31st August 2005
Silence continues
Still no home connectivity -- I'm looking at September 9th for a BT line which will enable the use of dial-up and then around ten days for broadband. Sheesh. Talk about cold turkey?
I did go to chez-Henderson over the weekend but it was consumed with a little CSS debugging and a big party that broke out because Nev was officially old.
In response to Princess's comment below, I can say nothing.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 08:00 BST
26th August 2005
Silence
My silence is due to a lack of internet connectivity at the new pad. This will change when I descend upon chez-Henderson tomorrow.
Later.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 09:18 BST
21st August 2005
Busier than Paris Hilton's condom drawer
I finally get to move into my flat tomorrow afternoon. Don't worry, I have the basics covered...240 PG Tips and 1 kg of sugar. I just need to pick up some milk en-route. I'll be officially "moved in" for less than 24 hours before I head off darn' Sarf again for an overnighter in St Albans. I'm just glam personified; Luton, Leeds, St Albans. I know you envy me.
A random observation is about due. As is documented elsewhere, my flat is just around the corner from Leeds station. On Friday as I walked out of the station at around 8am, I noticed something that I must have missed for the last four weeks -- The White Rose pub was open. At 8:00am. In the morning. WTF? Who the hell goes to the pub at 8:00am? Except the French, and at least they have the decency to have a coffee before their beer or vino. I'm not sure what to think. I told the local entertainment, Ste, about it last night and explained that it was within crawling distance from the flat. His take: "Tha wants be crawlin' both ways. If a job's worth dooin', it's worth dooin' reyt."
Wednesday heralds a significant event...my first regular pay cheque in nearly two years. It also heralds a return to English taxation. So while the anticipation level is high, the reality filter tempers it. I've not worked in England for so long that I have no idea what my net pay will come to. For the sake of expectations, I figure 50% will vanish before I open the envelope (or whatever it is that you do here nowadays.)
Speaking of envelopes, my predicition is that I will be shortly having a spat with a Mr I Revenue. We broke up on bad terms. He insists that I owe him a few hundred quid while I maintain that he owes me a thousand. We shall see.
Anyway, practicalities aside, we're talking cash infusion. And next weekend is a long weekend. It's also the Nevulus's birthday. Hmmm. I wonder where I might be come next Saturday night? Karen, ready the spare duvet and buy some bog-roll will ya? Uncle Kenny's coming to town. And Waart, I do believe it's my turn to purchase God's tastiest dead cow parts -- you'll just have to run me down to Tesco.
--
I've left my laptop in Bingley complaining about a corrupt MPR.DLL file. A google on the subject returns all manner of woes. If the fecker has knackered itself again, I shall scream, punch something and reach for the RedHat CDs, because that's me and Microsoft finished.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 11:21 BST
15th August 2005
Time flies when you're running around like someone's bitch
Wow -- what a week.
I was busy doing the work thang last week and barely had time to check in on my own email nevermind blog. Woosh. There went six days...can I remember what happened? Answer: broadly speaking yes.
I was whisked off darn' Sarf again to Luton last Wednesday evening. I spent the night down there chatting about da bidness, quaffing a few pints and then early next morning went to a very long meeting where I uttered approximately eight words in total...my excuse is that I am still in the discovery stage of my project so really don't need to say that much. Now next week's meeting will be another story because we'll be getting all down-dirty and technical. Oh yes.
By the time I got back here on Thursday, there were barely enough hours left in the day for me to do the crossword and Sudoku.
Friday, I went and signed papers for my flat (which, fingers crossed, I should be in this time next week) and then went out with the lads from work for a couple of scoops of Ind Coope's Burton Ale. Yum. I left there after an hour or so but ended up having a mare getting back to Manchester. As I arrived, I realised that the next train to where I needed to be was at 11:20, putting me getting in to that station at 11:45. I had 5 quid on me and no means of getting any more dosh. I bought ten cigs and a pint, rode the train home and then walked the 3 miles back from the station to my parents' house, arriving at around 12:25am. Nice.
Saturday was a day of jobbing while watching intermittent footie matches and praying for play at Old Trafford. On Saturday night, I went out with my brother et al who had all been to Old Trafford and been drenched to the bone in the hope that they might see some success. Fortunately for me, one of the Saturday cricket attendees had reached his limit and cried off going on Sunday, freeing a ticket up. In another fluke, my sister-in-law lent me some beer money. Well, what's a Kenny to do? So I went to Old Trafford yesterday. Oh, what a day! Such banter, such fine entertainment. Brilliant. Except I caught a cold so was sneezing and snotting all the way through it.
Today, I arose having slept nil thanks to the lurgy and set off for Leeds. I was at the station at 7:00am. What should have been a 80 minute journey turned into the trip from hell as I realized that the train I had caught was en-route to Victoria not Picadilly. The train from Victoria stops at every fecking village between Manchester and Leeds. Unbelievable. I finally hit Leeds at 9:30. Arse.
Speaking of trains, I have a sad question that I want to ask. While traveling back from the cricket last night, the conversation suddenly ended up on rail gauges. I proffered forth the theory that gauges vary from country to country (or continent to continent) and I was poo-poo'd. Now I am pretty sure that UK trains are different gauge from French ones. I'm also sure that Japanses gauges are different again. But the naysayers did indeed say nay. I ask for your adjudication please...
OK, I know it was typed at lightning speed and doesn't flow, but I am one tired and ill puppy. The prospect of being trained by IBM for three days does not enthuse me either.
Later peeps. And give me your train wisdom.
Oh, and I want everyone to issue a virtual group hug to Wigan Athletic who so nearly showed up Chelsea for the bunch of over-rated tossers that they are. I thank you.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 20:07 BST
9th August 2005
Flat hunting
I've done the tour of some flats over the last couple of days.
Yesterday, I went to see a couple that are literally two minutes walk from work. In fact one of them is so close to work that had I a pair of binoculars and were I to leave my monitor on, I could probably tell whether I had new email or not. That close is not healthy. The flats were nice but the place was sterile. The two were identical except in price. One looks over the river and for that privilege, an extra 50 quid a month is charged. River view? What the hell are they thinking? This isn't the Mississippi -- it's a scummy waterway that attracts rats. I'd have paid 50 notes to *not* be over the river.
Today I looked at one about a minute further away from work, just across Crown Point Bridge. It had a balcony on it. A balcony that overlooked...the junction of Crown Point Road and all of the other mess.
After that, I moved on to a flat across the road from House of Fraser in the center of Leeds. This thing had a spiral staircase leading into a bedroom. It was OK and very central but the staircase reminded me of a bad experience N and I had when we first moved to Minnesota. Call me sentimental, but I don't want to come home every night to a reminder of an event so negative.
The last flat I looked at is literally around the corner from the railway station in Leeds. I could fall out of bed at 6:00am and still make a 6:05am train if need be. It's simple and, I suppose, a bit trendily furnished. It comprises a kitchen, living room, bathroom and bedroom, kind of like one of those long stay hotels in the US except less clinical. It was designed for someone younger and trendier than me but I have decided that it's the one I want -- it's close to the station and the shops (no car you see), and it is 15 minutes walk from work. I suppose I get an LS1 postcode and the associated insurance hikes, and if Leeds Station ever gets hit by bombs, I'll cop it by way of proximity but I'm not sure that should ever factor into your life. That flat is the one, unless someone nabs it in the next couple of days while I arrange a bond and references.
The good news is that when N and the kids come over to visit, and if it's still there, it's no more than 10 minutes walk to the best restaurant in Leeds. I hope it hasn't changed -- Leodis used to be the most top, top eating place in town. Oh God, please don't let it have changed. Or rather please make it have changed; the temptation would be too great.
It's a bit of a mixed bag of emotions moving into a flat. I've never really lived on my own. I've always had shared housing with friends, or more recently, family. On the one hand I am sick of living with other people (I mean in their houses not N and the kids) and on the other renting a flat where just I will be is a tad surreal.
N always took care of getting things started (electricity, phone etc) as I had no idea what to do in the US. Moving back to the UK, things have changed so much that I have no idea what to do here. What the hell do I need activating? How do I get a BT or cable line in there? What will they want up front?
Which brings me nicely on to my next point...I need references. Apparently I have to fill in a form to be sent to a reference agency. I haven't lived here for quite a few years (and when I left I was up the creek thanks to a divorce) so I had real trouble opening a bank account. How the hell am I going to go on with references? Who knows? Pointless worrying about stuff you don't control.
So, it looks like I might tentatively be moving from Bingley to the city quite soon. I've been looking forward to having my own space again but now it's on the horizon, I want my house back in Minnesota and to come home to my wife and kids. This all feels so wrong yet it must be done. Maybe it will be different once I have the keys and have put a few pictures up, but home is where the heart is, and that ain't in a flat in Leeds. It's an existence not a life. There again, I should be thankful for small mercies.
You're all welcome to come around for a flat christening party but only three of you will be seated, and another four or five can stand around admiring the view of the railway station carpark opposite.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 19:22 BST
8th August 2005
Who was I kidding?
How do you get a week into a few paltry paragraphs? I won't even try. When the world gives you blog fodder, make blogs.
What I will say is that if you were one of the three muppets who were in the White Rose at Leeds Station last night, mopped out of your tree and discussing the chances of the moppiest of the mops getting away with a rape charge, you deserve to be shot.
The conversation went as follows:
"You'll be alright. They've let you out haven't they?"
"But I'm going to go to prison."
"Nah - if you think like that, you will end up there. You're signing your own sentence."
"But I'm going to go to prison."
"Well, even if you do, it will be alright. My mate whoever did time in Borstal and he's OK."
"Well I'm not your mate whoever."
"When I was in Armley, it was OK. Anyway you're not going to prison. Did you rape her?"
"I don't know. I can't remember. I was drunk."
At this point, the wazzock in question fell backwards and bumped into a bloke at the bar. The bloke moved. The barstaff looked uneasy. Then they served him another drink. I was sat about three feet from where they were standing reading the Observer across a large table.
Mateyboy rapist muppet started to fall backwards towards me. I had visions of him knocking me flying, my luggage flying and then getting all ticked off with me for having had the balls to be in his way. I stood up and pushed him upright to avoid the inevitable.
"Cheers mate." was the reply.
The barstaff had, by this point, become really sketchy. A large bloke had suddenly appeared and his job title was defined by his size and lack of fear. Truth is, as a bloke, you should never be scared of drunks -- you can just whack 'em one and walk away. Three drunks however is pushing your luck. Big guy moved in and asked what time their train was. A sweeping realization hit the collective IQ of 20 and they supped up and headed for the door. Rapist muppet sat down in the middle of the floor next to a couple of girls who were nattering away to each other, oblivious of what was quite obviously a threat. Big guy moved in again. Muppet started doing 'Oops upside your head'. Big guy picked up the muppet and pitched him out of the door in very much the same way that Freddy Flintoff pitches a yorker -- perfectly. Exit muppets, door straight in front of you.
A number of questions arise from that tale:
-- Why was the muppet released?
-- Why was he not ejected for some reason (drunk, offensive, obviously criminal)?
-- Why did the staff not call the police? This is Leeds Station and there are police every ten yards.
-- Even when it became apparent that he was a danger to others as well as himself, it took 20 minutes to summon big guy. Why?
-- If they let the muppet on the train, why?
The only acceptable course of action as a publican would have been to have summoned the boys in blue. That way the three bonzos in question could have shared their jail surveys this morning. And Mr Rapist Muppet would have been where he should have been. But alas, as a country, we once again value the rights of idiots above the rights of the sensible section of society. This has to change. This man had been remanded overnight for rape. And then had been released. WTF?
Along similar lines TB, our glorious leader, is having the same kind of problem. The day after the first London attacks, he is said to have been in a cabinet meeting asking literally "Why the f***" we could not legislate to protect the UK without breaking the law on Human rights. Bless him -- he has a tough job.
In the meantime, if you were one of the pathetic gits who were in the White Rose last night, I hope SO19 have little pieces of lead with your name on them. There is no worse crime than rape and had I my way, you would be hung. Not bloody bailed.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 19:29 BST
7th August 2005
Cannot resist
These two men are Gods.
Kevin Pietersen
Freddy Flintoff
You may worship them accordingly.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 10:25 BST