Christmas recap.

There just aren't enough hours in a day. I finished on the eighteenth and I haven't had a lie in yet.

24th.  I went to collect the tax dodger from Manchester in the morning, had my hair cut in the afternoon, then went home and wrapped pressies for most of the night.

25th.  Spent most of the day eating, then trawled the surrounding area for a duty chemist, Tracy had an allergic reaction to some hair product she had used.

26th.  Had a marathon shopping trip in Carlisle, we both love the sales and I got nice things.

27th.  Opened the shop and it was our busiest day of the year in cash terms, then had Chinese for tea. During the afternoon Tracy was looking for some posters in the back of the shop and found the missing camera. Which was a fucking top bonus and will put an end to all the piss-taking I have been on the end of recently.

28th.  Went to Newcastle. Toys r us are selling console games cheaper than our suppliers can sell them. Fucking national chains, we may as well exploit the situation, as there is no toys r us in Cumbria. While we were there we had a mooch around the Metro centre and had fish and chips from Harry Ramsdens.

I'm absolutely fucked ! I need vodka and sleep in that order.

The man from Japan gets here tomorrow, I don't know whether to tell you about him or not. He's a very secretive international man of mystery.

Merry Christmas.

I don't know what's wrong with everyone. I fucking love sprouts.

The return of the king.

No spoilers.

My arse went numb and the bloke next to me wouldn't stop pawing his girlfriend. It's perhaps as well the film was fucking brilliant.

I've been very busy over the last week or so, and after a bit of a trip out tomorrow I should be able to chill out and spend some time here. I have a new template almost ready to publish. I just need a nice image to go on top.

Update on the poison curry: Our bank statement showed, that not only did they try to poison me, but also they charged us twice for the privilege. Words were exchanged, cash was refunded, business will be taken elsewhere.

The morning after.

You were all correct of course; feeling like shit is the perfect cure for smug twatitis. Unfortunately I haven't been ill because of last nights drinking. I was poisoned by our local curry shop. I didn't really drink that much, no more than normal and certainly well below my limit. No, it was the ruby that did it. Funny thing is, it tastes exactly the same when it's on its way back out. Yes I have been expelling bodily fluids from most of the available points of egress. My ears being the only holes to remain dry.

Apart from the numerous forays to the bathroom, I have spent all day in bed. When Tracy got home I had a bath and I feel a lot better.

This whole sorry episode throws up (no pun intended) a serious problem. The curry shop that tried to do away with me is our local one, and it's fucking good. What are we going to do now ? It means weeks of testing others from the surrounding countryside till we find a decent one. But then we will constantly compare it to "the old curry shop". Hmm, what are we to do ? Make our own ? Fuck off !

I just found out today that the man from Japan is coming to visit us over Christmas, this is ace news because we haven't seen him for a couple of years. I'll tell you all about him tomorrow.

Dr Smirnov I presume ?

Yes the good doctor has been gracious enough to pay me a visit tonight. I'm full of curry and booze, with nearly three weeks off work to look forward to. We did a bit of Christmas shopping tonight in Carlisle; the city centre has gone for the themed crimbo lights this year. Either that or they got a job lot of blue bulbs. It looked very nice indeed !

Where was I ? Oh yeah, bulbs ! On the way home we noticed an increasing amount of those fucking houses that think it's a good idea to strap three thousand fucking Christmas lights to the outside of their abode. "It's for the kids" they whine when you call them twats, "So, your kids sit in the fucking garden all night then do they ?" Aspatria (It's a little town between Carlisle and Workington) must have entered the competition being run by the daily cunt, to find the most lit up town in the fucking world. It can be seen from space, it accounts for about thirty percent of Cumbria's electricity requirement. It's like the fucking golden mile !

I just nipped into Tesco for a bottle of voddy and a couple of cartons of orange juice, the queues were fucking horrendous. Not one of the bastards with mounds of shopping would let me go first with my three items. Twats !

The doctor is calling me, gotta go.

Engage smug mode.

I have passed my first Open University course. I am now officially on the road to getting a BSc (hons) in molecular science. Hmm, I think I may just celebrate tonight.

Disengage smug mode.

Error, smug mode will not disengage until head is smaller and stupid grin is removed.

I’m giving serious thought

To eating your wife……sorry, to changing the scenery around here.

I finish work tomorrow for Christmas and I don’t go back until the seventh of January. During that time I’m going to have a good old mooch around blogskins and get a new template. This one is looking a bit old and worn.

Post of the week !

Enjoy !

The ultimate sound bite.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we got 'im".

The most powerful man on earth, a man at whose disposal is the technology to read a newspaper over your shoulder from space, has finally got his man. After twelve years of searching they got him. Did they get him after a valiant fight at his desert stronghold ? No, they found him in a hole in the ground at the side of a run down shack just outside his hometown. I'm sure he would have continued committing unspeakable acts of barbarity, as only one can, whilst sat in a hole in the ground. Well done Georgie-boy !

Strangely enough, he was found with three quarters of a million dollars and an old taxi. There must be a fucking good trade to be had for an Iraqi cabby. That's probably how they trapped him; the American soldiers stood above Saddams hole and shouted "Freecall the Mosque".

Apparently Iraq is now free of a very dangerous Tyrant. I'm pretty sure they would have been free of him fucking ages ago, had Georgie's old man not armed him to the fucking teeth, and told him to get on with his "stabilising efforts" in the Middle East.

Right, who's next then ? Osama, never heard of him.

Defence budget ?

It appears that the British forces have been at war using substandard and in some cases non-existent equipment. One regiment was even sent out to Iraq with the wrong uniform. A conversation in an Iraqi bunker could have gone a little something like this:

Farouk: “Hey Abdul, what is that green thing moving toward us across the desert ?”
Abdul: “I have no idea Farouk, pass me my field glasses”.
Abdul: “No, it can’t be !” “It is, it’s a British army soldier.”
Farouk: “But he stands out worse than that pink Camel you used to own.”
Farouk: “What ever happened to that pink Camel ?”
Abdul: “It was shot by the Iranians.”
Farouk: “Pass me my rifle Abdul.”
Abdul: “It’s a good job old Bush sold us these wonderful rifles Farouk.”
Farouk: “Yes, or this war would have been over in one day”
Farouk: “Right, where was I ? Ah yes, brown, brown, brown….green, thwok.”

Voluntary euthanasia.

All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces...

It's been a funny old week. One of the good blogs throws in the towel, one has his towel nicked by a complete tosser, one is found in the lost property box and returns washed and ironed, and at least one opens a fresh new towel and spreads it carefully over blogland. The surface ripples for a couple of days then settles into normality again.

Blogs start and end all the time, some prematurely. It's a matter of choice, but some people have the ability to be truthful with themselves and stop when they think they have nothing else to offer.

It's perhaps as well I have no such self constraint, if I threw in the towel every time I thought this blog was below the level of quality I would like, well then it wouldn't even have started. It's all here, the good the bad and the downright self-indulgent. I couldn't give a toss really, this blog comes to life through the comments and the list of highly enjoyable places to go.

I had a dream, it was lovely for a short time and then not. I awoke on a beach, the sun warm on my face. The sky above was a deep blue and entirely cloudless, and the sea was nipping at my ankles as it came inexorably toward me. I basked for a while in the warmth, breathing deeply as my stresses drifted away. Behind me a faint rustle of trees completed the desert island fantasy, and I drifted on. I sat up suddenly, eyes wide and mouth agape, a look of horror on my face akin to Munch's little screamer. Simon ! If you get washed up on a desert island, how the fuck are you gonna blog ?

I maybe think a little too deeply sometimes, but after nearly two years of blogging I feel part of something. Something I will find very difficult to give up. I'll be the ex England international of bloggers, the one playing for Rochdale in the auto-windscreen trophy when his ex team mates are in Marbella getting old and brown.

Far from euthanising this blog, I plan to keep it alive by any means necessary. Pumping it full of anything I can get my hands on, until it's rotting cadaver stinks in the corner of blogland and the only place I get hits from is "codger blogs".

Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow, no tomorrow, no tomorrow...

What's going on ?

I think blogger is on drugs !

Common sense.

This is a misnomer, because it isn't very common. In fact the vast majority of people I come into contact with on a daily basis haven't the sense they were fucking born with. You can put the blame on a myriad of things from dumbed down television, to crap diet, to the refusal of parents to have any meaningful interaction with the mewling spawn they spat out into this world.

I personally don't believe that we are a product of our environment, anyone with a modicum of intelligence will drag themselves free from the mire of stupidity that this nanny state want us to wallow in.

No, I put it down to individual laziness, these numb fuckers that I come across, the ones who ask me "What does used mean ?" when looking at computer games in the shop. Or the ones who can't open and close doors properly, or the morons who try to jam a game case into a non-existent slot, or the gibbon-brained individuals who block the whole isle at the supermarket and then scowl at you when you say, "excuse me". Even if they were just a little less lazy, just enough to be aware of their surroundings, and the fact that they share this planet with other people.

It's a good job we have gun control !

Advice for husbands.

When the woman you love buys you, on the day of your twentieth wedding anniversary, a spanking new digital camera with all the necessary bits and bobs that you need to use it properly, whatever you do don't lose it.

Because after the initial period of "I can't believe you lost it you twat" there will be an extended period of piss taking whenever someone mentions cameras of any description. The more malicious of my acquaintances will deliberately drop key words into conversations, just to initiate the "gentle" ribbing I get from Tracy. Bastards !

She has actually been very good about it, and is now planning to buy me a replacement for crimbo, how lucky am I ?

Know your place.

It's something that was told to people for a very long time. Not so much nowadays though eh ? I suppose because those people who told you were referring to your place in society, your class or your lack of it maybe. I have been thinking about my place recently, but not in society. I have been thinking about my place in the universe, my life and it's significance.

It's probably a by product of all the thought I have given to time travel recently, whatever the reason I have come to some conclusions.

If you try to picture yourself in the universe, between the very big and the very small you would have to place yourself nearer the smaller things. See it as an out of body exercise, try to visualise yourself in the three dimensional environment. The universe is fucking big, so big we have great difficulty in imagining the space it encompasses, but if you really try I'm sure you will do it. If you take into account the vast amounts of time and space you have just visualised, what portion of that visualisation is you and your life ? It's a fucking small amount I can tell you. Once you have come to terms with the fact that you are so small and have such a brief time to make your life enjoyable, the rest is a piece of piss. Sit back in your chair, take a fucking big slug of whatever it is you drink, take a big deep breath and thank the star that spawned you that you have the good fortune to be alive on this amazing world. Bollocks to the day-today worries and stresses, bollocks to all the people who give you shit. Fuck bills and deadlines and responsibility and all the other crap that punctuates your everyday life. They are all irrelevancies, to be burned away by the sheer joy of living.

Naïve ? Probably. Drunk ? Maybe. Right ? Definitely !

A winter hinterland !

Deck the halls with boughs of despots.

Ali Akbar Rafsanjani fa la la la la - la la la la
Saddam Hussein and Ferdinand Marcos fa la la la la - la la la la
General Suharto, Joseph Stalin, fa la la - la la la - la la la
Amin, Pot and Papa Doc fa la la la la - la la la la.



The 12 WMDs of Christmas.

On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me:
A cartridge with a spare three.

      ~

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love sent to me:
Twelve armies coming,
eleven snipers sniping,
ten palaces keeping,
nine Kurds a gassin'
eight buckets of sarin,
seven generals grinnin'
six inspectors stayin'
five mouldy things,
four flaming gourds
three hench men,
two cloven hooves and
a cartridge with a spare three.

Stuff #41

Last night we watched three films, Oceans eleven (the re-make), Dog soldiers and The cat and the Canary. Oceans eleven was good, but only because I have always loved films about robberies. I'm not going to compare it to the original because they are totally different. Dog soldiers was the pick of the three, it was action packed, gory and a fucking good laugh. Sean Pertwee was excellent as was the supporting cast and in true Hammer style, the special effects were shite. Fantastic ! The cat and the canary, again a re-make, was good. The acting was a bit hammy but I think it was supposed to be and again the effects were crap but on the whole a decent film.

I've re-jigged the Portal page in keeping with the blog colours, although it looks a bit minimalist.

The puzzle has no takers as yet, the prize is gathering dust on our bookshelf, and no I haven't read it. It will go to he winner in pristine condition.

I've just finished downloading a big wedge of crimbo songs; I'm getting all festive now the decorations are up in the shop. We don't put them up at home until a couple of days before Christmas, last year it was Christmas eve. It's different now the tax dodger isn't living at home, but some people take it a bit too far. There is a house about a mile from here and it's lit up like Blackpool illumi-fucking-nations, their electric bill must be huge, people gawp at it whilst driving past, children stand and stare, light aircraft try to land on the roof. It should be put under some kind of nuisance control. It gives Christmas a bad name; lights should be on the inside not festooned about your house like an electrified rash. An eye-sore tax could work, bin all the speed cameras and impose a tax that penalises people with too many bulbs and too much time. Fuckers !

The ice rink.

Last year Workington brought in an ice rink for Christmas, it was a mild success so they decided to do it again. Why not, find a winning formulae and stick to it seems to be the in thing with people nowadays, it works for the BBC so why not Allerdale council. Unfortunately they haven't heard of continuous improvement. Any reasonably intelligent person would first look at which aspects of last years ice rink were successful and which aspects weren't. Then draw up a plan that incorporated the bits that were and replaced the bits that wern't with new and challenging ideas. Oh no, not our council. Last year they didn't advertise it very well and they haven't this year. Last year they stuck it out of the way in a nearby park, this year they have put it in the same place. Last year they didn't get a second rate celeb' to open it, thereby generating some press interest, and they haven't done it this year either. The "big sign" advertising the rink is situated in the town centre on a wall outside Marks and Spencer, it's the same as last years, not just same as, it's the actual sign with the dates tipexed out and this years put over the top !

The final ignominy is this, do a google search for Workington ice rink, and the top result is all about the ice rink that the neighbouring town Whitehaven are staging this Christmas. Judging by the success of Whitehaven's maritime festival in summer, which pulled in over a quarter of a million people the weekend it was staged, I would say their ice rink will be slightly better than ours.

Yes, Allerdale council are a class act.

Junk mail.

For years I accepted it as a part of life, like the common cold or that itch between your shoulder blades, annoying but inevitable. Then a while ago I started fighting back, and they made my job a little easier by always enclosing a pre-paid return envelope. I would tear the myriad bits of paper inside these junk packages into small pieces, always ensuring my name and address were still legible. Then I posted the bits back to them in their own envelope, thus forcing them to pay twice for every piece of shite they sent me. Then recently I started mixing up the innards of the junk packages and posting them willy-nilly, I figured a little confusion might slow down the process a little. These two tactics are all very well, but the junk kept coming, it was obviously having no effect so I came up with a different idea.

I have made a little "with compliments" slip to put inside the pre-paid envelopes, they aren't going to stop the flow of colourful detritus over night but they may start getting the message across. You can grab it here, stick your name and address where the blurred bit is and paste three of them into a word document. Print a few out and start making the annoying fuckers pay for the shite they send. You never know, if enough people do it the cost of the extra postage could make some companies think twice before they opt for a mail drop.

You could, if you can be arsed, make your own. If you do, or if you use mine and get a response let me know. Hopefully by including my blog address I may get some comments from the letter openers.