You're Born And Then You Die

Vehicular oasis

2011-11-22T12:45:00.001Z

I had the pleasure of having to visit Belgrave Square in London last week. If you didn't know, it's located in Westminster and is one of those truly salubrious parts of London which is filled with the kind of huge, pillar-fronted buildings you see in old films. They are impressive stuccoed buildings with big windows, high ceilings and feeling of true grandeur.

It's also where many of the foreign embassies are. Wikipedia describes it thus: Belgrave Square is one the largest and grandest 19th Century squares in London. And it's not just the buildings that exude a sense of wealth and luxury. The whole place is rammed full of Bentley's, Range Rovers, Porsches, Ferraris andAston Martins.

So as I strolled past Gordon Ramsey's Boxwood Cafe and the 5 star Berkeley Knightsbridge hotel towards Belgrave Square, I felt like I was the underclass, entering a world of caviar, fur coats and million pound deals. The array of exquisite cars lining the street only served to heighten my sense of inferiority.

And then my saviour appeared, partly in shadow, beneath an ornate, cast-iron street lamp. I felt worthy again. I was not inferior. I was an equal to all of those around me in this alien, billion pound (dollar, euro) world. There, nestled between a Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren Roadster and a Bentley Continental GTC, was an 'M' reg Proton Saga. In red. And rust. Even better, it was parked in a permit holders' space.

Joy filled me heart. This alien turd of vehicles had sneaked into the hallowed land of the international playboy, film star and corporate banker and said "bollocks to the lot of you" I patted it's manky bonnet and continued onwards past a yellow Lamborghini, smiling to myself.

Proton 1 - 0 Financial excess

Blogging eh?

2011-11-19T11:29:00.003Z

Where do I begin? The fate of so many blogs has been to explode into life in a riot of colour, fanfare and excitement. Only to fade and die after a short while, never to return. YBATYD has so nearly succumbed to this same travesty of online life but always just manages to rise, phoenix-like from the ashes of the Internet.

So here I am. Months after my last post and feeling a tad dismayed at all the wonderful things that have happened which would have been brilliant fodder for you to dine on. Odd things always happen to me and now that I have finally invested in an iPhone, I can truly exploit those magical moments by sharing them with you as they happen.

For example, last week whilst out in town - a town which seems to exist solely for its residents to doss about, drinking, fighting and stealing from each other (maybe some exaggeration there)- I walked past two 'yoofs', clad in obligatory tracksuits and hoodies, walking their ferrets. Yes. Ferrets. Now how much more wonderful and engaging would that story have been if there'd been a photo to accompany it? Exactly dear readers. Exactly.

So now I am iPhone'd up to the hilt I shall never again miss the chance to deliver amusing, witty, erudite and photo-supported postings for your enjoyment.

As long as I don't lose my phone.

Best before...?

2011-05-30T23:20:00.004+01:00

Firstly - 'hello blog'. Crikey, it's been so long since I last posted, the World has changed a great deal. Birmingham City got relegated, tornadoes, floods and earthquakes have happened and the price of cider has increased. All major events indeed. Suffice to say, I am ashamed at my lack of textual input these past months. Maybe it's an age thing. Or possibly that I just kept forgetting that I actually had a blog. Either way, I've written sod all since last September and that's a shame because all sorts of berserk things have happened to me during my blogging absence.

Well, enough reminiscing about the recent past (although I must tell you about my mental arm-agony that I had to endure in the winter, sometime) and on to today's interesting life event. My good lady decided to avail herself of a small snack earlier in the evening. This was not a good idea because I was at work and thus not able to provide my usual 'health and safety' style checks on her savoury sustenance. Now don't get me wrong. She is no simpleton. No dunderhead. She is actually infinitely more intelligent than I am. Proof of this can be provided by reading the title of her dissertation that she wrote whilst at university - 'Equations of length seven over free groups'. That's pure maths. And no, I have absolutely no idea what it means either but I do know that it's immensely complex and you need to have a brain the size of Chad to understand it all.

So it's all the more curious then that, given her intelligence, she managed to scoff an entire bag of cheese Doritos that were seven months out of date. That's a 7 by the way. Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that not seeing the 'best before...' label on a packet doesn't mean you are stupid. I agree. However, this packet was vegetating right at the back of a dark, hard to reach cupboard. This would have provided most people with a small clue as to the age of the item. Furthermore, we haven't bought cheese Doritos for months. Another fairly large clue. To be honest if I found an unexpected item of food lurking at the back of a dark cupboard on a rarely used shelf I think I would have at least a cursory glance at the 'best before...' bit on the packet. But that's just me.

The good news is that she ate the Doritos three hours ago and she's still alive which is, of course, great. However, if she awakes in the night, gasping for air, clutching her stomach and asking for a priest, I may have re-write this last bit.

And maybe instead of 'best before...' a label saying 'worst after ...' would be a bit more effective.

Out of iTune?

2010-09-05T17:16:00.004+01:00

Now I'm about as big an Apple fan as you can get. Sad, but so very true. I have an iMac, various iPod's including an iPod touch; an Apple TV an iPad and an un-nerving appreciation of black, turtle-neck sweaters. I love all that Apple is - how the products function, how the applications interact, how it all works so beautifully in the way I want and even the gorgeous, eye-wateringly beautiful designs.

However, I downloaded iTunes 10 the other day.

I was staggered. I've never seen anything from Apple that is so utterly devoid of beauty and sex appeal. This is aside from the many aspects of iTunes 10's functionality which seem to have been removed. It's grey (or gray if you insist). Very grey. Very, very grey. In fact, it is greyer than an elephant lying in concrete. All the buttons are grey. The lists are grey. All the headings and titles are grey. When you click on anything - it stays grey.

It's grey.

It is devoid of any colour. And I hate it. But it's OK because many, many other people hate it too. Now I'm all for sleek, modern design. Apple's renowned for its minimalistic, artistry when it comes to the creation of their products and applications. But this, this is like a pencil drawing. It has about as much visual appeal as Celine Dion, naked, astride a Velociraptor ... in gravy. Wait - that has too much colour in it.

Suffice to say - using iTunes 10 is a depressing, joy-sapping experience. A bit like biting your own toenails after running a marathon. So why have Apple done this to us? What are they trying to prove? Should I stand accused of 'monochromophobia'? Well if I am, then I plead guilty as charged.

I hate it. So there you have it - in black and white. Not grey.

Aaargh I'm dying. Right, I'm fine now.

2010-07-03T20:01:00.004+01:00

OK, so the title's a bit long but it's also pretty descriptive. The World Cup is on as I write and it's been a pretty successful tournament in South Africa. Unless you're an England fan, Asamoah Gyan - the Ghanian striker who missed a penalty with the last kick of the game which ultimately meant his team went out of the competition, or Frank Lampard, whose goal was disallowed despite being around twelve years over the line. However, one thing has driven me mental with anger. Cheating.

Now we all know that football players are prone to exaggerated reactions to fouls and firm tackles but this World Cup has seen things reach a whole new level. Not content with merely diving, when an opponent brushes an ankle or makes the lightest contact with an arm, the players are now performing acrobatic leaps, total body collapses and more rolls than a Greggs bakers' in an effort to win a free kick or get an opponent sent off.

However, a new and impressive feigning technique has emerged which prompted a friend of mine to utter the following: "There should be three cards in football - a yellow card, a red card and an Equity card". For those of you who are not from these fair isles of Britain - 'Equity' is the actors union. And he's right about the acting. The new trend is, regardless of where another player makes contact with you, to collapse to the ground clutching your face and writhing in agony. It's really quite astonishing. Astonishing because the players are so dense that they don't seem to realise that their every movement is captured in super slow-motion, high-definition (unless you subscribe to ITV HD) and also astonishing because FIFA and the officials seem happy to let them get away with it.

I've watched numerous games over the past few weeks where players have given the impression that they have just been shot in the face with an elephant gun from a distance of 4 centimetres, only for the replay to show that they were tapped on the arse by a wayward boot from an ungainly defender. And they really go for it too. I have to say that the Italians, Brazilians and the French seem to be the greatest exponents of this dubious new fad.

Personally, I think that if a referee witnesses a blatant example of 'face clutching' then he should be allowed to smack the offender in the jaw with a claw hammer. And then give him a yellow card for time-wasting whilst he has emergency, reconstructive surgery on the sidelines. And then kill him anyway. Possibly.

If it continues for much longer I may be forced to watch pro-celebrity knitting instead.

Name that car

2010-05-21T08:50:00.005+01:00

I just bought a new car. Well I say new, I've never actually bought a brand new one because I've never had enough money floating around in my bank account to do so. When I say 'new' I mean 'new to me'. It's actually three years old, but at least it's a lot newer than my previous, valiant car - Keith.

Aaah, I see some of you flinched at that bit.

People who give car names are, to put it politely 'sad', 'stupid' and 'annoying'. So, yes, I'm one of those people. The new car is called Terry by the way. My boss at work gets really bent out of shape when she hears me discussing the vehicular attributes of Keith and Terry. She really, really hates it and has a rather strong dislike of people who do such things. So this begs the question "why do it"?

Hmmm. Well, personally I just like to give a bit if character to something I spend a great deal of time with. Like a wife or girlfriend. Oh - a bit more flinching there. But think about it. Think of all the long journeys, exciting adventures, sad, dreary road trips, naughty fun, escapes from near-death and sharing of all the seasons, weather and life-changing moments that you experience whilst in your car.

It's hard not to associate some of the most profound moments in your life with your trusty metal steed. I've laughed, cried, shouted, whimpered, sung, screamed, snored, chatted, argued, kissed, hugged, sworn (rather a lot) and daydreamed in Keith. Why on Earth would I not feel an affinity with him. Yes 'him'. My mate. My soulmate. My caring, sharing automobile. Yes I give my cars names. Because they give me so much more in return.

Now where are my car keys....

Sign of the times

2009-08-04T09:40:00.002+01:00

The photo says it all. And I love it. Hat sellers outside Trent Bridge cricket ground have a readymade market of stupid hat buyers passing their stalls. However, with grammar and prices (4.99 pence!) so badly misjudged, you have to wonder what sort of simpleton they're targetting.

I bought one.

Too busy?

2009-05-20T16:03:00.004+01:00

I'm actually too busy to write a post. Apart from this one which is explaining why I'm too busy to write a post, even though I'm writing one. Er. This is confusing. Anyway, I am indeed busier than Mr Busy McBusy from Busytown in Busyshire. I'm recording podcasts, making video's (nothing shady, honest Guv) and have lots of hectic things going on. So, why post about this dear, loyal readers?

Guilt.

Yep. I've been perusing my old postings, right back to my first ever one on New Year's eve 2005 and I realised how inconsistent I've been. Part of the problem seems to be that I am writing quite a lot of stuff for my Twitter and Facebook chums. The thing is though, social network and micro-blogging sites just don't allow one to fully express themselves. As you know if you're a regular reader of YBATYD or, indeed, a newcomer, you'll see that my musings always require far more space than is acceptable or even allowed on Facebook, Twitter etc. And anyway, a blog should be a fuller, more rounded experience for it's readers. Hmmm. I seem to have solved my own problem. A blog is not the same as any other medium and so deserves its own style and freedom of expression. Phew.

Crikey. This is a bit of a serious posting. That's not like me at all. Maybe I should lighten the mood. Er ... Oh yes, this is amusing. A colleague of mine told me today that when she was at school there was a craze going round whereby the girls would cake lipstick on and then plant a big kiss on the mirror in the girl's loo. God knows why but hey, who needs a reason for a craze?

Anyway, the Head Teacher was a tad miffed at this and made numerous attepmts to get them to stop. Finally, she gathered a bunch of the naughty gals in the lav, along with one of the school cleaners. The teacher addressed the throng by asking the cleaner to show the girls exactly how much work went into cleaning the lipstick off the mirror. The cleaner picked up a rancid, grey dishcloth, dunked it in the toilet and used it to wipe the lippy off. The girls never 'kissed' the mirror again.

Hooray. Normal service has been resumed.

A slice of bad luck

2009-05-09T20:06:00.007+01:00

Picture the scene: you're enjoying a bit of James Bond on DVD (Casino Royale no less), with your best friend. You've enjoyed a fab, gut-busting meal and the world is a happy place. Then you decide to make it just that little bit more perfect. Melons. Yes, you suddenly remember that you have a ripe one, nestling in the fridge between the Onken yoghurt and the 2 litre bottle of Strongbow. I'm a classy geezer you know.

So, without a moment's thought, the DVD was paused (no, not the bit many of my female colleagues get all excited about - Daniel Craig emerging from the sea in his pants) and I leapt over the sofa, did a forward roll into the kitchen and threw open the fridge door with gay abandon. Er...

Seconds later, the juicy melon was at my mercy, held down upon the chopping board by my manly hand. I whipped out my knife and got to work. Slice after dripping slice of sweet melon fell away as I powered through the powerless fruit. The it happened.

I think I may have said something along the lines of "OH F*CK!". This was because, in my haste, I had almost sliced the end of my thumb off. That knife was terrifically sharp and I had sliced two-thirds of the way through the tip of my innocent finger. The second I felt the blade slicing through one of my favourite digits, I knew I was in trouble. Bravely, I called out to me lovely friend that I was in a fair bit of pain, before almost fainting. Well, when I say fainting I mean that my natural defence system kicked in and decided that the best way to help me would be to make me sweat profusely, develop tunnel vision, tinnitus and a desire to rest my head on the cold floor. I obliged.

After several agonising minutes and a fair amount of horror-film-style blood splattering (the bottle opener and salad bowl took the brunt of it), my friend had stemmed the flow and helped me administer a rather nifty looking bandage. I knew my First Aid training would come in handy one day. Finally, we cleared up the red mess, tidied up the blood-soaked pieces of kitchen roll and headed back to the telly to resume our film. Then I remembered the melon.

Look, you have to get your priorities right. I may have nearly lopped the end off my thumb, experienced exquisite pain and bled like a halal pig, but food is food. Just because you've suffered a major, life-threatening trauma (am I exaggerating a tad?), it shouldn't mean you have to neglect your tum. So I zipped back into the kitchen, grabbed the plate of succulent (and blood-free) slices and returned to Jimmy B and his trunks. Life was once again, good.

But now I have a phobia of melons. The fruit that is.

Tiny car

2009-05-09T09:59:00.002+01:00

Capers and such like

2009-04-17T16:29:00.006+01:00

Do you ever wish you liked a food, but didn't? But wish you did? Even though you didn't? No? Well I do. There are at least three foods that I didn't like but made myself like them because, well, they just looked so much fun to eat.

The first one is .... celery. Yes I know. People think it's dull and that it takes more calories to eat it than it actually contains. Aside from all that though the reason I yearned for celery so much was that it just looked so crunchy, easy to use and brilliant for scooping up yummy stuff like houmous, peanut butter and salsa dip. When I first tried it, naked ... er, the celery was naked, not me. Or was I? Anyway, the celery was 'au natrel' and I thought it tasted like crunchy water. But I was determined to be a 'crunchy dunker' and I persevered with the little green stalk until I finally came to love it's fresh, bland taste. I always remember one summer's day, when I was but a child, my dad sitting in the garden, his belly button full of salt and him dunking his celery in it... Aaah memories.

My second hated food was .... olives. When I first tried an olive, the taste made my mouth feel violated. I thought they were disgusting. But olives just seemed to be the darling of the social event. They were, and still are, bloody everywhere - parties, restaurants, pubs and clubs. And they're just so, well, handy. Easy to nibble on their own or with a plate of exciting goodies. I needed to get to like olives. So I re-visited them and discovered that black olives tasted rather like metallic courgettes diced with a little bit of cat vomit but if I had them with something else they were bearable. Admittedly, I had to eat them with things that helped disguise the flavour slightly. Cheesey Doritos worked quite well, but eventually I had to 'go it alone' with an unaccompanied black olive. I liked it. The next step was to tackle the gag-inducing green efforts. Surprise surprise. My black olive training had taught my taste buds to actually enjoy the weird flavour imparted by olives. I loved the little green buggers. Then I discovered stuffed olives: pimento (what the hell IS pimento?), almonds, anchovies, sun-dried tomatoes and more. Nowdays, there is always a jar of fat, stuffed olives lurking in my cupboard.

My final challenge was .... beetroot. I blame my schooldays for my acquired abhorrence of this stupid-coloured vegetable. They used to put beetroot in loads of meals and as the meals themselves were generally unfit for human consumption, the lowly 'beet' quickly became associated with all that was vile, inedible and an insult to all things cullinary. Plus, I thought that beetroot was just showing off, by bleaching it's sodding purple-ness onto every other foodstuff on my plate. There's no need for that is there? Then, one day, about 25 years after my last beetroot-infected school dinner, I was treated to a delicious meal which was essentially a fresh tuna salad (I'm dangerously obsessed with tuna by the way) that also contained, dear God - beetroot. Unfortunately, I wasn't in a position to grab a fork and flick the offending bits into the nearerst bin/flower pot/pram and so I had to actually eat the stuff. It was delicious. It was amazing. It was beautiful. It was angelic. It was ... purple heaven. All these years, I'd shied away from, despised, loathed and reviled beetroot. And there, in one glorious moment, I discovered that it was, in fact,delicious. And did you know that if you eat enough of it, it can even make you wee go pink, which is always a hit at parties. Bonus.

And so, my life, like my tum, is now fuller because I made myself like three foods which I had just naturally avoided or disliked. I can't imagine not enjoying them again and know that I will always be happier for including them in my diet.

Capers however are rank. They taste like soil, laced with battery acid and covered in algae. They actually make me want to be sick. So why then, did I buy a jar, specifically to include in a tomato salsa recipe, as part of a meal from a Jamie Oliver cookbook? Because the recipe said so. I had faith in Jamie 'Olive-Oil". I truly believed that, despite including the single most revolting food item know to humanity, the recipe would just work. I really believed the flavours of all the ingredients would work in perfect harmony and produce a salsa of such joy, taste and sensation, I would actually need to spend some time alone for a while. I was wrong. It tasted of soil, laced with battery acid and covered in algae, but with the addition of garlic and onion. I felt my intestines trying to force their way up my oesophagus in a bid for freedom. The evil, hateful, murderous capers had invaded and pillaged all the lovely flavours from my salsa and killed them in cold blood. Well, a tomato-based juice actually, but you get my point. So, I tried. I really tried to like capers. But no. Capers are horrid. Truly awful. Utterly repellant. They are wrong!

But the jar's still in my fridge and I'm afraid. Very afraid.

Apprentice joy

2009-04-15T16:46:00.008+01:00

I watch The Apprentice on the telly. For those of you who don't know, or are lucky enough to live another country, it's a sort of reality TV show where 'contestants' are chasing a dream job with a major international company. They spend what feels like 244 weeks being 'interviewed' by way of a myriad number of tasks and challenges, all designed to test their business acumen, leadership qualities and decision-making skills.

Unfortunately, most of them are tossers.

OK, that's a little harsh, but I wanted to raise a laugh early on. None of them are tossers. Well some of them are. Actually most of them have an 'air of the tosser' about them to be honest. We're on about the fifth series now and I'm constantly amazed at the staggering levels of ineptitude, arrogance and well, tosser-ness which they manage to display. There have been some monumental examples of stupidity. One that springs to mind was from an earlier series:

"I'm outstanding in everything I've done," lawyer/artist/tosser (allegedly) Nicholas de Lacy-Brown assured us in the opening episode. However, Nick's wide and varied life experiences clearly didn't include selling lobsters - a grave omission that saw him offloading £20 crustacea for the cut-down price of a fiver in London's Chapel Market. He totally cocked up on his maths and flogged all this top-notch aquatic grub for practically nowt. And this was a man/tosser who was earning shed loads of cash in his chosen profession. How the hell do these people do it? Let's not forget that these people must have got their amazing jobs by either luck, nepotism or by shagging the boss.

I'm sure you all have your favourite examples of unbelievable idiocy from the show, but surely who could forget, as part of the Marrakech task when the two teams had to find items in the city's huge souk? A kosher chicken was on the list. Michael, who called himself a "good Jewish boy" on his CV, didn't know what kosher meant and bought it from a halal butcher before getting the Muslim chap to pray over it, thinking that would be enough. I'm sorry but the word 'tosser' leaps from my fingers and onto this blog once again. You have to laugh though don't you? And so from this plethora of simpletons, Sir Alan (Brillo-head) Sugar must pick a winner to become a part of his uber-empire. Well, Sir Alan, when it comes to choosing a brilliant new apprentice, I have to say:

"You're fired".

Spend & save

2009-01-04T16:37:00.008Z

Well happy new year and all that jazz. However, the question is, exactly how happy a new year is it? With a world economic recession circling us like vultures over a dead water buffalo, what does 2009 hold for mere mortals like you and me?

Well it depends on how you look at severe financial trauma. Me? Well, I look at my spending and cut back where I can but not to the point where I'm eating soil and making my own pants from leaves. I still treat myself to things. Like margarine and tiny oil paintings. However, some people view things like closing down sales as a retail bonanza, not to be missed at any cost, regardless of the financial situaion.

Certain people manage to convince themselves that by spending money, they are actually saving money. I knew this female, lady-woman who told me she'd saved £3 on a toilet roll multipack, so she bought a £50 coat to celebrate. Is it me or is that mental? So with all these stores like Woolies, Zavvi, MFI and The Pier disappearing from UK high streets, it's like a Pandora's box for many folks. They're like shopping-zombies, lurching trance-like through the doors of the latest collapsing retail giant. And once inside, that bonkers 'spend & save' logic takes over their enfeebled minds and they start shelling out wads of cash to buy things they don't need and can't afford. But it's such a 'brilliant price', they just can't pass up the opportunity. What wisdom.

Then, 5 months later when they've defaulted on their eleven credit & store cards, Mr Bailiff turns up on the doorstep and removes all the lovely stuff purchased in that whirl of discount-infused excitement. And the result? Cheap, nearly-new goods on sale at a reposession auction near you!

Winner.

Slooowly coming back

2008-12-31T11:24:00.003Z

Well, maybe I'm finally ready to start with my eccentric musings again after a long old break. Did you miss me dear reader(s)? Well, I moved house just before Xmas and of course, being a man-bloke, my priorities were clear: LCD telly, Internet, food, beer ... then everything else.

So, all the other stuff got sorted nicely. Then came the internet. Now my need for the internet is similar to most people's need for oxygen, Kerry Katona's need for Iceland ads or George Bush's need for an 'I used to be the president' bumper sticker. So imagine my joy when my 'super-fast broadband' kit arrived from BT. Where I lived previously, I'd enjoyed mega-fast 10mb speed with Virgin via a nice little cable buried beneath the pansies in the garden. Now I wasn't expecting anything as speedy as that, using ye olde copper phone lines. However, I was expecting, er, a connection.

I set up the whole thing and fired up my browser (Firefox in case you care) and waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.

The page loaded!

Then the internet died.

I re-installed everything, re-set the wireless modem and tried again.

It couldn't find the network I'd just created. Bugger.

I re-installed everything, re-set the wireless modem and tried again. Again.

It didn't like the password I entered. This is the password it gave me to enter. The one in writing on a card that told me to use the password when prompted. No luck.

Then one day I struck lucky and the whole setup sort of shuffled, like an ancient Tibetan monk climbing a hill, to some sort of working state. I decided to run an online speed test to see how fast my broadband really was. Now this may be rather boring and tedious dear reader, but the following bit is actually quite impressive reading.

When I had my Virgin broadband, my average Internet speed was 9.8mb. That's 9,800kb (or kilobits) line speed. When I tested my BT broadband I got .................. 9kb. Yes, that's 9. To put that in some persepective, the age-old ;dial-up' way of connecting to the Internet, that no sane human uses anymore, had a line speed of 56kb. My 'broadband' was over 5 times slower than dial-up. I cried tears of techno-woe.

Over several days, I did many things including connecting the modem directly to my Mac with an (if you care ... ethernet) cable. That is, the modem was connected - by a wire, physically - to my computer. Couldn't see it. What? That's like punching someone in the face and them not being aware of the massive physical impact you've just made on their cranium. I was a little hacked off by now as you can possibly sense.

So I rang the little man at BT - in Lahore, which it appears, is my local point of contact for the East Midlands of England. Anyway, he was a marvel and despite my deeply non-festive mumblings about 'narrowband' and 'worse than dial-up' he did me proud and sorted the problem. It was all to do with the 'channel' on which my modem was set or something. Anyway, the result is that I now average 3mb-4.5mb line speed which is wholly marvellous and sufficient for my needs. So I'm a happy, web-connected bunny at last.

And I can receive all that lovely spam again too....

Maybe. Just maybe...

2008-12-18T21:39:00.003Z

Never say never is what I say. So hold on to your bits and pieces.....

Closed

2008-08-22T20:12:00.002+01:00

This blog has now ended. I hope you enjoyed reading it and thank you to everyone who contributed. Thanks again.

Can you spare any change guv?

2008-07-01T11:59:00.008+01:00

Now don't get me wrong. The current situation in Zimbabwe is atrocious for the people who live there. I'm not going to get political - that's just not what YBATYD is about, so don't worry. I just want you all to know that this post is about a situation and not about people. Right? Good.

The situation in Zimbabwe at the moment is brilliant. Why so? Because they have the most unbelievable inflation in the history of ever, coupled with a simply bonkers approach to dealing with it all - print more money. And not just print more money, but keep re-launching the currency and issuing notes in quite staggering denominations.

OK - time for some numerical fun.

Today, the rate of inflation in the UK stands at 3.3%. In Zimbabwe it is slightly higher at almost 10,500,000%. Yes that's ten and a half million percent. Crackin'.

Today the official exchange rate for the Zimbabwe Dollar against the British Pound is fairly impressive. If you exchange one, solitary Pound for your Zimbabwean Dollar you will get Z$21,450,168. Not bad at all. Oh and if you do the currency exchange the other way you find that Z$1.00 is equal to one-five millionth of a penny. "Can you spare any change guv?".

So, let's look at a real-life situation shall we? This is fun.

Imagine I want to buy A Rampant Rabbit Wave vibrator from Ann Summers in Harare. The UK price for this, er, internal massager is £49. Now let's all whip out our Casio calculators and just see how much that would cost in Zimbabwe. And the answer is:
Z$1,051,058,232. Yes that's over a billion Zimbabwean dollars! Mind you, the Rampant Rabbit Wave does give you "3 levels of ripple intensity and 3 speed buzzy ears". I'd say that's a bargain.

OK. Here are a few more incredible facts about the currency situation:

In February 2007, the central bank of Zimbabwe declared inflation "illegal". Genius.
They do have coins but due to their minuscule value, they only function as gambling tokens in Zimbabwean casinos. Handy.
To help people avoid carrying wheelbarrow loads of cash around, the bank have cleverly now issued mega-banknotes. The highest value one is for Z$50 billion. Simple solution.
And finally - the government are spending £382,000 a week to buy in printed notes with a value of Z$170 trillion.

And we think we have a credit crunch .....

Wii-ow!

2008-06-26T19:12:00.004+01:00

I own a Wii. Now as a Wii owner, I have come to excpect a plethora, nay a myriad of injuries to be caused by excessive physical exertions. Due to the nature of the Wii, one is required to thrash around like a psychopath on crack, in order to reach the next level of Guitar Hero 3, or the Wii Sports boxing. There are a ton of videos of people on YouTube, causing themselves harm due to over zealous attempts to conquer the beast from Nintendo.

My niece even told me about a friend of hers who played one game solidly for a week, whilst on holiday, and ended up with RSI (Repetitive Strain Injury) from her efforts. She was 20.

So, I wasn't surprised when I began to feel various aches and pains following a frenzied session of Wii Sports Boxing and Tennis. I have to admit that the day after this Wii-binge, I actually thought I had appendicitis. That was until a very sweet friend of mine pointed out that my appendicitis was located on the wrong side of my body.'Nuff said.

So, I began to learn about the types of aches and strains I might expect whilst playing on the console. Funnily enough, my Xbox 360 caused me no problems whatsoever. This is probably due to the fact that the only movement required to play on the Xbox is that provided by my ten digits. And even then, it's not exactly strenuous. Also, I can play whilst lying, like a beached whale, on the sofa. Physical exertion and the Xbox 360 are not natural bedfellows.

So, back to the Wii. As I said, I felt I had learnt all the physical dangers of the little console. Howevr, it appears I was slightly wrong in this assumption.

One evening whilst playing Wii Sports Baseball, I was becoming more and more frustrated at not being able to hit a home run. Now with this game, you hold the controller as if it were a real baseball bat and swing it, with gusto, to 'hit' the ball. I was trying harder and harder to achieve a good 'hit' with the result that my right leg was sort of following through, with the momentum of each thrashing strike at the virtual baseball.

I was unaware that each time I lashed out with my controller, I was edging closer and closer towards the telly .... and the heavy, wooden unit on which it stood. Eventually, I took an almighy swing at the baseball and followed through with a massively powerful follow-through kick with my sock-clad foot. It struck the wooden unit with an impressive force. I believe I was heard to scream "F*cking f*ck!!!" before collapsing to the floor in quite exquisite agony.

I feared I may actually have fractured three of my toes. A bag of frozen chips was swiftly placed upon my battered tootsies and after a few minutes the pain began to subside. A quick check of my toes proved that they were still fully intact and so, bravely, I continued the game - complete with the bag of frozen chips sitting on my battered foot.

Two weeks later and the toes are still a little tender, but otherwise OK. So the lesson here is quite clear: don't act like a complete tit when playing on a Wii

And wear some shoes.

New postings

2008-06-13T23:13:00.002+01:00

Coming soon. I promise! oooh, I've been a very naughty boy.

Forgiveness welcomed.

Sunburn

2008-05-13T21:07:00.004+01:00

My head hurts. And it's all my fault. When the sun comes out in England everyone goes bonkers-mental. The lids come off the convertibles, the shirts come off the fellas and the legs come out from the girls. Yes, as soon as there's the slightest hint of summer, or even a half decent spring day, we all behave like simpletons.

This is extremely uncool - they don't behave like this in Holland or Yemen or Turkmenistan. No, it's only here in good old Blighty that we treat a bit of sun as something akin to the second coming. We flock to the nearest park, beach, garden or section of un-urinated-upon city centre bench, remove as many items of clothing as is legal and attempt to turn our fetid, clammy, winter skin into a gorgeous, Amazonian bronzed body. In about 4 hours.

The result of this clearly stupid activity is of course - sunburn. Yet millions of us do it every year despite all the warnings and advice to stay out of the sun, cover up and live in a cupboard. At least some of us make a token gesture by slapping some suntan lotion on but even then we are crap. How often have you tried to apply suncream to your own back? You sort of contort you arms behind you whilst flailing around with your lotion-smeared fingers, desperately trying to make contact with that super-elusive area between your shoulder blades. Realising this is impossible and likely to dislocate one or both of your upper limbs, you concede defeat, leaving your back to redden, become crispy and cause your hours of relentless agony.

And that is the essence of sunbathing in Britain. It's like fast food tanning. We want to be brown and we want it now! And I too am one of those simpletons who despite some token lotion-applying, still secretly reckon that a tan comes much more quickly without it. I don't think I'll ever learn but I wish I had because my forehead is h-o-t .

If only I had hair.

Happy St Georges Day

2008-04-23T16:42:00.001+01:00

Yay!

A SHAG do

2008-04-22T14:57:00.009+01:00

Now don't go assuming the worst straight away. Honestly. The minds of some people. The word 'SHAG', as you'll see is in capitals. Had I written 'shag' I would have been posting about carpets. Or tobacco. In this instance I'm talking about love, marriage and a good night out.

Weddings are a curious mix of tradition and the new. There are traditions such as having a best man, the bride wearing a garter and speeches made after the wedding breakfast. However, these days people want to add a personal, non-traditional twist to proceedings. Things like getting married at a football ground (oh dear) or whilst sky-diving, the bride making a speech or the adult bridesmaids actually not trying to cop off with the best man. We have civil partnerships now too which allow same-sex couples to be wed.

So in this brave new world of weddings, it's only to be expected that more and more people are looking at their stag and hen nights with an eye for change. I've been on a number of stag nights and even one hen night. I really have. I was an honorary girl for the evening and I can tell you, it was scary. But I digress. There's is a distinct difference between a stag night and a hen night. Here are the key elements of both:

Hen night
> Lots of booze - starting early on in a bedroom as they all get ready
> Silly costumes/items such as 'L' plates, angel wings and penis headbands
> A stripper is usually involved and met with hysterical laughter, screams and prodding
> Pissed-dancing in a club and general falling over
> Back home, holding shoes in hand and collapse into big duvet, still giggling

Stag night
> Lots of booze
> More booze and watching footie on plasma telly in pub
> More booze, more pubs and leering at girls
> Drunken dancing, trying to impress girls and more booze
> A stripper who causes much bravado at first and then sudden shyness and fear of a naked woman, holding a whip and a can of spray cream
> More boozing and a bit of fighting
> Stripping, shaving and tying the groom to a lampost/street sign/train
> Back home, vomit and collapse onto said vomit. Sleep on floor.

As you'll see - the hen night is fun whilst the stag night is full of unpleasantness and fear for the poor sod / groom-to-be. Actually, to call it a 'stag' night is quite appropriate because often, the bloke concerned ends up wide-eyed with fear, much like a hunted stag. This is usually just before he has all his body hair shaved off, his testicles daubed with luminous paint/chilli sauce/cresote and he's is tied to an item if street furniture beside a major road intersection. Naked.

So to avoid this sort of testosterone-fuelled misery, a people are now combing the stag and hen parties into one - the 'shag' do. This has the obvious benefit of not becoming a booze-fuelled riot of groom-baiting but also, it means that everyone can meet everyone else. I always think it's a shame when you go to most weddings and you only know half the people there, because of the stag and hen separation thing.

This particular event was really great fun and we all had such a wonderful time. There was no ball-painting, no vomiting, fighting or lewd sexual conduct. And the blokes behaved themselves too. So it's a big thumbs up for the 'shag' party - the perfect mix of ladies and fella's having a laugh, being stupid, dancing badly and get delightfully hammered.

Perfect rehearsal for the wedding day.

Hairy business

2008-04-05T20:23:00.004+01:00

I had my first haircut in four years today. Yes, really - four years. Now obviously it has actually been cut in all that time - just not by a professional. I did it myself. Oh and this is NOT a picture of me. Dear God - give me some credit.

Not only did I do it myself, I did it with real style. I utilised a pair of kitchen scissors for my cutting implements and the metallic lid of the flip-top kitchen bin as my mirror. Mind you, I often managed a quick trim without the aid of the bin-mirror by simply finding a clump of hair that felt longer than the rest and just sort of lopping it off.

I'm actually chuckling as I write this because I have amusing hair (where it exists) anyway and my long-term mutilation of my locks just added to the overall hilarity of my hair 'style' - often compared to a mad farmer or an Open University TV presenter from 1974.

Now though, I cut a dashing figure and even my slaphead has taken on an air of quiet confidence despite my less than hirsute bonce. It's been a long and sometimes rocky four years of self-coiffeuring but I finally realised that my 'special' hairstyle was doing me no favours, especially as I'm so naturally good-looking ... at night, in the shadows, from 1000 paces and facing the wall. So, my DIY barbering days are over and the bin lid is just a bin lid again.

I might try home dentistry instead though.

Crocoduck

2008-04-01T10:40:00.002+01:00

This amazing photo was taken in Takadapis in Eastern Venezuela just a few days ago. It is an incredible genetic mutation of a crocodile and a duck. The astonishing creature was discovered near a nature reserve by a 12 year old boy who was walking his dog. The boy found the creature waddling along a small path with a dead fish in it's huge jaws.

Scientists are baffled by the 'Crocoduck' as it seems quite healthy and has clearly been able to exist in the wild since birth, which is assumed to have been about 8 months ago. Director of zoology at the Caracas Natural History Museum, Hugo Chávez has examined the animal and believes if to be completely unique. Mr Chávez said .......

Oh forget it. This is the sort of cobblers the tabloid press try to pass off as a real story, every bloody April 1st. I really wish they'd cut it out otherwise the simpletons who actually believe this sort of tripe will just keep buying their newspapers which in turn just makes these gutter press papers even more money and .... oh. I see.

April Fool!

Nail or no nail?

2008-03-28T20:30:00.005Z

I've had my car for nearly six and a half years of it's seven-year life. And now I'm at that crucial stage in a motor's life when things start to go wrong. Big things. And all at the same time.

In truth, nothing major has gone wrong yet and since I've had the car it's been fantastic in the reliability, bits-not-falling-off department. However, the old girl has recently been giving me a few clues that indicate that some serious failures are not too far off. For example, when turning my steering wheel full lock to the right, I get a sort of metallic grumbling sound. Sometimes when I put my heater blower on, one of my speakers makes a fizzing sounds. The same speaker fizzes on occasion when the heated rear window is activated. Also, the number of creaks and squeaks seems to increase on a daily basis. My car appears to have developed arthritis along with irritable bowel syndrome, rickets, scurvy and manky hip. Oh and my gear linkage needs replacing soon or else I won't be able to change gear from 1st to 2nd. Or 2nd to 3rd. Or 3rd to 2nd. Or 2nd to 1st.

So I'm now in that quandary of quandaries. Do I spend some fairly serious cash on getting my car back to full health or spend some very serious cash (which I don't have - "oh hello Mr Car Finance") and buy a new(er) one? Hmmmm. Or should I just set fire to it and push it over a cliff into the sea?

Answers on a postcard.

What the ... ?

2008-03-27T18:17:00.004Z

Oh the joys of political correctness. I got sent a nursery toys magazine at work the other day. God knows why as I definitely do not work in a nursery. Anyway, I perused the mag before lobbing it in the bin ... I mean, recycling it.

On page 47 I found the item pictured above. It's a joy to behold but works even better with the description, which I've kindly included below:

SYNAGOGUE PLAYHOUSE £17.06 (+VAT)
Age Range: 3+
Delightful 3-dimensional soft-play house which allows children to explore Jewish culture and the beliefs of others. The front wall folds down to reveal many of the features and symbols found in a synagogue, including: a menorah; ner tamid (everlasting light); a bimah and ark; a Sefer Torah and the Ten Commandments; and three people characters. Size: 26 (width) x 21 (height) x 14cm(depth) (approx)

It's just so fercockt

Stag don't

2008-03-17T16:45:00.005Z

There are certain rules which apply to Stag do's.
1. Get drunk
2. Get a stripper
3. Get the groom tied to a lampost
4. Get a curry
5. Get home alive

I went to a Stag do the other week. We ticked off rules 1, 4 and 5. Sadly, the nearest thing to a stripper was when one of the party allowed his arse crevice to become visible when he bent down to pick up his fag. The lampost thing was a non-starter due to a lack of rope/gaffer tape/cable-ties/Rapunzel's hair.

However, we triumphed on the curry front. Until we began singing. We had been drinking for around nine hours and thus, after a fine meal, we decided to impress the other diners with our dulcet tones.

This video clearly demonstrates are 'barbers shop quartet' style of singing. You'll obviously recognise it as an acapella version of Eminem's moving ballad 'Stan'.

Hankies at the ready.

First aid - last resort?

2008-03-17T15:44:00.005Z

Oh I am proud of myself. The other day I re-qualified as a first-aider. It's surprising how dangerous a little knowledge can be. The re-qualification course is only two days long which is half the time of the original course, three years ago. Despite this, I had emerged with a renewed vigour and confidence in my ability to revive the dead, heal the bleeding and turn water into wine.

The course was so positive and supportive that I was, seriously, feeling able to deal with a person who is unconscious and has stopped breathing ... as long as they have no arms or legs or abdomen.

You see, in every first aid training class in the world, all of the practising you do for CPR (cardio pulmonary resuscitation) is carried out with a life-size but limbless dummy who, for some reason, is know as Annie. Believe me, she's no looker. However, she obediently has her chest pumped and gob blown into on a regular basis so that people like me can hone our life-saving skills. However, you sort of get used to the fact that there are no arms or legs to get in the way as you struggle to revive this inanimate mannequin. This makes the whole process much simpler than if she were fully limbed-up and this gets you used to working with an armless, legless victim.

Now that's the problem. If I'm ever faced with a real person who's heart has stopped, I'm going to find myself having to carry out CPR. How the hell am I going to cope with the stress of trying to restart some poor sod's heart whilst trying to deal with all these body parts that simply weren't there when I was training?

Furthermore, when you do CPR your have put your hands "between the boobs" as our trainer said. This is where you have to start doing the chest compressions. Between the boobs. What if it's a woman who's collapsed and you thought she had stopped breathing but had, in fact, merely fainted. So there you are, kneeling on her arms, kicking her legs and scrabbling all over her boob-area in an attempt to find the 'right spot', when suddenly she comes round to find herself being groped and assaulted by a complete stranger.

So, after some reflection, I've decided that if such a situation does arise, I shall adopt the accepted approach. The course of action favoured by the great British public. I'll ignore it.

Unless she's just a torso called Annie.

Place yer votes

2008-03-03T22:14:00.003Z

If you glance to the right of your screen you'll see a little voting panel. I thought it would be nice to give my (small but perfectly formed) group of avid readers a chance to say what they would like to see improved on the blog.

You can vote for as many choices as you like, so don't be shy. Apologies for the rather crap graphic - it's a little out of my control, but just about readable. So please vote and I promise to report back on the results.

If I can actually see the results ....

Virgin in the house

2008-03-01T11:21:00.006Z

It was a bold step for me, but I knew I had to do it. I now have a Virgin in the house. Yes, BT were fine but expensive and slow. My internet is my lifeline and Virgin could give me what BT just couldn't. I'm talking broadband of course.

Well the chaps from Virgin took less than 90 minutes to install our shiny new Virgin phone line and broadband and everything worked perfectly, straight away. During the installation and being the type of person I am, I got chatting to them and discovered that being a Virgin installation bod can be quite exciting and even dangerous.

They told me that in some dodgy areas, large groups of kids follow their vans and then assemble en mass, waiting for any opportunity to avail themselves of the contents of their vehicles. Sometimes, the contents are just not enough for these young n'er-do-wells. Oh no. The Virgin chaps told me about a colleague of theirs who was on his own in his van when he got car-jacked (yeah I know it was a van, but that's the terminology) when he stopped at some traffic lights. They jumped in, booted him out and that was that. This was at 1.30 in the afternoon.

They also told me about this old grandad who made his grandson, aged six, crawl under the floorboards, for the length of the house in order to drag the Virgin cable to where the computer was. He made the poor little sod crawl through all the filth, spiders and general detritus you would expect to find under the floorboards, because he didn't want the cable running along his skirting boards and spoiling the decor. Needless to say, the little lad was crying as he tunnelled his way along, beneath his grandad's feet. I can't believe it. It's like the bloody 18th century when kids were made to clean chimneys for one shilling a year.

Well anyway, my new set-up is all working just beautifully and is twice as fast (4mb) as my old BT set-up. Even better, the speed is being increased to 10mb soon which is fantastic news for all of us who have Virgin broadband.

Even 'mole-boy' will be smiling again.

Pheromone failure?

2008-02-29T10:31:00.006Z

My boss's boss at work was telling me that she's convinced that testosterone makes computers work. Stick with me on this. There was a problem with our 'puters at work the other week. I think the server had been used as a Breville Toastie by someone from Marketing or something. Anyway, everything was buggered and not responding - a bit like when ET's little heartbeat was beating feebly inside his teeny tiny alien chest...

Anyway, having no luck with the server, she called our IT support company. They went through loads of things over the phone, all to no avail. Eventually the chap on the other end of the phone said he'd just have to come over to see us in person. My boss's boss had also phoned our own IT bloke (who works part-time) and had another long phone call which resulted in the same decision. He decided to come in to work.

The two men arrived at my illustrious workplace at the same time. Sorry, I just said 'illustrious'. I meant to say 'lean-to'. I digress. The chaps headed up to the server room where they met with my boss's boss. The server was still operating about as well as a eunuch with Erectile Dysfuntion. It did not look good.

The two men stared at the server .... and it began to work! It really did. They literally came into the server room, looked at the mighty behemoth and it just began working again. My boss's boss is convinced that it was the men's combined flood of testosterone that did the trick.

Sounds like a load of b*llocks to me.

Shaken not stirred

2008-02-27T07:34:00.003Z

Well it's a bit of a rarity - like having hair on my head, but I can say that 'I was there'. We had an earthquake this morning at around 12.55am. As luck would have it, I was awake and surfing the Tinterweb when it struck.

Now I shall get this in perspective. It wasn't exactly the 1906 San Francisco quake, or the 2006 Tsunami quake, but it did shake the house for about 15 seconds. And I mean properly shake the house. It's such a weird experience becuase suddenly the whole of your immediate world begins to rumble and sway and this is without alcohol or rumpy pumpy being involved.

It turns out that it measured 5.3 on the old Richter scale, with the epicentre being about 60 miles from where I was sitting. I don't think there's any damage been done to the house but I was concerned because I thought it might interrupt my iPod Touch software update which was happening at the time. Luckily, the download finished without out a hitch which was a great relief although I was an emotional wreck for about nine seconds.

Life eh?

Birthday boy

2008-02-17T10:08:00.002Z

Woohoo! It's my birthday and despite technically being an historical artifact, I'm still excited by the whole birthday thing. It's on your birthday that you realise just how many people are thinking about you which makes me feel all warm inside, although not as warm as a McDonald's apple pie which is stupidly, dangerously warm/boiling.

Fortunately, although 'tis still winter, the sun is shining and it all looks set to be a lovely day. The only downside is that by writing this I'm al too aware of the dearth of postings on this here blog. Now I'm sure the millions of Tinterweb users have managed to cope without reading my vague ramblings, but I still feel like a literary loser. However, I keep saying this and still have not returned to my prolific posting heights of last year.

Maybe things will change because there are always unusual and amusing things that happen to me and I do like sharing them with you, especially as they seem to cause so much bloody amusement. So I shall say here and now that you will be reading more thrilling drivel from now on.

I bet you can't wait.

So iTouching

2008-01-26T18:53:00.000Z

Oh what can I say? I am now one of those most terrible of things. An occasional blogger. Gone are the days of a posting every two days. I can only hope and pray ... well not exactly pray because I am an atheist, but anyway, I just hope I can return to form and start writing my own, unique brand of drivel a little more frequently. Enough of this. On to the subject of the post:

I am now the very proud owner of an iPod Touch. If you don't know what one is, then imagine an iPhone without the phone. OK, if you don't know what an iPhone is I give up. So, my 'Touch' is amazing and gorgeous and clever and, and ... well, just a bit special. When I've shown it to friends, family and colleagues they have (almost) all been truly impressed or even amazed at the almost magical way in which it works. The fact you have a flat glass screen with no buttons on creates an surreal experience when you start surfing the internet, flicking through your album collection, watching movies or sending emails.

If you get a chance to play with one or an iPhone, you'll certainly understand what I'm getting so hot and bothered about. Mind you, one or two people just didn't seem to appreciate the shiny technological marvel as much as me. Even demonstrating how you can zoom into a photo by 'pinching' your fingers across the glass, merely elicited a "hmmm" from one person. Obviously they are mentally deficient or have the IQ of a church. Never mind. These people where very much in the minority. Thank God ... if He does actually exist.

Since getting my new iPod last Saturday I have realised that I am trapped in a never-ending cycle of techno-lust. And I like it. True, it is one of the more expensive hobbies out there but for sheer, unadulterated pleasure involving shiny objects that need batteries (and I'm not talking about sex toys), you can't beat gadgets. They may have no soul or feelings but they spread joy, like a kind of happy wifi.

And I'm SO logged on to that.

Supreme indifference

2008-01-04T11:53:00.001Z

I just choked on an apple. I nearly, actually, really, died. I am at work and my boss was standing beside me as my life began to ebb away. She did sod all. I mean really, how close to death do you have to be before your own manager, (another human being let's not forget) either notices or cares about your well-being? It's a bit like Hitler. Oh dear, she's just come back into the office and seen what I'm writing.

I fear death my be my companion sooner than expected.

Happy New Year

2008-01-01T21:25:00.000Z

And there you have it. The compulsory welcome to what is, actually, just a Tuesday. Seriously though dear readers, I hope 2008 is a truly memorable year - for all the right reasons and not just for something trivial like your piles clearing up all on their own.

And make sure you enjoy yourself in the coming year because as I always say "you're born and then you die, so you might as well enjoy the bit in the middle."

Now where's my pile cream ... ?

Christmas, cars and cash

2007-12-30T09:15:00.000Z

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!

2007-12-20T08:32:00.001Z

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

Ups and downs

2007-12-08T17:44:00.000Z

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

2007-11-30T12:48:00.001Z

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

2007-11-29T17:23:00.001Z

Bollocks.

McLeish leaves Scotland for Blues

2007-11-29T08:06:00.000Z

Hooray!

Brucie leaves Blues for Wigan

2007-11-19T21:24:00.001Z

Bugger.

Non-horticulurist

2007-11-19T11:15:00.000Z

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?

2007-11-13T21:21:00.000Z

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

2007-11-05T15:59:00.000Z

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

2007-11-01T08:25:00.000Z

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

2007-10-27T11:21:00.000+01:00

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

2007-10-22T08:57:00.000+01:00

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

2007-10-10T18:08:00.000+01:00

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

2007-10-06T20:43:00.000+01:00

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?

2007-10-02T17:01:00.000+01:00

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

2007-09-25T22:11:00.000+01:00

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

2007-09-22T10:02:00.000+01:00

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

2007-09-20T13:08:00.000+01:00

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

2007-09-19T17:01:00.000+01:00

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?

2007-09-19T12:54:00.000+01:00

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

2007-09-17T22:11:00.001+01:00

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

2007-09-13T20:30:00.000+01:00

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

2007-09-10T07:55:00.000+01:00

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

2007-09-08T09:50:00.000+01:00

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

2007-09-06T09:39:00.000+01:00

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

2007-09-03T15:34:00.000+01:00

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

2007-09-01T18:17:00.000+01:00

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...

2007-08-15T18:25:00.000+01:00

Should I bring back YBATYD from the dead?

You're Born And Then ...

2007-05-22T13:16:00.000+01:00

... 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

2007-05-18T22:34:00.000+01:00

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?

2007-05-15T11:40:00.000+01:00

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

2007-05-13T00:20:00.000+01:00

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!

2007-05-12T10:22:00.000+01:00

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

2007-05-03T21:09:00.000+01:00

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!

2007-05-01T07:28:00.000+01:00

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

2007-04-28T22:14:00.000+01:00

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

2007-04-28T08:25:00.000+01:00

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

2007-04-24T18:48:00.000+01:00

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!

2007-04-23T10:06:00.000+01:00

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

2007-04-23T09:37:00.000+01:00

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

2007-04-20T09:40:00.000+01:00

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

2007-04-17T23:58:00.000+01:00

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

2007-04-17T23:52:00.000+01:00

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?

2007-04-14T18:08:00.000+01:00

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

2007-04-10T21:44:00.000+01:00

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

2007-04-09T09:25:00.000+01:00

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

2007-04-08T16:59:00.000+01:00

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

2007-04-06T21:53:00.000+01:00

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

2007-04-04T08:10:00.000+01:00

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

2007-03-28T20:00:00.000+01:00

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

2007-03-25T10:18:00.000+01:00

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

2007-03-25T09:56:00.000+01:00

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.

A roof too Ferrari

2007-03-22T23:58:00.000Z

I was zipping along a dual carriageway the other day and as I passed a line of slower moving cars, I espied a huge black, Ferrari F430, leading the line. Nothing strange about that you may think. However, the car (top speed of 196MPH) was only doing about 50 MPH.

"Strange" I thought. Then, as I drew level with the mighty Italian stallion, I saw why it was driving so slowly. The Ferrari in question was a convertible. Unfortunately, there seemed to be a bit of a problem with the roof. As I passed the £150,000 supercar I could see that the suited, chisel-jawed and extremely embarrassed driver was steering with one hand and trying to hold the roof down with the other. His fingers were gripping the outside of the roof as he struggled to stop if catching the wind and ripping off completely. There was clearly something badly wrong with the roof-closing mechanism and he appeared to have no option but to keep driving until he either got home or to a garage.

Now I have to say that I don't begrudge people having lots of money. Apart from footballers. However, anyone who buys a car that costs more than our house deserves to be the victim of 'crappy-flappy-roof-syndrome' and yes, I did nearly p*ss myself laughing as I wafted past him in my 1.2L Vauxhall Corsa.

Se ha comprato la a Lamborghini.

Triple Dutch

2007-03-21T17:56:00.000Z

We've all read stuff that we can't understand. You know the sort of thing: credit card agreements, mortgage applications, DIY instructions and especially any type of contract. The Plain English Campaign (link in title) is an organisation that fights to rid the world of this incomprehensible drivel and has some brilliant examples of horrendously complex gobbledygook on their website.

So imagine my joy when I came across this notice, posted by my local council. It's basically advising people of some upcoming road closures due to a big event. It's 18 paragraphs long, tied to a lamp-post and full of literary cobblers. Here's one of my favourite paragraphs, Paragraph 5:

Nothing in Paragraph 3 of this Notice shall apply as to make it unlawful for any person to proceed in the lengths of roads to which the public has access as specified in the said Paragraph for the purposes of access to or egress from premises, provided that the said access or egress may only be gained by proceeding over the lengths of roads to which the public has access as specified in the said Paragraph, provided that the Event taking place would not be inconveniently interrupted.

Dear God.

Happy Mother's Day

2007-03-18T23:11:00.000Z

To all of my reader's mum's,and especially my own - I want to wish you all a happy Mother's Day. I know this is celebrated on May 13th in the U.S, but you can still join in! Everyone reckons their own mum is the best mum in the world and I'd like to think that everyone is, in fact, right. Our mum's are the best and they truly deserve a day that celebrates just how wonderful they are. And let's be honest ...

... we wouldn't be here without 'em.

Surprise surprise - part 2

2007-03-17T09:53:00.000Z

So after the initial stunned shock, our dear pal soon relaxed and entered into the spirit of things. This was due to two factors. Firstly, the fact that all his friends and family were there to celebrate with him. Secondly, beer. This photo was taken a couple of hours after he arrived and I can only assume that he actually knows the little old lady he's holding aloft, like a prize fish. Mind you, the lady in question seems chuffed to bits although, she had been seen sinking a few ales during the evening.

So, all in all, a fantastic night was had by all. The whole thing was organised in total secrecy by his fabulous fiancée who, to be quite honest, employed staggering amounts of deceit to keep the party a secret. All for a good cause though! During the evening I had the chance to enjoy some bopping on the dance floor. Seeing me dance is like watching your dad on the dancefloor at a wedding. Suffice to say, I always draw looks of amazement and awe as I gyrate, groove and grind. If you have ever seen David Brent's famous 'dance' scene in The Office, you'll get the idea. My wife has a different approach. She dances like an excited child in a chocolate factory, with her eyes fixed at a 45 degree angle, towards the ceiling. Together, we look amazing.

Anyway, back to our dear friend. His actual birthday is on Monday, so he's got the whole weekend to enjoy the partying until the big day arrives. All this for someone who definitely didn't want a party and especially a surprise party. So I'm sure all of my lovely readers will want to wish him a cracking 40th birthday.

Happy birthday Mr M.

Surprise surprise - part 1

2007-03-17T09:45:00.000Z

We went to our friend's surprise 40th birthday party last night. Objective number one was - surprise. Well, as this photo proves, that objective was most definitely achieved. It's great to see someone who is totally and utterly gobsmacked and lost for words. He admitted to us later that he had absolutely no idea about the whole thing, right up until when he opened the door into the room where all 80 or so of us were gathered.

Result.

It's nearly Mother's Day!

2007-03-15T21:13:00.000Z

Oh my God! I nearly forgot about Mother's Day, despite the fact that I keep remembering but then forgetting that I've remembered until I remember that I've forgotten. Oh the pressure. Fortunately I know a brilliant florist who makes up a super-massive bouquet for my mum, delivers it personally and takes payment after the event. Now that's what I call customer service.

The good news is that my mum absolutely loves flowers. Despite this, I still feel like I should get her something a bit more imaginative, like an elephant, a bionic elbow or some shares in Charlton Athletic. Some people are just naturally fantastic at gift-buying. I always seem to buy a present that will either A) cause minimum offence, B) be easy to sell on ebay or C) be a Will Young CD. Actually, I don't think 'C' works with 'A' or 'B' so let's forget that.

Whilst I'm on the subject, the most crap present I ever received was a 'collectors' tea-towel with a map of Cornwall on. It wasn't the abysmal depiction of the 'Tin Mine County' that was the worst part. No. It was the fact that it didn't work. Yes, a bloody tea-towel that doesn't work. It was moisture repellent. Honest to God. When you wiped dishes with it, the water just got moved around the plate, whilst the towel stayed sort of dry, like a sheet of plastic would. I've no idea what it was made out of, but suffice to see that it felt similar to that horror of all horrors - 'tracing paper' bog roll. If you don't know what 'tracing paper' bog roll is, then ask an adult. If ever something failed to do exactly what it was designed for, it was that deadly bog roll which absorbed nothing and ... well, just remember that the tea towel just moved moisture around...

Enough said.

Amazing fact of the day

2007-03-13T21:55:00.000Z

A short but incredible posting today. Guess which country are the current World Elephant Polo champions? Nepal? India? Nope. It's Scotland. Oh yes, and you can find out more by clicking the title of this posting. Ain't that just berserk?

Mind you, having had a quick look at the World Elephant Polo Association (WEPA), I discovered that Iceland have a team. Iceland?? How many bloody elephants are there in Iceland?

About the same as in Scotland I suppose. Nil.

Where in the world ... ?

2007-03-11T16:56:00.000Z

... PC World. Well, that's what the ad on the telly says anyway. I popped in to my local PC World this fine, sunny morning, as I needed a new firewire cable. Having checked on the Tinterweb, I knew that, obviously, I could get one cheaper online than I could in the shops. However, convenience and instant-ness (what?) are always worth paying a few extra pennies for.

Unfortunately, the price difference was a tad more than even I was prepared to pay. Online, the cable cost £9 which included delivery. PC World were asking slightly more for the same cable. They wanted £21. Yes, that's £12 extra. Bugger that. I was mildly miffed at this but my mood improved considerably as I was leaving the store. Being Sunday morning, I assumed it would be fairly quiet in the shop, especially as it had only been open for 8 minutes. I was wrong. The service and repairs counter already had a large queue of disgruntled-looking punters, clutching various bits of computer in their impatient little hands. I couldn't help but smirk (oh, and take this photo) as I thought that maybe if they'd perhaps bought a computer from another company (er, can't think which one ...) then maybe they'd be relaxing at home on a Sunday morning, surfing the Net, sending emails or listening to some nice, downloaded music. Hmmm.

Talking of 'where in the world', on Saturday, my wife and I popped down to Herefordshire for a family 'do'. Fine. Nice, easy 2.5 hour drive down to the place and enjoy the day. One slight problem. We entered the UK's Bermuda Triangle. In short, from arriving at what turned out to be 3 miles from our destination, to actually getting there, took longer than the 135 mile trip from our bloody house. At the end of one road there was a signpost to the village we were looking for. We drove down it. When we got to the end of the road, there was another signpost for the village ... pointing back the way we'd just come. This road was about 2 miles long and either side were fields. And a cow. No village.

After several mental breakdowns, failed mobile phone calls (no signal), asking directions from some ramblers and a man who was making a hedge, following some other relatives until their car broke down and my wife having to 'tootie-down' in a field to have an emergency wee, our fuel-starved car finally pulled up at the venue. We felt like Sir Edmund Hilary and sherpa Tenzing reaching the summit of Everest. Mind you, they didn't have pints of lager and a 13 foot table laden with buffet gorgeousness to bring them back from the brink of death.

World-weary explorers love an onion bhaji and a pint of Carling.

I told you

2007-03-10T09:35:00.000Z

Still here

2007-03-08T20:50:00.000Z

Alas, I have absolutely nothing of note to say today but I thought I should at least 'check in' so that you don't get all worried and think I've run away to join the circus or become a driving instructor in Laos.

Oh, well I have just downloaded a nifty little (free) application that allows me to make time-lapse movies. Expect something dreadful soon.

Yay.

A great lay

2007-03-06T18:04:00.000Z

Sad but true. I'm excited about a carpet. Let's be honest though, our gorgeous new bit of floorware has not only been laid perfectly, but it looks the canine's love-spuds to boot. The photo shows the carpety lovliness sans furniture, in all it's glory. And the best bit? It's not royal blue. Yes, our previous carpet was a deep and disturbing blue. Blue, like the sea. Sometimes, when we were sitting on our sofa, it felt like we were on cross-channel ferry.

Now however, the lounge feels more like a room than a busy shipping lane and that's just great. The only downside is we still have 2 months to wait for our groovy new leather sofas to arrive from, er, Singapore. Fear not though dear reader, we shall be dragging one of our ageing sofas back in from the garage so that we don't have to go all Japanese and sit on the floor.

There's a pouf on its way too. Oh yes.