16th May 2008
Whoa Kenny -- take a chill pill
Sorry -- I get verbose when I'm angry. Last one for today...
One of my ex-colleagues has just labeled me a "narco-syndicalist". I've no idea what that is, but even if I'm not one I'm going to describe myself so.
Training for the revolution will start tomorrow at 13:00 prompt at McDonalds in Eccles.
--
PS: Thanks to Stan for the post below...I've kind of drowned him out with streams of consciousness. I would advise you all go to the comments section of that post and perform that cathartic confession.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 13:45 BST by Kenny
I can't say I approve
but I found this absolutely hilarious...
I know I shouldn't laugh but...
I wish I had thought of that one.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 11:51 BST by Kenny
It's about this time of day I like to start a revolution
Only kidding. Or am I?
Being one of an increasing minority I'm destined to spend quite a few minutes outside in the elements every day. I say increasing minority but I'm not sure that is the correct phraseology. I think I mean increasingly marginalized. Whatever. I'm a smoker.
With the introduction of the now not-so-new smoking ban, we've been ejected from the balcony and onto the street to partake of our little sticks of enjoyable death. Nearly a year on and complaints have been made about the state of the area where us nasty people furtively suck on our brand of choice. Some form of receptacle may be in order but until then the grid will do.
The reason that I mention this is that you learn all sorts of things while you're out having a sly ciggy. An old CEO of mine used to insist on coming out for a smoke occasionally (even though he himself didn't smoke) because he felt the only way he could possibly assess the mood of the workforce was by listening to the conversations during fag breaks. Personally, I have learned quite a lot of helpful work gen while out for a smoke.
Today however, we were fascinated by a silver Vauxhall Corsa. This car has been in the same spot, on double yellow lines, on and off all week. Monday saw a ticket (ouch). Tuesday saw a ticket (ouch). Wednesday saw a ticket (ouch). Thursday saw a ticket (*ouch*). As of Friday morning, whoever is on 4/4. With only 8 hours to go, can they hit the jackpot?
Apparently the fine for parking there is only £35. We have a secure parking lot that issues a £70 ticket should we not pay and display. That said, £35 a day in fines soon mounts up.
It turns out the reason for the car being there is because of the price of property (or more accurately the price of a parking space). Were you to buy one of the one-bedroomed apartments across the road from here, it would set you back a poxy £155k. However if you want an apartment with an allocated parking spot, that would cost you £185k. £30k for a parking spot. God knows how much you have to fork out if you are a couple who have a two-bedroomed apartment and two cars. The mind boggles. I mean, I'm not exactly classed as low-paid at all but I could not afford that kind of wonga for a flat -- not that I would ever consider buying an apartment. It's just obscene.
The fact is that the reason that this person is happily accruing tickets at such a rate is because it's cheaper than renting a parking space with their flat.
This sent me off on one. I involuntarily set out on a tirade of expletives about how utterly shite and incompetent most companies are, about banks being no better than betting shops and how the government preside over this farcical system with a degree of incompetency that only tin-pot corrupt dictators have ever managed before. They may all do it with estuary accents, say please and thank you, raise their kids properly etc., but they have all been molded into drones who know only what they have been taught and have to refer back to their text books should something unexpected happen.
"We need a revolution." says I. "You think I'm kidding? I'm not. This absolutely cannot continue."
"Will you lead us?"
"Yes, young hoppers. I shall steer you on a course to glorious victory."
"Cool. You'd make a great terrorist. Nobody would ever suspect you of plotting the downfall of western civilization."
As I said, I blurt this stuff out in jest but I am serious on so many levels. If I don't start one, someone who is absolutely desperate will. When food and fuel become short, wars start. Only in this case, market economics dictate that there is concern over oil supplies so the price goes up, likewise fuel. The treasury benefits. The suppliers benefit. The supermarkets benefit because God knows we can't have a year of taking one for the greater good and announcing that we'll make do with break even just for one year -- what would the shareholders think? The people who lose are you and me. Period. In some sick mind-game, those who steer companies through global financial crises and manage to grow their business will become even richer.
Most people won't have seen a pay rise to speak of for a few years. Under pressure industry leaders won't either but they will have seen a whacking great bonus or two.
The answer? Well conventional Marxist/Maoist/Stalinist wisdom is that the good old state can be relied upon to regulate and serve the people. Whatever.
I don't know the answer but I know it doesn't come from a change of the incumbent in Downing Street (not that that would be a bad idea at all). Politicians bearing appeasing solutions in definitive tones are, quite frankly, talking shite. There is not a hapeth anyone can do in isolation to pick the baby up by the legs and smack its ass until it breaths. Nothing. We're not talking CPR on a global economy here, we're talking resurrection. Rather than heeding the pathetically transparent lip-service that world leaders are paying to impending revolutions, we have a better chance of colonizing another planet and repairing our economy by plundering their resources (manual and natural) and shafting them financially. That is the only way we know -- we've done it for centuries here on earth but, dammit, all our conquered have learned the trick so we're in this bittersweet moment of horrible reality. We've realized the sins of the fathers and are really very sorry but on the other hand, ethics are now too expensive.
If predictions of £1.50 per litre hit our pumps (what is that? about £7 a gallon -- $13 a gallon), I personally will jack in all this Mr Nice Guy corporate crap and get down and dirty with the rest of the oppressed. What the governments of the world don't know is that even those with moderately good jobs are once again becoming underclasses who are penalized for having the audacity to breath the same rarefied air as the elite. I think I would argue that those underclasses now amount to at least 70% of the UK. That is a hell of a lot of pissed off people. More to the point, that is hard to ignore.
Nature's cruel way of restoring the medium-long term balance is to kill off ungodly amounts of people in wars. Unless somebody has a *really* bright idea, that's where we'll be headed. In years to come when asked about the civil war, you'll be able to respond "which one?". Guaranteed.
So no more "Disppointed of Reading", it should be "Rabid of Everywhere". Remember the revolution started here. At least it will once I've backed up my iPod and hit Starbucks.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 11:33 BST by Kenny
Guilty Secret Music
Stan here. It's been a while and Kenny has just been kind enough to vent on my acre of cyberspace, so I thought I'd reciprocate.
The pattern of my life for the last two months has been as follows:-
* Wake up too early.
* Get in the car.
* Realise I'm still in pyjamas and slippers. A good day is one where I realise this before I've driven fifty miles and sat at my PC.
* Get out the car, get dressed and get back in the car.
* Hit CD1 on my car's CD autochanger. Portishead's new album "Third" plays. This is obsessive, dense, Difficult Listening music that has been audibly warping my mind.
* Drive to work
* Fight intractable technical problems for twelve hours straight.
* Drive home in just the time it takes to listen to "Third" again.
This has been going on for way too long and my mind has been on the edge of slipping, so I decided to change the tune for once and hit CD2.
Radiohead's "OK Computer"
CD3 : Portishead's first album "Dummy"
CD4 : Nirvana's "In Utero"
CD5 : Pink Floyd's "The Final Cut"
Anyone see the pattern ? Someone (probably my subconscious) had packed my CD player with depressive difficult music. Fortunately CD6 was Madonna "Confessions on a Dance Floor" and Scissor Sisters' "Ta Dah !" was close to hand.
I contend that anyone who cares about music probably has a secret stash of CDs or a secret ITunes folder full of the kind of stuff they listen to when everything gets too much. Kenny is Loud and Proud about his enjoyment of Dolly Parton and Shakira and I've just copped to Madonna and the Scissor Sisters and would like to have several counts of Electric Light Orchestra and Harry Connick Junior taken into account while I'm about it.
So what's your guilty secret music ? What is the soundtrack you put on when life has bitten you on the butt and you're alone behind closed doors, punching cushions and chugging litres of melted Ben & Jerry's ?
Don't be shy, don't hold back. You can listen to what you like.
As Douglas Adams wrote : "One of the great things about having your own world was that you could just go ahead and like the Carpenters on it."
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 00:05 BST by Stan
15th May 2008
Lend me £1m and 100lbs please...
I bounded into th'office this morning, full of beans. Coffee beans. I was ready to take on the world's problems but email is down so that moment has passed without major international incident. Same time next year eh? Until then the suffering will continue.
I had a sneaky read of Bryony's column while I was waiting for three shots of heaven from my friendly yet mouse-like Polish Starbucks lass.
I can't say I'd ever considered being fat or being poor as a choice before but I'll run with it. I think I'm with Bryony: I'd sooner be fat and rich than skinny and poor. Unfortunately my genes have dictated that I will always be the latter.
What I will say is that I do like Fergie a lot. I don't like what she has chosen to do for a living (like she needs one) and I avoid all TV shows that feature her. She always struck me as being a laugh ergo is welcome to come round for a rowdy night of wine and loud piano anytime. I do have some evidence to say with some authority that she is as bubbly as she appears to be. Many moons ago when the Waaart and I were at our respective universities, we worked at Aintree during the Grand National meeting. Waaart had an encounter with Fergie while running down a set of stairs nearly, knocking her flying. She was quite "the wag" (I say in a faux Estuary accent). I only saw her from a distance but she smiled throughout and, more importantly, made everyone else smile.
My run-ins with royalty were with the Sainted Lady Di and the Queen mum. The Queen mum was already a squillion years old and behaved like her Spitting Image caricature by kicking off her shoes as soon as she sat down and sparking up a cig to go with her gin. I liked her. A proper old lady who didn't give a flying sh*te what anyone else thought. Princess Di was a bit of a shrinking violet. Not having been briefed with any etiquette for addressing royalty, I completely showed myself up as being the coal miner I should have been by screeching out "Lady Diana? Wow. Hiya." I'm sure I'd have been fired if anyone had overheard. At least it wasn't a "Alreet", "Eyup" or "Now then".
Poor and skinny, I'll return to spinning cotton. At least the Supervisor has paperclips to manage. What did we all do before email? Being a social cripple, I really don't "do" real people, except over dinner.
Oooh, nearly forgot to mention that I loathe rap with every stroma (ref the footnote). Once again I've read Bryony's piece while nodding sagely. We really should do dinner and violently agree with each other all evening.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 10:14 BST by Kenny
14th May 2008
Ou se trouve Kenny?
Tonight's bloggage was performed over chez Stan.
Tomorrow is Bryony day so, time permitting, you can be fairly confident in predicting what tomorrow's topic du jour will be. That's if there are no major news events, personal catastrophes, severed optical cables or my ADD kicks in.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 23:57 BST by Kenny
Today's best search term
From harpercollins.com, someone searched for:
dealing+with+a+negative+reaction+to+an+eloping
You've come to the right place little hopper in the grass. My advice is to not do what I did. That should pretty much cover it.
They must be short of imaginative romance authors over at Harper Collins.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 16:12 BST by Kenny
13th May 2008
The things you see when you don't have an Uzi
We've established over the years that I'm quite a calm person who is in no way prone to kick random has-been celebrities in the arse should the occasion arise. That I would rather lie down in front of a tank than shoot Australian midgets. That I'd be far more likely to firmly shake Drogba's hand in a solid and manly clasp than stick a rocket up his arse then dance on his smoldering remains. Yes, we've established that time and time again.
So why is it that I have noticed that the first words I generally speak in the morning are "f***ing w***er"? Yes. The quality of driving on our roads is so bad that weekdays after I have silently showered and departed, slurped a couple of coffees down my neck, listened to Nicky Cambell and maybe sung along with Fiona Apple for a while, the first words I say to anyone are expletives. It just has to be that way.
By the time I get to work, I'm sufficiently calmed to return to my normal affable self. The prospect of a triple shot cappuccino and a croissant perks me up no end. Colleagues are greeted with a wry grin and a "thanks for dropping in", "don't be a stranger" or a "morning girlies" as I rush to my desk to do important things like check my email, check my bank (im)balance and charge my phone.
All this has been blown out of the water today with the following passage from Al Beeb:
However, Ferguson has been given licence to add more new signings as he looks to equal Liverpool's record haul of 18 league titles.
England internationals Michael Owen and Micah Richards are rumoured to be on the Scotsman's shopping list.
Note that I didn't type that. I cut and pasted it. I cannot type it. Ever.
Say it ain't so.
All I can do is turn to the past for sweet relief and a reminder of why the tears are flowing down my cheeks.
No flowers please. Instead make all donations to a donkey sanctuary where you live, preferably not near Manchester. Thank you.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 09:30 BST by Kenny
11th May 2008
Weekly round-up
Okay, I'm back and exhausted after the football. Upshot: we're champions again! Woot.
Before the foaming masses start with the nit-picking about the rights and wrongs of today and all that has gone before it, let me make a few points that will prove that I'm not just your average glory-seeking Utd supporter:
-- The penalty from which the first goal came may or may not have been a penalty. On a different day... Tough break for Wigan, but we all have them.
-- The second penalty appeal was more clear-cut than the first and definitely was one, albeit turned down.
-- Scholes's challenge was not exactly horrendous. Had he not have been booked, he might have merited a yellow card. As it was, he had been and given that he was already on one yellow, there was no other option than to send him off. Very bad call from Bennett.
-- My heart goes out to Man City fans (a rare moment). Being battered by Boro is bad for any team. I have a feeling that the City players went out to make a point (not literally as can be seen from the result) about the ownership of the club and related shenanigans. If they did, they succeeded. I'm not sure how I would react as a blue but I think I'd err on the side of "Well done lads; you've proved that the players still have a say when it boils down to it. Take that to Thailand, smoke it and then be tried for any crime you can think of. By the way, don't ever darken Manchester's doorstep again." Sadly, we'll not hear the last of that one.
-- For a team that have been as gutsy as they have, I feel sorry for Liverpool (another first). They play some great football and are unlucky not to have some silverware to their names. I reckon next year's Premiership won't be the usual two horse race.
-- Well done Wigan and Bolton. You've both survived by the skin of your teeth. Better a couple of million than a consolation prize as you head South.
And to prove that I can be just as obnoxious a winner as the next man, standing facing our capital, I shall tersely say a few choice words: "CHAMPIONS. Oh, and f*** off Drogba; go cry somewhere else you great blouse."
--
Back to real life now. Last week was, to put it mildly, exhausting. I'd got some charity gubbins to attend to, work, some other gubbins and even more gubbins. It's a shame I'm tied to silence on all of it. Let's just say I've inherited some fairly serious problems that I need to fix and that will take up quite a lot of my spare time.
I've also been let down by someone I thought I could count on which has really kicked me in the teeth; it could prove very costly to me. I may be being a bit of a delicate flower here, but you do that to me once and there's little to no chance that you can ever redeem yourself in my eyes. Normally I'm king of the forgive and forget but this is on my list of unforgivable sins. I should have expected it; I've kind of smiled and took it on the chin a few times from them over the past couple of years but I thought when it came to the crunch they'd have my back. Apparently not. ChristmasCards-- ; (not that I send any anyway).
--
Just to finish on a happy note, I'm going to break my golden rule of the moment and hop on to iTunes videos after I hit the post button on this. Before the football, I was flicking through the music channels looking for something to distract me when I happened upon a video. I sat utterly mesmerized for four minutes. I cannot remember ever watching a video and just bleating out "WOW" at the end.
We all know I'm not exactly hip and with it when it comes to modern music so it will not shock you to know I had only heard of Shakira in passing. I can't remember the music but I remember thinking it wasn't too objectionable. I don't even remember what she looks like. All I could watch was her dancing. Good Lord. Can that lady move or what? Gob-smacked is an understatement. I have never ever seen anything like it. Which is why I'm going to download the video and watch it again. I cannot believe anyone can do that. It cannot be possible.
There you go...Kenny roundup complete.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 20:09 BST by Kenny
Great day not to give up crack cocaine
As I donned my Man Utd top and prepared myself mentally for today's deciding game by reading everything and anything about it I possibly could to stave off the nerves, I happened upon the BBC football channel on their website.
Here. Read it yourself and tell me why anyone would print such a cruel joke.
For those of you who cannot be arsed reading it, it alleges that Man Utd may be preparing a bid for none other than...I can't even type it.
The game has not yet kicked off. I'm 20 minutes away from even switching the TV on. We have not yet won or lost the Premiership. Yet I feel like I should be diving for cover in a Drogbaesque ballet movement.
The only consolation I have is that the parental units are away so I will have the Sky video coverage on and the Five Live radio commentary. That is a winning combination.
Please tell me that the BBC quote of the NOW is a prank. If it isn't, the suicide rate in Manchester and its suburbs will double overnight. Sadly more accurately, it will triple in Kent.
To everyone who is sat gnawing their own legs off in anticipation of the final day of the Premiership season, I wish you all the best. Unless your team is Chelsea or Wigan.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 13:48 BST by Kenny
10th May 2008
The wombles were wrong
and Kenny has proved it.
"Exercise is good for you, laziness is not." so sayeth Great Uncle Bulgaria.
What the wombles didn't tell you is that Great Uncle Bulgaria was as senile as they come.
We all know my pins are not the sturdiest items attached to my torso. So why did I have GUB in my head when I saw a badminton racket earlier on today? I leaped to it like a kid remembering the good old days when I was good at badminton and forgetting that my legs cannot be relied on.
It started off pretty well. My upper body performed brilliantly. I still had my lethal backhand smash and the ability to perform some amazing backward flicks from one end of the (in this case virtual -- i.e. grass) court to the other. Then some smart-arse put in a drop shot and forgetting that my body hadn't really done this for many years, I went for it like a teenager. Crunch. Legs went. Swines. But I was not put off. I continued and dropped in a couple of deft little backhand tickled drop-shots, completely wrong-footing my opponent. Then the bastard pitched something that involved me back-tracking quickly while watching the shuttlecock. Bang, over backwards. Utter swines.
I carried on and fell over a few more times but I really enjoyed the game. I came off drenched in sweat from the May sun. I am now paying the price. Tomorrow I suspect I will be paying twice the price. My calves and thighs hurt more than my feet (which have been killing me for over twelve months). I'd like to say that is a welcome distraction but they ache like billio so it's not.
Honestly, the things I do to myself to ensure that you lot are all aware of the dangers of forgetting your age and limitations...I'm a bloody saint. All to make sure you're safe and don't suffer.
The first person to pipe up that they are 40 and still play squash twice a week is either a liar or has a pipe-bomb from me in the post. That's if I can bend down to wrap it.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 21:34 BST by Kenny
8th May 2008
Pointer
Here's a quick pointer over to the Telegraph. Today's paper has an interview with one of my all time heroes, Paul Weller. For those of you not in the know, the title of El Bloggo comes from one of Weller's songs, a particular favorite of mine.
I'm not sure that I have ever objected to anything Paul Weller has ever done. The chap is a national treasure. I didn't realize that he had been offered a CBE and turned it down. He ascended yet another level of Godliness for that action.
May 26th is now booked in my diary. New Paul Weller means Kenny will be parting with dosh.
While I'm here, Bryony's column today is suitably light-hearted. After the nightmare journey from hell getting to work this morning, it was nice to finally smile. I suppose we'll be treated to yet more inane commenting though -- I've emailed Bryony and told her to befriend a techie who has a delete shortcut key for the utter bollocks that regularly gets spilled into the comments.
Damn -- I've no Weller on my PC or iPod. This needs to be rectified immediately.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 11:16 BST by Kenny
7th May 2008
Amy, Amy, Amy
Just a quickie before I lay my tired arse down to sleep.
Please will someone put a gag order on the press and mandate that they leave Amy Winehouse alone? If it's not reports of her being arrested, it's documentaries asking where it all went wrong for her. If we don't stop this fanatical sickly voyeurism, it will become a self-fulfilling prophecy and we'll all be armed only with our copies of Frank and Back to Black, scrap books of when she was alive and a massive book market. I for one want her to hang around.
Yeah, you're right -- I am a bit narked about it.
Speaking of narked, my iTunes line-up for tomorrow's journey does not bode well for idiots on the roads. If I can become virtually rabid while listening to Fiona Apple being a bit loop-de-fruit in that oh-so-sultry fashion, just think of what a bit of Sisters of Mercy will do. A good dose of Vision Thing should push the envelope of the speakers and test the efficacy of my alternator.
Beware blue blurs with angry guitars.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 23:50 BST by Kenny
Rabid...
In which Kenny proves his metaphor filter is completely corrupt.
As I was doing battle with the M62 this evening, the increasingly cursed Honda Civic driver pulled out in front of me. I say pulled out, I mean cut in. I was doing a respectable 90mph down the outside lane. He must have been doing 50 when he pulled out to overtake a car in the middle lane that was overtaking a lorry in the inside lane. The sum of the delta in speed between the lorry and the Civic driver must have been 0.5mph. I was, how do you say, absolutely livid. I'm a mild mannered chap but when you cut me up and then cause a backlog of traffic as you inch past the car in the lane next to you, you have my undivided loathing for the moments I remember your sorry ass exists.
I was minded of a quote from a Cello instructor of old speaking to his nubile young charge:
"Madmoiselle; you have between your legs something that could bring pleasure to millions yet all you do is scratch it."
After that thought had swiftly been and gone I realized that it was a very tenuously apt quote at best. You can see where I was going though can't you? The muppet who had decided to pull out in front of me had 1.6 litres (minimum) of engine to ease the situation and failed to use it.
I followed that idiot for the better part of three miles until he had the nous to change lanes. I know it's unfashionable to only overtake in the outside lanes but I still drive by the code that is nominally law.
Honestly, be warned. If you drive a Civic on the M62, my best advice to you is to watch out for the blue blur rapidly approaching your rear.
Operating on the assumption that wrongness is measured from 0 to 1 Kennys, and that you cannot be any wronger than a Kenny, how do you think that whole shebang rates? To make this fair, deduct a quarter Kenny if you sniggered at the cello quote. I know I did.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 20:20 BST by Kenny
6th May 2008
At last, something interesting
Grom finally grabs my attention...
I'll probably be a bit quieter than usual this week because there are all sorts of things going on at work and at home. That said, I thought I would mention this, just because I found it fascinating in that kind of Pre-Raphaelite way that really hits nerves with some of us.
Grommage was on a first-aid refresher last week. I'm sure he didn't break into "Annie are you okay? Are you okay Annie?" in a Michael Jackson-esque trendy indy sort of way, but he did start relating the story of Resusci Annie. Apparently the face of the mannequin used in first aid sessions is said to be that of a young girl found dead in the Seine around the late 1880s. She was deemed so pretty that the pathologist modeled her face. It has been painted and reproduced many times since.
Annie, or L'Inconnue de la Seine
Apparently the Guardian article on her is a very well written piece (that I will probably not get to read until later in the week). They dubbed her Ophelia of the Seine. You can see why.
Good Lord. I'm reading Dante, remembering Pre-Raphaelite art and designing VLANs. Spot the odd one out. Actually it kind of reminds me of Perfume by Patrick Suskind if for no other reason that she's dead and in the Seine.
Anyway, cheers Gromster; you've finally imparted an interesting fact on me after nearly three years. :) Only joking mate -- you're always good for some wanton abuse. I'll get the coffee in later.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 11:24 BST by Kenny
