Next Time On...

I really like watching TV programs and films. They are amongst my favourite moving pictures that there is. I especially like them when I don't know what is going to happen. The suspense is one of the best things about watching things. Not knowing what is going to happen; trying to work it out; being happy when you were right and being shocked when something happens that you didn't see coming at all. It's brilliantly entertaining.  So, why then, do they have to have "Next Time On..." at the end of programs? I will be watching it anyway. I don't want to see a clip of the best bit and then not be surprised by it. I want to enjoy that moment for the first time in the context of the program. Am I the only person who goes, "NOOOO!!! LA LAA LAAAAARRRR!!!" and switches off when I see an advert for the next episode of something I want to watch or when the "Next Time On..." comes on at the end of a program? They tend to give you way more information than is necessary to entice. They give away actual plot. Sharon watches Home & Away and their "Next Time On..." is pretty much a synopsis of the next episode. They might as well say, "If you're not going to be able to watch the next episode, but will watch the one after that, here is what you will need to know." Now, I'm not a Home & Away fan, so I really don't give a shit and just watch with mild interest how Sharon can let it tell her everything that is coming and then still watch it.

Then there are adverts for films. Adverts for films are a brilliant thing. You may not know a film is coming out. It's not like an advert for a TV series. You know that is on. It shouldn't have to give you an idea of what's coming. It should just tell you when it's on. End of. An advert at the pictures needs to give you a BRIEF idea of the concept of a film. Not the story, but just enough to make you go "Oooo. That looks interesting. I think I'll watch that". It should not contain the BEST jokes/action sequence/major plot twists. What is the fucking point? A good example of a bad advert is The Rise Of The Planet Of The Apes. The advert for that was a 2 minute summary of the film. It meant that I really didn't enjoy the film at all, because the film just filled in the holes with action sequences between the plot outline given in the advert. They could have just shown a scientist, a monkey, and said, "How it all began" and then showed the title of the film. THAT would have been much more enticing and would have made the film a lot more enjoyable for me. Imagine they used that idea when advertising The Matrix, or The Sixth Sense or fucking The Empire Strikes Back. (*EMPIRE SPOILER* Don't read the next quote if you are newly on Planet Earth. I will come on to people spoiling things next and so chose a very famous twist)  "Watch the next instalment in the Star Wars saga, where we find out that Darth Vader is Luke's father and then chops his hand off." That is the level of spoiler we get with adverts these days. Cinema people, put the intrigue back into the adverts!

Finally, as mentioned, we have people who spoil things for you. Accidentally is fine, occasionally. It's annoying, but some people just let things slip or don't realise you haven't seen something yet (I am reminded of a recent Doctor Who incident with a friend). It happens. But SOME PEOPLE relish in telling you things when you haven't seen something. They try to PRETEND they are being good about it and protecting the story, but they are not. They are being TWATS! They say, "I won't tell you anything significant. I'll just tell you this..." and then tell you something, which means you see something coming once you see things start to unfold when watching it. There are two people I know who are very good at this. The first is my Dad. He isn't too bad. He just tends to tell me jokes from something I am going to watch. It sometimes means I don't laugh at the joke, but not often as the joke is usually about the context and so is funny anyway. He sometimes tells me about something that happens in a film or TV program, but it's never a plot twist. It's usually about a good action sequence. Which again, doesn't detract too much from actually watching it. The second person, however, is someone at work. It's probably better if I tell you about a specific program (without using ANY specific examples... don't worry). The program is Fringe. I got into Fringe relatively late. The third series was just coming to an end. I didn't watch any of the third series first off, I just heard that much praise for it that I decided I wanted to watch it. My cousin bought me series 1 & 2 on DVD for my birthday and me and Sharon started to watch. Two people at work are really into Fringe. And one sits next to me. The other comes over to talk to him about it. That is fine. I just say, "DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING!" or I go and make a brew if they want to talk in depth about it. I'm not about to put a censor on what people can talk about. Just don't say it to me. The one who sits next to me respected my not wanting to know. Especially with something like Fringe, where you don't see a lot of things that are coming and they like to throw in twists and turns. The other LOVED giving me hints to things in a, claimed, not very hinty way. He would say things like, "I won't tell you anything I'll just say XXXX XXXX". BANG! I would start thinking about that phrase. I would try not to, but I would ultimately work it in before that thing happened. SPOILED! Bastard! It meant that I dragged Sharon through a quite gruelling regime of Fringe watching and we are now up to date with how far through series 4 they are. Partly because I wanted to know what happened, but MAINLY because I HAD to be up to the same point at this person so he couldn't ruin things for me any more. For the record he is a company director, so the option of telling him to "FUCK OFF AND SHUT THE FUCK UP!" was never really viable.

Next time on @mightytonka's blog...

Willkommen in der Schweiz

My cousin and his girlfriend recently moved to Zurich, where he has been sent on a 6 month secondment for work. Sharon and I had been talking about going to Switzerland, so we decided to combine going and seeing them with seeing Zurich. We booked a couple of flights and a hotel for a long weekend.

On Friday we got on an aeroplane and flew the short flight to Zurich. From there it was 15 minutes by train to the centre, and a short walk to the hotel.  All steps went without incident. We went into our hotel and, again, all went smoothly. They had our reservation and payment and gave us the key to our room.

We went up to our room and I set about putting the iPad and iPhones on the free wireless. As I was sat at the desk that looks out of the window Sharon walked over and looked out. "OH MY GOD!!! There are people having sex right across from us". I looked up and, indeed, there was a woman quite openly riding a bloke in the window directly opposite from ours. No curtains or blinds drawn. No sign of being bothered that they were on display to an entire hotel. I put it down to being one of those things and got back to work on the iPad. But, I am a human being and I couldn't help but glance up occasionally. About 5 minutes later I glanced up and they had finished. Thank fuck for that. But, "OH!". There she is. In the other window. Getting a drink. Naked. Walking around. Naked. With no clothes on. Naked. 

Thank you Switzerland. That was quite an interesting welcome.

We decided to go for a walk and call in on my cousin and his girlfriend. We had a quick brew, said hello,  and arranged to meet for food later. We then went to explore. We found the Christmas Market and had a couple of gluhwein. Very tasty they were too. Then we decided to go into a pub, where I would get a pint and Sharon a cocktail. There was an Australian pub next to the German Market, so that seemed an easy start. We walked in and sat down. Sharon got the cocktail menu and decided she wanted a "Sex on the Beach". I made some HILARIOUS jokes about it maybe being a little cold for that. And Sharon laughed appropriately (stared blankly until I had finished). I decided that, it being an Australian theme bar, I couldn't go far wrong with "Pint of Fosters, bitte". I walked up to the bar and waited. A man walked over and stood next to me also waiting. The barmaid asked who was next and he indicated me. In my best German (English with "bitte" on the end) I asked for a Sex on the Beach and a pint of Fosters. The barmaid understood and then asked the bloke next to me what he wanted. He ordered in German and all appeared to be going swimmingly. Our two orders were being done collectively by the barmaid and a barman. The barman pulled a pint of Fosters and put it in front of the bloke next to me. I had heard his order. It was all in German. I did not hear him say the word "Fosters" once. That would have stood out to me. So I gestured to the pint and asked if that was his. He answered in German but made a gesture that seemed to indicate a negative response. So I picked the pint up and took a large swig. He looked rather shocked. The barman then walked over with MY pint of Fosters and went to put it in front of me. On seeing I already had one he looked confused and then seeing the horror in my eyes, understood, laughed and put it in front of the other bloke. I turned to the bloke, "I am SOOO sorry." He THEN spoke English and said it was ok and not to worry. I willed the ground to swallow me up, but as it wouldn't I took another swig of my beer. The barmaid said the price of the round to me. In German. I can count up to 5 in German. And as Sharon's cocktail was 15CHF, it definitely cost more than 5. So I was stumped. I asked if she could say the price in English. She did. I didn't understand because of her accent. So I asked again. Nope. Still didn't get it. So I pulled a 50CHF note from my wallet and said, "I'm sure that will be enough". It was plenty.

Typical Brit abroad. Sorry Switzerland. I did make more effort to order in German and definitely didn't blatantly drink someone else's drink as the weekend progressed and seemed to do ok. 

Operation: Do Some Exercise Every Day Until I Lose A Stone

Recently I have been quite busy. Partly drinking; partly sitting; mainly getting fat. Not, "Oh my God, have you seen that bloke waddle towards Disney Land" fat, but definitely larger. I weigh the most I have ever done. It's ok, I am the most married I have ever been and I am currently the oldest I have ever been too, but I would like to not have to buy new clothes on the basis of size rather than wearing out.

I currently weigh 12 stone. See, not MASSIVE. I have usually hovered around the 10.5 stone mark. When me and Sharon first met 5 years ago I weighed 9.5 stone, but I was under weight. About 10.5 - 11 stone is perfectly good for me. 12 stone isn't terrible, but everything is a bit more uncomfortable and tight. I want to be 11 stone so I can be comfy again. Actually, I don't care about the weight, I'm not a girl, I just want to lose my belly and feel comfy again. I just happen to know about 11 stone will be about right for this.

So, what to do? Drink less? Yes. Eat less? Yes. Exercise more? Definitely! The drinking and eating less will be a minor adjustment. The exercising rather more so. Cos I do fuck all again. This has only been the case for 5 - 6 months, but combined with eating and drinking slightly more it has made a big difference.

The plan? Eat and drink slightly less and exercise, to a degree, every day. It doesn't have to be a marathon a day. Just something that I could consider getting off my arse for a period of at least 30 mins. It can be anything. Go for a run; ride my bike; go for a walk; do some press ups; do some DIY. Just something.

I started yesterday. As it was day 1 I pushed it. I have done fuck all in ages and I ran 4 miles. It hurt like a bitch. From nothing to running for 40+ mins is a fucking pain in the arse... and legs... and chest... and head... and everywhere else. Today has been a struggle to walk in a way that didn't invoke comedy stares or Sharon saying, "You do realise that you are walking like John Wayne?". Now, Sharon doesn't seem to know anything about cool old pop culture so I am just impressed that she has heard of John Wayne, but I would like to walk properly. Today was made worse by the fact that I visited my dad for dinner and Football Focus, as I do every week. Instead of driving I cycled the hilly hilly McBilly 7 mile round trip, then I walked the 30 minutes each way walk into town with Sharon this afternoon. The upshot is my legs are double fucked and lots of people got to witness my comedy walk. Still, it's a start and things can only get easier.

Now I have to continue exercising every day until I lose that stone. Hence the name "Operation: Do Some Exercise Every Day Until I Lose A Stone" (A cryptic name I know). 

I won't be doing lots of blogs on this. I have wrote about exercise and running early on in this blog and I moved away from that because it was quite serious and boring. I'm sure I'll let you know when I've lost half a stone/a stone though. 

Watch this (increasing) space (around my figure... I hope).

Geeks Are Cool

Yeah, you heard me. Geeks are COOL! Yes they ARE! And do you know why? Because we are ALL geeks. In our own way we are all interested in something, to a degree, in a way that could be considered geeky. Sure, I'm a geek geek. I'm geeky about computers and Star Trek and Quantum Leap and The Beatles and other geek "standards". But there are people out there who look down on me for being a "geek" and think it's a bad thing because they don't recognise that THEY too are a GEEK. They just don't realise because the things they are geeky about are considered acceptable and cool to them. Things such as shoes or X-Factor or clothes or handbags or etc. Things that to another person (me) are a waste of such intense interest.

Of course there are levels of geek. Let's take Star Trek as an example. You have your person who likes Star Trek and will watch it when flicking through the channels and come upon an episode. They are a level 1. You have me, a person who has EVERY episode and film of Star Trek (The Original Series; The Next Generation; Deep Space Nine; Voyager and Enterprise) on DVD. I am probably a level 5. Then you have the people that go to the conventions dressed as a Klingon and get married on the bridge of the Enterprise and stuff. Their level is THE FINAL FRONTIER (geek joke). Each level is cool. As being interested in and loving something is cool (as long as it's not hurtful, like poking puppies with a stick or something of course). 

My best mate, recently, spent an amount of time showing his wife engineering drawings on his phone. She in turn spent an amount of time trying not to look bored and humouring him and saying that they were very nice, when she didn't really have any idea what she was looking at. He is an engineering geek. She is a nice wife. She, in turn, is an awesome knitter. She carries her knitting wherever she goes and will quite often whip out some needles and wool to carry on with her latest creation. She is a wool geek. They are both very cool people, not despite these things, but BECAUSE of them. It is an amazing thing to find something in this world that engages and excites you to a degree that you pledge a devotion to it and want to share it with others. We all have big interests in our lives that we know lots about and spend lots of time showing an interest in. In whatever that thing may be, you are a geek. And you are very cool because of that thing. That thing helps define who you are as a person. And being defined by something you love is very cool.

Why Putting Cups Upside Down In The Cupboard is Stupid

That's right! Two blogs on the trot about cups. Cups are important. We drink tea and coffee and cup-a-soups out of them. And we put them in our actual mouths. I don't know about you, but I'm rather picky about what I put in MY mouth. Some people insist on putting cups in the cupboard UPSIDE DOWN?! Why? They say it's more hygienic. IT IS NOT MORE HYGIENIC YOU FUCKING MORON! The best explanation I have had about why it is more hygienic is that there is dust flying about in the air and it will LAND IN YOUR CUP... through the cupboard door of course. It must also be super fast cup-seeking-dust that will ATTACK, the second the cup is placed in the cupboard, in an attempt to FILL THE CUP WITH DUST and before you decide to have a brew within the few minutes/hours/days since it was placed there. I guess if it's there for a long time (months/years) then this kind of makes sense.

BUT, how is THIS for SENSE? The shelf in a cupboard is usually covered in MORE dust and who knows what else. How often do you clean the shelves in your cupboards? Not every time you place a cup in there I wager. So the shelf is about the dirtiest and most unhygienic item that is likely to come into contact with a cup during a storage situation. And what do you put on that shelf? The bottom of the cup, which is of no consequence? No. You put the TOP of the cup on the dirty shelf. The only part of the cup that GOES IN YOUR MOUTH is placed against the dirty surface, you dirty fucking repulsive mother fucker. You make me SICK! Possibly literally. 

So, when you place a clean cup the wrong way up on a shelf, I have to wash it again so I don't DIE OF SHELF RABIES!

That is why putting cups upside down on shelves is STUPID. DON'T DO IT!

I, Me, Mine... MUG!

I have a slight over-protective obsession with something. It's a cup. It's MY cup. It's MY cup at work. It's not your cup. Don't even think about using it. It's MINE!

The cup is the one in the picture.  It's a Beatles Yellow Submarine mug. I bought it in my last job when my Homer Simpson one finally had all the picture washed off in the dishwasher at work.  I have loved it ever since. A brew, at work, in any other cup really doesn't taste the same. Tea, coffee, cup-a-soup are all markedly improved by the magic of The Beatles and their yellow submersible vessel.  When I started in this job it started to go missing on a number of mornings. I think this really bred the obsession to a fever pitch. I managed to put a stop to my cup going walk-a-bout by leaving a note for the cleaner every day to leave my dirty cup on my desk. I would wash it myself in the morning. I was happy to clean my own cup. Soon I stopped leaving the note and the cleaner continued to leave my cup. Problem solved. Then we got a new cleaner and it started going into the dishwasher each night again. The cup started wandering again. Turned out that one of the draughtsmen made a brew for the Chairman every morning and went for a chat with him. He had selected my cup for the Chairman. I had words with both and it was accepted that this was MY FUCKING CUP! It stopped. I was happy and my cup was being washed for me. So, bonus!

We started to grow as a company and the fresh blood weren't respecting The Cup. I would find it on other people's desks. A couple more conversations were had and I think it is generally known that the Yellow Submarine cup is Craig's and he is a bit weird about it, so use another one.

Then disaster struck. I came into work one morning and couldn't find my cup. I looked in the usual places (cupboard, dishwasher and desk) and couldn't see it. I was about to start scouring people's desks when I noticed a strange shape on the worktop next to the bin. A collection of shards. A collection of shards with red portholes on a yellow background and a handle. I had a small mental breakdown witnessed by one of the engineers who couldn't believe that someone would hold the shards of a vessel for tea and coffee in their hands and just stare at them without saying anything, then yell, "FUCKING TWATS!!!!" And proceed to  take a picture of the shards on his phone and type something into it (pictures on Twitter and Facebook). The people of Twitter and Facebook were very understanding and a lot of people (well, @KandicePieterse) started a hunt for an identical replacement. Kandice (to whom I am eternally grateful) found one and I ordered it. It arrived a few days later. A few days which I spent moaning about the SHIT brews I was ENDURING.  Turns out the cleaner had dropped it and broke it and had just left it on the side for me to find. No note. No apology. No nothing. It's ok, they're dead now. Not really, but they have been sacked. Some say it was down to the fact they were shit cleaners. Others say it's down to the fact that they were stealing things. Me, I say it was FUCKING KARMA FOR BREAKING MY FUCKING CUP YOU FUCKING CUNTBUCKETS!!!!

Losing and regaining my mug only made the connection stronger. I had experienced the worst kind of loss when it comes to a brew receptacle and I did not like it ONE LITTLE FUCKING BIT! I never intend to go through that again. So I am now even more protective of my cup. I came in last week and couldn't find it. The receptionist saw me starting to have a breakdown and looked on every desk and in every cupboard. She found it. I don't know where, I just know she is one of the good guys and will be saved when the revolution comes.

This morning I was a little busy first thing. Some bollocks about the main server not working. I didn't make it as far as my morning brew, as I had to do some work stuff. During the course of this work stuff I saw one on the Senior Consultants walk past my desk carrying 3 cups. One of them was MINE! I dropped what I was doing and followed him. He put my cup on one of the other Senior Consultant's desks. I walked over to them both. "You've got my cup!" Awkward silence. They both looked at each other as if I was the mental one here. Maybe they didn't hear me? At a loss for anything else to say I said it again. "You've got MY cup!". I probably emphasised the "my" a bit too much because they both looked a little sheepish now. Another awkward silence. This time broken by the person who had had the brew made for him, "Would you like it back?".

"Yes please". 

"Ok, I'll go and wash it for you". Too fucking right! I didn't want it back with his fucking brew in. I walked away victorious and got back onto the slightly lesser issue of no one being able to do any work because of a broken server.

A couple of minutes later my cleaned cup was returned to me by a slightly bemused engineer. 

I just had a cup of tea in it. It was, as always, the BEST cup of tea EVER!

I Don't Know My Arse From My...

Hello, my name is Craig and I am a fan of Elbow.  Like Elbow I am from Bury, but this has nothing to do with why I like Elbow. I like them because they do fucking ace music.... AND they're from Bury. Like me.

I have had a couple of their albums knocking about for a while, but I only really got into them in the past couple of years or so. Not because I didn't like any of their stuff, I just never really gave them the attention they deserved. I listened to some of their things and enjoyed it, but didn't seek out any of their other things. I'm not sure why I suddenly turned on to them in a big way, or why this didn't happen sooner. Maybe it was the version of One Day Like This they did live at Abbey Road; maybe it was before that, I can't really remember, but like them in a big way I now do. The 2 albums I originally had were MP3s of The Seldom Seen Kid and Leaders Of The Free World. My friend Rick gave me copies of them (naughty I know, but stay with me). I decided that I wanted to seek out their other albums and own them on original CDs, bought by me. So I set about finding them ALL on Amazon.... or Play.... or both. I can't really remember, I know I found Asleep In The Back; Cast Of Thousands; Leaders Of The Free World and Build A Rocket Boys at a very reasonable price and ordered them. By this point I had seen them live too.

They. Were. Amazing.

On the way back from that gig my friend Janis was driving. She put her copy of The Seldom Seen Kid Live At Abbey Road on in the car. The WHOLE album performed live at Abbey Road. I wanted this on CD too. Or was it DVD? Or was it both? Well, it had to be CD, cos she had it on in her car and there were no pictures. But it could also be both. I don't know. Rather than simply asking Janis I set about randomly clicking on things on the internet in an effort to find out. I found a CD on Amazon that looked right.  The Seldom Seen Kid and Live At Abbey Road on DVD. I clicked buy and waited for my package. Weeks passed. No package. All the other albums arrived, but not this one. I emailed the supplier, who seemed to be in America, even though I ordered it from Amazon UK. They said they had sent it weeks ago and I should have it. I said I didn't. They said they could do one of two things: Send me another one, or process a refund. I said I wanted the album, so could they send another one. They said they would. A week passed. No package. I received another email from them. They said they no longer had it in stock and so had cancelled my order and processed a complete refund. Damn! 6 weeks or so had passed and I needed to start again.

Then something got in the way for a while. I got married and went on my Honeymoon. Whilst on my Honeymoon in New York and Hawaii ( I KNOW!!!) I had a look in a couple of music shops in the hope it might be there. The order was supposed to be shipped from America after all. No luck. I did see "The Royal Wedding: The Album" in New York though. What the actual fuck?! Who would buy that?! Not bloody me.

I got home and set about trying to find it online again. On the HMV website I saw The Seldom Seen Kid. 2 disks. That must be the one. I bought it.

A week passed. Whilst at work a leaflet got posted through my door saying there was a parcel at the post office for me that was too big for the letter box. This had to be it. It struck me as odd that they couldn't fit a CD through the letterbox, but it seemed my wait was finally over. I went to the post office and picked up my parcel.

Now, before I say the next bit, I need to say something. When I placed the order I had just spent nearly 2 days travelling home from Hawaii. I hadn't slept for pretty much that entire 2 days. And my body was almost nocturnal as Hawaii is 11 hours different from home. Basically, I was tired.

I got the parcel. It was rather unCD like. It was about the right thickness, but it was a little larger. About 12" in total. A similar size to.... oh God..... a record. You know, vinyl. For any youngsters (or my wife), ask your Dad what that is. I opened the parcel. Yep. I had The Seldom Seen Kid on vinyl. How cool is that? It cost me £18, but hey, vinyl is quite cool. I mean, I don't have a record player, but that's quite a good collectors item. Oh, and it wasn't even the Live At Abbey Road version. It was just the original album. I went on the HMV website again and yep, in rather obvious writing, 2 x LP. Fuck! I am a knob.

By this point we are practically up to my birthday. My Dad asked what I wanted and I told him this story. He laughed and said he would buy me the one I wanted. I offered to find it on the internet and send him a link.  We both agreed my track record (no pun intended) on this wasn't great and to just leave it with him.

My birthday arrived. There was a rather large box from my Dad. A little odd. I opened the card first. I am polite like that. In the card it said this:

I opened the box. Inside there was a tin of Tesco chopped tomatoes; a tin of Bachelor's Condensed Tomato Soup; a tin of Bachelor's Condensed Cream of Chicken and White Wine Soup; a bass guitar strap (I don't have a bass guitar); 2 bass plectrums (I DON'T have a bass guitar) and 2 bass guitar leads ( I DON'T HAVE... oh hang on... I have a guitar and the leads are the same and I actually need a new lead. Nice one). 


Funny fucker my Dad.

2 days later (yesterday) I went to my Dad's and there was another present waiting for me. A CD sized present. I opened it. YEEESSS!!!! Elbow and the BBC Concert Orchestra - The Seldom Seen Kid - Live At Abbey Road. CD and DVD. SUCCESS!!!!! I put in on in the car on the way home. Oh. It's JUST the live album. That's GREAT! I wanted that, but I thought it had the original album too. It doesn't. So I could have bought that all those weeks (months) ago anyway. If I'd have employed a little bit of brain power on this fairly simple premise I would have realised that. Ah well. I finally have the live version that I started seeking out all that time ago.

Today I went to Bury and bought the original album. The task is now complete. I have all the Elbow albums on CD. And bonus.... how many people can say they own The Seldom Seen Kid by Elbow on vinyl... and CD... and the live version of the album... on CD... and DVD? Not many, I would wager, is the answer.

Thank Fuck (Off) It's Friday

This may go against the grain of most people's opinion on this matter, but I hate Fridays! Yes ok, they are practically the weekend, but they are not ACTUALLY the weekend.  Not during the day anyway. Cos that's when you are in work.  It's just another day in work, except it's so close to the weekend that it's depressing.  Being nearly the weekend makes the day drag. Especially the afternoon. And you have to put up with people saying "Thank Fuck/God/Gosh It's Friday!" or, "Cheer up, it's Friday".  Fuck the fuck off!  Yes it's Friday, but I still have to be at work for over 8 hours, much like I did Monday to Thursday, and I still have shit to do.  So being cheery about the fact that it's not quite actually the weekend yet, and telling me what day it is like that should change anything, makes you look like a dick. 

To sum it all up.  Here is  a breakdown of my thoughts on the various parts of a Friday:

Friday morning = Urrgghh. 

Friday afternoon = Longer than a year.

Friday night = YES! 

I don't mind Mondays though.  Once I'm up and at work that is.  Obviously waking up early on a Monday and having to drag your arse to work is worse than the lowest level in all the levels of hell.  But once you're there it's ok.  Low expectations see. You don't expect anything from a Monday. It's the beginning of the week.  It's not nearly weekend, so you just get your head down and get on with things.  You don't count down to anything, because that would be beyond depressing.  5 days would seem like a lifetime, so no one thinks about it.  But Fridays in work, and people pointing out what day it is, can just FUCK OFF!

Come On Curiosity... Do Your Thing

I'm not really sure what I want to say with this blog.  Well I do. It's FUCKING BASTARD CATS! But how I want to say that in more detail I don't know. Maybe I will just tell you the story and see where that takes us. I guess it doesn't need to have a satisfying resolution. Few things in life do.

A few weeks ago I was soundly asleep in bed. I was awoken by a wailing noise. "What the fuck is that?!" It sounded like a child crying, but a really scary child. "Is that The Omen Child, Damien?!" The wail then went into a pitched screech. Oh it's a cat. Another screech. Fighting with another cat.  One obviously lost and the other cat pissed off. We were then subjected to a wailing cat nursing it's wounds for an hour.  Eventually it faded and I fell asleep. The next day was a struggle.  This has happened on and off ever since. About once a week. The early hours of this morning it culminated in me running outside with a plant spray and chasing one of the fuckers up the drive wearing only my dressing gown. Me wearing it, not the cat.

I HATE being kept awake.  In the wee hours I can plot quite irrational levels of MURDER if I am kept awake.  So to be kept awake by a creature I already have a  firm dislike of has meant my feelings towards cats has become a fevered hatred!  Dogs don't roam the streets at night keeping me awake. Dogs don't piss off whenever they feel and return only for food. Dogs are loyal creatures that are part of the family. Cats are free-loading spongers that KEEP. ME. AWAKE. Why would anyone want a cat? They don't enrich your life. You might as well have a fish. At least fish are pretty.  They are not a pet.  A pet is a part of the family. That you love and loves you in return. If you want a pet, get a dog. Jesus, get a goat, or a snake, or a fucking silverback gorilla.  Just don't get a cat.  The best is a dog though.  Dogs are brilliant creatures. They are like a child. If you leave them, for even a minute, they miss you. Cats barely even notice you exist in the first place. Apart from the fact you are the tuna provider. If someone is a better tuna provider then they will piss off and hang around their gaff instead. No loyalty. No conscience.  Basically, they are evil.  Kittens are quite cute I suppose. But don't be fooled. They become cats. Your kitten is basically a Siren. It's cuteness is the song luring you onto the rocks of owning a selfish wailing tuna eater.

Sharon doesn't mind cats. She prefers dogs obviously because she's not completely mental.  The only reason we don't have a dog is that we work.  And we feel it is cruel to have what is essentially a child, then leave them alone in the house for 8 hours. That's why dogs chew things and ignore their owners.  It's because they are pack animals that need companionship. I digress. This blog is about how monumentally worthless and annoying cats are. Not me sharing my hatred for mistreating dogs. (Awww. Aren't dogs great!)

As I said, Sharon doesn't mind cats.  She quite regularly strokes the cat from next door but one.  The little fucker!  He has no sense of fear or self preservation. You run at him to chase him out of the garden and he sits there looking at you as if to say, "What ARE you doing?", until you get to him and have to stop because you're all bluster. I have started using the spray gun we have for plants.  Even then he mostly just trots away getting wet. Inconvenienced, rather than scared. If you leave a door open, he is in the house and you have a comedy chase to throw him out.  Curious bastard! I hope that age old cliché is true. The cat from next door but one the other way regularly falls asleep on the warm bonnet of any car on the street. Not mine. It has learnt. But Sharon lets it. NO. LONGER. The welcome stops here Sharon!  No more stroking of that pussy (Come on. It HAD to be done at some point)! The rule is now that no cat will be made to feel welcome on our property. Period.  Hopefully this will mean they no longer feel our property is somewhere to be a safe haven during/after a fight. Or, as my boss thinks the noise is, a place they can go to fuck! Any cat seen in or around our garden will NOT be stroked, it will be chased away and attacked with water.  Any person who contravenes this will also receive the same treatment.  Sharon laughed when I told her this.  I'm not sure how much laughing she'll be doing the first time I throw a bucket of water over her stroking a cat in the garden.  We'll see. To be honest I have slightly higher hopes that the cats will learn before the woman.  But that's ok.  It's the cats I want to get rid of.  The cats contribute cock all to the mortgage, whereas Sharon can make much bolder claims on that front. I guess you could say, it's her house too.

Let's see how it goes. My boss has advised that step 2 could be to paint Calpol everywhere.  Apparently cats find paracetamol EXTREMELY TOXIC and it will solve the problem permanently. Errr, RSPCA anyone? I am obviously not endorsing this solution. I would never knowingly injure an animal. No, I would prefer that they kill each other to death. In the face. Now where's my shopping list?  

C-A-L...

Turning The Tables

We recently bought the house we are renting.  We are all growed up now and have to worry about things like building insurance, damp kitchens, leaking roofs and paying back the bank a shit load of cash.  When we rented the house we rented it part furnished.  I say part, what this actually meant was the landlady had some stuff she wanted to leave there and we were seriously lacking in furniture. We came to a mutually beneficial agreement.  We would use her furniture and save us buying some and she wouldn't have to store it (Why would she? She owned a fucking house!).  This worked out rather well for us for 2 years.  Then we bought the house.  FUCK, we need to spend a gazillion dollars on furniture!  Fortunately the God of Fate was smiling on us (I actually don't believe in such a god, so let's just say things worked out well).  Our landlady didn't want all her furniture back and she offered to sell us most of it at rather a great price.  We happily accepted.  It left us with the house pretty much as we'd known it.  With 2 notable differences.  She took the nice dining room table and chairs and the mattress off the bed in the spare room.  We needed to replace these things.

The mattress was easy enough.  We walked into a shop that sold beds and mattresses and said, "Give us your cheapest double mattress please".  £99. Bargain.  It's only for the spare room. It's not like it needs to be a NASA memory foam job. (I actually HATE those memory foam things.  Feels strange when I lie on it. I like a proper sprung mattress.) We have people staying over very rarely.  Mainly because I don't like people coming round to my house (See here), let alone STAYING OVER!!! Jesus, imagine people STILL being there the next day... *shudders*.

The table was a little more work.  We had a nice table before with the landlady's.  Nice chairs too.  In our minds we were trying to find something pretty much the same.  We had a look around and it became clear this was going to cost us rather a lot of money.  Eventually we went to the home section bit of The Trafford Centre and had a look in all the different shops.  We walked into British Home Stores and saw a table and chairs that was pretty much everything we were looking for.  And bonus, it was half price.  We bought it there and then and they said someone would be in touch to arrange delivery and assembly.  £35.  Ouch! Delivery AND assembly.  Is there no other option?  I am quite capable of putting a table together.  I asked the question and said could they not just deliver it for a cheaper price and I would put it together.  They said it was an all-in-one package and the only option they had.  I had little choice but to accept it.  Then next day someone contacted me and a delivery date was set.  They ONLY did Tuesdays in my area. During office hours.  "La-la-laaaa. Not listening. That's what we do and we are not flexible."  They offered two possible Tuesdays.  What about another Tuesday that is not one of those two?  "La-la-laaaa. Not listening. That's what we do and we are not flexible."  I chose the Tuesday after Easter Monday (not daft me) and, with a little juggling, arranged to work from home.  I also arranged the mattress delivery for the same day to take full advantage of working at home that day.

The day arrived and the table arrived at 8:10am.  I was impressed.  They said between 8am and 10am.  The 2 blokes started carrying boxes into the dining room and set about building the table.  I had a quick peek to make sure it looked like the right table and left them to it. 10 minutes later they announced they were done.  It looked ok, apart from being 90 degrees wrong in the dining room, but I hadn't specified and could easily move it.  I signed the papers. As a parting shot the bloke said that my dining room floor was a mile out.  He left and I quickly legged it into the dining room. Just as I feared the table rocked like a bastard. And I don't mean it was Jimi Hendrix.  I mean it wobbled.  One leg was a few millimeters off the floor. I hoped it was the floor at that angle, as the table needed turning 90 degrees, and rotated it.

Nope. Still wobbling. Still the same leg.  Fucking fuck fuckers!

I got my tape measure out and measure all the legs. They were all the same length. Relief.  The table was fine. It had just been assembled by numpties.  I went and got my tool box.  I loosened the nuts and bolts and the table relaxed.  All four legs were now on the ground.  I got everything nicely settled and systematically tightened everything back up.  Problem solved.  Took me 5 minutes.  It wasn't exactly Rocket Science.  It was Table Science and in the scale of sciences that is at least 7 places lower than Rocket Science. Somewhere below Lawn-Mower Science, but higher than Making-Toast Science. What they had done was assemble it upside down and tighten everything up full and then flip it over onto its feet (that is rather less acrobatic than it sounds). Rather than loosely getting the pieces together upside down, turning it over, getting it sound, and then tightening everything up.  And they are the professionals!? Dickheads!  It's not like it took me long to sort, but I'd paid thirty-five fucking quid for the privilege of redoing part of their job.

In future I think I'll insist on assembling things myself even if it is included in the price.  It's not like I'm a bloody joiner or whatnot. I just have an ounce of common sense. And in this instance that was about a million times more than the so called professionals.

I Paint Quite A Picture

I am writing a quick blog because I have a little story I want to tell and it's too long to tweet. It's even too long for a Facebook status.

I have just been doing a painting for my wedding seating plan. It will match up with the invitations and other stationary I designed.  Whilst painting I did a complicated swirly bit. It took me ages.  Once I was done I set about doing a bit of touch up on the edges of the canvas from a previous bit I had painted last week. I got into what I was doing and started moving the canvas around to get the best angle to get at what I was doing.  When I had done I stood back to inspect my work. Looks goo.... 

I had been putting my leg against the complicated swirly bit, smudging the fuck out of it. 

You know at the end of Back To The Future when Doc Brown is at the top of the clock tower trying to reconnect the cables so Marty can travel back to the future and he yanks so hard on the cable that the connection pulls apart on the lamp post below? You know the noise he makes? (this) That's the noise I made!
 

But like Doc I was resolute and half an hour with a wet cloth and some white paint and I was able to salvage it.

Phew

We All Stand Together... (Reprise)

Let's get this out of the way. I LOVE The Beatles. Ask anyone who knows me what my "thing" is and once they've made a hilarious knob gag they will tell you my thing is The Beatles.  I love listening to them, I love reading about them, I love loving them.  People randomly walk over to me just to tell me something they heard about The Beatles or they were somewhere and a Beatles song started playing because "it made me think of you". I love being thought about because of something I love.

Now to the post. People like to say what the first album/single/CD/record/tape/cylinder/8-track/whatever, but simply put, MUSIC they ever owned is.  It's a badge of honour or embarrassment. Mine would be in the latter category to some people. Mine is Paul McCartney and The Frog Chorus - We All Stand Together.  When I was about 5 my Dad bought me the picture disk shaped like Paul McCartney with his arm around Rupert The Bear (it was like the one you can see in the picture above). You may or may not know that Rupert The Bear was in the video and that's where the connection comes from. McCartney had just bought the copyright to Rupert The Bear and wanted to do a kids song with him in it. As a Beatles maniac the fact that my first ever record is a Paul McCartney one is really rather special for me.  So special that I treasured that picture disk.  My Dad kept it in the sleeve of his Paul McCartney - All The Best album and I used to ask to just look at it.  As I got a little older we moved house a couple of times.  My Dad stopped listening to his records as much and they went up into the attic.  I always knew that my picture disk was there though and I was happy with that.  Then in my teens I decided to dig it out. I. Looked. Everywhere. I couldn't find Paul McCartney - All The Best anywhere. More importantly I couldn't find my picture disk. I was quite upset as you can imagine.  The other McCartney/Beatles records were there. Genesis was there. Paul Young was there. Where were All The Best and my picture disk?!  We never found out. All we can think is that my Dad leant All The Best to someone and along the way never got it back. Then forgot who it was. I was distraught. My Dad felt guilty. Not as guilty as when he threw a snowball at 6 year old me and I used a sledge for a shield. The snowball was hard. I was soft. The sledge hit me in the face and broke my first adult tooth. My front tooth. I have the cap as a permanent souvenir now. I wasn't particularly arsed, still not, accidents happen, but my Dad was. Every time I crooked smiled until I had it properly capped at 17.  Like I said, I wasn't arsed about that, what I was arsed about was my picture disk.  Especially at 17. My tooth was capped and so fixed. My Beatles obsession was well underway from being the music my Dad liked when I was young into becoming my "thing". I mentioned the picture disk again. We looked again. No joy again.  My Dad went in the attic and came back with all his Beatles records. Including an original White Album. He handed them to me and said they were now mine.  He also scoured a few car boot sales and bought me some McCartney/Lennon/Harrison/Beatles 7" singles. He could see how much this meant to me. Years passed. I wheeled this story out now and again. Losing my first ever record and how I obtained my Beatles vinyl. I thought it was the end of the story.

I was wrong.

A few weeks ago my boss was again telling me how he really can't stand Paul McCartney. How his voice just grates him. Our tastes are all different. It keeps us interesting. It's why a silly picture disk means so much to me and cock all to you.  McCartney's voice grating is not my opinion, but I can imagine how that must be the case for some people.   It's probably the same way I feel when Celine Dion is on.  That need to make it stop. Either by destroying the source of the warbling horror or by jabbing sharp objects in my ears.  Anyway, my boss was saying how he was doing some thing on Facebook and he needed his least favourite song and he couldn't choose between Mull Of Kintyre (ironically, one of the 7" singles my Dad bought me from a car boot sale) or The Frogs Chorus (which is what most people seem to call We All Stand Together).  I told him the story I have so far recited and then went about my day.  But it was back in my head again.  And we have resources now that we didn't have when I was 17. We have an easily accessible internet. We have ebay. I went on ebay and did a search for "We All Stand Together picture disk". I got a result. I clicked on it. It was the exactly the same. It was up to £15. For a vinyl single. That seemed steep. I bidded £20!  Money was tight at the time. We were buying a house and paying for a wedding (still are), so I sent Sharon a grovelling email.  I then set about the next few days waiting. We went to a friend's house where it was mentioned that his missus bought a lamp for £300. For a lamp?!  This wasn't a lamp that was a toaster and a hi-fi. It was a very nice lamp, but it was just a lamp. A fancy holder for a light bulb and a switch. I defended her saying that things are worth what they are worth to us, not purely the monetary value. For example I had just bid £20 on a mid 80's single that I had no intention of listening to. "WHAT?!" Sharon. "Errrr. I sent you a grovelling email?"

"I haven't checked my email." So I then had to explain, in front of my friend and his missus, to my missus what I had done. She has heard the story and was cool with it. She knows what it meant to me.

5 days passed and, not wanting to disappoint or keep you in suspense too long, I will jump to the chase. I won the bid and my record was delivered to me a couple of days later. It was a joyful reunion. I bought a frame for it and put it up on the wall next to my computer. It is in fact the actual one in the picture above. Something I loved and lost has (in a way) been returned to me. It is looking over me as I write this and I will treasure it.

NOW the story is at the end and it's a happy one.

A Quick Note...

I am busy, so this is going to be a very short blog.

See.

SKYNET Is Going To End Us All!

SKY have pissed me off this week. I am really happy with the TV package I have with them. I am happy with the broadband they provide. I am also happy with the Talk package they provide for my phone.  What I am not happy with is having to deal with their Customer Services.

We have been getting annoying phone calls for the past few months. Nothing malicious, just a man or a woman of a foreign persuasion who ring up repeatedly, at all hours, and don't understand us when we say, "YOU HAVE GOT THE WRONG NUMBER AGAIN!!! IT'S 2AM!!! PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF THE BABY JESUS, STOP CALLING US!"  As it's an overseas number BT can't block it. I asked BT to change my number. They said, "Sure, £25"!  I told them to stick it.  I asked Sky if I could transfer my line rental to them and then change my number through them. They said I could.  Every time I rang Sky to see how this was progressing they had never heard of this order and I had to start all over again.  In the end I told them that I was trying to move my line rental to them as BT were a "useless shower of bastards", but as they were proving to be "an even more useless shower of bastards" they should forget it.  Fortunately @BTCare had gotten in touch with me on Twitter and offered to do the number change for free. They did and they were brilliant.  I would recommend going through them for all your telecommunication needs.

So my number change was done.  Next I had to contact Sky again (sigh) and get them to transfer my Sky Talk package across to the new number.  The telephone call went something like this.  It is not an exact transcript. It is my memory of the conversation.

*Automated Skynet system asks me to press buttons for the option I want. None are precisely what I want so I randomly press buttons until I get to a point where it stops asking me to press buttons*

Skynet: Please say your postcode now

Craig: *Says postcode*

Skynet: *pauses* I'm sorry. I didn't catch that. Please say your postcode now

Craig: *Says postcode very deliberately*

Skynet: *pauses* I'm sorry. I didn't catch that. Please say your postcode now

Craig: Your. Voice. Recognition. Software. Is. Shit.

Skynet: *pauses* I'm sorry. I didn't catch that. Transferring you to an operator now.

Craig: Finally!

Irene: Hello. You're through to Sky Customer Services. My name is Irene. How can I help you?

Craig: Hello. I have recently changed my telephone number and I would like you to update my Sky Talk package to my new number.  I haven't moved house. I just have a new telephone number

Irene:  Wait, *struggles with concept*, You have a NEW telephone number?  Why would you want a new telephone number?

Craig: Errrr. We were getting some nuisance phone calls. It's not important. I have a new number and I would like you to change your records.

Irene: Ok. I can't see a record of a number change on my system?

Craig: I. Know. I am telling you now. My line rental is with BT. My calls are with you.

Irene: Oh ok. You know you can have your line rental through us?

Craig: Yeah. I had heard. But as I've spent months repeatedly placing the order and you forget about it a week later I am staying with BT.

Irene: I have no record of you ever placing an order with us for that.

Craig: See.

Irene: I could create an order for it now.

Craig: No thank you. Can you just proceed with updating the Sky Talk number.

Irene: OK. I see on my system that you have a free Sky HD box available. It's a self install box. We usually charge £199 for the box and £60 for the installation. But if you install the box yourself it is free. Would you like it?

Craig: *thinks about the fact that he doesn't have SkyHD, but the hard drive is twice the size* If it's free then yes please. 

Irene: You will only have to pay for the £15 delivery charge. Is that ok?

Craig: I think I can stretch to that yes.

Irene: That's great. I just need to read out some standard terms and conditions.... *blah blah*.... 1 years subscription... *blah blah*.... cancellation within term.... *blah blah*.....HD channels.... *blah blah*.... is that OK?

Craig: Can I just confirm? I am not signing up to an increased subscription. I just want my free box.

Irene: Oh, you would have to pay the £10.25 a month for the HD.

Craig: You never said that?

Irene: I did! In the terms and conditions.

Craig: Hmmmmm. That wasn't very clear. Let me be clear. I don't want to increase my subscription. Let's cancel that "free" box now.

Irene: Ok. I have cancelled that. I will transfer you to Sky Talk who will sort out your number change.

Craig: Thank you. You sneaky fucker!

Sky Talk: Errrr.... hello?

Craig: Hello

Sky Talk: I believe you want to talk to me?

Craig: *sighs at having to start again*

From that point on it was fairly standard and he said that the change would take between 24 - 72 hours and PROMISED that my broadband would not go off. 

Let's see what happens.

The Ballad of the Xbox

I am going to write about Xboxes here. Well, not all Xboxes. One Xbox. My Xbox. My new Xbox.  It's an Xbox 360 actually. Before I begin, here is a disclaimer:

I am not a massively up to the minute experienced gamer. This is not a typical "review" of any console or game.  I have played precisely 2 games on the Xbox 360, so I have no points of reference to compare anything to. I have only just lost my Xbox virginity.  I'm new to this and still fumble about, press the wrong buttons and the games end rather quicker than they would for a more experienced gamer.  I am a bit shit at Xboxing.  This is just a normal bloke talking about buying an Xbox.  This is not a super slick gamers review. If you want one of those, go to one of those proper review websites. Also, if you don't agree with what I say, or I am wrong about any points, don't tell me, I don't really give a shit. This is simply my opinion on something in my life.

I have been after an Xbox 360 for AGES! About 6 months. I have a Wii and was very happy with it. I'd occasionally see adverts for the PS3 and Xbox and would think, "Oooooo. Those graphics look amazing", but that was about it. Then Microsoft did something that they don't normally do. They created the future, but now. That seems to be an Apple/Nintendo/Sonyism of late. But no, Microsoft created the Kinect.  The thing that made the Wii so revolutionary had finally just been bettered.  I became interested in procuring my own Xbox. 

As I was going through the process of planing a wedding AND buying a house, money for Xboxes wasn't presenting itself at every turn. This meant I had to be patient and very nice (and very persistent) with Sharon.  I will spare you the details, but anyone who knows me knows I have mentioned Xboxes about as much as I have mentioned Beatles and tried to get a reply from Kylie Minogue on Twitter in the past few months.  That's a lot.  Finally, last Sunday at 5:10pm, Sharon agreed I could buy myself an Xbox with Kinect.  I mention the time only because Currys closed at 5pm and it meant I had to wait a FULL DAY!  

I used my time wisely and spent Sunday night and some of Monday researching precisely what to buy Xbox/game/cable wise.  I have a TV with HDMI inputs and a 5.1 surround sound system with optical audio input. It meant the standard Xbox cabling would be surplus to requirements and I would need to buy additional cables. I won't bore you with the details on that, I will say simply this. WHY, when TVs have HDMI and optical audio inputs and a lot of people have sound systems with optical audio inputs and when the games systems we buy are capable of outputting in these formats for the optimum experience, WHY (again), DON'T THEY FUCKING PROVIDE THE CABLES TO CONNECT THE TWO IN THOSE FORMATS?! Why do they provide cables that will give a lower quality interface?  Why not provide both? I paid a shit load of cash for my systems. Give me the fucking cabling to communicate between them. They are all standard connections. Imagine you got a TV without a plug. You would be furious. This is the same. You buy a system and get it home and can't fucking play on it properly!  AND... WHY DO YOU ONLY GET ONE CONTROLLER WITH CONSOLES THESE DAYS?!  TWO!  TWO USED TO BE STANDARD AND STILL SHOULD BE! This is not a rant at Microsoft and the Xbox, it is a rant at ALL AV/console manufacturers/suppliers. Fucking sort it out you bastards!  If anyone tells me it's to keep the cost of the consoles down. FUCK OFF!  It costs the actual manufacturers cock all to make cables and controllers in the grand scheme of things. It's about generating more revenue. Pure and simple.

Anyway, I was researching what I needed. I obviously sorted the cables out and I asked on Facebook and Twitter for ideas for games. I already had a game in mind, but I wanted to see what the hive mind came up with. A lot of people confirmed my thoughts enough for me to decide upon getting Call Of Duty: Black Ops. Other games are available and some people prefer others. I liked the look of this one and had never played any COD games before, so the complaints it played a lot like some earlier versions was wasted on me. It was all new to me. I also had played GTA III on my PS2 many years ago, so I was drawn to GTA: IV and someone recommended it. It was also only £18 for the complete edition. Purchases made.

On Monday I nipped out to get the cables I would need in my dinner at work. The Xbox purchase would have to wait until the evening. I got home and Sharon and I had tea. I then put on my shoes and said I was off to collect my Xbox and asked if Sharon wanted anything.  She said, "Yes....... a present" and then fixed me with a look that said, "I may be letting you buy an Xbox, but I can still stop you playing on it".  I nodded in agreement and then got in my car. FUCK! What was I going to buy her?  This needed gauging just right.  If I spent not much I was going to get, "Is that it? You get an Xbox and I get this?!" Fail.  But if I spent too much I would get, "What are you doing spending all that money when you've just spent a fortune on an Xbox?!" Fail.  I decided my fall back would be some flowers and chocolate. There is a reason they are standard presents for birds. They work.  The thought of buying her a game that I thought she may like for the Xbox crossed my mind for a nano-second. But that way, danger lay.  I went into Tesco (to buy a 2nd controller for my Xbox... GRRRRR) and saw the CDs next to the games.  Nicole Scherzyface from the Pussycat Dolls has an album out. Sharon likes her. I took a chance and bought it.  Next stop Currys for the Xbox.

I completed the trasaction. I now owned an Xbox!

I got home and showed Sharon every Xbox component saying that she could touch it and that was her present.  Once I had pushed her as far as was reasonable, I produced the CD.  She smiled and said thank you.  It was a success!  She said she had been expecting me to buy her a game I thought she would like and that would have been a mistake (phew), but she would have been happy with a bar of chocolate. I went above and beyond. This was good news. Brownie points are alway useful when starting out on a blokey endeavour.

I spent the next hour pissing about with cables and Xbox components. I am technically minded, I just wanted to get it all set up right.  And there were some optical audio issues to do with having 2 devices that output in this format and 1 input on my amp (That was solved today with a switch. Simple really).  I finally got it set up and Sharon announced we were going doing the ASDA big shop.  So off we went.  When we got back, one thing or another happened and I never got to have a go on my Xbox.  :(

Tuesday. 2 days after I was given the all clear on Xboxing.  I went to work and did the work thing. Then I got home and had some tea. Sharon had gone to netball. It. Was. Time. I decided that a game on Call Of Duty: Black Ops was in order.  I powered up the Xbox and went through the setup.  Part of the setup was setting up the Kinect. Oh. My. Fucking. God. This thing IS the future. I felt like Tom Cruise in Minority Report. Only slightly uglier and a bit taller.  Moving shit around the screen with gestures. Talking to the Xbox to tell it to go to different screens.  That made me feel like I was on the Enterprise. Only instead of preceding a command with "Computer", I had to say, "Xbox". It can even be set to recognise my face and save me having to manually sign in who I am. And it all fucking works!!!! It's brilliant. I was that impressed I spent 20 minutes just navigating the menus before I even considered putting a game in my games console.  As I was so amazed by the Kinect all thoughts of COD went out of the window and I put in Kinect Adventures. What followed was 3 hours of joyful jumping about and flapping of arms, such I haven't experienced since I was a wee child.  When Sharon got home she too played with unbridled delight. The Kinect, and so the Xbox, was a success.

Wednesday night, it was time to get serious.  Sharon had some work to do.  A work presentation of some sort. I was going to get involved in some Black Ops, Call Of Duty style.  I powered up the Xbox and put the game in. Then I was lost in a world of guns and duty.  It. Was. Awesome. And also... I. Was. Rubbish. I didn't care though. And I definitely improved over the course of the next 3 hours.  The surround sound really added to the experience and I was away.  Shouting to my guys. Looking around for enemies. I was there.  It was briefly interrupted by Sharon TURNING THE VOLUME DOWN!!!?!?!! Something about not being able to concentrate on her work. I don't really remember. I just remember shouting that I couldn't hear my commanders instructions properly now and turning it back up.  I'm sure she was looking at me with pride and increased love at my commitment to my duty and my unit.  I'll never know as I was busy trying not to get shot in the face. I finally understand what all the hype with Call Of Duty is. 

And now, after I have waffled on for many paragraphs, I have to go. There are enemies of democracy to eliminate.

Growing up is great.... but it SUCKS!

I am 31 years young.  What a stupid phrase.  Someone in a call centre for car insurance recently referred to me as "31 years young".  I didn't go with my car insurance with them.  Partly because of that and partly because they suddenly whacked the price up by A LOT when I said I wanted to pay monthly.  I know it normally goes up, but not by that amount.  So, I am 31 years OLD.  And it's great.  I love being 31.  I am the happiest I have ever been.  Sure, I have to do things like ring car insurance call centres, but only because I have a nice shiny black car that zooms along the highways and byways.  I couldn't have done that as a child.  I have a house, or I will do in a couple of weeks when this sale goes through.  It's mine.  Yeah, so the act of buying a house isn't great, lots to organise, but it means you own a house at the end.  I am also in love with someone I plan to spend the rest of my life with.  As a younger man I had no luck with the ladies.  Now I have luck, mostly, with one lady and we are getting married.  Again, lots to organise, but it means I have a best friend for life and that's pretty damn cool.  All these things cost me money.  So I have a job.  I work in IT support for a rather successful engineering consultancy firm.  That sounds very grown up doesn't it?  I have to go to a building for at least 40 hours every week and do things for other people, but in return they give me rather a decent amount of money.  And I quite like working in IT for the most part.  So because of all the money they give me, it means I can afford to do the things mentioned above.  I can also do other things with my money.  I can drink beer in pubs.  This is one of my most favourite things about being grown up.  Being able to shave or more importantly not shave is pretty cool too.

So basically, growing up is complicated.  You have lots to organise and arrange and pay for and you have to work to pay for those things.  But you get to own and do cool shit like drive and drink and touch boobies and grow a beard and live in a house that you may not be the boss of, but you have equal say in.  I love being a grown up.  Mainly I love it because you learn that part of growing up is that you don't have to grow up at all.  Sure I have to do all those things I listed above, but ask me for a list of things that I would like to buy myself and it would probably be very similar to someone half my age or less.  Here goes:

• An Xbox 360 with kinect
• An iPad
• An iPhone 4
• A big kick ass 50" TV
• Lots of Lego

That list probably, in essence, (sure the TVs have got bigger and thinner and the consoles more sophisticated) hasn't changed much as long as I can remember.  The problem with growing up is you finally get all the money to buy those things (I have the most money that I have ever had in my life by a long way) but you have to spend it on maintaining the bigger things I have already listed. Cars, insurance, petrol, mortgages,  houses, weddings, bills, etc.  So, as when you were a child, there are all these shiny gadgets and plastic building blocks you want and then there is a bloke with facial hair telling you that, although there is money coming in, there isn't any money to buy them because it needs to be spent on the cost of living.  Only difference is now that bloke isn't your dad, it is yourself.

But, as when you were a child, every now and again some money does make it through and you get to buy yourself something nice and shiny (bike, surround sound home cinema system, computer) and on that day you feel like a child again and it is glorious.  Only difference is you appreciate it even more now as you understand where the money came from.