Christmas, cars and cash

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yay again ... again.

It's Xmas. Go Elf yourself!

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

Ups and downs

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

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

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

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

Winter my arse.

Laugh? I nearly died

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

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

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

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

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

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

You'll die laughing.

Derby Playhouse closes down

Bollocks.

McLeish leaves Scotland for Blues

Hooray!

Brucie leaves Blues for Wigan

Bugger.

Non-horticulurist

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

Er, no.

A rosy future?

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

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

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

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

Which would explain the size of my marrows.

Non-league WAGS

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

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

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

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

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

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

In Burton on Trent.

Writers' block

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

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

This is clearly a problem for a blogger.

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

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

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

Enjoy

Naughty pussy

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

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

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

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

Meow...

An England 1-2-3

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

Unless Timmy Mallet makes a TV comeback.

Alt Gr joy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But now you know how to do it ...

Leaning Desk Syndrome

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

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

Actually, how do you use a spirit level?

A week?

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

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

I'll get back to you

A ridge too far

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

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

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

I am mourning the loss of that little ridge tile

Knickerbocker Glory-days

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Somewhere like Mansfield.

Cheerio Mourinho

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

Ain't life cruel sometimes?

Un-social Networking? Update

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

It's a funny place the Tinterwebnet