Time for a blog? I think so. It’s been a while – and that’s something I can only put down to my lack of ability to think of anything to write about. This is odd, considering I’ve spent the past two or so weeks being so busy I have actually gone insane and begun to talk only to the dogs, using a series of sniffing and barking style noises.



So, I’m going to try and write you a blog of all blogs. I’ve even gone to the extent of having a piece of paper in front of me which lists all of the topics I want to try and cover in this particular edition, as well as the other 95 I plan to write and schedule, enabling me to never write a blog again and yet still appear to be being fresh, new and vibrant as a writer. Yeh, right.

So, today I’m going to be talking about something geeky. Something that makes everyone go “oh sssh, I don’t understand.” But it is recession. And the HUGE difference that might make to the world, because basically a load of money that doesn’t exist has stopped being lent to people who didn’t have any money by people who spend all day dealing with money that doesn’t exist, while being paid massive amounts of money that does exist for spreading around money that doesn’t. Following me? No. That’s OK.

Essentially, it means that you can’t anymore go out and purchase things you don’t need. That means while you cannot go out and purchase a 42 inch plasma television for your downstairs toilet, like you were planning, you can afford to go out and buy a Tesco Value scotch egg. For 32 pence. But that’s all you can eat for the entire day, because you’ve only got money that doesn’t exist. And you can’t get any more of that, because the supplies of this fictional money have dried up. Because it doesn’t exist anymore. Although it never did.

And best of all, if you pop down to the Tesco Metro where Kwik Save used to be and manage to survive the drive around the ‘expertly’ designed car park, and decide to use the self service tills to avoid contact with a human being, as I regularly do – not only will you be harassed with shouts of “UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA” randomly whenever you move your testicles remotely near the bags, but you will also have your fictional money rejected – as unfortunately the tills are “brand new and so haven’t got the latest software on them to do cards”.

So it’s not even as if you can spend this fictional money that doesn’t exist that has ceased to exist on that Scotch Egg which is the only food you can afford.

But it’s OK – because everything is going to be solved. We’re going to reduce VAT by 2.5%, bringing it to the lowest amount it can legally be without permission from the raccoons in Brussels. This will, in effect, increase the profits of places that chose not to reduce the prices until the products are replaced – but Tesco have promised that they’re going to pass on the change.

So you stand a chance of having the money to afford the freshly reduced 31p Scotch Egg rather than the 32p scotch egg you can buy today.

Ah joys!
Nic x

Tomorrow: Nic on Napkins

Today I spent the majority of the day phoning schools. I'm dealing with a lot of them at the moment, and I'm actually beggining to realise why the nation as a whole can't organise a single thing. It's because in schools, no-one has a clue who's responsible for what - and it actually doesn't matter, since there's no competition. Truely a reason for privitisation if there ever was one....

But in all of this mystery about who I should actually be talking to, I manage to find a glimmer of hope. It was a school I couldn't pronounce or spell. And one I didn't know the location of!

So I arranged a meeting with them next Wednesday. It seemed only correct.

"Oh bollocks," Nath' said..."It's in Hereford".

And it's not even true - it's slightly past Hereford and up a bit.

Bit of a mistake there...I assumed Hereford and Worcestershire was quite a close, small place - I was wrong.

I guess it was the biggest local authority for a reason.

Nx

So I've just had a revelation. It was quite a big one and one which I'm sure will take you all by a huge amount of surprise. No, I have not decided that I will go for an operation, and return as a woman. No, I have not decided to adopt a pet Goat called Hector.

Instead, I have had a conversation which consisted entirely of HTTP Status codes, following a request from one of my friends for a "premium Nic service," where responses over one word are recieved.

It's a common complaint - but I tend to get involved in things, and while I quite often do consider text to be a 'conversational' form of communication rather than a written one, when I'm doing other things - a one word response is often enough.

So, in due geek style my response was: "503 service unavaliable."

Duly responded to by fellow geek and HTTP Status code knower Tom: "403 forbidden".

Fair enough. I think at this stage it's important to mention that we appear to be on a bus. We've paid for our tickets, and we've got a ticket that allows us to go to the end of the line. The bus has as its destination, "Geek land."

The bell is ringing. All change for sanity. But unfortunately, instead of hearing this being called I reply using a further HTTP status code - "200 OK".

Tom then replies: Erm..Err...Oh Yeah..."

And we're at the depot. Unfortunately, there's not a bus back until the morning and I'm going to be forced to stay in this hell hole for the rest of the night.

Next to me waiting for the bus is Fred, he's got so many spots on his face I'm planning on using him as a dot-to-dot book during the night, and has some small candles below his nose which will not only provide me with warmth overnight, but will also help with the romantic atmosphere I require, as the person sitting the other side of me is called Beth - and she's currently sat packet-sniffing me.

Essentially, that's intercourse, isn't it?

I feel a 400 coming on.

Nx

So, it's another day and another day of moaning for the Daily Mail. The most respected newspaper of Tories, the old, the easily worried and those who have time in the day to actually worry about whether or not a Muslim Rhinosourus might actually have new evidence which could lead to the revelation of new information regarding Diana's death.

Ah yes, so you do know what I'm talking about, yes?

In the past month, the Daily Mail's rants have, however, been inflicted on the rest of the population, as Voluntarially Outraged and Angered of Sussex's opinions were foist upon us all in the whole Russel-Brand-Jonathan-Ross incident.

Not complete of course, without the branding "Sachsgate".

But having now subjected us all to this bloody story, and having got a reaction from even Gordon Brown on the incident, the Daily Mail has fresh faced rage. And who better to pick on, than the BBC?

Of course, being the BBC, the stories can all feature references to how "we" pay for the service. And the articles can all conclude that the licence fee is wasted buying up contracts with people who can't pronounce words correctly (I mean, they're clearly foreign if they can't pronounce the Queen's English, and have you ever seen their papers? Must be illegals); that the BBC spoils it for everyone else by being over-funded and should focus on producing programs on single cell organisms and bats, presented by Bill Oddie.

So, onto a new day and who's our new target. Oh, another favourite. Having conquered Ross and Brand, two of the BBC's highest paid and successful - and therefore the most offending and infuriating for the woman in her Asylum-seeker-insulated, homosexual-proof mansion - it's time for Mr Wogan. He comes next. He's high paid. Only thing is - he's old. And a National Treasure. Oh well - we can't do him. I mean, he wouldn't do such silly things as getting drunk and insulting our foreign neighbours in a radio booth, would he?

Ah well, it's Moyles then. Deffinately time for a Moyles bash.

But not just Moyles, talking about a sympathy shag with a Car Park Catchphrase caller, there is also talk of beastiality on Love Soup, the Queen's private parts on Mock The Week, and there was a death on the news just today. (more)

We can only but dream of what might happen next in this world of offence. I can imagine that the BBC's election programme will get some complaints, however, for revealing that a black man has won the American election. Get your pens at the ready, Sussex Women!