28th February 2007

Kissing the hellos

I made notes on the train this morning about what I was going to say.

I may say it later.

But in line with my growing imaginary love affair with Bryony Gordon, I happened upon pictures of her in a Superwoman outfit.

I am so over Kate Silverton. Bryony is the new drug of choice. I defy you to tell me she is not absolutely stunning.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 15:19 GMT, by Kenny
 

27th February 2007

From my logs

inetnum: 195.xxxxxxxx - 195.xxxxxxxxx
netname: TELEGRAPH-GROUP-LIMITED
descr: TELEGRAPH GROUP LIMITED
descr: London

No flipping way! Do not tell me that Bryony Gordon has actually read my blog. I feel terrible that I have been so foul-mouthed recently.

I think I need a drink to calm myself. I'm literally shaking.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 15:29 GMT, by Kenny
 

Wow

You know how I mentioned that I had received an email from Bryony Gordon of The Telegraph early last week? I have just received another announcing that she has started blogging.

Go here immediately and tell me that you are not completely and utterly in love with her style. If you do tell me you're not, I'll probably tell you to bugger off because you won't like anything I scribe.

She's not only criminally pretty, but, as her first post proves, she is humble. After all, this is a respected journalist entering the foray that we have been dabbling with for years -- and she's nervous about it. I'm shocked that she would be worried. She gets paid to write. I get paid to write boring technical documentation. She gets paid to creatively write. More power to her.

I'm also very surprised that she bothered to respond to me. I used to be 30000th in the daft Technorati offerings, just behind someone who documented his bowel movements. Since I moved domains to anonymize it, I'm probably in the millions. Why would someone who is a professional journalist bother replying to a slithering ameoba of the blogosphere? I'll tell you why. Because she is a very decent human being who takes pride in her work and is appreciative of the positive feedback she gets. And she should get positive feedback. As she states in her first post, she has been accused of writing GCSE level tripe -- I can only assume that she is refering to the feedback that she got from her article, "Enough about you", which was as acerbic a piece as something Da Missus would write. I loved it.

I guess you either are completely smitten with her or you hate her. I am in the former camp. In fact, Bryony, if you happen upon this, dinner is on me.

It never ceases to amaze me that famous people respond to my emails. Bryony last week and this, Kate Silverton not too long ago. Sam, who is not quite so famous but who should be.

Guess I'll email Dido now. And hope.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 14:57 GMT, by Kenny
 

Zen and the art of enjoying a smoke

I had intended reaming some bastard who had a go at me at Piccadilly last night but I'm not sure I can. I have been distracted.

Hell, I'll tell you anyway.

Every thirty seconds there's an announcement at Piccadilly that says that "smoking is not permitted within the station building". Given that I have to wait on platform 14, about ten miles from civilization and probably the most airated place in the known universe, I smoke. Mr PC was sat there last night with his rucksack, hemp and chest-pains. As the latest reminder that you cannot use a legal drug was announced, I just so happened to be sparking up one of Silk Cut's finest.

Mr PC: "Are you deaf?"

Me: "Are you daft? Did you miss the bit about 'in the station building'? We're a five minute walk away from there."

Mr PC: "Do you not understand English? Enjoy your cancer."

Me: "I will, thanks. By the way, it's a little known fact that 100% of non-smokers die. Enjoy yours."

I would have appended "arse" but I thought that would be a bit too condescending. I'm out in a train station where the wind is blowing my bag off my shoulder and the feckin' hippie carrying a rucksack, hemp and an attitude has the gall to chastise me. Screw you mate. I hope your sandals cause enough friction to cause smoke. Wanker.

In other news, I have just ordered Steve's latest book. If you have not read Steve's blog, you'll have no idea what real writing is all about. He's a natural.

I mention this because he very gracefully thanked me for having his book as an ad on my page, and because I really want to see him succeed. I suspect that he and I are cut from the same cloth. I think we have the same values and the same aspirations.

I'm not sure whether I mentioned it (actually I did) but Yozz and I are working on a book. It's highly unlikely that we will manage to get a deal on it, but at worst I can publish it here. Then it won't have gone to waste.

Speaking of my favorite subject, th'Oddies, I now have the website of my absolutely favorite barmaid ever, Emma. Gorgeous is too conservative. She's drop-dead gorgeous. And if you tell her that, she laughs, as if you are taking the proverbial. Go here and tell me you wouldn't be in love in seconds. And she's working tonight, so guess where I will be.

I feel I should put a caveat on that. I wouldn't want anyone to think that I am forsaking Nski at all; I would never do that. I'm just enjoying watching someone else enjoy their life.

Okay, the crossword doesn't do itself; I need to boogie. You can tell I'm up to my eyeballs at work can't you? Not.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 10:43 GMT, by Kenny
 

26th February 2007

Tired -- it's the word of the day

Over the weekend, I got a new toy. Check this out. And then, this morning I got my ipaq phone. I am now replete with gadgets.

My new phone rocks my little world. I have never been as bloody excited about a gadget since I picked up a Psion 3A back in 1995.

The weekend was messy. Too many games of chess and too many beers. I did, however, prove that my children skills are intact. My brother and the Flip-Flop turned up yesterday avec sprog. She's barely two weeks old and is absolutely gorgeous. Uncle Kenny went into "winding" mode and left my brother and SIL in awe at my mad skillz. When you've had three of your own, you get the knack.

That said, I'm seriously tired. So tired that it took me about two hours to figure out how to transfer the numbers from my SIM card to my new phone. I looked like an amateur.

Tonight, I have to meet my mate B who is having a hell of time but refuses to help herself. When you end up in a relationship that is horrendous, you need to extricate yourself no matter what. Great advice coming from me eh?

Anyway, I'm off to learn about the latest version of Windows Mobile. I have two gadgets to play with, and they will be my bitches.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 14:41 GMT, by Kenny
 

23rd February 2007

Surreality

I had a bit of an accident last night. I called into th'Oddies to see the gang and before I knew it, it was 11:30. And then I got up at 5:00am. Tell me that is not a nightmare.

I spent the train journey in reviving some musical loves. I'd not played Fiona Apple for quite a while. Her voice is sublime. You cannot invent a more sultry tone. In fact, she's kind of dulled Charlotte Martin from my radar.

After Fiona, I listened to Kate Bush's Sea of Honey CD. Damn. I swear my sternum was vibrating. She composes music that you could only envisage once you've heard it. If you gave me a keyboard and an infinite amount of time, I would never, ever, come up with the structure that she comes up with. And her voice slices right through you. Whoever produces her songs is a genius. They double/triple track her vocals and then add harmonies as well. You end up with this barrage of aural beauty bouncing between the headphones.

In some respects though, that CD depresses me. In my mad month last year, I spent most of my life on the couch listening to it. "Somewhere in between asleep and waking up" resonates quite strongly. I think that's where I was. I don't want sympathy for this, and I don't think I have ever said this before, but as you may have gathered if you're a long term reader, I was at breaking point. Not just breaking, but broken. Living on my own was driving me mad, and Nski was killing me. I ended up in ER twice through my own doing, and neither of those occasions were to do with cuts and bruises. It ain't big and it ain't clever, but what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Thankfully, I am way beyond that particular phase now. What will be will be, and being the mental equivalent of a teenager is just daft at my age. Big boy; take it on the chin. As I said yesterday "head up straight".

Now I'm back with friends and family, it's a retrospective learning experience that allows me to listen to that CD without feeling the need to roll a seven.

By the way, the reason I was out so late was because the Yozzmeister and I were talking about writing a book. There is enough material in th'Oddies for a trilogy. Ste, on his own, merits at least one novel. It would be wrong for him to pass without someone documenting his brilliance. He hates computers so he'll never blog. His wit is razor sharp and on occasion completely floors people. We agreed that both of us would write a chapter each on Saturday and then compare notes to see whether we had the basis of something worth doing.

And be prepared for Yozz -- he'll be posting here shortly. All I can ask is that you immediately comment that pawn to King 4 is a puff's opening...you never know, he might stop that ridiculous gambit.

Bleh -- bit all over the place this morning -- lack of sleep ya know. You might get more sense out of me later.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 10:51 GMT, by Kenny
 

22nd February 2007

Job done

Right, that's that then. Me and a couple of old collegaues are meeting up soon for a couple of weeks R&R, and probably more drinks than you can wave a stick at.

Current proposed venues:

Thailand
Shanghai
Singapore

Or a week each in two of the above.

All I need to do now is steal socks.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 16:27 GMT, by Kenny
 

Winners, Kate and the eternal Nski

Congratulations to those who successfully identified the fact that the veiled lady had blue/green eyes. Like all good Muslims do. Come to th'Oddies tomorrow night and give them the password "Kenny" and you will be furnished with a pint of John Smith's or a beverage of your choice.

One of my rare pleasures in life at the moment, other than the sparkly lady on the train and the barstaff in th'Oddies (and no Rob, I don't mean you) is that magic twenty minutes that I have between being ready for work and leaving the house (06:00-06:20) where I can twinkle back at Kate Silverton as I eat my pound of fruit. Only this week, as of Tuesday, she had disappeared again. This morning I discovered that she is in LA for the Oscars -- on a bloody jolly, hob-nobbing with the big league. No wonder her smile was twice as bright as usual.

Speaking of smiles, the sparkly lady was positively resonating this morning. She is always impeccably dressed but today she was absolutely pristine. Anyone who gets that train in the morning will know who I am talking about. I was gobsmacked when she took off her lamb-skin gloves this morning to see that she is not married. I can only assume that she must have an allergy to metals.

Speaking of metals ("speaking of" is the phrase of the day), I have started wearing my wedding ring again. I ditched it last March after the mess that Nski put me into. A couple of weeks ago, I decided it was time to forgive; you cannot hold a grudge against someone who is vulnerable, especially when she is the mother of your children and the love of your life. I know she has long since ditched her rings. I know she is probably playing me for the sucker I am. I know she is living in a guy's (Allen) apartment while he is in Afghanistan. I don't know whether they are in a relationship of some sort, and I don't want to know. She hasn't answered the questions I have asked her. The insanity that I was subject to last March is not somewhere I want to go again. Indeed, it is unaffordable.

I know the majority of my readers are female (I've yet to establish why that is) so can I ask you a question? If someone was as hopelessly and utterly besotted with you, and at one stage of your life you had been that way inclined towards them, and then, let's say, your life circumstances changed, would you stand by them? Or would you run to the nearest bar, get yourself a felony DUI, fuck the first thing that looked like it might have some dollars and then drain your husband for cash until you'd driven yourself into a trailer park?

I honestly cannot get my head around it. I guess I'm abnormal.

That's probably a bit harsh. As you can tell, from the frequency I mention her, she worries me sick and I have by no means lost any affection for her. On the odd occasion where I have tried to convince myself that it's over and gone, I have failed. I have failed into a couple of weeks of madness and an awful lot of beer. Better to keep my head up straight, do the right thing and die with my integrity intact, knowing I have been honorable, honest and faithful.

Tomorrow is bonus day. I had calculated what I expected. Then I received a letter telling me what it is. I was out by a factor of 10 according to the letter. I literally jumped up and down until I decided that I would wait until I checked my balance in the morning -- nothing that good ever happens without some disappointment. If it is that much, I'm buying Nski a laptop. On the proviso that she starts blogging again so at least I might know where her head is at and how my kids are doing -- much better than a three line email once a week. Oh, and I'll be going on holiday -- my last proper holiday was in August 2003. I've felt guilty even considering it given Nski's financial position, but now it is time. Suggestions as to where to go are welcome. I may email Zoe and see if she fancies a visitor, although I guess Belgium is as dull as here at the moment, and I want some sun, sangria and sea.

And on that bomb-shell, I'd better start doing some work. Later.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 10:37 GMT, by Kenny
 

21st February 2007

Challenge

If you can spot what I spotted to be wrong (in context) in this image, I'll buy you a pint.



Winners can pitch up to th'Oddies on Friday to claim their drink.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 15:30 GMT, by Kenny
 

Amusement

Every now and again, I check my search terms.

This week's winner is "tumbling with Kenny".

Nobody has tumbled with Kenny in eons.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 10:49 GMT, by Kenny
 

20th February 2007

Counter

And just to counteract the sappy sentimentality, I would just like to point out that the person who invented the button-fly should be summararily executed.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 16:26 GMT, by Kenny
 

My Stromata

Charlotte Martin has rattled my little world recently. Nski emailed me about her late in November, and I bought and downloaded her Stromata album as soon as I could.

I've not been a fan of posting lyrics on here but if Stan can do it, so can I.

Every tree has got her root
And every girl forbidden fruit
And got her demons

And the path I chose to go
A different girl so long ago
I had my reasons

And she's in my head so loud
And screaming,
"Shouldn't you be proud of what you came from?"

Those lines kind of resonate with me. That, right there, is Nski in a nutshell.

I hate to be sappy, but a lot of you ended up here via Nski's blog. I figure you'd want an update/insight into her psyche.

I've professed my love for her on numerous occasions but I've never really articulated why. I guess I should try.

Nski is probably the most intelligent person I have ever met. I mix with PHDs, surgeons, big-business leaders and plumbers. The plumbers are the best of the bunch. Nski wipes the floor with all of them. She can hook you in and spit you out whenever she likes.

Some of you have met her. Tell me she is not the most charismatic person you have ever had the good fortune to meet.

She positively radiates energy.

When I first met her, she was running a hotel in Harvard, IL. It had been running at a phenomenal loss before Nski applied some common sense and turned it to profit. While she was there, she was held up at gunpoint. Was she shaken? A bit. Did she go back the following day? Too damned right.

Prior to that she had been variously a wedding-planner, running a country club and done her degree. All while looking after a kid that she had at the age of sixteen.

When we met, I left to come back to England and she was fully intent on coming over here to find me. Her plan was to get a plane to London and say "take me to the pub on the hill". Fortunately I managed to get in touch with her and inform her that there is more than one hill in England. And that Leeds was a better bet than London.

I was addicted after her first visit. Actually, that is rubbish. I was addicted the moment I met her. The second time she came over, she wanted to see the vast expanse of expensive shite that is London so she made me drive all the way down there to pick her up. We spent one night there, had a curry, stayed in a room that mice would regard as small and then escaped to the relative sanity that is Leeds. She apologised profusely once she found out how much gas is here.

I don't know why she chose me. Hell, she could have had her pick of anyone.

It's been ten years now, two of which we have been apart, and there isn't an hour of waking goes by where she doesn't cross my mind.

My mate B here virtually begs me to forget her and go live some banal existence; I laugh. You cannot be married to the most frightening intellect in the world and let it go easily. If it goes, it will not be my doing.

And, shhh, don't tell Nski, but I have opened up her old archives again. Just so you can have your fix of picklejuice for a little while. Hell knows, I still stalk it.

What can you say about someone who literally changed your life? I don't feel like I've come close to doing her justice. Maybe I'll try again after a couple of looseners.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 16:14 GMT, by Kenny
 

Is the election over already?

I've been reading Republican conservative blogs for a few weeks now and I detect an acknowledgement of defeat, with still another 11 months to run.

While the Obama bashing has started, and the Hillary bashing continues, have you, the populous of the US, really resigned yourself to the fact that you're going to have a liberal government?

We're going to start looking at you like we look at the French if you don't put your white flags down.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 10:50 GMT, by Kenny
 

19th February 2007

Wow -- a Monday that rocks

You'll never guess who I have just had an email from.

Remember when I got an email from Kate Silverton? That kind of rocked my little world.

In the last two minutes, I got an email back from the world's wittiest journalist, Bryony Gordon of the Telegraph.

Be still my beating heart.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 15:31 GMT, by Kenny
 

Cross your nads and call me Kenny

I should hear about the new job by the end of the week. To say that I am vibrating with anticipation is an understatement. As I understand it, I have one last candidate to beat. Or rather he/she needs to beat me.

If you hit me at the moment, you would get a harmonic top C.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 15:18 GMT, by Kenny
 

Kenny and the vast right wing conspiracy

My local barmaid's brother has just left for Afghanistan. I've never met the bloke but if I had known about his sending off do at Park Lane Club, I would have been there to shake his hand and wish him luck. By all accounts, this kid is a great person.

Instead of waving him off, I am wearing one of these trendy elastic bracelet things that were made popular by the likes of moonbats like Bono.

Except this one isn't moonbat. It's a "Support our Troops" done in a very tacky camouflage.

I hope the proceeds go to supporting injured soldiers and some adequate protection for those serving. The protection that our government seems unwilling to provide.

I'm quite willing to look like a prat if the proceeds go to helping those that do a job that most of us would not want.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 11:39 GMT, by Kenny
 

18th February 2007

At last...

...a film I want to see. Becoming Jane is released on March 9th.

Those of you that know me will know I have read everything Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters ever wrote. More than once. No doubt, you'll have given me some stick for it as well.

Well, thankfully someone has come up with the idea that rather than remaking Mansfield Park, Pride and Prejudice or Emma, let's have a look at the life of the author. From the review in the Telegraph, for the first time in ten years, I am salivating to go to the cinema. In fact I don't even know where the nearest one is to here, but you can bet your last dollar that I will do on March 9th.

Stick your pop-culture where the sun don't shine; no-one will ever live up to Jane Austen and the Brontes in coming up with an absolutely compelling plot.

I mean I like leching at Shalomar and Emma in Mutant X and Abby in NCIS but damn, give me the eighties adaptation of Wuthering Heights and I am in Kenny heaven. Okay producers, now you've done Jane Austen, I hope you're working on the Brontes -- there's way more documentary evidence of their lives so you can really go to town.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 14:33 GMT, by Kenny
 

Corollary

My one and only tattoo is in Chinese. There's me, a Chinese girl at work who translated it for me and Nski (and maybe a couple of other close friends) who know what it means. Well, them and probably 2 billion Chinese speakers/readers.

Like probably millions of people before me, I fell in love with the East. It's full of mystique and strangely tranquil jingles. China and Taiwan are fascinating cultures. I wrote about them back in July and August of 2003 -- I didn't have permalinks back then so if you want to go read about my thoughts while I was there, hit the archives.

In keeping with what will probably be a lifelong love affair with China and Taiwan, I have started learning Mandarin. I picked up quite a bit while I was there albeit for a couple of short visits. But thanks to the Times newspaper giving away teach yourself Chinese books last week, I have taken it up again in earnest.

If I were a selfish bastard, the best thing I could do for me at the moment is try to find a job in China. I would be paid brilliantly when you factor in the cost of living, and I would have a whole new world of places and language to explore. That is Kenny Nirvana, right there. The trouble is that it might not put food on the table in the US.

A good friend of mine moved out there. First to Singapore and then to Shanghai. I wonder how many orders of magnitude his rent dropped in that move. Hmm. I suppose Shanghai isn't that cheap compared to places like Shen Zhen. But I'm sure it's not as expensive as Singapore.

Come to think of it, I've no idea whether he is still out there or not. He has gone radio silent for quite a while. He could have been mugged in Beijing for about 30p.

Anyway, for those of you who have never been, or are reticent to go, I insist that you try it. It's a life-changing experience. It changed my perspective completely and gave me that kind of nudge that really wants to make you travel to non-tourist places more. And not bloody Majorca.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 13:56 GMT, by Kenny
 

I want to be here...

I absolutely fell in love with the madness that is Taiwan when I was there for a few days in 2003. Given it is Chinese New Year, it's a good excuse to resurrect a few of my old photos from that trip around Asia.

This is a photo as I arrived in Phucket. The place was levelled by the tsunami.



Again from Thailand, some fruit I was presented with:



And I have to throw in the transcript of the IM I had with Nski:

K: Here - I've just downloaded the fruit picture...
N: Oh FUCK!
K: What?
N: I would NOT even accept that plate. Get it out of your room man, it's a Thai Tribble
K: Jesus you had me worried there
N: What the fuck IS that thing?
K: Random fruit.
N: That's not right, seriously. There's NO fruit, even in Thailand that looks like that.
N: Don't touch it...is it pissed off that you took its picture?
K: I haven't asked it
N: Well, if it were pissed I guess you'd know.
N: If I were you, I'd call the front desk and be all "Hey, why don't you come up here and shave my Tribbles?"

Happy days.

Then there was the oppression that was Beijing:



And finally the hilarity and friendliness of Taiwan:



Click the image for the full sized madness.

Happy days, indeed. I will return there.

Happy year of the Pig everyone.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 12:58 GMT, by Kenny
 

17th February 2007

Guilt annoints me

Oh you have no idea how guilt-stricken I am. It's Saturday afternoon, with an hour before the Utd football game, and I am wracked with all the things I should have done this weekend, but haven't.

Strictly speaking I should have gone and seen my new niece, but I'm afraid that she might bite. Babies do that you know. Well at least until they are 16 years old. I might try to go next weekend but given that our kid and the Flip-Flop are never in -- and I doubt a kid will stop them -- I will make the offer and then "understand" when their hectic schedules are too busy.

They also have that horrible habit of trying to breast feed from a male breast that is quite adequately protected by numerous layers of saliva-proof fabric. Babies that is, not kidder and the FF. Although I swear in yesteryear, I have caught FF trying that with kidder.

Also, today is Die Fuhrer's birthday. I tried to say happy birthday in German but teeth that henceforth had been stlawart allies on my jihad against lamb and duck suddenly began exiting my mouth like a Spitfire with a saliva problem. So I wished her happy birthday, joked that I bought her an enema for Monday (poor taste since she does have one) and told her she needed to tell me what to get after my Christmas waste of money. We'll see. I might see if she fancies Sashimi, in a purely selfless act of course.

Anyway, I had set aside a couple of hours to work on something this afternoon but due to the parental units' descension, I have failed. That's another two hours off tomorrow. I might have to write off the shaving bit -- it might be quicker to dye.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 16:28 GMT, by Kenny
 

Ginger -- it's the new black

I saw pictures of my first and only niece about twenty-four hours after she was born. Such are the wonders of digital cameras. My brother, bless him, is not very good with a camera. Not that I am wonderful, you understand, but having worked in imaging for a long time, I can spot a decent image when I see one.

The photos appear to show Isobel with lots of thick red hair. When my brother was young and way into his, erm, teens, before he lost it all, he had a mop of bright red hair. There is no disputing parentage on this one.

When I was a kid, I envied his hair as opposed to my mousy brown average locks. As I grew older, I came to see it as a disability. "Beat them like the red-headed step-child they are." etc. So I dyed my hair blonde and then black and then all sorts of variants. I still toy with dying what is left of it occasionally but then I realise I would be outed for the 13 year old mentality that I am. ;)

My mother insists that Isobel's hair is nowhere near the intensity of our kid's and that it only looks red in the photo. "She's a strawberry blonde like the Flip-Flop."

Whatever.

The reason that I bring this paranoia up again is that I haven't shaved in nearly two weeks. Because I'm lazy okay?

And what did I see in my beard this morning? Yup. Bloody ginger. I yelped. My beard is jet black -- explain that one to me given my hair color. But there are definite patches of ginger. Kind of like a mongrel you pick up from the kennels. My dad has jet black hair and I had long since noticed the occasional ginger strand sprouting proudly forth from his facial fuzz, but I never thought it would happen to me.

If there is one thing that will incentivize me to grab the razor by the handle and break loose the Mach3 gel, it is the sight of a ginger whisker. My will be done, in the bathroom, as it is in the bedroom (and by that, I don't mean any kind of funky deviant sexual practices, but whichever feckin' channel I want on -- although I wish I didn't).

It got me thinking anyway, is it permissible to dye one's beard? Answers in the comment or the beard gets it.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 12:46 GMT, by Kenny
 

Passports and more phobias

I have just penned my views on the new passport application procedures chez-Stan.

Also, as long-time readers will well know, I detest rodents of any description. I fear we have a new "pet" in the wash-house. I'll be buying the most lethal shit available to rid us of this unwanted guest. No doubt Die Fuhrer will be wanting to trap it and release it. I want the bastard deader than Jacob Marley.

I lose count of how many phobias I have. Claustrophobia, Vertigo, Agoraphobia, whatever the phobia of rodents is, whatever the phobia of authority is. And now passport-phobia.

Teachers on trains are not a phobia; they are a hatred.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 11:06 GMT, by Kenny
 

16th February 2007

Put out that fag -- and I don't mean Graham Norton

On July 1st, the whole of England becomes a no-smoking zone in public places. That means pubs, stations, cafes and anywhere else you care to think of.

I called into th'Oddies last night for literally one drink, just to return a DVD -- skint is not the word. The subject was raised and the pathos could have been bottled. Everyone who goes in there smokes, without exception. Come the ban, I'm sure the place will be bankrupt.

I can understand non-smokers wanting to go to a pub/club/whatever and not have to be subject to smoke and I accept that these places should exist. However, to impose a blanket law that discriminates against people who buy a legal product is utter big-brother lunacy of the highest order.

The idea is that we are all going to pack in smoking. Mmmkay...

The government statistics on the bill-boards at the moment are that each smoker buys 5000 cigarettes a year on average. That is 250 packets per smoker.

Duty on each packet is around 90% so that means that £4.50 of every packet of cigarettes goes to the treasury. That's £1125 per year for every smoker. In reality, it's probably more, but let's run with it.

If we assume that 40% of the population smoke, that works out that the government hives off £27billion every year.

Now, what is the NHS budget?

Well in Scotland, this is the quote from the government:

Health Minister Andy Kerr said:

"Today's announcement highlights the unprecedented levels of investment we are making in improving Scotland's health. Next year we'll be spending over £2,000 per head on health, compared to less than £1,000 in 1999.

So let me get this right, smokers account for over 50% per capita of NHS spending in Scotland.

Going further:

By 2007/08, the NHS budget will be £92.6 billion. from the Department of Health.

That means smokers pay for around a third of the NHS funding in the UK. I suspect it may be higher, but let's run with it.

So if we all stop smoking, businesses like pubs will collapse, the NHS has a 33% deficit which would need to be made up by additional tax of some description.

£27billion spread over the whole of the UK would mean an extra £450 a year in tax per person. If you think that 40% of people are either too young, old or poor to pay tax, that figure changes -- to a whopping £600. Not to mention the lost excise from pub sales, bookies etc. that will have closed because of it.

Doesn't sound too bad does it? Until you start think about objecting to your council tax bills being £1000. If they went up by 60% you'd be outraged.

Now, we, the great smoking public, are happy to subsidise your arses to the tune of £600 a year. You should be saying thanks and keeping our last refuges open -- you don't have to go in there.

I am seriously starting to think about getting on the bandwagon and doing a website that petitions Downing Street about the Draconian practice of disallowing a free market.

The sums don't add up. The freedom has gone, and I am sick of being nannied. If I wanted that, I'd move to feckin' France.

Here endeth this rant.

Addendum to non-smokers: Would you rather be in a sealed room with a smoker or a running car? Q-frickin'-E-D.

Addendum to addendum: My maths is wrong somewhere. £600 is only 80 packs of cigs -- I think I need to do some recalculation. Perhaps we are subsidizing you buggers even more than I thought. Duh! Pro-rata of course. That's right. If everyone in the country (man, woman and child) bought packs of tabs, we'd be quids in -- and I would be better off substantially.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 12:34 GMT, by Kenny
 

New prisons for Liverpool and London

Well, this should cut down on carbon emissions created from transporting villains to the nick.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 11:49 GMT, by Kenny
 

Hot potato found smouldering chez-Cameron

David Cameron has declared the UK as a failing culture. Hot on the back of a Unicef report that says the UK is the worst place in Europe to be a child (highest rate of child poverty etc.) and "gang" shootings in London and Birmingham, Cameron has come up with the ultimate in populist appeasement strategies: fathers must be forced to stay with their children.

Personally, I'm sucking lemons on this one. I would have killed to have been forced to stay with my family. Instead I find myself paying for one lot of expensive subsistence here and three in the US, while battling court systems and trying to repair the damage done to my long-term wealth. There are only so many hours in a day, and mine are accounted for. It speaks volumes that I had to take time off to write letters.

I am only one man though, with a set of circumstances that were the result of a combination of (a) corporate greed, (b) bad luck and (c) lassitide on my behalf. I could argue that c was due to a and I was too loyal, but it's moot now. It is what it is.

The rest of the world isn't in my position. So would I advocate forcing fathers to stay with their wives and children when a marriage is dissolving? Would I hell. Having been through the big D myself, only last night did I find myself reliving the hell that was my first marriage. Had we stayed together, my poor daughter would not have known what to do. She'd have witnessed endless arguments that continued for days, watched me eating good old meat while she dined on lentils or some such hippie nonsense and been cloaked from the real world until she was in her mid-forties. I was having no part in bringing up someone who ate hippie junk food, resented her parents for their lack of unity and who would undoubtedly be able to surrender to anything even vaguely threatening in twenty languages by the time they were eighteen.

It's not as simple as state intervention into relationships. As much as I am going to sound like a bleeding heart here, it's about community. I didn't get into drugs. Not because they weren't around but because I had things to do that didn't see me hanging around street corners. Where I grew up, there were (then) fields. Playing fields and just rough open areas with real trees and hawthorns and blackberries. We played football until the horses chased us out. We went walking. We joined clubs that helped out other people.

I fail to understand what David Cameron's Eton and Oxford education teaches him about real life in urban and suburban England. What he needed to have done is walk a mile in my grandfather's shoes, a mile in my mother's and then a mile in mine. Then, I might have some respect for this product of a "think-tank" that capitalizes on the misfortunes of the poor bastards who live in this underclass - a class that we don't admit exists in the UK.

In fact, come to think of it, it exists in the US too and I have a horrible feeling that my kids are on the receiving end of it through no fault of their own. While my old CEO's kids are probably at Harvard, mine are living in a couple of rooms with no medical cover, a mother who is depressed to hell and a father who can only help remotely. As the downward spiral continues, communication mediums are becoming less and less accessible (you can see this here -- when was the last time I posted one of mine and Nski's legendary IM exchanges?), the more I worry. The only upside is that I have more resolve than ever to fix this. To parody an earlier plan:

Phase 1: Go to Manchester
Phase 2: Scream eureeka
Phase 3: Work my arse off
Phase 4: World domination

Just got to figure out where the socks fit in now.

In summary, Cameron, get a grip and focus on the future, not the here and now, cheap shots and beautifully spin-doctored populist bollocks. If you want my vote, you'll have to do better than that.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 10:46 GMT, by Kenny
 

15th February 2007

My subconscious must be terminated

I've just finished doing some admin work on my life which involved writing a long letter to a company pointing out the flaws in their SOPs, their lack of the ability to terminate a sentence with a period, the hilarity of paragraphs being terminated with semi-colons (with the next paragraph being entirely irrelevant to the previous) and the fact that they used incorrect case in their sign off, and failed to sign the letter. It was obviously a bullshit pro-forma that noone has ever checked. Typos are one thing on a blog, but in business communication, they are completely another.

I may post the letter here at some point and name some names.

I then did battle with my printer which refuses to cooperate with envelopes. Git.

After all this trauma, I suddenly remembered my dream from last night, and it was truly sickening.

I was having an affair with Kylie Minogue. Yup. The evil Antipodean midget. In my dream, I actually liked her sense of humor. And we spent hours having mad passionate sex. I think I said something cheesy like "you realise how many men around the world would kill to be in my position at this moment in time?" and she responded "well, they're not: you are so get on with it."

I feel utterly violated. Self-recrimination will not help.

I need to get in the bath and stay there until I have scrubbed every ounce of that dream off me. After all, Danni would never forgive me if she found out.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 12:55 GMT, by Kenny
 

Riddle me this one, fat man

Why have I not come across Amy Winehouse before? Do you people not care for my musical bones at all? I could have been suffering from the pop equivalent of osteoporosis and you wouldn't have stepped up to the plate would you?

Just when I am finally getting over Charlotte Martin's Stromata (which has been exhausting), another female chanteuse hooks me. I'll have to wait until payday to get the CD, but getted, gotten and got it will be.

I am surprised that the first time I heard Rehab was about a week ago while sat in th'Oddies (where else?) when they had MTV on prior to the footie. I was that impressed I wrote her name down on my paper so I could check out more of her stuff. I then, of course, threw the paper away because the crossword was, as one would expect, finished.

I didn't watch the Brits but I did see highlights on Breakfast this morning, where the gorgeous Kate Silverton was working her magic. Damn, the UK has some seriously talented female solo artists going on at the moment. We should, perhaps, commission a survey to see when the people who make Weetabix last changed the recipe and then cross-correlate that with the rise in seriously impressive UK female artists.

While we're at it, we should also map out when all our male bands became shite. And don't give me Arctic Monkeys or Take That. The only one worth their salt was Oasis. Thick? Yes. Edgy? Yes. Dull? Never.

Actually, I know the answer to the male bands becoming shite: Pete Doherty. There you go; job done.

Maybe I'm just getting to a certain age where I find the mournful wailings of thirty-something men who have the emotional age of a teenager just a bit too sappy. Maybe it just hits a raw nerve. Maybe I'm in a midlife crisis where the appeal of angry young women performing good music floats my proverbial boat. Dunno.

But Amy Winehouse is good. Seriously good. In the unlikely event that you haven't heard her, go here and listen to Rehab (there's a media gubbins at the top). Awesome. We likes a bit of soul.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 10:30 GMT, by Kenny
 

14th February 2007

An open letter

To the gob-shite who just threatened to throw me in the river.

Before I start, I'm in a bad mood. Actually, worse than that. If you come anywhere near me and so much as speak in the wrong tone of voice, I will lose it. It started when the twinkly one on the train did not show up; there is a close correlation between twinkly's arrival and my mood.

Work has not helped.

So let's just say that if you're a drunken Scotsman sat alongside the river with a bunch of your mates and lasses, and you say "Alright mate" and I respond "Aye", then you deliver such a classic line as "It's okay; it's not your fault" to much hilarity from your fellow dickheads, I might take offence. By that, I mean, I will turn around, ditch my bag and go for you. Good job you had your trainers on mate and that my metatarsal is still dodgy; you'd have had the living shit kicked out of you. And your mates aren't up to much are they? Just as fecking cowardly as you are.

His parting salvo was "If you come anywhere near me, I swear on my daughter's life that I will throw you in there [river]". Such is the magnaminity of your average cretin.

Nice one asshole. I hope your daughter doesn't have to follow through on your princely conduct. And I hope I can't run fast enough to pummel your worthless carcas (deliberate one S -- dictionary.com will explain) into fritters and then have an assault charge filed against me. 'Cos today it would happen.

I think I used the word "twat" -- which I reserve for that special breed of rhesus monkey that we have to tolerate. In fact, now I come to think of it, we should use this kind of homo-erectus for drug trials rather than harming innocent monkeys. After all, monkeys don't claim dole and get pissed 24 hours a day.

I'd just finished a very unpleasant phone conversation when the afore-stated pseudo-assault occurred. I had steam coming out of my ears. You'd think your average dickwad would recognise someone with steam coming out of their ears as NOT being a target for verbal abuse. It's very rare that I get to the point where I am more than happy to kick the ever-loving shit out of a fellow human-being, but today is one. And he was not a human-being. See rhesus.

I mean, I like a good booze-up as much as the next person. Some may say I like it too much. But to sit by a river at lunch time, already tanked is taking it just a tad beyond the pale. Or pail.

I'm that bloody annoyed that I swear there is smoke coming off this keyboard. God help any project manager who turns up at my desk this afternoon. Even if you're the really cute girl from upstairs, you will be reamed.

I can feel more rants coming on but I will leave it for now. I'm off for Thursday and Friday so expect more vitriol, unless I calm down.

Time for your meds Kenny.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 13:25 GMT, by Kenny
 

13th February 2007

Tech note

This is very scary. What appears to happen is that the hole consists of selectively taking keyboard input to match a file name that may contain sensitive data.

I don't know about you, but I think this is pretty amateur stuff. And these people write our OSs...


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 10:34 GMT, by Kenny
 

Of vommage and press

The brain appears to be fully functional this morning, but the body is conspiring against me. For no good reason, as I walked from the station to work, I felt a tightening of the throat and suddenly I was doubled over with a strategic vomit. There probably is a good reason for it; I'm just not party to it. I've had this kind of thing on and off for over ten years. The reason I know I'm allergic to novacaine is because I had a laryngoscopy to try to diagnose it.

Funny, at the weekend, I met a bloke in the pub who suffers from the same thing and whose doctors had failed to work out what it was too.

It comes and goes. The relief, after vomming, is palpable -- you can suddenly speak again without it hurting.

C'est la vie.

Anyway, what I was going to say is that I am feeling all villified today. The Telegraph has proven its worth. Read this and the second half of this and then tell me the Telegraph is a right wing rag.

And if you still need more convincing that it's a quality rag, read Craig Brown.

And now, if you'll forgive me, some work has broken out and I feel the need to vom some more.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 10:09 GMT, by Kenny
 

12th February 2007

能見物

Get this for a damned fine clue:

100-watt 2-volt bulb (4)

Now follow the logic:

Watts = Volts x Amps

100 = 50 x 2

Fifty in Roman numerals in "L".

So "L" "AMP" = LAMP. (ie 50 AMP)

Love it.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 15:10 GMT, by Kenny
 

Back to being stroppy

After my sappy post of yesterday, I'm back to being scathing.

Why do they allow teachers to travel in first class? I pay extra for a seat, a free brew and some bloody peace. I swear if I hear the words "rechannel his/her energy" again, I will nuke North Korea, Iran and whichever school these intellectual lowbrow do-goody terminal bores teach at.

I literally start feeling sick listening to them. So sick that I have to crank up the volume on my MP3 player to maximum.

At least the Telegraph is a challenge today. Some damned fine clues.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 11:20 GMT, by Kenny
 

11th February 2007

Goodbye Norma Jean

In my wildly exciting evening last night, I also watched a conspiradoc ((c) Kenny) surrounding Marilyn Monroe's death. Now, when I was in my teens, I was obsessed with MM. To me, she was the essence of pretty. Actually, pretty is not the word. She was a living, breathing Goddess (while she was alive of course). I have read probably every book ever written about her. Call it teenage folly if you will, like thinking Clare Grogan would magically appear in the Ram's Head and demand my hand in marriage or Kate Bush was just hanging around Kent waiting for me to pitch up. You know what male teenage hormones are like -- some might argue they never change (enter exhibit A: Kate Silverton). But my sad love affair with Marilyn has outlasted anything else.

If Some Like It Hot is on the TV, you can bet I'll be staying in. Same with Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. I don't know what it is about her that dizzies up my senses so much. There are millions of women who probably are far more naturally beautiful than Marilyn but she just stole the show for her photogenecity. Her stills were generally great, but on video, she totally dominated every shot.



Now I come to think of it, I wonder how Louise Brook would have looked in color?

Anyway the documentary was full of the usual conspiracy theories about suppositories, enemas and the like. Total bunk. Thankfully, they came the natural and probably correct conclusion that she accidentally killed herself by mixing sleeping tablets, and that she was probably in a coma for the last four hours of her life.

I found it particularly poignant that this was shown just a couple of days after Anna Nicole Smith's death. ANS was nowhere near a Marilyn yet the media here compared the two of them. I was outraged; you cannot compare a common hooker to someone who has infatuated probably three generations, and will continue to do so for generations to come.

Show me a man who would not have jumped at a date with Marilyn, and I'll show you a woman who hasn't lusted after Elvis. They are probably roughly the same proportion.

The thing that really caught me was how cavalier the people who surrounded her were. I knew this from the books I had read, but some of them are still around and were interviewed. One guy had filed for bankruptcy before deciding that he would spill the beans on the transcripts of Marilyn's shrink, the guy who had purportedly adopted her into his family. If I had someone who was quite obviously that vulnerable in my charge, there is no way I would betray their confidence by taping the sessions. What a frickin' louse.

This is kind of silly but I look at Marilyn like I look at Nski. I have a huge swell of ache take hold. And I wasn't even born when she was alive. How daft is that? A woman who had been dead for nearly seven years (an itch perhaps? sorry -- crap joke there) has the power to summon up the same emotions that I have for my wife.

Get a look at this, and tell me that you cannot see the same effervessence that Marilyn had:



Okay, this an amateur shot but if you can't see it, you're missing the plot! ;) Imagine what modern technology could do with that now. Hell, if I had the time, I'd downlaod the GIMP and could make it look just as sultry and gorgeous.

She may have been misguided, abused and more than likely, thicker than a box of frogs, but she was still an absolute icon. The like of which we will probably never see again.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 13:39 GMT, by Kenny
 

Mock the week

There's a show on one of the BBC channels called Mock the Week and I saw one of the funniest gags ever last night. It will probably not translate to print, but here you go. The subject was terrorism. Some stand-up guy I have never heard of stepped up:

"Terrorism? Tony Blair says we should be worried about Osama Bin Laden having WMDs. Listen, I've seen the pictures. The guy has a donkey and a rifle....when I see an ICBM strapped to the back of the donkey, then I'll be worried."

Priceless.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 12:51 GMT, by Kenny
 

Typical

They haven't even invented rain in Australia yet but they manage it just in time to probably salvage a draw.

Update: Ha! They didn't invent it time to save their Aussie arses from being put the sword.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 10:31 GMT, by Kenny
 

10th February 2007

I'm an uncle

God bless the poor bugger who has me as an uncle.

Isobel(sp?) was born this afternoon while I was guiding someone else.

A beautiful name.

Well done FF and B: I am proud as punch. And I know I said I wouldn't babysit, but I will.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 19:00 GMT, by Kenny
 

Intro

This will probably be the last post of the day as I have yet another rescue mission on my hands.

It's just to introduce JLO. JLO is a colleague at work who has been given the rhunes to access here from there (not that they are that tricky really, just enough to keep out the unwashed). He's one of our crack VB/Java developers. He's also a geek of the first order. He is unfortunate in that he was JLO before Jennifer Lopez was a star. It's an abbreviation of his name that has stuck.

I'll create him a login chez moi and we'll see whether I can entice him to rant.

Speaking of which, it's about time Stan returned to dispute my sock theory.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 13:52 GMT, by Kenny
 

World's longest labour

The Flip-Flop has now been in labour for about five days. I texted her the other day to tell her to get on with it. I think I was sensitive enough to wish her good luck. I have to watch myself on that score -- sensitivity has never been my bag, baby. She texted me back saying thanks. I think that shows the difference in our demeanors. She's in raging agony and can still be polite. I'm in a moderate amount of bad mood and have to watch what I say.

That said, when Nico was born, you have never heard such language from Nski. I took a verbal beating that I bet no-one will ever trump. So I guess I am not the least sensitive person I know.

Apparently, she went to the hospital yesterday to be induced and was examined by a quack who reckoned that she was in active labour so dismissed the idea of inducing her.

We are still waiting.

I don't wish to sound dispassionate, but I have been through three births. Only one went to plan. It's just nature taking its course. The only one that really worried me was when Zoe was born -- I honestly thought Nski might not make it through the process. It was the most awful few hours of my life. The woman, I love, losing blood like a hose was attached to her aorta, and me stood there looking at software that I know and don't trust monitoring her. How helpless can you feel?

Back to the Flip-Flop. My brother is not notorious for his communications skills. For example, his first job when he gets into work is to delete his emails, all of them unread. So, understandably, the FF's parents are bouncing off walls with worry. I know all is under control because if it wasn't, he would call. The last thing he needs right now is over-anxious relatives haranguing him, so I'll wait.

I feel for FF but I know it will all be over in the next 36 hours. That said, if she thinks slow labour hurts, she is in for a new definition of pain during active labour.

I just hope we get a "result" soon.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 13:00 GMT, by Kenny
 

9th February 2007

Quickie

Ooooeeerrr missus

I've just had the news that I'm definitely front-runner for the position I interviewed for. They have to go through the motions and interview others but as of now, I am in pole position. I want to scream "FECKIN A" but I have to bide my time.

In the meantime, my singular reader, Jo, emailed me to say that she knew someone who worked on/invented the technology that I would be working on. It's her brother-in-law. I called around a couple of my cohorts and sure enough, she's right. She took the technology description and placed its source. I must be good at selling ideas!

How crazy is that? What a small world.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 16:16 GMT, by Kenny
 

Meme -- I'm in that good a mood

Via Chele, I bring you a brutally long meme. I figure I have earned some brownie points helping people over the last twenty-four hours so I can indulge myself, and I have only one work tick-box to cross before I have accomplished everything I needed to.

1. What bill do you hate paying the most? Electricity -- exorbitant.

2. Where's the best place to eat a romantic dinner? No question. Leodi's in Leeds or the French place in Rock Island that I forget the name of -- I'm sure it had something to do with frogs.

3. Last time you puked from drinking? Hell -- New Year's Eve in 1985. I have never tasted Pernod since.

4. When is the last time you got drunk and danced on a bar? I tend to convince the barstaff to do that.

5. Name of your first grade teacher? Wow, I don't think I remember. The first one I do remember was the bitch (Miss Clark) who whacked the shit out of the back of my knees on the soft tissue for copying my mother (a teacher) and putting comments on other kid's exams. She should have marked them herself the lazy cow. My first great teacher was Mrs Riley -- a truly gifted and wonderful person.

6. What do you really want to be doing right now? I want to be freezing cold in Chicago with Nski and the kids.

7. What did you want to be when you were growing up? A vet. Shame my brain is not up it.

8. How many colleges did you attend? Colleges are different here. One if you mean how I got my degree.

9. Why did you wear the shirt that you have on right now? Because it's quite nippy (not seriously cold). I chose functionality over style.

10. Gas prices? Are you joking? You guys pay a fraction of what we do.

11. If you could move anywhere and take someone with you? Lake Garda with the wife and kids.

12. First thought when the alarm went off this morning? WTF? No way -- it can't be.

13. Last thought before going to sleep last night? "How the hell am I going to help everyone and keep myself solvent?"

14. Favorite style of underwear? Boxers.

15. Favorite style of underwear for the opposite sex? None. C'mon, I can't be an angel all the time.

16. What errand/chore do you despise? Laundry.

17. If you didn't have to work, would you volunteer at an art gallery? No. To do what? Look like a pretentious git?

18. Get up early or sleep in? I switch between the two. At the moment, sleep in.

19. What is your favorite cartoon character? Captain Caveman.

20. Favorite NON sexual thing to do at night with a girl/guy? Cards!

21. A secret that you wouldn't mind everyone knowing? I'm fecking useless at anything that doesn't require a keyboard to fix.

22. When did you first start feeling old? September 23rd 2003. Those who know me will know why.

23. Favorite 80's movie? Got to be Beverly Hills' Cop.

24. Your favorite lunch meat? Spam.

25. What do you get every time you go into Costco? Trout.

26. Beach or lake? Beach.

27. Do you think marriage is an outdated ritual that was invented? No -- having been through one divorce and being married to a woman who literally rocks my world (in bad ways as well as good), there's a lot to be said for it. If you'd have asked me twenty years ago, I would have said I could never imagine being so devoted to one person. Now, I know.

28. How many people do you stalk on Myspace? Oooh, there's a barmaid in St Albans who I used to chat with called Lauren. I haven't been there in a while though.

29. Favorite guilty pleasure? Casualty. I know, I'm sad.

30. Favorite movie you wouldn't want anyone to find out about? Oh hell, what was the name of it? French flick. Great soundtrack. I think it was a girl's name. Maybe not.

31. What's your drink? Brandy. Gave up wine a year ago and never want to smell it again.

32. Cowboys or Indians? Cowboys.

33. Cops or Robbers? Cops.

34. Who from high school would you like to run into? Zoe Naylor.

35. What radio station is your car radio tuned to right now? Don't have a car but it would be 5-Live

36. Norm or Cliff? Quoi?

37. The Cosby Show or the Simpsons? Simpsons I suppose, but I'm not really arsed.

38. Worst relationship mistake that you wish you could take back? Broke down after redundancy and left Nski in a horrible mess.

39. Do you like the person who sits directly across from you at work? Yeah -- he's a laugh. Very clever guy but very naive.

40. If you could get away with it, who would you kill? Margaret Thatcher, Sadaam Hussein (check), Steve (don't know his surname but he was the guy that drove me to madness after boasting he had had sex with Nski).

41. What famous person(s) would you like to have dinner with? Kate Silverton, Natasha Kaplinski, Jane Garvey, Kyra Phillips. Get the theme?

42. What famous person would you like to sleep with? A resounding Kate Silverton.

43. Have you ever had to use a fire extinguisher for its intended purpose? No.

44. Last book you read for real? Love and Louis the XIV.

45. Do you have a teddy bear? No, but sometimes I wish I did.

46. Strangest place you have ever brushed your teeth? The bathrooms in the St Albans office when I had forgotten my teeth kit and had to buy some en-route.

47. Somewhere in California you've never been and would like to go? That town that Clint Eastwood used to be mayor of. I have heard so much about it and have never been despite having been in the area.

48. Number of texts in a day? About 10, mostly crossword related.

49. At this point in your life would you rather start a new career or a new relationship? Tricky one this. My career has had its ups and downs, but my relationship has had the same. In some ways, I wish I had never entered into this relationship becuase it hurts me to my core now. That said, I made my bed. Neither.

50. Do you go to church? Yeah -- weddings and funerals, and I mime.

51. Pencil or pen? Pen.

52. What do you want to achieve in life? Just enough to prove to myself that I am not quite as stupid as I think. And to make enough money to ensure my kids are okay. I have other aspirations but they are sad so I ain't airing them here.

53. How old are you? Old enough to know better than to advertize the fact. Okay, 37. But not for much longer.

54. Where do you see yourself when you are 50? Given that a photo of my great-grandfather is the spitting image of me, and he died at 42, I expect to be six feet under some cold, damp earth about a mile away from where I am typing at the moment.

Damn, that was hard work.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 13:43 GMT, by Kenny
 

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction

Smack my arse and call me Mary, but this day is just getting better and better. After yesterday, which was, quite frankly, akin to being trapped in a room with Terry Wogan, Newton's law has prevailed.

Not only have I procured the wonderful beast below (now I cannot wait for Monday), but England have done the job.

I tell you, my joy is in such abundance that I could bottle it and sell it as a rarity. I'm that happy, I may go get my hair cut. I'm that chuffed, my feet stink.

The last time I was this jovial, I foolishly let Nski Nair (Nare?) my head.

The only thing that could make this any better is if I get a call from my ex-CEO with an offer. Oh, and mash potatoes. No day is ever a truly rich and great day without mash.

I bet I become an uncle today -- I've been waiting and texting the Flip-Flop to get on with it for over a week now.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 12:12 GMT, by Kenny
 

At last, some geekery

A long, long time ago, Nski pitched up to work at lunchtime with a present for me. A HP Journada. I was in love. With her, as well as the gadget. No-one had ever bought me gadgetry before other than me. Well, except when I arrived home to a Juno 106 that Nski had somehow managed to bag.

I used that thing religously until it died after an interaction with Nico.

As of Monday, this beast is mine:



For, get this, £50.

HP iPAQ Pocket PC h6340 - Windows Mobile Phone Edition 2003 - OMAP1510 168 MHz - RAM: 64 MB - ROM: 64 MB - 240 x 320 3.5" TFT - IrDA, Bluetooth, 802.11b - GSM 850/900/1800/1900

I damn near had one when I saw what the guy was selling it for.

Geek heaven or what?


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 11:54 GMT, by Kenny
 

More on Bryony

I decided to do some Cyber-stalking of Bryony Gordon. Well, by that I mean to read some of her other stuff. I've read her occasionally in the Telegraph and always enjoyed her writing but for all the Telegraph offers, the crossword must be done before I start on the editorial pieces.

For your delight and delectation, I have compiled a few links for you.

On ipods, and I love her even more for this, even though I do have a cheap MP3 player myself -- it cost me about £30.

Heather Mills McCartney.

Dating.

Other stuff.

And she uses a "--" as much as I do which means she must be a match made in heaven.

If you google her, there's someone who has conversed with her by email and it sounds like she is even more "attitude" than her written word.

Kinda like Nski, but with a salary.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 10:58 GMT, by Kenny
 

And you thought I was joking...

Read this.

I especially liked the following line:

The deepest snow recorded was at Sennybridge, in the Brecon Beacons, which had 10cm (4in).

Four frickin' inches? Purlease. In Minnesota, they wouldn't even bother breaking out the shovel, let alone the snow-blower, for such a girl's amount of precipitation.

Those of you in MN, this will make you laugh. In this tortuous weather where we have a maximum of four inches of snow, one million kids did not go to school yesterday. And about the same are expected to be shut out of school again today.

Hell, even Susanna Reid was ripping the piss out of the girliness of our Southern compadres this morning. The same woman who has a bazillion kids, gets up at 3:00am to go to work and still looks lovely and twinkles at the camera. Every now and again she throws in a wink for good measure. She was obviously disgusted.

You should have seen the video footage of people driving. Keep in mind that most cars here are front wheel drive and manual (stick-shift). It appears that Joe Public thinks that putting their car in first gear and revving for England is what is required when on an icy road. Yeah, right. Whatever.

I say this sat in the comfort of my bedroom. I know what you are thinking.

Truth is, I had an extremely stressful evening last night and as a result I have some domestic crises to contend with, both here and Stateside. I made it to Wigan before I decided that I shouldn't waste half of the day travelling when I could be helping people and turned back. Yes, it was cold, but it wasn't cold. I can do what I need to do from here today, so I don't feel too badly about it.

Expect some more ranting later; I'm green and mean and utterly scathing of the pathetic whimps that surround me. ;)


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 10:30 GMT, by Kenny
 

8th February 2007

Apocalypse now

Stop the presses. There's been a snow flake sighted in London. McDonalds has, very reasonably and understandably, closed for the decade. The tube system, which is notoriously vulnerable to snow, has ground to a halt.

Downing Street and Douglas Alexander issued a joint press release blaming global warming for the unseasonable weather. For a record first time this winter, London has been subject to snow. Shadow Transport Secretary, Chris Grayling, immediatetly demanded an inquiry into how the government had allowed this to happen, the effect on the economy and why Gordon Brown had raised taxes on SUVs when it was quite obvious that given the government's laxity, SUVs were indeed needed to avoid walking half a mile to drop one's offspring off at their private ballet lessons.

The BBC and other major networks chose to lead on the story, graphically describing the 10 minute delays that some world-weary travellers were having to endure.

Ofcom had reportedly received over 10,000 (number correct at time of going to press) complaints about the graphic footage showing the hideous suffering of fellow Southerners.

As the nation is gripped in this crisis, millions of usually hardy Southerners were heading for Spain waving mortgage papers and drinking Sangria to ward off the cold.

In an unusual step, the Lib Dem leader, Sir Menzies Campbell called for a freeze on emmigration, and then chuckled.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 15:19 GMT, by Kenny
 

Bit of a larf

If you want a bit of a laugh this morning, I recommend you read Boris Johnson's column in the Telegraph. I sat chortling my head off. Spot on and about as un-PC as you can get. I love that bloke.

Also, I am slowly starting to fall in love with Bryony Gordon. I adore her writing style.

Hmmm, I note there are session IDs in the URLs so these links may not work for you. If they don't, just go to here and read "Don't be chicken - Britain needs you" and "Enough of you, let's talk about me".

The latest news for non-UK peeps is that, gosh darn, we have snow. I'd forgotten what a nation of wusses we are. We've had a fraction of an inch and people are already talking about going home before it gets "too bad". There were literally three flakes of snow at Piccadilly this morning and the train was ten minutes late. Honest to God. We should make it mandatory for everyone to spend six weeks in Minnesota before they can pass their driving test. I mean, I know I used to grumble about it, but that's just because I despise being cold. I could deal with it when I had to.

The most inconvenience I have experienced is the ten minute delay and the fact that I had to buy a second cappuccino to keep warm. Oh, and the Telegraph crossword was too easy so I had to buy a Grauniad for lunch time.

More later, possibly.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 10:41 GMT, by Kenny
 

7th February 2007

Churl is the new muse

I happened upon a link today that is the epitome of everything I deplore. I found via Stan's pointer to this link, haranguing Microsoft for the bloatware that is Vista and the fact that there is little backward compatibility. These are the kind of people who drove me to where I am politically.

Now I'm not saying that just because this lady (who I have not linked to on the grounds of not wishing to single out one moonbat for criticism) is a Mac user and a moonbat, that the contrapositive applies. I know many very intelligent and reasonable Mac users.

The lady in question quotes God in virtually every post, is vegan and is bemoaning the fate of the 159,000 turkeys that have been slaughtered. We'll leave the God thing out -- each to their own on that score. Let's just leave it that if God existed, he would not allow me to live to an age where I categorically refute the preposterous idea that He exists. Okay, He may just have crapped on me by accident. If He did exist, he's a vindictive little bastard and I can't wait to knee him in the groin and follow it up with a Mancunian kiss.

Vegeterainism, I can vaguely understand, but my ex-wife was so much of a subscriber that I am left with yet another sickly taste in my mouth. I'd call on my way home and ask her (while she was in Sainsburys) to pick up a chicken. She would refuse, so I would have to go get one myself thereby contributing to global warming by travelling 10 miles out of my way. What a fine global citizen she was. The chicken was already dead. All she needed to do was buy the bugger. But the holier than thou ethics that she so clung to didn't want any part of the end of life or the eating of meat.

I toyed with being a veggie in the 80s. It lasted less than twelve months because I could not resist bacon or burgers. Or lamb. Or beef for that matter.

To this day, my eldest daughter has been a blinkered veggie from birth, much to my dismay.

Life comes to an end at some point and it's not usually pleasant. Be that by the executioner's kinfe/stun gun or the long and painful failure of an organ. Ask me which way I would want to go, and it's a no-brainer.

Then there's the obviously ridiculous argument that we should not have killed these turkeys. To me, cooking turkeys is too good for them; they taste of nothing. But there are obviously people who like turkey out there. Probably the same lost souls who like cooked Tuna. I digress. We're talking about a serious strain of H5N1 here. Give me a reason that for the sake of a few thousand brain-dead idiot birds that we should risk the rest of the poultry in the country.

Honestly, there's compassion -- I would never willfully harm an animal I wasn't about to eat or wasn't vermin -- but Heavens to Betsy, you can go too far. Actually I lied, I would intentionally harm cats. I hate them.

As Chris Evans used to say, I bet it hurts when she breathes. And I bet she drives an SUV to vote for her Marxist pals or to visit her local church (about a mile down the road). If there's anything I hate in this world, it's do-goody hypocrites.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 12:56 GMT, by Kenny
 

6th February 2007

Tears in one easy move

Just have your MP3 player conspire to have Charlotte Martin's Redeemed followed by Counting Crows' Round Here, and despite your position, I defy you not to howl. I feel like a blouse for having done so, but hell, you need to get it out of your system sometimes.

I have to take the maternal unit out to dinner tonight for her birthday. Belatedly. We're going to a little Chinese in Lowton. I've already instructed Die Fuhrer to not allow me to order rice for fear of toothage.

I might have to lay some ground rules down surrounding conversation. Nski is off limits as are all medicinal phenomena other than the Flip-Flop's pregnancy. Otherwise it could get messy.

Speaking of medical things, I have been understandably deliberately vague about what is going on. However I referenced my broken metatarsal this morning with someone who I may have mentioned it to before. She said "yeah -- I read that". I hope she meant in her notes and not here. I have suddenly become *really* paranoid about who reads this -- I know 99% of you are cool, but really, I know some whackos from yesteryear and today, and probably a boat load more I have not met yet.

I hate having to hold back on this kind of stuff because this is the 21st century and taking ADs or more is not a sign that you should be locked in a madhouse. It's a sign that you, youself, can see something wrong and not something you should keep in a closet. You can still bloody function. If you had seen the cocktail of drugs I took in the US, I would have been judged as psychotic and you all know that I am far from that.

If my missing Nski and the sprogs became any more than a couple of weeks of personal hell, like say, I started shooting up schools or banks or whatever, then I could see the problem. Trouble is people make the classical mistake of extrapolation; any mathematician will tell you it's not a clever thing to do.

Just for the record, I'm fine. Just battling the same demons that most of you probably are. If you meet me, I'll have a smile on my face. Just those dark moments trouble me. And the best cure for those is here where I try to keep the anonymity to a maximum. I can't do much about the old YC readership (well, I did really), but if you stumble across this on G.C, and I know you, please have the decency to not talk about it.

Later dudes -- some crispy fried duck to dispose of. Bird-flu or not.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 17:31 GMT, by Kenny
 

5th February 2007

Goodnight sweetheart

Okay -- my plea for who was coming from Wigan on a cable connection went unanswered. You have twelve hours and then that particular avenue is pulled. You don't need to comment, just email me, or it's curtains for anyone on NTL or blueyonder in Wigan.

I thank you. Have a lovely evening.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 19:13 GMT, by Kenny
 

Redux

I'm sure you are all glued to your F5 or F9 key to find out what went on today.

My stats say you are not, but I know better than stats. You were hitting refresh like a bugger to see when I returned.

Well, let me say this: regardless of the potential, I saw some technology that really was "Wow". I mean stuff that drops your jaw, takes an Xray and then tells you whether you have osteoporosis or not. And I do not mean that in a satirical way. This is reality kids. Your dentist may well be able to diagnose osteoporosis before you even think you have a problem.

I saw 3D pelvic images that inform a surgeon how to insert a hip replacement. Apparently what happens in the world of prosthetics is that they assume things are cylindrical so there is a de-facto standard way to manufacture prosthetic hips.

I saw technology that can recreate a 3D image of a hip joint using two Xray scans rather than the very expensive MRI scans that the NHS usually refuses to be pay for.

And all of these things are accurate to within millimeters.

To say that I was gob-smacked is an understatement.

While all of these subjects make me go weak at the knees in horror, I was hooked like a Kenny to a barmaid. I'd like to have a gander at scans of various parts of me -- knees, feet and throat spring to mind.

I left with my head reeling. There are so many things that I don't know that I am completely capable of understanding. I want this badly.

The techie chap who interviewed me (my old MD didn't -- in his words "it would be a waste of time") asked me git loads of commercial questions and very few techie ones. I guess my reputation had preceded me on that score. That said, maybe I just field the techie stuff and not think about it.

There were the usual "what do you want out of this?" questions, but you all know what I want. An interesting job, variety and my family with me. Oh and the results of an IPO.

Job done.

Now I need to wait to see whether I have done enough to convince all the team that I am the right man for the job.

Remind me to tell you about how I sold the fact that I had absolutely no clinical trials background as a positive. An absolute masterpiece. I would slap myself on the back but I genuinely did and do hold that view, especially after today.

It's been tiring and I have learned a lot. I now intend to eat some goulash and hit the hay. For, tomorrow, I will be on the receiving end of scans.

I called Nski and once again, she was supportive but you can never read her unless you are sat in the same room. That's another bridge to cross.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 18:37 GMT, by Kenny
 

4th February 2007

Full disclosure

I suppose it doesn't take a rocket scientist to work out what is going on tomorrow. Suit is out, shoes are polished, tie is selected. I just need to find the starch and iron my shirt.

And then I need to avoid questions from the regulars on the train as to why I look smart rather than like the techie dipshit I usually look like.

I'm bouncing off walls in anticipation. I have to be there at 11:00. I wish it were 08:00. I'd sooner not let my neradrenaline levels get too high or seratonin or whatever it is that gives you panic attacks.

The good thing about this particular interaction is that I'm meeting someone I know very well, and I know he knows I can play the besuited brigade as well as look like a hippie. After all, he spent three years in a Denis the Menace hooped top while taking revenues from £5m to £15m and then getting a princely sum for the company. We're talking about someone who can operate in any social sphere and somehow manages to work out those that are worth their salt within a few minutes. I've worked for him twice now and although things have gone pear-shaped after takeovers, while he is in control, you know you are in good hands.

My first wife hated him with a passion because he motivated me to do what needed doing. On her wedding day, she insulted him. Nice move, not. I once spent until 1:00am doing photo shoots for our product. Not because I had to. Because I wanted to. I wanted to learn. I got home at about 02:15, having raced him down the M62. I left again for work at 05:30. That is how motivating this guy is.

Nski loved him to bits and to be honest, got giddy in his presence. I think she just liked being in the presence of power. I kind of sympathize with that view but I guess I've spent more time with people in power than she has. I've also spent time with people in power who were about as stupid as the snail who is currently hibernating on the wash-house wall.

When you meet senior business leaders, do not be over-awed. The real thing are obvious. If you're not absolutely bowled over with them, your gut instinct is probably right and you should avoid it. The chap I am going seeing has impressed me for over a decade and any of his management team must be good, or they would have been gone. Subtley, of course.

I know someone in Minnesota who I link to and who links to me who I have the ultimate respect for. When I got laid off from the company I was working for, I could have joined her team, but for the fact I was about at rock bottom after realising I had been royally dicked over. She is what it's all about, just like the guy tomorrow. Big business can suck. It's the small entrepreneurs that count.

All I need to do is iron my shirt, hold my nerve and impress M's colleagues and I am back in the world of dynamism.

I'd be a liar if I said I was not nervous. I'm git nervous.

I'll be in bed by 9:30 tonight (after watching Utd of course) and I'll be up drinking power drinks and gallons of tea at an unreasonable hour tomorrow.

Wish me luck. As I said earlier, this is a life-changer. M has twice given me a great job and the power to alter my life. I need the third. More to the point, my wife and kids need it.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 14:45 GMT, by Kenny
 

You learn something new every day

I left th'Oddies last night in a bit of a mood. I'd heard Nicky had a bit of a temper on her but I didn't know she had an ego the size of Australia.

The general good form is that the winner stays on at pool. Oh no. I had just beaten her boyfriend and was due to play her, when she demanded that she play some random person. Yozz made protests about the lack of etiquette on my behalf, but I waited ten seconds before realising it was pointless and left. If her temper is half of her will, I don't want to be on the end of it.

I arrived home to the news that Florida had been hit by a big storm. Die Fuhrer informed me that it was a hurricane. I looked confused for a few moments and then managed to blurt out "but it's not hurricane season". Turns out, that it was a tornado. Now that I kind of could believe. Except I had a nagging doubt that wasn't enough land mass to make that possible. And then I remembered we have had them here so land mass probably isn't the issue.

I got out of Florida on one of the last flights before a hurricane hit it back in, erm, 1998? Dunno. It was the same year that the fires drove Nski and I out of Palm Coast and into Orlando for Independence Day. I remember being sat in a hillbilly bar with Nski joking about reclaiming the US for Her Majesty and having several burly chaps shooting me daggers.

Come to think of it, all my brushes with death have come in either California or Florida. Nski and I went to a Cowboy bar in Fort Lauderdale where they took line dancing very seriously. Some asshole in a ten-gallon hat started being a little too friendly with Nski and I started to get incensed. I don't know how she managed to do this, but Nski probably saved me from being shot and we got the hell out of there.

In California, I was staying in Anaheim. I had a hard day and you know what? If you start with your homey talk and push me, you're gonna get some good old Mancunian thuggery back at ya. Bro. You hide behind your pieces of metal, big man. I don't know how I survived that one.

Anyhoo, you see -- you do learn things every day. Don't mess with Nicky, tornados can form anywhere, Nski is a mircacle worker and some days you have some luck.

Later, I will learn the Man Utd score.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 09:59 GMT, by Kenny
 

3rd February 2007

Plea

Guys, you know I love you all passionately, but I'm getting an awful lot of hits from a certain cable provider, and it is worrying me. They're all from Wigan so I suspect it's someone I know. And that is fine if I know who you are. Please just let me know it's you and all will be well. Otherwise, some 403s will appear. I thank you! ;)


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 13:29 GMT, by Kenny
 

Codeine and the art of falling down

I love my weekends. I can sit typing nonsense from the comfort of my bed rather than typing nonsense from my desk, travelling and being hammered at chess during the week. As I said, this is a really long weekend -- back to work on Thursday after an exciting gubbins on Monday, some anal probing by a quack on Tuesday and a day in bed on Wednesday. Incidentally, I really wish I could tell you about Monday, but the metaphorical walls have ears. I have, however, out of courtesy, given my boss the lowdown. It's only fair.

The theme for the day is pain. I have toothache and there isn't a dentist open until Monday. I could go to the walk-in center and be diagnosed as having toothache by a nurse, wait around for a doctor to sign a prescription for codeine, tell them I am allergic to codeine and then wait around for the doctor to personally inform me that I'm SOL and come home, having wasted the whole of Saturday. Or I could just grin and get on with it.

I already have cocodomol in my briefcase. The only reason I know I'm allergic is when I broke my (trendy) metatarsal last September. I had only ever had it once before in my life and it took taking it again for me to "get it". It's nearly proof by induction but not quite. True for 1, true for N. I never want to go through N+1.

The first time (the same tooth) had me lying in a hotel in Bolingbrook (Chicago) believing there was water between my bed and the desk on which my laptop sat untouched for two days. I have few memories of those two days other than the water and a bunch of flowers from Nski with a note that I still have.

The second time, I was toying with living with P. On the face of it he is a nice guy but underneath he has some serious issues. I'd forgotten about my Bolingbrook experience when I was prescribed codeine. I took it as prescribed and promptly went to sleep for about 20 hours. When I got up, I could not get my balance at all and ended up shuffling downstairs on my arse. That bad. I managed to stay awake for about an hour before I passed out and slept where I was and awoke in the same position I had fallen asleep in after another 20 hours.

I swore after that, that I would never ever take codeine again. Whatever pain relief it provides, it kicks me like nothing else (other than novacaine) has ever done and renders itself useless in that one form of pain is replaced by a dizzying feeling that is worse than pain. I cannot understand how people can enjoy the abuse of prescription meds. Jesus, if you're that in need of knocking your consciousness apart, go grab a bottle of Jack Daniels and have done with it. However, if you are that way inclined, I've got some I can sell you for the price of a bottle of brandy that would help me infinitely more than codeine will.

So, if I want to feel like crap but experience no pain, I could just reach to my left and take those nice little white pills. Or I can leave it and have a sharp pain. Or I can waste a day. I know what I will do.

Pain wins every time. At least you know you're alive.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 11:04 GMT, by Kenny
 

2nd February 2007

Angry (continued)

Life is a frickin' rollercoaster and I have motion sickness.

It transpires that I may need to move yet again. Die Fuhrer hates my chess-playing evenings and last night gave me a seven day deadline.

It's not like I'm there for anymore than sleeping hours. Her beef is that I go to the pub on my way home.

Let me list the reasons I go there:

1) Chess
2) The company of like-minded people
3) Emma
4) Nicky
5) Laughter

Which of the above (apart from 3 and 4) are wrong?

Feck it -- I'm in such a bad mood, I'm going home. Nothing constructive can be done when you're worrying about where you are going to live, angry about being maligned and livid with a person who had no reason to exercise estrogen.

I'm going to have a mellow weekend and then take stock on Monday after I have been through the process of what I can't tell you about. I'll also be online as I try to google somewhere to live.

Sorry -- very negative and I shouldn't be. Doors are opening all over the place and I just need to pick the right one.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 15:11 GMT, by Kenny
 

Another crap title

One day, when I get some sleep, I'll make sure I think of a good post title.

I don't know whether I'm crabby because of the lack of sleep or whether it's due to being ruthlessly hammered at chess, but I am definitely crabby.

There's quite a few things I want to get off my chest but cannot for various reasons. There's one thing that has been eating away at me for months now and I have no idea how to deal with it. It's literally trying to predict someone's behaviour when they have proven themselves to be both unstable and unreasonable. That's estrogen for you.

While I'm feeling all James Dean moody and pissed off and I still have an hour before I can get out for a liquid lunch, I'm going to have a bit of a rant about the bloody do-gooders. Yes, the police have arrested 9 people on suspected terrorism charges. There are reasons we have laws that allow the police to arrest persons who are suspected of conspiring to commit a crime.

The cruel irony is that this bunch of as yet unconvicted arseholes were planning on kidnapping a Muslim soldier and doing a Ken Bigley on their target. What kind of perverse religion permits the act of decapitating one of your own religion, just because they happen to be doing a job you disapprove of? I disapprove of tax men and I'm atheist, but I would not sanction the wanton execution of an atheist taxman -- I might stick a nail in his car tyre, but definitely not decapitate him.

The more I analyze religion, the less faith I have in people.

I'm surrounded by idiots who just don't get the plot at all. I'm not talking about my immediate surroundings; I'm talking about the world. I can forgive those misguided souls who believe in God, but I cannot take seriously anyone who believes a pig/cow/insert animal here is sacred. Worse still, someone who believes that and is willing to kill another human-being.

Face it. We're the most intelligent species on the planet, probably after dolphins. We've been around for millions of years. And here we are in the 21st century with limp wristed do-gooders arguing for the rights of fanatics and claiming that the imposition of law and order causes civil unrest. Wake up call. Protecting the "rights" of parasitic, venemous biggots who worship pigs, belittle women and are quite happy to explode their sorry arses in order to gorge on 72 virgins is not progressive; it's regressive. And stupid.

It's quotes like the one in the BBC web page linked above that have driven me out of the mainstream left wing in the UK and the US. They are quite obviously mental masturbation; the gratification of being humane without the realisation that you're a fruit loop.

I don't regard myself as a Tory. In fact, Toryism doesn't exist here anymore. I hated Thatcher. I know certain people look at me as right wing. In reality, it's not right wing. It's common sense. You open Pandora's box and you get what you deserve.

If you plot to commit a crime, you deserve everything the law can throw at you.

And that goes for Lord Levy as well.

My bile seems to be at a maxima. Expect more.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 12:05 GMT, by Kenny
 

1st February 2007

ADD deficit

My phenomenal brain finally managed to remember that lyric I was talking about way back, ooh, this morning.

It occured to me in the most unlikely of circumstances. I was sat dans Le Palais, as we affectionately call the local boozer by work, sipping a Stella with our "Search" developers and BANG -- there it was.

Unfortunately, my ADD is so bad that I have now forgotten it again. I'm sure it must have been Charlotte Martin though.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 15:31 GMT, by Kenny
 

Strange

You know how I refered to an interesting article on people you see everyday but know nothing about in the last few days? And the white haired guy with battered hands?

Well, we spoke this morning for the first time. He has a faint Scouse accent and lives about 200 yards away from me. I know his son; he was in the pub last night sporting his second black eye in as many weeks.

Being a black-belt six-sigma kind of guy (okay, I lied), this kind of thing never ceases to amaze me.

I used to be on an old social networking site called six degrees. Not to state the frickin' obvious, but it was based on the premise that everyone is linked by six degrees of separation. I dropped it like a fairly warm tuber when someone went batshit crazy and annoyed the ever loving shit out of me.

This guy who I see every morning has lived 200 yards from me forever, has a son who I know and it was only this morning that we got chatting. How the hell does that work? Maybe I'm just an antisocial git. After all, it was only Monday when I actually spoke to the lady with the Julie Walters glint in her eye. Come to think of it, she was AWOL this morning. I really must get her cell number so I don't worry when she's not on the train. She is cute enough to worry about.

Speaking of bizarre coincidences, I was listening to Steve and Mox's podcast on my way in this morning. When I got here, I opened up my email and who have I got an email from? None other than Steve. Despite being to the right of Atilla, he's a genuinely nice bloke. I mean it. Stop giggling. Stop. He really is a gentleman even if he does promote midget porn and discuss pubic hair at any given opportunity. He keeps two parrots for God's sake. That ranks him up alongside Mother Theresa in my book.

As I said earlier, my brain is racing away today so I need to go do the crossword to kind of kick it down a gear.

Don't be surprised if there's more effluence spilled digitally later on. I might even post chez Stan -- hopefully I can convince him to entertain you peasants over here too. He is threatening me with a visit to Bolton Wanderers; I don't know what I was thinking when I accepted. Supporting Bolton is kind of like picking a scab; fascinating but ultimately scarring.

Damn. That was nearly clever. [brain /].


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 11:34 GMT, by Kenny
 

Is it Friday yet?

No.

I had some dead clever lyrics that I was going to impart to you but playing chess until midnight with the Yozzmeister has addled my brain.

Incidentally, ADDLE was 2 down in yesterday's Telegraph.

I'm still adrenalined up to hell about my latest news which is bizarre since my ADs are seratonin and neradrenaline reuptake inhibitors. WTF is neradrenaline? I should look that up. Then I can go see the doc and talk to him about tricyclics and tetracyclics. I'll look dead clever until he prescribes a labotomy for my chronic lack of any form of serious knowledge.

Man, I am all over the place today mentally. You know when you have those days where you're thinking six moves ahead? I'm on one of those and I'm typing about ten times slower than my brain is moving. Okay -- most of you probably experience that every day: I don't.

The reason for the question in the title is that I am off as of tomorrow until next Thursday. Monday, I get to go do something really exciting that I cannot tell you about just yet. Tuesday I get to be probed by some doctor of something to try and establish why it is that I'm a whackjob. Wednesday, I get to lie in bed and watch Mutant X. Quality.

Given my demeanor today and the mad amounts of silly-suice slopping around my brain, you can expect more rantings later. I might convince Stan to post too. Double the value for the same cost.

And stealing socks is the way forward. Stan just hasn't understood the financial model.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 10:12 GMT, by Kenny