I have just let rip the longest stream of expletives I have ever conjured up. For once they were not aimed at someone else. They were aimed firmly and squarely at me. I am an idiot (dissent is encouraged at this point).

Tomorrow is June 30th. When does my car tax expire? Tomorrow. Epic fail Kenny.

I've been a bit pre-occupied with something at work for about a week now; this is what has riled me into a trip to Bristol on Wednesday. It has worried me so much that I have neglected things that were not flashing red in front of my nose hence the ignoring of the road tax. To give you some idea of how focused I have been on the problem, even my boss has gotten weary and sent me an email saying that I am sounding like I give a s**t. Last time I was this worried, I became belligerent and got my own way, followed by a small bonus for doing so. I don't expect to be rewarded for belligerence but hey, what's a Kenny to do? I'm either right or I'm not, and we all know the mantra don't we?

Now, in true Jack Cafferty style, my question is this: if I pay online tonight, will it be legal for me to drive my car on July 1st (Weds) sans tax disk? Step up young Stan.

In other news, I have re-appraised Regina Spektor's Far. Those tracks that the jury was still out on have been deemed pretty good. Blue Lips still stands out by a light-year as being the best -- quite possibly the most perfect song ever. I remain adamant though, that track 9, Dance Anthem of the 80s is about as pants as it gets. Les (from Vic and Bob's Big Night Out) could have done better with his Bontempi organ. Apparently Spektor played at Glastonbury and the BBC covered it. I had no idea she had seeped into England so fully. I will be cruising iPlayer for that. I keep looking for UK tour dates but her gigs seem to be NY state and Philadelphia (the odd SF one). Criminal -- the first tour of England that Tori did, I managed to drag a squillion people to the Leeds gig; I'm sure I could do the same here. Even my mother would go. Along similar lines, Fiona Apple needs to tour the UK -- she needs more international exposure.

Right, I am getting back to my European roots tonight and hitting the goulash. I made the fatal mistake of asking the Head Gerty at work \"Möchst du ein tabbenzen?\" via IM earlier today and he seized upon the Germanic side of the family and my plans for total world domination. I await the accusation of my abusing our Polish network-Nazi -- according to some procedure or other, we are encouraged to talk about religion with our colleagues. All I did was ask .pl about his Godless communism. Some people are just so touchy. You just cannot win sometimes.

It has to be said that I am loving the weather. This is how it should be.

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon in self-indulgence, ironing in 88% humidity and feeling at one with the world. May and June were my favorite times of the year in Minneapolis. You get some lovely heat and then amazing storms. While the rest of the family were in the basement, I was the idiot non-savant who was on the deck with his camera.

Maybe my memory is bad, but I don't remember a prolonged period of heat and humidity like this since I was a kid (I think it was 1976). Long may it continue, only let's have a few really good thunderstorms.

I would be sorely tempted to go and buy some garden furniture so I can sit outside at the back, but I would guess its life-expectancy to be approximately one night before I was relieved of ownership.

In other news, I am annoyed. With the exception of vacuuming, I have no jobs to be done in the house. I think I'll just head outside and poison random green things to maintain the yard as God intended it: paved.

If there is one thing that interests me less than Wimbledon, it is Michael Jackson. What are the only two topics of conversation in the office this morning? You guessed it. I really could not give a fish's tit. I only know of this because Rachel Burden was on Five Live this morning -- a rare treat, so I suffered the news content -- I love her to bits.

Much more newsworthy is the death of Farah -- the passing of totty is always to be lamented.

Yes, I'm feeling particularly obnoxious this morning. You should be pleased you do not work with me, because I am going to be hell to be around today. The only saving grace is that I arrived before 07:00 so will be departing early, thereby reducing the amount of time you would be in contact with me.

Update: I think we have broken 2 comment records. 1) Sheer volume. 2) Biggest distance between subject of the post and its relevance to the subject of the comments.

[Uh-oh. If Kenny apologised profusely for a silence of... half a day, was it? then what am I supposed to do, after not having produced a post for weeks?]

Hello everybody!

Waiting to hear from The Powers That Be about yet another job that I will most likely not get, and feeling really annoyed about this whole recession business (what with my personal slump mirroring the global slump), I started thinking about how people handled adversity in my old corner of Eastern Europe: mostly, they made cynical jokes and consumed large quantities of Slivovitz (a sort of plum gin, about 94 proof, the kind of drink that would rust your watch... which is why they wisely pour it down their throats and not on their watches). I am deficient in at least one of those skills, never having managed to down a drink stronger than sherry.

But I've been reading all sorts of economy-related news, and there is plenty to be amused (OK, cynical) about. I just had to share this little gem, and give a shout to all of you across the Pond: Go USA! ...Best horse in the glue factory! (that phrase had me smiling for hours.)

Don't you love it when they get all folksy about the economy? It's usually a bad sign, but terribly entertaining (especially for us foreigners as we get to hear new, fun phrases). I remember Ronald Reagan's \"a rising tide lifts all boats\"; when the banking crisis started last year, we had Warren Buffett (2nd richest man in the world) pointing out: \"only when the tide goes out do you discover who's been swimming naked\" (and what a perfect counterpoint to Reagan -- didn't anyone notice?) Buffett is known for his pithy comments; I imagine that the worse his funds perform, the folksier his annual report to the shareholders (I bet the last one had them in stitches).

More fun for troubled times: Freakonomics, home of several insightful studies; appparently, most people cannot tell a cheap wine from an expensive one, and dog food from duck liver pate' (although, in praise of the human race, it should be pointed out that most people noticed dog food tasted worse than the other stuff they were presented with in a blind tasting -- they just weren't sure it wasn't pate'...) Freakonomics, the book, is also a good read.

I am left pondering another Warren Buffett-ism (which Mr Kenny Guevara might like to borrow for his own revolutionary purposes): \"Should you find yourself in a chronically leaking boat, energy devoted to changing vessels is likely to be more productive than energy devoted to patching leaks\". What does this mean to me? Not sure. Right now, I feel like I:
a) couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery;
b) couldn't find a moose in a phone booth;
c) couldn't fight my way out of a wet paper bag.
I do, however, know my ass from my elbow. It's a start.

Good night... I love you all to bits, as they say in Yorkshire (not sure which bits, so don't ask.)

...where logic is confiscated at customs.

Riddle me this one:

When I moved in, I got a council tax bill (to finance the swathes of bureaucracy) through the door. I paid my first installment and sent back a form saying that I was the sole occupant so was entitled to a 25% discount. Five weeks later, I received a letter saying that my statement had been accepted, the amount reduced, but that I needed to pay about £99. I have no problem with that. What I have a problem with is that the letter states that the deadline for payment was two days before they sent the letter. I would like to throw my hands in the air, raise my eyebrows and mutter "only in Wigan" but the realist in me knows that this must happen all over the country. Where there are local councils, there are buffoons and God awful IT systems. Is it any wonder that public sector IT people earn less than private sector?

I was going to relay the strange tale of the alarm clock that has gone batshit but my food has just arrived. Duck in plum sauce with noodles. This stuff is better than sex. Well, okay, better than sex with me. I have about a metric ton for £7.70. It will feed me tonight, tomorrow lunchtime and tomorrow night. I really could live on the food from the Peking Palace on Poolstock.

Update: Utterly divine. Now what we need is a sashimi delivery service and I will never have to turn on the oven again.

I would love to explain my silence but I can't.

I have theories but they must be kept under wraps, because I am quite good at doing that.

I'm also livid at some random decisions. So much so that I am descending on Brizzle next week with an attitude. Every now and again I get above my station in the Megacorp and I have to go there to explain in words of one syllable why they are wrong. Politics is a waste of time.

In the meantime, I am trying valiantly to avoid anything to do with tennis. Wimbledon is a non-event. All it does is fuel estrogen. I've missed every piece of radio about it because I, quite frankly, do not give a rat's arse. If the cat lass starts on this subject, I fear I may have to get the Vanquisher involved.

In the meantime, I bought Regina Spektor's Far and am far from impressed.Blue Lips is ace but the rest is a bit amateur. Out of the five albums I have of hers, you could probably make one corker. 'Tis sad.

I'm off to snuggle up with my quilt. It makes anything after 05:00 gorgeous, especially when the sun dances all over you as soon as it can. That is the greatest way to wake up ever and you never know what might happen when you wake uo feeling good.

I should have been in bed two hours ago but have been glued to the TV. I've been watching Occupation. Good, Freakin'. God. That is the best piece of television I have ever seen. I rarely choke on TV shows but when <spoiler>that happened</spoiler>, I shouted "God, no" so loud that next door would have had good reason to bang on the walls. It was gutting. I'm emotionally exhausted.

I'm not sure whether the BBC's iPlayer works outside the UK, but if it does, for my favorite furriners, watch it. It will rip you to pieces and then not bother reassembling you.

Before I forget, I wish to point out the dodgy geezers across the road. Three men at one doorstep, with two looking scanning for who is watching is never a good thing.

Albert managed to barbecue on Friday night while the rest of Clan Albert and I sat inside. Albert subscribes to the high-protein diet which meant that many pigs, chickens and cows were put to the fire. In sympathy for our vegetarian chums, he did produce some cheese to put on the burgers, which were quite literally divine. I could have gone burgers alone, but Albert insists on a varied diet so forced pork chops and chicken down me. The bastard.

Mrs Albert produced something green. I have no idea what it was but in true Godless communist style she forced me to eat it. I do believe I ate my most hated of foodstuffs within it. I have seen pictures of these horrors so I am confident in saying that I think I ate a tomato. Shudder.

Yesterday was a day of domesticity. I was a thing possessed. After two and a half months, the house no longer looks like I moved in yesterday. My new ironing tools were abused so next week I will continue to look like I am owned. I rewarded myself with a trip out to the Stag with the Vanquisher where I dutifully won an obscene number of pool games.

Many weeks ago, I happened to have Mark Kermode on the radio as I was traveling back from Bristol. I have long suspected that I hated him but was not sure. For some reason, he was talking about Robin Hood on the BBC and he deemed it, in the vernacular, pants. This goaded me into watching it. Ever since, I have been hooked. If you could prioritize the Sky\+ recordings, Robin Hood would be at the top of the pile. It's just fantastic entertainment. Every Sunday, I am glued to the TV for an hour, and every Sunday I am sat wanting it to be next Sunday so I can see what happens next. I think that in my near future, I can see a trip onto Amazon to buy all the series. I think we can call it catnip for Kennys. What it also does is reinforce the theory that Mark Kermode is an idiot. Apparently he has a PhD. I can only assume that his PhD is in talking bollocks. Rob, add him to the list if you would be so kind.

I am now away to tackle the Observer crossword, order some food and then sit back with some Ultimate Force with the utterly gorgeous Heather Peace.

It has been a top weekend. I hope yours was as good.

I will keep an eye on the guys across the road. Tasha, if anything happens, you will have the scoop. ;)

I went through my local MP's expenses last night on the \"redacted\" government website. I have long suspected the right honorable Ian McCartney MP was a crook -- the only time you ever see him is before a general election, sliming people in the local pubs -- and his expenses confirm my theory. He has claimed £1300+ a month in interest payments for his constituency home. I know where he lives, and am baffled as to how his interest alone can be that much. A cursory trawl over the numbers and I reckon he has had about £100k over the last four years on top of his ~£65k p.a. salary. It is an outrage of biblical proportions.

In other news, later today I will be headed North to Albert Towers for fun and frolics. There was talk of a barbecue but with the wind at gale force 3squillion and the probability of showers high, I suspect that will not come to pass. However, before that, I have some cunning plans to execute.

Everyone say happy birthday to the Waaaart, who is 0x29 today.

Remember when Cahill said you would not make it to 30? Well you've now rather successfully rained on his parade on every single count.

I got an email late last night notifying me that someone who I used to work with in my first real job had sent me a message on fiendsunrequited (I was never good with detail). She was the head of marketing at the company. Because I was a wet behind the ears techie, I feared the marketing people because we didn't speak the same language but over a couple of years, I got to know her quite well at work and we discovered we could communicate.

I think that moment was when the sales director had a bit of a "do" at his immense estate in Thorpe Arch and wheeled out his motorbike to fly around the grounds on. At that point, I had never ridden a motorcycle before, but I guess I picked it up quite quickly. At some point I convinced the head of marketing to get on the back of the bike and whizzed around a field with her hanging on for dear life. It was a bit of a bonding moment and we kind of understood each other after that. I think that understanding grew when we went through the death of my boss (and our friend). I lost touch with her because I went off to do other things.

Anyway, my most memorable moment was when she sent me an email saying that even though I might be a really smart techie, I should not aspire to riding my motorcycle right up to my desk, like it was alleged happened in Redmond. Given that, to me, she was senior management and I was just a grunt, she kind of made my day. Come to think of it, all the senior management in that company were excellent. It is the only company I have ever worked at in my life where I believed in every decision they made. That may be naivety or it might be that they are the ones who formed my way of looking at a business and knowing what to do. Either way, I have a great deal to thank them all for.

When I responded, I was hesitant to mention that I had spent over half my career in marketing. I spun it like it was just product management and product marketing (not marcomms) so as not to shock her too much because I expected her to give it a WTF? -- the response I got was quite touching. Something along the lines of "doesn't surprise me at all -- you always had the gift of the gab". That is a great compliment coming from her, because she was amazingly articulate and could control a conversation with anyone. I literally used to sit taking notes about how she redirected and got back on message. I can honestly say that I still think that I refer back to that on occasions when I feel I am losing control of a situation. To me, when I am talking, all I hear is babble. I know what my head is thinking and I know the filters that I want to apply but I always walk away thinking that I have messed it up. I'm sure that I'm being a bit harsh on myself because I have managed to achieve some epic wins, but the doubt still lingers.

The first time I sat in on a board-meeting, I was silent. I was phased. I didn't value my opinion enough to speak. After it, I was asked why I was quiet. I think the answer that I gave was that if I don't disagree, I leave things to run. Lame answer. I was shell-shocked at the gravity of it all, and the fact that I was there. Nowadays, I am nowhere near as close to the upper echelons -- this is a *big* company and my words are worth nothing (although my predictions are usually right) -- but my ability to market ideas internally certainly is known. I've swung a few decisions over the last 18 months, just through logic, persistence and presentation. You take your wins where you can get them in any job.

I owe my re-found colleague a debt of gratitude, along with several others in different disciplines (Evil A being one of the visible ones here). I also hope she never follows the link here from Facebook, because I will die of embarrassment. :) I daresay she can still teach me a thing or two -- she's wily.

One of McColleagues here has been following my ironing purchases over on Facebook with great interest. So much so, that he developed a terrible ironing board lust and nipped over to Costco yesterday to buy a new one. It sounds like a cracker to me. His has an integrated extension cord which I am quite envious of. He lacks, however, the red dangly item of mystery that I possess so I guess we're at deuce (see how I got the tennis reference in -- stupid sport). In Top Trump style, we will have to have a decider based on iron specs, although by the sound of it, we have the same model.

I have spent the last two days being completely surprised by meetings that are marked in my diary but for some reason I have forgotten about by being distracted by that pesky work stuff that I pretend to do so that they pretend to pay me. I think we can say my organizational skills for the last two days are, hmm, an epic fail. I will away to consult my diary as to what I should be doing this afternoon and then I will promptly ignore it.

Look at the bottom twitterage of Aleksandr Orlov:

I haven't posted any Ani DiFranco for a while. This tickles me...

I've just watched The Big Question with Nicky Campbell on Al Beeb. I blow hot and cold on whether I think he's a decent journalist or not. Some days he's good, others he is leg-chewingly awful. As it happens it was moot today thanks to one of his guests.

Louise Bagshawe is, apparently, an author. I spent a very uncomfortable half hour or so watching her mannerisms and comparing them to my first wife. Christ almighty, rewind 20 years and that, right there, is version 1. The supreme self-confidence. The dismissal of anything that does not fit in with an idealized view of how the world should be. The strategic hair-flicking. The random interjection of irrelevant high-end vocabulary. The derisory snorts. All this while being insanely pretty. Age teaches you many lessons. Knowing how to discriminate dream woman from psychotic she-devil bitch from hell is one of those. I just need to master the sociopath thing now.

In a completely unrelated observation, Chrissie Hynde was on The Andrew Marr Show. Can we say wow? I think we can. I'm off to download some Pretenders and then I am once again Bunburying -- I might kill a few weeds with serious chemicals this afternoon.

I feel some kind of pre-emptive strike is in order on somewhere small and defenseless. Today has been one thing after another and it's not even noon.

First up, my internal body-clock has me wake up at 05:56, exactly four minutes before my alarm goes off during the week. I tossed and turned for ages and had just got back to sleep when the phone rang. Who the hell calls someone at 8:30am on a Saturday. I ignored it out of contempt for whoever was calling but could not get back to sleep. When I finally arose, I discovered the milk was past its sell-by date ergo a trip to Sainsburys was in order, *sans* caffeine. At Sainsburys they had a military percussion band playing outside at a volume I consider obnoxious. You could hear it all around the store. I hate drums.

I think I'm about as grumpy as I could be for a Saturday morning. What's more, there's no football. This is dire.

Looks like Facebook and Twitter will get a caning as I procrastinate my way towards an evening out.

Oh great. Now I have a fly in the house. Arse.

I received my new Morphy Richards Comfigrip iron today. I could not resist so took it for a spin with the new ironing board. If not a mortal sin, the pleasure it gives me must be at least venal. This thing is heaven on earth when it comes to ironing. This could be the start of a really bad habit of wearing shirts at work every day. The sensible part of me knows I will never again be taken seriously as a techie but the joy is so great...

I'm in denial about Ronaldo moving to Real Madrid. I have convinced myself that their purse strings are cramping after the Kaka fee. I know, I'm deluded. I saw a fantastic twitterism yesterday (on the subject of Kaka) -- "Wouldn't it be ace if Ulrika Johnson married Kaka?". For those not acquainted with Vic and Bob, that will not be funny. For the rest it should have you at least chuckle.

I found this on my phone tonight. It must be from a few weeks ago. It is the view from a Saturday evening outside the Stag in Garswood. It's not bad for a phone shot:

I told you it would be random.

Now I need to get on and do some jobs before I start really slobbing.

You will note the wheel that is half on the pavement and half off. I'm not sure this angle really displays how much they had blocked the exit to the car-park either...

Whatever, this is a truly special effort.

In the immortal words of Stephen Fry, "a thousand bags of purulent ARSE".

Ronaldo to Real, £80m.

We have a balcony at work. I'll be the guy splatted underneath it.

Those of you who follow my twittering will know my ironing board turned up from Amazon today. Wow. It is huge. I had to put the backseat and the passenger seat down to get it in the car. I have taken photos of the beast but cannot be bothered firing up the Macbook to get the images to upload. I will do that tomorrow.

I was so enthralled with it that I fired it up and ironed a couple of shirts and some jeans. This is probably no bad thing because the boss is in town for a couple of days and I'm sure while he really appreciates my over-dried, over-creased "Hated by the Daily Mail" teeshirts, I am sure he would prefer me to conform to Bristolian rules. I have met him half way by ironing my jeans on my dining table thus far. Hey, that was a start.

When I was young and enthusiastic, I used to always have pressed everythings. Since I moved to the US, I have only ever ironed dress shirts for when I needed to wear a suit (sales calls, presentations etc. -- Nicole will verify that). It struck me tonight as I waited for my prescription how important it is to look the part. When I handed over my script with five items on it, the lass just took it off me and filled it for me without asking for payment. When she handed me the bag, she asked me to check the box for why I shouldn't pay. I pointed out the fact that I had not checked the box to say I didn't pay. She had assumed that I didn't -- that says either a) nobody around here pays or b) she thought I was some kind of malignant tumor that could not support himself. The thought option b) might be the cause fueled me to break out the iron. I am now in line for endless abuse tomorrow because the Gerties that comprise my team will stick the knife in and twist for my distinct uncrumpledness -- the theory being that you cannot be a proper engineer if your clothes are ironed, especially when you're single.

My one problem now is that my iron is pants. I think another little trip onto Amazon is in order to buy a decent one. This one does the job, but the go-faster stripes on this do not match the ironing board and the squirty bit is lame. I need some Sainsburys starch of yesteryear too (Albert will confirm how I used to dote on the stuff from the time we shared a house and he taught me to iron things properly).

Yes, I'm macho. Shut up.

One day I will be presentable. Honest.

From today's Telegraph (only just now reading it), you have to say that Boris is a force to be reckoned with. Lovely literary flourish but with a very believable message. You owe yourself to read it.

Good night!

I have two stickers on my LCD at work. One proclaims me Chief Flange Reamer and the other is a play on our ad campaigns that say I am.... In this case I have I am the problem. It is remarkably apt this morning in that my smoking buddy, the ninja coder himself, Jlo has just accused me of being the problem for allowing the BNP (read fascist scumbag thugs) to win a seat in my area. The fact that I did not vote has riled him. And I quote his Facebook status at present:

Jlo is appalled that voter apathy has let the Burnley Nazi party get a seat in Europe! Britain must stand up against this!

He's assaulted everyone he has met this morning to ask whether they voted. It appears I was the only abstainer so I really am the problem. I've had lectures on political apathy and how that's how Hitler came to power.

So there you have it -- I single-handedly allowed the BNP to win a seat in the Northwest of England. As ever when I do such odious things, I express a wish to be publicly crucified at your earliest convenience.

This is bad.

I have no idea who my neighbors are. I have been here for two months and I have never set eyes on them. I am quite sure, however, that I hate the people to my right. What I do not need on a Sunday morning is the sound of opera leaking through the walls. I loathe opera with a passion. For years I tried to give it a chance but there is something deep within me that makes me want to shoot anyone who can name an opera that is not useful in the context of a crossword. It truly is a din.

In retaliation, I have cranked up some Ani Difranco to obnoxious level 11. Nothing like a bit of sexually confused ranting to some staccato acoustic guitar to chase the opera buffs away.

I must now away to buy an ironing board and "do" lunch. I will be back later to report on the ironing board. The way I am consuming at the moment, I may reposition the blog to compete with Which.

I know you are all hanging on what happened to the tyres so I am here to help you relax.

I got some. Over a ton for two tyres. That is robbery, although I did meet one of the best looking women I have ever seen in my life. I don't often do a double-take but this lass was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. What she is doing working in a garage is beyond me. I think the camera beckons for that one. Over £100 sounded a bit steep so I called Pater, after I got home, to get his opinion -- he paid over £250 for his front tyres. I now feel quite smug.

The really exciting news is that I have ordered my tickets for Tori in Manchester in September. I checked last week to see whether they were on sale yet and they weren't. The Vanquisher IM'd me last night to say they were on sale. Epic fail Kenny. I got on the website and failed because Lloyds were being security conscious so called and interacted with a machine for long enough to succeed in booking them. 6th September at the Apollo -- job done. I might resurrect the countdown for that one -- seeing Tori live is one of those things you never get tired of. I could spend lifetimes watching her play piano.

In other earth-shattering news, I am no longer a hippy. I have been shorn, and not before time too. The lass who usually does it was not there so the assassin had the front to show me the back of my head in the mirror. I did not thank her. She appeared to know me -- no idea how. Obviously not from the hairdressers or she would know my sensitivity to seeing how bald I am. In true Stuey fashion \"Damn you vile woman\".

I bought some shoes too.

Man, my life is just one happy dance after another. Admit it, you envy me.

Now I need to get showered before Robin Hood comes on, in preparation for a wild (sic) night in the Stag. Quit with the envy already.

Let us hope that either the quote of the day tomorrow is more inspiring than the vacuous twaddle that the good Dr Fuller imparted on us today, or that the revolution has begun because Lord knows this will not be interesting.

I have domestic faff to do tomorrow. In addition to remembering which end of a vacuum cleaner to plug in, I have to unblock a drain and go buy some new tyres. I have tried multiple brands of drain un-blocker over the last few weeks and none of them have worked. I know which one I would get in the US, but does anyone have any recommendations for UK ones? It's only partially blocked because if I leave the shower after I have been in it, it does eventually drain within a few minutes but that is really annoying. I fail to see why I should pay someone to come out and physically unblock the damned thing when there is almost certainly a chemical cure. "Better living through chemicals" has always been a motto of mine -- I intend to honor it.

The tyres? Well, there's a non-story. I looked at them last week and thought, "Ooh, they look like slicks -- better get them sorted" and then promptly forgot. Like you do when you're Kenny. They caught my eye tonight as I was unloading my shopping and man, they are balder than my monk's patch. If I get pulled up, that, right there, is a 3 pointer. Stan would have me in the klinkerhoffens within minutes, and I really don't want to give him the pleasure. Anyway, I prefer to save up my points for worthy occasions such as running over chavs and cats. Speaking of, touch wood, it struck me as I was thinking about that I have not had any points on my license in the US or the Uk for over fifteen years. Does this merit some form of beatification?

My gloating comes from the abject misery our government is in. At 2pm yesterday, I twittered something along the lines of "Wow. 2pm and still no ministerial resignation. This government can't even be consistent on that." Later in the evening, they came through for me as James Purnell stuck a knife in Brown's back. Today, I had barely got over the shock of Darling still being in Number 11 when, BAM, Hutton went. As it happens, there still appears to be enough party support for Vlad the Impaler Brown to continue, albeit for a very limited amount of time. I suppose I should not be surprised that the Scottish mob are still there.

Nay matter, the fact that constitutional reform is just around the corner is good enough for me. The wide recognition that things must seriously change is the greater goal. We were a democracy in its loosest sense for long before any of our counterpart nations but we have not adapted, instead preferring the status quo. So much so that we look wizened. Half our government is unelected (Lords), proportional representation is looked upon like a threat to the realm and we sit beneath swathing masses of government from every angle. It would be easy to have a pop at just the Commons just because they have been outed. It's not just the Commons; it is every layer from your local councilor to Brussels. Not N but N**5 and beyond. How some of you can sit and either lament the fact that this is happening or continue party allegiances and condone massive government is beyond me. I expect this kind of nonsense from those who want to think that all will be fixed with an election. The more high-minded should be thinking above the party-political dross. Now is the time we should be looking at fundamental reform. Other countries have managed it, as many have proved. Sitting on a lowest common denominator system only leads to problems. We have had that for centuries. It needs to go.

And now I have vented, albeit in itsy-bitsy fashion, I will leave you all to discuss how banal today's quote of the day was. Bless, Dr Fuller. I'm sure you're really clever but someone caught you in a weak moment.

Okay, it's not small.

If you sit at the desk behind me and constantly harp on about kittens, call home and ask what the kittens are doing, tell everyone who walks past what the kittens did last night or even mention going shopping for the kittens once more, I will find out where you live and personally put an end to the kittens doing or needing *anything*.

This has been a public sanity announcement. As you were.

Update: Right, that's it. I draw the line at listening to how many cans of Felix you need. I am going to follow you home and do the world a favor.

More: Now I know it will cost £70 to vaccinate the fecker.

As you can see, I knocked up a quote of the day on the right. I didn't do it like I described because early morning reveals things with much more clarity. Rather than embed the javascipt to pull down the abominably formatted QOTD stuff then parse and render it client side (i.e. on your computer) or do a once daily dump, I went for some server side gubbins that I knew I could do quickly in PHP. I looked at QOTD's javascript and realized I could just parse that to get what I want so I don't parse the output, but the script itself. Who is a clever Kenny?

Anyway, tis done. I hope you enjoy.

Also, I dropped the page rating thing. That was done in javascript and it was hideous. I may keep the code there but I will not be using it anytime anytime soon. Call it a life experiment, like the ones you do at Uni and then don't regret but never repeat.

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In terms of regions, I have two things to say:

1 -- I still have this damned iGoogle thing going on where my Mac Mini shows American headlines and my Macbook doesn't (same login). I have cleared the cookies on the Mini with no joy. Both are set to be US English simply because I find it easier to spell in American than British English so the locale is not the issue. Next idea please.

2 -- Local elections. I am compelled to abstain tomorrow. As the Noid pointed out, there is not a box for "none of the above". If I did vote for someone and then my revolutionary plans came to pass, I would be open to allegiance with whichever party. I have no allegiance with any of the bottom-feeding, avaricious swines. At the rate they are resigning though, there will be a vacuum of power just right for President Kenny to do a quick side-step and BAM!, we will suddenly be a happy and prosperous nation again. I might heed the words of @RealBillBailey and just go down there and draw a really nice picture of a leech on my ballot card with a box and a cross.

Over the last couple of weeks, Google's quote of the day has occasionally yielded some gems. Being that Freeda Gnome and the Waaart are such luddites that they don't use iGoogle and add the QOTD, I have been forwarding ones they might like (mathematical, religious, philosophical etc.) and we have ended up in some pretty good email trails as a consequence.

This afternoon the Waaart suggested that I include those quotes on my page. You can embed some javascript from the QOTD the day site that will do it, but it is not aesthetically pleasing. I said to the Waaart, in order to get this to a point where I would use it, I'd have to spend a couple of hours coding -- to wit, the first hit after midnight would have to do a curl call to QOTD, drag back what was in it, parse it into a form I am happy with and then write it to file or a db to be used in a PHP include for the rest of the day. It's either that or link to it from the page, load it every page load and then there would be even more javascript to parse the stuff on the fly every time -- *not* nice at all. I hate client side scripts so I am loathed to take that route. In fact, I am considering dropping the rating thing completely.

The question is, is there anyone other than Waaarty who could give a fish's proverbial? If there is, I'll do it because it is not hard and will not take long. Probably about an hour longer than it took to put my twitter stuff on here (so a total of 90 minutes). If there's not, I've saved myself two episodes of Bones. You decide.

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In other news, as I twittered earlier on, I had a mad dream about @bryisahypocrite last night. I am not one to remember dreams, but I woke up all of a lather at about 04:30 this morning. Not for the reasons you might think you depraved bunch of reprobates. It was, as is usual with dreams, a completely daft plot but uncannily real at the time. I'd accidentally bumped into her on a train somewhere and had introduced myself. She was very pleasant and we got chatting. At the end of the trip, I invited her back to my house for a brew.

Somehow en-route back to my house she managed to lose a shoulder pad (very 80s) and I caught it and carried it for her. When we arrived back at my house, it wasn't my house, but a three storey building which was shared accommodation with a family of thugs. I put the shoulder pad down and went out to get something from somewhere. When I returned, Bryony was gone but her shoulder pad was still there so I set off to try and return it.

I recalled that she was going to some posh country house hotel thing and set off for there, armed with said shoulder pad. Upon arrival, we sat civilly in a garden with a drink as I presented her with her lost item. At which point, some aristocratic oik appeared and threatened me with physical violence for having left her alone with my housemate thugs at which point Bryony screamed a boat load of verbal abuse at me and exited, left of the fountain. I was left to deal with said toffee-nosed Eton rifle.

I woke up feeling like I'd really let the side down. You know that semiconscious "shit, I really blew that one" feeling.

It amused me no end once I had fully awakened (about half way to work).

I bet there are a number of you who will have theories on what that says of my state of mental health, you bastards (I'm looking at you Dr Maestro, with your PhD in psychology). Interpret away.

My theory is that I have a class hang-up and I'm just spoiling for a fight with a member of the privileged few, particularly if there's a cute lass involved. Vanquisher, we should stick to the Stag where the IQ is consistently below that of a lettuce. Do not, I repeat, do not take me anywhere outside of the WMBC. In fact, if I have any plans to go to London, I will cancel them. :)

I must confess to flagging today. I don't know whether to claim wussdom and blame the heat or to settle for a much more/less manly affliction, like a headache and sore throat. Those of you who know me in the other dimension will find this a shocking statistic but from being in work at 07:15 and leaving at 15:00, I had just one cigarette. It is unprecedented. I expect fullly loaded jibes from ye olde Waaart about being a quitter. In my defense, I have to say that this cannot continue since a Kenny without his tabs is your worst nightmare. I don't just get irritable, I get homicidal. I would love to see the stats on murderers and correlate the number of recently desisting smokers. In fact I suspect, given my not inconsiderable statistical skills, I could probably get a research grant from some department of coziness to fund a study.

In reality, I think what is happening is that it's getting to that time of the year where I have two or three weeks of hay-fever hell. The warm weather won't help that at all. Is it hawthorn season yet? It only lasts for a few weeks but my God it levels me when there's no rain during that time. I recall a couple of years ago, it kicked in. There was one incident at work where my nose just exploded with blood. I was walking around with pints of the stuff pumping out of my nose in a gusher-like torrent. Funny thing is that I haven't seen any hawthorn blossom yet but I know it must be around because the last couple of days I have felt like I am being throttled from the inside. The only good thing to say about it is that it will pass.

In other news, I am currently sat staring at my voting card and wondering what the hell to do on Thursday. In the wake of the expenses scandal and knowing that the local council will have ten times the scam going on, where do I cast my X? Wigan is a hotbed of socialist bed-feathering. The next ward up from me is known as Red Ince because it was the first ward in the country to elect a communist council. I had a couple of friends in my younger years whose father was chief executive of Wigan MBC and over time, he proved his colors, much to the lament of his family. I cannot, in good conscience, vote Labor. Equally, my interactions with the Community Action Party have been so poor that I fear they are in the same bread-buttering league. BNP = God no. Lib Dems -- nowhere to be seen. Tories -- not a chance. What's a Kenny to do?

Other than sneeze?