Just in case you're interested I have slept most of the day away with my lovely happy pills that my lovely happy doctor has given me. Unfortunately they didn't have enough in the pharmacy when I picked the script up so I will have to go back down there for more tomorrow. Hey whoever is working will probably have kaleidoscope eyes. Guess I'd better walk down there and not drive. In fact, it says on the label that driving while taking them is inadvisable. What it should say is "hand over you car keys to your chemist now."

I managed to make myself sentient enough to watch the Berb pull off one of the best goals you will ever see.

I've been out of it for days however tomorrow I need to really get my act together.

Rob and Lauren are due around soon so I'm sure there will be much merriment.

All that I can complain about is that I am having flashbacks to 'Nam. I hate fireworks with a passion and with my somewhat skewed view of the world thanks to my trippy pills, rockets or whatever remind me of gunfire. I have no objection to gunfire in principle, so as long as it's me holding the gun. Anything else I hate and have done from being a kid. I used to cry at firework displays until I was about 11 -- just wanted to be the hell out of there. It cannot do animals' nerves any good -- I understood what they were. Animals will never. We should just ban them like they used to be banned in good old Minnesota.

Anyway, I am due two more happy tabs so I'm going to slap on some Heather Nova and see what happens. If I dream as vividly as I did last night I have to apologize to Bryony Gordon, Terri Hatcher and someone I cannot name. Were they true we would all be culpable for murder one as well as numerous venal sins.

Goodnight mein lieblings. I have visitors due.

I have an aged sirloin steak that is due to be demolished later, if I can be bothered cooking.

I've got three lots of serious meds to take (and three not so serious) and the combo blasts me into a coma every night. I've got one big list of things to do, but I'm saving that for tomorrow. If the delta between how I felt yesterday and today is repeated, I should be in fine fettle to do some wild arm waving about work and at least have something to submit by Monday.

TBH, I've been dropped a horrendous task. Suddenly all my work in progress needs to be passed on to the rest of the team and I'm now 100% booked on another project which is of such magnitude that my brain explodes every time I think about it. The worst bit? It's my fault because I have been the one screaming for months that it needs doing. The reward for good work is always more work. Thankfully I have my most trusted PM to aid in the whole shebang. I've mentioned her before on here albeit obliquely but we work well together. She does the bits that I cannot even get my head around and I do the bits that she hates -- perfect match. I really am going to have to get her a nice Christmas present for all the times she has bailed me out of a hole during the last year.

I've spent the afternoon watching a recorded Bones episode from last night while looking at spreadsheets. Seeing the Washington Monument reminds me of the second time I went to the US to do some work for the Navy. At the time, it had no sense of awe at all. Now I look at it and I miss the States badly (well okay not NYC). When you see footage of places you have been and loved, you get a bit "hmmm". Seeing Philly on Cold Case and Boston on Crossing Jordan makes you long to go back there. The worst hotel I ever stayed in was in Boston. And the worst traffic I ever experienced was in Boston. They have roundabouts there which amused me no end, but they had no idea how to use them. It's all very endearing. It's a mixture of good and awful memories now. That said, I would move back there in a heartbeat. I've said this before too, but if I could get a job in North Carolina, I would not even think before going. Hmmm. Aren't Redhat based there?

Anyway, the measure of all my meds is most closely correlated to whether I finish the crossword or not, so I'm going to switch off the radio and the Mac and have half an hour at it. If it gets completed, I am back on form and am willing to return to the global village. If not, try again tomorrow morning.

Toodles.

I'm off to the doc's hopefully this morning but I am such a nice chap, I feel like sharing...

Stina Nordenstam's Goodbye:

So this is goodbye
So this is how you say it
These are the words It's the voice you're using
It's the picture you've seen

So this is goodbye
So this is how you say it
This is the time it takes you
It didn't take you a lot now did it?
It didn't hurt you a lot now did it?

So this is goodbye
So this is how you spell it
Where you place it in your mouth
What happens if I didn't hear you?
What happens if it wasn't serious?

Well I was around
Maybe it was you I came to see
Maybe it was you who invited me

I remember your eyes were on me
I remember your eyes were on me

Goodbye

I can count on two fingers how many things have pleased me today. I would have to be a millipede to count the rest.

The two good things are that a) my mate Lauren has finally accepted me as being a decent chap -- it has taken her four years to come to that conclusion but let us not dwell on that, and b) my VPN now works after months of trying. VPNs are God's gift of allowing you to access all your corporate stuff from home. I am in love with it. I'm probably in love with Lauren too because she makes me laugh like no-one else can. In fact, I am currently holding her coat hostage. She lives about 100 yards down the road but possession is nine tenths. It's quite stylish -- I may just nick it. :)

The rest of the day has been a disaster. I woke up late, got into work late and then came home for some peace while I matched public IP addresses to static NAT'd addresses. If you have ever tried that, you know how awful the job is, especially when the public IP is a load balanced VLAN. It makes you want to drown kittens. My head feels like I have been pistol-whipped. In fact, I could really do with someone under 5'10" to turn up at the door just so I could beat the crap out of them.

The American side of things is not going smoothly too which really does take its toll on me. Notary publics in the UK are not ten a penny. There are three within an hours drive from here so I will need to take a day off to go get that sorted. I'm as keen as Nski to get this over with but she keeps moving the goalposts and issuing threats. I told my GP about it and she instantly tripled my meds. I am not prone to tears but the last few days has had me crippled with them, apart from when Lauren was making me giggle like a schoolgirl. I managed a brave face this morning at work, but it was faux. I ended up going for a brew at Starbucks with my nominal manager and told him the sitrep. His response was what I would have done if I were in his position -- "go home and work there -- you'll get more done". He is, of course, right. All I can see about her sudden urgency to get divorced is that her new chap is a soldier and is most probably in service abroad at the moment. She'll need her benefits if he gets kiffed. Fair play to her on that one -- I would do the same. I just wish she understood the UK system better. If my doctor could witness my signature I could have that done tomorrow. And who would you trust more? A member of the public who has some credentials or your doctor? I know where my vote goes. My GP is about the best you can get in England. I've said it before but if she is not available, I will not go. Sometimes you have to trust people whole-heartedly and I do her. She could witness this in seconds and I'm sure she would be pleased to do it, just so it was over and she wouldn't have me back there every couple of months -- that sounds disingenuous -- in actual fact I think she would like me in there every two weeks just to keep an eye on me. She is that good.

So the US situation is bad. I have Wigan council issues that I would happily take an Uzi to and to add to it all, I've managed to offend someone I really like for reasons that completely beat me.

I guess I have another couple of hours of NAT translation so I should get on with it.

Have you noticed how crap my Mondays are? I try to win friends and influence over the weekend but never seem to get any reward. Mondays just suck.

Thankfully Tuesday is a WFH day so the commute is about 30 seconds and work get at least two more hours out of me. Initially I thought about two days a week but there is too much afoot to not be there twice a week.

I sincerely hope your day is going better than mine.

Once again I have to apologize. I had a trip to whiplash yesterday just for the sublime steak pie. Well, okay Becca is pretty ace too, but the food was the driver.

I'm in bloody agony with a pain in the right side of my back, about half way down. Neurofen has helped but it still hurts like a bugger. I see a trip to the Co-op on the horizon for some more ibuprofen. If it's like this tomorrow, I will have to go see my favorite GP who will no doubt read me the riot act about smoking. Plus ça change.

Anyway, the nerves are football related. For those of you who do not live in the real world, Utd play Liverpool away today. The good news for us is that Gerard is not fit. The bad news is that Torres is. It takes a lot of guts for me to say this but I rate Torres as being probably the best player in the world. If anyone can break our defence, it is him. The bloke is a marvel. You hear the phrase \"ball glued to his foot\" way too often, but in his case, it's true. And it scares the life out of me that he is match fit.

The upside is that if we beat them today, Liverpool's season is pretty much over. I think that would be a shame because the rivalry between the Waart, Maest and I will have little significance. For all the foes we are when it comes to the beautiful game, I will always support Liverpool in Europe so long as we are not in it.

Football is a complex thing. It is more confusing to me than religion. I know I'm an atheist. I know I support Man Utd but I have mixed views on other teams. The only certainties in this world are that you will never hear me screaming support for Chelsea or the Arsenal.

I now switch the HDMI input to 1 with trepidation. God speed, Wayne Rooney.

I feel compelled to apologize for my dereliction of duty regarding bloggage, but the real world keeps hassling me. I seem to have an inordinate number of projects that I am lead on, a multitude of sins that cannot be attributed to the dearly departed (on the basis they left), a wife who is being unbelievably aggressive in her divorce proceedings, drugs that would knock out an elephant at forty paces for 24 hours and, the worst of the lot, Wigan Council to deal with.

I shall burden you with none of the above. They are all subplots in the joy.

Before I start, I have to say that my company rocks. You could not wish for a better employer. They really do look after their staff. I'm on some pretty serious meds at the moment and they make you drowsy to say the least. Two nights this week, I have suddenly woken up veering into the middle lane on my way home. It scared the bejesus out of me. I am not so much concerned about me, but had I not woken up quickly, I could have caused an horrendous incident. When drugs say they make you drowsy, you should believe them. As it happens I achieved sentience rapidly enough to avoid disaster, albeit with clenched buttocks and innate driving skills.

I'd like to think that I am a good driver. Touch wood, I have had one accident in 23 years when some idiot ran into the back of me because BMWs have a God-given right to be driving too fast and being about six feet behind you while flashing their headlights. My car came out of it looking like it was pristine. The Beamer looked like it had been in contact with Humvee. Moral: buy Japanese cars.

Anyhow, given my drugs at the moment, who numerous people have asked to buy from me, driving for any length of time is inadvisable. There are things going on at work that I could not even allude to on here which I will be heavily involved with. Thankfully, my management have okayed working from home for a couple of days per week. I negotiated that back down to one day a week on the basis that things are about to change so I need to know whether two days is realistic. It may sound silly, but my primary duty is to make things work. If that means just one day a week working from home, so be it. If two can be managed, I'll be happy. At the moment though, me with fatigue and a car is not a good combination. I can manage ten minutes to the supermarket but after that, all bets are off.

I think I can count on two fingers how many people have witnessed how hard I crash when I do crash -- about 20 mins after drug intake. Not even cigarettes keep me from slipping off into REM. To give the Brits some kind of perspective, I have not managed to stay awake through any of the Champions League matches -- even missing the Utd goal.

These things hit hard. That said, the good side of up is that when I am awake and compos mentis I really am on a roll. It's like I've been injected with speed. I think I mentioned on Facebook that I was bouncing off clouds. One of my superiors in Bristol saw the update. My boss's boss laughed about it with me yesterday as we had our little 1-2-1. It's entirely true though. I'm either zonked or bouncing. No inbetweens.

Alors, genüg of the me me me.

What I wanted you all to read is this. Stan is a magistrate (I think you are meant to call them your worship but I don't do worship so I just call him Sir Stan). If you read his back catalogue of bloggage, I think you will find that if you found yourself in the magistrates' court, you could not ask for a fairer magistrate. Now I have articulated that, I find myself wondering whether he should stand for Parliament. As far as integrity goes, he's miles beyond reproach and he doesn't play silly mind games. In fact, and this is complete (cricket) conjecture, I bet he plays a quality forward defensive. That is a quality that cannot be overlooked.

Right, I have work to do and some more drugs to take. In t'internetz speak, nom, nom, nom.

Oh and it's @bryony_gordon day so go read her column.

Toodles. The drugs do work. They just make you tired!

Nothing says good morning to Kenny like a good shot across the bows from the other side of the Atlantic. I was actually feeling rather good until I opened my email. Now I feel like finding the smallest person I can and kicking them into the next millennium. I shall update you on Chez Albert later in the day, but now I have work to do and some serious fretting to be done.

Hope your week started off better than mine has.

I have deferred Chateau Albert until tomorrow on account of feeling a bit out of sorts. I have, however, got Mrs Albert a monumentally good birthday present. I have no idea whether she will like it or not, but at least Albert, the little Alberts and I will laugh.

Other than that, it is a sad day. In texting Becca earlier I have discovered that my favorite barmaid in the Tudor has quit to go back to university. Gutted is not the word. I had plans for us to elope to somewhere exotic, like Batley, but they have been quashed. Life deals you some really bad Euchre hands at times. I'm calling \"ace, no face\". Maybe next time I'll call \"hearts alone\".

Apologies to those of you who don't do the Euchre thing, but those that do will get my drift.

Laters, as my good friend Mr Orlov would say.

Before I start, I'd like to wish Mrs Albert many Felicity Kendals on the advent of her bidet. I shall be chez Chateau Albert tomorrow, albeit that I am restricted to the tradesman's entrance in the West wing. And if Albert is cooking, lard will abound.

The food recommendation is for those of you within shooting distance of Manchester. Tokyo Season on Portland Street in Manchester is just about the finest Japanese restaurant I have been to outside of Japan itself. I started off with six pieces of salmon sashimi and six pieces of arctic clam sashimi. Eager for more, I then had six pieces of what I think was something like red clown summot sashimi. It was better than how I imagine sex with Angelina Jolie would be.

The Vanquisher ate katsu curry and was equally impressed. Alex ordered some vegan stuff that I cannot remember the name of but she seemed to enjoy it.

The winner? It's very reasonably priced. If you pay cash, some of the dishes are half price -- an obvious tax dodge, but who cares? The food is marvelous. If you get chance, make a point of trying it -- it is well worth the effort.

The next time you hear from me, it will probably be from Albert Towers so toodles for now.

At times likes these (of pre-birthday jitters) I really miss the female friends I had in California. I have lived in the UK for three years now and still have no English girlfriends... how sad am I? (don't answer that).

OK, so Kenny comes pretty close -- we have a boatload of things in common, he's known me for 15 yrs, we talk a lot, he is supportive and sensitive and all that, and I love him to bits -- but, in spite of my best efforts and relentless persecution... he is still not a girl.

Certain things only girls will understand. For example, I am currently wrestling with the issue: how many grey hairs should a woman tolerate, before colouring her hair? (I have not yet taken the plunge). Kenny will probably never have to deal with that (for obvious reasons). More generally, this aging business: how do women go about it? How do I want to go about it? I haven't decided yet.

As for men... Albert is a few years older than me. The positive thing about our age difference: statistically speaking, he is less likely to run away into the sunset with a younger model (?) The down side: if I start belly-aching about my advanced age, obviously, I can expect zero tolerance ;^)

If you remember, back in April we witnessed quite a bit of soul-searching when our Kenny turned [cough] years old -- you'd have thought he was becoming Methuselah... I am a year older than him, so what does that make me? You guessed it: older than Methuselah... Should I moan even more, then? The consensus among my few and far-away female friends seems to be, \"Consider the alternative!\" (they are so sensible.)

Right... Statement of intent: I am going to make at least one female friend, in the UK, by my next birthday. I am going to go outside my comfort zone and actually talk to some women, off line. I will probably have to be engaging, tactful, tolerant, polite, open-minded, and not so snarky (hope I remember how).

(Come to think of it... isn't this what you would have to do in order to get a girlfriend, Kenny? I suppose you can repeat those 2 sentences above -- \"I am going to go outside my comfort zone...\", etc?)

Looks like I will have a pretty quiet and uneventful birthday, as I am working on Thu until 8pm (they had better not make a fuss over this at work... I hate Work Birthday Fuss). I hope to see the distinctly unfeminine Kenny on Fri afternoon for a post-birthday pep talk and minor feast (Chef Albert presiding); on the menu, some of my favourite things: salmon and creme caramel (cooked separately, I hope.)

Brace yerself, Mrs Albert, you old trout.

After a hell of a commute this morning (over two hours), I arrived at my desk and stared blankly at my email for an hour, trying to remember what it is that I am meant to do for a living. After that, I had to check the list of things that I am working on and which took priority over what. That took another hour. I popped some of my magic pills that the doctor gave me and within half an hour, I was bouncing off walls. I think people today were under the misguided impression that I knew what I was talking about, for questions poured forth and as per usual, my lack of any solid understanding of what the hell they were talking about did not stop me from giving advice. Like you do.

I sat on a couple of conference calls where I had a non-epiphany and decided that the whole plan was as about as mad as Inspector Dreyfus. In fit a fit of peak I pointed out the hole in the plan and unfortunately sent everyone into a tailspin. I need to sort that out tomorrow before it goes defcon 5. Sometimes, I should just let things flow and not speak up, but when I'm bouncing off clouds my enthusiasm gets the better of me.

Anyhooo, genüg with the work malarkey.

Not much of any import has happened since last I bored you with an update. There's been an awful lot of sleepage gone on, and rather a lot of crap TV as I sat in a vegetative state, working on the ass grooves on the sofa. The Vanquisher appears to have managed to befriend one the Whiplash crew, so they came around one evening for a while.

Even the news has failed to incense me for a week or so. This must be a record.

I think I put my silence down to shell-shock/PTSD from seeing a picture of the Minogue in my comments. Given the recent trend of posting pictures of things I detest in the comments, I may well have to disable the img tag in the comments. Up with that, I will not put. At least you have had Mrs Albert to entertain you with her Romanian/Godless communist/Russian/Yank tales. I must say that I am mortally offended that Tasha thought one of Mrs Albert's posts was written by me. The styles are so, so different.

Right -- that was tedious for you. I away to reheat some duck with ginger and spring onions and fried rice. I am so gutted I ate all my Char Sui buns last night because they were utterly divine. I should have ordered 10 of the swines. In fact I may well do that and take some to work for lunch tomorrow -- it sure beats a miserable beef salad sandwich.

Feel free to tell me how boring I have been lately.

Okay, the world must be coming to an end and there are reasons for this if you follow my logic:

Tomorrow, I have to be up very early to go see my delightful doctor. She has a couple of appointments left and I want to see her because we have history and I trust her. Apparently on Wednesdays, you can only book for that day so my attempt today was thwarted. If she's not available, I do not go; I will not deal with the others. I view the sanctity of our relationship like I would a normal marriage (as apposed to my marriages). Although on a comedic note, I like to let her play the field with other patients, again as apposed to my previous wives who seem to have made their own minds up on that without consultation.

Anyways, almost certainly she will ask me what I ate last night, just to catch me out. "Sainsburys lasagne" will not cut the muster (and Mrs A -- you can use either muster or mustard -- check Wiki -- muster makes more sense to me in military terms). So I have to cook something proper tonight just to avoid a bollocking about my diet.

So I am about to load the dishwasher, clean the kitchen and then embark upon steak topped with stilton and eggs. I will follow it with a banana and some yogurt. I will get a vegetable lecture, but I get enough of those so I'm immune.

The problem with this dealio is that all the lights have gone in the kitchen, so it will be performed by candlelight with the fridge door open. I have bulbs but I do not trust myself to be stood on a chair with nothing to hold on to. There could be serious Kenny splattage.

So, I away to rustle up some tucker in a dead romantic atmosphere. I should put on some mood music shouldn't I?

OK, I can't stand it anymore... For once, I am in a good mood (no idea why, could be the fish oil capsules I've been taking by the handful; that would also explain my growing dorsal fin). But I'm surrounded by mopey people! Cheer up, already.

I saw this today and it made me laugh out loud (it's Fry & Laurie, channelling Monty Python.) Enjoy!

Evening peeps. Uncle Kenny here to make a few comments.

-- I never liked House because that tortured genius thing never works on me. But tonight's first episode of the new season was pretty good. I have not been in that situation but I have been in similar ones. The script-writer must have done his homework.

-- Liverpool being beaten 2-0 by Chelsea flatters Chelsea. The correct result should have been a draw.

-- Drogba is on the list. The bloke should have been christened Mary-Ellen Drogba. He needs to take a leaf out of Torres's book.

-- Mrs Albert has a birthday coming up soon. She would like to know whether the Waaart would care to join us on October 16th (look Mrs A, I remembered).

'Tis all. Bit o'TV and then bed.

That is, in addition to our Tasha (I already dote on her; whenever she has expressed an opinion on gadgets, music, or livestock, I found myself in agreement with her, 100%. I am a bit perturbed that we don't see eye to eye when it comes to candy -- she is partial to that hollow triumph of marketing commonly known as the Aero bar -- but... nobody is perfect.)

Anyway, Evil Albert presented me with the Sunday Times today, and I found a funny article by A.A. Gill in one of the many inserts/mini-magazines/assorted floppy bits that came with this paper. It's about how men and women regard fashion differently. I have to say, he is consistently good (although I have not been reading him consistently). Excerpt:

Can you tell the difference between clothes and fashion? If you can't, you're a man. Men don't do fashion; the closest they get is a sort of embarrassed style. They don't do it for themselves, and they don't recognise it on women. When men look at women, they just see wrapping. When you say, \"Do I look nice in this?\" he's thinking, \"Not as nice as you'd look out of it.\" Or, alternatively, \"Please, God, don't take it off.\"

Do you agree?

You will all be utterly relieved to know that there has been no vermin activity since I laced the place. The Vanquisher appears to be ill but I'm not sure that is down to him licking under the sofa. I guess the bread must be off.

On to more important matters.

Mrs Albert's assertion that I am a feminist is true to a certain extent. When I lived in Leeds, I used to frequent a "gentleman's club" where there was one lass who I took a liking to. Thick as a prop, mind. She wanted to know about t'interweb. She had never even seen a PC. Rather than give her my jacket, I gave her a laptop. Education is a wonderful way out of that kind of job. Unfortunately, I suspect she now runs a live webcam service. I haven't heard from her since she got it. So the alternatives are that she sold it for a fix of some horrendous narcotic or she is running her own pr0n site. Nay matter -- as they say, "whatever gets you through the night".

Just thought I'd set the record straight one that one.

How are we all? Sorry I've been quiet but I really have had nothing to say.

As you were, at ease. I'm off for a bacon butty in an attempt to get myself accustomed to the world outside these four walls.

Who knows what we might post?


I can't be the only person who needs one of these.

With apologies to those of you living in Bangladesh, I can't be too torn up about global warming on a warm(ish) October day when a tiger lily blooms in my garden (that's in Yorkshire! ...Oop Norf!)



I took several not-very-autumnal garden photos today -- and, yes, Kenny, the tomatoes have ripened. Well... some of them: I picked about 4 lbs so far, should get more this month (?) Was it worth the expense for pots and compost, and the (roughly) 573 hours of hand watering? I'll get back to you on that.

Harvesting is my favourite job in the garden -- is \"harvesting\" too pompous a word for so little produce? Feels like the official term \"harvesting\" should only kick in after 100 lbs or so. Anything less, you're \"picking\".

FYI: I did manage to connect with Kenny today; he was somewhat grumpy (might have something to do with the fact that I rudely interrupted his Emily Deschanel marathon with my feeble questions) but he is feeling better, well enough to venture out this weekend to the local titty bar (just kidding about the titty bar, of course... Some of us may think that what he needs right now is to be hog-tied, festooned with 10 pound notes, drop-kicked into the nearest Gentlemen's Club, and shown a good time... but we have to be realistic here: this is Kenny... he'd probably just launch into a diatribe about the exploitation of women, and confuse the nearest lap dancer by giving her his jacket. Hopeless feminist.)