Merry Christmas

Well the subject line says it all really. I want to wish the readers of this blog, many who are also friends and family (who will also have to put up with this message in several formats) a very very Merry Christmas.

I hope you all have a great day, that Santa has bought you lots of goodies, and that your time with loved ones is stress and argument free.

The mutts and I will be out later braving the cold and remembering departed friends and companions as we stroll round. Then we will pig out and quaff liquids in vast quantities until we are fit to bursting, followed by trying to burst ourselves with chocolates and other snacky bits while watching some movies and playing video games.

Have a great day folks.


-- Could be remote blogging or just too lazy to fire up laptop/Macbook/netbook. But still this has been posted from my iPhone 4.

Mr Ward

As adults I think we can all look back and name favourite teachers from our school days.

For me it’s Mrs Miller, Miss Rose, Mr Page and Mrs Page (his wife also one of my teachers, although some prefered Mrs Lamb – who never did it for me) and Mr Brooks. But I think the one that had most influence was from when I was doing my A Levels and that was Mr Ward.

Mr Ward was my computer science tutor. I’m not sure how old he was, he had white hair and a bushy white beard. So I had no clues there. Let’s say that he was over 50 to be on the safe side. Mr Ward drove a vauxhaul cavilier (mid eighties model) which he drove to and from work each day (remember that car it’s important later). He also had a habit of taking snuff. Which oddly seems out of fashion these days.

The A level class I was in was a massive three students in size, and I was top dog in that group (although there was a more talented programmer in the following year behind me – Paul). If you haven’t been top dog in a class then you don’t know what you are missing. It’s a great experience.

Mr Ward treated us with respect and encouraged us to improve. He taught us not just the fundamentals of computing and programming, but also passed on his experience of the computer industry. Mr Ward had been involved in it in the early days. The early days when computers filled buildings, when there was punched tape and hard drives were massive expensive devices holding several kilobytes of data.

When it came to doing the actually A level exams, Mr Ward said if I didn’t pass the A level he would run me over next time he saw me crossing the road. It was hard to tell if he was joking or not. But I only got a pass grade in one A level, can you guess which one it was? Yep Computer Science, I think the threat to my life somehow sharpened my focus. That or it was a subject I really enjoyed and liked.

Looking back I think those A Level classes were some of the best days of my life.

But even after leaving collage and going off to Polytechnic to do an HND in Computer Studies, I still returned back to visit Mr Ward (as did Paul), on several occasions.

Now twenty four years later his memory is still with me, and more so these days than ever. Because now I too will be following in his footsteps, and changing career to become a lecturer teaching what we call ICT these days, but back in the day we would of called it computing.

I can only aspire to be as good a teacher as Mr Ward was. But I will carry on the tradition that he started twenty four years ago.

I don’t know what became of Mr Ward, but if he is up there in the great data processing centre in the sky (thnx for that Paul) that he is looking down, and sees that his legacy is carrying on, just before getting his snuff box out, taking a good pinch between finger and thumb, putting it on the back of his hand, and then sniffing it up.

Why I Blog

Sometimes I get asked why I blog. And the regular answer I give is because I enjoy it. I enjoy writing. I enjoy the sharing, the comments. It also fuels my passion for which ever subject I'm blogging on, whether that is the outdoors, video games or tech/gadgets.
But that isn't the whole story as to why I blog.
There is a personal reason to. Which is one of legacy. A legacy to my son Nath. The hope is one day he will look back through my ramblings and learn a bit more about his old man.
With that I hope he will feel closer and understand me more. And when I'm no longer on this world I hope it gives him comfort and something he can show his kids.
Then again he pay look at it all briefly and think "what a load of bollux, that wasn't dad".
Then again what I've written just now could be a load of crap. And is just me trying to justify and cover up for the fact I have verbal direahea (sp?) and talk bollux.
But what ever you decide my motivation is, I've just stolen a couple of minutes of your life you'll never get back. Maybe that's my cunning plan... Just call me The Joker.......

-- Could be remote blogging or just too lazy to fire up laptop/Macbook/netbook. But still this has been posted from my iPhone 4.

Reality check

Sometimes reality had a way of smashing it's way through and breaking any illusions you may have.
Having to sign my divorce papers is just one of those times.
Any hopes I may of harboured of getting back together shattered with the few pen strokes that make up my signiture.
It hurts more now than it did when she left. Back then there was a glimmer of hope. Maybe she'll change her mind.
But the divorce papers have a way of say "no she hadn't".
Friends, family and even her say I should move on. But it's hard I don't want to, I still love her.
But that love died in her for me. What stings is that what we had wasn't worth trying to save. Strangely she can't tell me what she did to try and rekindle the feelings herself. She didn't try. And that cuts so deep.
There are stories and folk tales of dogs that waited for years at the spot where their owner died refusing to move, waiting for the owner to return. That's me really refusing to move on, hoping she will return realising she still loved me.
I can't just switch off that love. I married the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
So I'll be a tortured soul, and the world had better watch out as I vent my anger on the world in the form of humour and rants at the stuff that annoys me. So business as usual then...


-- Could be remote blogging or just too lazy to fire up laptop/Macbook/netbook. But still this has been posted from my iPhone 3G.

Brown: My Part In His Downfall

It can’t of been missed that here in the UK recently we had a General Election. For those not familiar with the what one is the basic description of one is as follows: A General Election is when politicians pretend to listen to the public (also at this time known as the voter or gullible) in exchange for the public pretending to give a dam about the lies told to them by the said politician. But it doesn’t stop there because it also requires the public to also suspend their disbelief and start to believe that their vote actually counts, and that we have a democratic process. When in fact it doesn’t matter who you voted for, the politicians are all the same and just out to claw and clamour their way to power at anyone's expense while lining their own pockets at our expense.

It was interesting to hear the results come in during the night. Especially when it was obvious that the UK public had finally seen sense and rejected Gordon Brown (my arch enemy).

But Gordon and Labour being so thick skinned and evil, and using some reality distortion field, seemed to be under the impression that the voter hadn’t just delivered a great big kick in the bollux to them.

Well as Brown tried every last trick to cling to the power he so much craved and needed (he is a power sucking incubus you know), it was obvious to us all he was not just a wounded animal that needed putting out of his misery (it needed doing with extreme prejudice and as messily and violent as possible, nothing humane about it), I started to celebrate the downfall of my deadliest arch foe ever.

As documented elsewhere on this blog, Brown and I had been embraced in a deadly battle. A battle he had been winning. Well he would, he had the whole of the British Government behind him. If this had been a boxing match, I think we would of said that before the election I was on the mat, struggling to get up after repeatedly receiving knock out blows, my face covered in cuts and blood, eyes barely open from the constant barrage of punches to the face. Then when the ref wasn’t looking Brown would put the boot in to while I was on the floor.

It was close, real close, Brown had nearly defeated me for good.

Then as I watched the British (so called) Democratic Process finally manage to loosen Brown’s vice like grip on the door frame at Number 10, so that he could be dragged kicking and screaming out in to the street, my celebrations went up several levels.

My own reality field started to distort, suddenly the tv images of Brown leaving Number 10 melted in to the Wizard of Oz. Number 10 was now on top of Brown, with only his feet showing. The Press where singing Ding Dong! Brown is Dead. But we still had the problem of getting the red size 10’s off Browns dead feet. Bud my three legged dog was Toto.

And that is basically all I remember until about last Thursday. I’ve been on one hell of a celebratory bender. Imagine like The Hangover (it’s a funny movie go rent it) but going on for a lot longer and not in Las Vegas.

I’m still trying to patch things together. But I think I’ve been married and divorced three times, done every depraved sexual act possible with several women of questionable virtues, consumed enough alcohol and drugs to keep Keith Richards going for an afternoon (yep that’s a hell of a lot), somehow get the number one spot on Interpol and the FBI’s most wanted list, and I think I’m not sure of, lived my fantasy of Heather Graham and Angelina Jolie together with me. But I can’t definitely be sure of that last one, they claimed that was their real names.

So as I try and piece to together the last few days and make sense of this brave new world, I will have to see how the Witch of the East aka Cameron and his side kick the Wizard aka Clegg handle the rebuild of Oz and all the damage that the Wicked Brown has done. I just pray they don’t decide to pick up where Brown left off, the bruises haven’t healed yet.

Banned Ad

Apparently the FT wont run this ad…

A Rare Political Post

So did you catch the “historical” tv debate between the leaders of the three main political parties in the UK? I didn’t, I listened to it on the radio instead. The picture quality is better. Plus listening to the debate I was able to see Brown for what he really is and not have that image perverted by the reality distortion field that the rest of you are fooled by.

Listening to the debate I was a bit confused about who the third voice was. I recognised the voices of Brown (cnut) and Cameron (worm tongue) but the third one couldn’t of been Clegg. Why? Well it appeared every time Brown opened his mouth he was speaking for Clegg. Every time it was either Clegg and him agreed, or thought the same thing. It was very clear he was speaking for Clegg. So I assumed that Clegg had been struck dumb or something. So who was that third voice? It can’t of been Clegg else he would of told Brown to feck off and that he could speak for himself. Although with Brown speaking like that it did make it sound like Brown and Clegg were a gay couple.

If that was the case which would be the giver and which the taker? Well based on the fact Brown as a Chancellor and PM just takes, takes, takes I think we have our answer to that question.

During the debate Brown kept trying to get the point over that Cameron would be taking over £6 billion out of the UK economy at a time when it was needed to help it recover. Yet Brown and his short memory seems to forget he took out hundreds of billions out of the economy to line the pockets of his banking friends when we the public needed the money even more during the recession, and then handed the bill over to us to pay. But at least when Brown is dethroned at the next election he will have a cushy board job with his banking mates to fall back on, and the golden good bye, and multi million pound pension.

And yes we all know that the Tories are taking money from big business, but at least they are taking it and not giving it (at the moment, although we have very little left to give after Brown has been robbing us for so long).

Don’t get me on the Lib Dems. Shills of the BPI. Which party in the House of Lords just did a cut and paste from a letter from the BPI that is now law? Yep the Lib Dems. Mind you it is a BPI spokesman (ex) that is running as a prospective Labour candidate in this election.  You thought China or North Korea was bad? Just wait until the BPI has finished perverting the democratic system and basic rights in law.

But I’m going to end it there I could easily go on and on. I have a lot of hate to let out about these politicians. Hate you don’t want to hear. We all know that politicians are thievin’ lying scum only out to line their own pockets at our expense. And that every four years or so they have to fain interest and pretend to listen to us, yet like dogs all they hear when we speak is “blah blah blah blah”. They have no intention of doing anything that will benefit us,unless it is also in their financial interest.

Oops I promised to have stopped, I’m getting as bad as an MP in breaking promises.

Laters…

Happy Easter

No matter what your religious believes are, it doesn't change the fact we are in the middle of a religious holiday. So I'm going to wish you a happy Easter.
But if we remove the religious imagery one of the images that says Easter to me is that of the daffodil.
So here are a couple of photos taken on my iPhone of the 'wild' fenland daffs.






There are also cultivated ones as well.



-- Could be remote blogging or just too lazy to fire up laptop/Macbook/netbook. But still this has been posted from my iPhone 3G.

Sophie Dahl I Have Seen Your Future

This very pretty young lady (god that makes me sound old) is Sophie Dahl, grand daughter to that Roald Dahl, model, author and one of the beautiful people, has her first cookery program starting on the BBC this month.

But I have a warning for her. Make this your last cookery program or your future could be this:

Ms Lawson used to be as slender as Ms Dahl. But after several cookery tv series now has an arse wider than a three double decker buses. And a chest that has snow on it most of the year.

Which if we are to believe Ms Lawson from her Nigella Express series can be explained away from the fact that she has flasks of soup stashed away in her handbag, next to flasks of smoothies. Oh and not forgetting that when she makes food as presents for her friends it doesn’t make the taxi ride to the friends. That’s right Ms Lawson scoffs it all.

I’m not even going to go on about the big smug factor that seems to have been developed by Ms Lawson.

So Sophie please please you may be able to cook up a meal of delights that would make a man forget about trying to take you upstairs.

But stop with this series and keep that amazing figure of yours. Don’t become the next fat arse Nigella.

Kate Moss YSL Ad Gives Me The Horn

and if it doesn’t do the same for you then you are either dead from the waist down or kiss men. She is HOT HOT HOT in this ad. In fact just thinking about it now I can feel a warm tingle below.

But if you are wondering what all the fuss is about take a look at the following youtube clip of the ad with Ms Moss in it. While you are watching that I’ll be in the bathroom. What? I have a weak bladder <cough>.

Know who else gives me the horn? Winona Ryder from her 2002 shoplifting trial. She looked so vulnerable during that trial. Her whole look just said designed to give the Judge and the jury the horn. How did the men in the court room not have to disappear off to the toilets every 5 minutes? Heck I’m starting to tingle again…

Oh two tingly feelings below in one blog post. Wow if I had this while I was married may be I’d still be married.

This has been a poor attempt at a tribute to Derek & Clive. They were true comedy greats, heroes of mine, and I think the world is worse off without them in it lighting it up.