope you enjoyed the read. Feel free to delve into the old posts and comments when you feel the urge - I'm sure I will! And now, as they say in France:

See ya.

A quickie

I've had a very long and tiring day so this is a very quick post. The posh do was very posh and the booze was fine and varied. Suffice to say, I didn't look like Fred Astaire at the end but I wasn't drunk, just mildly knackered. Right now however, I'm strongly knackered so I'll tell you about the posh do tomorrow.

Knackered or not.

Do men miss out on fashion?

I've got to go to a posh 'do' this week which requires me to dress according to the dress code known as 'a black-tie event'. Now when you say that, it immediately tells you that the blokes need to wear a very smart suit, which in reality needs to be a dinner jacket (or tuxedo if you must), whilst the ladies need to wear a very smart black outfit. And there's the thing. The fellas, essentially, get a choice of a suit. The ladies get a choice of dresses with various styles, materials and accessories.

However, when you don't have the heavy constraints of a 'black-tie event', the differences become even more obvious. Sure, the chaps have a good choice of trousers, shirts, t-shirts, jackets and even shoes, boots and trainers. Yet, when you cast your beady little peepers across the massive range and variety of clothing available to women, the meagre selection on offer to the men just pales into insignificance. As a woman you can choose from dresses, skirts, trousers, shirts, blouses, camisole thingies,floaty bits and ... well just loads more than the lads can. Not to mention the myriad choice of jewellery that's on offer.

I argued this point with some women at work today. This was an eror. Surprisingly, some of them totally disagreed with me, saying that there was just as much choice and variety for men as women. What? Anyway, things soon became ugly and so I retreated from the verbal melee that I had created, safe in the knowledge that I was right. Mind you, there is one big advantage in having less choice. Fewer decisions about what to wear. So in fact, blokes are probably not really missing out on fashion at all. Rather we just have less to worry about.

However, if you're a transvestite ...

Eurovision - flying the flag

A poor quality video to reflect the poor quality of Eurovision. Which is what makes it so great. Although all the bloody Eastern bloc countries voted for each other and somehow a truly crap song, sung by a sort of female Ronnie Corbett managed to win. Our boys and girls finished a magnificent second from bottom but at least the vast array of Euro-food and booze was worth it all.

What the hell is 'halva' anyway?

Welcome back - me!

Hello again my lovely readers. I'm now back, as promised, after a short blog-break. We're off to a fabulous Eurovision party tonight. Now if you live outside Europe, you may have no idea what 'Eurovision' is. Well, briefly, it's a pan-European song contest which has been televised since it started way back in 1956.

The joy of Eurovision is the wonderful array of truly abysmal performers who have trod the Euro-glory path over the decades. True, the competition has actually spawned some very decent musical talent such as Dana (not the tranny from Israel - the Irish lass); Bucks Fizz and of course, Abba who won the contest in 1974.

Eurovision is a sort of national treasure. People love it because of its often terrible production values, appalling music and never-ending points-awarding section which used to last for hours. Sadly though, things have become a bit more professional in recent years and the scoring system has been rather curtailed which has detracted from the joy somewhat. However, there still promises to be a few gems of aural horror tonight. As it's a special Eurovision party we're going to, we had to pick a number which determined what country we get to support. We got Bosnia Herzegovina.

Yay.

Intermission

Hello my (remaining?) readers. I'm having a teeny intermission in my blogging for a few days. Er, oh, I appear to have already done that ny not posting since Tuesday. Anyway, I am a tad busy in the real world for a few days so rather than have you calling the Police/Interpol/FBI or your nearest vet, you can rest assured that I haven't fallen over the edge of the planet.

So enjoy you rest from reading YBATYD and try hunting the Net for some really interesting stuff. In fact, if anyone has a favourite website (not 'Israeli Lolitas.com' or 'Ceramic Ponies.org') that you like to tell me about then please feel free to leave a comment or email me at bornthendie@mac.com.

I have left the building.

Promoted!

I was obviously so excited about this news that I forgot to write about it. Well, as mentioned previously, Birmingham's chance of promotion to the Premiership was in the balance on Sunday. Well ... thank you Crystal Palace. Oh yeah. They beat Derby 2-0 which meant that the Blues (along with Sunderland) were automatically promoted into the most famous league in the world. No not the West Arbroath Ladies' Under 9's - The Premier League of course.

So it was joy unbounded. My dear chum who is a Derby fan even rang me to tell me the news. It was weird because my wife and I and some friends were just returning from a 7 mile stroll through the countryside (is 7 miles actually a stroll?) enjoying much humorous chit chat, including discussing our favourite toilet roll of choice. Anyway, all of this meant that I totally forgot about the drama which was unfolding down in The Big Smoke. So it was a very pleasant surprise when my phone rang and I heard the news which meant that the Blues are back in the big time. How exciting! I wonder what next season will bring?

Relegation probably.

Blues 2 - 0 MOT

Oh yes. Get in. Result. Hubba hubba. Well I'm sure you were all having trouble concentrating/eating/operating machinery as you awaited the result of my dreaded MOT. Well dear readers, fear not. By a miracle of the Lord himself (should that be a capital 'H'?)my car, somehow, passed it's MOT. I was truly staggered and relieved at this news which nearly made my day.

However, it was bettered by some even better news. Yes, Birmingham nailed Sheffield Wednesday 2-0 this afternoon, sending us back to the top of the league. The situation now is that Derby must win in their match tomorrow - away at Crystal Palace to prevent us being promoted back to the Premiership. If they manage it, it will all be decided on the last game of the season, next week. My underpants are fair melting at the seams in anticipation. As I'm sure yours are too.

If footie ain't your thing, how about this? There was an earthquake here in Blighty today. Seriously. It was in Kent and measured 4.3 on the old Rectum scale. Or is that Richter scale? Anyway, the hilarious thing that made the whole story so wonderfully British was the report that a row of beach huts had to be evacuated for fear of a landslide! No death and destruction or buildings and bridges collapsing - just some wooden changing rooms under threat from a bit of mud.

I love this country.

Football fever

I always promise not to talk about football and I have to say - I'm pretty good at sticking to that promise. So I have no qualms about giving you some footie news today because it's really important. Well to me anyway.

My team - Birmingham City - could be promoted back to the Premiership this weekend. Oh yes. However, being Birmingham, we'll probably be lucky to escape relegation. Jesting aside and for those of you who actually care (that'll be just me then), if Derby lose at Crystal Palace tomorrow and we win at home against Sheffield Wednesday today and if it snows more than 7cm on the high street in Nuuk, the capital of Greenland - then we WILL be promoted.

Exciting isn't it? No? OK well in other news: On Thursday I found myself standing next to a bloke at a cash machine who was holding a full-size Scooby Doo costume, the other night. On Tuesday my wife and I sat in an Apple store watching a demonstration of Garageband which was being given by a member of staff. This was especially amusing as we were the only two people watching (they brought out seats for us) and it was our wedding anniversary. I know how to show a lady a good time. Mind you we did have a posh meal out that night so I'm not a total gonk.

And finally today - my car has it's MOT. A sense of dread and foreboding is sitting in my lower regions as I write because I am confident that it's going to be an expensive day. I haven't had anything major go wrong with mons petit voiture since I bought it and I've just got a feeling that today will be payback time. I shall let you know the outcome.

I still have a bicycle in the garage.

Cheese and barbed wire

A chum of mine does a bit on the side. Photography, that is. Although it's not his main job, he's starting to develop and expand his portfolio of work and I thought it might be quite nice to give him a plug. That's a mention, not something you'd find in a sink.

So he does photos for fun (like the one above) but he has also started some professional stuff which now includes weddings. However, I don't think his style is hours and hours of making people stand around saying 'cheese' as he arranges "friends and work colleagues of the bride only please" around some bloody fountain in the middle of a damp lawn. He's a tad less formal than that which is probably a good thing at a wedding.

Obviously he does plenty of other stuff, all of which you can see by following the link on the right of the page. He does take some rather good pics although I'm not sure he could make me look like a male model.

Unless he left the lens cap on, perhaps.

Daniel Corbett!

He is the most brilliantly berserk BBC weatherman ever. Notice his amazing and bizarre hand gestures, hear his fantastic tips such as "it's a two-hand-on-the-brolly-day today" and "so the extra-thick blankets on hand through the course of the night". A friend of mine at work does a great impersonation of him which always makes me laugh. Daniel Corbett - you gotta love him.

A good leathering

You can't beat a bit of leather. No, this isn't a kinky segway into a posting about thigh-length boots, S&M and dodgy lederhosen. It's simply letting you know the we have entered the world of leather sofas. Oh yes. Excitement abounds because we had our new leather suite delivered on Friday and it's luvverly.

Now I have to admit that I wasn't a fan of leather sofas previously. I think they're a bit like Marmite (or Vegemite for my Australian readers) because you either love 'em or hate 'em. Of course cheap leather looks like a rhino's arse but the good quality stuff looks, feels and even smells fabulous. Mind you, I didn't realise that you had to actually look after leather. It's like suddenly having a couple of children. You have to clean them and 'feed' them, otherwise they get grubby, dried-up and ancient-looking. Rather like Judith Chalmers. However, I've now totally changed my mind about leather sofas. They are so comfy, luxurious and (once the initial chill has gone) warm. Yum.

Well enough chitty-chat. I'm off to the lounge, to lounge on the three-seater before moving over to the two-seater and finally giving the big pouffe a bit of attention. The problem now is, I don't know which sofa is my favourite so I guess I shall have to spend hour after hour lazing around until I'm happy.

Dunno who'll do the housework...?

Blogging is hard graft

It is. But then I suppose it depends on what you're blogging about. If you blog about something that has a constant supply of ever-changing information, then posting your thoughts on all this info is pretty easy. So if you blog about sport, or politics or music or technology then you have fresh material to talk about all the time.

However, if you have to create your own content, things are a little harder. If your blog is supposed to be mildly amusing then it gets harder still. Such is life for me and as a result I often spend ages trying to come up with something that fits the remit I gave myself for YBATYD which was to look at human nature in a way that may just raise a smile for my readers.

I've specifically chosen to make YBATYD a place that's suitable for everyone and by that I mean that it shouldn't upset or offend, unless the words 'bloody' and 'poo' bother you. There have been times when I thought that I could get much more laughter-mileage out of a more adult orientated blog but decided that would just be taking the easy route. Mind you, there was this time I was in a Nigerian massage parlour with eleven Danish netball players ....

So, today's posting is just me musing about the sometimes Herculean effort I have to make to get something worth reading up on the Tinterweb. Obviously deciding whether or not it actually is worth the effort is entirely subjective so I just have to go with what I think works. Hopefully I get it right more often than not.

So, what amusing and witty comment shall I bring you today? Er ...

Executive joy part 2

How the other half live eh? My wife and I went to watch Leicester V Birmingham (footie) tonight. However, this was no ordinary trip. My fab brother-in-law has an executive box at Leicester and tonight we got to be VIP's.

Even before we got upstairs to the executive box area, we shared a lift with a multi-millionaire. Yes indeedy. The three of us approached the lift where we encountered what looked like a lift attendant in a long black coat with red epaulletes on the shoulders. He looked like a very short Russian soldier. But no - he was only David Sullivan - the owner of Birmingham City. We all got in the lift and he shuffled to the back, where he stood looking rather odd, especially as he was only about 5' 3" tall. He got out before us and wandered off in the direction of the director's box. He really was a funny little man. Oh, and fabulously wealthy.

Then we got to the executive box. It was amazing - table for 12 laid for dinner, Sky TV, fridge full of drinks, wine and nibbles, our own balcony with seats and a great view of the pitch (see the pic). We had a slap-up dinner and plenty of booze before kick off and then dessert, cheese & crackers along with tea, coffee and biscuits at half time. At the end of the game, following Blues' vital win, there was more wine and beer to be had before we wafted out of the ground and back to our car.

The excitement was not quite over though, for as we weaved our way slowly back past the ground on our way we home, we pulled out on front of this huge Bentley that sported a private number plate: D GOLD. This time, the VIP in question was the co-owner of Birmingham - David Gold. Obviously I was in a good mood so I gave him the thumbs-up and a cheery pair of celebratory, raised fists. He smiled at me and gave me the thumbs up too! His chauffeur (yeah, I know) was busy driving, so Dave could concentrate on acknowledging the grinning idiot in the 1.2l Vauxhall Corsa. Bless me. So all in all, a brilliant experience and a great result.

Unless you support Leicester.

Executive joy part 1

Leciester City 1 - 2 Birmingham City. What a great win for the Blues and what a way to see the match. Read part 2 for all the details. Meanwhile, here's a grainy video of the Blues first goal of the game.

Beautiful!

More tea vicar?

My mum and dad are moving house. The house they live in is a cottage that's about 400 years old and full of history. However, some bizarre history turned up the other day which is truly amazing.

My mum had a call from the estate agent telling her not to worry because the woman who is buying their house "has taken out indemnity insurance" against the church demanding payments for repairs. My mum explained that she hadn't got "the faintest bloody idea" what she was talking about. Well, it transpires that the woman who's buying the house has a very efficent solicitor who uncovered a bizarre element in the original deeds of the house.

In short, the owners of the house are legally bound to pay for repairs to the local church (which is nearly 2 miles from the house) as deemed neccessary by the Church of England. Seriously. It's just about the wierdest thing I've ever heard. My parents have lived there since 1979 and all that time, the local church could have demanded cash to pay for a new roof, some groovy pews or a spanking new font. My mum reminded me of a case from years ago in a nearby village where this happened to another homeowner who actually lost a court battle to avoid paying his local church thousands of pounds in repairs. Unbelievable.

I suppose you could plead aethiesm...

Shellsuit Heaven part 3

And on we go. Fear not though, I won't inflict the whole of the Reverend's diary on you:


Wednesday

Sister Maureen was discovered, still cowering in the Archbishop's medical closet after Vernon, the cleaner (and village idiot), accidentally locked the door. The Sister was unharmed, although her hips were badly bruised and she was unable to speak until elevenses, at noon.

Today we received news that the Archdeacon will be visiting next week. We are all most excited as he has recently had a diobolocatadichtomy and he will be giving a talk on his operation - with slides.

Thursday

One of our parishioners, Mrs Titkins, has made a small cake. Whilst we were most grateful, the unusual combination of strawberries and solidified gravy was not too well received. Matron is on standby.

The church cat, Timmy has gone missing. Sister Jennifer has placed a card in the newsagents' window pleading for information. Timmy is a distinctive creature, having just 3 legs, 1 eye and mal-formed tail. You may recognise him by a small, white patch at the back of his paw on the front left hand side.


Friday

Brother Ted has been stung on the face by a bee. Dr Monkfurnace has been called, and, as it is such a dire emergency, with Brother Ted's life in the balance, he has promised to speed his way here within eleven days. God be with him.

The missing cheese has been located. It was found by a parishioner in between 2 slices of bread and smeared with home-made piccalilli and 2 sardines...... in my knapsack. I have apologised to all concerned.


Keep the fan mail flooding in. Er ...

Quizzical pub

I love pub quizzes. Last night, my wife and some chums gathered our collective brains together and headed off the nearest hostelry from some oh-so-British entertainment. The joys of pub quizzes are many. Not least the customary self-importance and appalling microphone technique of the quizmaster, or 'Dave' as he is usually known. In this case 'Dave' was actually 'Nick' but he didn't fail to deliver.

The whole evening was littered with endless explanations of the scoring system, how the ten minute break would work and debates on whether or not you got a quarter of a point for 'Lake Lucerne' in the final, super-complex question. Nick delivered all of this in what can only be described as a 1970's British Rail platform announcement style. Thus, everyone had to possess the ear canal of a bat to determine what the bloody hell he was saying.

The questions were the usual mix of geography, music, literature, sport and children's daytime telly. There was even a photo round which consisted of a superbly low-quality photocopied sheet containing images of various, er, famous people such as President Roosevelt, Scarlett Johannson and er, Judy Finnigan. We got 9/10 in that round and overall we came a very creditable 3rd out of, well, well, at least eight teams.

And here are a few of the exciting questions we faced:

Who slew the Minotaur? Yes, it was of course - Thessius
In the nursery rhyme, who lost her pocket? Aah, it was Lucy Locket
In which country is the steepest street in the world? It's New Zealand (Baldwin St- Dunedin)
If you study Orology, what do you study? Mountains innit

Well, there you go. See what you missed? Oh and the other great thing about pub quizzes is the beer. So you get to drink and learn at the same time.

Now that's what I call a good night out.

Shellsuit Heaven part 2

Well happy, warm and sunny Easter to you. Yep, the sun is shining and it's beautifully warm, here in the UK, for the Bank Holiday weekend. See, miracles do happen.

Anyway, as promised here are a couple of mildly amusing tidbits from my old Shellsuit Heaven website:


Monday

The start of a new week in the ethereal parish and the weather is not good. Despite being here in Shellsuit Heaven, we still suffer the same meteorological misfortunes as mere mortals.

The hail has been particularly bad and the poor soul who suffered most was Sister Maureen. You may be aware that Sister Maureen is, rather sadly, blessed with a rather large nose, which is covered with pimply warts which are prone to sag and burst when impacted upon by sharp objects. This includes hail. A severe eruption of nasal pustules following the hail storm, meant the Sister spent over 2 hours in the Archbishops' medical closet. Our prayers are with her.


Tuesday

Brother Derek and Brother Ted have been attempting to restart our honey producing operation. This is indeed a brave move for Brother Ted who is extremely allergic to bee stings. He has been told that if he were stung, he could collapse and die within 4 minutes. Even if he survived, the poison could cause his colon to swell to the size of an oboe, according to the local doctor - Dr Monkfurnace.

Sister Maureen's nose has become partially detached from her face and we are awaiting a small miracle.

2 ounces of cheese has disappeared from the larder. I am investigating.


It's not real you know

Shellsuit Heaven part 1

A few years ago I had a website called Shellsuit Heaven. It was a homage to crap fashion and was inspired by that classic 80's fashion horror - the shellsuit. I decided that it would be great to celebrate the fashion nightmares that paraded around our streets and so I decided to launch the site.

My good friend who was, and still is a computer genius, designed a brilliant site complete with 'holy gates' which lead you into the world of awful clothing. The site consisted primarily of covert photos (not digital!) which I'd taken of members of the public whom I found wearing abysmal clothes. Obviously, the ultimate goal was always to get a picture of someone actually wearing a shellsuit. This was very tricky as almost no-one wore them after the early 90's. But then, human behaviour is a wonderful thing and, god love 'em, I did manage to get a couple of corking pics.

At the time, it was de rigeur to have a guest book where site visitors could leave their thoughts and opinions. This was really successful and I had a healthy amount of positive feedback. I also added a rather unusual element to the site which was a diary of the fictional head of Shellsuit Heaven (which was me of course) in the guise of 'the Reverend' who oversaw the 'parish' of Shellsuit Heaven. This was just a little humorous addition to the site that actually proved to be really popular.

So, I thought you might like to read a few of the Reverend's diary entries. They're not hilarious or even that witty. Rather, they're a mild distraction for a few moments and I'm quite fond of them, as I was of the whole, fabulously designed site. My chum even designed a brilliant online game whereby you had to drive the Reverend's ancient Citroen 2CV whilst avoiding 'holy' obstacles. Anyway, I shall bring you some tidbits from the diary over the next few days.

Bless you all ...

I'm back

It's been a week - a WHOLE week since my last posting and that is simply unforgivable. I'm always so consistent. As a punishment, I will cover myself in cold gravy, roll down a hill full of nettles and and allow my backside to be used as a bike-park, outside the library.

Or I could just apologise and promise you that normal service has been resumed.

Ketchup

Ooops. Forgot to post these last few days so here's a quick catchup/ketchup (geddit?) on what's been going on in my oh-so-hectic life:

Sunday - er, not much. Went for some grub at my in-laws
Monday - opened a new savings account, got a new exhaust fitted for my car and went to a baby-gothtastic gig; namely My Chemical Romance, which made me wish I'd worn more eyeliner
Tuesday - er, work

So, as you can see, it's non-stop action. However, it doesn't stop there. Tomorrow it's ten pin bowling, Friday, a bit of theatre, Saturday we're having a tree chopped down and Sunday, more eating out with relatives. This is all going to have to stop. I'm 41 for God's sake and I need to take it easy.

Someone fetch my pipe, slippers and copy of 'Herbacious Borders' monthly.

Wemberleee

This isn't a post. Well, alright, it clearly is a post but what I mean is, it's really just a marker. By that, I mean that it's here simply to record an noteworthy event. Bear in mind though that this is noteworthy as far as I am concerned so don't expect anything really important like the start of the war in Iraq or the discovery of a real, working brain inside George Bush's head.

Nope, this is simply an historical note to say that the new Wembley stadium hosted it's first footie match yesterday, Saturday. This is, indeed an historic event in the world of footie, despite the fact that the match was a rather feeble under 21's match between England and Italy. It ended 3-3, so no England victory and worse still, the first ever goal scored at the £800 million, 90,000 stadium was not by an Englishman. Typical. Oh well, the stadium looks absolutely stunning although as it's still getting it's safety certificates, the crowd on Saturday was limited to 60,000 lucky punters. So, there it is. My first 'marker' post.

Isn't learning great?

Under pressure

My wife and I were out in her car yesterday. We were just loading the car with shopping when I noticed that one of her rear tyres looked pretty soft. Thus, we headed off to a nearby garage where we sidled up to the air pump.

The first three tyres all needed a bit of topping up, but then we got to the fourth one. On her car, the pressure required for the rear tyres is 28psi. We attached the air hose to the tyre nozzle. Instantly, you get a readout of the current tyre pressure on the machine. It said '7'. I thought there was a digit missing. The readout blinked and displayed '7'. The tyre, which should have been at 28psi was at 7psi. That's a quarter / 25% of what it should have been. Spectacular. I asked my wife if she'd felt like she'd been driving a boat recently and she admitted that the car had seemed a tad "spongy". A tad spongy? It's a surprise the bloody car wasn't cornering on it's sills.

Well, it's all inflated now and we actually suspect a slow puncture which we'll have looked at this week. So here's your safety tip for the week dear drivers. Check your tyres. And your oil. And your screenwash. And your lights. And your wipers. And your power steering fluid. And your shock absorbers. And your exhaust. And ...

Oh just get a bicycle.