31st January 2006
Thought for the day
Why is it that Murder In Suburbia is so named when it really concentrates on the murders of wife-swapping wives? Why not Swinging Knives?
In other news, I am meant to be going watching Bauhaus tomorrow night. Have I the energy?
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 21:20 GMT
29th January 2006
Forgive me...I have murderous thoughts
God, I hate Richard Dawkins. Talk about a pompous prat? I really haven't ever come across anyone who is so far up their own backside. Why doesn't he do the UK a favor and defect to France or something?
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 20:56 GMT
Mad world
I hopped the train back to Manc this morning to pick up my laptop, fix the paternal parental unit's PC and scoff some nosh.
The Flip Flop, amongst others, will recall that my father has been waging a war against a squirrel for quite a few months. This afternoon, while I was out having a smoke, I saw a tail appear above the fence at the back. Excited by the hunt, I quickly summoned Pater who arrived armed with my old air rifle. As he took up position, I noticed a movement in the garden of the house at the back. It transpires that the tail I saw was actually a brush on the end of a stick that Mr AtTheBack was using to clean the windows on his greenhouse.
Who the feck cleans the windows of their greenhouse? In January? I commented to Pater that he should shoot anyway. Anyone out in that temperature to clean a greenhouse is in misery.
I did chuckle that I had nearly incited Mr SqueakyClean to manslaughter.
--
If you are going to jump from a railway bridge on to the train line, please do not do it when I am traveling. I was fifteen minutes late due to someone not heeding that request.
--
Finally, a couple of class one-liners from the missus this morning:
It's what us Beautiful People are here to do, darling. To remind the great unwashed that they're the great unwashed.
Get off the cross, use the wood to build a bridge and get over it...but never forget the path that brought you there or else you might not recognize it if you come across it again.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 18:01 GMT
Comment of the decade
On being told that Garth Crooks' dream England management team would be Trevor Brooking and Stuart Pearce, Pearce said...
"I'm not sure about Brooking."
Utter class. I have tea to clean up.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 08:37 GMT
28th January 2006
Result
£8.90 on the Euro Millions. Maybe I'll not bother with world domination.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 10:20 GMT
27th January 2006
Palms are itching
Tell me I'm not on a roll.
Today I got a cheque from GNER in compensation for the 3 hours I spent in the dark with no air-conditioning, light and hundreds of hysterical people having panic attacks on a train that was 100 yards from Newark.
£91 refunded. That's nearly a third of an electricity bill.
On the strength of it, I have bought two tickets for the Euro lottery £100m tonight. That strengthens my chances of winning from 0 last week to 1 in 38,000,000 tonight. Long odds I know, but look at the odds of getting money from GNER.
I can see it now...the bloke in the corner shop had better have been to Cash and Carry today for Moet. We're talking a first class train from Leeds to Heathrow, a first class seat to Chicago (where I will have to part with a cool million to bribe an immigration official), a limousine to the Quad Cities, and then the small matter of buying the whole of Rock Island and Henry County.
Then things get complicated. A small mansion at the side of Lake Michigan would be de rigeur. Perchance a California hideaway? An apartment by Lake Garda is a must. Maybe a modest stately home in North Yorkshire (I could keep Natasha Kaplinski there without the Missus knowing)?
I'm dreaming. I must be.
"Oh hello Natasha, welcome to Kenny Towers. Help yourself to a dumpling. I'll be back as soon as I've beaten the servants...they used margarine you know? I'm sorry. I'll have the CEO of Lurpak personally deliver a crate within the hour. In the meantime, you can use that Anchor to rub into your fine cheek bones. The Sancerre is in the fridge under my duvet and the dancing pole is just beyond that silk curtain. Try not to wear brown; it clashes with your eyes."
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 18:35 GMT
26th January 2006
Twittering nonsense
Or why Kenny is daft.
The following words show my acute dumbness/fatigue/ADD. I tell you it has been hard being me today, moreso than usual. And I appear to have passed on the permanently confused state on to my son -- fortunately he has a sense of humor with it.
First up, I was on Yahoo with Da Missus early this morning. I was moaning about how horrible it was to have been in Covent Garden having dinner bought for me when I should have been at home sleeping. She popped out with a random fact about an even more random celebrity. I noted that although she may think I will remember it, more likely than not, I will remember the fact but attribute it to the wrong celebrity, thereby looking like a prize twat. For example "That Michael Douglas chap used to be a drug-dealing pimp" would not be unusual when spewed from my jumbled pop-culture index. She agreed, went mushy for a few moments and then told me some more soap-level trivia, which I have since associated with Bo Derek for some reason.
After the attempt to load my mind with street-cred gen to throw out at random intervals, she got around to telling me about Nico. Apparently he has taken a certain commercial to heart. When presented with a bag of Cheetos, he asked N very wearily and sincerely "Mom, why do Cheetos have to be so DANGEROUS?" before putting his head on his hand philosophically. That's my boy.
Pondering my uselessness, I trudged into work. I think it's okay to tell you one of the things that I'm working on. It's to do with data warehousing and data retention. I've been looking into it from a business analytics perspective and from a Home Office compliance perspective. This has involved researching all sorts of mad products and concepts.
At the moment, I'm trying to read up on data cubes. I just don't get them at all. Either they are phenomenally simple and have just been jargoned up to an astronomic level, or they are so beyond me that I will self-combust in a puff of SQL. Are they an aggregrated pre-calculated set of joins or the cure for cancer? Fecked if I know. I have given up trying to understand for the day; I knew it was time to stop when I went out for a smoke and tried to light my pen while trying to visualize non-cubic non-3d multidimensional cubes. I just don't do any more than three dimensions...never have, never will do. I do, however, do Silk Cut Silver and I'm happy with that.
On a related note, the whole world of data warehousing (or dirty whorehousing as I affectionately refer to it) is starting to invent stupid words. You know my hatred of normalcy, winningest and other ludicrous Americanisms? Well I have some new ones. Performant! As in it "it becomes highly performant". No it fecking doesn't. Its performance increases wazzocks. Another one...federated. Federated my arse. In this context what you mean to say is distributed and/or aggregated. The combination of distributed and aggregated in no world known to man equals federated. Buy a frickin' dictionary.
I walked home with an air of "feck me, I'm clueless" surrounding me like a big cloud. I saw people moving out of my way as my moisturizer soaked forehead crumpled its way down the street. It wasn't a depressing state at all. I think once you realize that you're clueless, it's a great weight off your shoulders and you can get on with doing what you do best, like modeling whether the optimum brew would be obtained by tea bags at the bottom or the top of the pot while mashing (assuming there is no option to have both).
So...
Pop-culture: not check
Data modeling: not check
Modern language: not check
Ability to adapt: not check
Capacity for endless, pointless waffling on a website: CHECK.
Thank God for that.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 18:08 GMT
24th January 2006
Redux
Average time to complete Telegraph crossword this week: 15 minutes.
Number of shops in Leeds selling jeans I might be seen dead in: 1.
Size of electricity bill in GBP: 300 of the mites. That's like $100000 for you buggers in the US and $10000000 for you buggers in Canada. I daren't think what it comes to in Yen or RMB; I may try to roll a seven.
Minimum number of hours I will spend on a train to and from London tomorrow: 6.
Number of peaches I am mentally visualizing at this moment in time: 0. Cherries: 0. Cups of tea: 8.
I'm thinking there are four posts shortly becoming available in Moscow. The requirement seems to be only to be able to dismantle fake rocks and use a PDA. I may apply.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 17:16 GMT
23rd January 2006
Happy Birthday Beanie
Zoe Bean is SIX today. Happy Birthday darling. I miss you.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 20:07 GMT
21st January 2006
Sexuality problems
I fear I have a crisis. A while ago I posted something refering to fabric conditioner and pro-biotics. Steve quite rightly questioned my sexuality. I poo-poo'd it. Nowt gay about my metrosexual flat.
Worryingly I've suddenly developed an appreciation for moisturiser. And I haven't showered in days...it's been baths all the way. I haven't yet got to wrapping myself in an acre of pink cotton and plucking my eyebrows while watching Desperate Housewives with a glass of Liebfraumilch and a pound of lard to rub into my freshly shaved legs, but I fear for what the future holds.
A slight diversion if I may; do you know how much moisturiser costs? I could feed myself for a month for what I paid for mine. Well maybe a couple of days. I reckon it's about two trips to the chippy for the cheapest stuff. And the amount of lard you get from the chippy probably equals the weight of the gunk you get in a Boots purchase but it has added vitamins Fish and Chips.
Anyway, a crisis looms. I blame it on sobriety. I should do something about that. Maybe I'll go see Nev and Karen...that should sort it all out. Back tomorrow.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 14:07 GMT
The week in news
It has been a long time since I have been so underwhelmed by world events.
-- WHALE IN LONDON. A Northern Bottlenosed whale has taken a wrong turn at Greenwich and ended up smack-bang-diddly-square in the Thames in Central London, much to the joy of BBC reporters and Ken Livingston. A veritable commune of single, black lesbian tree-huggers has been paraded across the TV screen explaining the whale's distress at its predicament. It conjurs images of Spock mind-melding mid-Thames and reporting back via his communicator to the banner waving masses. I'll tell you why the whale is stressed. It's because it's a Northern Bottlenosed whale, and it's stuck down South listening to cockney and BBC accents. Were it trapped in the Mersey or the Aire, it would be doing back flips to entertain the crowds.
Aside: I have to go to London on Wednesday. I have a headache just thinking about it.
-- CRACKDOWN ON SEX WORKERS. Call me Larry Flint but I detect hypocrisy at an all time high. On the same day that the government declare a crackdown on street prostitution, there's a missive to legalize small brothels (2-3 "workers"). The only logic I can see behind this seemingly contradictory initiative is to protect the blue rinse brigade, who may be out for a nice lunch, from real life. If that is the case, I hope they don't have a Freeview box or if they do, they don't stay up past 11:00pm. I was flicking through the channels the other night and was shocked and appalled of Leeds to find that there are TWO channels that show steamy stuff on Freeview and that they don't scramble for the first ten minutes. I know this only out of bad channel-surfing timing and thence a healthy desire to educate the general public.
-- LORD MCNALLY ADMITS ALCOHOLISM. Yet another Lib Dem admits an alcohol problem. Newsworthy, why? Surely the sole criterion for entry to the upper House is an ability to stomach a good malt on your cornflakes. Given that the Lib Dems have little to no chance of governing this fair land, I fail to see what the problem is. They can all be trollied for all their waking lives and the country will not suffer a jot.
-- LAURA BUSH INTERVIEWED BY DAVID FROST. The first lady (note the lack of capitalization) has been preaching abstinence. When I first caught her words, I thought she was talking about avoiding the demon drink. No. She's talking about sex. I don't know about you, but having Laura Bush talking about sex on my TV makes me feel so squiffy that I want to take a vow of celibacy. Nothing gets me right out of the mood like big-haired middle-aged Texan zealots talking about sex. I fear I may need to do some late night surfing in order to normalize my mental health.
-- SVEN TO RULE WORLD AFTER WORLD CUP. It transpires that Sven is to buy the evil world-dominating organization Spectre after he fails to win the World Cup in Germany this year. In a News of the World wheeze sting, Sven has been recruited by the Fake Shake Sheik to buy a remote Pacific island from which to base his World Cup 2010 campaign. He has the backing of his 2006 squad according to the FA. In a slightly embarassing "tell", Sven let slip his opinions on the potential squad, questioning Rio Ferdinand's commitment to pure evil and Wayne Rooney's lack of controlled evil while saluting David Beckham's choice of evil wardrobe. The Morning Star reports that Sven has a cat. 'Nuff said. Call Austin Powers.
-- NO-ONE WINS EURO LOTTERY. With odds of winning at 76,000,000-1, the probability that this is anomalous are about 2-1.
There you have it. All of life's vices in one post; whales, sex, booze, world domination, football and gambling. My work here is done.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 10:56 GMT
20th January 2006
Tea ritual becoming more bizarre by the day
My obsession with the perfect cup of tea and the constant struggle to balance that with a limited amount of time took a twist earlier in the week. In a moment of madness, I left two cups of tea in the pot overnight. The following morning, still half asleep, I stumbled into the kitchen and without even thinking about it poured the cold stewed brew into a cup and stuck it in the microwave.
Imagine the heaven. Eight hours of brewing. I woke up pretty danged quickly.
Given there were only a couple of cups from the previous night, I obviously had to put another pot on but, because I was running late, I only got chance to drink half the pot. Upon returning home that evening, I had yet another stewed potion waiting for me just waiting to be nuked.
Thus has been the cycle of the week.
It strikes me that extrapolating this phenomenal idea by adding my second teapot, I could alternate between pots and always have that kind of creosote style tea available, day or night. Well, more importantly, morning.
In other brewski related news, I've experimented by blending my own teas. My advice to lovers of God's own beverage is to buy some Marks and Sparks Extra Strong Teabags and try mixing them in a pot with some of your chosen brand. It's early in the clinical trials phase of the experiment but I will keep you abreast of developments.
My one track mind this morning suddenly has me incensed by our American brethren's waste of char. That whole Boston incident has put me in a really bad mood. I really should work on that keeping things in perspective thing...
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 07:46 GMT
18th January 2006
For sale
1 striker. 2 careful owners. Full and extensive service history. Needs work. Perfect for spare or repair. Not so reliable starter and once going tends to cut out. Good auto-pilot function although slow to respond when floored. Good indicators for opposition players' benefit. Timing belt needs adjustment. Not good in the rain. Backfires frequently. Sporty look belies cruiser performance. Full (bottle fed) service required.
Bought for £11m a couple of years ago. Will accept milk bottle tops and green shield stamps as part exchange for Leigh RMI striker ONO.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 22:28 GMT
Quick half time post
If this is you:
brhm-cache-2.server.ntli.net 62.255.32.10
email me and explain to me why I shouldn't 403 your arse into downtown BFE.
Normal service will resume after the football.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 21:01 GMT
17th January 2006
The reward for bloodwork...
is more bloodwork. Yay me.
Oh, I am so impressed with the NHS. I hiked my way back to Manchester last night to find out about my "abnormal" blood test results. The tannoy summoned me into the surgery. Fearsome Mrs Doctor was sat there with a bedside manner that would curdle water. I sat down.
"What can I do for you?"
"I had some blood tests done and was told that I had to come in for the results."
...door opens...receptionist steps in...
"Sorry Doctor, but you have left your tannoy on."
...door closes...cue hysterical waiting room
...shuffling of papers...
"Why did you have blood tests?"
"Because the doctor I saw ordered them."
"Hmmm...so, it appears you have a lack of vitamin B12...severe anaemia. You must have another blood test."
"Is that to get another data point (ie verify the original reading)?"
"Yes, another test."
"In order to establish whether it is a persistent condition?"
"Yes, another test."
"May I look at the results please?"
"I suppose so. I don't know why you want to see them."
I checked down the results. The only thing that was flagged was MCV -- the whole aneemia thing, which was a tad high. Much to the Waaart's disappointment, my gamma GT levels were a poxy 26, which is lower than average. LFT were fine. Result.
I checked out the vitamin B12 thing. Oh the irony. I need to eat more meat. Somebody up there loves me. Although they're sadist bastards with it -- cough, more blood tests, cough. That could just be Dr Frankenstein though. I don't understand the point of more blood work.
So N, it appears I caught anaemia from you!
My question is did I really need to go all the way back to Manc for that? The doctor obviously didn't give a toss...3 minutes in the surgery, 1 of those on broadcast.
Still, at least I don't have Hitler.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 21:23 GMT
16th January 2006
TMI
Without wishing to offend female readers who have experienced childbirth, I have just undergone the male equivalent. Sans epidural. If I'd have had a scalpel handy, I would have used it on myself.
In the communications business, people always talk of "the last mile". This is the mile between your house and the nearest big backbone pipe that can take oodles and oodles of data. I fear I have a last mile problem...you get the drift.
Off back to dismal Manc now so I can be all bright and cheerful at the doctor's tomorrow morning while she tells me that I have Taipei Zoo Syndrome and my neck is going to swell to roughly the size of Rolf Harris and then explode into tiny Kylie Minogues with beards that will nibble people's feet and vexate passing Big Issue merchants.
And they call medicine a science? Pah. They'd better have an ointment for the Kylies.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 17:44 GMT
Hook a brother up
UK peeps, does anyone know where one can purchase a tea-cozy? When I get to my third and fourth brews from Das Pot, it's starting to get a bit tepidarium and not at all tongue-blistering. I need my physical pain to kickstart my days.
Do tea-cozys actually exist anymore or have they gone the way of the laundry maid thingumy that used to be hoisted up in the kitchen rafters laiden with underwear, socks and occasionally a tea-cozy?
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 07:04 GMT
15th January 2006
Midwest a little colder today
I had an idea earlier that made me laugh, but since then I've had some very bad news. Yet another death, this one on the other side of the Atlantic; so I'm feeling pretty useless. Well, more useless than usual.
The news evoked some very fond memories of someone I had an awful lot of time for. Images of steaks, cake, Euchre, flannel shirts and Budweiser sprang to mind. A little bit of what makes the Midwest is no more. Too soon.
I obviously can't be there, but my head is somewhere in Illinois tonight with those that are left.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 19:36 GMT
13th January 2006
NHS Revisited
I promise I'll shut up about this soon, but this one is too good to miss...
I called for my blood test results this morning. The conversation went along the lines of:
"Hi -- my name is Kenny -- I had some blood taken for testing last week. I was wondering whether the results were back yet?"
"Let me check..."
scrunch, scuffle, scrunch, clunk
"Yes, your results are here."
pregnant pause
"Well, could you tell me what the results are please?"
"Hmmm. I'm not a doctor so not really. Let me look at the computer results."
clickety-click
"Well there appear to be a number of red flags at the side of various numbers. I'll just show them to the doctor and see what she says."
beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep
"We'd like you to come in to discuss the results with the doctor. How is Tuesday at nine o'clock?"
"Fine. Are you sure we can't do this over the phone?"
"No. I'm afraid you will need to come in. Tuesday at nine it is. See you then."
Initially, I had an adrenalin rush. What is it? West Nile virus? Avian flu? Chow Mein fever? Tortilla allergy? The mind is a marvelous thing as it dances around every absurd possibility it can produce. As with anything though, mine can only keep a straight train of thought for about ten iterations before I start straying towards amusing myself. I'd got as far as Avian flu before I started involuntarily thinking "rickets, dyptheria, Hitler?"
And so within moments, I have gone from being panic stricken to thinking "damn, my cup is empty and so is the teapot. And oh, isn't it a bit pants that you can't find out what someone else already knows about you? Nevermind...best put the kettle on."
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 12:26 GMT
12th January 2006
Redux 48
If you ever have the misfortune to make an appointment to see your doctor, confirm the date. I arrived for my 11:20 appointment yesterday to be told that it was for Thursday. Poison darts flew, floors shook, gargoyles started belching. All manner of goblinry began. I let my evil powers loose. Well, at least until el doctore overheard the rumblings of the ancients happening in her surgery and in a rare moment of wisdom consented to see me. She gave me a grilling as is her want whenever I see her. For once in my life, I gave full disclosure to a medical professional...vulnerability, thy name is Kenny. She scribbled on two pieces of paper; one another prescription, the other a sick note. I spent the journey back trying to decypher what the sick note said. Initially I thought it said 4/5d which I interpreted as 4 or 5 days, although I wasn't convinced. I handed it to the paternal parental unit for him to translate, on the basis that only people with crap handwriting can read crap handwriting; my theory was correct. He translated it to 4/52, i.e. a month. Thanks doc, I may be sick but I ain't taking a month off.
I do subscribe to better living through chemicals. Last night, I took my cocktail of uppers, downers, woofers, tweeters and hummingbird dung and retired to my pit. I slept a restful almost death-like sleep for 8 hours. This morning I awoke and plie-d around the flat singing the the hills are alive.... Well, not quite. But I did bust a twizzy move while slam-dunking the milk back in the fridge and belting out a Joni Mitchell song in a cracked falsetto that made the dead dogs in the Chinese freezer downstairs howl with pain. I believe I might have broken a smile at some point pre-noon but there is no documentary or photographic evidence so I could be hallucinating. Don't quote me on the smile bit.
In the last half hour, that vaguely familiar feeling of hunger surfaced. In keeping with my regime of preserving energy, I nipped a couple of doors down to Gregg's bakery. Quelle domage. On t'other side of t'Pennines, they sell pies. Here, it's pasties. Pasties are proof that the devil exists. Pasties are to good food what Gingsters are to US cuisine -- even worse than squirty plastic cheese and cardboard nachos. The drugs must have been hitting a quirky nadir as I ordered two ham and cheese pasties. I had flashbacks to gas stations in Iowa, stomach pumps and athlete's foot in the school changing rooms. All of life's horrors rolled themselves into a single food item, and I had the lack of presence of mind to put it in my mouth and chew it. I may never eat again.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 16:57 GMT
10th January 2006
Post match analysis
I spent from 9:00am until 3:00pm sorting out medical crap. I'm bloody exhausted. It would have been easier and probably just as possible had I tried to run a half-marathon. After all the battling with the NHS and trying to talk directly to my doctor without his damned proxy, I have just had to go back to square one and give in to the damned system. I'm on a train tomorrow morning, the thing I least feel like doing.
I'm crankier than Jimmy bloody Cranky. The only good news about today is that I haven't needed to go out at all. Lots of power naps interrupted by pesky phone calls. If you're one of the priviledged few who has any of my numbers, and you dare to call them after 10:00pm tonight, I swear I will hunt you down like the animal you are.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 20:43 GMT
NHS Direct shoot and score
An own-goal. Brilliantly volleyed from their own half way line into the back of their own net. Apparently their goal-keeper isn't taking saves at the moment.
The NHS Direct people have just rung me back. By the accent the lady had at least three O levels, two of which were social sciences.
Given what I described below, you know what they came back with? Four telephone numbers for GPs in the area. The advice? "Call these numbers and see if they are taking on new patients."
I explained again what I was asking for and the alternatives I have.
"Call the numbers and see if they can see you."
First number:
"Are you taking on new patients?"
"Are you homeless?"
"No."
"OK, sorry then no."
Second number (keep in mind this 2:30 in the afternoon):
"The surgery is now closed. Please call back during...."
Third number:
"Hi, are you taking on new patients?"
"Not until next week."
[ed - WTF? - you either are or are not - are you expecting some current patients to croak between now and Monday?]
Fourth number:
No answer.
Heaven's to Betsy.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 14:52 GMT
Leeds, prepare for an explosion
Whatever it was I feeling very prosaic about yesterday has just vanished in a puff of smoke, thanks to the good old NHS. Yes, I know it's "free" (in a unconventional use of the word free) but for God's sake, could it be any more pathetic?
When I went to the quack's last week he wanted to sign me off work until next week. I was all gung-ho and said "No sir, I insist you sign me off until Wednesday -- I really need to get back to work ASAP" in some idiotic display of self-importance and self-delusion. He responded by saying that he could always extend the note if I needed more time. A mutual agreement was made, a prescription list as long as your arm was dispatched and off I went to pay a fortune in cold hard cash in return for some drugs that I have since researched and seriously question the suitability thereof. The following day I turned up at one of these new fangled Blairite health parks or whatever they are called. Once situated therein, a very kindly nurse sat me down, told me to roll up my sleeve and then chained both arms to the chair while she extracted an armful of blood. Three bloody vials of the stuff. If it was a fluid ounce, it was God damned pint. I await the results of the various tests with a mixture of trepidation and bated breath.
Anyway, this morning comes around and I'm thinking I should not repeat past mistakes of heading back to work too early. I'm still a bit foggy mentally (not that this is significantly different to my usual self) but am still physically feeling very weak. I call the GP and say "You know what doc? You were right." It takes guts for me to admit being wrong, especially with the rarified professions -- I typically take an opposing view on principle. Doc says "Aha, you come in and I'll give you a note until Monday."
So, I have a choice; go back to work tomorrow or spend six hours traveling to get a sick note. Given my energy levels, I cannot be arsed traveling. I'd sooner preserve the energy and go to work.
The alternative posed is to use that bastion of all uselessness, NHS Direct. Call the number, talk to a bozo. I explained the situation down to the minutae, even going to the detail of which drugs I have and in what dosage. Silly me. I expected someone who might actually know what they are doing. At the end of my eloquent 15 minute explanation I was greeted with the response "So, what exactly do you want?". I swear there was a tremor near Leeds station.
I now have to wait for up to three hours for a call back to tell me what to do. The last time I was told that, I never got the return call. The time before they told me that my toothache could be dealt with in three days time; I went up to York and had Karen yank the fecker with a pair of pliers.
Those of you who are in the UK all probably know that you can opt out of your NI pension contributions and redirect them to a private fund of your choice. The wording to that may be wrong but I'm sure you know the concept. I propose we do the same damned thing with the NHS.
The older I get, and those that have known me for a while will have seen this over the years, the less socialist I become, as I spot all the idiotic arguments for state sponsored anything evaporate in a whiff of surgical ethanol. Or maybe corrode during the time it takes for a NHS Direct callback from someone with an O level or two. I love the NHS principle but as a consumer it sucks. When I had my head-to-stone incident, I didn't go a l'hospital for a few days. I didn't go immediately because I knew they would try to waste money by keeping me in. When I did go a few days later, I spent the whole day there. I waited nearly three hours to see (an admittedly very cute) doctor, an hour for a head Xray and then a further hour for the results of the Xray. When N slashed the top of her finger off, I took her to the local hospital in Coon Rapids -- we were home within the hour. Compare and contrast.
I thought the idea of NHS Direct was to effectively manage healthcare and channel the right resources at the right problems. Dunno. Maybe I had taken my pills when I read their manifesto. It reminds me of strategy meetings where numerous bigwigs used to walk out armed with marvelous plans to rule the world, full of energy and adrenalin. The morning after, fatigued from the experience of the debating, a couple of bullet points made it around a few bored menial's email accounts. Such is the result of mass hysteria. Every twelve months, the cycle was repeated. I smell a distinct parallel between corporate moronity (is that a word?) and NHS do-goodery (which is definitely not a word but should be).
I await my (promised and as yet unfulfilled) callback from NHS Direct. I thank God I have nothing life-threatening that I know of.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 13:13 GMT
Dodgy brain wiring confirmed
While I was slugging back my second pot of tea this morning, I was watching a news article on the VSO and how they now want experienced professionals to volunteer. I went to the web site and started thinking. The train of thought went thus:
-- I have some of the skills that they need
-- I have a cat in hell's chance of seeing N and the kids in the next two years
-- I've not done anything to contribute to the greater good since I was a teenager
-- I've never been to Africa, and I did quite like Asia even though some it was a bit freaky-deaky
-- The thought of a simple existance in a village rather than the rat race certainly has some appeal
Why not investigate the possibility?
As I reached the bottom of the second pot and put on the third, the neural connections that had obviously been dormant (thanks to a mild caffeine immunity) must have suddenly been shaken into life. The first objection was obviously that it certainly wouldn't support N and the kids doing such a thing. The second was the potential lack of modern appliances (washing machines etc). The third, and this was the deal-breaker, was that it would almost certainly involve having immunisations. Having had a blood test done last week, and more injections than I care to remember for immigration purposes, I am reminded that my tolerance for all things hypodermic is zero. I guess I really am not that altruistic and selfless at all.
Maybe I'll chuck two quid at the Sally Army next time I see them. That should ease my conscience for at least the next decade.
Seriously though, I may batch process this for a while. If I can find a way to support my family while I go do some good for once, that might be a bit of a positive slant on an otherwise poor situation.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 11:21 GMT
A ramble in many parts
Event one: I had to catch a bus to a bloody meeting tonight. A frickin' bus of all things. It was colder than having dry ice packs stuffed up your shirt and jumper. Even the wind was shivering. Ug.
Two, and the older I get, the worse this cheeses me off. If you're going to show open-surgery in a show, for Christ's sake warn the viewers. I'm sure that 70% of the population watch surgeries all the time, the rest are squeamish and would be happy for the scenes to be dropped. We have warnings about "This program shows flashing lights", "This program contains strong violence and even stronger language." I demand there be a new one "This program contains entrails, open hearts, ripped apart rib cages and intervascular heart shots." You hear that demand? You may be well adjusted with looking at heaps of blubbering bits covered in blood...I am not. So get it done.
I could switch on the bloody Teletubbies and not be surprised by the sudden appearance of a bypass machine in full swing getting its bypass swing groove on.
Stop it now.
--
Next up on my grumpy old man show this evening; the murder of the British back-packer Katherine Horton in Thailand. For some reason this has been a bit too real. I knew a girl a few years ago who moved out to Thailand to live. I've not heard from her for over a while. She suddenly came to mind as this news broke. The chances are that she is okay but I'll have a nagging action to chase down her friends who may have stayed in touch with her. At first my mate Jezza and I used to send stupid parcels over to her -- PG Tips, Mars Bars, local papers, branston pickle, crisps etc. but it trailed off. Come to think of it, the only person I can think of who may know where she is emigrated to Australia a few years ago, so even that is a slim lead. In the meantime, given the nature of the crime, I hope there is the death penalty for the perpetrators. If the accused's mitigation statement is "we were drunk and watching pr0n films" (which is all we have been told), prepare the damned gallows or shooting squad or whatever it is the Thais do.
Finally, George Galloway is extending his lead at the front of the "MPs who are not left or right, but up, down, sideways and projected forward into dimensions that don't even exist". His decision to take part in one of these reality shows belies his all-consuming craving to be liked on personality alone rather on the ill-conceived rhetoric that he thought might endear him to the electorate. Bad news George...your rhetoric may be akin to a BSE-induced vommit but your character is proving more odious than your speeches. Give it up you moonbat.
I've started writing a post a number of times today. Hopefully I can make something of it tomorrow.
'Tis last cuppa time and then away to shoot pigeons in my head and bed.
'Night all. Hope you're all having a hoopy and froody day.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 00:32 GMT
8th January 2006
The return of the Kenny
"Where have I been?" you may all ask. Well you can ask but I ain't telling. Suffice to say that it wasn't here and it was sans connection.
I've had to take my laptop back to the shop under warranty for the ongoing overheating problems so I'm on my work one which is suboptimal. It's a way better spec than my home one but we don't mind-meld in the way that me and my Toshiba do. Toshiba and I are long time partners.
In my absence all hell appears to have broken loose in the Liberal Democrat Party. The admission of its leader, Charles Kennedy, that he has had a drink problem that he is working on and the subsequent baying of wolves and picking of carcasses has been unpleasant viewing. Great Britain has a long history of boozing leaders. Churchill was alleged to have packed away a couple of bottles of brandy a day. I applaud Kennedy for his integrity in his admission, albeit forced by him wanting to stem a press scoop by some hack who, herself, spends my annual salary in expensed martinis.
The problem for the Lib Dems now is what happens next. The grass roots apparently want to wait a while and elect a new leader, which could mean a wait of until the end of March. Although I'm no great politician, it seems to be that the Lib Dems have just slit their own throats. After having just come into contention as a viable third party, this mewling of wannabes and drawn out process can only harm the unity of the party. More time means more squabbling. The end of the Libs for a while methinks. Don't expect a strong showing in 2010.
Anyway, that's all dull.
I'll be back sporadically for a while. If a couple of things don't work out the way I want them to over the next couple of days, I may be away for a couple of weeks while I wait for the repaired teapot (my Tosh). I'm sure you can all wait.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 18:02 GMT
4th January 2006
A moment of levity
I've been in a bit of a dark place for the last couple of days. Thank God for Steve. I can honestly say that it is the first time I have laughed in over 48 hours. I can so relate to that post.
While in the US, I had to rely on N for any advice on tool-related gubbins. Her dad is a shop-guy. If he doesn't know how to fix something, he'll work it out. N has the same kind of mind. I've watched her change a flat tire on our van in sub-zero temperatures. We had no jack but N knew exactly what to do. I can fix electrical things but mechanics leave me cold; I just have no feel for it at all. Last winter, while I was still in the US, I watched N diagnose a problem with a car battery. It was wizardry to me. I guess I must have experienced what other people experience when I fix computers or circuit boards. It looks like magic but it isn't; it's obvious.
N bought me tools all the time to try to get me to understand how things work. A lot of wasted money. I'd scratch my head and look oblivious, and then hand the tools over to N and try to learn what it was that I so completely missed. Even when she explained her thoughts I didn't get it. I still don't.
I had a bit of an incident here the other day where the water heater packed in; it was the clock that had broken. I hard wired the thing to be constantly on, bypassing the clock. That is the limit of my skills...I have no use for anything that is not a screwdriver or soldering iron.
Thanks for the laugh Steve, even if it is a little too close to the bone.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 07:33 GMT
3rd January 2006
Chi-town
I've spent all Christmas on the wagon watching my favorite city. Chicago has to be the be all and end all of cities.
I have never flown into anywhere and loved it so much. Lake Michigan appears and then goes as you arrive in O'Hare. And the next thing you know, the woman of your dreams is there to pick you up. That woman who has turned your life upside down. The woman who has picked you up and shook you beyond belief. The woman who is so entrenched in you that you have no out. The woman you cry for on a nightly basis.
Sorry N -- probably a bit too much for you. I'm missing you so.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 19:32 GMT
1st January 2006
We might actually win the world cup
I'm off to Newcastle to stamp on the other four metatarsals. Just imagine if we had a striker that knew how to hit a cow's arse with a banjo.
Ob-pic:
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 18:54 GMT
New Year debrief
Yesterday afternoon I thawed my cheescake ready for the party of the decade, attendees: me and my alter ego Kenny. I don't know how it happened but I ended up in York at the Waaart's. I swear I only went out for a packet of cigarettes; the next thing I knew, I was listening to vinyl Kate Bush records with Looby and the Waaart. And bugger me if there wasn't a glass of champagne in my hand. I do love a nice dry champagne.
For some reason that I must confess to not being able to remember, at around 2:30am this morning, the Waaart cooked me some smoked haddock and an egg. It wouldn't be noteworthy other than the fact that neither he nor his missus partook of any eatage and I find it very unlikely that I suddenly piped up with "Hey Waaart, you got any smoked haddock and egg knocking around?" although it is not beyond the realms of possibility.
So I now have a defrosted cheesecake. I have rescheduled my party of the decade for tonight. Party on Kenny.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 16:21 GMT