31st December 2005

This could be messy

You can see what kind of state of mind I'm in. As I wandered down to the shop, I got a (really bad) song stuck in my head. Remember I've Never Been To Me by Charlene? This is what I concocted as I walked...

Oh, I've been to Bramley and most of Pudsey and anywhere I could run
I took the hand of a Batley lass and we made love avoiding her son
But I ran out of places and friendly faces because the drinks had to be free
I've been to Heckmondwyke but I've never been to Leeds

Oh, I've been to Thorner and Greek Street corner while I've sipped champagne on a bus
I've moved like Kenny on New Year's Eve and showed 'em what I've got
I've been impressed by things and I've seen some bling that a man ain't supposed to see
I've been to Cleckhuddersfax, but I've never been to Leeds

This is going to be one long-assed day for you and me both.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 13:30 GMT
 

Perkin Elmur

If I adjust the volume on my CD player using the remote control, my Freeview box changes to Channel 4.

You can't pay for drugs that freak you out quite as much as I just have been.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 12:28 GMT
 

Honors List

SIR Tom Jones? Purleeze. Nay, nay and thrice nay. This means his smarmy arsed chops will invade our living rooms all day. Well at least until we forget the sorry bastard exists again. Tom Jones is what happens when North Korean scientists form a joint venture with ICI. How utterly repugnant.

I was pleased to hear that the cricket team got MBEs and OBEs, not that they are worth anything other than an extra £100 per speaking engagement.

I feel it fair to say that I am utterly underwhelmed by the calibre of the recipients this year. I think the whole shebang can be summed up in two words: Bruce Forsyth. 'Nuff said.

In protest to the establishment honors, I am going to be anti-establishment and issue forth my own honors the OKE's, or the Order of Kenny's Empire. My empire stretches for about 40 feet by 20 feet on the second floor of a building next to Leeds Station. All those bestowed an OKE have the freedom of the empire and can choose to change their first names to Kenneth or a similar derivative.

So, who are these lucky people?

I'd be in denial if I didn't award the first OKE to Ms Natasha "Kenny" Kaplinsky for her services of twinkling the news at me on a daily basis. She doesn't read news. She twinkles it. And I get all shy and have to hide behind the couch when she's on. Arise Dame Kenny. There's a sausage roll on the kitchen counter.

Next up, Mr Andrew Freddy Kenneth Flintoff for services to encourage the drinking culture in the UK. After the Ashes victory, Freddy Kenny went on a bender that even the Waaart would be proud of. His ability to remain upright after such a marathon booze-fest is testament to the amount of training he put in prior to the event. His 6 figure pay packet should fund some even more intense training for when we clobber the Aussies later in 2006. Arise Sir Kenny. The gin is on the top shelf but you're a big lad so should be able to reach it.

For her marathon contribution to vacuous stocking-filler stories on breakfast TV, the next OKE goes to Sarah Ken Campbell. I hope with the award safely tucked somewhere between her bizarrely big hair-do and ample bosom, Sarah Ken can go from strength to strength and actually land a real news story at some point in the new year. Arise Dame Ken. The Telegraph is on the sofa - read and learn.

For CD of the year (you knew this was coming didn't you?), I now pronounce her Dame Kate-Kenny Bush. I nearly awarded her the OKE and then stripped her of it for having the audacity to get married to someone other than me. Arise Dame Kate-Kenny. Dave Gilmour is in the bog if you need him.

For being the most arrogant tosser in British football, the next OKE goes to Jose Kenny Arsehole Mourinho. Arise Gitface. Don't let that sniper shoot you on the way out.

For the perpetuation of all things utterly shite, Simon "Pop Idol" Kenneth Cowell is awarded the OKE too. Thanks to Simon Kenneth, reality now cannot be spelled without the letters D,R,I,V,E and L. Arise you twat. You are, after all, why grenades were invented.

I now need to retire to the bathroom to consider the next contenders. More later.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 11:28 GMT
 

Can you snog yourself?

I went out for milk last night at around 10:00pm. It was approaching absolute zero. As I exhaled, the gases were liquifying and dripping to the ground. Maybe that was snot. I don't know. It was, however, bloody freezing.

It was around about that time that I envisaged being in an old school house in North Yorkshire without heating. My bone marrow started shivering. I returned home and cranked a lemsip to stop the endless dribbling and coughing. As the lemsip went to work, I made the sensible decision to stay home over new year. It will be the first year I have ever spent on my own. This has its advantages; the British custom appears to be that geriatric women must snog anything male within spitting distance and I will not be within sniping distance let alone spitting. I'll wear a bullet proof vest just in case. It has long since baffled me as to why this bizarre custom is restricted to those with free bus passes and does not pertain in equal strength to nubile young totty.

I think I'll push the boat out tonight and lay on a spread for myself. I have some frozen Yorkshire puddings in the freezer and a cheesecake. If I can synchronize the cooking of said beasts, I can crank out the Spooks series 2 and 3 DVDs and have a right gradely orgy of a party. Attendees: me and my alter-ego Kenny. At least there will be no controversy; we agree with each other on pretty much everything.

I'll keep you updated as the preparations get underway for the party of the year.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 09:52 GMT
 

29th December 2005

New Year dilemma

I have been invited up to a place called Stape by Karen and Nev. It's in the middle of nowhere, well the North Yorkshire moors anyway, in an old school house. Apparently it's cold. Having had a couple of days walking to work in sub-zero temperatures, cold is not my favorite condition at this particular moment in time. And I have a cold too. Some might poo-poo the thought of going to a cold place with a cold for New Year but I have not yet ruled it out.

My other alternatives are to go to my brother's local in Thirsk with him, his missus and his in-laws, go back to Manchester and sit in with the parental units or, and I'm looking at this as favorite at the moment, just stay put in Leeds with no-one to see and nothing to do.

Staying here does have its appeal. It adds more weight to the commonly held perception that I really am the most antisocial bastard this side of Batley. With what I save on train fare, I can get a wicked DVD (maybe the second series of Spooks) and just wallow in glorious TV indulgence. I could buy an electric blanket for use on my sofa and lie under it, sweating my way into 2006 in just my underwear. The party snap shots may not be the quality of previous years but there's a price to pay for everything.

Let me know what you think, or invite me to your bash. I'll not turn up but it would be nice to be invited.

And those of you who requested my address, I'll send you a contact address that will remain pretty constant even if I have to move flats. 'Tis all. Nearly The Professionals time, so I need to find something gun-shaped to point at the baddies.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 21:22 GMT
 

28th December 2005

Is this what too much caffeine does for you?

Having swapped my verre de vin for a tass de tea, I am wondering about the effects of caffeine. Thus far today, I have drunk three pots of tea, a cup of machine tea (spit), a couple of espressos and a large capuccino. The spots have been getting brighter as the day has been progressing.

I meant to blog about my father and his eccentricities but I have forgotten half of the utterly outrageous things he did over the course of Christmas on account of the fact that sadly, I regard them as normal. "Ah, it's just Dave" think I. "WTF?" think the rest of the world.

For example, it's Christmas Eve day and you have your recently widowed mother coming around during the afternoon for a bit of a buffet. Do you:

(a) Get the ladders out and start pointing the eaves where you are convinced squirrels are gaining access to your attic.

(b) Get the air-rifle down from the attic because it's too dark up there to shoot any invading squirrels. Better shot in the garden.

(c) Become agitated about an errant light bulb that has blown and go on an Indiana Jones like quest to find one, kicking last minute shoppers aside as you bust on through Ashton.

(d) Get your ironing board out and start ironing your underwear.

(e) Help out by doing a spot of cleaning and cooking.

If you answered a, b, c and d, congratulations, you are an apprentice Dave. If you even considered e, you failed.

So my mother is in hysterics because there is a squirrel shooting imminent, and heaven forbid, there's a gun (all be it an air-gun) in the house again. It has been under lock and key since my brother nearly shot me with it many years ago. In fact, that gun is the one that *did* shoot me in the arse prior to the incident with my brother, the scars of which I still bear.

On a related note, I have just been thrown back to my childhood by watching The Professionals on Men and Motors. The guns were out, spying abounded, crosses were doubled and then crossed again. All very macho. I still love the theme tune and want to be Bodie when I grow up.

As I gulped down what I will have to make my last cup of tea for the day (before the black wigglies turn white again), the sirens started outside. It's nothing unusual. At any given time of day, the sirens scream, blue lights flash, reflecting off the windows in the opposite building and, if I switch the lights off, I can pretend I'm in a really seedy strip joint with subtle flashing illumination...supping tea. My caffeine high must have peaked just as the first peel of digitized whoops invaded the place. I regressed back to being nine years old on a Saturday night when my dad used to pretend to go out to the pub and I would sneak back down after he had gone to watch The Professionals. He used to come back in (selflessly sacrificing good drinking time) and scare the ever-loving crap out of me. Anyway, the first squawk of emergency service and I was reaching for my pistol. Only I'm thirty bastard six and there is no damsel in distress or spy outside my door. The nearest thing to exciting that I can see from my window is the smack-head on the pavement across the road. I don't suppose I need a gun for him.

I need to take up something less stimulating that caffeine. I'm thinking I might go and have a chat with the guy across the road to see if he has any suggestions. He looks like a mellow guy. But I will be taking my gun with me, just in case, you know.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 23:25 GMT
 

27th December 2005

Pressies

A couple of my favorite pressies:



I finished it at about lunch time yesterday.



The first time my dad has bought me a Christmas present in years, but by 'eck, I salute his choice. The shot was taken just after this baby had been christened. It holds FOUR cups ergo requires FOUR teabags at least. I tell you running a big teapot is expensive.



You probably don't want me to talk to you for a few weeks with this garlic-fest.



The total number of Christmas cards I received. THREE. From my parents and two grandmothers. I am so Dr Popular.

Envy me.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 18:31 GMT
 

Changes

There may or may not be a change of style around these here parts from now on. Those who know me know that my relationship with the booze has always been a solid one. It will be unthinkable to you to consider Kenny tucking into his Christmas dinner without a glass of red. Well that's what happened this year. Christmas Eve? I sat in watching the TV with numerous cups of TEA. Christmas Day? Tonic water, sans obligatory vitamin G. I haven't even set foot in a pub over the holidays.

I come from a long line of boozers. On both sides of my family, there's a fair bit of boozing done on any given occasion. In fact, there doesn't need to be an occasion. Well maybe if the day ends in a Y...

US readers will be horrified to know that the last time I was on the wagon as long as I have been (a ridiculous 7 days), I was probably 15. From 15 until around 26, it didn't really interfere with anything. Since then, it's been a slippery slope that I have been digging my nails in to cling onto. Last Monday, I had a bit of a wake-up moment. I could blame the session that I had the previous weekend on any number of reasons; truth is, it was just another excuse, or occasion (call it what you like). I cut it out completely since then. Again, those that know me will not believe that I have gone through Christmas of all times without even the smallest smidgin' of booze.

To give you some idea of how shocking this is, I received three calls on Christmas Eve day, each asking me to go down to the pub. When I responded that I wasn't drinking, there were thirty seconds of silence followed by checks that they had called the right number. A legacy not to be proud of.

I'm not turning all puritan. I'll have a couple of glasses on New Year's Eve, because that is my night of the year. Then again, I might not. I gave myself theoretical permission to have a couple over Christmas and then didn't. Die Fuhrer had bought me a bottle of wine for Christmas as she wasn't aware of my Hurculean efforts to divorce myself of the demon drink. I gave it to my brother. To be honest, I expected it to be really difficult given how frequently I have drunk over the years; in reality, my only real problem was sleeping for the first couple of nights. After that, you'd have thought I had been sober all my life.

Last week, I had occasion to be in Leigh Town Center on Friday night. Leigh is a rough place at the best of times. But the night before Christmas Eve? Holy God. At 8:30, the place was literally packed with alcohol fueled idiots. In five minutes as I stood waiting for a lift, I was aggressively approached by boozed up men three times, boozed up women twice and fallen into twice. In that time, four meat-wagons courtesy of Greater Manchester police circled every two minutes. Such is the environment we all grew up in.

Years ago, that was us. Bright lights, not so big city, but pubs, clubs and women as far as the eye could see. We'd spend our Christmas holidays in pubs, taxis and bed. Okay, we were educated idiots, so we then graduated from the fun pub to the local, and then added a healthy appreciation of wine. Until the wine wasn't strong enough and any occasion to be found merited a G&T. The educated slide that has happened to so many people I know.

The sight of Leigh on Friday only confirmed the non-epiphany I had had days earlier. It's not just a health thing, it's a perception thing.

As I say, I can't see me being converted to complete TT'ism any time soon, but I am kicking some silly habits into touch. It's too easy to get in from work and open a beer. There's no sense in that. Supping wine while watching TV is unnecessary. All this must go away and thus far, has.

I'd like to give anyone who is in a similar situation to that which I suddenly realized I was in some words of comfort and say that everything is much better sans the demon, but I can't. It's still a nasty reality but at least your head doesn't hurt. And you won't die if you drink cocoa, a thought which was abhorrent to me unless I was dying of some illness.

Let's see how we get on with this. It appears to be ridiculously easy so far. I think it just needs a bit of a decision.

I'm not sure smoking would be quite this much of a breeze.

I'll be back later...I have a list of subjects I have compiled while disconnected from the ether.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 16:28 GMT
 

24th December 2005

Wow

Internet connectivity appears to be available again and everyone else is in bed. I feel I should put that last post in context:

-- My wife and kids are 4000 miles away and I have no idea when I'll see them again

-- Nearer forty than thirty and I have no home to speak of

-- My job sucks -- great company, wrong job

-- I'm on the wagon

-- I will be avoiding my ex-wife

All the problems will be mine. Everyone will get on fine. I'll just be sat quietly seething at the world.

That said, my dad is a miserable git at Christmas.

Must hit post before connection drops...


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 00:51 GMT
 

23rd December 2005

Quick update

I'm at my parents and internet connectivity is sparse thanks to their ISP.

Christmas looks set to be fraught with tempers and soaked in covert activities to avoid some people bumping into others. It's like bloody Secret Army. To add to the harsh reality, I have been holding up to my end of a deal that I struck with myself which has amplified the whole thing.

If I can get ten minutes to myself, I'll let you all know the dynamics of what will probably prove to be the most singularly unpleasant Holiday ever.

In the meantime, have yourselves a great time.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 11:10 GMT
 

20th December 2005

AWOL

I'm not going to be around for a few days. Don't panic. I'll be back. I've just got a few things I need to get sorted out.

Hopefully, by the time I get back, N's new blog will have arrived.

N -- if you can, get in touch.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 09:37 GMT
 

19th December 2005

Two half stories

I'm not going to go into detail yet about this but I did something today that I am very proud of. It took more bollocks than I have ever summoned before and required the help of someone who is rapidly turning into a mate I am sure I will keep for life. 'Tis one half story. If you're lucky, you'll hear the second half.

The other half story is that I now know N's new blog URL. But I can't say anymore about it. As soon as she is happy to let the world know, I'll let you know. I am positively salivating at the prospect. My Natalie addiction has now reached a point of being completely obsessive. As I have just said to her, "I'll see you later gorgeous. Don't ever leave me because I *will* hunt you down."


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 22:37 GMT
 

Under orders

During my chat with N this morning, she told me I had to stop blogging "what I did today" because it was boring. She's damned right. Trouble is that is all I'm happy sharing at the moment. My head is not where it should be. The longer that time goes on without N, the more crippling my love for her is. There are days when I do not function. Today is one of them.

There was a time that I was witty. That's gone. That's my N persona. Only she alters my brain chemistry into that state. You have no idea how debilitating it is to be so in love with someone that you quite literally cease to function without them.

There N, not what I did today. But definitely what I thought. Well, to be honest it's all I think. I miss you.

Too raw? Sorry. What I did was boring me too.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 12:43 GMT
 

Your N dose

Da Missus (19/12/2005 09:30:39): The more you sit around thinking it's wrong, the bigger the whole thing becomes in your mind.
Kenny (19/12/2005 09:31:02): I'll have one of your reasonable pills now thankyou.
Kenny (19/12/2005 09:31:18): Karen gave me the same talk yesterday.
Kenny (19/12/2005 09:31:34): That whole "it's not what you think" thing.
Da Missus (19/12/2005 09:32:43): Oh, right. Well, you're a scatterbrain - I got lost in your train of thought.
Kenny (19/12/2005 09:33:03): I don't have trains of thought. I have scattergrams.
Da Missus (19/12/2005 09:34:40): Sounds like Darrell is waking up so I have to scoot so Jen can attend to him. I'll probably not sleep, though, and will be back on later. You sticking around?
Kenny (19/12/2005 09:35:25): You're damned right. If ever I needed you around it's now. If I can't hold your hand, I can at least IM you.
Da Missus (19/12/2005 09:36:02): Alright - I'll let them do their thing and I'll be back.
Kenny (19/12/2005 09:36:13): I love you missus.
Da Missus (19/12/2005 09:36:19): LOVE YOU FUCKER!


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 10:22 GMT
 

18th December 2005

Foiled

God damn it. I legged it back to Leeds to go to The Living Room to see Sam Payne play and as I arrived back, I got an email from her saying that the Sunday gig is a lunchtime affair. How do you spell bollocks?

Looks like it's an early night for me and a late night on Wednesday.

I had a great night last night. There were bits that weren't that great but on balance, it was good. Nothing says your life is okay like seeing your mates destroy themselves. I've been down for a long time; I just thank a deity that I have not been as down as they must be.

I've spent the afternoon chatting with Sis. A sane voice in a sea of drivel. Thanks Karen. You put an awful lot of things into context. Hopefully I reciprocated.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 19:42 GMT
 

17th December 2005

Your N fix

Because half you buggers come over here just for N fixes, I have two little gems to impart to you all...

natalie: Truth be told I already have a bunch of blog posts all ready in blogger just itching to be published.

Now you're hooked aren't you? So am I.

And because I was so pleased by the news, you can see her final comment...

natalie: I've changed my mind - you're not allowed to be with or see any other woman ever ever. In fact, go ahead and shrink wrap your bits up in cling film with a nice sturdy vacuum seal until I see you again. Oh, and move to a desert island with only men. Thank you for your cooperation. :x

Don't you wish you were married to the sexiest and most gorgeous lass on the planet? Well you're not. I am. And I take pleasure in it every day.

I'm off to Manc now with Karen. Back tomorrow.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 10:39 GMT
 

16th December 2005

Sam Payne update

If you're in Leeds, The Living Room in Leeds is the place to be on Sunday night. And again The Living Room in York on Wednesday.

Sam will be playing. I will certainly be at the Leeds gig. York has dependencies.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 16:59 GMT
 

Happy Christmas Kenny

Well, to add to my single Christmas card (from my mum), I have more holiday cheer to impart. Whoever owns the flat I rent is selling it. I got a call today asking whether it would be OK if someone came to view the property at 12:00 tomorrow. Apparently I don't need to tidy up. Good. With less than 24 hours notice, I'll be damned if I'll do any more than load the dishwasher and do some laundry.

As it happens, I won't be here anyway. I'm off back to Manc with Karen so the blushes for the empty wine bottles will be saved.

I'm not sure what the implications are for me. I suppose it depends on the buyer. If it's a private purchase, I'll have to move again in February. If it's an investment purchase, chances are I'll stay on. Either way it's bloody inconvenient having the prospect looming. I've literally only just got back into a comfort zone after moving back from the US. Moving again is a strain I am not happy about. I know I can fit all my worldly possessions into a couple of bags but would prefer not to if at all possible.

Feckin' humbug. I could not feel less seasonal.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 15:40 GMT
 

Foresight is a wonderful thing

Thank God I booked today off. I neglected to switch off the alarm clock so was consequently awake at 6:30. The horror of the situation was partially offset by the fact that it was Kate Bush that woke me up. On the CD perverts, not next to me. Anyway, I was feeling like I had drunk a pan galactic gargle baster so watched the news for 10 minutes and re-entered the pit that is refered to as my bedroom. I awoke 20 minutes ago.

I have a lunch appointment today so I have run around like a mad bastard for the last few minutes. The lunch will have to be a breakfast; there is no alternative. I can face nothing but bacon, egg and sausages.

After lunch, I have two alternatives. I can either do some Christmas shopping for my family or I can retire back to my flat and blog nonsense. We'll see what happens. If I were a betting man, I know which I would put my money on.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 12:23 GMT
 

15th December 2005

Home

I told you I'd be home by 10. All you doubters are wrong. I am, and am well prepared to watch banal television for an hour or so before I crash.

Shame on you for questioning me.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 21:54 GMT
 

Christmas dos and don'ts

I booked tomorrow off on holiday. It's yet another Christmas do tonight and I have more than enough crap to fill tomorrow; transfer money to America, shopping (both domestic and Christmas -- spit) and I have a lunch appointment with an old friend who is also a potential supplier.

I guess after this week, I'll need a nice steady Friday night holed up in my flat with a bottle of Chardonnay, a Kate Bush CD and loads of chocolate. Monday was quiet, Tuesday was York and sashimi, Wednesday was York and music, tonight is another Christmas do and on Saturday I'm off back to t'other side of t'Pennines with Karen for a reunion of sorts. Tomorrow is my only down time until Sunday. I declare that I will have a day of rest at some point.

I've just looked at the clock. I'm already late for the do. I think I may head down there and stay for the free drinks and maybe a couple more, and then meander back here at about 10'ish. I don't trust myself at formal office parties; I am quite prone to responding to office gossip with a well phrased acerbic comment but drunk people don't see the relevance and continue, so I ignore them. Also, I hate the cliquey-ness that happens. Teams stick together while management trawl around earning their money by having stunningly dull conversations with the minions. And then there's always the one who chooses, in an ill-timed drunken haze, to start bitching about the company. It's universal; there is always one. Then there's the shop-talkers (OK, I fall into that category myself) who are still talking work at 10pm after an aircraft-hangerful of their chosen tipple who just show they have no social life at all, and that work rules the roost, albeit a roost that could bore a physicist into retirement.

I suppose I should go down there now. I imagine that enough booze has been consumed to lighten up the management and liberate the workers. Trawling will be at a peak and the gossip will be almost over with.

I'll probably be back later.

Pity me. I have neither the funds nor the willingness to do this today.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 18:46 GMT
 

Girly theme continues

I went back up to York last night to meet up with the Waaart and some of his colleagues. The aim of the game was to thank some chap who had presented a paper on behalf of the Waaart which had won some award. I'm not sure I entirely understood the context of it all.

We had arranged to meet in The Living Room on Bridge Street. I got there earlier than planned and entered the place. I cursed. It was packed and noisier than hell. I suffered the first hour as the Waaart started the trip into excess and talked nonsense. Only academics can afford morals.

The subject of the conversation is irrelevant. The point is that I was not enjoying myself that much. I had commented to the Waaart that I thought the place was full of hookers as there was a girl sat alone who knew all the bouncers but sat smoking and drinking water, looking very at ease with herself. That is not a natural state in such a place.

Anyway, 8:30 came around and the alleged hooker took to the piano. Suddenly the conversation was even more irrelevant. In fact I stopped being involved. I lost myself in a whirlwind of blues. For a full two hours. It was gorgeous.

Come close of play, I headed for the train. Guess who I chatted to all the way back to Leeds? Only the girl on the piano. I couldn't believe that anyone so talented on a piano had never heard any Tori Amos. We swapped MP3 players for a bit as I listened to her stuff and she listened to my playlist. As we pulled into Leeds station, we bade our farewells and she gave me her card.

Check out her website. I haven't downloaded the MP3s yet but I will be doing so tomorrow (tonight is another work do). If they are as good as she was live, I'll be seeking out a CD. I guess I know what I'll be doing on February 18th.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 08:00 GMT
 

14th December 2005

Increasingly girly and Sushi, all in one post

I don't know what's happening. Maybe it's a lack of daylight. I have taken to running a bath in the morning rather than taking a shower. Also, beer has not entered my mouth in weeks (OK, white (not red) wine and G&Ts have but even that's a tad effeminate).

I fear for what might happen next? Vegetarianism? Rickets? Hitler? Alcopops?

Shudder.

In other news, I went up to York last night to meet the Waaart for a bit o'sushi and some festive beverages. We ordered, he a beef noodle dish, me a sashimi bento. I wolfed down my sashimi. He ate about a third of his noodles. Naturally I finished the noodles off. We then decided that we would order some soup (never touch the stuff missen') and more sashimi (I could eat it all day) so did. Again, I ate the majority. All of this was, of course, accompanied by appropriate gallons of Sake.

By the time we had finished eating, the Waaart was a tad on the tipsier side of sober and was on a rant about the soup tasting like armpits but being gorgeous with it. It was only then that he noticed that his head of department was in the same restaurant. Being the Waaart and having had a few sniffters he decided he was going to be funny and go give his colleague's wife a kiss. Only it wasn't his wife. It was his son. I, of course, knew this because I was not rat-arsed but the Waaart insisted. I couldn't even look. Waaart, I'll give you a reference when you need a job in York Station's pub.

A t'rrific night out. Shame I couldn't have stayed. Or maybe not. A liver is for life, not just for Christmas.

See ya soon Waaarty man, and cheers for the sushi (not to mention the beer and the loan).


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 08:24 GMT
 

12th December 2005

They come in three

Although I didn't expect the third to be canine. My mum's dog, Evie, died this morning. I have blubbed for the last thirty minutes non-stop. I can barely focus on the screen.

She was thirteen and had been diagnosed as a diabetic at the age of two, so thirteen seems a good age. But it hasn't stopped me sobbing. Her last few years have seen her go blind and deaf. Even with her disabilities, she was a bugger; a food hound, constantly on the patrol for a random morsel.

I remember paying for her from the cats and dogs home when my mum got her. We christened her Evie on the way home. She was the runt of the litter, more beautiful than you can imagine, and as stubborn as a mule.



Bless you sheep.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 19:34 GMT
 

Why N needs to start blogging again

Yahoo conversation:

Da Missus: Whassup playa. You gonna buy some more of my love this Thursday? Momma gottsta pay some RENT!
Kenny: Not much - "working from home" today. I only get paid on Friday so that'll be the earliest I can send cash.
Da Missus: Pah - then you LOSE that day of my love, and I shall give it to another!
Kenny: Can I not have an ex gratia day of love?
Da Missus: Nope, sorry. In case you hadn't noticed, there's a press release been issued stating, and I quote, "What the world needs now is love, sweet love - it's the only thing that there's just too little of". If we're talking about a love shortage we're dealing with a fairly aggressive seller's market here. Supply and demand and all that, you understand.
Kenny: You need to start blogging again missy!
Da Missus: But there is no blogging shortage - just love! Dipshit.
Kenny: Have you been taking crack or something?
Da Missus: Nope - I knitted some scrunchies and played Soul Calibur 2 on the Playstation for hours.
Kenny: I need to nip out for a pack of smokes...will be back in 5.
Kenny: Back.
Da Missus: That was fast, fucker.
Da Missus: See, I call you "fucker" because it's funny.
Kenny: Every time a church bell rings, Mr. T pities a fool.
Kenny: Mr.T once punched Chuck Norris at the exact moment he roundhouse kicked Mr.T in the chest. the result was the 80's.
Kenny: 23. That's the number of people Mr. T has pitied in the time it has taken you to read this sentence.
Kenny: Mr. T. does not break wind. He destroys it.
Kenny: Mr. T invented fools. Realizing the magnitude of his folly, he then created Pity.
Kenny: The last time Mr. T went to McDonald's, Ronald McDonald greeted him. What occured next proved to be the most violent beating of a clown ever recorded in human history.
Kenny: Despite popular belief, if there is a fool in the woods, and nobody is around to hear his jibba jabba, Mr. T is still able to pity him.
Da Missus: Where are you reading this?
Kenny: It took five women 2 years to give birth to Mr. T.
Kenny: In an email.
Da Missus: Sounds just like the Vin Diesel ones you yelled at me about because they were stoopid.
Kenny: Mr. T once appeared on the show, Fear Factor, not as a contestant, but as a stunt. There were no winners and 6 deaths on the show that day. Mr. T has not been invited back.
Da Missus: You're an idiot.
Kenny: I know. I had no idea who Vin Diesel was though. Everyone knows Mr T.
Da Missus: Vin Diesel is an even bigger hard-ass that T.
Da Missus: Darrell just called me in to watch the news on the fire.
Kenny: You know the explosion was actually measured on the Richter scale?
Da Missus: Damn!
Kenny: 2.4
Kenny: They heard it in Holland.
Kenny: Seriously.
Da Missus: That's going to be my band name "They Heard it in Holland". That statement is hilarious.
Da Missus: I know it's serious - just a funny statement.
Kenny: They also heard it in Belgium, which is not quite as amusing, but very Flemish of them.
Da Missus: "My, how very Flemish of you!"
Kenny: Flemish - the inability to speak English, German or French.
Da Missus: Forward that to me, asshat.
Kenny: Is it worth a day of love in lieu?
Kenny: You want my design document?
Kenny: I'll send you my design document!
Da Missus: Fuck your design document!
Kenny: OK -- I'll fwd it to you now.
Kenny: Is it n.y or ny?
Da Missus: hotpieceofassyouwantbutcanthave dot org dot edu dot net.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 17:10 GMT
 

11th December 2005

Pride

I cooked and I'm am all proud of myself. Yesterday I went out with Karen, Nev and an old workmate of mine. I predictably opted for the all-day breakfast when it came time to eat.

Karen and Nev had to leave so Dave and I went playing pool. I absolutely creamed him. I forget how many games we had, but I didn't lose one. His missus turned up later on, and we set off to eat again. I had a steak that was so criminally covered in salt and other powdered vegetation that I will never, ever grace that particular restaurant again. That said, from the contents of my wallet Dave must have paid so I shouldn't grumble.

Anyhoooo, I have cooked. It was a lengthy affair and I'm not sure I've got the hang of it. I got out my cookbook and turned to the Lasagne page. I followed the instructions to the letter. I took off the sleeve, removed the film and put it in the oven at 190C for 55 minutes. I spent that 55 minutes worrying whether I had messed up. I will now find out.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 16:07 GMT
 

The National disgrace

I was going to update the earlier post about what a bunch a whining tossers the English are, but I deem it too important to be a footnote. The coverage of Joe Public on the BBC is incredible. People wailing and moaning that they don't know what to do and that the government should tell them what to do. You know what people? You are responsible for yourselves. You do not need to be fed breast-milk from a bloated cabinet minister.

What kind of lives must these people lead that they go into blind panic when anything occurs that wasn't scheduled a year in advance? If this is how they react to a bit of smoke, what must happen when they have something earth-shattering happen? Like a puncture on their carbon-friendly bike.

I look back on my traveling times and suddenly think that I must be quite a hardy character compared to the rest of the cringing classes. Bombs in Belfast. Climbing into hotels via other people's bedrooms because Belfast goes into lockdown. Hurricanes in Florida. Fires in Florida. Tornados in Chicago. Cocodamol in Chicago. Flying through Boston on September 10th 2001. Being conned in Beijing. Being pennyless in Korea. Bombs in London.

How would these dithering morons cope with any of that? Quite frankly, I doubt they would. I really am recalibrating as the day goes on. I have always seen myself as a fairly risk averse kind of person when it came to my well-being. It appears I am not when compared to the average English dribbling loon.

My take on emergencies is trust your instincts. They will serve you well. That's why they are called instincts.

I wonder how they react if they burn their toast or get a phone call after 8:00pm.

Actually, I wonder whether it hurts to breathe.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 13:35 GMT
 

Dunkirk my arse

I tell you, we are a nation of wusses. There's a bit of a bonfire in the South East and the Salvation Army are out, armed with flasks and digestive biscuits. You'd think we'd been nuked.

"People are frightened by the smoke."

For God's sake, are we such pansies?

"People are panic buying fuel."

Are we so stupid?

If we had any semblance of self-respect, we'd do what we always have done...put the kettle on, have a nice brew and bloody well get on with it. Heavens to Betsy, we are a nation of wimps.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 11:30 GMT
 

More on the amazing exploding Hemel Hempstead

This explosion is absolutely enormous. People reporting feel the blast 100 miles away in Norfolk. That is just bat-shit mental. A hundred miles of sound pulsing from what is effectively a point mass.

The BBC are reporting that the fuel depot in question has a capacity of 60 million gallons of oil. While it's highly unlikely that it was at capacity, it is conceivable that it was at half or a quarter capacity. However much was in there, it appears to have been enough to simulate a natural disaster.

I am amazed that there are no reported fatalities. Particularly so because the muppets that are being interviewed all heard a big bang and then drove to the scene to find out what was happening. Anyone ever heard of secondary explosions? If that were me, I would be driving in the opposite direction to the blast.

It's a crystal clear day here. All of the this is smoke:



Thankfully the couple upstairs have finished their shagathon. Unfortunately the Chinese below me has now opened. Who needs sleep?


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 11:01 GMT
 

Sunday morning

Between the drilling outside and the drilling upstairs, sleep is impossible. Outside is conventional drilling. Upstairs is metaphorical. I mean, who is still having sex at 6:00 on a Sunday morning? All that says to me is that the duo (I assume) didn't drink enough last night. I've seen the couple in question. It's a visual I don't need.

Being awake (bollocks!) at this time on a Sunday does have its benefits though. Apparently there has been an explosion somewhere near St Albans. I spend a fair bit of time there. The BBC have people calling in from as far away as Luton with eye witness accounts. That's a fair way from St Albans. It's at least a £20 taxi ride so maybe 12 miles. It sounds like the source of the explosion is a fuel depot and not the couple upstairs.

I'm going to try to doze my way through breaking news and breaking beds while drinking copious amounts of tea.

Back later. Kenny Yates, BBC News, my flat.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 06:39 GMT
 

10th December 2005

Points of order

Thanks to David from Ashton-in-Makerfield.i, I suggest you face in the direction of this, and bow down:



Shame I can't see whether Ste was at the bar at the time. Statistics being what they are, I would put the odds at 40% in favor. Remember his card:



Utter class.

Karen and Nev are en route down here so I need to at least shower.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 11:56 GMT
 

9th December 2005

'Tis the season to be jolly

One of our work do's was tonight. It's the corporate one. It was in London and work paid for the train, the hotel and entrance to the themed evening somewhere swanky. I kind of looked at it for a brief moment and declined. It's not that I don't like my friends from the South, but it just seemed an inconvenience to go all the way down to London for a bit of a do. That, and you just know that you'll hang out with the people you know rather than mix with people from other sites. Well, maybe that's just my take. It transpired that a lot of people in Leeds thought the same way so we went out for drinkies from lunchtime onwards, in Leeds.

It got to seven o'clock and a few people started showing signs of being amateurs. Pukage started and wobbling was abundant. Various office romances were discussed so it was time for me to leave. I don't do that gossip.

So here I am, back at home in the warmth. I left my gay team mate to flirt outrageously with a female ex-employee.

I feel like I have resisted the temptation to have a stupid night. I'll be in bed by ten and they'll be wankered until well into tomorrow. Just like the lot that went down to London.

I declare myself a Saint.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 20:35 GMT
 

8th December 2005

I shall pretend that all is okay with the world

After the provocative comments in the last post, I have decided to take the moral highground and ignore them and just glance over it with a quick couple of questions.

What division are York in?

When did Liverpool last do the treble?

It's just so low to revel in other people's failures. Unless those failures belong to Chelsea. When Liverpool played the Champion's League final in May, I was fully behind them. Shame how some fans lose the national pride.

Post mission: failure.

Today was a bit of an anomaly. There I was at work doing all my internally focused stuff in measured steps. Suddenly, a real life problem broke out. Normally, I would not be involved in fixing such things, being in such a hands-off role, but today circumstances dictated that I had to be. The rush of adrenalin was fantastic. Hands on at last! Between a blue suit and I, we had it fixed in under an hour. Ah, the sweet taste of a problem solved. I have missed that.

If there's one thing I can do, it's fix any flavor of Unix quickly. Not like Microsoft rubbish which is pretty much a black box. Some days I curse the day I got a management role. I'm a far better engineer than manager.

I could have gone off on a rant here but didn't. You may thank me.

Anyway, Utd out. What did any self-respecting Utd fan expect after our performance this year? And thanks Waaart and Nev for your comments; there are "as yet undiscovered tribes in the Amazon" who could have predicted your response.

Dead on my feet. Need to sleep.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 20:37 GMT
 

7th December 2005

Cameron debuts

Wow!

I've just seen the highlights of Prime Minister's Question Time. This is going to be fun. Well more fun that watching Michael Howard being ritually humiliated by the eloquent Triple Adverb. This is going to be a real sport. Cameron was clever to the point that it clearly disarmed TB, at least for a moment. The usual derisory TB smirk was temporarily replaced with a look of disbelief; "Someone who can take on me? Surely not."

Cameron's opening was an act of complete genius. "Working with the government" is not a phrase anyone expects at PMQ. The viewing public (well those that care) expect snipes, digs, banter and much aying and naying. This was a much more cereberal affair than we are used to. A game of chess with words...compelling viewing. To be honest, I'm glad I wasn't involved in that exchange, because a summary "You are talking bollocks" would have been so low-brow.

PMQ is now must-see. I really do relish this battle. It will be reality TV at its best. They should now spread it out to primetime and show it in competition with Eastenders. I'd be glued.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 19:22 GMT
 

6th December 2005

Lardy verdict

Sublime. Utterly sublime. That was the single best Yorkshire pudding I have ever tasted.

And as I predicted, I needed two.

I now need to work out how to switch off the oven. With no documentation.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 19:11 GMT
 

Lardy compensation

I know you won't believe when I tell you that I had two bacon double cheeseburgers for dinner last night to compensate for my bizarre and brief dalliance with fruit, so I have taken a picture of what's for dinner chez moi ce soir:



Two things to point out here:

-- Yes, that says beef dripping in the subtitle. Truth in advertizing at last. I am dying to get stuck into them.

-- Why did I say them? You'll note it says meal for one, so I bought two because I'm sure I'll starve without a second. And if I don't, guess what's for dinner tomorrow night.

Come on people, this is as close to cooking as I get. I will appraise you of how utterly divine they were.

Update: It's cooking and smells garjus.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 16:34 GMT
 

Question

If we have only just discovered this unknown species, how do we know it's endangered? We don't even know what kind of habitat it enjoys. It might have been out of context in the photo. For Christ's sake, what ever happened to thinking something through before spouting your mouth off?


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 14:49 GMT
 

I promise you, you will love this

Learn Aisne'glish. I found Apprenez l'heure particularly gut-busting.

Time to seek zeh goood mush rooms.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 14:20 GMT
 

5th December 2005

Blurp

My mind is all staccato today. It has been working and then it hasn't, and then it slept and then it worked again. I reckon I have a 40% uptime, top.

As a result of this neural nefariousness, I will submit a list of my various epiphanies today:

-- On the day that the UK finally does the decent thing by allowing gay marriage (okay, we can't call it marriage but essentially it is), I would like to wish all those of you who embark on such a voyage all the luck in the world.

-- On the above note, I hope Robbie Williams will now tie the knot with Ant or Dec, and get it over with. It's okay Robbie, we know already, just like we did George Michael.

-- Many years ago, I did something a bit daring and bleached part of my hair. At the time, the bastards people who I hung around with called me birdshit head. It strikes me that I was way ahead of my time. As I wander around, I see loads of people have adopted a trend of one gigantic birdshit uniformally around their head leaving maybe an inch and a half of contrasting color (I'm too kind). At least mine was artfully done.

-- I think Gordon Brown is my new hero. His performance today was utterly fab.

-- To all my carnivorous readers, I apologize. I am off the wagon. For some bizarre reason earlier today, I ate a fruit salad. I have no idea what came over me. It must be the concussion. No meat was wasted in the eating of healthy things -- fear ye not.

-- The scar over my eye has now healed to the point where I quite want it to stay in its current state. There would be numerous benefits; it could act as a third eyebrow, I look permanently perplexed or seductive (in a Sean Connery acting style) and I could be mistaken for Dr Spock (no ear jokes assholes). Oh, and no bugger would mess with me at the moment.

-- Dear Santa, I really, really, really wish that Jose Mourihno goes to Real Madrid for Christmas. I'll do without anything else. Well, you could get him to take a few players with him. Thankyou. Little Kenny. xxx

-- I'm spent. Unless some other Robson Green shite appears on the box.

I told you I was a bit woah and whey today.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 18:12 GMT
 

Time is fleeting

As you can probably tell from the drivel I spewed forth yesterday, I spent the day codeined up to my eyeballs on the sofa. I left my flat once for cigarettes and, to be honest, it was a slightly surreal experience; I felt like I was swimming to the shop, not walking. Then again this is Northern England, so for all I know, I could have been swimming.

I woke up over an hour ago and laid there for half an hour, desperately trying to go back to sleep. My mind usually plays the tea card when I wake up but this morning it was utterly obsessed. I had to give in to my more carnal (in a tea-like manner) instincts. Fortunately, I had remembered tea when I ventured out on Saturday. Normally I have a three bagger pot. Today I threw caution to the wind and slipped in a fourth. Yes, living it large.

I'm not sure whether I should go to work or not. I'm still sleeping bizarrely which, I assume, is down to the concussion. The doc reckoned that the symptoms could persist for up to two weeks and given that I was still quite obviously suffering four days after my incident, chances are I would be on the upper limit of that. Or it could be codeine. I guess I'll sup my tea and see if I can get back to sleep for an hour. Fat chance.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 06:41 GMT
 

4th December 2005

Self loathing reaches new high

I have long since sworn off watching anything with Robson Green in it. But I had the TV on in the background while I did something trivial, and it's hooked me in, like the sucker I am.

I can tell by the music that it's horrendously sentimental. Apparently he's an amateur rocket scientist. All I have managed to pick up is that Robson's missus kiffed it some time ago, his daughter (who is a precocious cute Northern lass) is in a band and his son is seemingly incidental.

I hate cutesy things. And this is just so damned twee, it makes me want to throw up my Marks and Sparks pudding. Which I object to on principle.

OMG, it gets worse. The rocket that they want to launch will blast off on the anniversary of Robson's missus's death. I wish I had someone to pass me a bowl. I have to go get my own.

To give you some idea how utterly dreadful this is, there was just a scene where Robson's Welsh mate looked like had been kicked in the 'nads. Welsh chap's missus is pregnant. The show leads you to believe his wife has lost the baby, but, oh no, she's having triplets! Not twins. Triplets. Talk about contrived. It's so awful it's worthy of daytime TV. Its only redeeming feature is that the his daughter is a bit of totty, but hell's teeth...

It gets worse. The point of the rocket is to send Robson's dead missus's ashes into space.

I'm looking at chunderville, pukesville and galactic gargleblasting all in the same monumental heave. I can take no more. Where's my Dido?

Update:

Oh sweet Jesus. That was worse than bad. As you will have predicted, the rocket made it into space. I had nothing left to barf. The final words were "So what's next George? The Moon?" followed by Elton John's rocketman. Damn you codeine. You should protect against such emotional agony. You failed.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 20:49 GMT
 

Appeasement and FA

So some smart government analyst has come up with the next big wheeze. They have proposed that the age at which you can legally buy cigarettes should be raised from 16 to 18.

Fantastic headline. In practice, it will be irrelevant.

I used to buy cigarettes for my 12 year old brother when I was 14, and no way did I look like I was 16. At 15, I was buying cider from friendly off-license owners. At 14, my grandfather took me to the pub. At 16, I was in there with my mates, drinking pints of mild and whatever cocktails were fashionable.

My point is that you can make all the rules you like but you have to enforce them, which is where this country has always fallen down historically. If I, as 16 year old kid built like a string bean and with no evidence of bum-fluff let alone whiskers, could walk into a pub on a Friday night and drink six pints without anyone batting an eyelid, it doesn't matter whether the legal drinking age is 18 or 80. I went out two or three times a week for nearly 2 years before I became "legal" and was challenged on only a handful of occasions.

Can you imagine the US putting up with pissed teenagers smoking away in bars? I don't think so. I see 14 year olds in pubs here who should be at home doing their home economics coursework, not boozing it up down at the hostelry.

I know. The Waaart and Nev will accuse me of hypocrisy. We boozed our way through our further education, well Nev less so (I had to drag him out of the library on pain of death the day before one of our finals, for a few pints and some pool - the lad showed no commitment to beer). My point here is that if we had the US drinking age of 21, we'd probably have a great deal more graduates in Britain. For most chaps, especially the ones I knew, university was nothing more than a 3 or 4 year bender. In this day and age, I presume it's a bender that is funded by loans rather than grants. All the evidence is that raising the drinking age to 21 is actually a very sensible thing to do. As long as you enforce it.

Anyway that was about as nonsensical a rant as I have come up with in a long time.

What do we all make of the FA Cup draw eh?

Luton Town v Liverpool
Arsenal v Cardiff
Manchester City v Scunthorpe
Chelsea v Huddersfield
Wigan v Leeds
Nuneaton Borough or Histon v Middlesbrough

and the pick of the round:

Burton Albion or Burscough v Manchester United

God, don't you just love the FA Cup? Anyone taking bets on whether Chelsea hit double figures?


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 17:58 GMT
 

3rd December 2005

Breaking news

I decided that I'm off out for an hour. I mentioned it to sis, who thinks it's a bad idea. But what the hell, I've ironed a shirt now.

While weaving (definition for Sarverners and my US cousins is cleansing oneself in preparation for a night out), I stuck on a Sisters Of Mercy CD. I now feel bad-ass. Completely.

Watch out Leeds.

Everybody shout "I love Lucy".

I'll be home in twenty minutes I'm sure. But at least I tried.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 20:50 GMT
 

Tedium continues

One of the nice things that the good doctor told me was that I should sleep as frequently and as long as I want to. I have taken her at her word. I got up at 12:30 today, and that was only because the phone was ringing.

When I was a kid, if I caught any illness, I would be whipped off to the doctor who would routinely prescribe some foul tasting potion and tell me to get on with life. My kid brother would catch exactly the same thing a few days later and would be prescribed bed rest. I'm still bitter about that.

I've just watched the highlights of George Best's funeral. I don't what it is, but I think there is something fundamentally wrong with me mentally. Firstly, I have become immune to funerals. I put that down to the fact that I've had a lifetime's worth of grieving since I was 16 and am just max'ed out emotionally and have no capacity left. Secondly, poetry cannot move me. At the funeral of Frank a couple of weeks ago, there was a poem on the menu or whatever you call them. My mother and father gushed about how beautiful it was. Quite frankly, my skin crawled. The same poem was read at Best's funeral and I had a similar reaction. There was another poem at GB's do which made my skin crawl even more. I don't do raw emotion at all. I'm either hypersensitive or hyposensitive but I have never worked out which.

I find heart-spilling nauseating once it goes beyond a certain point. It's not that I don't appreciate the feelings of love or loss but I find the public display or articulation very, very awkward to deal with to the point where my guts wrench in violent allergy to the sickly display. It's the same kind of reaction I get to parents who change there intonation to talk to their sprogs.

Okay, so I'm weird. But you knew that anyway.

This afternoon holds a fun packed afternoon of nothing. Again. Maybe a nap? Who knows? I should probably do some Christmas shopping but I'm not sure that would be any more entertaining than sitting watching News 24. I have no idea what to get anyone anyway.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 14:20 GMT
 

2nd December 2005

Friday night and no work do

It's Friday evening and I'm doped up to hell but have been confined to my flat for five days now, bar an aborted attempt to go to work, a trip to LGI and a couple of trips out for tea bags, food and milk. I should have been at my team's Xmas do, but that isn't happening. There are two more though; one in London that I cannot be bothered with, and one on the 15th which is more of a site affair that I have already paid for, so I'll be there (hopefully). I fancied getting the hell out of dodge. But it ain't happening.

Nev and Karen have some kid stuff to attend to. The Waaart is cooking and my bro and the Flipflop are off to Edinburgh.

My only other alternative would be to go back to Manc. My mother has been insisting that I do this since she learned of the head injury. I would like to think that it was out of concern but she knows I've got the Live8 and Spooks DVDs. I might go there tomorrow, but that would mean wasting my Marks and Sparks puddings that I have in the fridge, and that would be criminal.

Then again, there is the Utd match tomorrow afternoon which my dad will get on Sky. Tempting. But the pub around the corner will show that and that won't cost me £20.

It looks like Kenny's social interaction will continue to be the chap in the corner shop, for at least the next few days.

One thing that I probably shouldn't say but I will, is that my experience the other day at the hospital reminded me of something that I had long since forgotten. Even though it was an objective touch to diagnose, the examination I was given was a breath of fresh air. I have had literally no human contact since I left the US. Nearly a year without feeling a tender hand anywhere. You forget how important that is to you. I've spent the day remembering N's touch in good moments and when she was tending to me in my blackest days, and literally longing for it again. God speed NKY.

So, it's an evening of boredom here. I've just about had it with watching DVDs I've seen multiple times. And A Question of Sport long since lost its attraction. I don't even recognise the contestants never mind the picture round.

Maybe I'll try Men and Motors...


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 19:07 GMT
 

Aha!

From here:

Satellite A60 (PSA60C-XXXXX)

Version 1.90 03-16-2004

* Made a change to prevent bypassing the system password.
* Update Prescott E0 CPU F41H microcode to 12.
* Update Prescott D0 CPU F34H microcode to 14.
* Change lid switch behavior to "brightness off" instead of "panel off".
* Changed CAS latency to CL2.5 with external Hynix memory.

Version 1.80 11-18-2004

* Made a change of the first step fan speed from 2200 RPM to 2500RPM, thereby reducing the loud fan noise during low speed.
* Made a change to the battery discharging over-current points for CPU throttling.
* Corrected the abnormal Access leds in external hub LAN during the S4, S5 state.



Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 13:31 GMT
 

Zimmerman comes through

No, not Bob Dylan.

Zimmer suggested I upgrade the BIOS on my A60. I'm always nervous about doing this. I was especially so today, worried that the random clunk power down would occur mid-upgrade and I would be royally shafted. I made it through the installation and the system was just shutting down before the clunk occured. Seconds to spare!

Touch wood, I have not had a clunk yet. I know this BIOS upgrade addresses issues with the graphics card so I'm happy about that -- the graphics card has been my biggest complaint about this PC. I wonder whether it also addresses fan control? The fan seems a lot more uniform in its sound rather peaks and mad troughs. Does anyone know whether the BIOS even interacts with the fan?

I will also investigate Rita's suggestion of a USB cooling system.

I shall report on developments (like the "anyone who cares" category numbers more than 5, maximum).

Thanks peeps!


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 13:02 GMT
 

1st December 2005

Call to geeks

I'll email this to the geeks mailing list at work too, but it's worth opening it up to the floor. I think the random shutdown of my PC is it over-heating. The fan seems to be massively overworked.

My laptop is a Toshiba (which I have never had problems with before in over ten years). The problem is almost certainly to do with the graphics card in that when it does die, upon reboot, it's only when the ATI Radeon 7000 IGP driver loads that it craps out again. I'm sure it's just sucking too much current and overheating. If you leave it for a few minutes, it will boot again.

Anyone got any ideas? Other than buying a new fan (I am nervous about that as it's still under warranty, and I know, I could send it back, but I guess it will be away for weeks/months).


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 18:33 GMT