Waaart:

Kenny:

Maest:

Maest:

Kenny:

Maest:

Waaart:

Maest:

Feel free to add your own horrendous puns in the comments...

Over the last couple of days the Waaart, Maest and I have once again been involved in discussions of earth-shattering importance. Really, why we need a G7, G8 or G12 beats me. They should just drop an email to we three and before you can spell irrelevant, we'll have it sorted, no matter how tricky the subject.

For example today we have been discussing outsourcing. We all have outsourcing on the brain for different reasons. I find it all a bit tedious because I've been there and done that before. It can work with a bit of luck and the wind in the right direction but more often than not it doesn't. The way I like to look at it is in purely abstract terms. You spend money to outsource something that you will then pay less money to run, before realizing that you ignored massive risk and that you're not saving quite as much as you thought, yet you have no mitigation to reverse the whole deal. Before you know it, your ROI will be achieved in your grandchildrens' lifetimes. At least it would be, but your company will have been dead and buried for decades by then. I'm sure it doesn't take an MBA to come to that conclusion. It's that old oxymoron common sense again. Anyway, we didn't nail that one because contrary to how it may seem, we all have jobs to do that involve disappearing into reality for a couple of hours a day. I guess if we spend another day, we'll have it sorted. After all, two PhDs and a Kenny cannot be wrong.

One of the reasons that we didn't come to a conclusion was that we revisited the congestion charge. Maest, with all due gravitas, pointed out that the best time to maximize both revenue and public support would be during Winter. This prompted a WTF? email from me back to him. That's the kind of email you send when you're talking about policy. Maest's response, having fully anticipated my reaction, was -- get ready to groan -- "The Congestion Charge, sponsored by Lemsip -- Cough up!." You may groan now.

Not to be outdone, the Waaart and I set about a truly radical idea. Given that our national football team appears to be in a state that you might optimistically call functional, now would be the right time to outsource it. We have decided that the modern trend to outsource managerial positions and players within the Premiership would do wonders for our World Cup prospects, were we to outsource the England team to, say, Portugal or Brazil. I defy anyone to come up with a risk so large that it would scupper the deal. On balance, the worst that could happen is that we lose, which is in no way any more dire than were we to keep it in-house.

During my drive home, this outsourcing of national presence played on my mind. I started with football, moved on to cricket, did a slight left turn and then considered manufacturing before I realized that we had already done that. All that remains really is our national debt. My Telegraph reading bones want to outsource that to France, where it all belongs. Failing that, we could just sell it on to someone glad of the business.

Remember, if you have a problem that nobody else can solve, and if you can find us, maybe you could hire the A-team. You are guaranteed out of the bottle box thinking.

I discovered while driving home tonight that I would make a truly awful criminal. A report on the radio was giving an update on the hijacked Sirius Star which is currently anchored somewhere off the coast of Somalia. The tanker has a crew of 25, is worth $100m and is carrying $100m of oil. When pressed about what the estimated ransom might be, there were several moments of avoiding the issue which gave me ample time to consider what I would ask for as a ransom. Quite literally, I thought $2m would be fair. Kenny the pirate would be hunkered down, rubbing his hands and his AK47, waiting for a stonking good pay day and grinning inanely.

Inane is perhaps the right word. After the caveats and avoidance, it was established that one estimate (admittedly at the higher end of the spectrum) was that the pirates would ask $250m for the release of the boat. I listened as if they had mis-reported, but no, it was $250m.

How daft am I? Even with my criminal mind finely tuned into a "deal", I manage to come up with the concept of "fair" in the justification of a ransom amount and then, just to add insult, apparently undersell to the tune of two orders of magnitude. My guess is that $250m is a bit steep but I suppose my guess is not worth squat diddly given my exceptional extortion skills.

I know that you all will now think I'm a soft touch. Don't for a moment think that. I am the dictionary definition of fair when I'm at work. I will not insult you as a supplier by pig-headedly hammering your quote down by a few more percent because I know you have to make a living. Equally, if I am a supplier, I will not be pushed so far that I will operate a loss leader unless I know there's a golden goose to be had and in return, I will not screw you for every last dime I can smell. My old company in the US took issue with me on this. Their targets were well above 50% gross margin. In the days since the dot bomb, if you're in the capital equipment market and are expecting anything above 50% GM, you are smoking the best quality crack available. 50%, even as an aspirational target, is laughable. If you hit 45%, you're probably par for the course.

It's this kind of recklessness that has me tarred as being right wing. I guess I must be a hopeless businessman, as well as a failed bourgeois pig and an utterly awful criminal.

I could go on, but I am now distracted by football. Uncommonly, I actually have high hopes for the B-team we are fielding. I hope I am not wrong.

You can leave the usual insults in the comments. ;)

Don't tell anyone that I drank something without caffeine, but is it not strange that apple and mango juice, when combined, taste like slightly rancid coconut? I had to smoke two cigs to get rid of that horrible taste, and I feel a Starbucks trip is now in order.

Not.

Dido, bless.

I had the chance to spend a lifetime listening to Dido's new album on the way into work.

The upsides:

-- I now think that my life is absolutely peachy. I don't have to worry about sailors disappearing (again), being late for work (again), home being empty (again), my books vanishing (I shitteth ye not) or <insert-random-symbolic-object-here> not being here. I live a rich and fulfilling tapestry of wholesome goodness and controlled euphoria in comparison to some -- I guess I have the Mac to thank for that.

-- A couple of the songs are not bad, although to be honest, they sound like Dave Gahan should be singing them rather than Dido.

-- One track had me very animated as the opening deadpan drumbeat promised to produce a cover of the Sisters of Mercy cover of that old Hot Chocolate gem Emma. Unfortunately the anticipated deep distorted bass never appeared. There was a twinkle, a fizzle followed by the sound of someone whining about how it hurts to breathe on days like this.

The downsides:

-- Dido has been in the same state for over 10 years. You would think they would have changed her meds by now. I'm going to get my doctor to give me double the goods next time and send her down some proper gear. You never know -- if she took them, she might actually make it to the kettle in the morning without having a breakdown (hell, even I manage that). In the immortal words of Paul Simon, "breakdowns come and breakdowns go".

-- I looked at the song list. Two of them had the same title, only the second had 5/4 appended. It couldn't be could it? Yes it could. Because she could, she re-recorded the one song with a 5/4 beat. Bloody musos.

-- Speaking of musos, do they not recognize the existence of major chords at the Royal Academy?

-- If you ever need a dictionary definition of over-produced, look no further.

Dido, bless (I guess that will become her name now), I love you to bits and you are cuter than a button, but I fear a failure to up/change your meds will severely reduce your fan-base. Develop a Jack Daniels habit. Your world will seem much more bearable.

We all know I'm lame don't we? Well I can prove it. Count the number of things that are *wrong* in the following paragraph:

A while ago I read somewhere on Facebook that Dido's new CD was out today. I had a reminder set in my Mac calendar (I even set it such that it would account for silly time zone differences) however when I hopped onto iTunes to buy it, it was nowhere to be found. I feel cheated.

If you counted anything below four, you missed a trick.

We love Dido. In fact, I should add her to my list of loves to the left. I would do but I'm sure that spending anymore than 10 seconds in her company, whining about how it hurts to breathe, would no doubt have me in front of the beak looking at a 25-life stretch. Bless her. That said, it may be time to re-fernagle my list of loves based on moon phase, tea leaves and sheer flightiness -- I know I offended at least one person by having one name on that list so I'll do that now, while I chew my legs off waiting for Spooks.

Update: Found it, downloaded it. Expect a review tomorrow.

I'm either a little twisted or a bit odd. Beats being eccentric.

Make your mark here.

I write the best references anyone could wish for.

» "When he has bitten customers in the past, he always made sure he was up to date on his rabies shots."

» "It would serve you well to have a preemptive ASBO issued before he enters the building."

» "You'll find that nine times out of ten, he's wrong. The one in ten involves coffee."

» "Be careful if you wake him up -- if he still has a concealed carry permit, you might not be as lucky as I was."

I have a horrible sickly feeling that I haven't had for quite a while. It's Nico's 6th birthday today and I tortured myself all the way into work wondering whether I should email Nski to wish him happy birthday and inform her that he has some cash on its way. Emailing her goes against every sense I have, but I figured I had to rise above the bitterness and do the decent thing. It was not easy. I hope she doesn't reply because I have no desire to enter into any dialogue.

Normal service will resume shortly, after I wash away this taste of bitterness with a gallon or so of Starbucks' finest.

Greater Manchester Transport can eat my damned shorts.

I make no apologies for how bombastic this may sound. A Kenny riled is a fearsome adversary. And yes, I'm going to play the deprived region card mercilessly.

Before December 11th all of Manchester and its surrounding areas get to vote on whether we want a "congestion charge". See here for why this a bad idea in less controversial terms.

The argument goes that the introduction of a congestion charge will fund a new public transport infrastructure for the area; a Nirvana of the North if you will. You'll be able to get anywhere at a decent price ten minutes before you set off. Joy.

Now look at the detail. If you're in Wigan, you will have a "new high-speed bus" from Wigan through Leigh into Manchester. I have no idea how high-speed that is. At the moment, if you catch a bus from Wigan to Manchester via Leigh, it will take you at least an hour and a half to travel 18 miles and you will pay at least £8 for the joy. I have yet to see anything anywhere that describes how this service would be quicker than existing services (I suppose they could operate a train mentality and only stop in the town centers en-route which is utterly ridiculous).

Other parts of the Northwest are linked to Manchester by the tram system. The tram system goes in every direction out of Manchester except towards Wigan and it is explicitly stated that there are absolutely no plans to extend the tram route in our direction. The tram system pans quite cutely into the affluent Southern parts -- Altrincham, Wilmslow, Knutsford, footballer's wife territory where the average income is substantially above us working class oiks to the Northwest. Quite frankly, this would be a tax. A tax on those of us who live in unserved bordering districts to fund something that will serve everyone other than us. It is immoral.

I sat with my father this afternoon watching the football and he recalled I had asked him about whether we had received our referendum slips. Before I could even start going off on a rant he beat me to it. The older I get, the more I think like my father does. This is not because he influences my thinking -- hell, we barely spoke until I was at university and then a few years after that I offed to the US. This is because we are both moderately intelligent people who can see through the vacuousness of our bloated government system.

The fact that Londoners did not have the bollocks to stand up to the congestion charge shows how lily-livered we, as a nation, have become. We're sold on "green". Driving is bad. We should all take trains. If you do a bit of ferreting on t'interweb, you will find a study from the University of somewhere clever (I think it was LSE) that compared the carbon footprint of someone driving from London to Edinburgh to that of someone who took the train. The difference was in the noise. Playing the green card and the "greater good" just does not cut the muster here.

Year after year, we allow ourselves more and more government. It's breath-taking. Europe has us by the nads from one angle and we take it again as we allow the invention of further layers of stealth administration by allowing organizations like Greater Manchester Transport to effectively mandate the payment of random charges. Look at London; if you give an inch on the map, they will take a few miles. What starts off as being a congestion charge zone spreads quickly as the prospect of more money has our elected leaders frothing at the mouth. Stalin would be drooling.

I know some of my more liberal friends think I tossed my political credibility into the bay a long time ago, but as I get older, more and more the enormous tiers of government and their interference have me screaming. I have nothing against practical socialism. I will gladly help out in anyone in need. I do take issue with big government and their "take-take-take". What amuses me no end is that the very people who are vehemently against ID cards are the same people who willingly bend over backwards and get out their platinum cheque-books to allow yet another level of bureaucratic lunacy inflict even more eroded economic freedom. Given a choice, I think I would rather pay less to the government and have a safe country, but hey, that's moonbat talk.

My armchair socialist mates (sat in their comfortable middle class homes) will probably leave me numerous comments as to why I have completely lost the plot. This is not one I will back down on. Big government is bad. Congestion charges are wrong. Believing the spin that allows big government, local government and random private sector taxation is just moronic.

Please, if you live in the area and you have a vote, tell them to go and pound sand. The proposal is yet another way to make sure that you forfeit your money to an unsubstantiated cause. If we keep allowing this kind of invasive taxation, we will end up back in the 70s. Do the right thing, not the PC thing.

With that off my chest, I will now try to stop being so bloody outraged. Alias, it is.

I've been doing a bit of digging for some Amy shots on which to model my New Year's Eve costume. It was a good excuse to hook my PVR up to my Mac and see what could be done. Last January, I recorded Winehouse from Channel 4 and never really got around to watching it. Today, I downloaded it from the PVR to the Mac, did a little firkling and lo and behold, I have an MP4 version of the TV show.

The Mac never ceases to amaze me. As I type I have the extended desktop hooked on my 22" LCD display, watching a HD episode of Bones. Don't ask me why Bones. It was the only HD thing I had handy. This machine is Heaven. I really don't understand how Apple don't just eat the PC market alive. Anyway, I'm digressing. Back to the plot...

I'm liking this outfit:

I'm looking at that shot and I reckon I definitely have the legs. Do I go the whole hog and shave them? [Debs -- I'll take your advice on that one.] I only have one tattoo which will nowhere near match Amy's litany of self-abuse so I'll need to find somewhere that does henna tattoos for the occasion. That way they'll disappear. I reckon I can find some size 10 baby-doll/ballet shoes on t'interweb so that should be okay.

I have a problem with cleavage though. I mean my MBs are nowhere near large enough to emulate Amy. How is it that someone who is so stick insect in stature has such ample cleavage? Nature surely does work in mysterious ways.

Now the question is, where does one find such a dress? Debs and I are meeting up one evening next week to acquire said beast. Initially it was going to be a little black number, but I am so digging the above that I think I may insist on it. If the worst comes to the worst, I'll have to bribe Debs into making it for me -- she is a bit special when it comes to making clothes, fashionista that she is. God knows what I'll do with it afterwards. Maybe I should keep it and wear it on totally inappropriate occasions? I'm liking that idea a whole lot...presentations, team building exercises, going to the pub etc.. I think I could get away with it -- "Don't mind Kenny, he's obviously run out of his meds and is back in that whole cocaine/booze fueled Amy thing again. Just thank God he hasn't brought Blake. Anyway he swears less when he's being Amy." I suppose the alternative is to find a 6' lass who has no qualms wearing such an outfit although I'm not sure I know too many 6' lasses and of those I do know, they are probably not the sort to be prancing around in chiffon dresses. Perhaps if I took to the streets of Liverpool or Newcastle one night, I would be mugged for it.

Anyway, work is underway. I don't think I have ever put so much effort into one evening. It had better be a laugh and a half. Suggestions on where to find cleavage and a dress like that are welcome. A thought: maybe you are a 6' lass who owns such a dress and might care to lend it to me for New Year's Eve? Maybe not eh?

Apparently the Telegraph carried this story on Tuesday, but I must have missed it. Thanks to Pandora, I have been reminded that the Diocese of Bath and Wells has banned gnomes from cemeteries. It's an outrage.

Wasn't the baby-eating Bishop of Bath and Wells the debauched fellow in Blackadder? "Banking with a smile and a stab." Strange how history repeats itself again and again.

George Osborne has opened his mouth, only to change feet again. He actually issued the words "collapse of sterling".

There are two things to wish for here:

a) He is referring to a sub-par Scottish football team.

b) His words are treated by the global economic community with a similar level of gravitas to those of Pete Doherty. Honestly, did the Tories learn nothing from House of Cards? "You might very well think that, but I could not possibly comment."

Yet another reason to not vote Conservative. I am now certain that Vince Cable is the most plausible leader we have. One can only hope that Clegg is brushed aside in favor of Cable before we do the whole election dealy-bop.

Speaking of Debs, a while ago she advised me to get my hands on some Mediaeval Baebes, as it were. I was all for it until she pointed out that this was not a blanket invite to sexually harass any lass who might be Ophelia-esque. What she meant was the ensemble that is the Mediaeval Baebes. I did so and then never listened to it until my iPod hit upon them in a shuffle.

I'm strangely drawn into it all. It's everything I would normally hate but it has a certain appeal. For a start, if you check out their gig guides, they tend to perform in cathedrals. The last time Kenny went to church, someone had died. That is as close as I get to God. Except, say, when He appears in my comments spewing forth His love of His little people. Secondly, they do all sorts of stuff in Latin which, in my mind, has them inextricably linked with religion. <ramble>I once went to Roman Catholic wedding in Italy. It was lovely except for the ceremony which went on for about four lifetimes. Waaarty and I sat for those lifetimes looking at each other, both mortified that there might be a fifth lifetime involved before we could get out for a smoke and then hit the reception.</ramble> Point is the Baebes have religious connotations which is never good for me.

All that said, I love it. I've just burned a copy for my paternal grandparental unit because I know she will love it. She's only got about 10% vision left so I tend to burn her something for her CD player each week. Last time I downloaded all the podcasts of Lake Wobegon. This week it's the Baebes. I might point out here that this in no way should detract from the image you have of me being a tyrannical git of the first order. The fact is that come the revolution, I will need to wheel her out to tell everyone what a nice boy I am.

I've just checked out the title of this track that I have on now and predictably it is called Beatrice. Very Arthurian. Very melodic. Very relaxing. Very Sunday morning. For the second time this week, I approve of something.

Right, I have a big decision to make. Do I trash my Windows PC to reinstall Windows or do I trash it and partition it to dual boot Windows and Fedora? I might sleep on that one. I told you to expect inane drivel -- I have not disappointed.

I'll let Maest, Freeda, Hilda, Waaart and God duke it out in the comments below. I'm going to return to the point of the post. I have never considered myself eccentric.

This morning, before I had even had chance to fire up the coffee machine, the maternal unit arrived with some Belgian ginger chocolates for me. I'm suspicious and I had just got out of bed so asked what the occasion was. Apparently none. I was about to castigate her and explain that I am not a kid, but on balance these were Belgian chocolates *and* they were ginger. There are times when one should swallow one's pride and just go with the flow, especially if it involves ginger anything.

The maternal unit is a crafty one. She senses weakness (no coffee in me) and talks at you in elaborate diatribes about who, when and what. I have perfected the art of going for a cigarette whenever the diatribe touches on any subject that is not to my liking. Call me antisocial but I don't really give a rat's arse about most of the topics of conversation especially if it is pertaining to ex-wife numero uno. After one such sojourn to smoke, I realized I had arrrived back inside to catch the start of a second subject of disinterest, so cunningly steered the conversation away and told her of the accusation that I am eccentric. Of all the people on the planet, you would expect your mother to leap to your defense, wouldn't you? Maybe I expect too much of people. She looked astounded for a couple of seconds and then asked how I didn't know this. "You mean you have never thought for a moment that you might be just a bit odd?"

Honest to God (and Maest), a bit odd.

I can cope with scatterbrained, thick, detached, third-party fire and theft, but odd? No blooming way.

As I was making a good strong case for my being as sane as the next man, I got a text from my mate Debs, asking when I wanted to go shopping for a nice little black dress to wear on New Year's Eve. When I heard about having to go as a rock star back in April, I was in a mood about something (probably trivial) and just muttered the first name that came to mind "I'm going as f***ing Amy Winehouse". Those of you that know me will understand the irony in that; it was said with a degree of pathos. Before I knew it, I had a Winehouse beehive on order for me and Debs hassling me about going shopping for a dress. All of the above was thrown right back at me in support of my being odd. I gave up.

I might call Debs and see if she's free tomorrow. We can go girly shopping for me.

Seriously though, I think I am a bit offended at being labeled odd and eccentric.

There seems to be a lot of Kate Silverton searches at the moment. I haven't seen anything she is doing in ages so i'm a bit baffled as to why there are so many enquiries as to where she gets her hair done or whether she is a lesbian or not. However, my favorite search of the day is:

http://www.google.ie/search?source=ig&hl=en&rlz=&q=a+midget+being+poked+off+a+plank&btnG=Google+Search&meta=

I need to meet whoever searched for that. We have so much in common.

I'm using up some holiday tomorrow so you can expect inane drivel on a more regular basis. That's if I resist the urge to do one for the weekend.

I've just been over to Starbucks with Grommage. While we were waiting for coffee, another one of our co-workers approached and informed me that I should be the next Dr Who because I would make a good one. I looked confused. Grom explained "Well, you're perfect for it; you're the textbook eccentric."

This explains a lot about how my colleagues interact with me.

I have never, ever considered myself eccentric before. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Maest, Waaarty and I very often waste away the hours in deep philosophical conversation by email. Never has this been truer than the recent exchanges regarding global warming. Dr Maest does clever things with agriculture. Dr Waaart does clever computery things. Kenny is an opinionated git, so we have a very fair and balanced view of the world.

Maest was recently lamenting the fact that no-one can prove that a cow is a contributor to global warming...

There was some discussion around this point but as is usual when the Waaart and I are involved in anything, it always comes back to gadgetry. Maest commented that if the Russians had half the kit that Waaarty and I have between us, they would probably have won the Cold War, at which point Waaart threw a curved ball straight back on topic:

You know where this is going don't you?

And...

And so...

Humanity can sleep easy knowing there are three people out there in the ether, tirelessly working on the big issues.

I feel kind of let down now. I went through all the hoops of dual-booting my beloved Macbook with OS X and Ubuntu, faffed with the dodgy Ubuntu virtual desktop resolution, discovered that Totem is pants and then discovered VLC, all to bring you this:

I want paypal gifts. I want endless gratuities. I want adoration.

Was it worth all that trouble? I suppose so. I did learn quite a bit from the process. Mortals would have given up after Mediaplayer wouldn't work. I, armed only with some wiliness and pointers from Zimmer and help from one of our top developer chaps, have done the decent thing. You may all prostrate yourselves in the direction of WIgan or expect a call from a guy you thought didn't exist, armed with a scythe.

It is a top hair-do though.