The Five Songs of Christmas

Yeah, I know. Ideally it would be twelve - but I can't think of twelve Christmas songs that I can hear without wanting to punch somebody in the face. Five, I can just about manage.

If I'm honest, this first one is only here for comedy value, and the impressive feat of incorporating 'subtle' references to 'bell end' and 'ringpiece' into a Christmas song.



And I don't care what anyone says, this is still the best band in the world. I can't wait to see them again in May next year. Tickets are booked.



And I'll let the next three speak for themselves. Merry Christmas.

iWant

Curse you, Steve Jobs and all your satanic Apple minions. I didn't even want one of your iPhones until I saw your damn TV ads today. It's not as if I need one - after all, I already have a phone* and an iPod** - but I want it, dammit. When those ads appeared on the screen, it was all I could do to stop myself from having a quick fiddle with myself, such was my level of lusty desire.

Er, I think I'm going to leave that there.

In other news, I started - and finished - my Christmas shopping this afternoon. I had the whole lot done and dusted in under thirty minutes. And that's including the ten-minute wait at the perfume counter.

What else...? Oh yeah. I'm using my time off to indulge myself in what I like to refer to as Whofest 07 (and possibly 08). I've been downloading and watching all the Tom Baker-era episodes of Doctor Who. Still got loads to watch, but I'm getting through them pretty rapidly. Tomorrow: The Talons of Weng Chiang.

* One of those Motorola RAZR jobbies. A triumph of aesthetics over 'making something that actually works properly'.
** I love my iPod. We are quite inseperable.

Out of Office

"I am currently out of the office until Monday 7th January 2008. If you have an urgent enquiry, I won't be around to help, so you're just gonna have to suck it up."

It felt really good typing that - of course, the wording on the second sentence wasn't exactly what I put in my actual out-of-office message, and in no way represents my actual attitude. Not much, anyway.

My last day at work was Friday, but I've been far too busy relaxing to do any blogging until now. Three weeks off... I love it!

Something Special

I should have mentioned this before, but better late than never. The support act for Crowded House last week was one Duke Special. Nope, me neither. As is the lot of the support act, Duke received a lukewarm response from the audience, but I was intrigued enough to seek out some of his stuff on the web. And I'm glad I did - I think this song, Freewheel, is rather beautiful. I hope you like it too.



And this is good too.



And if you enjoyed either of those... well, you know how YouTube works, right?

It's Only Natural

In my list of Crowded House songs, I missed one out. I'd love to be able to say that this was the song that was playing when I lost my virginity. But it wasn't. Not quite. But for the subsequent five or six times, there it was. I guess that's why I love this band so much.

Crowdies!

Crowded House were brilliant last night. Over two hours of top-quality music, plus a nice line in between-song banter. They played a few songs from their new album, and of course, a whole lot of old favourites like Weather With You, Four Seasons in One Day, Distant Sun, Fall at Your Feet, Don't Dream It's Over, Better Be Home Soon and (as they say in the ads) many more.

When they came back onstage for one of their encores, Neil Finn said, "There are so many songs we could play". Too true. It looks like this reunion is set to continue - there were (near) promises of a new album and tour in 2008. If they do come back, I'll be there.

Old

Looking forward to Friday night, and going to see the reformed Crowded House in concert*. You remember them, don't you? You know, they did that song about the weather. And the other one that went "hey now, hey now, don't dream it's over". Like almost every other band who broke up ten or twenty years ago, they're back. Which is great news for me, because I thought I'd missed my chance to see them play live.

The problem I have is that, when I mention this to many of my younger co-workers, their level of enthusiasm is less than might be hoped for. In fact, zero. Not because they have anything against Crowded House, but because they are too young to remember them from the first time around. "But they only broke up a mere ten years ago," I'll say. "Yes, when I was a mere twelve years old," they'll reply. Dammit. It makes me feel so old.

* All-seated, naturally. I'm not one for this "standing-up" nonsense.

Rock on

Doctor Doctor

I should have thought of posting this earlier.

And this.

Weekend stuff

It's been quite an eventful weekend - by my standards, at least. One of the highlights for me was the Doctor Who segment of the annual Children In Need telethon. If you didn't see it, the picture should tell you pretty much everything you need to know (if you're a fan, anyways).

And then there was the football. Scotland coming painfully close to qualifying for Euro 2008. Close, but no cigar. There can't be any complaints about the way the team played though. The plan for yesterday had been to watch the game on TV in the pub, conveniently situated across the road. Inconveniently, the pub no longer gets the Sky Sports channels. And so began the trek to find a pub which (a) was screening the match and (b) actually had space to accommodate a couple more people. We finally found one, although we were standing right at the door, with a pillar slightly restricting our view of the screen. But still.

And then, the jewel in the crown. Back to the aforementioned pub-across-the-road, to attend a fundraising event for the local womens' volleyball team. Which was nice. Really. Very nice.

Get 'Em Out

Anyone want to guess what's the most popular download out of tonight's shows on British television?

Could it possibly be "Trinny and Susannah Undress The Nation", in which our eponymous heroines assist women around the country with their bra-related issues? Why yes, it just might. Apparently, it's OK to show unfettered boobies on TV before the 9pm watershed, as long as it's in the context of factual programming. If this sounds like a complaint, it certainly isn't. But do we have to call them 'tits'? Seriously?

Oh yes I can (can)

This is what happens when my work colleagues have a little too much time on their hands.

Greetings, gadget fans

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, the greatest invention in the world. Ever.

Well, possibly. It's a DVD player, as the sharper amongst you may have noticed. But it's more than that. See that little grey flap on the right? Open that up, and underneath is a USB port. To which you can attach a USB flash drive or an external hard drive*. And then you can watch all of those movies and TV shows you've downloaded** off the net without having to go through the inconvenience of burning them to a CD or DVD. Isn't that clever?

Yes, it is. And check out the price. You'd be a fool not to.

* And maybe even an iPod, but I haven't tried that yet.
** Illegally, most likely. But I won't tell.

52 Weeks Later

Difficult as it might seem to believe, a whole year has passed since I returned to work. And I still haven't been fired, or even disciplined*. Which is fairly encouraging.

There have been a lot of changes over the last twelve months. The development team I originally joined is now a completely different team. My boss and I are the only ones who were on the team a year ago.

And then there's the takeover by Sage. Although that hasn't made much noticeable difference so far. But it's still early days.

Anyway, I'm still enjoying being back, despite having to deal with the occasional nightmare client. It's obviously not possible to start naming any of them here, of course. At this point I was going to drop some very heavy hints, but I chickened out. For now.

* At least, not in a work-related context.

The World Isn't Fair

Gee, Al - thanks for the scoop.

I bought myself an exercise bike last week. One of those things where you pedal furiously, but don't actually go anywhere. You know, just like life in general.

The exercise bike, I figured, was ideal for someone like me. I can place the bike directly in front of the computer, and watch my favourite TV shows while exercising. After all, there's no need to let a healthy lifestyle encroach on my primary leisure pursuit.

I felt quite proud of myself on the first day, when I worked up quite a sweat, and according to the electronic readout, burnt off 300 calories. I cycled - without moving an inch - over 4km. I have no idea what 4km is in miles, but it sounds quite good.

300 calories however, I later discovered, is equivalent to a packet of peanuts. That's right, a packet of peanuts. How in the purple fuck can a packet of peanuts contain 300 calories? That's ridiculous, surely? Peanuts are insignificant little things, hence the phrase "My name as Al, and I get paid peanuts".

Dammit. Time to get pedalling. It's a good thing Heroes and Prison Break are back in a couple of weeks. It'll make this exercise nonsense a little more bearable.

Fame at last

Went to see Ricky Gervais' Fame show at the SECC last night, and had a thoroughly good time. He's not one of the old school comedians, who can improvise or draw on a vast catalogue of gags - but with an hour's worth of meticulously scripted material, he's a fine comic performer.

His support act, Will Smith, was good too. No, not that one.

And the seats? In terms of location, couldn't have been much better. Front row, just slightly right of centre. Spectacularly uncomfortable, though. And the forty minute wait to get out of the car park after the show was a bit of a pisser too.

But all in all, a great night out. If you want a rough idea of the show's content, click here. Just don't expect great video or audio quality.

School's In

I feel sorry for the kids. You remember them, the little characters who go to school. Well, most of them. As if it's not bad enough that, living in this country, they get the shortest summer holidays in Europe, on top of that they have the weather to contend with. The weather which, this year, has properly screwed them over.

After a rather tight-fisted six weeks* of - at best mediocre, but on the whole.... shite - weather, they went back to school this week. And true to form, the minute they're back to being cooped up in the classroom, wouldn't you just know it, the sun has got his hat on. Hip hip hip hooray. Today was the hottest day of the year** in some parts of Scotland, and it certainly felt like it to me while I was sitting in an aircon-free office, sweating like Gary Glitter watching Kindergarten Cop.

* Six weeks? I've had farts that have lasted longer than that.
** I know that's not saying much, but it was noticeable.

There and back again (by lunchtime)

Had a hospital appointment in Edinburgh today. That's a two-hour journey for what turned out to be a five-minute consultation which could have just as easily have been conducted by phone. It boiled down to this:

• How's the ankle been since last time?
• Much the same really, bit more movement. The hydrotherapy is helping.
• Any pain?
• No.
• Can you come back in six months?
• Yes.

On the plus side, the earliness and, er, shortness of the appointment meant that I was back home by 12:30pm, just in time to have lunch and do very little for the rest of the day.

I blame Ricky Gervais

I can't shift these Ricky Gervais tickets for Edinburgh Castle (which I bought before finding out that he was playing Glasgow the night before). They've been on eBay for two days, but not so much as a nibble so far. I wonder what's putting people off? Could it be anything to do with his less than spectacular performance at the Diana memorial concert....?

Worth the wait

At last. Went to see The Simpsons Movie today. I guess it was impossible for any film to stand up to such massive expectations, but it came very, very close. Actually, and I'm not proud of this, but I was laughing even before the movie started, at the sight of a kid in the audience who was almost the double of Üter. Fortunately the following 87 minutes frequently made me laugh even harder.

Just one thing... where was Sideshow Bob?

I blame Michael Fish

We never had these problems when he was in charge of the weather. Well, apart from the occasional unforseen hurricane.

I'm not impressed with the weather we've been having lately. I take 2 weeks off work, and the sun doesn't come out once. The second I go back to work, wouldn't you know, the sun is splitting the sky. Dirty fiery bastard of a thing.

And just to top it off, our head office is in Oxfordshire, in one of the towns particularly badly affected by the flooding. Which had a fairly negative impact on my ability to connect to the office network when working from home yesterday. Although nothing like as negative an impact as on all the people whose homes were flooded.

Unusual turnaround, really. At the weekend, while large areas of England disappeared under water, people in Scotland were sunbathing naked in their gardens. Er, some of them were. I'd imagine.

It's YouTube, you tube

I could be wrong - I have been before - but I am fairly certain that this is what the Internet was invented for.

Or, being more sensible, this is a real treat...

Or, gravitating back towards the stupid (as is my wont)...

I just wish they'd let Randy go on a little bit longer...

Quiz Night

I'm not long back from quiz night at the pub. Our team did rather well, scoring 84 out of 100 overall. Not bad considering that I had to do the first round on my own. 19 out of 20, since you ask. It's only my third week back at the quiz after a gap of almost 3 years and 4 months, so don't blame me if I'm a little rusty.

84 out of 100 is a pretty respectable score all the same, landing us second place this week. In the old days, that kind of score would have won it easily. But on this occasion, we were beaten by a team of students (pah!) who got 90.

We would have gotten away with it, if it hadn't been for those pesky kids.

Monkey Wash Donkey Rinse

I'm fairly certain that my image has been used on the internet without my consent.

Take a look at the top picture on this page - it loops through three different images. You're looking for the picture with a guy in a stripey shirt on the left. Got it? OK, over on the other side of the pic is a guy in a white shirt standing at the bar. He's a mate of mine. Now go left a bit - there's a guy sitting down, with his head partially obscured by the beer taps. That's me, I'm certain of it. I'd recognise the side of my own head anywhere... particularly when it spends so much time in that place.

Anyways, I don't recall giving my permission for my image to be used. Actually, I don't even recall the photo being taken. I do seem to become forgetful whenever I go over there, for some reason.

No reason for the title, other that it's the song I was listening to while typing.

An idea

Car manufacturers, gawd bless them, have come up with this great idea. It's basically a breathalyser* fitted to the vehicle. So, if you get behind the wheel reeking of alcohol, the whole thing just locks up and prevents you from driving it. Clever, or what?

Could we extend the same principle to computers? What if, before attempting to access eBay or Amazon you had to breathe into a little tube to prove your sobriety. So, if you'd just come home from the pub, pished out of your mental heid, you'd be barred from frittering away your hard-earned cash on frivolous nick-nacks. Imagine the amount of grief that could be prevented.

This is in no way related to the Mr Potato Head posts from a few days ago.

* That's with an 'S', not a 'Z'.

Huuuuh? Huuuuuuuuuuuh?

The world has officially gone mad. Insane in the membrane. Insane in the brain.

The proof is here.

Huh?

I don't understand how this has happened. When I first got hooked on this Internet malarkey, all those years ago, I signed up with CompuServe. And due to what I can only assume to be some massive oversight, my CompuServe homepage is still active - a good 6 or more years since I cancelled my account.

They must love me.

So excited

Christmas comes early... and I almost did too, when I saw this publicity shot for this year's Doctor Who Christmas special.

The Doctor and Kylie. It's almost too good to be true.

You know you want it

Admit it. You want this. You do. You know you do. You want it bad. I know I do.















And you can't have one without the other, right?

Seven

Next time the BBC presents coverage of a live music event of the like of Live Earth, they may want to consider using a slight delay on transmission. If nothing else, it would save Jonathan Ross from having to apologise every five minutes for bad language employed by the onstage talent. Particularly when that includes such notorious potty-mouths as Chris Rock and Ricky Gervais. And Madonna. And, er, Phil Collins.

I counted at least three of George Carlin's seven words you can never say on television, including arguably the worst one*, well before the 9pm watershed.

It's a fucking disgrace.

* You know, the Oedipal one.

It's not what you think...

...but would you feel comfortable asking for this magazine at your local newsagent's?

I found this whilst running a perfectly innocent search on Google Images. Perfectly innocent, I tell you.

Eye Eye

Went for an eye test this morning. I figured it was a good idea since I spend so much time staring vacantly at computer screens - the best part of 25 years, in fact. Between that and the old wives tale of "you'll go blind if you keep doing that, young man", my eyes should be utterly screwed by now.

The good news is that my eyesight is absolutely fine. It's nice to know that there's at least one part of my body that isn't a crumbling ruin.

Yippee-ki-yay

Who'd have thought? Just when we thought that it was compulsory for this year's crop of movie sequels to stink the place out, along comes Die Hard 4.0, or Live Free or Die Hard, or whatever the heck they're calling it. Anyways, whatever you call it, it doesn't stink. Not even a little bit. In fact, it's better than the last one, and at least as good as -if not better than - the one before that. Not as good as the first one, obviously.

Incidentally, tonight's scheduled movie on STV was to have been Die Hard 2. You know, the one with the terrorists at the airport. In the wake of the attempted attack on Glasgow Airport at the weekend, it's not being shown. While we're on the subject, it's reported that US law enforcement officials received warnings two weeks ago of terror attacks in Glasgow and Prague, the Czech Republic, against "airport infrastructure and aircraft".

Gee, guys, thanks for the heads-up.

Work It

This week I came a little closer to full-time working. I currently have two hydrotherapy sessions per week, on Monday and Thursday afternoons. The only way I can get to the hospital in time for my appointment is to work from home on those two mornings, which is just what I've been doing. Working from home is great - you fall out of your bed, and almost instantly you're at your workplace, without any need for that irksome commuting malarkey.

The other three days I'm working in the office, which strikes me as quite a good balance. Much as I like working from home, I think I'd feel somewhat isolated if I did that all the time.

But enough of work. After tomorrow, I'm on holiday for two weeks. Woo, and furthermore, hoo!

Tony's dead, but...

Gordon's Alive!!!










I just had to say that. Sorry.

Yes, it's another Doctor Who post

Uh-oh. Only one more episode of the current run of Doctor Who. After that we'll have to wait almost six months for the Christmas special. How will we cope?

My personal solution is to start watching the old episodes, from the glory days of Tom Baker. I'm working my way through those, currently on Terror of the Zygons. Just in case that's not enough, I'm also downloading the adventures of some of the other Doctors; Troughton, Davison and McCoy. Can't quite bring myself to start watching Colin Baker yet, but maybe one day.

Of course, getting hold of the early episodes is difficult, thanks the the BBC's policy of wiping a lot of the tapes in the 70s. Jaw-droppingly stupid, even by BBC standards. Fortunately though, the Whovian fan base is sufficiently obsessive to have taken the trouble to reconstruct many of the lost episodes using a combination of stills, home recordings, and animation.

For the moment though, I'm sticking with the Tom Baker years, and looking forward to the episodes where Leela appears. Uh, not for any particular reason... no, really.

Longest Day

I love this time of year. It's almost 10:30pm and it's still light outside. OK, not what you'd call broad daylight, but not much darker than a dull afternoon (and there are plenty of those).

It's all downhill from here.

Ricky

The Ricky Gervais show at the SECC in Glasgow in a couple of months is, unsurprisingly, sold out. Hurrah, then, for eBay. Front row tickets, centre stage? That'll do nicely, thanks.

OK, they cost a fortune, but hey, it's only money.

Diminishing Returns

Wasted approximately 90 minutes of my life earlier this evening watching Hostel: Part II. It sucked out loud.

Seriously, I'm trying to think of something good to say about it. OK, well, at least it had the decency to be short.

Not quite short enough, unfortunately.

Man from DelMonte

The above named band played at the pub on Saturday night, for the second time inside a month. Dreadful name, great band.

You have to admire a band whose set includes covers of songs by everyone from Leonard Cohen to Madonna, from Otis Redding to Tenacious D. They do a nice sideline in crude comedy too, as evidenced by their re-working of the lyrics to "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay".

Think about it. I reckon you can figure it out*.

* You need a clue? Pffft. What rhymes with 'Sitting', 'Dock' and 'Bay'?

The Kingsize of Comedy

Farewell then, Bernard Manning. Many people considered you the most offensive man on the planet, and thought you to be a racist misogynist homophobe. Others claimed you were the funniest man in Britain.

At the very least, you didn't single out any particular group. You ripped into black people, gays, the disabled, Indians, Pakistanis, lesbians, mothers-in-law, and any other women who didn't fall into either of the two previous categories. Oh, and the Scottish (probably). In fact, pretty much anyone who wasn't Bernard Manning.

Your critics clearly were missing the point. Your jokes were just that - jokes. No-one could actually hold the views you so often spoke of. Right?

Right?

Bernard?

Guess Who

Oh. My. God.

OK, it was the worst kept secret in decades. But still. It was edge-of-seat TV. And by a mile, the best episode of Doctor Who since our old friend came back to us.

Where's My (insert item here)

Grrr. I hate losing things. Unfortunately, being a highly disorganised kind of guy, I lose things all the time. The annoying part of it is, despite having tons of crap I'll never use or need again, I never lose any of that stuff. Only the good stuff goes missing.

For instance. If just one CD from my collection has to go missing, you can bet your bottom dollar it won't be "Million Seller" by the Pooh Sticks. By the way, they were having a laugh with that title, obviously. Hands up anyone else who owns "Million Seller". Hmmmm, nope, I'm not seeing a million hands.

Nope, if just once CD has to go missing, it will be the one you love most. You know, the one with the song you want them to play at your funeral*. Which brings me to my next point.

What song would you want played at your funeral? I've narrowed it down to these few...

• Born To Run
• Bridge Over Troubled Water (maybe the Johnny Cash version)
• Desperados Under The Eaves

In other 'news', I've been home a year. Fastest year of my life.

* Cheery fucker, aint I?

Things Not To Do In Glasgow When You're Dead

After enjoying a Friday evening in Glasgow, you may come to regret your decision to cut short your part in the festivities in order to get the last train home. Seriously, don't do it. Don't even think about it. Find someone to stay with overnight (who, and how you go about this is entirely up to you). Book a hotel room, even. But for the love of God, or Buddha, or Allah, or Graham the Giant Pixie, don't get the last train.

In case you didn't know, or couldn't have guessed, the last train is full - and I mean full - of Very Drunk People. You'll know they're Very Drunk People, because even though you may have had a good few drinks yourself, this lot will still appear to be completely off their respective tits.

If you really can't avoid getting on the last train, there are a couple of things you can do to prepare yourself. Firstly, buy some earplugs. You'll need these, unless you like the idea of spending the journey listening to some very loud, very tuneless and very sweary singing.

Secondly, unless you have the name of a very good dry-cleaning service, take a large polythene sheet. You'll thank me for this piece of advice when the 25-stone guy with the mega-sized kebab and the unsteady hands decides to sit next to you. Trust me on this one.

Splish splash

A handy tip for the future, should you ever find yourself using crutches and attending hydrotherapy sessions.

If you’re using a crutch (or two) to assist while getting into the pool, and the crutch (or crutches) in question (or questions) are the adjustable sort with holes along the sides… Don’t neglect to consider the possibility of the lower part of the crutch (or crutches) filling up with water.

The funny thing is, you may not notice the difference immediately afterwards. You might walk some distance with water sloshing around in there without even knowing it. Perhaps later that same day, you might go for a light aperitif* at a licenced establishment of your choice, propping your crutch (or crutches) upright against the bar. You could even walk (or stagger) home, with your waterlogged extra legs.

It’s just possible that having arrived safely home, you might decide to close a door a few feet away from you. But rather than expending the effort of walking over to the door, perhaps you’ll decide to use your crutch to close it… tilting the crutch to the horizontal, and watching in sheer drunken bewilderment as a couple of litres of water start pouring out onto the carpet. Oops, you might say. Or, What The Fffff...... Or some other word (or words) of your choice.

* Six or seven pints, say.

Interesting Times

We recently received some interesting and - to most of us - unexpected news at work. We've been bought over by another, much larger, software company. You can read the full story here. It's still early days at the moment, but hopefully this will turn out to be a good thing. There are no plans for any changes, restructuring or redundancies at the moment, but who knows what's ahead? Guess we just have to wait and see. There's currently a 90-day review period, after which they'll decide what action, if any, they feel needs to be taken. Hopefully nothing major.

Bloody Hell

Yesterday morning, I had a blood pressure check for the first time in a few months. Apparently my BP was 'very high', despite the various magic potions I've been prescribed to keep it in check. But then,

1. I have a sneaking suspicion that I suffer from 'white coat syndrome', and the very knowledge of an impending BP check may in itself have pushed it up a few notches.
2. I may have inadvertently failed to take my medication for a few days last week.
3. I was driven to the surgery by my mum, and that would put anybody's blood pressure up*.

* I fully realise that I am in no position to be critical of anyone else's driving. And yet, I just did.

Catch-up Time Again

Oopsy. Nearly two weeks without a post.

So, uh. The wedding reception was great. I travelled to Inverness with some relatives, and we stayed two nights in the hotel where the reception was held. A very nice hotel it could be too, with a bit of work. Actually, it looks like they've made done some of that, but haven't quite gotten around to finishing it. They had a very nice swimming pool, where (according to the literature in the hotel rooms) 'bathing costumes must be worn'. Spoilsports.

Er, anyway. With travelling up on the Friday, and the reception not being until Saturday evening, I pretty much had a whole day to fill. Fortunately, being the resourceful type, with access to a bar and a nice sunny place to sit, this didn't present a problem.

Yeah, that's right, I did say 'a sunny place'. In Inverness. In the middle of April. Who'd have thought it? Sitting in the hotel grounds all afternoon, sipping overpriced Irish cider, turned out to be very pleasant indeed. By the time of the reception I'd moved onto Jack Daniels and Coke, which didn't impress the Highland relations much at all.

After drinking from around noon until 1am, I was expecting a bugger of a hangover on Sunday morning. But guess what? I woke up feeling fresh as a daisy. OK, I woke up at 10am feeling fresh as a daisy, but still. I've had horrendous hangovers from drinking far less. Obviously my mistake up until now has been... Not drinking enough.

Pick a hole in that one.

Pay Up

Finally... not a complaint! Had to happen eventually.

It was pay review time at work this week. I really wasn't sure what to expect - I had a rough idea of what I wanted, but no clue of whether I stood a chance of getting it or not. As it turned out, I got what I had been hoping for, and a bit more on top. I haven't done the maths* but I'm fairly sure it's the largest pay increase I've had to date. It's going to be a good weekend, I think.

Speaking of which, I'm off to Inverness for the weekend, specifically for my cousin's wedding reception on Saturday night. Should be a good night, and I have a copper-bottomed excuse for not dancing.

* It's a plural, America. Get over it.

Just one thing...

As great as it is to have Doctor Who back on TV, there's one thing that annoys me. Seeing as how they've gone to the trouble of recording a cracking new version of the theme tune, it would be nice if we occasionally got to hear it during the end credits without some gormless continunity berk yakking all over the top of it. Sigh.

Who's Your Daddy

I can't believe how excited I am about this being back on tonight. My favourite TV show as a kid, and - who'd have thought - my favourite TV show as a 'grown-up'.

One skin, two skin, three skin... ...

Of course, I know that HIV/AIDS is no laughing matter. And yes, I realise I'm just being childish here. But when you consider the subject matter of this article, it's hard to suppress a snigger when you spot the name of the Director of HIV/AIDS at the WHO.

Vucking Vista

I'm starting to get to grips with Vista (tightly, around its neck). After a bit of what we in the technical profession refer to as 'fucking about', I've managed to get over a few of my main gripes.

I can now play DVDs properly, and the computer now boots up properly without insisting that I install drivers for my webcam every time. And all I had to do was uninstall McAfee Security Centre. And then try to install Norton instead. And then try to update Norton to a version that works with Vista. And then give up on that idea, and try to install Norton 2007. And then remember to uninstall the previous version of Norton first. And then get very annoyed when the previous version of Norton refused to uninstall. And then do a system restore to the point before I installed Norton. And then install the new version of Norton.

Piece of piss.

Vexed by Vista

My new computer arrived on Thursday morning. The computer is awesome. It feels ten times faster than the old one. For one thing, I don't have time to make a cup of coffee (and drink it, and wash the cup afterwards) whilst waiting for it to start up.

And isn't Windows Vista great? Isn't it?

Well, if you don't have any objection to your webcam no longer working, and you're quite happy to be unable to use your computer to watch DVDs that you've purchased, and you're not bothered by the minor inconvenience that NOTHING FUCKING WORKS, then... yes, Windows Vista is just dandy.

I'm seriously considering nuking Vista and installing XP instead.

Bunch of Bankers

Hurrah! I finally convinced myself to buy the new computer I've been lusting after for the last six months or so. There's not much wrong with the one I have, other than the speed, or lack of it. It's almost four years old* and starting to show its age.

I paid for it with my debit card, which seemed like a great idea. The money is taken straight from the bank account, without any need to worry about interest charges if the bill isn't paid in full on time. What could possibly go wrong? Right?

To celebrate, I took myself all the way across the road for a pint or two of overpriced Irish cider. Living almost directly across the road from the pub is convenient. Sometimes too much so. Today the owners had finally gotten around to repairing the cracked tiles on the steps leading to the front door. Since the main entrance was still closed off, I had to go in through the tradesman's entrance (stop sniggering at the back).

So. Anyway. After one or two pints or overpriced Irish cider, I had run out of actual money, and had to rely on plastic to bail me out. I handed over the card (yup, the same one I had used to pay for the computer) only to have it promptly declined by the fancy machine that takes your card, and calls up your bank to authorise (or not) your transaction. The machine instructed the 'mechant' to phone an authorisation number, which they did, and eventually passed the phone over to me to answer a number of 'security questions'.

Which, fortunately, I managed to answer correctly. Lucky for me that I know my own date of birth and the name of the town where I live. A couple more pints of the overpriced Irish cider and it might have been a different story.

I'm looking forward to getting my new computer. Assuming everything still works considering it's preloaded with Windows Vista...

* Although I've only actually had about two years' use out of it, but that's another story.

Old School

This old photo from 1975 resurfaced a couple of days ago. I'm in there somewhere, but I'm not saying where. As a small clue, I have a moderately gormless expression on my face. Although I don't think that narrows it down too much.

What I found more interesting (and this gives you a fair idea of what a sad individual I am) was the other side of the page, showing the TV listings from the days when there were a grand total of three channels to choose from. How ever did we cope?

Yep, the days when ITV1 was just plain old ITV. Long before ITV2, ITV3 and ITV4. Still can't figure out why ITV needs 4 channels when they don't have enough programmes to fill one. We could ask the same question of the BBC, come to think of it.

What are the odds?

On account of a rail strike here, I'm working from home today. Or, I would be working if not for the fact that one of the servers at head office decided this would be a perfect time to go tits-up and refuse to accept remote connections. The one day when half of the Glasgow office is working from home and depending on the office network to be running smoothly. Wouldn't you know it?

One of the guys at head office is working on it right now, and hopefully it'll be up and running soon.

On the plus side, missing out the daily commute is a real bonus. I got to stay in bed until 8am, and as soon as I finish work*, I'm back home.

* That's assuming that I get to start it at some point.

Wide Load

For some reason, the people in charge of the trains have reverted to using the older style carriages in the morning. This is actually a good thing in a way - the older trains have more seats, for one thing. The only problem is that the seats are roughly 3 inches (that's 7.62 cm, metric fans*) too narrow. Not such a problem if you're at the window seat, but if you're the next one along, 3 inches of your seat is already occupied by overspill from the person beside you. And if you're the unlucky sod on the end, 6 inches of your seat is already taken. Which means that you're left to perch on the end in a position so uncomfortable you'd probably be better off standing. At least the newer trains have armrests to prevent others from encroaching on your territory.

* Talking of fans, on the train home last night I saw something I don't think I've ever seen before. A guy using a fan. Not one of the battery-operated ones, one of the little paper ones that you can fold up or, uh, fan out. You know you have a weight problem when you need to use a fan in Scotland in February.

The day the music (almost) died

Over the course of the weekend, I made an interesting and unexpected discovery.

It seems that an iPod can survive being submerged in water for up to twenty seconds. I'd rather not go into the specifics of how this discovery came about - suffice to say that I had been drinking.

A Complaint

Just for a change.

I can see the point of having announcements on trains, particularly for people not familiar with the route. It would be quite handy to have someone telling you which station the train is approaching. Or if you wake up and it's dark outside, and you think 'Where the frick am I?'. Quite useful, I suppose.

But there's a limit. What you don't need is a 3000-decibel spiel informing you that you're now approaching Pigsknuckle, and a few seconds later that you have now arrived at Pigsknuckle, where you should change for routes to Bonefuck, Arsecandle and Shithole. Oh, and the station has a no-smoking policy. Oh, and mind the gap when alighting from the train.

Mind the gap? In case of what? How many people in the history of the world have ever fallen down the gap? Not many, I'd imagine. The gap is about 3cm (that's an inch and a bit, imperial measurement fans). You couldn't even fit Kate Moss through that. At least not without a lot of effort.

And now the train has left Pigsknuckle. The next stop for this train is Shutthefuckupdammit.

Hey Kirk

I used to enjoy reading this guy's blog. But it's almost a year since he updated it. Perhaps he just lost interest... who can say? Shame though. I just hope he's OK.

Uncle Ian

Last night I received the sad - but not entirely unexpected - news that my Uncle Ian had passed away. He'd been in poor health for quite a long time following a very nasty accident at home.

Ian and my Dad came from a family of five brothers - Ian was the last one remaining after Dad shuffled off the old mortal coil in 2002.

This is the most recent picture I could find of the two of them together, taken (I'm fairly sure) in July 1997. Ian is the one on the left of the picture.

Sick

I came down with a cold over the weekend, and had to take the day off work today. If nothing else, it gave me plenty of time to catch up on some movies, namely Borat and Team America: World Police - the latter of which I've been meaning to watch for quite a while - and the latest episodes of Prison Break, Heroes, The Simpsons, Family Guy and American Dad.

Feeling a bit better this evening, but I'll wait and see how I feel in the morning before making a decision about going in to work. After all, still got a whole pile of stuff to watch here.

And we're back

After everything that happened, getting my job back was a mighty relief. When I returned to work in September, it was on a six-month contract. The arithmetically talented amongst you will no doubt have calculated that a six-month contract commencing in September 2006 will expire in March 2007.

It was nice, therefore, to be offered a permanent position starting from the middle of February. And it's good to be back amongst a few of my colleagues from my first tour of duty. Heck, it's good to be anywhere other than that place.

Big Bother

Pardon the intemperate language, but you know your country is fucked when the top story on the evening news is Celebrity Big Brother.

The Bollywood star Shilpa Shetty has been the subject of a hefty amount of abuse from fellow housemate Jade Goody. Accusations of racism are flying about all over the place - particularly bad news for chancellor Gordon Brown, currently in India to promote, well, Gordon Brown mostly.

Now, I can't say for sure if Jade Goody's behaviour is racially motivated. After all, I don't know what goes on inside Jade's head (if anything). But it's certainly bullying. Prompted, as bullying so often is, by jealousy. Jealousy brought on by the fact that Shilpa is a talented woman, with a successful, identifiable career - not to mention a great deal of class and no small amount of beauty. Whereas Jade... isn't.

I was going to add that Jade is a no-mark, reality TV-created, non-celebrity with a face like a pig's arse. But I don't think that would be helpful.

Suggestion Box

Rooms in hospitals should be soundproofed. It's a tad disconcerting for the patient waiting to see the consultant, to be able to overhear the conversation between the consultant and the medical students in the adjoining room. When said persons are discussing the aforementioned patient's case history. And laughing. The patient might have to start coughing discreetly to drop the hint that, if the people in the next room can hear the patient, then the reverse is also true. Some patients would prefer only to hear the good news, or - at the very least - the diplomatic version of the news.

In other news, I didn't get to see the orthopaedic surgeon at the hospital today. He was off work with a broken arm, after falling off his bicycle (more than likely the wind blew him over).

Big Al gets the morning train...

...he works from, er, 10 till 6:30.

After three weeks off, going back to work wasn't the most attractive proposition. Three weeks which, I might add, passed at the speed of what seemed like three days. I hate when that happens. Anyhow, while most decent, respectable people* are back at work, those workshy layabout students appear to still be on holiday, judging by how quiet the trains are. It's great. Lots of empty seats, for one thing. A bit of comfort for a change. Hurrah! I don't expect it to last too long though. Back to the usual game of sardines next week, I suspect.

I've taken to downloading episodes of The Simpsons onto the iPod, and watching them on the train home. The journey home takes about 40 minutes, which is conveniently roughly long enough to watch two episodes.** Actually, I hardly ever watch TV on TV anymore. Only on the computer or the iPod. Which is a great way of filtering out all the crap the TV companies constantly churn out.

* And me.
** No adverts - makes all the difference.

Happy New Year

Better late than never, right?

Once again, the weather succeeded in buggering up the New Year celebrations around Scotland, particularly the big outdoor events in Glasgow and Edinburgh. You'd think we'd know better than to organise street parties at the end of December.

Couldn't we move New Year to, say, the end of July? At least there would be an outside chance of some half-decent weather.