31st May 2008
DP and the CSS
Oh yes, I have Dolly Parton tickets. If I didn't think that Debs could do no wrong before, I certainly do now. All I need to do is ask her to find me a big blond wig -- she is in the know on these things.
As you can see, I've started messing around with CSS again. It started off as a fiddle around for other purposes but has kind of woven a spell around me. Whenever I think I have mastered CSS, something else comes along and draws me in. Every time I look at CSS I understand more about it so I play, things on here change and then I forget about it for a while. The next time it crops up, I learn a bit more. By the time I'm pensionable, I will be a guru. And CSS will have been replaced by some trendy nonsense that I'm sure in advance I will disapprove of.
No matter -- expect changes. If you drop by here at the wrong moment, you may see it is all horribly broken. Be sure that if it is I'm squirreling away trying to fix whatever I have broken, so I probably will not answer the phone or IMs.
As you were; revolutionary planning in Eccles starts in a couple of hours.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 11:12 BST, by Kenny
30th May 2008
Top text of '08 so far
I've only added another one of these song things to annoy you and to prove a point.
I received a text a few minutes ago from an unknown number saying something to the extent of "I'll go watching Dolly Parton with you if you can still get tickets."
I reacted like Bernie Slaven, with salmon-like reflexes. I hammered out "I love you. I'll check tickets. BTW, who are you?"
It transpires that it's my old mate Debs. Her response was "How top! No shame in Dolly. M [her husband] wants to make it clear that he doesn't want a ticket however. How exciting especially when we already have Fall tickets for the same night!"
I shall be on ticket-master first thing.
The rest of you will all be crying into flat pints of warm beer that night while Debs and I are rockin' along with Dolly. Well you had your chance...
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 23:12 BST, by Kenny
29th May 2008
At last
You people have no idea how hard it was to find a suitable object gubbins to put into this that would not break the XHTML compliance. It doesn't help that I'm tired and was a bit remiss with the odd / here and there; that had me baffled for the better part of 20 minutes.
Nay matter, as promised...Patty Griffin's Top of the World
The bad news is that now I've done this once, you can expect more Kenny showcases. The good news is that no-one is forcing you to hit play.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 21:00 BST, by Kenny
Crikey 'Eck
It's Thursday and I've drunk my constitutional gallon of coffee, downed two bacon butties, smoked the better part of a pack of cigs while sat on the M62 before remembering it's Bryony day. That bank holiday business must have really messed with my internal clock. It doesn't help that my paperboy appears not to get out of bed before 07:30 so I don't even get to open the paper until gone 19:00 -- some days it's all I can do to get to the crossword.
Anyway, as one of the guys who commented on Bryony's column said, there is hope for us all. I'm not broke, but I'm not rich. If I gave up paying loans, rent, bills and petrol costs, I might be classed as rich (by my standards which are admittedly nadir-like) but until then I shall pootle along content in the knowledge that not all women are after the contents of my wallet. At this moment in time that is a fine thing because the cash machine is inaccessible thanks to a bit of random digging.
You will note that I have resisted the urge to take a pot shot at a certain US person. I feel very proud of myself. You should too.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 09:24 BST, by Kenny
28th May 2008
Sometimes Kenny is useful
I shouldn't be blogging because I have things I want to do but what the hell...
I've decided today that I must be the world's worst employee. It's a legacy from being the world's laziest and most inattentive student.
The Waaart will attest to the fact that I did squat diddly all the way through my A levels and degree that could even be remotely classed as work. This is reflected in my piss poor results. I just don't like being taught anything without a context or immediate use. I bumbled through what I had to and then went to the pub. Those around me expected better results than I got but really I had a fundamental disinterest in academia of any description.
It was only when I got a job that I liked that I started really learning. Even then it was selective learning. If someone gives me a piece of work that I deem too easy or unchallenging, I kind of sit on it because it's dull. The way to motivate me is to either give me a problem no-one else has solved or tell me something is impossible. That's my red rag.
/* Boring techie explanation of how much of a terrier I am
My record for tenacity and sheer bloody-mindedness was an open support call that lasted for 9 months, with conversations on a daily basis including weekends and a resulting file of debug logs, faxes, emails etc. that should be in the national archives. Some guy in Norway had a problem with his PC X server dropping connections when using xdm. This was in the good old days when TCP/IP stacks were usually sold by third parties. They had all sorts of mad tweeky parameters; buffers for this, registers for that, heap allocations. Essentially they were all bags of spanners that worked if you had a following wind. The hardware back in those days didn't always play ball either. After reams of debug, teaching myself everything there was to know about Sun's PCNFS, protocol analyzers, packet-sniffers and probably the odd rescue dog, I solved what I had been told to give up on 6 months before.
Likewise, when I was the only guy left coding in Fortran, I nicked a book on C and taught myself.
*/
The thing is that I do have my uses. Just give me something that you think I'm not capable of doing and I'll jump up and one day I'll surprise you. Everything I know that I blart out in passing is most probably known because someone somewhere doubted whether I could do it. I guess I'm a bit of a pain in the ass that way and so make for being a git of an employee.
I mention this because most of my life passes me by with a casual nod, much like academia did. But the things I do notice I really, really notice. Sometimes that's to my detriment but most of the time, it's just a good filter to avoid the crap.
Music, though, is the one area where I usually hold my hands up and admit defeat. I just never seem to get what it is that draws me in.
I think the Waart said in his post about me being a berk that I have always taken my music seriously. This is true -- for one so entirely without musical talent, like the next man in the street, I have the gall to have very strong opinions on it. Sometimes I'll listen to average or good tunes, nice harmonies etc., but they're just candy-floss to me. I treat them like an intray on a slow day.
When I do like something, I get a bit obsessive and play it to death for months. Are you seeing the parallels here? I've been trying to put my finger on what it is about Fiona Apple that gets my juices flowing. The music is not genius by any stretch of the imagination. I've come to the conclusion that it's the combination of some unconventional melodies, downright bizarre rhythms and her voice which is simply addictive. I should invite her to dinner and make her sing her conversations while playing the spoons (did I ever tell you I was taught how to play the spoons properly by a real hillbilly from Kentucky?).
A common and much noted theme about my musical loves is that most of the artists in question are completely barking. We're talking hatstand without hats. I gave up trying to understand what they were singing about after Tori Amos's second CD. Apparently the topics are discernible -- it appears I just don't have the kind of batshit catnip gene that is required for translation. I stick in a Tori or Fiona Apple CD and think "ah yes, some good old-fashioned Mydol-fueled pathos -- love it". This has bled over to other music where I give the lyrics half an ear and come up with my own little (usually wrong) interpretation that I quite happily live with until someone (usually Nski or Waaart) points out that not only have I got the wrong words but I've missed the boat by about something the size of Australia. Hey, everyone is fallible.
So tonight, I was doing battle with some real weather. It was none of this poncy crap that the media were so fond of reporting earlier in the year. This was a welcome to aqua-planing 101. The M62 was chock full of people who were driving like Californians when there's a light autumnal drizzle -- you could smell the fear. I don't blame the poor dears. I was a bit nervy at times. Anyway, I had Patty Griffin belting away at the highest volume I could achieve with only a single alternator.
I've listened to Top of the World a bazillion times since Pam sent it over to me, just because it's a beautiful melody but today I actually listened to the lyrics. The thought process went along the lines of "Nah, can't be. Bloody hell, I'll put that on again. Jesus H God damn son of a bitch Christ, it is." It is absolutely the saddest song I have ever heard in my life. By the time I had listened to it a third time, I had a tear in my eye. Seldom am I moved to tears, but hell's teeth that is just about the most beautiful and deeply moving song that has ever had the audicity to reveal itself to me.
As with all things Kenny-related, I may not be the fastest on the planet but I get there eventually.
I've rambled from start to finish all to get this point. I *will* find somewhere to put Top of the World up online as a stream so you can all have an earful. Make sure you have kleenex to hand and Mydol if appropriate. You will then hop onto Amazon or iTunes and buy Impossible Dream.
Before I do that though, I need to prove to someone that something can be done so I need to get my best coding gloves on (no, Albert -- it wasn't that -- summot else).
Looking back, there was an almost uncharacteristic sense of continuity in this post. Job done. I should just spawn and die. Wait, I've already spawned and spawning at the moment would make the virgin birth look as extraordinary as Kylie Minogue doing a world tour. I don't need to spell that one out do I?
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 21:51 BST, by Kenny
27th May 2008
Robbed of Wigan -- Bertillon will pay
I have been brutally and savagely mugged by someone in uniform. If he lived in France, he would be un douanier à Orly called Monsieur Bertillon. But he doesn't. He probably lives in Nottingham and works as a customs git chap at East Midlands Airport.
I ordered a couple of things from ThinkGeek.com. The damned postage cost me more than the items in question so I was already a bit miffed, but I thought I would take one for the team in these times of gas being the most valuable commodity in existence. I did not complain (much).
In true Viz style, imagine my horror when I returned home and realized that HM Customs and Excise had not only leveled VAT on the cost of the goods but also on the shipping costs. Just to add insult to injury, they'd also slapped a random government "processing fee" of £11 on too. This equated to my having to cough up two ten-spots in a cash-on-delivery style transaction.
I know conventional wisdom is that you need to pay import duty on all goods over and above a certain value but, given the worth of said package was less than £25, is that really necessary? And can they charge you VAT on shipping charges? As for the flagrant not-so-stealth random £11 charge, I'd like to see how much the treasury receives in "processing fees".
I jest only a little here. I defy anyone to argue against the assertion that we are the highest taxed country in the civilized world. That assertion is based just on income tax, VAT, council tax etc. No matter which way you turn the treasury has its hand open in front of you. I foolishly used to think that the various taxes we are subject to were devised so that the rich pay more and that the different names were a clever way of hiding the fact that the rich were paying them. What a damned idiot I was. They are there to make sure the treasury gets every last piece of fluff attached to your pennies as you hand them over.
The point is that whatever façade previous administrations managed to get away with is now blown out of the water and we all know how much tax we pay. And, frankly, it's too damned much. During my working life I have watched huge corporates avoid paying enormous tax bills even though they were earning obscene amounts of profit. It's all perfectly legal if ethically totally abhorrent. Something really does have to give.
I think I shall be consulting with my VP later this evening to map out our fiscal plans post-revolution. Rob the Vanquisher should make a point of adding immoral taxes to his growing list of things to vanquish. We're in a bit of a pickle about that at the moment though. It will come as no surprise that a bearded t**t of the Oddie persuasion, an Antipodean midget of the scary persuasion, a donkey with a banjo fixation and a Didier of the effeminate persuasion come top of my list of "must sort outs". My philosophy on this is that the nation needs a morale-boosting gesture. Ridding them of sycophantic leeches would be a hell of a start. Rob the Vanquisher, however, holds that Popey-baby must be dealt with in a swift and probably not too humane fashion. I have some sympathy with that view but no-one listens to the pope. And who's the tinpot dictator president anyway?
Be confident that post-revolution public spending will be cut. The most immediate effect will be a round of redundancies at East Midlands Airport. Their records will be checked and each and every recipient who had a £11 processing fee levied on them will be refunded personally by the officious dolt who meted out the fine fee in the first place. Like 5 minutes of his time and the overheads of employing him for that 5 minutes come to £11? Like hell.
Form an orderly queue and let me know who else needs "sorting out" after the revolution and before our rigged apology of an fair and balanced election.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 20:57 BST, by Kenny
Just wanted to say
For once in my life, can I just say that my mate and I battered Paul in the Guardian in under an hour?
Yes, I can.
We did.
You may worship me.
PS -- If you haven't already, you may also worship Barbara Ellen for her spot on analysis of our modern-day feminist heroines.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 13:54 BST, by Kenny
25th May 2008
As promised...
...a torrent of whatevers.
When you've spent a day spitting bile and then spent half the following day fecking around with wireless stuff that should just work, what you really need is a bit of Patty Griffin to soothe the nerves.
I bought this CD years ago. I found it again while ferreting around for Kate Bush CDs on Friday night. I advise you all to get a copy of Living with Ghosts.
I was originally pointed in Ms Griffin's direction by Pam whose blog appears to have been "retired" for some reason. Hope she's well. She had some good taste in music.
I think I may purchase Impossible Dream now. Yes, I will.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 19:13 BST, by Kenny
Spamming 101
Dear Mr Spammer,
Do you not think that if nude pictures of Angelina Jolie existed, I would have found them myself by now?
All the best,
Kenny.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 18:08 BST, by Kenny
This one is for the search engines
I have noticed that search engines crawl blogs quite a lot. Fair go. Amongst the lists of stalkers just maybe someone is searching for some real advice. This, my dears is for those darlings who have scoured Belkin's absolutely useless support site.
Let's say you have a F5D7011uk Belkin Wireless G+ card (of the PCMCIA variety) and you have a Livebox as a router. For the sake of argument, let's say you have installed the Belkin software and are currently sat looking at a single lit power light on your new card but cannot for love nor money get it to see any networks -- you know the network exists because your other wireless cards and your iPod are spotting it a mile off.
The first thing you need to know is that you need to completely uninstall the Belkin software. It is, how do you say politely, utter donkey jism. Uninstall it. You will forgive me momentarily.
Now reboot with your PCMCIA card in. When Windows spots it presence and asks you for a driver, point it at the Belkin CD D:\\FILES\\DRIVERS\\bcmwl5.sys and let it do its stuff. Don't let it start the Belkin installer.
You might feel compelled to reboot again. You should now be able to see your livebox as an available network. Remember that you'll need to put in your WPA / WEP key and also remember to put your livebox into pairing mode (button 1) before you hit the okay button.
All should be good. You should now be breezing away at unprecedented speeds. Also, you have probably saved yourself about 3 hours of faffing around which I would say is worth a pint if you ever see me knocking around.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 17:05 BST, by Kenny
24th May 2008
Be warned
If you're in my vicinity today, I'm in no mood to suffer fools so keep the hell away.
First off, I have conclusive proof that literacy standards are falling with epic dispatch. How hard is it to read an address on a newspaper and push it through the right letterbox? Apparently it is very difficult because my paper-boy or girl can't manage it with any degree of repeatability. Yesterday I was the proud owner of a Mirror to complement my Telegraph. Today I am bereft of either.
I went up to pay the papers, report my AWOL Telegraph and to pick one up but they had just sold the last one. I have now spent an additional £1.60 on a Guardian and will have to go out of my way to pick up a Telegraph.
You can mess with most things, but do not ever feck with my paper.
Upon returning from said outing, a phone call. I hate them at the best of times but this one really pissed me off. Apparently while I was in hospital the yearly purchase of tickets for the cricket was made. I was not even asked whether I wanted to go. So the phone rings this morning to say that Kidder will not be at said "do" tonight because he's at the cricket. WTF? The first I have heard about it. Is it me or is that just plain feckin' rude? Even if I couldn't have made it for whatever reason, you would have thought they'd ask. I shall be avoiding meeting him this weekend to give myself time to calm down.
No doubt he arrived last night too -- I could have met up with him and FF for a bite to eat, but oh no, not a feckin' murmur.
Now I'm likely to snap at the first wayward comment made anywhere within a five mile radius. So my advice to you all is to keep away from Wigan, Eccles, Standish and surrounding areas today because there is one seriously hacked off Kenny on the warpath. Woe betide anyone who has the temerity to be dumb today because I have jugulars pre-programmed in my radar.
So much for my attempt to be nice to the great unwashed for a year. Waste of effort. I think the phrase of the day is short shrift.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 10:21 BST, by Kenny
23rd May 2008
Back in a tickle Katey Baby
I have been neglecting my first unrequited love for quite a while. Kate Bush registered with me when I was but a whipper-snapper and has been a constant companion for God knows how many years now. I think I have bought her boxed set three times (I think it was released sometime in the early nineties). Wait a minute, how many wives have I had? And how many burglaries have I had? Hmmm. Well I know 2 were stolen and one went AWOL with Mrs number 1 -- I hope my daughter got hold of them and drew cats or something with a sharp object all over them.
Where was I? Oh yes. I'm pretty sure I've bought the boxed set 3 times. I spent the latter half of the nineties and the early part of this century cursing Kate for not producing any new music.
And then she released Aerial. I don't know what was happening at the time (complete lie -- as you'll find out soon enough), but it was a few weeks before I bought it. I played the first CD once and then put it away. I have not listened to it since. I did however completely overdose on the second CD. It's absolutely viral in how it seeps into your head. It should be first heard when you're on a pathological high so every time you play it or catch a phrase in casual conversation, you're returned to that rarefied space. Stupid me chose to buy it and then spend three weeks in my flat in Leeds, flat on my back in utter despair with it on repeat. I just stuck it on the old iTunes player. I managed to listen to it all the way through but I think I'll have to leave that one well alone. It's a shame because it really is possibly the perfect CD.
Yet another parting gift from Nski; the gift that keeps giving. Wait a minute...isn't herpes the gift that keeps on giving? Thank God I wasn't given that to regift. I mean the memories associated with that time. Even though I am now at the stage where I can quite happily place that little three-stretch behind me, Aerial still kind of knocks my head a bit sideways. I'm sure there's a therapist somewhere rubbing their hands with the prospect of years of intensive regression therapy -- to them I point to the medicine cabinet and say that the drugs are cheaper and generally much more helpful -- after all, I haven't killed anyone. Yet.
I think tonights little mission before I turn in and watch my nightly dose of NCIS is to bung as many Kate Bush CDs as I can find in my various stashes into iTunes and do the sync-thang. I'm tempted to wipe off Aerial disk 2 because I'm uncomfortable with it and because iTunes somehow managed to import it from Media Player and completely misname every song but get the length of the tracks right -- I know, it confused the bejesus out of me.
I think, given I have a bit of time, Katey and I may be getting it on in my bedroom over the weekend.
I now await a comment from the Waaart telling me to give it up and forget her. Many years ago he promised me that if it was the last thing he ever did, he would introduce me to Kate Bush. I have the perfect post title for that one -- "Kate Bush finally gets to meet Kenny. Send Sancerre and white chocolate urgently." Some things never change...I'm still waiting.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 21:24 BST, by Kenny
A little less gravitas
It was brought to my attention late yesterday afternoon, as a conference-call was winding up, that it is actually a three day weekend as of close of play today. Why did no-one tell me this? I could have organized something and gone somewhere for the weekend. Pah.
Truth is I couldn't have gone anywhere until Sunday because I have my grandmother's 90th birthday "do" to go to tomorrow night. I'm wondering whether the Flip-Flop, Kidder and the Gogglebot will be turning up. I suppose I could call, email or text them but given they never call, email or text me, I'll just be pleasantly surprised one way or the other tomorrow.
As an aside, the Gogglebot is really starting to grow on me. She can say "daddy" wonderfully however whenever the Flip-Flop appears she screams "Eddie". Well, I'm always one to take an idea (especially when it's such a good idea) and run with it, so the Flip-Flop is now in my phone as Eddie. I'm left wondering whether Kidder has left any Iron Maiden CDs knocking around with a picture of the original Eddie and Gogglebot has done some kind of comparison...just saying, 'tis all.
I suppose going away on a bank holiday is just about as stupid as you get anyway. The traffic will be awful and it will undoubtedly spend more time raining than it does baking us so I'll be just as well holed up at home than exploring somewhere. I have some code I want to work on anyway. Plus revolutions don't just happen on their own.
I have indulged myself and ordered a couple of geeky T-shirts for those moments that merit them. For example, someone asked my grandmother what I did for a living. She replied "he's a geek." I took umbrage. I am not a geek -- I'm literate for starters. How many geeks do you know who can write a coherent sentence or actually love getting involved with marketing? I bet if it's not zero, it's low single digits. Comprendez? Pas geek.
Given I have more time on my hands than I would normally have, I would expect a constant torrent of complete hogwash all weekend and beyond.
If you're in England, have a fine bank holiday weekend. If not, tough puppies.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 14:30 BST, by Kenny
22nd May 2008
The joys
There truly is nothing quite like the dissection of a football match/team/player by email the morning after a game. And now the unholy Manc/Scouse union has been dissolved, we're back to some serious sniping. Some snippets:
--
||
|| Can we get back to being at one another's throats now please? ;-) ||
|
| Sure thing. I made a start by feeling sorry for John Terry.
Yeah - I saw that. The big puff. He's all hard when it comes to punching Torres in the back of the head, but when he falls over he cries like a little girl who's just been shown a spider.
He fell over cause he's a prat. You can't feel that sorry for him. Noone else fell over... he was off balance or wearing the wrong footwear or something. Fair game.
--
I tell you though. If the footie posts had been a couple of inches wider/taller, you could have lost 3-1 at least. The number of times Chelsea hit the woodwork was cruel. Even Dogarse hit the post, didn't he?
--
I also felt a bit sorry for John Terry at the end too. But it was just the natural paternal instinct coming out - he was wailing like a baby. Didn't take me long to remember how he'd played the likes of Torres at Anfield, and then I started to enjoy his malaise.
--
Amazing how 130 minutes can trigger such maniacal analysis amongst otherwise (mostly) intelligent men.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 10:46 BST, by Kenny
Phew.
Where the hell do you start? Well, before I start reaming a few players, let me say the following. It will not make Chelsea fans feel any better but I do mean it.
My heart goes out to John Terry. Of all the people on the Chelsea side, he is head and shoulders above the rest in terms of professionalism and being a genuinely good bloke. I couldn't watch his penalty. At match point, I was vibrating at 100Hz with my head between my legs. I heard the thud and couldn't make out whether it was the post or a save. While I felt sweet relief at the let-off, I was absolutely gutted for Terry. It wouldn't have been so bad had he bottled it but he slipped and that's all she wrote. I think it's testament to how good he is that even while falling over he came within a midge's todger of scoring. The only blight on his character is his treatment of Liverpool's attack in the semis and compared to his team-mates that was pretty innocuous.
Overall, penalties were a cruel end to an amazing game. Aren't they always? I don't know about you but I thought the first 20 minutes were awful. After that though it could have been anyone's game. It really was a game of "if's and but's". There was nothing in it. On another day it would be me crying myself to sleep.
For United, I have to say that Wes Brown is a deity. Is there anything he cannot do? Of all the team, Brown is phenomenal. As is Vidic. Tevez was blistering. So many great performances.
The worries were evident too. Hargreaves was at best ineffectual and worst utterly dire. I lost count of the number of times he gave the ball away. Rooney troubles me too. His form is well off what he is capable of. He may run around like a mad man but that's about it at the moment.
Now to the beatings.
For the most part, I am very happy for Ballack to receive a ball anywhere from 30 yards out. There could be one man on the corner-post, static, playing him onside, a fully committed keeper and Drogba with an open goal just to his left. He would still try to hammer it home and miss by several parsecs. When he scores, it is indeed cause for jubilation since the shot to hitting the target ratio is best measured on a logarithmic scale.
Shortly before the Vidic/Drogba handbag incident, I had texted a mate saying "Not going to be our night tonight". A couple of moments later, with Drogba still looking like someone had stolen his lunch, but the recipient of a red card, I texted the same mate and said "I don't care now. Justice has been done. That is karma for you." Honestly, Drogba needs to make up his mind as to whether he wants to be a fairy when he grows up or whether he just wants to be effeminate. I don't want to sound like I am in any way sanctioning any form of fisticuffs on a football field but Heavens to Betsy, if you're going to get into a scuffle, at least have the mettle to look like you mean it. I think the ref sent him off more for being a petulant schoolgirl with the wrong color hair-bobbles than for his limp-wristed slap-let at Vidic.
Surely that must have been Drogba's swansong as a Chelsea player. You can't honestly countenance keeping a player whose play is dictated by whether he is in the right mood or not. I had a lapse of my mental filter and laughed out loud as I said "I wonder whether it's his time of the month" before realizing that not only was it sexist, infantile and crass, it was possibly the most insulting reference I have made to a football player since Jan Molby lost his handbag. Drogba is not writing a romance novel. He is being paid millions to do a job. Not even Chelsea can afford such an unreliable performer. One good goal every blue moon does not a striker make. And yes, I will level the same (yet distilled criticism of performance) at Rooney.
As a final comment (and then I promise I'll shut up about football until August bar the inevitable transfer speculation) I just have to say that I'm worried about Scholesy. He's looking anorexic. I think a strict regime of pie-eating should be undertaken over the summer.
Well done lads. Worthy winners. You (and the fans) did us all proud. Didier -- sign those Real Madrid papers and go out to pasture. I don't think even the Chelsea fans will shed a tear at your loss.
I have to publish this part of an email I got from the Waaart this morning. It is the wittiest comparison I have seen in many, many moons:
I supported you lot all the way through. Though it was a little bit like I imagine sex with a Thai lady-boy might be. I tried to imagine; I tried to get excited. When it was all over I smiled and had a smoke. But I didn't really feel happy.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 09:56 BST, by Kenny
21st May 2008
Fanfare
Moscow.
2008.
120 minutes of exquisite torture.
10 minutes of your heart pounding in your head like you're having a heart attack -- your breath short -- your hands shaking.
I'll take that punishment any day of the week.
Manchester United -- European Champions '07/'08.
More when I have smoked myself back to normal.
I am exhausted.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 22:46 BST, by Kenny
No. 6
I had preconceptions of Kenny -- but that's another story (no 7 on the list).
It must have been only a few weeks between Kenny first arriving at Leigh college and those preconceptions being blown out of the water. Had he been a smoker, we would have met sooner. But he wasn't -- at least not by any recognised heterosexual definition of the term.
Smokers bond quickly in a co-valent kind of way, sharing their cigarettes and daily interludes. So was the way at Leigh college, yet it was a while before Kenny was to become part of this sub-culture.
We must have been taking the same bus in to college, I don't remember. I always made an effort to go in to lectures the first few days of every new academic year, so I must have seen Kenny a few times. Yet I don't remember seeing him and I certainly didn't talk to him.
It actually took one of the infamous college "dos" for us to talk for the first time. It was at the Lancastrian Squash club in Leigh. I was wondering about pissed (quelle surprise), must have come out of the toilet or something and there was this berk stood there. It was just outside the main doors into the bar and dance floor part of the "do", which was in full swing. A few people were stood around smoking and passing the time of day.I remember it vividly. The berk in question - Mr Kenny blogmeister - was stinking the entire place out waving about a herbal cigarette. And before anyone thinks I'm speaking euphemistically, that Kenny was a bad ass smoking a J, no I'm not. It was really a *herbal* cigarette, and it smelled like flowers growing in a heap of camel dung.
Someone was taunting Kenny about why he wasn't smoking a proper cigarette, and why shouldn't he try one of his taunter's chosen brand. Kenny's defence was unshakable. It was along the lines of: "Herbal cigs smell like joss sticks"; "Joss sticks are cool"; "what's the big deal about being cool?". I had to admire his style.
I think I remember chipping in a couple of times with comments. Can't remember what I said, or even which side I backed. Inevitably the conversation turned to music pretty quickly, so I went and found whoever's round it was. Kenny was always in his element when it came to music.
I can't say I thought anymore about it. It took another college "do" (they were pretty frequent) for us to meet properly. This one was at "Toc H", a funny little working-men-type-club-thing on the outskirts of Leigh. I still don't know whether this place actually exists or not, or whether, like Brigadoon, it just rises out of the smog every 100 years and then disappears again. I don't think we ever went back.
I was heading into Leigh. For some reason we never met at the pub in those days -- maybe cause we were still so young -- we used to convene at a designated bus stop instead. I was supposed to be meeting my best bud at the time, C, at a bus stop outside his house. For some reason, I seem to remember C had got his wires crossed and gone to the other oft-designated bus stop on Church Lane. Maybe he'd made a mistake -- he made the vacuum of space look intelligent at times; maybe he'd just decided to meet some of his other pals. So instead, who should I end up standing at the bus stop with? Yep? The herbal cigarette berk, with the impressive logic. And by now he was smoking a *proper* cigarette too.
I don't remember what we talked about at the bus stop, or on the bus. I think by the time the bus arrived we must have been part of a small crowd. It may have been the time C turned up seconds before the bus arrived, still in fits of laughter -- they'd just seen Betty crash his car at 5mph on the pub car park. One thing I do remember is getting off the bus in Leigh. Everyone was heading off to the "do", and I just didn't fancy it. I was still sober for a start.
At that point I had a stunning idea. Why not ask impressive logic not-such-a-jerk-after-all guy what he's doing.
"Do you like Guinness?" I tendered.
"Love the stuff."
"Fancy a swift couple?"
And so it started. Kenny and I went off to a local pub (the Globe on Bradshawgate) and sunk a few in the interests of science.
He was never berk again, nor, sadly, impressive logic guy. He became like an arm or a leg after that.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 14:52 BST, by Waaart
Back to banality
After my little tirade about what a useless bunch of worthless maggots our MPs are, I will now return to normal self-indulgent aggrandizing piffle.
I have let myself down in the most monumental way this morning. While at Starbucks I had a rush of blood to the head. I ordered a low-fat piece of banana, raisin and date cake rather than my usual full-fat all-butter croissant. What on earth possessed me to pick something that had "low-fat" in its name? I cross the street to avoid such faddish nonsense. I will not eat "diet" anything. For example, I am quite partial to a bit of garlic cream cheese but I refuse to buy Philadelphia garlic cheese because I can only ever find the "low-fat" variety. [Update: Restitution has been made in the form of fish and chips.]
I presume I will now be ill by lunchtime.
Once again I feel compelled to mention the Waaart's phenomenal memory. I almost feel like a reborn teenager. Keep the memories coming Waaarty so I can refer back to them on the blog when I have forgotten them, next week.
Next we'll have Evil Albert and Ali Bongo detailing the six months I spent following a certain marketing girly around like a lost puppy. That I *do* remember, quite vividly.
Finally, expect a new guest poster on here. I have convinced Rob that he cannot be a Dick Cheney style VP when we have completed the revolution. As we all know, Dick Cheney has been dead since the first Bush administration. I would hate for a similar rumor to surface about Rob, Vanquisher of Pretenders. He'll be here detailing his jus de pois platform that he will be running on when we hold our first faux elections post-war.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 10:25 BST, by Kenny
20th May 2008
MPs vote against 12 weeks limit
What a morally bankrupt country we are.
Hot on the back of a stunningly arrogant display of a parliament bereft of any ethics, the monumental farce that governs us hits a new low. From Al Beeb:
"A bid to cut the upper limit for abortions from 24 to 12 weeks is defeated in the Commons by 393 votes to 71."
Maybe if we stopped saying 24 weeks and started saying 2/3rds of a pregnancy it might hit home a little more.
We all know I'm not religious. We all know that I'm not anti-abortion. These are ethical problems. I fail to see how an elected ensemble of public servants are in the slightest bit qualified to legislate on either of the above topics regardless of their decisions or religious beliefs. It's like asking me to broker a Middle East peace treaty -- laughable. At least it would be laughable if it were not so very, very sad.
Now, about that revolution...
(Rob and I have made great strides this evening. The transcript is long and complicated so I might have to just put it up as a flat file).
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 23:05 BST, by Kenny
Narco-what?
Waaart has just left the following comment to my narco-syndicalist post:
"Narco-syndicalist" - I don't know about that one. Kenny is certainly "narco-sexual", in that he is the only person I know, or have ever heard of, whose chances of a liaison with the opposite sex increases dramatically the moment he loses consciousness. Someone ask him about the time he fell asleep at a party in Manchester and woke up with hitherto unknown girl in his arms. He's a legend.
How do you people remember all this? Evil Albert yesterday with the European Tour of '94 (was it '94?) and now W with one party that I went to in Droylsden (on the back of Campbell's Kawasaki ZZR Turbo-Nutter if my memory serves me) which must have been '91?
I seem to recall being ridiculed for falling asleep under a very loud speaker at said "do". Although in mitigation, I have been in a bar in München, listening to a very loud band, and watched my CEO crawl under a table and catch a few Zs. I am not alone. He didn't pull though. I'm not thoroughly convinced that I did. I do remember an outing into Manchester where I awoke in some lass's flat that I had never met before (a friend of "Ace"?) and fled back to Droylsden in an express taxi. Is that the one you are talking about?
See, it's all coming back now. Well actually it isn't. Feel free to furnish me with more memories that will last all of ten minutes. As long as you all enjoyed the moments, I served my purpose. :)
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 10:56 BST, by Kenny
19th May 2008
So far, so good
unless you're a midget, a bearded git, a blue lemon or an ass.
I mentioned starting a revolution at some point last week and then promptly forgot about it. I really should get on that. The problem is that every time I have five minutes to myself I either think of something arse-wipingly boring that I absolutely *must* code now before the idea is written down and then lost in the ether that is my memory, or Rob pops up on MSN and we carry on with the revolution planning while swapping songs.
The coding that I have been doing is pretty straightforward stuff that will make my life easier. As with all the best pieces of code you will not even notice it exists, but I will know it exists. This pleases me.
The revolution plans were coming along great until I lost my notes. A quick delve around my disk has yielded no saved IM sessions so we're going to have to regroup and redesign.
At the moment I don't seem to have that much time for anything other than my existing commitments which is a bit of a pain. I am the worlds best at doing nothing or, if pushed, doing something that is worth nothing. My only "thinking time" comes as I commute to and from work. That means I have 4 hours a day trapped with my own thoughts. The good news for humanity is that I only ever use about 15 minutes of that time for real thinking. The rest of the time is spent singing at unfeasibly loud volumes and swearing in increasingly creative ways at other drivers. The bad news is that I occasionally remember things.
For example, it struck me on the way home today that I am halfway through my year long experiment. Just before I was bundled off to hospital in December I made a decision to try to be a more benevolent Kenny. Rather than bitch at people I thought I'd bite my tongue and go out of my way to help where I could. I have had some moderate success. I don't think I've knowingly pissed anyone off which is a huge start. I've volunteered a lot of time; some might argue too much. In fact unless you are an Australian midget, a wittering cretin who presents wild-life shows, an effeminate striker of the blue persuasion or a donkey, you've probably escaped my wrath so on balance the effort has been visible.
Were I a religious person, I'd lie back content with the sleep of the just. Trouble is, I'm not. I want a return on my investment. I don't want a monetary return or anything all that tangible. I guess I figured that some kind of good karma would pop up here and there to reward me for my patience and diligence.
After six months, I can safely say it hasn't. There are lots of horrendous things I can think of that haven't happened so I guess that's a start. I suppose the biggest "win" as it were is that I'm still here. Six months ago I wasn't sure I would be and I had both my atheist parents praying that I would survive. I think if you'd have asked me eight months ago whether I would be here, I would have said that I honestly didn't care. I was in too much pain and was too dazed by compound shite-ness to even consider what I might be doing now. So that's my one "win" on the karma front, but I suspect that's more down to good hospitals and drugs than any holistic justice. So if I am to thank anyone for that, I'd probably opt for the phenomenal staff at the hospital and the guys who invented amitriptyline, mirtazipine and another wonder-drug. Mustn't leave out the saint who created ibuprofen. Top people, the lot of 'em.
As I drove home dwelling on the experiment so far and yelling at Hondas, BMWs, Vauxhalls and Mercedes, the meeker side of me piped up in the background, reminding me of all the death around the world, all the poverty and the rampant injustice that we witness on a daily basis. It trumped the bolshy cosmic karma thought and I ended up pronouncing it a draw. Equilibrium restored, I gave up trying to make rhyme or reason of it all and made a mental note to try to remember to think about it again in about six months time. We'll see if I can keep up this beatified existence.
Armchair analysis crossed off the checklist for another six months, I'll now return to being the pig-ignorant git that I am: I'm now really starting to like the idea of this trip to España. Any of t'lads fancy a trip?
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 23:18 BST, by Kenny
18th May 2008
Paranoia is not just for breakfast
Homeys. I use that term to describe those using blueyonder cable from Wigan or thereabouts. Please could you email me and let me know your browser/version? You are exempt from this if your name is Rob or Emma. If you don't, you'll start to see all sorts of errors being thrown back at your browser. Merci.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 20:00 BST, by Kenny
No hablo español
After I had downloaded Shakira's Oral Fixation and listened to it a couple of times whilst en-route here and there, I got bored with it. It's a bit Kylie in its superficiality. Thankfully it doesn't demand that I kill midgets or, in this case, anyone who can shake their hips in a manner that would enchant a snake. It's inoffensive enough but not my usual cup of tea. The thing is I really like her voice but I can only stand so much sickly sweet girly music. I like a good moan in my music. So for reasons that escape me, I downloaded Fijación Oral which is the Spanish part of the two CDs and it's much more listenable. It's probably the same sickly shite in Spanish, but that's the point; it's in Spanish so I can't understand a feckin' word of it.
The limit of my Spanish is a couple of phrases from Blackadder ("no speako deigo") and asking where you find the sailors (a sadly prophetic phrase I learned from Nski). Oh, and I know if someone responds "the second door on the left". Don't ask me how. I suspect I can order any known form of alcohol too.
The thing is that unlike most Brits, I have only ever spent two days in a Spanish speaking country and that was, surprisingly, Spain. To put this in perspective, I have spent orders of magnitude longer in Japan, Korea, China, Italy, Germany, Austria, Norway etc.. To put it into even more perspective, I speak more Chinese than I do Spanish. This really should not be the case as I have been all over the US and stayed in some fairly heavily Spanish-speaking bits of it. I've even endured hours of Dora the Explorer. Yet I can still only understand anything if its derivation is similar to that of Italian. Go-go-linguist-me.
A couple of weeks ago, I was giving a friend a lift back to the wilds of Huddersfield when we had to call off for gas. He came out of the gas station armed with a CD on how to teach yourself Italian. I guess that speaks volumes as to his opinion on the contents of my iPod. I thought initially that he wanted to learn Italian. We spent the next couple of hours working through the CD as we drove back to his place. He speaks a little Spanish and I speak a little Italian. By the end of the drive I think he spoke more Italian than I did. He left me the CD and said that the next time he saw me he expected me to have mastered Italian. Whatever. I get to a certain point with language where I can get no further unless I'm in a country that speaks it and I have to use it.
This is why I am about to undertake a daft mission. I have a friend who owns an apartment somewhere in Spain and has offered to let me have it for a break whenever I feel like it. I have no idea whereabouts in Spain it is but I do recall that it's only about 20 miles from an airport. I'm told you can get a flight there on one of the cut-price airlines for about 30p. I counted my coins jar and I think I'm only about a penny or so short, so I if I can find a suitable week where I can book a holiday I might go; just for shits and giggles.
I have no idea what to expect. The last time I was in Spain, I stayed in a tent for two days, drank schooners of Sangria and then left. I remember it being hot and fairly hilly where I was, but little more. We just drove into Spain and picked a campsite. It may be a place called Lesgoogles (sp? -- it was pronounced Laygooglay) but that might have been on the Italian Riviera (as part of the same trip). I suppose I know I expect lots of expat Brits running cheap bars but I think I'm more than capable of avoiding that.
Before I even consider this excursionlet, I think I need to buy a rudimentary Spanish CD and at least know how to get myself into trouble. In the meantime I'll phonetically learn how to sing Shakira's Spanish stuff. Are Spanish girls anywhere near as cute as their South American cousins? Hmmm. On second thoughts a trip there may not be such a good idea. I may not come back.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 15:19 BST, by Kenny
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 "Disappointed 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
5th May 2008
Search terms are the new crack
Honestly, I just can't get enough of them.
I've just had a hit from wherever .sa is (I can't be bothered looking it up but it must be either Saudi or South Africa). The search term:
sexy+vlans
We aim to please.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 23:39 BST, by Kenny
4th May 2008
What is wrong with this picture?
My paternal grandmother is going more blind as her years advance. Every Sunday lunchtime (at least those that I attend), Die Fuhrer appears to out-do her on various ailments. Fuhrer has had cataracts and has needed a guide dog but they've managed to work some miracles and now she's pretty okay (unless it doesn't suit in which case she can't see -- can I say cantankerous?) but her eyes are always worse than anyone else's. Come to think of it, if I wandered in with a bleeding stump where a leg used to be her [insert affliction here] would be far more painful and life-threatening.
Listening to conversations after lunch is like listening to a one-sided game of Top Trumps. My poor old paternal grandmother just sighs and laughs that things like this happen when you get old. She's simply all about other people, to a fault.
Today, I was sat reading the paper trying to avoid being drawn into any further conversation, having been chastised for being too acerbic earlier. My grandmother gave a little wistful sigh and said "that's what I miss -- being able to read -- I feel like my brain is going to mush". When I her questioned further, it transpires that she used to read an awful lot of biographies and autobiographies. Me being Kenny, my mind immediately flipped to audiobooks and iTunes. Now I know my grandmother is not up to doing battle with iTunes really or any technology really (she is 90 in a few weeks time) but I'm sure I can pull a few down occasionally and burn them to CD for her.
I had occasion to nip into Warrington shortly after. I need a proper dress shirt for an upcoming event. I don't hold with the shirts they sell in most high street stores because they are too thin and the quality is not up to Kenny-snuff. If you're going to wear a tie, make sure your shirt does not look like it was made out of tracing paper. You want good quality thick cotton. There is one brand that I swear by but the name has escaped me all day, and no amount of peering through shirts in stores has helped me to remember what it is (and as I proof read this, it has come to me!). Anyway I failed to acquire a suitable shirt. At least for today -- tomorrow is another story in that Pater wants something too so we're off on a bonding expedition so I might find gold somewhere.
A bit of an aside: while I was in Warrington, it struck me that I have passed through it lots over the years in cars or on trains but haven't actually stepped foot in it since before the IRA killed those boys who were out buying a mother's day present. My brother and I were due to be in Warrington that day but by some quirk of fate, we opted to go into Manchester instead. Wandering around today was a bit surreal in that I knew exactly where the bomb had exploded, yet years later you wouldn't know it. I suppose it's the same with Manchester where the IRA did considerably more damage (ironically the contra is true of that one -- Kidder and I had planned to go to Manchester but ended up in Warrington). End of aside. Just thought it was worth remembering although probably not in the slightest bit interesting to anyone else.
Anyhoooo, having failed to find a shirt that lived up to Kenny quality standards, I nipped into HMV on the off chance that they may have a cable I had been after for my iPod (the AV one) and was delighted to find they had. Result -- but that is another post.
Heading back to the car, my mind flitted back to audiobooks as I trundled past Waterstones. I retraced my steps and had a quick gander at what they had. Virtually the first one I set eyes on was David Niven's autobiography read by none other than David Niven, so I bought it for my grandmother. The wonderful thing about her is that she expects absolutely nothing from anyone. I bought her a digital radio as a belated Christmas present after I got out of hospital and she has not stopped raving about it since. I swear she stops her mates in the street to tell them how wonderful it is. I don't know who was more chuffed; her because she loves the quality of the sound (it's one of those Pure ones and I swear by them for everything -- wonder if they make shirts?) or me because I had made her happy. So I happened to remember that she was frustrated by her lack of being able to read and bought her an audiobook on a subject I knew she would love.
As I drove back to Mater and Pater's, I had a horrible feeling in my stomach that I couldn't put my finger on at all. It was only after I'd pulled up on the drive and picked up the bag that contained the audiobook that it suddenly dawned on me why I had been feeling so nervous.
Die Fuhrer hates me buying anything. She is from a peasant village in Czechoslovakia (then Austria) and has never really got over the fact that we don't have ration books anymore. Don't get me wrong. She's always been more than generous with my brother and I, but she will not spend money on anything if she can make do with what she's got. She doesn't understand why food prices are higher. She cannot hope to comprehend how much it costs to run a car here. She's just stuck in another time.
To give you an idea of how much she hates me spending money, she objects to my charitable donations. In the vast scheme of things, they are tiny. Fuhrer supports "help herself charities" such as Help The Aged and Guide Dogs whereas I support the NSPCC, another kid's one, the air ambulance service and another that I do not donate to but give my time to. These don't help me directly in any way so they are not worthy causes in Fuhrer's eyes. I find that very difficult to understand when she buys her lottery ticket every week to furnish London with even more expensive crap that it doesn't need, but hey, what do I know?
If she knew how much I spent on coffee, she would faint. And to a certain extent, I do agree that it is a bit immoral albeit that, in fact, it does keep people in jobs.
The reason that my stomach was churning was because I'd realized that were I to give my grandmother her CD, Die Fuhrer would later pull me up and give me a lecture on frivolous spending.
You know what I did? I hid it in the porch. And then I gave it to my grandmother as she left while Fuhrer was out of eyeshot. As usual my grandmother was ever so pleased. I've no doubt that the rest of the family will not hear the rest of how wonderful Kenny is for quite a while. None of them believe it for a minute because for the most part they don't know me and all they hear of me are those kind of "You know what the feckwit is up to now? -- Don't tell me he's married again." stories.
The point is that I had to hide a frickin' CD that was a present for my grandmother because the other grandmother objects to any form of random act of kindness. How fucked up is that? And people question why I'm so bipolar...Lordy, I'm amazed I made it to adulthood.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 21:10 BST, by Kenny
3rd May 2008
Meet the real Amy
Last weekend I was invited to a new year party. I know, I was a bit taken aback as well. It's flipping May and I don't even think about new year until the day before. Apparently one of my old muckers and his missus are throwing the bash, and convention has it that when they host the party, it is fancy dress -- this year's theme is rock stars.
I scoffed at such advance planning and casually threw in "I'm going as Amy Winehouse. I've got the figure, the height, the tattoos and the whacky pills." I said this in jest.
Fast forward six days and the phone rang this evening while I was knee deep in bloody MySQL sysadmin hell. I barked a greeting.
"We've ordered you the wig."
"Sorry, what the hell are you on about?"
"The beehive. We have ordered you one for new year."
"But I was joking."
"Tough."
Now everyone and their dog knows Kenny is going to be sporting his finest Amy look, complete with beehive, anorexia, happy pills and copious amounts of eye liner (no comments Waaart). I guess I'll just have to get paralytically drunk too, just to get the wobble right. Given my abstinence from the evils of booze for such a long time, it will probably take me half a babycham to get utterly blarted. And then I could punch someone, get arrested and join my mates in rehab. Job done. I'll just need to sit back and wait for the royalties to roll in.
My only consolation is that if anyone takes any pictures no-one will ever know it was me.
Don't have nightmares.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 23:12 BST, by Kenny
2nd May 2008
Happy birthday Aunt Amy
'Tis Tasha's birthday. Head on over and wish her well.
She started the day with a mint aero. Every day should start with a mint aero. Don't be shy. We have a recession to spend our way out of.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 14:09 BST, by Kenny
1st May 2008
Folderol for the masses
When will Kenny stop using crossword words in his posts?
As I said earlier, I could seriously wind myself up and watch myself go today. It's not just the pathetic cheating weasel we know as Didier Drop'em Drogba and the collective lettuce that appears to comment at the Telegraph; other things have either not felt quite right or have been nigglingly annoying. You know, just one of those days where you're just not operating at the right frequency.
I came home ready to rip Didier Drogba a much needed new one but heeding the maternal unit's advice I figure if I call him all the names under the sun (and still not feel satisfied) he'll not only claim foul and roll on the floor like Bill Oddie on a lithium kick, but probably sue me for bruising his fragile ego. Let's just say we could put a blouse on him and call him macho.
So rather than make petty snipes at the biggest kid on the planet, I chose to fiddle with my iPod. This is, like, serious you know. I started off on a metaphorical date with it, but it's kind of got under my skin with its "Come to me baby" eyes. I thought I needed some chill music so I pulled down a load of Tori Amos tracks from her EPs over the years (covers of Nirvana, Rolling Stones etc.). All very sedate in that Tori "I'm sweet but don't ever call me that 'cos I'm fruitcake and I'll knife you." kind of way. I always sit there going "Damn lady. You can tickle a Bosendorfer like nobody I have ever heard but my God, if there was a ever an argument for shock therapy, you're it darling."
Having downloaded some raving genius music, my brain kind of went "Hmmm. You really don't have enough mad, angry female artists on your iPod. You should get some." This is a particularly disingenuous thought in that virtually everything on my iPod is by some maniacal songstress. What better to add to it than other than Miss Polly J Harvey? What an idea. Now we're talking plain mental. No ifs or buts. Bang-bang you're a King Edward mad. I absolutely love it.
In the wrong hands, my car playlist could result in copious amounts of bubbles, chardonnay and chocolate. And tears. Mustn't forget tears. Maybe I should send Didier a CD of it all?
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 22:18 BST, by Kenny
Quickie
I'm busy today so you'll not get your usual mouthful of inane drivel until later tonight after I have had my brains boxed and rattled for a few hours.
I have the choice of raising my blood pressure by describing how Didier Drogba is as evil as Bill Oddie and how Telegraph readers are starting to annoy the pants off me (ref. the comments left on Bryony's column in today's paper) or I can go and batter the Guardian crossword over a couple of large cappuccinos.
It's a bit of a no-brainer really.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 12:13 BST, by Kenny
