31st July 2005
Please
God
No!
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 18:44 BST
29th July 2005
Migration
I'm off back to Wigan in an hour or so and I'm not sure I can be bothered lugging the PC back for the weekend, so expect silence and you will not be disappointed.
Actually, as I typed that, I remembered that I have a dual-processor system there with oodles of memory that I could hook up to the net with a little cabling wizadry. We'll see.
Week one has gone pretty well. I've managed to pick up some things that I genuinely can contribute to from the git-go. And in a fit of bravado, I pulled down the source code for some of the open source secure copying tools and have spotted what may be a big issue. Hey, when you're hot, you're hot.
I know it's early days but I think I will love this job. It's so techie it makes your teeth tingle. I'm talking about shifting terabytes of data around the place with all sorts of Home Office rules to follow as they evolve. I'm talking quad Xeon Linux clusters with gigabit links. I'm talking RAID arrays that would make your mother cry. In all, it's Kenny heaven. And the best part? No bollocksing marketing. I will never understand why I have always started in techie roles and ended up in marketing -- not this time. This is switches, routers, clusters, firewalls, mission critical stuff and more kit that you could imagine. Oh yeah, and making sure that it all is literally bomb-proof. I swear it's a wet-dream of a job if you're that way inclined.
No more day long presentations to get one decision made -- a phone call for a few minutes and it's done. Feck. I'm sure I'm out of my non-disclosure clause by now with the old Minneapolis lot, so I can say with authority and sincerity that working with Yanks absolutely royally sucked. Based on my two positions toiling under an American regime, I think I am near to proving by induction that it is a universal rule that US corporates suck donkey. True for 1, true for n -- I don't want to have to do n+1 and I probably don't need to having seen the way they operate. Fecking amateurs.
In a massive shift, I'd like to update you on what is going on with N but I don't think that would be prudent. Those of you in the UK who know me probably know some of the score and when next I see you, I'll give you the scoop but I reiterate what I said weeks ago...I'm not spending hours on IM discussing it. When N is ready to talk she will. It is not my place to. If you care, just send her good vibes because what she is being hassled for is just plain wrong.
If I don't get some cable wizardry happening, have a good weekend and I'll see ya Sunday.
A Bientot.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 19:29 BST
28th July 2005
Day four
Today's post is brought to you by the words worried to feck and saturated. I had written a very long post about N and I meeting but I hadn't the stomach to hit the publish button.
I will now microwave my fish and chips.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 21:03 BST
27th July 2005
London et al
Well, I managed to get darn Sarf' this morning. I actually managed to avoid London and instead took in the sights of Luton, Stevenage and St Albans. Don't I just live the big time or what?
Due to the fact that I am completely and utterly knackered, I will fill some space with a ME-ME that Mopsa threw at me late last week. I must first apologise for not having done it sooner and also for the fact that I damn near posted her real name there when I typed Mopsa...good job I had my spidey-senses switched on!
What is on your nightstand little hopper?
Well, the answer is predictable. Nowt. Squat. Feck all squared. The only object that ever gets on there is my glasses. Oh, maybe there's a lamp. Occasionally an alarm clock. I go to bed to crash not rest. Maybe that will change when I get my own flat. I'll revisit this if it does.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 22:08 BST
26th July 2005
Day two
Wow. I must have mentally batch processed what I learned yesterday. This morning, I arose, donned different footwear and marched into work with all sorts of ideas about the project I'm working on. I'm sure I asked a boat load of feckwit questions, but what the hell? You can only do that in your first month so it's best to make hay while the sun shines.
I put my new found ability to learn firmly and squarely down to the magnificent human being who cooks bacon sandwiches. Honestly, how can you arrive at work with the smell of bacon butties floating around and not be seduced by its wonderful bacon-ness? I lasted less than five minutes before I got one. I toyed with the idea of a second but that would have been greedy, and you don't want your nickname to be baconboy after only two days there. As with every company that I have worked for in Leeds, there is a predominance of A's so any excuse is used to give you a new monicker.
I have to get up phenomenally early tomorrow morning to go down to the real smoke (Londinium). Third day on the job and I'm off to see some suppliers. It reminds me very much of when I recruited M, whose house I am staying in at the moment. His first day at K was wicked...
"M, here's your desk. The bogs are there, the kettle is there, the development team sit over there, your team mates are all out. Don't get used to your desk; you'll not see much of it. BTW, have you got a passport? Get one. You've nothing planned for the week have you? Good. We're off to Belfast tomorrow."
I tell you, I was more nervous about going to Northern Ireland then than I am about going to London now. I remember M and I were sat having dinner in the pub/B&B where we were staying in Banbridge, when a couple of army guys came flying in telling us to get the hell out as there was a suspected bomb in a car outside. We followed protocol and grabbed another beer before leaving. When we returned after the all clear, the gates had gone up and there was no way in. We ended up scaling a wall with barbed wire atop and then breaking into the bathrooms just to get to our respective rooms. Ah, the folly of youth. Interestingly, it was a defining moment; I remember seeing a couple of squaddies wondering down the main street armed to the nines. I went through an internal struggle as to how to cope with it and, much as I had done when I arrived at Vienna airport after their problems in the eighties, I nodded my head and said hello to them. They beamed back having recognized a friendly accent. I took some serious heart from that; the guy with the gun is there to protect you, not injur you.
So tomorrow I get to go South. I haven't been to London in probably seven years, and I haven't missed it at all. As is well documented here, I hate the place. In fact those who know me will vouch for the fact that I get nose-bleeds when I venture South of Crewe. The atmospheric pressure, you know.
It's early days on the job front but I really do like the team I am working with and I totally admire the company's working practices. We had a bit of a to-do today with a failure of some description and you should have seen the reaction within the building...everyone jumped to the deck to see if they could help, whether it was their area or not. And they did it because it might impact customers...hello America, are you listening? This is customer service.
Honeymoon continues...I may be absent tomorrow due to nose bleeds from the altitude shift and acute knackeredness.
Thursday, I have a flat decision to make. I know the answer already but I'll make you buggers wait/yawn until then.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 20:45 BST
25th July 2005
Bzzzt, this is my brain speaking
I have learned many things today. Many, many things. The most important of which are as follows:
-- No matter whether you think you have worn in a pair of new shoes or not, never wear them on your first day at a new job, especially when you walk about three miles while traveling to and from work.
-- Standing up in said shoes on a train at commuter time does not help. Neither does having having twenty-something girls standing on your feet as they fail to observe the instructions to hold on to a rail. I got assaulted twice and narrowly avoided being covered in strawberry ice-cream once. That said, the first girl can fall into me again whenever she feels like it.
-- The coffee machine at work is awesome.
-- I know where to get bacon sandwiches tomorrow morning. Oh yes.
-- One should always pick up one's cigarettes on the way home from work thereby negating the need to go back out with feet that feel like they have been rasped for ten hours. (Do you spot a theme here?)
-- I have no idea how to look after cats or fish. The chap whose house I am staying at has buggered off for a couple of days on business and left me in charge of the menagerie...I just hope they are all alive when he returns.
'Tis all. I can barely open my can of beer with fatigue. This working gubbins is a shock to the system.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 19:27 BST
24th July 2005
Shoot to kill policy
There is much wailing and gnashing of teeth surrounding the death of a Brazilian man, shot dead by armed police in London.
While I fully appreciate the argument that one should be free to go about one's business without interference, if you are asked an officer of the law to stop, you have a duty to do so. To hot-foot it over barriers in an attempt to elude police is an admission of guilt or a display of lunacy.
If you were the London officers in question, what would you do? You have someone who is a suspected suicide bomber on the run in a packed railway station. Do you (a) ask him politely to stop trying to escape or (b) shoot the bugger to protect those whose lives you consider at risk? No-bloody-brainer.
Die Ubermeister, in one of her more liberal moments, put forward the theory that the chap's English might not have been up to snuff. I think my response was something along the lines of a uniformed officer of the law waving an assault weapon at you is international language for move another millimeter and you're toast.
Only criminals and those in corrupt regimes fear the police. If the chap in question was a criminal (which appears not to be the case) he was the stupidest kind of criminal -- one that is prepared to risk his life to avoid prosecution. If he was raised in a corrupt state where people fear the police then his country of birth are ultimately responsible for his death (hello Brazil, are you listening?)
The Brazilian government are demanding explanations from the UK and are generally flexing a self-serving political muscle. I'm sure we'll play ball and acquiesce. Just like we did when the SAS took out the IRA members in Gibraltar and Germany, not.
I have said for many years that we need to send a more forceful message to those who would detonate bombs in public places. Whether you're an Islamic nutcase who is hell-bent on an orgy with 72 virgins (a noble religious goal if I might say) or a tinpot disaffected minority group who is out to pop a firecracker at a football match, the population at large deserve to be protected from you. And if that means you come out of it on a slab, so be it.
No doubt the more ridiculous strains of the British press will be demanding resignations, explanations and heads. This will in turn fuel the anti-Blair fire. The furore will be palpable. Mass hysteria will abound in the streets as we all fear being gunned down by overworked, wild-eyed, tripped-out SO19 marksmen looking to put a cap in anyone who dares to buy the wrong brand of cigarette.
According to the BBC report, this is the fourth such shooting in 20 years. OK, assuming there are 60 million people in the UK, that puts your chances of being shot dead by an armed policeman at 4 in 60,000,000*20 which works out to be 1 in 3 billion. Not bad odds those. Comfortingly you are over 40 times more likely to win the lottery than be shot by the police. The odds carry on getting better if you do what you're asked when approached by an officer of the law.
Pretty simple really. So why the hoo-ha?
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 10:44 BST
23rd July 2005
Aussies continue to inflict pain
As England pootled onto 80 for no wicket, chasing some record-breaking final innings score to win, I dared for a moment to think that the impossible might be possible. What the hell was I thinking?
Enter Shane Warne, stage left.
I'm watching his leg-breaks and flippers in awe. He's pitching things outside leg stump that are turning that much that they are missing off-stump. That's about 8-10 inches of movement. My ball-park mental trigonometry estimates that it means the ball is turning about 45 degrees (factoring in the angle at which the ball is bowled -- he's bowling over the wicket to the right hander). It truly is an art.
When I played cricket, I had no problems with pace bowlers. As the Waart will testify, I always took the view that the faster you bowl at me, the faster the ball left my bat and disappeared to the boundary. Batting against pace bowlers is just a question of timing. You can actually get the line of the ball wrong and still score runs thanks to the gift of the speed of a piece of leather hurtling towards you. Actually, as I typed that Kevin Pietersen has just proven my point by mis-hitting a six off Lee.
Spinners are different. They are hell. Shane Warne epitomises the ideal spin bowler. He pitches the ball consistently; the same spot. Easy to play? No. His bowling action gives nothing away. You don't know whether any given ball is going to break or straighten.
To be a great batsman, you need to be able to play someone like Shane Warne. So far, once again, Kevin Pietersen has shown he has the credentials of a great batsman.
The first test will be over by lunch tomorrow. As is so familiar, the Aussies smell Pom blood, and are going for the jugular.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 17:24 BST
22nd July 2005
Friday round-up
I think the Met sent a very loud and definitive message today to all would-be bombers. If you think you can wander around armed with explosives, we will shoot you. Five times. Just to make sure. Go tend to your virgins now, or do you not get them for being shot by police? Tough luck that one.
Today is a very special day. It is the last day I will have to tolerate the Soap Hours. How will I live without Home and Away and Hollyoaks? You know what? I'm going to stay at work until at least seven o'clock every night next week just in case I catch any of it by accident.
I pottered over to Leeds last night to go out with the boys from Visionware SCO Tarantella Sun. I'd forgotten how alive Leeds is in the evenings. Early this morning, I combed the streets of Leeds during rush hour looking for apartments. If you've not been there for a few years, you will be amazed at how Leeds has grown. Leeds is not the sleepy Northern city it used to be. It feels like London but without that nasty funk that seems to be permanently hovering over the capital. In some ways, it reminds me more of Minneapolis than it does London, a city full of life, energy and an all-consuming buzz. You feel part of it as you meander around.
Leeds has always been good to me. I have spent some of the happiest years of my life there and it seems highly appropriate that it should come to my rescue again, just like it did in the early nineties. My only complaint is that the apartments are a touch more expensive than I would have liked. I could get a house in the suburbs for less cash, but that would mean I definitely needed a car so the economy is a false one...looks like it's a furnished apartment down in Brewery Wharf for me, which is just brilliant - 10 minutes walk from the train station, five minutes to work and 10 minutes from the city center.
I can't wait for Monday morning. I actually bought some starch today, so keen am I to iron my shirts ready for real work.
God, I sound like a school-girl. I'll shut up, go smoke, come back and see if I can summon up some pithy wit or vitriolic pathos. I mean, that's what you come here for isn't it?
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 17:04 BST
21st July 2005
Hi, my name is Harmison
Steve Harmison. I bowl at around 90mph.
You might want to get out of the way of the short ball, even if you do have a helmet on.
The morning session could not have been better. I just worry that if the English bowlers are getting so much out of the wicket, the Aussies will get more. We can only hope that the sun comes out before Trescothick and Strauss take to the crease.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 12:44 BST
Erm, yis
When the day is done, and the ball has spun
In the umpire's pocket away,
And all remains, in the groundsman's pains,
For the rest of time and a day.
There'll be one mad dog and his master, pushing for 4 with the spin.
On a dusty pitch, with two pounds six, of willowwood in the sun.
When an old cricketer leaves the crease, you never know whether he's gone,
If sometimes you're catching a fleeting glimpse, of a twelfth man at silly mid-on.
And it could be Geoff, and it could be John,
With a new ball sting in his tail.
And it could be me, and it could be thee,
And it could be the sting in the ale.........sting in the ale.
When the moment comes, and the gathering stands,
And the clock turns back to reflect,
On the years of grace, as those footsteps trace,
For the last time out of the act.
When an old cricketer leaves the crease, you never know whether he's gone,
If sometimes you're catching a fleeting glimpse, of a twelfth man at silly mid-on.
And it could be Geoff, and it could be John,
With a new ball sting in his tail.
And it could be me, and it could be thee,
And it could be the sting in the ale.........sting in the ale.
Well this ways of life's recollection
The hallowed strip in the haze,
The fabled men, and the moonday sun,
Are much more than just yarns of their days.
When an old cricketer leaves the crease, you never know whether he's gone,
If sometimes you're catching a fleeting glimpse, of a twelfth man at silly mid-on.
And it could be Geoff, and it could be John,
With a new ball sting in his tail.
And it could be me, and it could be thee,
And it could be the sting in the ale.........sting in the ale.
Roy Harper
Hoggard strikes!
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 11:11 BST
20th July 2005
Silence
Apologies for the silence. Worrying about something today.
All will become clear shortly.
In the meantime, you might want to brush up on your stats:
-- England haven't beaten Australia in a test match at Lords since 1934
-- England haven't won the Ashes since the 86/87 tour of Oz
-- 5 of tomorrow's squad have never played the Aussies in a test match
Tomorrow heralds the first of five test matches in a battle for the Ashes. It is at Lords.
I need a deity, for more reasons than one.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 18:44 BST
19th July 2005
Oooh, oooh
I've just been reading about podcasting. I'd heard the word before but thought it was something to do with Macs so dismissed it for the drivel that I associate with Apple. However, it's not that at all. There's a world of opportunity.
Just think about it. You could hear my dulcet Mancunian/Wiganese/Coronation Street tones any time you wanted. I know, I know. Form an orderly queue.
I'm going to have a think about this. In the meantime, this is the kind of utter nonsense you would hear. N recorded this a while ago after I came back from Da Hood in the LBC...
Tippin' a forty. (Right click and download -- it's my bandwidth)
I'm a frickin' radio natural.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 12:57 BST
Clearing up a few subplots
I see from the comments that I have had, I have left a few threads dangling. Damn you pernickety readers and your 'wanting continuity' ways -- that means I have to pay attention to detail. I only have an attention to detail when I'm being paid; the rest of the time, I tend to meander into the zone, where detail is vastly over-rated.
So, to tie things up a little, here's the deal. I have been harangued by my parental units into getting a flat in Leeds. I say harangued, I mean convinced; to be honest I want a car like I want a hole in the head. So, I did not buy the monstrosity of an MX3/Miata. The logic is quite simple I think; they want me the hell out of the way and living self-sufficiently. Can't say I blame 'em. All I've been doing is going around there, eating their scran, drinking their beer, robbing them of cigarette money and providing generous amounts of laundry to keep them busy. A busy retired couple is a happy retired couple.
I intend cadging a room in Bingley of all places for the first couple of weeks of work. A guy who used to work for me at my last job has a house there and has conveniently split up with his girlfriend (convenient for me that is) so I have a room for a few weeks while I find something suitable. Bingley is about 20 mins on the train from Leeds so the commute is a very manageable one although getting a flat that is 5 mins from work and 10 mins from the station in Leeds sounds a much better deal to me.
Another outstanding cliff-hanger is whether I went to the interview with or without sideburns. The answer to that little gem is that I went with. I did have visions of my sideburns blowing in the breeze as I drove my convertible MX3 across the Pennines, but sadly they will be exercised only by the ventilation in GNER's train carriages.
Today I am going out for lunch with someone I haven't seen in over twenty years. Commenter Leandra is on her way back from her folks' in Hoots-Mon-Land to the Isle of Man and is calling in with her sprogs in tow to take me to lunch and catch up on the last twenty years. Jees - where do you start? The blog only goes back four years so I have to manually address the previous sixteen without a prompter. Well six of them were in higher education so I guess we can write those off under "obvious", which means I have about twelve to cover. I reckon I could sum those up as 1992-1996, best years of my life. 1996-1999, second-worst period in history. 1999-2001, mad but brilliant. El bloggo can take over from there. Let's see now..."Well, how's the shrimp?"
If there's anything else you pedants can pick up on that I have been remiss in bringing to conclusion, do let me know and I'll fudge some kind of subplot conclusion that is satisfactory for all concerned.
Toodles.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 10:18 BST
18th July 2005
Sudoku causing OCD in the elderly
I was sat in my parents' yard yesterday with the sun burning down. Paternal parental unit inquired as to whether I had received his text message from Saturday. I had.
"Well done dad. You finished your second Sudoku."
I said I had finished it in a record-breaking few minutes and thought it was actually an easy one rather than a moderate. I started to relate a tale of having given Nev's daughter a copy of the puzzle on Saturday night. She set to the task and filled in two rows at the top of the grid, but nothing else. Now, the answer was on the back of the paper so I postulated that she was a cheating bugger.
"How old is she?" interjected Die Ubermeister.
I replied that she's probably eight or nine.
"When I was her age, I could have done that too. She probably worked it out."
I went off on a rant. You just cannot make sweeping generalisations like that around me without expecting some resistance.
"How?" piped I, "It's impossible to do that. There are very logical steps you take in solving these things."
"You just need good eyes to solve them."
"Utter bullshit. You need to follow a logical process."
"You're wrong."
My father and I exchange wearied glances. You just cannot win with this all-seeing, all-knowing hyper-being and we should know better than to espouse logical explanations on things that, as Die Ubermeister will tell you, do not require logic, just understanding. Incidentally, she has yet to finish one of even the easy ones, claiming that she would need eyes "like a fly" to do them and her sight isn't up to it. I call bullshit again. She keeps trying but applies the wrong techniques.
Anyway, conversation disappeared for a while as we all sat bubbling with frustration at how she will not be told about anything.
The silence was broken by a nearby wood pigeon tooting away.
"Bloody pigeons," started pater noster, "they start that before the sun comes up. If I have the window open at night, the bastard wakes me up. I've lost count of the number of times I've laid awake counting the toots and and trying to find a pattern to them."
I flick an astonished look over at maternal unit as if to say "tell me I didn't just hear that."
"You're trying to decode a pigeon?"
"Well sometimes it's in bursts of 5 and sometimes it's 8. Listen."
I sat in abject awe for a few moments while my dad counted the toots for us.
"Jesus. That was only 3. That's a new one."
"Dad, are you seriously trying to find a meaning from a pigeon call?"
"Well what else do you do when you're lying awake listening to them?"
"Oh Christ mutha, we've got bloody GCHQ here cracking Osama Bin Pigeon's coded messages to the rest of his evil aviary pals. I wonder what they're plotting? A mass suicide poop attack on my dad's car? Maybe a loft infestation?"
At this point, a priceless comment from my dad:
"Well they used to use them as messenger pigeons. You remember that clue from the other day -- 16 across -- MESSENGER PIGEON."
"Dad, they tied notes to the feckers. That was a 'messenger' pigeon."
"Oh yes. Well, anyway, I think I'm close to cracking it." -- pause -- "I blame this bloody Sudoku you know. I look for patterns in everything when I have done one. It's unhealthy. I need to stop doing them."
The sad thing? I understand him completely. I have always, always looked for patterns in everything. There isn't a single aspect of life where I have not spent extensive amounts of time trawling through my experience looking for a systematic rule of thumb for any situation. And I'm never happier than when I have a job-lot of data in front of me to be analyzed in whatever fashion.
If my dad is anything to go by, I'm going to be howling mad within fifteen years or so.
Welcome to Kenny's blog, stardate 2020. Today, I'm going expound my theory on aliens communicating via Fox News.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 13:57 BST
17th July 2005
Controversial moi?
Am I the only one that is seeing a bit of a problem with the official explanation of the London bombers?
Exhibits:
(a) All of the alleged bombers bought return tickets to London.
(b) They all paid for their parking.
(c) They all had ID on them.
(d) One of them left a car full of nine other bombs.
Really, if these people were "suicide bombers", they were remarkably optimistic in planning their next strike.
I think it far more likely that they knew that they were aiding their cause in whatever bizarre shite they subscribe to, but, and it's a big but, they didn't know they were on their way to the great big floating orgy in the sky.
"Hey, Mohammed, take this and leave it on this train -- you'll be home in time for evening prayer."
"Cool Bro."
"Ah, it's 9:00am. Must call Mohammed..."
Boom.
"Dang, let's try his mates."
Boom. Boom.
I think MI5 have this one wrong.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 22:39 BST
What's that burning smell?
It's Kenny, being slowly basted in his own juices.
We went down to Edale yesterday for a night out int' t'sticks. Lovely it was too. While Karen did her thing in the hell that is Leigh, we were being fried by uncommon sunshine.
I never burn unless I'm in somewhere daft like Florida, but yesterday I came close. It was as beautiful as it gets:
I did too much sprinting, too much throwing of tennis balls and too much eating and drinking. Fantastic. I nearly felt some heat on my arms this morning, but as per usual in reasonable sunshine, I just tanned a little.
It's amazing the difference in attitude that you have when there is a tangible goal in sight. I relaxed for the first time since August 2003.
I just wish I occasionally remembered that I am not 16 anymore when it comes to exercise...racing kids around a camp site is not for smokers over the age of 35.
I really wish we had got there early enough to do some hiking. If I had had boots, I'd have been off up the hills.
Every now and again, I remember that England has some stunning scenery. Thanks Nev. Yet again, you've lightened my spirits (and I'm not talking watering down the gin).
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 21:52 BST
16th July 2005
Gawn' camping
I am going spending a weekend in a caravan in Derbyshire with Nev and the kids while Karen paints the town red, very much like Hang 'em High (very appropriate for Leigh -- they should all be hanged).
What the hell was I thinking agreeing to that?
Back Sunday.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 08:53 BST
15th July 2005
Decisions, decisions
I've just been having a nosey at flats in Leeds. While some are affordable and close to work, they almost all want you to sign up to at least a six month lease. Now call me risk-averse but my initial appointment is on the usual 3 month probationary contract. What happens if it doesn't work out?
So my thinking is that I should commute until after the three months is up. Which means getting some wheels. I need something small and nippy. I'm not driving a behemoth monster on British roads unless I absolutely have to. Off I trotted to one of the car sites. I initially was checking out my favourite car of all time, the Celica, but couldn't find one that made my proverbial juices flow. I looked at MR2s but they all shouted "boo for boring."
And then I found this baby.
It's perfect. It's gayer than a purple rover. It oozes tack. God, look at that color -- revolting. It's so utterly tasteless and brash that I love it.
Come on peeps -- you can see me cruising across the M62 in this can't you? Can't you? And the great thing is, all my wordly possessions will fit in the boot.
I am so in love.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 13:45 BST
14th July 2005
They think it's all over
Well it is now.
You lot are now reading the blog of a man who, as of July 25th, will be in gainful employment for the first time in nearly two years. Words cannot express how happy I am at this moment. It's like being spared the gallows at the last minute.
I think it only appropriate to thank a few people for their support during this time. It has been a dark, dark chapter in my life.
The positively serene Ms Luminous for IM'ing me on more or less a weekly basis to check in on how things are going. You lady, should be the pride and joy of your family.
Mopsa has continually encouraged me that I am worth something in the corporate bazar while my confidence slipped to gutter-level.
Keith, Rita, April, Zoe, Steve and Leandra for the good vibes and (in some cases) nad-crossing. And Alfred the OK for lunch and support.
A huge thank you to Karen, Nev and Waaart for their companionship (not to mention subsidizing of a few wild weekends) since my arrival back in Blighty.
I'd thank my grandma, but she (thankfully) doesn't read this.
Finally, I want to thank my lovely wife for the shit that she has put up with over the past two years. We may not be out of the woods yet, but the trees are getting sparser. None of you would believe what she has done for me over the last couple of years. You need to be a saint to show such compassion and support for someone who was, quite literally, on self-destruct.
I feel like I've won an Oscar, only Oscars are for loser pseudo-thespians.
I would thank Jonathon Ross, Carol Vorderman and Michael Owen but, to be honest, they did feck-all squared.
Look at the names above for a moment -- I know N, Karen, Nev and Wart well. I have met Leandra, Alfred and Mopsa. The rest of you are from the ether, but have shown yourselves to be top notch human beings. I salute each and every one of you, and hope that whatever you wish for, you get it twice.
The clouds are lifting.
All of you, thank you so much.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 17:49 BST
My day out in Leeds
Yesterday, I had hoped to occupy my brain with the Telegraph crossword for the duration of the journey to Leeds. My father had commented that it was pretty difficult so I was sure I would have enough "in-train" entertainment to last the distance. Sure enough, I'd finished it before I even hit Manchester, let alone set off for Leeds. So much for difficult daddio. All I will say is that there were some excellent clues and one absolutely pants one.
As I set off, I was a tad concerned about an incident in Manchester which had shut down the Mancunian Way and part of Oxford Road. Some cart-horse had left a briefcase unattended. At best, it was a stupid thing to do. At worst, it was dispicable. It turned out that the case was benign so I had no problems in Manchester.
The journey from Manchester to Leeds was rather eventful. A middle aged very well spoken toff decided to take umbrage with the ticket inspector. He hadn't paid the right fare and she was attempting to convince him that he needed to cough up or face the wrath of First Transpennine Express. The clickety-clack of the train was replaced with outraged reposts and hurtful verbal attacks on the relative attractiveness of the poor girl. It was a disgraceful display. A young lady sat nearby suggested that if the man thought he was being wronged that he should complain to the railway rather than verbally assault someone who was trying to do her job. His response was predictable; he hurled many expletives in the lady's general. I had had just about enough.
All besuited and looking quite an authority figure, I stood and turned to the immaculately coiffured toff and articulated:
"Look, just give it a rest."
The man moved carriages, with a fine in his hand.
This is why Northerners don't like BBC accents. Arrogance is associated with the sound.
Apparently the ticket inspector knew of the man as he is notorious for his actions on that line.
As I disembarked at Leeds station, I was greeted by police swarming everywhere armed with assault rifles. The discovery that the low-now-ex-lifes that bombed our fair capital were from the Yorkshire area seemed to have stunned the city into a guarded stoicism. People nodded grimly to the armed officers who in turn nodded grimly back. Other people looked nervously at Arabic or Pakistani looking travellers. It must have been an awful commute for our Eastern brethren yesterday, and probably will be for some time to come.
Having found my ride to my former employers, I jetted up there for 30 minutes to have a chin-wag and catch up.
I arrived at my interview slightly early, as is good form. Again, my nerves evaporated after a couple of minutes. All I can say is that I gave it my best shot and didn't drop any bollocks that I noticed. Let the waiting begin. Thankfully, these guys have an SLA of 5 business days after second interview. I may just try to sleep until the phone rings.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 13:09 BST
13th July 2005
Quickie
I have to skedaddle shortly but for those returning for some cricketing updates (I'm sure you're all absolutely dying to hear my analysis), I thought I'd throw in my two happeth/cents* on the subject.
The hopes that had been raised in me during the triangular tournament have been systematically shattered watching the challenge matches. There have been sparks of performances but only one player with any consistency.
Our bowling attack is a misnomer. It's more of a bowling prod. Our top order batsmen have failed to perform. If you believe the press, this is because the one day game is different to the test game. I call bullshit. The basic principle is the same; stay at the crease and score runs. In a test, you can do that at leisure. As an opener, in a one day game, you need to look to score slightly faster. Once a solid foundation has been laid, then you can start to take some risks.
Australia took the field yesterday afternoon and knocked the England attack around like they were Bangladesh or Scotland or somebody equally dire. There was obviously nothing wrong with the wicket. So why did our top order throw themselves on their own metaphorical swords? And why is it that the only high order batsman to look confident is an all-rounder who comes in at number 4? Does that mean that we only have 3 batsmen? Further still, if that is true, surely we should have a steaming bowling side. Sadly not. It was shear lack of a will to win that created yesterday's bloody embarassing display. I bet the Aussies are sat chuckling into their cans of XXXX or Fosters or whatever other muck they drink.
If we haven't the resolve to win a one day series, how can we possibly expect to win the Ashes?
Speaking of Ashes, the press are still speculating about Thorpe's inclusion in test squad. Why? I think that argument has been settled emphatically by Kevin Pieterson.
You may now go about your business. I will return from Leeds either ecstatic, suicidal or on tenterhooks.
* - Delete as appropriate.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 10:20 BST
12th July 2005
The net closes
Apparently bomb disposal experts have carried out a controlled explosion at a house in Leeds. Ananova report that it was in Hyde Park Road at the Burley end.
I used to work in a building not half a mile from there, a hop and a skip from Burley Park rail station.
Just goes to show really doesn't it? Not sure what it shows, but it does quite definitely show.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 15:07 BST
Better explanation of cricket...
Nev left a comment explaining cricket that I think is probably the funniest thing I have read all year and therefore deserves a post of its own:
You have two sides, one out in the field and one in. Each man that's in the side that's in goes out, and when he's out he comes in and the next man goes in until he's out. When they are all out, the side that's out comes in and the side that's been in goes out and tries to get those coming in, out. Sometimes you get men still in and not out.
When a man goes out to go in, the men who are out try to get him out, and when he is out he goes in and the next man in goes out and goes in. There are two men called umpires who stay out all the time and they decide when the men who are in are out. When both sides have been in and all the men have been out, and both sides have been out twice after all the men have been in, including those who are not out, that is the end of the game.
All I can add is that in the modern game there is a third umpire who is always in but who tells the umpires who are out whether or not the man they are trying to decide is in or out actually is in or out.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 14:33 BST
Bad sign for the Ashes
93-6 off 28 overs.
Only Pieterson left as a recognised batsman. It's going to an absolute first rate kicking. I don't have access to the game on TV so all I can hope for is that the pitch is to blame for this sorry performance and that the Aussies will suffer similarly -- I somehow can't see that happening though.
We need to start asking some questions about the top order.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 12:55 BST
A furriner's guide to cricket
I appreciate that most of my good chums over The Pond will have no idea about the grace, elegance and superiority of cricket so I thought I would provide you with a few guidelines to ease you into its fold.
Scoring and Wickets
How a batsman scores runs is beyond the scope of this document. The important thing is to understand the scores as reported. In England we would say that England are 128-2 which is translated as 128 runs for the loss of two wickets (ie two men are out.) In Australia, they transpose the reporting mechanism and report 2 for 128 (2-128) -- which worries the English as we can never tell whether we are doing phenomenally well or law-breakingly badly.
Innings and Match Style
Before I start, an over is six balls. In Yank, that would be six pitches.
One day games usually mean each side bats for 50 overs and whoever scores the most runs wins. In some cases they may not bat the whole 50 overs -- ie if the whole side is bowled out.
In test matches (which are scheduled to last 5 days), there is no limit to the number of overs. Each side bats twice until they are all out. The two totals are added together and whoever has the most runs wins.
Howzat?
There are many ways of losing a wicket (being out). If the ball hits the wickets and the bails fall off, you would be out. You can be caught out, run out, stumped and finally there is the infamous LBW.
LBW stands for leg before wicket in which a player stops a ball deemed by the umpire to be heading towards the stumps with his pad, while not offering a stroke. I think it is fair to say that as a johnny foreigner, you will *never* understand this law. It makes the offside rule in football look like child's play.
For example, if a right-handed leg spinner were to bowl to a right handed batsman and the ball pitches outside the leg stump and turns back towards the stump but is stopped from hitting it by the batsman's pads, he would invariably be judged "not out" since the ball pitched outside the line of the stumps. However if a right handed medium pace bowler bowls an in-swinger to a right-handed batsman that pitches outside off stump and heads towards the wicket but is stopped from hitting the wicket, invariably the batsman would be judged out. Shut up. Of course it makes sense.
Field positions
Field positions are a subset of wicket-keeper, slips, gulley, point, third man, mid off, silly mid off, long off, cover point, long on, mid on, silly mid on, square leg, leg slip, deep square leg, fine leg etc etc.
Etiquette
We invented the damn game so we dictate etiquette. When we lose early wickets or perhaps have a famed middle order collapse, you are meant to do similar, not rub our bloody noses in it.
I say all this with a purpose...at this point in time, with the one-day series at one each, the England score at this moment is:
46-2 from 14 overs
Absolutely bloody shite.
Addendum: If ever we needed Kevin Pieterson and Flintoff, today is the day. Come on lads.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 11:50 BST
11th July 2005
Can it be?
Introducing The Waaart.
Wow.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 16:36 BST
Dilemmas
I've just been on Yahoo with the Waaart (who if he doesn't start a blog soon will have one started for him). It struck me that I have a decision to make if I do get this job in Leeds...
Do I
(a) get a flat in Leeds and not bother with a car, or
(b) stay here and get a car in which to commute to Leeds?
I ask the questions. You give the answers. It's kind of like a reality TV show innit?
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 16:03 BST
BNUG hits mainstream media
Our resident cockney sparrow -- I know, he'll hate that for some geographical reason -- has hit what we bloggers fashionably call the MSM. Bravo.
I think the best quote of the lot (sorry BNUG) was this from Tim Worstall (who I think is one of these big league-y type bloggers):
"No grand demonstrations, few warlike chants, a desire for revenge, of course, but the reaction of the average man and woman in the street? Yes, you've tried it, now bugger off. We're not scared, no, you won't change us. Even if we are scared, you can still bugger off."
Classic.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 15:48 BST
Oh, by the way
Honorary degrees suck. What a waste of time.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 12:59 BST
Hello darkness my old friend
Ug.
The signs are not good. In two days time, I will travel to Leeds for a second interview. And I am, as they say in these parts, bricking it already.
I don't know which of my family's genes is responsible for my frequent mental sojourns to dark places but I hate the fecker. As is well documented over the years, I am up and down like a bloody roller-coaster. Of late it has been manageable with just the odd gut wrenching pang of sorrow followed by a very resigned determination that I need to just get over it.
I read what da missus is up to and curse myself for giving in to whatever gene it is for so long. And I know I won't see her or the kids until very late this year. It sucks.
A lot of this morbidity, I'm sure, stems from the fact that my job has always dictated my self-worth. No job equalled no pride. Stupid, I know.
Anyway, having got through the telephone interview on Friday, I have one hurdle left. Unfortunately I know what is riding on that performance now in terms of hard currency, which is why I say I am bricking it. I really must remember to adopt my mad presentation mode persona and not let the big bad genes ruin the best opportunity I have had in two years.
I'm calling in to my old place of employ beforehand to see a few mates so that should lighten the mood somewhat...
The countdown begins.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 12:55 BST
10th July 2005
Grrr
Last night, I had the pleasure of nipping over to Bolton by train to celebrate a very good friend's twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. The famed Dr Power was present with his good lady and a few other people I have worked with over the years. Conners was absent, tsk tsk.
It was approaching 10:30 when I thought I had better order a cab to the station as the last train was due to depart from Bolton to Wigan at precisely 11:16. Taxi ordered, I listened to the speeches. At 10:50 I started to get very nervous (no taxi). At 11:00 I bade my farewells and stood outside. At 11:05 the fecker turned up.
Long story short -- I missed the train by seconds. I could see it disappearing into the distance as I hit platform 4. Gutted. I ended up getting a taxi all the way from Bolton to Wigan which, as you can well imagine, cost me an arm and a leg. Of course, I was that bloody annoyed that, in my infinite wisdom, I decided I would pop into Mad Jack's in Ashton and walk the rest of the way home. 'Twas in there that I met a couple of old mates and the whole of the bar staff from Th'Oddies. A couple of drinkies and my anger/annoyance subsided somewhat.
I am now skinter than a skint thing on St Skint's day. Feck.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 11:02 BST
8th July 2005
Update on employment
Readers who do not suffer from memory loss will recall that I went to an interview in Leeds a couple of weeks ago. Well, things are moving forward. Unfortunately I couldn't make the times for a second interview this week for one reason or another, so I have rescheduled for next week. However this turned out terribly well in that I had the HR portion of the interview by telephone this morning.
I get most wracked with nerves when being interviewed by HR people. I don't know why; it's completely irrational. This morning, I had just finished dealing with a crisis with the old lady next door and waved Die Ubermeister off in the general direction of Wigan when the phone rang.
"Hello Kenny, this is _____ from ______."
Kenny thinks a mo'. Feck, it's the bloody interview. I'd completely forgotten.
Well long story short, this particular company don't have HR people, they have Talent Management. I like them already. I think the interview went OK but then again what do I know? I think I only faltered when it came to discussing money -- we English get very evasive and uncomfortable when it comes to talking salaries. At least I do.
So next week is the biggie and I should know within 5 working days whether I have the position or not. Fingers, toes, 'nads and sundry peripheral limbs crossed...it could be a return to Leeds soon.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 15:34 BST
Tragedy strikes a few miles away
Nothing is worse than having a murder in your own back yard, but when it's a kid, it is even more gutting. Twist Lane is but a 20 minute bus ride from here and about a 5 minute drive from where I grew up.
Poor little thing and poor, poor parents and siblings.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 12:50 BST
Loons come out of the woodwork
George Galloway is at it again. His latest wisdom (sic) is that we should withdraw our troops from Iraq in a Spanish style, bending over and bracing ourselves. I could rant and rave about what an utterly ridiculous suggestion that is but I won't. Instead I will ignore his remarks and just sum it up with how the BBC reported it:
Downing Street declined to comment on Mr Galloway's comments.
'Nuff said. Not even worth commenting on. Once you get so daft, people stop listening.
PS: What Steve said. There ain't no fear and panic anywhere.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 08:45 BST
7th July 2005
Message to terrorists everywhere
The last people you want to piss off are the poor bastards who commute into London. You picked on the wrong bunch there.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 16:52 BST
London crippled
If a power surge is responsible for the tube meltdown, someone needs their arse reamed. How can you design a grid system that would allow a power surge to cause explosions in multiple places? Ridiculous.
Given the reports that a number of bombs have gone off on London buses I would venture to say that the tube explosions are not power related.
Update: this looks pretty bad. It appears that the cell phone network has been switched off to avoid any detonations using the cell infrastructure. Latest reports of 6 explosions, multiple fatalities.
Sad to say but it was only a question of time.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 10:29 BST
6th July 2005
Oh Manchester
Today I have the pleasure of a small trip-let into The Smoke. And when I say The Smoke, I mean Manchester not the Big Smoke which we all know is down South somewhere. I'll be using the much maligned rail service to destinate at Manchester's Oxford Road, whence I will mooch (I said mooch Karen) down to the Stopford Building which houses the medical school. There I will sit for several hours listening to a business plan about an industry I know less than zero about. I think I'll have to be be-suited in order to give off my customary "What the hell were you thinking when you wrote that plan?" vibes.
A suit, of course, necessetates a tie. I have strong opinions on ties which is a shame as I only have a choice of two at the moment. When going into a meeting with one's marketing head on, one should wear something slightly outrageous. I find minimalist-flowery or purple ties are perfect for such occasions as they give off a slight wiff of enthusiasm and creativity. When dealing with arseholes accountants, one should always wear the most boring monotone tie you possess -- the one you reserve for funerals -- and your suit should be IBM blue, black or very dark grey. Pinstripes are out unless you are openly homosexual or Madonna. Seriously though, why is it that women can get away with pinstripes and men can't?
To be honest I have no idea what to expect from the get-together, except maybe terrible University coffee. Sometimes I quite like them that way though, in that you absolutely cannot prepare and therefore go into it with zero preconceptions and a mind that is open. And that helps the creative juices. University coffee helps other processes but I'll let Tina cover those.
Today's tie is purple, oh yes. I may mince a bit too -- it always gives the impression of a solid dependable marketing presence.
I don't have to leave until after luncheon has been served therefore, if I were you, I would expect some further commentary on Steve Gerrard's hokey-cokey-burberry dealings with the Anfield management.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 10:20 BST
5th July 2005
Ouch, I've been meme'd again
Because it's all about me-me and because someone forgot that I spared her a tag on the last meme I did, here you go:
What I was doing ten years ago: Lordy, lordy. July 1995? I have a sneaking suspicion that I may have just transfered from technical support to marketing for SCO. I had no idea that I would be married within twelve months and that it would be over within two years of it starting.
5 years ago: July 2000? Natzoid, Zoe and I came over to England for a holiday. We also took in a couple of nights in gay Paris. Happy times.
1 year ago: I could check my blog to find out exactly what but I think there is a common theme to last year; complete and abject panic as everything that I care for in this world crumbled around me. Not one of my major successes I can guarantee you that.
Yesterday: Not bloody much really. I started off the day very mellow and ended it livid at idiot world leaders.
5 snacks I enjoy: I'm not really a snack kind of guy but using my definition of snack:
Benson and Hedges
Tea
Bacon sandwiches
Croissants
More Benson and Hedges
5 songs I know all the words to: Phew, I know loads but the first ones that spring to mind are...
Wuthering Heights -- Kate Bush
Temple of Love -- Sisters of Mercy
Buenos Aries -- The Macc Lads
The Boxer -- Simon and Garfunkel
Edge of the Deep Green Sea -- The Cure
5 Things I would do with $100 million: If only...
Buy my grandmother her own house.
Trust funds of $1m each for Sam, Lori, Zoe, Nic.
Bribe N to move over to the UK
Buy a house in IL
Buy a house in by Lake Garda in Italy
5 locations I would like to run away to:
North Carolina
San Diego
Taipei
Singapore
Llandudno
5 bad habits I have:
Smoking
Drinking
Opening my mouth before engaging my brain
Hitting refresh
Fried food
5 things I like doing:
Pootling around the internet
Watching or playing cricket
Watching or playing football
Winding up Liverpool fans
Mercilessly ripping the piss out of Michael "Donkey" Owen
5 things I would never wear:
Flares
Leopard skin anything
Lame anything (is that you how you spell lame? lamme? llame?)
Lycra cycling shorts
High heels
5 TV shows I like:
CSI
Murphy's Law
Anything with Vic and Bob
Chancer
Law and Order SVU
5 Biggest joys of the moment:
My laptop
My snooker cue
Th'Oddies for its sanity and sanctuary
My mates in York
English smoked bacon
5 Favorite toys:
My laptop
My snooker cue
Hmm, I appear to have run out of possessions.
5 Next victims:
I'll spare you all - that is a long one!
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 14:52 BST
El Steve on his way to La Liga?
Having turned down a £32m offer for Stevie Gerrard from Chelsea, all eyes are now on Real Madrid...
Yatescentral was lucky enough to scoop a photo of Stevie on the phone with his agent. He's modeling the latest Motorola AtomGSM 999i phone which retails for £21k and boasts being the world's first non-existant cell phone. It is alleged by Moto himself to have twin-overhead sumps and a fuel-efficiency of 80 miles per gallon. It does come in a very nice box though.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 12:19 BST
Damn that publish button
Every now and again, something incenses me so much that I rattle off a post on the subject. Usually, I'm quite good at editing myself and I typically leave controversial posts unpublished for a while thereby giving me some time calm the hell down. Unfortunately last night I hit the publish button. So I feel I should apologise to those of you that might have stumbled upon a tirade of Fs and Ts, aimed at George W President. For those of you who didn't see ITN's interview with the lump leader of the free world, you have no idea what an offensive stream of self-absorbed rhetoric spewed from our screens and have even less idea how bloody angry it made me. I think it was the first time I have ever inadvertently shouted F-off at the TV in front of my aging grandmother. She was none too pleased.
So, mea culpa. I'm a nice boy really.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 10:44 BST
4th July 2005
Oi, Jacques...
The only thing they (the English) have ever done for European agriculture is mad cow disease
-- Jacques Chirac
Go read what that most sagacious of European leaders had to say.
In response Jacques, I have two fingers stuck up in a South-Easterly direction. Can you guess which two?
And no post on the clown-head of Europe would be complete without me typing cheese-eating surrender monkeys, onion draped handlebar moustaches and poor personal hygeine. Would it?
It brings to mind a joke my brother told me last weekend...French tanks have five gears; four reverse gears and one forward just in case they get attacked from behind.
I've a good mind to pop up to Edinburgh and whisper some words about WMDs into George and Tony's shell-likes.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 17:02 BST
Pictorial evidence
Proof positive that having a great camera does not in itself guarantee a quality photo:
I think I have a civil case against Karen for sexual harassment.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 12:34 BST
Weekend redux
I finally escaped the hell that is Wigan for a few hours this weekend. The train journeys themselves merit a book, but we all know I'm far too lazy to do that.
Friday nights are absolutely the worst time to travel on the British rail network. I arrived in Wigan at about 4:45 on Friday evening. Having a half hour to kill, I called in the pub just to the left as you come out of Wallgate. It was like going back in time fifty years. I swear my cell phone noticed the time warp and refused to work in protest. It was the most fascinating pint I have had in a long time and I have no idea why. It was an unfriendly place with dog-rough patrons barking at each other. I don't know what has happened in the past few months, but I appear to have lost my formerly over-keen sense of fear. I sat with my over-priced pint and sudden ridiculous courage and watched it all with an internal smile. I played the game too. The odious git sat next to me at the bar who didn't appear to understand the concept of queueing got a few sharp words and several sharp looks; he left. Kenny 1 - 0 The Rest.
I arrived in Manchester too late to catch the train I had been shooting for. Platform 3 hosted several million people who were all waiting for the Trans-pennine service. I waited with them. Until the train pulled up -- two carriages for the masses of teeming people. "Sod this" thought I and let the poor desperate souls cram themselves on to the woefully inadequate coaches. The next train was only thirty minutes away and who knows, it might be slightly bigger. I trundled out of Picadilly and into the Brunswick where I bumped into two Swedish guys who had come over to watch Oasis; they had spent the day trying to find the town where Oasis were brought up. Thankfully (for their own good) they had failed.
I finally got the train up to York where I broke into the Henderson's house and helped myself to a drink.
Saturday, of course, was Live 8. I know there are a multitude of cynics who regard the whole thing as a chronic waste but I am not ashamed to say that I loved every second of it. Well, except for Robbie Williams behaving like the complete and utter twat that he is. I know some people are not her biggest fans, but I thought Dido was fantastic. I have always liked her stuff, but now I am completely smitten with her. I know, middle age crisis. What can you do? It must be hormonal.
Before you knew it, Saturday had gone and Sunday was ever-present. The trip from York to Manchester was uneventful. However once I hit Manchester, all that changed. I had a full hour to wait for a train to Wigan so thought I would default to heading to the Brunswick to say hello to my favorite bar-people there. Erm, no. Apparently Oasis were playing again last night. Manchester was heaving with chavs. Middle-aged men in Oasis T-shirts, burberry clad femmes and kids fueled by blue wicked. It was hell on earth. The Brunswick was packed - wall to wall amateur booze-hounds. I left and headed down to what I presumed would be the relative sanctuary of the Chop House on Cross Street. That too was chock full. I meandered back to Picadilly where I watched as the British Transport police forcibly ejected a traveller from the Wales train for having thrown a bottle at a fellow passenger. The great British public at its most magnificent (sic).
The train to Wigan (when it finally left) was packed full of dunderheads too (there must have been a festival for them or something). I sat next to a bloke who I later discovered was another Kenny. We got chatting, lamenting the state of the world. It turned out that he was heading in the direction of Ashton so gave me a lift home. Result.
I called into the Bowling Club where I met up with Ste and Leslie for a quick drink and then it was off home to ten hours of blissful sleep.
What a great weekend. Travel tales, good friends, good drinks - you cannot pay for entertainment like that. I'm off to google the Dido Seven Seconds track - it must be on the web by now.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 11:52 BST
2nd July 2005
Forgive us, we know not what we do
I've just been around to the Wart's domicile. He's trying to get some fancy digital TV tuner hooked up to his PC so he can (get this for sad) record Star Trek to his hard-drive and burn it onto DVDs. The Gods being as they are (fair and just), it isn't working.
That's the good news.
The bad news is that he has found some free mixing software. You know what's coming don't you? Yup. Thought so. Soon there will be a dance remix of Photographic. My ears are bleeding already.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 13:29 BST
1st July 2005
The YC in DTH
What that is meant to convey is that I (the YC) am off to scope out the lie of the land/stage/stadium in downtown Haxby (DTH) in preparation for the concert by the pond (I will need to borrow a camera to excite to you to fever pitch). That is kind of a prosaic bunch of nonsense that means I'm off to York for the weekend. I am so out of Wigan, it's not even funny.
Karen is threatening dirty vimto again (for those that want the recipe -- I was number one on google for dirty vimto -- it's port and blue wicked) and has also volunteered me as some sort of agony-uncle on her blog. I'll put the disclaimer here; if you are daft enough to believe anything I say, let alone act on it, you want your bumps felt.
I cannot wait to be on a train, crossworded and sudoku'd up to my ears watching the miles disappear. I'm thinking I'll be back Sunday but what the hell, it might be Monday. That's just how fly we are here. And, as my missus once said, I am pretty fly for a white guy; she maintains that it was said in jest whereas I know that she meant it.
May your teabags be forever PG Tips Pyramids.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 12:09 BST
The Empire Strikes Back
Attention Johnny Foreigner
Heh, heh. Is it a coincidence that the UK now has the presidency of the EU and the G8?
I think not suckers...
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 08:25 BST
