hello, goodbye

Well, having just had a bloody fantastic weekend at Caldarium MCC's Hex-Rated rally at Arncott (report later), I'm off again, this time to Staple in Kent for a week of fun and frolics with some friends. As Isla is completely and utterly mad (see photo for proof), I expect to come back completely exhausted. Please pray for my sanity - if she even gets the hint that there may be a theme park anyway en-route, we may never get to Kent. It was hard enough trying to get her off the see-saw in Ardrossan.

bastards :o(

Tall Paul's bike has been nicked and he's very, very dischuffed.

So, if you see anyone riding the following bike:

Honda XL1000V varadero
black and silver
reg- W842 SFP
chassis No- JH25DO1A1YM102844
stolen from : Merseyside/Cheshire border

he would be very grateful to receive information and also possibly various body parts of the craphead that nicked it.

You can contact him via 100% Biker : http://www.100-biker.co.uk/forums/showthread.php?t=12044

major wobbly

On Sunday, I learned a new skill: how to stay upright on a motorcycle which is glissading on wet cow shit :o(

I do wish that farmers would try to transport the stuff in a manner which doesn't result in turning the bendy bits of country lanes into skid pans.

don't you just hate it when...

you're dying for the bog, but you can't go cos there's a decorator painting in there :o(

I'm seriously considering going over to the Market Place to use their 'facilities' - assuming I'm able to walk that far with my legs crossed.

if you act like rubbish...

Congratulations are in order to the unnamed PC mentioned in today's Mirror, for chucking a scumbag teenager in a rubbish bin, after the kid and his mate threw conkers at him whilst filming it on their mobile phones.

The kid got what he deserved, and the copper deserves a commendation for helping to clean up our streets.

just plain crackers ...

Thanks Excalibur, for cheering me up with this one :o)

the Yanks strike again

So the Americans and the Germans think they don't have to pay our congestion charge? Does that mean that our politicians don't have to pay foreign airport taxes or road tolls then?

more words of wisdom from Grav

"Political correctness is a load of bollocks".

Right on Bro.

just when you thought it couldn't get worse

I trapped my bloody finger in the catch on my mandolin case. Aaaarrrrggghhhhh!

I think I shouldn't bother getting out of bed tomorrow.

E minus 2

My M206 exam is on Wednesday afternoon and I've done absolutely no revision whatsoever. It is about as appealing as an extra hole in the head. I did contemplate a bit of revision earlier today, but I put my Mostly Autumn album on (Passengers) and miraculously forgot all about it. So, no closer to revision, but certainly a lot more chilled out than I was when I left work.

different shit, same day

The headache finally started to lift at about 3pm, but I started getting mega backache at dinnertime and it's still hurting. I wonder what's gonna hurt next?

Still, I've lost 6lbs in weight since Friday, so that's a good sign :o) Hope it stays off, but I doubt it will, somehow.

pissed off

I have had a banging headache since Saturday and I am now very very pissed off with it.

Just so you know.

would you ride 174 miles for a pint?

I did :o) I must be mad. 340 mile round trip for a couple of pints, and you know what? I enjoyed every minute of it. Well, except for the prick in the Volvo 4x4 who nearly ran in the back of me, cos 85mph wasn't fast enough for him. Stupid Cnut.

Thanks to the Reverend for inviting me, being a taxi when I got there, putting me up and putting up with me. Also thanks to Caldarium MCC for making me feel so welcome.

Big hi to Jan, great to see you, hope your hot water tank is now water-tight, and cheers for the dinner :o)

Poundy gets clobbered

The Mirror has reported today that MP and all-round superstar, Stephen Pound, has been walloped by Tory backbencher and 'little squirt', Philip Davies.

Apparently they were both appearing on a radio show and Poundy tried to read out an e-mail from Davies's office, which had been sent out to Tory supporters, encouraging them to ring the show to support him.

Poundy has got a suspected broken rib. Davies has a suspected broken good reputation.

some people will say anything..

I can't believe the lengths that some people will go to, to avoid a speeding fine.

A couple from Hyde took extreme measures and still got caught out. They made up a story about how some ficticious Bulgarian was driving their car and, to make it more convincing, the wife flew out to Bulgaria to send a postcard from the ficticious bloke, back to their home!

They've now been fined £9,200, plus £1,900 in costs cos of their stupid lies. Not to mention the cost of the flights to Bulgaria. If they don't pay up within 28 days, the bloke faces six months in jail, and his wife faces a 40-day sentence.

It'd have been cheaper just to pay the bloody fines, you pillocks! Some people are too stupid to be allowed to breed.

Ghosts in the machine?

Someone broke the Division Bell. It keeps going off at random moments and MPs have been scurrying around to go to votes which haven't been called. I think it's great. They need the exercise.

Fish!

Wow! I managed to get one of the few remaining tickets. 5 minutes later, it was completely sold out.

I didn't catch much of the support act, a lass called Annemarie summat, superb voice but her last song didn't do anything for me. I think the bloke next to me had fallen in love with her cos he kept rabbiting on about her for ages.

The first half of Fish's set was good, music and a bit of chat. However, the second half was mind-blowing. During the first half, I was thinking "an all-seated gig just doesn't work" There's something not right about sitting down at a rock concert. When the second half started, everyone said "fuck that" and stood up anyway, and then proceeded to jump up and down like a bunch of nutters. The bloke at the side of me kept telling me that he knows a Marillion tribute band called Forgotten Sons who he thinks are better than Fish. Sorry buddy, but I loved Fish for 20 years and I have never heard of your tribute band, so stop spoiling my bloody gig! He took the hint when I turned my back on him.

I think Fish was pretty pleased with the response he got from the crowd, cos he had a huge grin on his face by the end of the night. I think it was the crowd participation in Market Square Heroes that clinched it. I bet we could be heard from the train station, it was that loud. The lead guitarist was bloody fantastic too, I could have spent the night just listening to him, and the backing vocalist has one hell of a voice too. Damn, I just loved the whole band.

If you're into prog, go and watch Fish, cos if you don't, you'll miss a bloody good show.

panic stations

The Slave has just come home and shown me an advert in tonight's paper - Fish is playing at the Albert Halls in Bolton!

I am now running round like a mad thing, trying to get a ticket, but the booking office is closed. I'm going to turn up and see if I can get in on the door.

Service with a smile

How long does it take to print 2 pages in colour? 23 minutes, if you go to Staples.

First of all, they couldn't let me in, because only one member of staff had turned up. When some others finally turned up, they let me in and I went over to their 'copy centre'.

I explained to the woman that I had a pdf document I wanted printing and told her I'd got it on my flash drive and also on an SD card. She scowled and muttered that she didn't have a card reader, and that their computer was so old it probably wouldn't accept my flash drive.

Anyway, she tried the flash drive and announced that because my computer at home was a high-speed one (actually it's not), it had saved it in a different format and she couldn't open it. (Can you smell bullshit?). So I said "well try the SD card then". She said "I haven't got a card reader" - so I said "well what's that then?" - pointing to the card reader. She examined it closely and said "oh, they must have put it there yesterday, I've never seen it before." (I'm sure I can smell bullshit).

Anyway, she called up the document, send it to print and the printer jammed. She stared at it blankly for a few minutes and then went to the tannoy and asked for someone to help her. The woman who came said "yes, paper tray 1 is broken, you have to use tray 5 - it's written on it here, you'll have to cancel the job send it again to tray 5." So she sent it again - to the same tray and had to go through the unjamming procedure all over again. Eventually she managed to print it to the right tray and then she picked up the copies and walked off, without so much as a backwards glance. Eventually, I followed her to the till, paid and made a hasty exit.

So much for a friendly and efficient service then.

hair removal part II

One Woman's Tale of Woe-

All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors,razors, Nair and now ... the wax.

My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom. It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK!?!) So I pull one of the thin strips out. It's two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax," yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire. With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the wax strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my vagina and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek. (Yes, it was a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself.........RRRRIIIPPP!!!! I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!.... OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!

Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP!!! Another deep breath and RRIIPP!! Everything is swirly and spotted. I think I may pass out . . . . . . .must stay conscious . . . Do I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe . . . OK, back to normal. I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip!

There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???

Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax. CRAP! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair. Then I make the next BIG mistake.......remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down. DAMN!!!!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door.

Vagina?
Sealed shut!

Butt??
Sealed shut!

I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!" What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right???

*WRONG!!!!!!!*

I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit. Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together, is having them glued together and then glued to the
bottom of the tub . . . in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax. So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain!! God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!! I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter - "So, my butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!" There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or hole or who-ha?" She's laughing out loud by now . . . I can hear her . . . I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night. While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor . . . Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!! By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event. My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace . . . the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on
and OH MY GOD!!!!!!! The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend. It's sooo painful, but I really don't care. "IT WORKS!! It works !!" I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair . . .

THE HAIR IS STILL THERE . . . . . . ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.

So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.

Next week I'm going to try hair color......

an evil mind

The Slave has come up with a very evil-minded suggestion for livening up music practice:

A keyboard with metal keys, linked up to an electrical circuit which makes one key 'live' for a fraction of a second. However, the circuit is completely random, so it could be any key, with the sequence changing every second.

Methinks the Slave needs more purple pills.

talk to the hand ...

First he wants his photo taken, then he doesn't. Make your mind up! Oh yeah, and remember, where I go, my camera goes too :o) Just wait until I get my on-bike video set up properly :p

News just in from Saxman

Tampax have replaced the piece of string with a piece of tinsel.

Apparently it's only for the christmas period though..

don't shave yer bum, mister!

I have no idea if the following story is true, but it's bloody funny.


I have recently made a mistake in my life, and I offer my story to all though tasteless, that you may learn from my error. It all started, as many things do, with me having trouble pooping. No, I was not constipated; this was not a regularity problem but a matter of technique. It seems my ass-hair had grown to such a length that tiny grogans were constantly getting tied up in the matted jungle between my ass cheeks. It led to much frustration, with me KNOWING that I still had something to drop, but unable to shake the tenacious turd loose from its butt hair dwelling.

Eventually I would have to do two things: either reach down with some paper and try to pinch off the lingering loaf (which required careful precision to avoid smearing the creature all over my rear, especially since I had no way of seeing what I was doing) or just go for broke, start wiping, and hope that I could remove all the leftover fecal matter before the toilet paper reached its Can't-Be-Flushed threshold. I was contemplating this problem, when I had what seemed at the time to be a bright idea. "Hey, this is my butt and my butt-hair, right? So why don't I just eliminate all the hair, and then my grogans will flow out like beer from a keg!" I said to myself. It is a statement that will go down in history with a lot of other regretted statements. "How many Indians could there be?" said by General Custer. "Looks like a good day for a drive!" by JFK. "There! America On-line now has complete Usenet access!" by some idiot system tech. Such was my anal shaving idea.

I performed the operation that night, with a cheap disposable razor and a towel to sit on. Starting from the bottom, and shaving from the crack to the cheeks, I began the arduous process of ridding my ass of hair. Occasionally, I would have to clean the razor of accumulated hair, which I did by wiping it on the towel. Slowly, my twin mounds and the between-ravine began to resemble the hairless cheeks of a newborn babe. Finally, I wiped the razor one last time, and surveyed my work. The towel was covered with a pile of hair. My ass was smooth as ivory. I smiled, satisfied, thinking my troubles were over.

Little did I know. I now have a great respect for anal-hair. Like everything in this world God created, it has its mighty purpose in existence. It was only after I had removed it that I started to learn how much I had been taking it for granted. For one, it provides friction. I learned this the next day, when I walked out into the sun heading for class. After climbing two flights of stairs and starting to sweat, I started to notice something unpleasant. The sweat was accumulating in my crack, and was causing the unpleasant sensation of my two ass cheeks sliding past each other with every step. I thought about going to the bathroom and wiping it off, but had to get to class. Eventually, I thought, it would dry. Unfortunately, it did dry, but only after mingling with the microscopic poop -molecules lingering around my brown starfish. When I stood up after class, my cheeks were stuck together with a slimy sticky poop/sweat combination. As I made my way back to my dorm, it started to itch. God-DAMN, did it itch! Felt like a swarm of ants was making its way up and down my crack. Fighting to keep from jamming my hand down there and scratching away, I rushed back to the dorm. Unfortunately, this exertion caused me to sweat, and when I finally reached my room, my cheeks were sliding back and forth against each other like a pair of horny cane-toads. I quickly dropped my pants, and attempted to dry my ass off by sticking it in front of a fan and spreading my cheeks.

As I pulled the two mounds of flesh apart, a horrible stench burst free and filled the room. Every dog within a 4 block radius started to howl. I had it worst of all, as the ripe aroma of festering poop/sweat went into the fan and blew back into my face. I fought to keep from heaving. And as I sat there, fighting vomit, my ass cheeks spread and dripping, with the concentrated aroma of my body odor mixed with the tangy smell of my own poop blowing right into my face, I had only one thought: "It will be like this until the hair grows back." Weeks later on, trying to deal as best I could, wiping my ass at every opportunity, I discovered another wonderful use for ass-hair - ventilation. I attempted to launch a fart, only to have it get stuck between my ass cheeks.

Apparently, with no hair, the two pink twins can get vacuum sealed together, and the result was a frustrating fart that slid up and down between my cheeks like a lost gerbil. As if that wasn't enough, I am now enduring further torture. As anyone who has ever shaved anything knows, when hair is first growing in, it comes in as stubble. Imagine your ass having the texture of a brillo pad.

Well, that is what I am dealing with now. It is a hellish torture, and there are many times when I just look out the window and contemplate why I shouldn't just jump out and get it all over with in one fleshy splat, rather than endure this constant agony.

Friends-DON'T SHAVE YOUR ASS-HAIR!"

wossat?

I've got myself some funky new earplugs for when I'm on the bike. I've tried using those yellow foam ones (they're too big, and hurt my ears) and I've tried the little orange mushroom type ones too, but they make weird crackling noises and don't block out any wind noise.

Anyway, a mate recommended that I go to see a bloke called Gerry Marsden in Bolton, from Hearing Resolutions, and get some custom-made earplugs. So I did.

Having the impressions of my ears done felt very weird indeed. It felt like he was putting toothpaste in my ears, but it only took a minute or two to set, and then all I had to do was choose what colour I wanted, so I got blue & purple marbled. I went to pick up the finished plugs today and once I'd figured out how to get them in, they were very comfortable.

I'm off to Wolverhampton tomorrow, so I'll give them a proper test and report back :o)

Thursday funny

Alleged statement on an insurance claim form, after a car hit a cow:

Q. What warning was given by you?
A. Horn
Q. What warning was given by the other party?
A. Moo

Sorry, but that one tickled me.

just bog off, will you !

For most of the week, I work alone. Totally alone. I'm the only person in the building, which means I can work the way I want to, and I have a nice little routine going on here which means I get all my work done in a relatively efficient manner.

I love working alone. I can listen to Beswick on the radio and e-mail him the occasional pithy comment, I can watch the news on the telly and I can choose when, where and if I'm going to have my dinner. That's 'dinner', Beswick, not 'lunch' ;o)

However, there's one little blot on this lovely landscape. Someone who is involved in the management of the building we rent seems to think that because I'm alone, I must be lonely, and therefore must appreciate being interrupted on a regular basis. I don't. I don't want checking up on, I'm very happy on my own and, in truth, I'm quite an anti-social owd git. This is my place of work and not a social drop-in. I don't have time to sit and gossip about people I 1. don't know and 2. don't care about.

So, Someone, you know who you are. Just because you have a key to the building doesn't give you the right to keep walking into my office. If you need to see me about something work-related, please make an appointment like everyone else has to. Otherwise, please leave me in peace to get on with my work.

Nee Naw

Big thanks to Jan for pointing me in the direction of the Nee Naw blog.

I'm supposed to be working, but it's very difficult trying to read the screen when there are tears of laughter streaming down my face.

and it's good night from him.

Ronnie Barker, one of Britain's greatest comedians has died. Although his obituary mentions many of his TV comedies, it doesn't mention my favourite singing duo - Jehosephat and Jones. I think The Slave has got one of their albums somewhere.

power corrupts ...?

The Iron Lady could be in trouble. It seems she's being questioned in relation to a corruption investigation.

Every time I think of that woman, a shudder goes down my spine and, for some strange reason, I start singing Pink Floyd's 'Fletcher Memorial Home':

take all your overgrown infants away somewhere
and build them a home a little place of their own
the fletcher memorial
home for incurable tyrants and kings
and they can appear to themselves every day
on closed circuit t.v.
to make sure they're still real
it's the only connection they feel
"ladies and gentlemen, please welcome reagan and haig
mr. begin and friend mrs. thatcher and paisley
mr. brezhnev and party
the ghost of mccarthy
the memories of nixon
and now adding colour a group of anonymous latin
american meat packing glitterati"
did they expect us to treat them with any respect
they can polish their medals and sharpen their
smiles, and amuse themselves playing games for a while
boom boom, bang bang, lie down you're dead
safe in the permanent gaze of a cold glass eye
with their favourite toys
they'll be good girls and boys
in the fletcher memorial home for colonial
wasters of life and limb
is everyone in?
are you having a nice time?
now the final solution can be applied

dozy drivers

Yesterday afternoon, I drove to Southport. I was most peeved that the dual carriageway was down to one lane and, despite the fact that the speed limit hadn't been reduced, the driver in front of me refused to go over 40, causing something of a tailback. That was annoying enough, but when the speed limit was reduced to 30 - the bugger still kept doing 40!

I suspect that the driver was asleep and the car was on cruise control. What else could explain such piss-poor driving?

Wounded again :o(

I think the Gods are mocking me. First they ensure that it starts raining just as I take the flysheet off my tent at the Mabon Rally (the only bloody cloud in the sky too, you gits!). Then they make it rain for the ten minutes I was riding home from the gym (again, an otherwise clear sky), and today I was attacked by a vicious vacuum cleaner.

A mate came to stay for the weekend and The Slave engaged in a tidying-up frenzy which involved chucking everything into the cupboard under the stairs and shutting the door on the whole lot, trapping it like some coiled spring. This morning, the unsuspecting Womble opened the door, and the Dyson sprang out and twatted me on the ankle. Great, so just as the left ankle recovers from the gym incident, the right one develops a lump the size of an egg.

The Reverend has suggested that I elevate the injured part, and get a bag of frozen peas to throw at The Slave. Not a bad idea, methinks.

How to lose customers - the PayPal way

I bought something on eBay last night and when I tried to pay by PayPal, it said that it wouldn't let me pay by my credit card and that I had to give my bank details so they could set up a direct debit.

Not a bloody chance! I have control over my money, not you, and I prefer to pay by credit card so that I get proper consumer protection and not the poxy £500 limit that PayPal puts on you.

Fortunately, the seller accepts personal cheques, so I've paid that way instead. OK, I'll have to wait a bit longer for the goods, but what the hell, at least my bank details aren't being stored in some US server, waiting to be phished.

Way to go, PayPal.

Don't you just love 'em?

There's a 3 minute message on my answerphone at work, consisting of two people arguing about whether or not to leave a message and if they should leave their number.

Some people really are strange.

Blown away

I went to see Kate Rusby and her band perform at the Lowry in Salford last night. The last time I saw her, was at the Albert Halls in Bolton a couple of years ago, and there were about 150 people in the audience. She's become much more famous since then - the Lowry's Lyric Theatre holds 1730 seats, and it was pretty much sold out. Even though I was up in the Gods, the sound was crystal clear, and the view was unobstructed.

The whole concert was fantastic. Kate has such a friendly and personal approach to her concerts and talks to the audience as though they are all old friends. She played a good range of songs, some from her new album 'The Girl Who Couldn't Fly' and some which are old traditional numbers.

Of course, I didn't just go to see Kate. John McCusker (Kate's husband) is one of the best folk fiddlers on the circuit and I admire him greatly, so to see him and Kate performing on the same stage is a double treat for me. I've been trying for ages to get hold of a copy of his songbook - The Bothwell Boy, but the online ordering service doesn't appear to list it, and I've been too lazy to order it by post.

I've always fancied myself as a folk fiddler, but listening to John makes me realise I've got a long way to go. Oh well, I suppose some practice might help.

Is it that time of year already?

At 22:10 tonight, our neighbourhood was treated to a barrage of very noisy fireworks, which set several dogs howling. I thought they'd brought in a law to prevent people from buying them before November?

Noisy buggers.