Shocking

Blimey – this is getting to be a really weird week. Not only did I have TWO decent train journeys with no hassles and no delays, but today I had to deal with O2‘s customer services – and even that went well.

Because I’m off to Iceland the weekend after next, I thought I’d best get the International Call Barring lifted, and also take advantage of sorting out a scheme they do for discounted calls and texts, just so I can make calls should I wish to (and for some reason I suspect I will be making at least a couple of calls…) without having to take out a bank-loan to cover the costs. Anyway, having called them, the entire thing was done and dusted in – get this – three minutes. Yes, 180 seconds, including verifying security details, checking the account, lifting the barring, signing up with the discounted programme, and all done and dusted. Colour me impressed…

Work Standardisation

*sigh* I think I’m becoming a “proper” council worker.

Ten days ago, I got given a load of stuff to do for one section of the council’s website. They’re soon to be going through some kind of assessment exercise called a CPA (don’t ask, I can’t remember) so the website needed to be up to date with the information by 1st September.

Because work’s so dull, I’ve been doing odds and sods of the work over the last ten days, and then finished it off today. All told, it’s taken far less than one working day to complete. According to Stinky® it should have taken all ten days…

Pride

You know, here’s something odd. In the five years I’ve lived in Manchester, I’ve only seen anything of the Manchester Pride festival once. Every other year I’ve been away for the Bank Holiday weekend.

Two years ago I was down at the parent’s place, and last year I was in Cornwall and Bristol. This year, I was in Middlesbrough. Next year, I won’t be around Manchester either, but that’s likely because by then I won’t be living here/there any more. Still, one year out of five isn’t too bad, is it?

Rude Girls – BBC2 last night

Unfortunately, I can’t find any valid links to the BBC2 documentary last night, “Rude Girls”. It wasn’t an easy view – based around a selection of girls who’ve formed “gangs” or “crews” (and with no interest in the origination of “crew” as an Egyptian term “Krewe” – but then, I’m a sad old bobble-hat at the best of times) and their lives. Mainly based around London, the documentary followed them in their lives over what appeared to be a six-month period. (I missed the first twenty minutes, I confess)

Obviously there was some element of “showing off” for the camera, which was always going to happen. But at the same time, some parts obviously weren’t. Personally, I found the entire thing really quite saddening, and even though several of the people in it were blatantly “chav” to the core, a lot of it was more than that, and there was a huge element of both attention-seeking behaviour, and ineloquent screams amounting to “get me out of this situation – I want out, but don’t know how to do it”. The majority of the girls shown self-harmed, although probably the saddest (to me) one was the girl who would verbally abuse the local Jewish community, and was almost encouraged by her mother to do so. You could so clearly see the generational influence. The scene where the girl screamed at one woman who’d nearly speared her with an umbrella (And, in fairness, I can empathise on that issue) and her mother tried being superior with the phrase

“Are you proud of yourself? Screaming at someone who’d just been careless wiv an umbrella? Made you feel better, did it? You shouldn’t yell at people for doing that – you should’ve taken her umbrella off her and broke it”

– nice, right ’til that final sentence. Instead of yelling abuse, you should have just nicked it and broken it. Now there’s good advice.

All in all, a very sad documentary – but definitely something that should be watched if it’s repeated.

High Street

And another bunch of rocket scientists have claimed that many Town Centres are now clones of each other. This really is no surprise – Britain’s become obsessed with branding, and with labels. As such, we now have what is effectively a branded society, one where (so the companies would have you believe)people are happy t be able to go anywhere and know what they want, and where to get it.

Macdonalds was always one of the biggest proponents of this method, meaning that in theory a Big Mac will always be made to the same formula,and taste the same whether you’re in Manchester or Market Harborough, London or Liverpool. Pub chains and fast food places ran with the theory, and then the clothing stores picked up on it too. And it’s all lead us to this point where every High Street and shopping centre look much the same. What will change it? Who knows- other than preferring to shop in the independents, rather than the chains.

Travelling

Hold on to your hats – this one’s a shocker. I travelled this morning by train from Manchester to Middlesbrough. And it was OK. Yes, it was OK. Told you it was a shocker.

I’d expected it to be a nightmare, with having to deal with people going to the Leeds festival, and Bank Holiday travel arrangements and track maintenance. But no, straight on to the train – on time. Grab a seat at a table, fire up the laptop, leave on time, the train was fairly busy, but no hassles. People on and off smoothly. At York it got busy, as it turned out that Crystal Palace were playing Middlesbrough. But still not ridiculous, or rigid. Most unnatural. And got in to Middlesbrough relaxed, unstressed, in sunshine and good health.

Most unnatural.

Geeky/Non-Geeky

About a week ago, I posted a thing about POV-ray, and was accused from a certain nameless source of being way too geeky for my own good, and that perhaps sometimes I should then explain for non-geeky readers just what it is I’m waffling on about.

As such, I’m going to experiment a bit with it, and when I do write about something techie, I’ll post two versions. Just thought I’d explain that, for anyone who wonders what the fuck I’m playing at…

Vile

“Those of a nervous disposition may wish to look away now”

Those with a dubious, vile, bodily-function-based sense of humour should instead head for this week’s Scaryduck story. I’ve just about broken a rib trying hard not to laugh out loud while at work. This is why the man won the Grauniad competition last year.

But yes, if you’re sensitive (or prone to uncontrollable giggling at certain levels of primary-school humour) don’t click that link. You’ve been encouraged warned.

Porn

Having read this story about 16 civil servants being sacked for accessing porn, I find myself wondering (yet again) what on earth makes people want to look at porn in the office? I completely fail to understand this idea, let alone wanting to do it.

I’m sorry, but if you’re going to insist on looking at porn, you do it at home. Not at work. And what on earth makes them think they won’t get caught, accessing it over a work network? Of all the ways to get yourself sacked rapidly. Maybe that’s why they do it. I just don’t understand it – would these people be so blasé about reading a porn magazine in work? Is it the porn, or the fact it’s on the computer?

I don’t know – it’s just one of those human facets that is completely beyond me.

Bah Fucking Humbug

<Victor_Meldrew>I just don’t believe it</Victor_Meldrew>

I’ve just received an email from work. Telling me about – wait for it – the fucking Christmas Do. In case it’s slipped their attention span, it’s flabbing August. There’s still four keffing months to go. (UPDATED : I’ve just counted – it’s still 17 weeks ’til Christmas) But no, it’s time to start thinking about fucking Christmas.

Of course, now that school holidays are over, it won’t be long ’til we get the Halloween shit in the shops, and it won’t be long before the first Christmas cards are on the shelves, waiting for those anally-retentive super-organised freaks who’ll have everything done by the start of September.

But Jesus H. Christ on a warped pine broomstick, I really can’t believe that they’re trying to organise Christmas Lunches already. I’m off to breathe into a brown paper bag for a few minutes…

Epic complaint

Thanks to Mr Teacher for pointing out Graham Pond’s complaint letter to the rail companies, which also included this sensational response.

Dear Mr Pond

Thank you for your email. If you are dissatisfied with London Underground’s services I suggest that you avoid using them. Perhaps you may consider also a stress management course.

Yours sincerely

Just read it – it’s superb.

Outage

Yes, d4d™ was unavailable for a few hours last night. My apologies for it, but it was a problem with 34sp themselves, rather than d4d™, or any other sites they host.

Nowt I could do, and they’ve brought everything back up as fast as they could. Fair play, these things happen.

NY-LON, Channel 4

So, the silly season of TV seems to be coming to a close (another big clue is BBC’s Casualty coming to a season finale at long last) and with the close of doors at the Big Brother House, Channel 4 has been launching some new dramas. (Although not Season Four of West Wing, for some reason known only to themselves. Luckily it’s only a month ’til the DVD release.)

One of those new dramas started last night, NY-LON, a tale of trans-atlantic love. (Be still my heaving stomach) Obviously with the way things are chez Lyle, a drama about long-distance relationships was always going to hit home to a degree, although thank Christ I don’t have to deal with trans-atlantic distances/prices. £55 train tickets are a lot easier on the wallet than flights to the US. (Stuart has my sympathies on that score) Anyway, the first episode was OK – not instantaneously gripping in the way some dramas have been (particularly Queer as Folk, West Wing, and the like) but I’ll still see how it goes over the next couple of episodes.

However, I did find that the gimmick of having a “split-screen” and flipping backwards and forwards in time was something that made it harder to concentrate on the storyline. Luckily I recorded it as well as watched, so it’ll probably bear a second viewing to pick up on bits I missed first time around. In fact, I’d possibly suggest that watching it on video/DVD would be a better bet, and would allow for the pause and rewind that perhaps this type of drama requires.

However, in general it’s so far OK as drama goes, and I’ll stick with it for the moment.

Upgrading

Well, I’ve found one of the contenders on the “next camera” list. One other one hasn’t been released yet, the Fuji S3, but Canon have just released the EOS 20d. Both are digital SLRs, which I know is going to be the next level up (and will require a shedload more technical knowledge, I suspect) and really it’s likely to be a toss-up between them, with a bit of an outside chance coming from the new Minolta Dimage Digital SLR.

Now I just need a spare £1500 or so…

Bob Marley’s Doughnuts

New Weebl and Bob – surreal, but fun.

Sherlock, Shit, No.

According to the Guardian today, scientists in the US have “discovered” a link between sugary drinks and obesity and diabetes. Surely this really isn’t rocket science?

A single can may contain 40 to 50g of sugar. Somebody who drinks one can a day could put on 15lb over a year, [Caroline Apovian (a US nutrition expert)] writes. She advises doctors in the US to tell their overweight patients to cut down.

© Guardian Newspapers 2004

It’s an interesting article, but at the end of the day it really doesn’t reveal anything that anyone with half a braincell didn’t know already – sugary drinks = lots of calories. A simple equation that seems to have bypassed a whole bunch of people.

Soggy

Last night, it took me two hours to get home – it normally takes about 45 minutes. The roads were solid with traffic, and the entire thing was a nightmare. It turns out that it’s because two sections of the M60 around Manchester were flooded and so all traffic was diverted off the motorway.

The M60 has been a nightmare for this since it’s completion a couple of years back. For a city as legendarily rainy as Manchester, you’d think that the Highways Agency would have installed decent drainage on it, wouldn’t you? Apparently not – the entire section around South and East Manchester has permanent signs now about “Road liable to flooding”. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’d have thought that the road you’d least like to see flooded and with standing water all over it would be a motorway. *Sigh*

Stupidity knows no bounds

Sometimes you really have to wonder about some people. Not content with reading a porn mag while on a plane (there’s a mental image there that I really don’t want in my head), this knobber found a photo he didn’t like, and decided to burn it. While still on the plane.

Not just stupid and dangerous, but a bigoted prick too – the photo he objected to was inter-racial. I’m amazed that the pointy white hood with eyeholes (assuming he was smart enough to remember to make them) didn’t alert the flight-staff to this man’s issues.

“My view is that a prison sentence is not appropriate but a degree of supervision is required.

“These offences are regarded as very serious and many judges would send him to prison – I want the public safety ensured.”

Judge Richard Hayward

So many judges would jail the twat, but of course this one won’t? Wanker. Words fail.

EDITED : OK, as Dragon pointed out (and yes, I’d missed this point) the man also suffers from a degree of schizophrenia, and yes, that does provide enough extra circumstances that jail isn’t appropriate. As the judge also says, “I am concerned about his lack of understanding about the danger he posed.” Mea Culpa, I should’ve read the article more closely.

Official Complaint

Regular readers will know that I have occasionally cast aspertions about work’s Head of PR, and his suitability for any the job. This is primarily because the man’s a shit-for-brains mental dwarf – an attitude held not just by myself but by many others within the council. However, due to being a) a contractor, and b) not overly well-versed in the black arts of subtlety, it’s been observed that in emails and communication with him, the words “You utter fuckhead” have been silently (but noticeably) added to a lot of sentences and explanations.

It turns out that The Arsehole has now complained about my attitude to the IT Director, along with the added complaint that he believes it is because he is From An Ethnic Minority (Capitalisation, Complainant’s Own).

I’ve been called into the IT Director’s office today to talk about this, and the Head of PR was there too. Oh joy, oh happiness.

  “[The Arsehole] has alleged that you have a derogatory and unpleasant attitude towards him, and has also alleged it’s because of his Ethnic Background” (I’m paraphrasing ten minutes of conversation there)
  “I had no idea of his skin colour. My attitude towards [The Arsehole] is based entirely on the fact he’s an incompetent twat. I’d never seen him until today.”
  “Oh.“

Meeting Ends. No action will be taken.

Bollocks

Bloody Blogger. I swear that on occasion it’s the most tempramental piece of crap known to man. I’ve just managed to multi-post the same thing five times – purely because each time I clicked “Publish” Blogger did precisely fuck-all, so like a ‘nad I assumed it hadn’t done anything. (A feasible logical process) But no, it’d published, it just hadn’t loaded up the “publishing” screen.

Note to Self : Sort out WordPress. Pronto.

Manky

Scaryduck wants to know – what’s the mankiest thing you’ve ever done in a workplace?

I suspect there’ll be a lot of bodily functions in the comments…

Impressive

Words fail me.

It should be “37 year old”, if anyone’s interested.

Prepared for Emergency

This morning I finally received my booklet on “what to do in an emergency“. Having read it thoroughly flicked through it at random, it looks like the parody website actually contains more useful information. I haven’t got it with me, so expect more about this once I get home this evening, but the basics seem to involve “if in doubt, call 999” and “don’t worry, the government has a plan, even if that plan is only to send out these booklets“

Even better, considering the probabilities for each type of occurrence, flooding hasn’t been mentioned at all. Twadges.

Monday, Monday

I swear, weekends would be better if they lasted longer.

In fairness, I’ve had one of the best lazy weekends in ages – yes, I’ve still been out and about, but there’s also been a fairly large amount of doing what the textbooks would describe as “fuck-all”. And it’s been great.

And now it’s back to work, where we’ve finally got in the representatives from the Content Management System we’ve decided to buy. It’s all starting – and only fifteen months after it was supposed to happen. Quite impressive.

What’s more impressive (well, that’s one word for it) is that Stinky® is very obviously stressing and nervous, as a result of which he’s sweating more than usual. I do feel sorry for the reps, they’re in a confined room with him at the moment, thrashing out timetables and details.

Urbis

Out with the camera again today in Manchester, and I took the opportunity to go inside Urbis, using the entrance to the Le Mont restaurant. I’d been inside once before on a flying visit, and this was the first time I’d been in since when the weather was decent and the lighting made it worthwhile to take photos. At the time, I was struck by how much the curves were accentuated by being inside – a feeling that was repeated today.

Anti-Social

Possibly the best headline of the day. I wonder what anti-social powers they’re using? A lack of deodourant/deodorant (whichever) for crowd-control purposes?

Aaaargh

Ooops. Munch’s ‘The Scream’ has been stolen from the Munch museum by armed robbers in front of a crowd of people. Apparently they just pulled the painting off the wall – it was only held on by a wire.

I suspect that the curators may be screaming too.

Olympian

OK, yesterday was a superb day for British sport with five golds at the olympics, but even so, I would have to say that our most spectacular achievement has definitely not received the publicity he deserves.

In the 1500m freestyle, David Davies ‘only’ got bronze, so his race was hardly mentioned in the news. However, this man broke his personal best by twelve seconds, the UK record by ten seconds, and the European record by 5 seconds. He’s become the fourth fastest man in the world over this distance, one of only five to break 14m 50secs at this distance. Yet he’s hardly been mentioned – I suspect because it was a piss-poor day to win a bronze. To me, Davies’ achievement knocks all the others into the dirt – to some extent they’ve all been expected to do well, but a British swimmer? Never going to be a chance, obviously – yet we’ve won two bronze medals in a forum dominated by the US and Australia, and smashed records in the process.

“I said to my coach beforehand ‘If I drop dead during the race just come and fish me out’.

“I wanted to give it my all and I gave it everything.”

David Davies after the race

And that’s an attitude that should be celebrated.

Unnatural

God, this is strange – I’m actually having a weekend in Manchester, with nothing planned, no travelling, no people staying, and not much that needs doing. How ace is that? By my reckoning, this is only my fourth free weekend this year, and only about the sixth in the last twelve months, so I’m going to be concentrating mainly on doing fuck all.

Well, once my bloody landlords have come round and done their property inspection. They’re only half an hour late so far. Tossers.

Dripping

Fucking hell, it’s wet. Here in Manchester, we’ve already had 100mm of rain, as opposed to the normal average of 82mm and it’s still raining. I know people say it always rains here (and I have to say, on most occasions I wouldn’t argue with that concept) but at the moment it seems even wetter than usual.

Still, at least it seems to be country-wide for the moment. The landslips in Scotland and of course the damage in Boscastle have gone to show that Nature can still screw up the best laid plans of Man, and that’s fine. Of course, wasn’t El Presidente Blair saying something earlier this year about reducing the number of helicopter rescue stations, as they weren’t something we really needed for the most part? Let’s hope that plan is now filed under “Idea, Fucking Stupid” as it should have been at the start.

Graphical Geekery

There’s a graphics tool known as POV-Ray, which is one of those things I’ve never yet managed to get my head round. However, this month is its tenth birthday, and as a result, there’s a competition going on to produce some winning artwork through POV-Ray. More interesting is the Hall Of Fame, with some stunning pieces to come out of it. Personally, I’ve got a definite favourite, although loads of the others are fantastic too, and way beyond anything I could even dream of coming up with. All due respect.

As requested by a certain important person :
Non-Geeky Phrasing : Look at the pretty pictures.

English as she is spoke.

As part of our wonderful immigration rules, all migrants wanting British passports must prove sufficient English knowledge, the easiest means to which is gaining an English for Speakers of Other Languages certificate. However, if they speak English as a first language, they can’t get that certificate, and must instead have a written confirmation from a “designated person”. Yet until at least September 1st, the Home Office don’t even know what fulfils the requirements of a “designated person”.

As a result, Australians, New Zealanders, and many others are being refused passports as they can’t prove that they speak English. How bizarre is that?

(Of course, it also means Americans fail the test, but well, clouds and silver linings.)

In touch with reality

“Hello IT, Stinky’s phone.“
“Oh, is Stinky not there?“
“No, he’s not in yet. Can I take a message for him?“
“Oh, OK. Well, is he expected in today?“
“Yes, he’ll be in later, he’s just not here yet.“
“Well, can you tell me when he’s going to arrive?“
“Hang on one moment, I’ll just send a telepathic message to him and try to find out where he is and what time he’ll get in“
“Ah, that was a bit of a silly question, wasn’t it?“
“Yes“

“Lifelike”

According to the BBC, Madame Tussauds in London has created an effigy of Brad Pitt with “strokeable” chest and “squeezeable” buttocks made from silicone. Frankly, yick.

Visitors are invited to feel his chest, which the attraction says is “springy” and lifelike, in the updated figure – as well as the “popular” squeezy rear.

That’s just vile – and if it’s anything like other items made of “realistic” skin, then basically it’ll just feel like squidgy rubber. I’ve always found the idea of waxworks and effigies kind of weird anyway, but to now have something where sad gullible gimps go and “touch” their favourite stars, or (I guess) have photos taken next to the effigy or whatever, well, that just makes the entire thing even less appealing.

Whatever floats your boat, I suppose.

Hallelujah

Over the last two years I’ve pissed and moaned on various occasions about Virgin Trains, the lack of seating on prime-time trains, airconditioning that doesn’t work when it gets warm, the fact there’s regularly only one working toilet for a train of 600+ people, and a range of other screw-ups. Well, ring the bells and sing praise to God/Branson in the highest, it looks like they’re finally paying attention and doing something about it. My flabber has rarely been so gasted. Bet the prices go up though.

Wanky Sig

One of my “colleagues” here is supposedly in charge of making sure we have as much information as possible about the services of his department. His email signature is “Inform, Influence, and Innovate” followed by his contact details.

I’m sorry, but how pretentious?

Alternative Trains

On the BBC today, there’s a story about a commuter who’s decided that the service offered is crap so he’s trying to run his own trains. Of course, First Great Western aren’t overly amused by the entire thing, but there we go, if they offered a decent (and on-time) service, then they wouldn’t be getting people who want to provide a competitive and cheaper service.

Geeky

Hmm, now there’s something I didn’t know. If you do a search in Google for, say “link:https://www.dummies-for-destruction.co.uk/random.html” then you get a list of all the sites/posts that link to (in this case) d4d™. I didn’t know google did that – it’s very clever, isn’t it?

Additionally, I come up in the top 20 on Google for “why neighbours are cunts” and in the top 50 for “purchase kids dummies“. And AOL, God love it, has me listed under “personal stereo headsets for hard hats“. And yes, still in the top ten for “‘st george and dragon’ wargrave“. Mission successful.

Grouchy

We had a fantastic thunderstorm last night. Nothing like certain parts of Cornwall, of course. (And on a tangent, how odd that it should happen on the anniversary of the disastrous Lynton/Lynmouth flood 52 years ago)

But it was much needed – although I really need to go out and remove some weedery from the front garden as it’s going like it’s on growth hormones at the moment. Joy.

However, it still didn’t break the humidity and air last night, so it was back to the second shitty night on the trot. This morning I am not in a good mood. I think I should be renamed Oscar.

Desperation

via Greenfairy, I couldn’t help clicking on MarryBlaire.com – a site by an American woman (no shockers so far) who has decided that she wants/has to be engaged by the end of this year, and who is looking for her husband online.

Words fail me. I really want to think “well, that’s one way to do it, I guess”, but instead it’s more “Ye Gods, talk about desperate”. She also keeps people updated via a blog. Cynicism overload.

Andrew Craig

Hmm, interesting. Looking back through my Haloscan comments, I came across two from someone called Andrew Craig, who obviously wasn’t brave enough to leave an email or web address. Neither of his comments was particularly relevant, nor even overly civil – and it leaves me wondering if I should exercise censorship and just delete them, or let them stay as a shining example of why some people shouldn’t be allowed near computers.

Coming Back

There’s always one real problem with being away from work, or going on holiday – and that can be summed up in the word “Backlog”. When I got (eventually) got home last night, the week’s email count (including spam) was just over 1,000 items. Thankfully SpamBayes had taken care of most of it, but there were still some 150-ish items waiting to be deleted read. Coming into work and firing up the email resulted in slightly less spam, but still another 100⁺ emails to wade through.

In fact, perhaps I should take a week off more often. It actually looks like I might have something to do today. I don’t know if my system can handle the shock…

Back to Normality

Well, the week’s break was great – the return to work is less so. Ah well.

Grease

There’s one vile thing about public transport (OK, there’s more than one vile thing, but bear with me on this), and todays trains have had some spectacular examples of it. Hair-grease.

Trying to look through the windows today (Not quite sure why, as it’s been primarily grey and raining) they’ve been obscured by a miasma of hair-grease where some bunch of soap-dodging fuckbats have rested against the glass. It’s not just smeary – that would be bad enough – it’s the little lumps of skin and residual hair-strands that really top it off. And so many times you can see the different patches where individuals have rested – one on top of the others.

Layers of greasy hair, strata of smeg. Follicles, oil, all sorts of shite. And you just know that if you tried wiping the window it’d smear even worse, and leave your fingertips just feeling yick. Nasty in SO many ways.

You guessed it

In a fit of epic logic, there are no direct Reading to Manchester trains between 1405 and 1805. All morning they run on at least an hourly basis, and then in the evening they run half-hourly. But at the time when people are likely to be travelling, in the late afternoon, nope, they fuck up and don’t run at all – every traveller to Manchester has to change trains at either Birmingham or Leeds. (I’m currently undecided which one I’ll change at – we’ll see) It’s a piece of true genius – and when speaking to the twadges at National Rail Enquiries, the excuse given is “well, it’s a Sunday timetable”. Not quite sure how that makes sense, but then, I suppose that expecting our rail service to make sense is deeply naïve, to say the least. Still, naivety has its place, and that generally seems to be in the expectation that things are supposed to make sense at all.

On a similar subject, why is it that so many train passengers keep their bags beside them all the time, taking up an extra seat with their oh-so-precious posessions, particularly when the train’s rigidly busy? There’s racks above the fucking seats, it’s not like you’re leaving stuff at the far end of the carriage where some scrotty little bleeder can search through it, nick it, or whatever. And it’s not even like the bag contains essential sustenance for the journey – it’s just an attitude of “it’s my bag, so it must sit beside me”. Of course, I do tend to pick on people who do it, and ask if that seat’s taken. The sighs and grudging way the bag is moved is enough to amuse me for a while – petty, I know, but there we go. Comedy can be found in many places, so long as you know where to look.

Shorts

Today is a day of tragedy chez D4D™ My – admittedly manky and knackered – shorts have finally died. Thankfully, most d4d readers have never seen this item of “clothing” – but they’ve served faithfully when sleeping in new locations, as well as for relaxing and scumming about in. They’ve been worn while decorating in at least three places, and seen the decor of many more.

While no great advertisement of any attempt at sartorial elegance on my part, they’ve provided great service, and induced despair in many a host. But now they’ve been consigned to the Great Laundry Bin in the Sky (well OK, just the Bin, but they know what I mean) having finally pretty much fallen apart. And while I may miss them, I’m sure no-one else will.

RIP Manky Shorts.

Santa Fe

In comparison to the previous hassles with the St George and Dragon in Wargrave, the Santa Fe (Nasty flash-driven site) is brillig. Decent food, decent price, decent drinks, and shedloads of alcohol. Including Stoli Raspberry, which is always a good thing – as well as lots of other stuff. Wholly recommended, and we’re back there tomorrow, which is even better.

Time flies like an arrow.
Fruit flies like bananas

Blimey, it really doesn’t seem like a week since I set off to Norfolk. But yes, by this time last week I was off on my travels. I’ll be back on a train on Sunday (Lucky Me) then back down here for the August Bank Holiday.

In fact, we’re pretty much organised for the next couple of months worth of weekends in either Bracknell or Manchester (well, every other weekend, pretty much, but there we go) so we must be doing something right. It’s been a fairly lazy week, as in that we haven’t been out to loads of places – but at the same time we’ve managed to get a lot done and sorted out, so in that context it’s been pretty busy.

Returning on Sunday isn’t something I’m particularly looking forward to – but these things have to be done, I suppose.

Birthday Plans

It’s all getting horrendously organised this year. There’s a fantastic organisation called The Landmark Trust who take quirky old buildings, renovate and upgrade them, then let them out as holiday homes. The catalogue costs £9.95, which also helps to build funds for renovating “new” properties – which I regard as well worth the money.

Come November 5th this year, we’ll be going over to Kent, and staying in one of their properties for the weekend. It’s somewhere close to the arse end of nowhere, and looks fantastic. The photos when I come back will be well worthwhile. I’m looking forward to it already.

Round Tuit

Well, having waited what can only be described as “a fucking eternity” for someone to return the Filofax I left at their house at the start of June, I’ve finally decided that some things can’t wait any more, and applied for a replacement driving licence. It’s one of those things I need to get sorted, as train travel is (as regular readers may have noticed) beginning to piss me off on a regular basis, and I’m going to be doing more of it over the rest of this year. (I’m sure it would be easier to end up involved with someone in the same city, but for now well, it’s just not going to happen, is it?) So the sooner I can also sort out the driving stuff, the better it’ll be, particularly with certain other plans that may or may not (but, quite honestly, are more likely than not) happen. Joe Enigmatic strikes back.

Dipping In

I notice that today the water has gone back on at the Diana Memorial Fuck-up Fountain. Of course, now that la Jowell is in charge, there’s a whole new management structure being put in, and the emphasis has moved rapidly from “have fun, paddle, walk in the water” etc. to “sit on the sides and dangle your toes in” – rather an apt metaphor for our own lovely government.

On the news this morning, the old bag was saying that the visitor figures for the fountain had far exceeded their predictions. How did they come up with these original figures? No-one’s saying, but I’m betting it’s of the “Think of a number, treble it, and add two zeros” ilk. In short, no-one had a keffing clue how many people would go and see it, because there was nothing of a similar kind anywhere in the country. So basically it was guess-work. And the guessing was done badly.

The entire concept has been flawed from the start, as I’ve said several times before. No-one at the planning stage said “How are we going to make wet granite non-slippery?” or even “is that really a good idea?” – they just went ahead, and it turned into a farce. Still, better a farce than a media frenzy equivalent to when she popped her clogs, I suppose.

Useful

There are times where I just think that the internet is ace. No other words for it – it’s just ace. This morning, I’ve been able to get this little lot done…

• Check train times for travelling home on Sunday
• Check addresses for car air-con people in Bracknell/Reading
• Check bank balance, and move money from one account to the other
• Order prints of two photos to be sent here, having left the originals at home
• Talk briefly to two friends
• Update d4d™ (slightly self-referential, but there we go)

and

• Pay two outstanding bills

And all without leaving the house. Of course, now I’m going to go out, so I could’ve done most of it anyway, but all the same – well, the internet’s just ace sometimes, isn’t it?

Business as usual

Unsurprisingly, the hits this week have reduced by about 50% due to the spasmodic updates and so on. Of course, that’s still doing fairly well, which is always good.

I must admit, I still find the readership here surprising, both for who reads it and who doesn’t. I’ve got a couple of close friends who ask about whether I’m still writing and so on, but who never read it. And I mean never. It just strikes me as odd – but there we go, what would I know? Perhaps they read it and simply never comment, never let on that they know what’s been happening with me, and keep it all very quiet. But I’m more prone to believe that they simply don’t read it.

Ah well – sorry, it’s just something that’s been on my mind in the last couple of weeks.

Time Out

Christ, take time out and it all starts happening. Not content with More A Way Of Life going from hardcore cynic to loved-up old hippie in 30 seconds flat* , now Kitchentable’s doing the same.

And of course changes are continuing to go on chez D4D™, so there’s a certain little cynical corner of the web that’s going all pink and fluffy. (Not literally, you understand – I’m staying defiantly Yellow for the foreseeable)

Most unnatural. But still pretty great.

Coincidental

Do you ever get the idea that life is trying to batter your brain into submission, that sometimes the sheer synchronicity is proving to be somewhat difficult to avoid?

Life continues apace, and the time I’m spending in Berkshire is going well (we’ll ignore an episode today with the dog being extremely travel-sick) and all’s looking more and more positive by the day. Upon checking my email tonight, I’ve got mail from an agency about a contract doing WAP and WML work for a company in Bracknell. Talk about synchronised.

I’m not going to go for it – in many ways it would move things far more quickly than we’d be happy with, and also I’m still contracted to Oldham ’til somewhere around the end of the year. But it’s one of those things where yes, everything is conceivable all of a sudden.

I’m gibbering a bit, but all the same – well, it’s just interesting the way life goes, sometimes.

D4D™ is Two

The birthday party yesterday went well. 232,000 words, 1,925 posts, and still going strong. The cake in the shape of a Blogger logo was very successful, but a couple of the other little blogs got too excited, and the jelly and ice-cream made a bit of a mess on the carpet.

Pass-the-parcel was very successful, with little presents of USB sticks and more memory being gratefully received. The little bouncy trigger-jigger toy is already broken, but in general it’s been a pleasant little party, and d4d is now happily asleep with dreams of trucks of jelly and ice-cream, and what the next year will bring.

Central Trains

Fuck Central Trains. Fuck them, and their pox-ridden so-called service. They’ve managed something I thought was actually impossible, and provided a train journey that made me think Virgin weren’t so bloody bad after all. I raise my hat to you, you motherfuckers.

First of all, it’s the prices. £55.00 for a single ticket from Manchester to Norwich. Jesus H Christ with a moneylender on a spear. To get to Reading return costs the same amount. Extortion is alive and well and living in Norfolk. Four and a half hours on a train too, thank frig it’s direct.

Well, direct is a bit of a loose term for it, to be honest. Manchester – Sheffield – double back to Chesterfield – then on to Nottingham, Peterborough, Ely, then turn round again and double back to Thetford and Norwich. About as direct as tagliatelle.

It’d all be OK still though. Get to the station, look at the time-table, and it’s on-time. Yay, bonus. In the time it takes me to get down to the platform, that changes from on-time to “Oh bollocks, didn’t we tell you? It’s 30 mins late.” Grrrrr. Turns out there’s no way they didn’t know, because the cunting bastard motherfrumping tosstwadge had been half an hour delayed on the earlier train to Liverpool, so there was no way the bugger was going to get that back. They’re just all lying cunts. No two ways about it.

Anyway, the train finally arrives, and yes, there’s a table seat. Bonus. I can get some work done. Then the oriental horde of horror arrives. A certain lack of personal hygiene pervades the carriage, and then yes, you guessed it, three of ’em decide my table is fair game. Fair enough, it’s a table, and there’s space. However, the concept of personal space appears to be utterly beyond these backpack-wearing fuckheads, and so while the packs get slung in a pile on a spare seat at the back of the carriage (can you say “Luggage space”, central trains, you arse-licking ring-nudging profit-based flangesuckers?) my ribs then end up black and blue due to the introduction of sharp (and sweaty) oriental elbows into my vicinity. Repeatedly, even after a fairly loud “would you watch where you’re sticking that, you idiotic tosser?”.

What a shocker – knowing that the train’s already delayed, and overcrowded to a “Black Hole of Calcutta” level that gets some travellers (OK, Me) muttering about calling out the EU court of Human Rights, the guard doesn’t make an appearance at all. In fact, the only evidence of there being a guard at all was that there were announcements about each station, accompanied by a “sorry for the delays”. Were they sorry? Were they fuckaslike. If they’d been sorry, or even felt any need to inform the rather pissed-off hordes of anything, they’d have let us know just HOW late the bastard thing really was. If you were lucky enough to be in a position to see a monitor at a station with the expected time of arrival versus when it was supposed to have arrived, then you could figure it out – other than that, you were shit out of luck.

The service (if I can call it that) finally arrived in Norwich at 7.15, having been supposed to arrive at 6.10. No word on where we’d lost another 45 fucking minutes, no apology, nothing. Now, where’s the address for Central Trains customer service director? I’ve still got the (unchecked) ticket, I think there’s going to be some orbital letterage going on…

Winner Takes All

Not quite sure how we managed it yesterday, but even after a drive back from Norfolk to Bracknell via a drop-off in Aylesbury, followed by general domestic gubbins, a shop in the Tesco from Hell™, and a degree of lethargy, we still managed to win the local pub quiz last night. 32 out of 40, and five of the incorrect answers were based on stories out of the day’s Scum Sun “newspaper”.

Eight drinks are now ours for free over the next few days. All very worthwhile. But I’m still stunned we won. They must’ve known it was d4d™’s birthday, and been charitable towards us. All the same, woo, and indeed yay.

Away

So, I’ll be in the Reading/Bracknell area for most of next week. Any suggestions on where we should/shouldn’t go?

Anyone suggesting the St George and Dragon in Wargrave will receive a quick slap. (Having just looked, I’m currently 24th in Google for the search ‘“george and dragon” wargrave‘ – I wonder how high up the ratings I can go?)

Please bear in mind that, while all suggestions will be gratefully I received, I may do any, all, none, or some of them. There’s no guarantees at all. If I do, the suggester will be duly noted in anything I write about them. Other than that, well, *shrug*

Trackback

I wish I understood Trackbacks. I just tried linking to Gert’s post on fireworks, and it wouldn’t work. Gah. So much for being a techie.

Right, I’m going to go back to working on databases. I understand them.

Remember, Remember

For various obvious reasons, I’ve always been a fan of fireworks. Well, I have when they’re done properly, and safely. I’m sure Gert feels much the same and will comment too about this (Oh yes, she just has) but I’m glad to see that we’ve finally got some kind of firework curfew to limit “displays” to before 11pm. (with a couple of exceptions, such as New Years’ Eve and Nov 5th)

Another part of the new law makes it illegal for under 18’s to carry fireworks in a public place, which should (with luck) limit some of the scallie little bastards and their autumnal activities. I doubt it though.

To me, this new law actually doesn’t go far enough. I’d still like to see it made illegal to sell fireworks over the counter to the public in general. I’d then like to see the Government redirect the millions they spend each year on firework safety advertising into public government/council-funded displays in every town and city, where they can be enjoyed safely. Of course, it’d also make it far safer for general life, regardless of location, to not have to be worrying about some chavvy little cunt throwing fireworks at/near you, or through letterboxes etc.

Silly Season Slowdown

At last, the Summer Season on TV is beginning to come to a close. How can I tell? Because Big Brother ends tonight. Halle-fucking-lujah. I think I’ve actually managed to see a whole 2 hours of this dross in the seven-ish weeks it’s run, and I still wish I could actually understand what it is that people see in it. I’m sorry, but I just don’t. And what’s the fun in watching people sleep? That’s where I really do just get utterly confuzzed by the entire thing.

Even better, by the time the finale happens, I’ll be ensconsced in Norfolk for a couple of days. Now that’s far more appealing.

Testing

Testing Email Posting

Yes, I’m checking that the Blogger function
known as email posting works OK. It may, it may not. It may look shite.
Nothing would surprise me right now.

*gasp* It actually worked (well, once I’d edited out the guff that work’s email sender shoves on everything. Things are looking up for a semi-lazy week next week after all…

On the changing of plans

Next week, I was supposed to be off work, and having She Who Has Not Yet Been Named up to stay at mine for the week. Going down to Norwich this weekend, meeting up with her at sister’s house, spending the weekend there, then coming back (in a piece of truly Lyle-esque organisation) to Manchester via Buckinghamshire and Berkshire. (Don’t ask – there’s a logic there, but it’s a convoluted one)

Due to the vagaries of pets, animals, and care arrangements thereof, that’s now changed. Still Norwich/Norfolk, still Buckinghamshire and Berkshire, but then no travel back to Manchester. Well, not for a week or so – yes, I’ll be staying in Berks again. Isn’t it lucky I’m not that kind of retentive who plans everything and time-tables it, proving completely unable to deal with the complexities and random guff of modern life?

So next week will be quiet again chez D4D™. I’ll try to keep it fairly well updated, along with the odd dose of weirdness and – perhaps – photos. I’m not going ’til tomorrow lunchtime, so there’ll be guff for the weekend too.

And I may just organise something where people can email posts to here if they want. Who knows, I may be doing the same… *Grin*

Yellow

via Gordon, Nike have launched a Wear Yellow campaign for cancer sufferers, such as Lance Armstrong and the like. It’s an interesting campaign in a lot of ways – I wonder if I’ll now get trademark issues on the use of weapons-grade eye-searing levels of yellow here?

Hmmm, Guestblogging

Well, various people had the idea of turning d4d™ into a free-for-all for a few days. I’m not sure if I want to do that or not – there’s pros and cons, but it does have a fairly large feel of “jumping on the bandwagon” to it.

Of course, I’ve completely failed in the last two weeks to add anything to Uborka’s guest bits, which also slightly jades me to the concept, but then you can look at things like Hyphenated Mike where they go quite well. I don’t know – indecision has struck hard.

So – in the knowledge that it still may not happen – who would be interested in guesting/writing/spouting utter gibberish on here?

Answers in the comments, please.

Tut, Tut

Just when you think that estate agents can’t get any worse (after all, they only exist so lawyers have someone to look down on) along comes a story about one lot who put up “sold” signs on the houses of their directors to make it look like they were selling more properties.

They’ve now been slapped on the wrists, and fined just under £4,000. Best sell another couple of houses – properly this time – in order to pay that off, eh? Nice one, Romans.

No More Snaps

RIP Henri Cartier-Bresson. 95 years old, and he’d been a huge influence on the world of photography, and led an eventful life. The master of images will be sorely missed.

Bad Planning

Arse. I was thinking it’d be really nice (and far too organised) to have the 2,000th post placed on d4d™’s 2nd birthday next Monday. However, having looked at the profile it means I’d have to post 85 things between now and Monday. Frankly, not much fucking chance of that, particularly as I’ll be in “sunny” Norfolk for two of those days.

Still, it was a nice idea while it was there.

Donor

via Terreus, I came across the NHS UK transplant service. I’ve had a donor card previously, although I’m amazingly good at losing the bloody things, so it seemed like a good idea to also register myself with the service online. And I must remember to get another proper donor card too.

Hysteria and Hype

Sometimes, I find stories are utterly unbelievable right from the start, and on occasion it turns out that I’m right to think that way. This week, there was a case in point with the Americans upgrading their security on the basis of information received from a “credible source” about Al Qaeda planning more terrorist action. OK, all well and good, but the entire “credible source” stuff rings dodgy bells, because it really depends on who is being credulous of the entire story, and thus making it credible. In this case, it turned out that the information was actually already four years old. (and thus managed to even predated the 11/9 World Trade Center event) So I suppose it was credible, because it’d already happened.

Of course, now they’re jumping to defend the story, and of course the release of it this week had nothing whatsoever to do with knocking John Kerry off the headlines of every single news paper or programme in the US. No sir, not at all – it’s just coincidence that the story would break just after the Democrat Party convention.

“We do not do politics at the Department of Homeland Security,” Mr Ridge said. “Our job is to identify the threat.”

Aye right – and the current threat to Bush is that Kerry may actually knock him out of power. So that’s OK then.

Woo, Yay

The Scissor Sisters have just announced a new tour (do they ever actually stop?) including a date at Manchester Apollo on Saturday October 23rd. Yup, bigger venues too – should be good.

And yes, I have a ticket. I know, I need to get out more – but this is what happens when I do.

Liberty becomes available

Apparently, the Statue Of Liberty is to re-open. It’s been closed “because of security issues/failings” since Sept 11th 2001 (I must admit, I didn’t even know it’d been closed, so that’s impressive) but there’s been plenty of work going on.

“I think it’s significant that, despite the raising of the alert levels, we are still going ahead with the reopening,” said US Assistant Interior Secretary Craig Manson. “I think it shows the world that liberty cannot be intimidated.”

Absolute arse. Liberty’s been intimidated by the US since 11/9/2001, and it continues to be so. There’s no freedom to travel or visit. Instead Big Brother™ is now watching. I wonder how long it’ll be before someone decides to try an attack on yet another “symbol of america”?

Burning Bright

“Police have no special training on how to deal with tigers,” Durkin said. “Based on this tiger and the last tiger, we may have to incorporate something into our training.”

In fairness, I guess that you don’t really expect to see tigers walking down the street in the middle of New York.

The Fantastic Fountain Fuck-up – Part 3

It just gets better and better. After yesterday’s post regarding cowbag Jowell’s comments, Royal Parks may consider limiting the number of people around the Diana Memorial Fuck-up Fountain. It’s only one option, though, others including “roughening certain areas of the fountain”, or “replacing grass around the edge of the memorial with some form of hard standing to avoid slipping”.

As I said yesterday, this is all the kind of thing that should’ve been addressed in the planning of the idea, not as remedial work once the bastard thing’s been installed. The entire project has been a balls up from the start. What a wonderful memorial, eh?

I must admit, I also find it interesting that Earl “Wankhands” Spencer hasn’t been sticking his oar into this farce and blathering on about how this is disrespectful to Diana’s memory, or somesuch. I wonder when he will do so?

Macros

Over the last couple of months, when I’ve had the opportunity I’ve been getting very into Macro shots. Over the weekend I got a few more that I’m really pleased with, so took the opportunity to put them all on one page.

Braindead

Ooops. While out in the Peak District over the weekend, we came across a windfarm, and I tried taking an .avi movie with the camera of it. Having just looked at it, I realise that having the camera in a vertical orientation means that the windmills now appear to be on their sides. Shit.

The entire .avi looks like this. *Sob*

The Buck Stops Over There

Yes, the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain has been closed for ten days, as people insisted on paddling in it, and then slipped and hurt themselves. But it’s not badly designed, or even just fucking stupid, oh no. According to Tessa Jowell, the gobshite Culture Secretary, it’s the fault of the people using it.

“I don’t think any responsible member of the public would want to see people allowing their dogs in it,” she said.

“How can we maintain the purity of the water if some people allow their dogs to paddle?”

Shouldn’t that kind of thing have been addressed far earlier, perhaps, say, when the bloody thing was being designed?

“Well, we think this fountain will have a nice big watercourse, and allow people complete access to the waterway, and to the land inside it, so we’ll make the entire thing out of smooth concrete that’ll be slippy as shite when wet. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. We’ll put that plan forward, then blame the punters when they slip.”

Or perhaps hospitalising people was the true memorial to Diana? Who knows.

Memory Cards

Over on the BBC, five memory cards have been tested to destruction. Dunked in cola, laundered, boiled, trampled, hammered, and given to a six-year-old boy. Oh, and nailed to a tree. Only the xD and SD cards survived – I’m glad my Fuji camera uses xD!