More Work-Related Stuff

Today was my last day of working afternoons-only. My holiday allowance for the year is pretty much used up now, so from tomorrow I'll be switching to a part-time working arrangement, working three full days per week - Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I always quite liked the idea of working a three-day week, but the associated drop in pay isn't quite so welcome. Anyhow, my Tuesday mornings are mostly taken up with physio fun, but Thursdays will be mine, all mine.

Except, of course, they won't. I know exactly how this is going to pan out. I'll spend most of Thursdays working. In fact, I'll probably get more done on Thursdays than on any of my official 'working days' - for the simple reason that I can. I'll be able to get on with work without any of the distractions of phone calls, emails, and all the other things that crop up.

Still, at least I won't have to get out of bed so early.

Talking of distractions, after owning my current mobile phone for almost nine months, I've finally figured out how to email photos from the phone camera. It turns out that the phone was set to Vodafone multimedia instead of O2 multimedia. You can see how I got a job in Technical, huh?

Snow White

From Yahoo News:

German Snow White sacked for posing nude

BERLIN (Reuters) - A German singer who plays Snow White
has lost her job at Dresden's Christmas market after
posing for nude photos in a bathtub, Bild newspaper says.

Market organisers sacked Samira, 22, after photos appeared
in Bild and other publications showing her lying naked in
a bathtub filled with soap suds and rose petals, Bild said
on Monday.

Samira, whose surname was not given, has played Snow White
for five years. Dresden's mayor and others who miss her
performance are asking that she be reinstated.


Oh my. She doesn't sound like the bashful type, does she? I'm sure she's not happy about being fired from her job, in fact she's probably more than a little grumpy. To be fair though, it was a pretty dopey thing to do. Anyhow, I'm off to bed now, as I'm feeling quite sleepy. Also, I think I might have a cold coming on - I've been sneezy all day. If it gets any worse I might have to go to the doc.

Robbie

No luck getting the photos off that CD. Well, I can get screen grabs from the disk, but the resolution is pretty crappy, to say the least. On the plus side, I found this scan of an old photo of my dad (Robbie), which I'm posting here for no other reason than I think it's a pretty cool pic.

I think it was taken some time in the late 1940s or possibly 50s. The bar in the background - The Lonsdale - is still there. Another Robbie - the visiting Mr Williams, no less - was spotted in there this summer.

D'oh! (again)

D'oh! I decided to do a bit of spring-cleaning* last night, specifically removing some of the more 'artistic' photographs that had accumulated on my hard drive (no idea where those came from). Seemed like a good idea at the time. Unfortunately, I got a little trigger-happy and inadvertantly deleted a bunch of photos I took last summer (perfectly innocent, honestly. No, really).

Of course, someone in my line of work would have the sense to take regular backups of important data. Hrrrrrmmmm, well...

I have a back-up of sorts, on a CD I created using DVD PixPlay a while ago. It's a slideshow type thing, so I'm going to see if I can extract the original photos from it. You never know, it might work.

*Or winter-cleaning, if you want to be pedantic.

Rangers 3 - 2 Hearts

Hurrah. Rangers beat Hearts 3-2 this afternoon to go top of the SPL table. One of my friends showed up (with beer) and we listened to the whole thing on Radio Scotland. Except the best reception to be had around here is through Sky Digital* - so basically, we were listening to the radio, on the TV. The weird part is, we both spent much of the time staring intently at the screen, although there was nothing to see but a blue screen with the name of the station and a brief description of the current programme. Don't know why we did that.

Another thing I don't get is why people go out to the pub of an evening with a group of friends, and instead of talking to the person sitting right next to them, spend half their time sending text messages and generally fannying about with mobile phones. Quite irritating, that one.

*I thought about including a link, but it's not like they need the free advertising.

I Hate Computers

I've just spent about an hour trying to get my picture to appear in the About Me section on this page. No matter what I did, it just wouldn't show up. The picture showed up fine on the Profile page, but not on here. Finally I figured it probably had something to do with me having made manual changes to my template. So, I went through the template, copied out all my changes, re-loaded the template, added the changes back in, republished and - bingo. There it is.

Worth the effort? Nope.

Ealing Groovy

Ouch. Sorry about that title.

Don't think it has stopped raining at all today - which gave me a convenient excuse to stay indoors in front of the TV. Not that there's much worth watching on there, so out came the DVD collection again. This afternoon I settled down to Kind Hearts And Coronets (the one where Alec Guinness plays eight members of the endangered D'Ascoyne family), another film I've seen a hundred times, but I still enjoy it every time.

Next up, The Ladykillers. Or possibly The Lavender Hill Mob. Aren't DVD box-sets great?

You Are NOT A Celebrity

I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here!

No - you are not a celebrity. In order for you to be a celebrity, people would need to have some idea of who you are, or what you do. That's a sort of minimum requirement. Being married to a celebrity does not automatically make you a celebrity. Neither does consuming copious amounts of illegal substances. And neither does being any of this lot:

Joe Pasquale - Squeaky voiced Z-list comedian. Punchable.
Paul Burrell - Formerly Princess Diana's butler. Does that count as 'celebrity'?
Sophie Anderton - I think she used to advertise bras, about ten years ago.
Antonio Fargas - Played Huggy Bear in Starsky & Hutch. A quarter of a century ago.
Fran Cosgrove - Never heard of him. (Yes, him).
Nancy Sorrell - No idea.
Sheila Ferguson - Allegedly Prince Charles's favourite pop musician. Enough said.

This has to be the most inaccurately-titled show on TV*. A more appropriate title would probably be I'm A Washed-Up Has-Been and/or Wannabe, Get Me On TV!**

*With the possible exception of Dead Ringers.
**Slightly less catchy, I admit.

Moan Moan Moan

I'm not going to start naming names here, but certain people are starting to seriously piss me off these days. I won't pretend that I don't complain from time to time, because I clearly do (you probably noticed). But some people seem to spend their entire life complaining from dawn till dusk, every day of the week. I reckon they're only actually happy when they're moaning about something or other. It makes me wonder what would happen if they had nothing to complain about - would they complain about that? Probably.

The bit that really bothers me is this - if you're going to complain about something, you should probably complain to someone who:

1. gives a shit
2. can do something about it

In other words, Not Me.

Er, I think I'm done ranting* for now.

*Maybe when I retire, I'll move into a little cottage** somewhere, and name it Dunrantin'
**I've heard all the cottaging jokes already, so don't bother.

Is It Friday Yet?

Today was my first full day of work, and I don't feel any the worse for it - my back's a bit sore, but other than that I don't feel any worse than usual. I got a medical report from one of the consultants at the hospital a few days ago, in which he noted that, as a result of my injuries, I would probably never be able to undertake an occupation involving standing, walking, lifting or carrying. Lucky break for me then, that my job largely involves sitting on my fat arse* for most of the day.

Back to working a half-day tomorrow though, which is a good way to wind down into the weekend. I don't have anything planned for the weekend, except maybe watching some movies I've recorded over the last few weeks, including Apocalypse Now and Memento.

The excitement just never starts.

*Actually not all that fat anymore.

Freddie

Believe it or not, it's 13 years to the day since Freddie Mercury shuffled off this mortal coil. I used this as an excuse (not that I need one) to dig out a few favourites from my Queen collection - if I had to choose, I'd have to admit to a preference for their mid-70s work, but I enjoy all their albums to some degree or other. Even the much-maligned Hot Space.

My Top Three looks like this:

1. A Night At The Opera
2. Queen II
3. Sheer Heart Attack

And while I'm on the subject, I was watching Max & Paddy's Road To Nowhere earlier. In one scene, Max was reminiscing about a former (diminutive) girlfriend...

Max: She was a kind of midget
Paddy: Isn't that a Queen song?

Full Frontal Nudity

No, not a cunning ploy to attract more visitors to this page (although if it works, what the heck). Just part of a description of series 2 of Little Britain. The good news is that BBC3 is showing the entire second series back-to-back this weekend. Woo-hoo!

This is the last chance to see the series in its original form, before it transfers to BBC1, where it will be toned down for a 'mainstream' audience.

From what I've heard, some sketches have been slightly altered to remove the more potentially offensive parts, while a few other sketches have been completely replaced in the BBC1 version of the show. So, Sunday night is the last chance to see Little Britain 2 in all its projectile-vomiting, cross-dressing, adult breast-feeding, full-frontal* glory.

*OK, most of the nudity wasn't for real - it was Matt Lucas in a fat female body-suit. But it still counts.

Stop... Hammer Time!

I wish to retract my remarks in a previous post, stating that this is a quiet place to live. For most of this evening, I heard:

Thump. Thump. Thump. Clatter. Thump. Thump. Bash. Thump. Crash. Thud. Thud. Thud. Bash. Thump. Thud. Clatter. Crash. Thump. Thumpity-thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

And so on. I think one of my neighbours is attempting to construct a garden shed. I can't see what's going on, but I can hear it just fine. Meanwhile, the new people across the road appear to have decided they need a section of the wall surrounding their garden removed, and that this work has to commence at some ridiculously early hour*.

I still remember the good old days when there was only one irritatingly noisy person around these here parts. Me. Guess I'm gonna have to turn the music up again.

*Anything before 9am qualifies here. I'm still only working afternoons, remember.

Who Are You, And What Have You Done With Big Al?

I'm considering starting working a couple of days, or maybe half-days, per week from the office instead of just working from home all the time. The company are quite eager to get me back to a more normal working pattern ASAP, which is flattering in a way, I suppose.

I don't know if all of my work colleagues will recognise me - a few haven't seen me since March (specifically those who didn't visit me in hospital, but I won't hold a grudge*). Back then, I estimate I was around 5 stone (or 70 pounds) heavier than I am now. That's hospital food for you.

Also, I had a slightly disastrous haircut at the weekend - I can't remember a time when it's ever been so short. In summer I wouldn't mind so much but Scotland recorded one of its coldest November nights in recent years on Saturday - and that's up against some strong competition. I'm concerned that my brain might freeze.

*Actually, I will. Bastards.

Me And Mrs Malaprop

Not content with sending me incomprehensible text messages, my mum is developing a tendency to speak in malapropisms. Well, perhaps malapropisms isn't quite the right word, but it's close.

For example, whenever she has occasion to mention Ulrika Jonsson, the name always comes out as Eureka Jonsson - as if Archimedes had found a Scandanavian TV presenter in his bath.

Today was the annual Wintertainment festival here. Unless you were talking to my mum, in which case it became Winterama. Which, to be fair, is no worse than the correct name.

Finally, the game show Who Wants To Be A Millionaire is now named How To Be A Millionaire. Apparently.

Men 2 - 0 Bhoys

Arf arf. I love using that title. In other words, Rangers made it two-in-a-row with a 2-0 victory over Celtic at Ibrox earlier this afternoon. Not content with merely being rubbish, Celtic had two players sent off (Alan Thompson and Chris Sutton). Celtic's lead over Rangers is now reduced to a single point.

As Monty Burns would say, 'Excellent'.

Embarrassment

My boss visited this afternoon to discuss my current working practices, i.e. working- afternoons only - from home. We also talked about plans for me to return to working from the office - something that he's keen to see happen as soon as possible. One thing holding me back, I guess, is my wariness of public transport - hobbling on and off trains, low seats, all that stuff.

He asked if my reluctance in this area was caused by embarrassment. This nearly provoked a full-blown rant - he seems to forget that I spent twenty weeks in hospital. Twenty weeks of being poked and prodded, having objects inserted into every imaginable orifice, pissing either through a tube or into a bottle, shitting into (or on a couple of regrettable occasions, not quite into) bedpans, being in traction and out of action, and at one point being unable to shit at all. For three weeks.

So what's left to be embarrassed about?

End of rant. I actually feel better for getting that out*.

*A bit like the time when I couldn't shit for three weeks. Did I mention that already?

The Walking Stick(s)

Another physio appointment this morning - on my previous visit, the physiotherapist said they might try me out on walking sticks instead of crutches today. Sure enough, this morning she produced a pair of sticks (the metallic sort at first). My first attempt was a bit wobbly, to say the least - but the same could be said for my first try with crutches (before which I'd been using a Zimmer frame).

The major difference is the sticks give you a lot less support than crutches. I can't put so much of my weight through the sticks, so it forces me to take more through my legs. And that, I guess, is precisely the intention.

A pair of wooden walking sticks were cut to size for me to take home and practice with. I feel like I have turned into my dad - except he at least had the sense to reach his fifties before his hips gave out (an outcome that I blamed on a lifetime of physical activity and exercise, particularly during his time in the Parachute Regiment - jumping out of airplanes can't be good for anyone's joints, I reckon).

It appears to be the weekend. Hurrah.

Sanity Clause

I know I shouldn't, but I couldn't resist it.

Roksana (12:17 AM) :
This is Santa Clause
Big Al (12:18 AM) :
hi, I want world peace, and an end to hunger please.
Big Al (12:18 AM) :
oh, and an iPod.
Big Al (12:19 AM) :
Hey, Santa, is it true that you only come once a year?

Radio Ga Ga

Saw the video for the Electric 6 cover version of Queen's Radio Ga Ga on the Kerrang channel earlier this evening. The video, much as expected, takes the piss quite heavily - but as cover versions go, it's damn good. I managed to get a couple of screen grabs, below.

Music: The Flaming Lips: Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots

Like A Rolling Stone

Rolling Stone magazine has named the top 500 songs of all time, as voted by a group of music writers, industry execs, songwriters and musicians.

Here's the top 3 - see if you can spot a pattern here.

1. Like A Rolling Stone - Bob Dylan
2. (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction - The Rolling Stones
3. Like A Rolling Stone - The Rolling Stones

OK, I lied about number 3. It was really Imagine by John Lennon.

Big Al's Get-Rich-Quick Schemes, #4392

OK, I'm gonna do it. Tomorrow. Easy money.

All I have to do is phone in to the Richard & Judy show and answer a piss-easy qualifying question to play the You Say, We Pay competition.

The competition goes something like this - R&J sit with their backs to a screen displaying images of movie stars, landmarks, everyday objects or whatever*. The caller describes whatever is being shown on the screen, and R&J try to guess what the caller is talking about. For each one they guess correctly within one minute, the caller gets £1000. Most contestants recently have been getting about seven correct answers, or (for the arithmetically challenged) £7000.

Seven grand for a minute's work? I'm having some of that, thanks.

*One of the items on today's show was a wigwam, for which the caller gave the clue, "It's where Indians live", prompting Richard and/or Judy to answer, "India". I'm sure the caller meant to say "Native Americans", which I believe is the politically correct version.

NB: I don't personally watch Richard & Judy. A friend told me about it. Please believe me.

The Office

Not that I'm obssessive or anything, but I've been spending a probably unhealthy amount of time watching The Office on DVD of late. It's a good thing it's on DVD, as tapes would probably have worn out by now. I've been through the whole lot time and time again, including special features, deleted scenes, out-takes, even the Easter Eggs. I guess it's one of those rare shows (like The Simpsons) that stand up to repeated viewings.

Anyway, I think I now know who the real star of the show is; Not David Brent (Ricky Gervais). Not Tim (Martin Freeman). Not Gareth (Mackenzie Crook). Not Finchy (Ralph Ineson). Not even Keith, the Scotch-egg-munching office fat bastard played by Ewan Macintosh.

It's this bloke, the office caretaker played by Ron Merchant*.

He only appears in a couple of episodes, and always does the same thing. He'll walk out of the store-room carrying some supplies, then catch sight of the camera, and stare, transfixed, into it.

OK, it doesn't sound like much when written down. But it's funny. No, really.

*Ron is the father of The Office co-writer/-director Stephen Merchant - who also appeared in the show as Gareth's mate Nathan (aka The Oggmonster, described by David Brent as a "lanky goggle-eyed freak").

Scotland 1 - 4 Sweden

Another fantastic result for Scotland, with a glorious 4-1 defeat at home to Sweden. I was confident that the departure of Berti Vogts would herald a new era for Scottish football, and it's pleasing to see that I have been proved right.

And another thing, I wanted to post this about an hour ago, but Blogger would have none of it. Temperamental bastard.

EastEnders Goes StateSiders

Make it stop. I think that's in danger of becoming my new catchphrase.

Fox Broadcasting has ordered six scripts for a US version of EastEnders. Good grief, haven't the Americans suffered enough? First it's four more years of Bozo in the White House, now this.

Or is this just the price to pay for The Office?

Wild At Heart

Surprisingly accurate...


Which File Extension are You?

Oooooh

It must be my lucky night...

346-864-370 (11:32 PM) :
Hello Al

Im pick you at random icq chat. Did you know about PXEEK adult search engine? You can search erotic photoes and videos for free.
Revolution technology! 15 millions files available for free search. if you want, so type Pxeek at google or yahoo search and you will get site.

Don't Forget add Pxeek to Bookmark

Sorry Big Al if im bother you. bye bye

Hello Darkness, My Old Friends

See what I did there?

Brian May and Roger Taylor of Queen being inducted into the UK Music Hall Of Fame by Justin and Dan from The Darkness.


Brian May: Thanks, can we have our act back now? And Freddie's clothes? Cheers.

Oops

I think I may have made a dreadful mistake. Back in March, I upgraded my mobile phone and, as I had fulfilled my twelve-month contract, I got to keep the old one. At the time, my mum was complaining about her phone (understandably - without being overly technical, it was shite).

Being the all-round nice person* that I am, I told her to take my old phone if she wanted it. It was, after all, only a year old. Not quite state-of-the-art, but certainly closer than the one she was currently using - which was more like state-of-the-Ark. A couple of weeks ago, she took me up on the offer.

All well and good. But now, for some reason, she has decided to experiment with text messaging, always aimed in my direction - with the following results:

1. hi al luv mum - Actually not a bad first effort.
2. [BLANK]
   
3. hi al hmmm spr - No idea. Possibly had one sherry too many.
4. hi al how are u lowe mum - Starting to get into abbreviations here. Don't get cocky now.
5. [BLANK] - Again.

On the plus side, she hasn't figured out email yet.

* modest, too.

Aaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh!

Big Al is in a very bad mood. Intemperate language may follow.

Unbelievable. My ISP decided to go tits-up at about 3:30 this afternoon, and was out of action until about 20 minutes ago. To make matters worse, I couldn't even phone their support line to shout at someone, as the phones at Virgin Net (yep, it's them) weren't being answered. I'm guessing because they had too many irate callers to cope with.

I came pretty close to kicking the PC under my desk, which would have been stupid for (at least) two reasons:

1. The PC I was actually using was the one on my desk.
2. It would have hurt like fuck. Bad foot and all that. So I hit it with my crutch instead.

Absolute madness. I got by without the Internet for over about twenty years, so how come I can't get through five net-free hours without turning into the Incredible Sulk?

Not Enough Time

That's another week just about over, then. I can't believe the speed with which the weeks (and particularly the weekends) are flying by. The four-and-a-half months I spent in hospital felt like a year, but the three months since I came home feels like one month. Not fair.

The problem is, there's so much I want to do but far too little time to do it in. Not helped by the fact that almost everything takes nearly twice as long as it used to.

Queen Rocks

Watched most of tonight's final of the UK Music Hall of Fame on Channel 4. Cliff Richard, The Rolling Stones, Queen, Michael Jackson and er, Robbie Williams were inducted.

After accepting their place in the Hall of Fame, Queen were joined on stage by Paul Rodgers (Free/Bad Company) to perform We Will Rock You and We Are The Champions. They were good too; Paul Rodgers did a great job with both songs, but Freddie was sorely missed. Would have been nice if John Deacon could have turned up too, but it looks like he's not interested anymore.

Rodgers and Queen closed the show with a performance of Free's All Right Now. They rocked.

D'oh!

The Tories have sacked their vice-chairman, the shadow arts minister Boris Johnson, in the wake of tabloid newspaper rumours about his private life. It was reported in some newspapers that Boris had an affair with a colleague - rumours that Boris dismissed as 'piffle'.

The Conservative Party leadership has said that its decision to sack Johnson was not based on a moral judgment of his behaviour, but on its belief that, in denying the reports, he had lied.

Or more plausibly, Johnson had to go. He didn't fit. He is likeable, charismatic, and displays more than a microscopic trace of a personality.

No place for that in the Tory party.


[80s reference] Ooh, little bit of politics. My name's Ben Elton. Goodnight!

Scotland 100 - 8 Japan

No, it's not a typo. That really does say 100 up there, next to the word Scotland. It's the score in today's rugby Test match at McDiarmid Park in Perth. Not a bad result, really.

So, unless the Scotland football team get themselves sorted out PDQ, I'm switching sports.

Question Time

That was weird. I just saw someone I know on TV - the surgeon who operated on my ankle was in the audience of Question Time, and asked the panel a question about Yasser Arafat.

PEBKAC

Oh boy. I'd forgotten what a pain in the ass some clients can be. There's one in particular who is really beginning to get on my nerves.

He keeps sending emails, complaining about some or other problem, which I deal with as quickly and courteously as possible (no, really). And this week I get a phone call from my boss telling me he'd taken a call from this same guy, saying that he'd reported a problem to me two days previously and heard nothing since. Huh. That would be nothing apart from the followup emails I sent and the voicemail messages I left for him, then.

And the cause of the problem? A SQL script sent out to him by one of my colleagues over a month ago, which he never bothered to run. My fault, obviously.

A definite case of PEBKAC*, if ever I saw one.

*Problem Exists Between Keyboard And Chair

Big Al And The Obsolete Technology

I normally do quite well when it comes to buying appliances, gadgets and gizmos. I've never owned a Betamax VCR or a Sinclair C5 (a ZX81 and just about every version of the ZX Spectrum, yes. But a C5, no).

That's not to say though, that I haven't accumulated an abundance of antiquated appliances. Far from it. Here are just a few of the Completely Redundant APpliances currently cluttering up Chez Big Al.

1. No fewer than three VCR's. None of which are ever used anymore, since the advent of the DVD recorder. The one in my bedroom isn't even hooked up to a TV anymore. Basically, it's a clock.
2. A black-and-white portable TV. Purchased when I was 11, for use with the ZX81.
   
3. A colour portable TV. Doesn't work properly - only displays pictures in B&W.
4. A hand-held scanner. Actually, I never got this to work, but was too embarrassed to take it back to the shop.
5. A US Robotics Sportster 14.4K modem. For that ultra-slow internet experience.
6. A flatbed scanner. There wasn't really much wrong with this, other than its apparent inability to withstand a frustrated kick or two.
7. A Casio solar-powered watch. A watch, powered by sunlight. In Scotland. Bad move.

Big Al Is A Happy Hun

At long last. Rangers have finally managed a win over arch-rivals Celtic, beating them 2-1 to reach the semi-finals of the CIS Insurance Cup. And about time too - this was their first victory against Celtic since way back in March 2003 (in the final of the same competition).

The two teams will play again, this time in an SPL match, on November 22nd. Would two in a row be too much to hope for?

Make It Stop

It gets worse. In the latest FIFA rankings, Scotland have fallen a further nine places. To 77th. This puts us behind such footballing titans as Congo, Angola, Ghana and Thailand.

Still, now that Berti Vogts has gone, it can only get better.

Can't it?

Worst Song Ever

A recent online poll of 1000 people to find the worst song of all time has produced the following results:

1. Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da - The Beatles
2. Fog on the Tyne - Gazza and Lindisfarne
3. I'll Do Anything For Love - Meat Loaf
4. Diamond Lights - Glenn Hoddle and Chris Waddle
5. We Will Rock You - 5ive featuring Queen

Hmm. No problem with 2 and 4 on that list. But Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da shouldn't be anywhere near the top of the list. Haven't these people heard Octopus's Garden? Sheeeesh.

And as for number 5, come off it - it's not a bad song. It's a great song, just a really crappy version of a great song.

Smoking (And They Banned It)*

Scotland's First Minister, Jack McConnell, has announced that a 'comprehensive ban' on smoking in public places will be introduced by the spring of 2006. I expect there'll be a fair amount of outcry from smokers, and from the pubs, clubs and restaurants concerned about loss of trade. Personally speaking, it suits me just fine. It'll be nice to come home after a night out, not smelling like someone with a 200-a-day habit.

And for another thing, the ban may well stop some people from going to the pub, but it might also bring in a whole new set of customers - people who currently steer clear of places with a smoky atmosphere.

*Sorry about the title - it was the best I could do at short notice.

Googlewhack, Part 2

Awww, poo. Apparently 'frogspawn' is not a valid word to qualify as part of a Googlewhack.

Googlewhack

Inspired by Dave Gorman's Googlewhack Adventure, I set off to find a Googlewhack* of my own. And I found one:

Frogspawn Alleviation

Just the one hit (at the time of writing!).

*A Googlewhack is what happens when two words are entered into Google, and it comes back with one, and only one hit.

No Pain No Gain

After my session at the gym this morning, the physiotherapist warned me that I might experience 'slight muscle pain' later in the day, and tomorrow. Yeah, in the same way that a person in the path of a tidal wave might soon experience 'slight moisture'.

I spent about fifteen minutes on an exercise bike, of all things. A pretty frustrating activity, as I don't have enough movement in my right knee to push the pedal all the way round; I had to pedal forward as far as I could, then back-pedal to get back to the starting position, and so on. And on.

It's all having its benefits though, despite the tedium. Walking is becoming easier, my ankle is moving a bit better (although it's never going to be anything close to perfect), and generally I feel fitter. Who knows, maybe I'll be able to throw these crutches away sometime.

Trailer Trash

Just watched the teaser trailer for Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith. About fifteen times in a row. The movie is released on May 19th 2005 (exactly a week before my birthday, incidentally), and if this (very short) trailer is anything to go by, it's going to be well worth the wait. Almost makes up for not having a new Lord of the Rings movie to look forward to this Christmas.

Music: World Party: Egyptology

Poppycock

With the exception of all the fireworks, it's been a very quiet weekend. This afternoon I was at a birthday party for my cousin's daughter, who turned three today. She's a very bright kid with an unusual range of vocabulary for her age - the word poppycock seems to be a current favourite, as do a number of fairly awful knock-knock jokes, including:

Knock knock
Who's there?
Bear
Bear who?
Bear naked

Actually, not that bad for a 3-year old.

Music: Johnny Cash: American III: Solitary Man

Uncomfortably Dumb

OK, making President Bush seem dumb is like shooting fish in a barrel, but I can't help myself. You could fill books, in fact you could fill libraries full of books, with all the dumb things he's said. This one, though, is my personal favourite (today). It's not just dumb, it's terrifying.

Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we.

Glad I'm on this side of the Atlantic.

Incoming Goods

According to an article on a German website, Brian May and Roger Taylor are considering the possibility of a new Queen album and tour next year. Well, I think that's what it said; my German isn't too hot, so I ran the article through the AltaVista Babelfish translator.

Anyhow, I'm not sure about this idea. It's been thirteen years since Freddie Mercury died, and as good as May and Taylor are, it's never going to be Queen without Freddie. Or for that matter, without John Deacon, who appears to have quietly gone into retirement. I don't have a problem with May and Taylor recording together - quite the opposite - but I'd rather they didn't call it Queen.

Back to Babelfish: amusingly, the title of the We Will Rock You musical translated as Incoming Goods Want Skirt You.

Now there's a show I'd pay to see. Possibly.

Bonfire Night

It's Fireworks Night again. Or Bonfire Night, or Guy Fawkes night. Whatever you want to call it, it's tonight. I've heard a few fireworks going off already, and no doubt I'll be hearing a lot more before the night is out.

As a kid, I used to love all that stuff. But after a while, once you've seen one fireworks display, you've seen 'em all. And when you have a dog in the house, fireworks become a real pain. Dogs in general, and ours in particular - hate fireworks. It wouldn't be quite so bad if it was only one night of the year, but it goes on for weeks. As soon as the shops start selling them, people start lighting them. Christmas starts in September, Bonfire Night starts in October.

So, uh, Happy New Year!

Doggy Style

OK, I wasn't planning to post pics here, but it's not often Max stays still long enough to take a half-decent photo of him. So this is quite a rare event.

Max, who doesn't like fireworks, attempting to hide under my desk.

Books, Part 2

I just remembered one that I left off my list a couple of posts ago.

• Stupid White Men - Michael Moore

How the heck did I manage to forget that one, after everything that's happened this week?

Big Al Is Typing Carefully

Someone* has just brought it to my attention that, by simply typing my name a little carelessly, I could go from being Big Al to being Bi Gal.

I guess it would save a lot of painful and expensive surgery.

*OK, it was me.

Books

For no reason other than boredom, here is a list of books I have read so far this year. The list is, I think, complete and in chronological order, most recent first.

• A Short History of Nearly Everything - Bill Bryson


• The Hippopotamus - Stephen Fry


• Dreamcatcher - Stephen King


• The Truth - Terry Pratchett


• The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien


• Everything's Eventual - Stephen King


• Angels And Demons - Dan Brown


• The DaVinci Code - Dan Brown


• The Curious Incident Of The Dog In The Night-Time - Mark Haddon


• Billy - Pamela Stephenson


• The Hanging Garden - Ian Rankin


• Bored Of The Rings - The Harvard Lampoon


• Waiting For Godalming - Robert Rankin

Dubya Pulls It Off

It's official, then. President Bush has been elected to a second term in office. How the hell did that happen?

The only explanation I can think of right now is a 'better-the-devil-you-know' attitude amongst the US electorate.

Maybe we're not getting the full picture, but on this side of the Atlantic Dubya is widely perceived as a buffoon. Maybe his policies are preferable to those of his opponent, John Kerry. Maybe people don't know what Kerry's policies are. Maybe Americans aren't prepared to entrust the 'war on terror' to Kerry. Maybe Bush isn't the monkey we see him as.

Or maybe, people are just scared of change.

Ho hum.

Big Al's Second Law

Immediately following a session of physiotherapy, you will feel considerably fitter and surprisingly free from pain. Ten minutes later, and for the rest of the day, you will feel like a big old sack of shit.

I am hobbling off to bed now.

Rocket Science For Dummies

Amazingly, quite a few people are still impressed by my job title. "Software developer," they'll say. "You must be awfully clever."

Yeah, right. What they don't know is that computers, unlike people, do exactly they're told. Mostly. You tell a computer to do something stupid, a computer will do something stupid. People, on the other hand, are perfectly capable of doing something stupid without having to be told.

The thing is, getting computers to do what you want them to do might look impressive to some folks, but as the saying goes, it's not rocket science.

All of which made me wonder - what do rocket scientists say when they want to play down the importance or difficulty of their job? "It's a great job, but it's not..."

Not what?

Or do they just say, "Well, it sure as hell beats being a software developer."

All this is basically just my way of noting that nothing of any interest happened today. Again.

Music: U2: All That You Can't Leave Behind

Parkinson's Law

Work expands to fill the time available for its completion.

I was first made of aware of the existence of this law in 1990, during my university days. There's definitely something in it, but it's just a little wide of the mark, in my experience.

Here then, is Big Al's Law.

Work expands to fill, and then massively exceed, the time available for its completion.

I am considering having this engraved on a plaque, which would then be placed on or near my desk.

Bye Bye Berti

At long last. Berti Vogts has finally resigned as manager of the Scotland football* team, citing 'disgraceful abuse' as the main reason for his decision. I'm not sure if this 'abuse' includes a load of Scotland fans chanting 'Berti, Berti, Get to f*ck' after the 1-1 draw with Moldova, but it's a possibility.

The truth, of course, is that Berti is jumping before he's pushed. His dismissal has been looming on the horizon like a big looming thing for quite a long time. To be fair, we can't solely blame Vogts for the shambolic state of our national squad. The pool of players currently available to him (and whoever succeeds him) are, frankly, a bunch of diddies. Even Alex Ferguson would struggle with this lot. Speaking of Ferguson, on his recent arrival back on home turf, a TV reporter asked if he was here in connection with the Scotland job. He almost fell over from laughing so hard. That'll be a 'no', then.

The question now is, who's willing to grasp the poisoned chalice? Walter Smith and Gordon Strachan are both reported to be in the frame for the Scotland job, but would either of them be mad enough to take it?

Not without a lobotomy or two, I'm guessing.

*soccer.