I wish my blog was famous

Yes, I know it's a bit sad but I'd love to have a famous, well-known blog. I'd even like to know how many regular readers I have. I know of a few loyal followers of my inane drivel (thanks to you - you know who you are) but who else reads my rambling waffle? Maybe I should write more interesting, controversial stuff. Or maybe I should drone on about social injustice; religous disquiet or political subversion?

Oh bugger it - I'll just keep posting stuff about manky trees, Homer Simpson and ... the smell of wee! Actually it's just come to me. Why does your wee smell of Sugar Puffs when you've eaten Sugar Puffs? If you don't know what they are then you'll just have to believe me when I tell you this is, indeed, the case. It doesn't happen with any other foodstuff. I don't recall my tiddle ever having the odour of a cinnamon bagel or spicy vegetable pasty. So why the sugary breakfast cereal? It really is a mystery and the sort of thing that keeps my brain ticking over. Actually, that's a rather worrying admission. My cognitive thought processes are kept stimulated by cogitating the science behind the causes of cereal-related wee smells. Surely there's more to me than that?

Obviously not.

When facelifts go wrong

If you've not read 'You're Born And Then You Die' before, then this posting will be utterly meaningless. Mind you, most of my postings are utterly meaningless. Anyway, I digress. A couple of weeks ago I changed the whole appearance of this blog (see previous postings) as I thought it needed a bit of a facelift. Well, we all know how facelifts can go horribly wrong - Joan Rivers springs to mind. So, the feedback I've been getting was that new look was just awful and somehow didn't sit well with my valued 'blogees'. And who am I to question you, dear reader?

So, it's back to black and I have to be honest - it looks damn sexy. It looks chic, sophisticated, articulate, sassy, responsive, proud, independent, glamorous, wanton, lustful, rampant ..... er, er .....

Time for my medicine. Enjoy.

Pain in the neck

I've knackered my neck. Well, not totally but I've definitely pulled a muscle or two and it's really painful. I did the same thing a few weeks ago, although I don't know what I did then so I don't know why the hell it hurts so much now. Due to the unremitting pain, I also have a semi-permanent headache too which is really special.

Therefore I'm not going to write a post today because I feel truly grotty. Ah. I seem to be writing a post. Bugger. Right, well I'm not writing any more now. I just need to repair my neck, give it some TLC and just be patient. Talking of being patient, I was thinking of popping down to the doc's but they'll only patronise me and give two junior Asprin, so I have decided to let my neck get better 'au natrel'. OK, time to stop typing.

My fingers are having sympathy pains.

Ping pong addiction

A friend of mine recommended this "great' game for my Xbox 360. I scoffed at his suggestion but I bought it because it was on offer at HMV. Well, what's £20 amongst friends? Mind you, I was extremely dubious about the whole thing ... until I played the little devil. What a laugh. What addictive jollity. What the hell am I doing?

I'm playing computer table tennis. Yes, I know. I thought it would be berserk/sad/infantile/pointless etc, but it's actually a truly wonderful and seriously addictive little game. So much so, I've managed to get repetitive strain injury in one thumb and three fingers in just over an hour. If I were in prison, that would be considered a form of torture. However, it's worth it for the pure enjoyment of charging round the virtual table as you attempt to master a multitude of spin shots, lobs, smashes and 'focus shots' (whatever the hell they are)whilst the music increases and the crowd whoop and clap a bit.

Trust me - it's cracking fun if you like that sort of thing. Even if you don't, you may just find yourself longing for a bit of bat and ball stimulation. My current favourite character is a little Chinese fella. He has quite an alarming face but his ball control is sublime and he has some very pleasing T-shirts, which is nice.


I think I should lie down for a while.

Bad hair day

This picture (click to enlarge) shows what happens when enthusiasm collides with ability. I saw this poor, mutilated effort of a tree recently and just had to take a snap of it on my phone. Now I don't know if this was done by the owner of the house or if they had actually paid someone to savage their prized arboreal treasure. Either way it looks like a mangled letter 'T'. I actually feel sorry for it and you can imagine all the other trees taunting it and rustling their leaves, just because they actually have some. On the bright side, branches, like hair do eventually grow back but it'll be years rather than weeks before the grotty-looking tree is back to its' former self.

Better find it a really large hat in the meantime.

Nuclear tip of the iceberg

North Korea today, apparently, did a bit of nuclear testing - as you do. They appear to have detonated a device underground at Gilju in Hamgyong province . Now this has caused rather a large amount of international concern and unease. The U.S said that test was a "provocative act", while China denounced it as "brazen". All in all, it looks like the global fear factor has just nudged up a notch.

Meanwhile, back in Blighty, I'm sitting here thinking that testing nuclear bombs is just another item in an ever increasing list of things we are (or are supposed to be) worried about. Here's a few of them: terrorism, heart disease, global-warming, saturated fats, knife crime, fuel prices, identity theft, pension shortfalls, youth gangs, MMR jabs, internet fraud, street robberies, interest rates, ozone depletion, prison overcrowding etc etc. So in the whole scheme of things, nuclear bomb testing actually ranks really quite low in the never-ending list of concerns I'm faced with every day. You know, it's almost a breath of fresh air.

Well, radiation-saturated air.

Feel free to comment

Not only do I now have a spanking new-look blog, but I have another exciting additional feature too. Oh yes indeedy, hold on to your hats; batten down the hatches and glue your pants to your hips - now you dear reader can leave me a comment about any post, anytime, anywhere, any place.

"Big deal" I hear you cry. However, until now you could only leave a comment if you were registered as a fellow blogger. This was clearly a pain in the arse (ass for our American readers). So now you can comment, criticize or congratulate me on any of my posts. Obviously any comments you make will be moderated by my good self. I'm sure none of you would ever leave a comment that was rude, offensive, defamatory, slanderous or abusive, which is a shame really.

I like that sort of thing.

Le Nano est ne tres bon

I am crap at French. However, I'm not bad at computers - despite what my computer-guru / genius chum may say. Anyway, as a big fan of Apple stuff (including my iMac) I'm feeling a tad miserable this Saturday evening. The reason for this mild depression is that my father-in-law's shiny new iPod Nano (see earlier post) turned out to be a Non-o as I spent most of the day at their house, trying to get his prized new possession to work properly.

However, despite all my spirited, technical attempts and those of the techie chaps at Apple, the Nano just wouldn't play nicely with the PC. It all started off fine and we were flying with the new iTunes installed (and updated Quicktime) and soon we had all his music sync'd with his Nano. Then we updated the Nano's firmware and it all went cack.

About 100 minutes of Apple assistance just couldn't solve the problem and in the end we all admitted defeat and arranged for a new one to be sent. Sacre bleu. My father-in-law was dejected but kept a stiff upper lip and a cheery disposition. I, however felt about as jolly as lap dancer in a monastery. As I write, my own iPod is happily belting out thumping drum 'n' bass (or is it Gloria Estefan?) into my lugholes. In fact the little bleeder seems to be rubbing salt into my wounds by just, well, working. Never mind though. I'm sure that by next week, my father-in-law will be bopping round the lounge/garden/Turkish bath listening to something from the 50's on his new, new Nano.

Or digging out his cassettes/78's/wax cylinder. We shall see...

New look

I thought it was about time to refresh the look of YBATYD. Actually, my wife thought it was about time as she has always said that reading white text on a black background does your eyes in. She also felt that it looked a tad messy and generally not a gourmet feast for the optic nerves. So who am I to argue? I definitely agree with the white on black thing. Anyway, I reckon the new look is far classier and comes across as really quite professional.

Obviously the content is the same old tripe.

What is Autumn for?

When you talk about dying, most people say something like "I hope I go quickly" which is a truly sensible way of thinking. No-one wants a lingering death do they? So why the bloody hell does Autumn come along every year to drag out the whole miserable descent into the valley of death - Winter?

Winter in Britain is depressing enough without two months of doom-laden pre-amble. Not only do the nights get slowly gloomier and gloomier but the leaves on all the trees slowly die and then rot in great mounds while dank and dismal fog shrouds the landscape like the Grim Reaper's death shroud. It's such a painful journey from Summer into Winter and it would be so much better without it.

So, how much better and more fun would it be if you went straight from one season into the next? Imagine - 85 degrees, blazing sunshine and melting roads one day; 5 degrees below freezing, snow and icy roads the next. It would be chaos - especially in Britain as we're abysmal at dealing with even the slightest fluctuation in our weather. When it gets a bit warm we get water shortages and hosepipe bans. When it gets a bit cold we get gridlock on the roads and power cuts. So an instant switch from Summer to Winter would be a right laugh. So, Autumn - it's a waste of time and effort and we don't need it.

Spring can stay though. You want a nice slow-burn build-up to Summer. That great feeling that things are getting better, warmer, brighter and greener as Summer gets ever closer. Lambs gambolling in verdant meadows; daffodils swaying in a warming breeze and politicians canvassing for local elections. You can't beat Spring.

Unless you include Summer. But not Winter. Or Autumn.

Pie in the Sky

Sky's excellent satellite television broadcasting; wonderful customer service and cutting-edge technology all make for a first-class reputation. That's why we've had Sky for years and it's been a really positive, value for money experience. So when Sky announced, in the summer, that they were going to introduce a broadband internet service - I was at the front of the queue.

Alas, now I have left the queue and don't plan to return anytime soon. I registered my interest back in July and by August I'd received an invitation from Sky to get my broadband from them. I called them on 24th August and did the necessary which included giving Sky my migration (MAC)code from my existing supplier - BT. A week later I had a letter from Sky saying there was a problem and to give them a call.

I called Sky on 4th September and was told that my MAC code had been rejected. I offered to provide it again but was told I didn't need to - it would be submitted and everything would be fine. I was told that there were problems getting the routers (like modems) out to people. Again, this would be fine as it would be chased and I would receive it soon. Great.

By the 1st October, I was becoming just a teensy bit cheesed-off as I'd neither received or heard anything in the past 4 weeks. I rang Sky. It transpired that after my call on 4th September, nothing had happened to my order. Nowt. Zero. Nil. Zilch. Bugger all. It also transpired that the reason my MAC code had been rejected was because it had been entered in lower case instead of upper case. This should have been known by the staff apparently. The router was never chased.

Surprisingly I decided to cancel my order - well, my non-order. I also asked if the forty quid I'd forked out for the privilege of getting Sky broadband, could be given back to me. The chap on the phone admitted that they were having problems with people's orders and that mine had been "a catalogue of disasters". Encouraging.

So I'm still with BT, who, I must point out, have always provided a great broadband service for me. The only reason I wanted to change was due to cost. £15 a month from BT versus £0 from Sky. So Sky were offering broadband for free. However, as they say: "You get what you pay for" and I sure did.

Sky's broadband cost nothing and I got nothing.

Man-o with Nano

Great news. My father-in-law is 60. No, that's not the great news. The great news is that he's just taken delivery of a shiny new iPod Nano. It's his first foray into the world of portable digital music and I think he's just a tad excited.


I'm a big fan of 'silver surfers'. You know, the older generation who are taking on the challenge of using today's technology. However, it's surprising how many of the younger generation are not au fait with wi-fi, contention ratios, cache-emptying and even Sky Plus. So anyone of more mature years who really gives technology a go is alright by me.

A good example is my mum. She is, let's say, a fair way beyond 70 but she is a demon texter and loves pressing the old red button to get BBCi on her Freeview. This may all seem easy, obvious and commonplace but if you were over 60 when mobile phones first came out, just imagine how alien a concept they would seem when you had been used to two cans and a piece of string for communication.

So now my father-in-law has a Nano. I've already introduced him to iTunes and digital photography so now I want him to visit the land of playlists, album art and podcasts. I get the feeling he's like a kid in a candy store at the moment, which is great. I thought he would take ages deciding exactly what MP3 player to buy because he does like to take his time when it comes to electronic purchases. I think it took him about 18 months to decide what sort of new PC to buy. Bless him. At least he's redeemed himself now with his speedy Nano purchase.

I just hope he can switch the bloody thing on.

Hooray for Sild

You've probably never heard of Sild. However, I love the stuff. Not to eat you understand, oh no. I just love the stupid name and the fact that Sild is nothing more than young Herring. What a fabulous name for a teenage fish. I believe you can still buy it in supermarkets but I'm thinking it may have a limited market in the UK. Or anywhere else on the planet.

I used to have a tin of it which I kept on a shelf in the kitchen. I only kept it because it was always a talking point. Firstly because people would ask what the hell it was and secondly because they would wonder why I kept it. Obviously you have to be a bit soft in the head to keep a tin of fish on a shelf for four years, but actually I saw it more as a celebration of something just pointless. I mean, why young herring? And also, who came up with the catchy name?

Probably the same people who thought of Cilit Bang

Happy car

Oh happy day. My motor is all better, thanks to the nice car doctors. I'm well chuffed, especially as now I won't have to rely on public transport/cattle trucks to move me around the city. Of course, car-mending comes at a price. This time round it was a rather hefty KRW 332,886. You may notice that I've not given the price in £'s. I just thought it would oh so exciting to give it to you in South Korean Won's. I could just have easily given it to you in Venezualan Bolivars (Be 755,066) which is fine if you live in Venezuala. Not so good if you live Bury St Edmunds.

Anyway, the car is back and my freedom has been restored. Mind you, I have to admit that my rather fabulous wife has actually chauffered me to and from work a couple of times this week. I felt like bloody royalty being driven door to door. The only problem was that my wife felt the need to take the chauffeur role to heart. She's invoiced me for £119.

That's VND 3,574,744.93 (Vietnamese Dong) if you're interested.

Getting fruity

In response to my recent post about what to do with my pears, I had a winning suggestion. Obviously I could have chosen the 'steamed pears with pheasant and roast parsnips' or 'glazed pears with wild rasperries and devon cream' but there was only one clear winner. One kind respondent suggested chucking the pears in with a load of booze and just necking the lot. Subtle? No. Fun, easy and morally reprehensible? Definitely.

10/10

Public transport snob?

I think I may be a public transport snob. OK, I know I am. It's not my fault, honestly. The thing is, I've always had a car. As soon as I could drive I saved up like madman and bought my first car. It was a Ford Nail or a Vauxhall Turgid I think and it gave me unbridled, low-speed, leaky, smoky, bald-tyre freedom. It was wonderful.

So imagine my horror when my current car (not a 'Nail' or a 'Turgid') became poorly the other day. Until I can get it to the garage on Friday, it's meant - public transport. Dear God. Now I know millions of people, including you dear reader, utilize buses, trains, trams and rickshaws every day without batting an eyelid.

However, no-one will ever convince me that standing ('cos all the seats are taken) on a packed, sweaty/freezing bus full of fag-smoking baked-beaners, mad old women smelling of tinned fish and hordes of grotty kids yelling "bovvered?" at each other whilst forcing everyone on the bus to endure the latest ditty by Slipknot as it blares out of a tinny mobile phone speaker, is preferable. Preferable to relaxing into my comfy, sweet smelling car as I pop a CD on whilst slipping the gear into waft mode and cruising sedately home. Perfect. So call me a snob, but really, is there anything better than driving yourself to where you want to go?

Taxi!

Brilliant words - number 1

Mallemaroking. Not only is this a great word to read and to say, it also has the most specific meaning of any word I've ever known. So what does it mean then?

It actually means 'The carousing (drunken merry-making) of seamen on board Greenland whaling ships'. Now how specific is that? Not just merry-making on any ships, but whaling ships and not just any whaling ships but ones only from Greenland! So you can't go mallemaroking on a Portsmouth to Le Harve ferry with a load of Danish social workers. Oh no. Only hammered sailors from Greenland hunting arctic whales just off the Faroe Islands will qualify.

Perhaps there's a word for deluded old men, wearing pyjamas, shouting at traffic in Kidderminster on Friday afternoons.

God, I hope so.

A lovely pair

In lieu of anything interesting to write - see the lack of postings recently - I am letting you know that we have a lovely pair of pear trees in our garden. Oh yes. And the good news is that both trees have produced a bumper crop this year. Nice one global warming.

The bad news is that I don't know any pear recipes, other than 'pears with a bit of ice cream' which is not the most imaginative culinary creation. I've tried to invent some but 'pears in gravy', 'pear and liver roulade', 'stir fried pears' and 'pears au tripe' just don't seem appealing. Or edible.

So, if anyone has an exciting, vibrant and cosmoplitan suggestion as to what I can do with a lovely pear, please drop me an email and I'll give it a try.

Or I could just let them all rot.

Captain Pugwash lives on

Ahoy there me hearties. Well things are good. Especially when the young children of today are, for some unfathomable reason, introduced to kids shows of yesteryear. Yes indeedy dear reader. My wife and I were availing ourselves of our local Tesco when I espied a fantastic sight - see the photo. Yes, it was a Captain Pugwash kiddies ride!

Not only was it a Pugwash ride, but the evil Blackbeard was also there - see the photo. So well done to Tesco for keeping old kids TV shows alive and kicking (subject to payment of 50p) and allowing a brand new generation of little 'uns to experience the joys of proper childrens's programming.

Excluding Andy Pandy, which was crap.

Sleepwalking

A guy I work with told me something amazing. He apparently sleepwalks from time to time. However, when he was at college he also had a few part-time jobs which meant he was getting extremely tired.

One night, he collapsed in his grotty, student-style bed. When he woke up, he was on the bus; on his way to college; fully dressed and with his rucksack over his shoulder. Now he swears this is true and if so, it is really unbelievable.

It reminded me of a show that was on telly a couple of months ago which was basically about people who had billy-bifters (sex) whilst they were asleep! Seriously, how wrong and bizarre is that?

Mind you, it saves on the cost of a romantic meal I suppose.