Normal Service Will Resume. Sometime.

I have no idea what's going to happen tomorrow. I know what could happen tomorrow, depending on how well or badly it goes. This could be the last time I post here for quite a while; hopefully not, but there's really no way of knowing for sure right now.

Anyhow, to the few people who have been reading, thanks. I'm glad I wasn't just talking to myself for the past few months.

Normal service will resume, at some point in the future. Maybe tomorrow, maybe not.

In the meantime, here's the Test Card.

Bye.

Doctors And Lawyers

Today I've been to the hospital and the lawyer's office. I'm not sure which of the two was the more depressing.

I'm going to need further surgery on my ankle. It's not healing properly, and the alignment of the ankle in relation to the foot is all wrong. That's visible to the naked eye; my lower leg curves out to the side, and just doesn't look right at all. I'm going to be referred to yet another consultant who specialises in fixing things like this. It's a remote possibility, but a possibility all the same, that I may need an artificial lower limb. Just fucking great.

The less said about the visit to the lawyer, the better. So I'm saying nothing about it, other than that I'm going to be in court tomorrow. If this blog goes quiet in the near future, you'll know why.

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Wha-a-a-a-at? All day? You can't be serious. That's just impractical. You'd have to cancel everything for the rest of the day. And a quickie on your lunch break* would be totally out of the question. Unless you have a desk job, I guess. You could probably conceal it by sitting really close to the desk - being careful, of course, not to get jammed in there.

*As if.

There Goes The Weekend

Whooooosh! WTF was that? Oh, just another weekend passing faster than the speed of light. Seriously, what's going on? Is someone going around on Fridays nights and tampering with all the clocks to make them go twice as fast until Monday morning?

Sigh. I'm not working tomorrow. Instead I have to get up even earlier than normal for a morning appointment with the consultant at the hospital. It doesn't seem like three months since the last one, but I've checked the calendar and apparently it is. Maybe this proves that it isn't only the weekends that are going by too fast. On the plus side, having an early appointment means there's less chance of being kept waiting around for hours on end. Less chance, but not no chance. I'm hoping to get in, have an x-ray or two taken, and then be told that everything looks fine and I won't need further surgery (at least not in the immediate future). I just can't face the prospect of another spell in hospital - although a hip replacement is on the cards in the next couple of years. Joy.

Tomorrow afternoon, I have a meeting with my lawyer ahead of the court appearance on Tuesday. Looking forward to that even less.

Hey Santa Claus

Screw the iPod*. I want this.


*World Peace? That can take a hike, too. We both know it'll never happen.

The Late Bing Hitler

Blimey. Craig Ferguson has been named as the host of CBS' The Late Late Show. Brings back memories for me, I remember him being a brilliant stand-up comedian in the 80s and 90s. He played our local town hall in 1988, at around the same time as he started appearing under his own name, instead of his alter-ego Bing Hitler.

Bing, in case you don't know, was a mad-eyed, permanently angry Scotsman, who'd rant about anything and everything from whales to The Broons. A ranting Scotsman, can you imagine such a thing?

I went to another of his shows a few years later, and he was outstanding. Billy Connolly? Forget it. Ferguson could make him seem about as funny as a funeral. These days, of course, Billy can do that without any outside help.

Queen Tour 2005

Oh. My. God.

Apparently, it's really happening. Here it is, straight from the horse's* mouth.

*Roger Taylor

My Favourite Year

I've been thinking about this. I guess it was while I was sorting out my CD collection that it really hit me. 1989 was a fantastic year for music. Seriously.
Well, OK, it was a fantastic year for music I like.

Aerosmith: Pump
Bob Dylan: Oh Mercy
Daniel Lanois: Acadie
Don Henley: The End Of The Innocence
Elvis Costello: Spike
Fine Young Cannibals: The Raw And The Cooked
Lou Reed: New York
Madonna: Like A Prayer
Neil Young: Freedom
Paul McCartney: Flowers In The Dirt
Pixies: Doolittle
Queen: The Miracle
Rolling Stones: Steel Wheels
Roy Orbison: Mystery Girl
Tom Petty: Full Moon Fever
Tin Machine: Tin Machine
Traveling Wilburys: Volume One
XTC: Oranges And Lemons

Just think about that. All those fantastic records, in the space of a year. I don't think there has been anything like it since.

It's Shite Being Scottish

6 crap things about being Scottish.

1. Rotten teeth.
I blame Irn-Bru for this, unless it is libellous for me to do so, in which case I do not.

2. Ginger hairs.
Head/facial/other (delete as applicable).

3. Pronunciation problems.
Sample phone conversation:
Caller: Hello, is that Mr. Michaeljohn?
Big Al: Nope.
Caller: Mr Micklejohn?
Big Al: Nope.
Caller: Mr Michel-Jean?
Big Al: I'm Scottish, not French.
etc.

4. Gaelic TV Programmes on BBC2.
Less of a problem now that it has moved to Channel 4, but it was a real pisser when the rest of the UK was getting The Simpsons on BBC2 while we got a bunch of subtitled highlanders. Seriously, how many people speak Gaelic anymore? Three? Four?

5. Geographical confusion.
No, I don't know your uncle in Aberdeen. No, really. I don't.

6. Rotten teeth.
Yes, I know. But the one at the back is really playing up tonight.

Roy

This alphabetising of the CD collection is turning out to be a real hoot*. No, really. I now have Roy Orbison next to Royal Philharmonic Orchestra (The). Now, before anyone starts thinking I might actually have a cultured bone in my body, it's a recording of the Philharmonic performing the Queen Symphony - which is probably the most weird-ass CD in my collection**.

*OK, I'm easily amused.
**And it was a Christmas present, so don't start.

For The Beauty Of Wynona

Here's a rather annoying piece of censorship I discovered whilst copying one of my favourite CDs of the 90s onto the computer. Media Player correctly identified the CD as For The Beauty Of Wynona by Daniel Lanois, and displayed the CD artwork. Well, sort of. Here's what it came up with.

Hmm. Well, close, but it's not the version I'm familiar with. Here's what the original cover looks like, scanned from my own copy.

How ridiculous is that? And what kind of job is that for an adult, working out how best to position a 'C' in order to obscure a pair of nipples? A totally unnecessary piece of censorship*, if you ask me.

While I'm on about it, I should probably say it's a fantastic CD - as is Daniel's 1989 album, Acadie.

*And not just because I like looking at naked ladies. Although I do.

Adam Ant

A propos of nothing, I just noticed that 'Random Rant' sounds a bit like 'Adam Ant' - another inhabitant of my CD collection. Go ahead, laugh. See if I care.

For as we all know by now, ridicule is nothing to be scared of.

BT: Bastard Telecom

Not content with copying my CD collection onto the computer (still working on it), I'm putting some of my favourite viewing on there too. There's quite a few movies, including The Matrix and Apocalypse Now - and by the time I finish typing the post, both series of Little Britain should have completed copying on there too. Hurrah. Well, I figure I spend at least half my life in front of the computer, so it might as well have some entertainment value.

Thanks to BT I wasted half my evening trying to update Friends and Family phone numbers, in order to get some measly discount on the phone bill. Of course, their website was running slower than shit, and on the final confirmation of the new numbers, the whole thing just died on its arse. Thanks a bunch, BT. British Telecom? Bastard Telecom* more like.

Still in a slightly bad mood. You may have noticed.

*Of course I don't really mean that. What I really mean is Bastard-Fucking-Arseholes Telecom.

PowerOff (Geek Alert)

A quick mention for a cool application named PowerOff. It's a program that allows you to schedule a time for your computer to close down any open applications, and shut itself down. It does much more than that, but my main use for it is this - I can watch DVDs in bed and not have to worry about getting up to switch the computer off when they finish.

OK, I could achieve the same results through setting up a scheduled task to run shutdown.exe, but that's, like, effort.

Next, I want one of those USB remote controls. Lazy git.

Words Are My Tool*

For the first time ever, I was sorry when I had to leave the gym this morning. No, really. I'd done the parallel bars thing, the stretching thing, the walking-with-sticks-and-not-falling-over thing, the stairs thing, the step thing (different from the stairs thing), and was finishing up with the exercise-bike thing. While I was doing the usual gormless forward-pedalling as far as my knee would allow, and then back-pedalling, this girl arrived. Early twenties, I'm guessing. Blonde. Not entirely unattractive. Actually, entirely not unattractive. And judging by appearances, no stranger to a gym.

So, yes, I admit it. I was being a dirty old letch. I was enjoying the view. While she was doing something or other on one of those fiendish-looking exercise machines**, she turned in my direction and said something along the lines of "Boiling in here, isn't it?". OK, Al, this is it, this is your big chance to impress her with some incredibly witty rejoinder. Quick, Al, think of something...

"Yeah".

Brilliant. Oscar Wilde would have been proud of that one. Words are your tool.

*The reference to 'my tool' might reel in a few more Google perverts. You never know.
**Don't ask me the names of these things. I can identify an exercise bike, due to its similarity to a regular bike. Other than that, though, forget it.

Google

Ooh. Just been checking, and I've finally had some referrals from Google. Quite a flurry of them, in fact. All related to the nude Snow White post a while back. People looking for more information, or pictures, more likely. Well, at least I know where I stand.

Of course, a less mature-minded person would use this as a cheap opportunity to try and attract more hits by using phrases like teen slut, lesbian orgy and pictures of my ex-girlfriend.

But I'm above that sort of thing, obviously.

Best Invention Ever

If anyone were to ask me to nominate the best invention of all time (which I notice they have not), I think I know what I'd pick.

The electric light bulb? I think not. The television? Nope. The motor car? Hardly. The microwave oven? Don't make me laugh. The PC? Hah.

There's only one contender. The Easy-Reach grabber. For those lucky enough not to know, it's a handy little device that allows people with restricted movement to do awkward things like pull on socks and pick up dropped items from the floor.

Other (unadvertised) uses I have found for the grabber include:

1. Inserting and removing DVDs from the player (which sits just above floor level).
2. Removing cobwebs.
3. Changing the channel on my crappy remote-free bedroom TV.
4. Making scary shadow puppets.
   
5. Scratching hard-to-reach places.

Best invention ever.

Better Never Than Late

An occupational therapist showed up here this afternoon, to make arrangements for installing a rail at the front door to the house. I should explain, there are two steps up to the front door, and there's a handrail on one side. When I first got out of hospital, I was still a bit uneasy going up and down stairs, and felt that the rail stopped a little short, and maybe could do with being extended further at the top of the steps. That was four months ago. And today they finally get around to doing something about it. Phew, just in the nick of time, eh?

Suffice to say that I'm now a lot more confident on crutches and stairs* and the problem with the handrail is no longer a problem. So that was a wasted visit. Ho hum.

*But still using crutches. Bastard.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz

This working for a living is tiring stuff. At around 7 this evening I decided a short nap was in order. I woke up just after 9. I wouldn't mind, but evenings are short enough without losing two hours to sleep. Guess I'll just have to stay up until 3am to make up for it. Bad idea, though - I have a physio appointment at, wait for it, 8:45 tomorrow morning. 8:45? That's the middle of the night, FFS.

That's the great thing about working from home - I could fall out of bed at 8:59* and be at my desk for 9 sharp. I can finish work at 5:30pm and be home for, ooh... let's see... 5:30pm. Even better, I don't have to worry about the office dress code. For all they know, I could be sitting here in a clown suit, a Napoleon outfit, a Spiderman costume or my birthday suit**. It's more likely to be jeans and a sweatshirt though, just in case you're worrying.

*Although I'd rather not. It hurts.
**If only it weren't so damn cold.

Modern-Day Mr Men

I did this. Sorry.


Big Al in no way condones the use of drugs. You shouldn't do drugs. Drugs are bad, mmm-kay?

Music

I've embarked on the mammoth task of transferring my entire CD collection* onto my hard drive. It's going to take forever, but it'll be handy having it all in one place at last. I've never been quite sad enough to alphabetise my CDs, but Windows is conveniently doing that for me, placing Elton John next to Elvis Costello, the Ramones alongside Randy Newman, and Eminem snuggling up to Emmylou Harris. Who'd have thought?

I never realised it before, but it turns out that I have no fewer than three Midge Ure/Ultravox 'best-of' collections**. Three. All different, but basically the same. And an album by the Pooh Sticks, which I don't even remember buying, or for that matter, playing.

*Or as much of it as I can find.
**Note to self: Stop buying CDs when drunk.

Separated At Birth?

I knew Natalie Appleton's appearance on I'm A Nonentity, Get Me On TV reminded me of someone, but I just couldn't think who - until I saw her picture* next to one of this guy from the Harry Potter movies.

Could they by any chance be related? Separated at birth? Ever seen together in the same room?

*Natalie is the one on the right. I think.

fUZZYLOGIC

It was a very quiet night in the pub. Seriously, very quiet. If the place had been any more desolate, a tumbleweed rolling across the floor would not have looked out of place. The experience was enlivened though, by the presence of Glyn and Ben from local rock band fUZZYLOGIC. Local heroes at the moment, due to their success in representing Scotland in the final of the Global Battle Of The Bands.

As well as being a really cool bunch of guys, they rock like a bastard. Check out The Postman's Wife from their Authentic Hiss EP.

When they're famous (and they should be), remember I told you so.

Project: Cell Block Zeta

I'm going to apologise up front for this post. Actually, I should probably do that more often.

There's been some restructuring at work lately. The project developers (which includes me) have been split into small teams, or Project Cells, as they've been named. Sound wanky to you? Yep, me too.

Anyhow, there are Project Cells Alpha, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon and Zeta. I'm guessing Beta has been omitted due to the negative connotations of beta software. Each cell consists of one project co-ordinator and three or four developers. I'm not sure how they determined who would be in which cell, but it turns out that I'm in Project Cell Zeta.

To be honest I quite like the idea of being in Zeta.

Don't think Michael Douglas would be too happy though.

Gorgeous George

Blimey. George Galloway has won his libel case against the Daily Telegraph, which claimed he was in the pay of Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein. The MP for Glasgow Kelvin was awarded £150,000 in damages.

I'm willing to bet that tonight's news reports will dig out the old clip of George and his buddy Saddam, where George says, "Sir, I salute your courage, your strength, your indefatigability". Which George has since insisted was a comment aimed at the Iraqi people in general, rather than Saddam himself.

Of course.

Walter

We've known it for a while now, but today Walter Smith was officially named as the new manager of the Scotland football team. The former Rangers boss was unveiled as the successor to Berti Vogts, who 'resigned' a month ago.

Walter must be some sort of glutton for punishment - he visibly aged about thirty years during his time in charge at Rangers, so I hate to think what this job is going to do to him. Good luck Walter, you'll need it.

A Very Minor Rant

Not sure quite why I feel the need to rant about this one, but I do. Here's a short extract from a letter I received:

"If this time is unsuitable you must contact me at the above office and we can arrange an alternative time or date."

Charming. "You must contact me". How about, "please contact me"? Wouldn't that have been slightly less... arsey?

Just a small thing, but it's been annoying the hell out of me.

Music: Warren Zevon: Excitable Boy

Baby It's Cold Outside

Cold weather never used to bother me, due to the extra layer* of blubber I was carrying. In fact, I used to get really ticked off with co-workers complaining of being too cold in the office, while I was sitting on the other side of the room sweating my lardy arse off. Don't tell them this, but I used to turn up early for work, before anyone else, and go round turning all the radiators down. Or off. They always blamed the cleaners.

Anyhow, that's all changed. Instead of being permanently hot, now I'm permanently cold. Even in bed, where up until a few months ago, I'd happily have slept au naturel in all but the coldest weather**. Not anymore though. Now I can't go to bed in anything less than a t-shirt, shorts, three pairs of socks, a woolly jumper, thermal long-johns, snow-boots and a balaclava.

OK, I'm exaggerating a little, but you get the idea.

*Or layers.
**I'm sorry if that's too much detail, but no-one is forcing you to read this.