Right, so I suppose I should say hi again, shouldn't I?
Yer, I'm back - or, rather, I have arrived. I'm currently sat with most of my stuff in a different place to where it should be, and another place again to where I want it, in Brighton.
I've not had enough sleep, and I think I've got to go into the kitchen again and make myself busy in order to say hi to the new girl who's just turned up with her incredibly loud parents.
I'm joking, they're not incredibly loud - but they are here, and that's enough when you've been here for over 24 hours and it's become your home!
Even if the bed is slightly similar to sleeping in a recyclable plastic bag from Sainsbury's, people shouldn't invade your home nosily at 8am!
Completely aside from all of this though is that I just went and fried an egg on one of my expeditions to the kitchen, and managed to cook it in one piece and everything.
Who needs expensive woks and frying pans like we had at home when a £2.99 wilko one does a better job?
I'm keeping it brief and vaguely boring today mainly because I don't actually have internet access at the moment (although I do) and I don't really want to be kicked out, because there's lots of wires.
But, of course, I've just fried an egg and as much as I love my blog - the egg wins. As soon as I have internet, I will give you all a tour!
Nic x
You are currently viewing archive for September 2009
PLEASE NOTE: Content prior to April 2010 is a collection of posts from Nic's previous blogs - some of this content may be offensive or may have become inaccurate since the original publication.
Just a quickie
Anything Else | Monday, 28 September | Respond
NICK2: Every goodbye makes the next hello closer
Replacement Rail Service | Sunday, 27 September | Respond
Well here it is the final blog from yours truly.
I have to say it’s been a really fun experience, when I when I was asked I jumped at the chance albeit a bit scared, but I’ve embraced it and haven’t been able to stop so I would like to take the opportunity to thank Nic for the chance to take a bit of creative control blog wise, and also to say that If you’ve enjoyed my blogs this week then there’s some good news to follow at the end of this blog.
So: goodbyes. They aren’t the best thing in the world, sometimes it’s a goodbye for a few days, maybe a week, a short holiday perhaps or maybe a more permanent one, either way they are something that I personally am not good with.
If I’m honest I tend to avoid them because sometimes things are too painful to comprehend - if you don’t say goodbye, in your head the person isn’t really going away?
A goodbye is never painful unless you’re never going to say hello again, and in my case this turned out to be true, in 2000 my granddad was diagnosed with terminal cancer and I was young at the time to understand some things, although I knew my grandad wouldn’t be around to see in the new year.
I was too upset at the time and I didn’t want to see him because of the pain. Now it's something I regret because I never got to see my granddad before he died.
But, then, in a way I take comfort from the fact that I can remember him the way he was.
Goodbyes aren't always bad, though.
A farewell is a necessary part of life before we can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or after a lifetime*, is certain for those who are friends. I always find I’m a little insensitive when it comes to good byes; I generally just hug and do my usual, something on the lines of
‘’Take care and keep in touch.’’
And that’s generally met with a confused face and a confused-sounding "OK".
But people who know me well enough know that it’s just my way of dealing with things, and I’ll probably go home and send a cowardly text because I’d probably drown them in my tears if I said bye to them in person, and probably channel my inner child, attach myself to them and tell them they aren’t going anywhere.
In most cases, they'd go anyway.
I know a few people who have had to deal with the whole goodbye thing recently and as it is Uni season, everyone’s going away, and as much as people prepare themselves for the day when someone leaves, it's always never what you expected. Don’t be sad, get on with it because after every goodbye comes the next hello!
A part of you has grown in me, together forever we shall be, never apart, maybe in distance, but not in the heart.
Thank you for reading and I hope you’ve enjoyed this as much as I have, if you want to read further click here.
Thank you, and I'll see you on the other side
Nick2 x
Nick is taking over from me for the week while I get everything sorted out in Birmingham, and head down to Brighton. He's here every day from Monday 21st September until Sunday 27th with his side of life. Nic will be back as normal on Monday 28th September 2009, live from Brighton.
I have to say it’s been a really fun experience, when I when I was asked I jumped at the chance albeit a bit scared, but I’ve embraced it and haven’t been able to stop so I would like to take the opportunity to thank Nic for the chance to take a bit of creative control blog wise, and also to say that If you’ve enjoyed my blogs this week then there’s some good news to follow at the end of this blog.
So: goodbyes. They aren’t the best thing in the world, sometimes it’s a goodbye for a few days, maybe a week, a short holiday perhaps or maybe a more permanent one, either way they are something that I personally am not good with.
If I’m honest I tend to avoid them because sometimes things are too painful to comprehend - if you don’t say goodbye, in your head the person isn’t really going away?
A goodbye is never painful unless you’re never going to say hello again, and in my case this turned out to be true, in 2000 my granddad was diagnosed with terminal cancer and I was young at the time to understand some things, although I knew my grandad wouldn’t be around to see in the new year.
I was too upset at the time and I didn’t want to see him because of the pain. Now it's something I regret because I never got to see my granddad before he died.
But, then, in a way I take comfort from the fact that I can remember him the way he was.
Goodbyes aren't always bad, though.
A farewell is a necessary part of life before we can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or after a lifetime*, is certain for those who are friends. I always find I’m a little insensitive when it comes to good byes; I generally just hug and do my usual, something on the lines of
‘’Take care and keep in touch.’’
And that’s generally met with a confused face and a confused-sounding "OK".
But people who know me well enough know that it’s just my way of dealing with things, and I’ll probably go home and send a cowardly text because I’d probably drown them in my tears if I said bye to them in person, and probably channel my inner child, attach myself to them and tell them they aren’t going anywhere.
In most cases, they'd go anyway.
I know a few people who have had to deal with the whole goodbye thing recently and as it is Uni season, everyone’s going away, and as much as people prepare themselves for the day when someone leaves, it's always never what you expected. Don’t be sad, get on with it because after every goodbye comes the next hello!
A part of you has grown in me, together forever we shall be, never apart, maybe in distance, but not in the heart.
Thank you for reading and I hope you’ve enjoyed this as much as I have, if you want to read further click here.
Thank you, and I'll see you on the other side
Nick2 x
Nick is taking over from me for the week while I get everything sorted out in Birmingham, and head down to Brighton. He's here every day from Monday 21st September until Sunday 27th with his side of life. Nic will be back as normal on Monday 28th September 2009, live from Brighton.
NICK2: Theres no such thing as bad press?
Replacement Rail Service | Saturday, 26 September | Respond
So I was bored this week, and I had a few hours where I wasn’t doing anything particularly exciting and I couldn’t stand staring at the same four walls any longer so I went out to the shops just to get out of the house.
I brought a magazine and some crisps. I sat down reading this magazine and then I landed on a page where I was suddenly reminded what kind of a shallow and superficial world we live in, when I saw a ‘Hoop of Horror’ page, which is aimed at celebrities who have cellulite, pulling a stupid face, or god forbid a roll of fat!
I sat there in disbelief, and thought about the hundreds of people, young girls in particular who are going to be reading this and will be influenced by it and think its not acceptable to look a certain way, if that wasn’t enough its filled with stories about people who are generally bad role models for the younger generation; Kerry Katona, Amy Winehouse, Katie Price to name a few.
Unfortunately, some people will read the things in those magazines and treat it as their source of journalism, and journalistically speaking magazines like Heat and Star are colouring books!
I just think that everybody should be aware that whatever publication you read from, that every one of them has an agenda. It’s like me setting up a Leona Lewis website (everybody who knows me will know that she is god to me), to report all things about her, news etc, and even if I made it myself and nobody endorsed or sponsored it, I’d still be hugely biased, In affect I would be a dictator for my own small media.
Have you ever noticed that if a public opinion about a celebrity is good, you don’t suddenly get a publication shaming them, and that’s because the media gage the mood and write accordingly.
But that’s another thing that annoys me about the media, is that they don’t genuinely care about the people behind the story they so badly need.
The way the media works makes me sick if I’m honest, I just think people need to be careful about what they say and print, and people have a right to have a positive image of their bodies, not to feel like they have to compete with people in magazines when they are scrutinized for everything!
But essentially what I say here, won’t make a difference, and the media need something to write about to keep them in work and celebrities and politicians need them equally as much so its kind of like a game of Russian roulette, you win and you lose and it’s the way its always going to be.
You know what they say; all publicity is good publicity, right?
Until next time,
Nick2
Nick is taking over from me for the week while I get everything sorted out in Birmingham, and head down to Brighton. He's here every day from Monday 21st September until Sunday 27th with his side of life. Nic will be back as normal on Monday 28th September 2009, live from Brighton.
I brought a magazine and some crisps. I sat down reading this magazine and then I landed on a page where I was suddenly reminded what kind of a shallow and superficial world we live in, when I saw a ‘Hoop of Horror’ page, which is aimed at celebrities who have cellulite, pulling a stupid face, or god forbid a roll of fat!
I sat there in disbelief, and thought about the hundreds of people, young girls in particular who are going to be reading this and will be influenced by it and think its not acceptable to look a certain way, if that wasn’t enough its filled with stories about people who are generally bad role models for the younger generation; Kerry Katona, Amy Winehouse, Katie Price to name a few.
Unfortunately, some people will read the things in those magazines and treat it as their source of journalism, and journalistically speaking magazines like Heat and Star are colouring books!
I just think that everybody should be aware that whatever publication you read from, that every one of them has an agenda. It’s like me setting up a Leona Lewis website (everybody who knows me will know that she is god to me), to report all things about her, news etc, and even if I made it myself and nobody endorsed or sponsored it, I’d still be hugely biased, In affect I would be a dictator for my own small media.
Have you ever noticed that if a public opinion about a celebrity is good, you don’t suddenly get a publication shaming them, and that’s because the media gage the mood and write accordingly.
But that’s another thing that annoys me about the media, is that they don’t genuinely care about the people behind the story they so badly need.
The way the media works makes me sick if I’m honest, I just think people need to be careful about what they say and print, and people have a right to have a positive image of their bodies, not to feel like they have to compete with people in magazines when they are scrutinized for everything!
But essentially what I say here, won’t make a difference, and the media need something to write about to keep them in work and celebrities and politicians need them equally as much so its kind of like a game of Russian roulette, you win and you lose and it’s the way its always going to be.
You know what they say; all publicity is good publicity, right?
Until next time,
Nick2
Nick is taking over from me for the week while I get everything sorted out in Birmingham, and head down to Brighton. He's here every day from Monday 21st September until Sunday 27th with his side of life. Nic will be back as normal on Monday 28th September 2009, live from Brighton.
NICK2: Hitch your wagon to a star
Replacement Rail Service | Friday, 25 September | Respond
Remember when you were little, and you used to be sitting in front of the TV in the morning with your coco pops.
Batman or Spiderman would come on the screen and you’d want to be just like them, so you’d make your parents buy you the costume and you would wear it for days, trying however unsuccessfully to climb walls, or in my case jumping around the living room and swinging off lampshades until one day to my dismay it snapped off and I went flying across the living room and I was left with a wound above my right eye.
That’s because at that age you think you are capable of anything, but as you get older you start to be more realistic about such things and you may decide that you want to become a doctor, a fireman or even a teacher. When I was that age I wanted to be an actor, I don’t really know where it came from but I would randomly start throwing myself to the ground in public and making a scene, because I thought the whole world was a stage and I wanted to show people what I could do.
As I got older however I came to realise it’s not socially acceptable to make a scene, unless you’re a pair of hormonal teenagers having an argument about Lee’s msn conversation with Amy last night, I soon became acquainted with the right sources, stage school, which I attended for two years when I was 13 and went for a few auditions and got some roles in amateur performances and I loved it, until I got rejected for a part I really wanted, and then a week later an audition came up for an ITV series which is no longer on the air and I didn’t go to it because I was young and scared of being rejected again, this is one of my biggest regrets!
I started to think that what I thought I was capable of I wasn’t, and generally gave up on something that I’m passionate about.
I’ve been through many jobs and college courses only to discover something I’ve known all along; that my passion is acting and It wasn’t until last year that I got the kick up the arse I needed from someone, who I now refer to as my ‘kick up the arse person’ because they’re always there when I’m lacking motivation and I can always rely on to snap me out of it!
Don’t give up on your dreams, the only person who can make them happen is yourself.
You will get rejected, it’s just a natural part of life - but if you work hard and are determined to succeed, you will! Work towards a goal: ambition is an amazing quality to have! Just got to have a bit of faith, take some risks and learn to say ‘yes’ a bit more. It worked for me so far…
The future’s in Brighton, who knew?
Until next time,
Nick2 x
Nick is taking over from me for the week while I get everything sorted out in Birmingham, and head down to Brighton. He's here every day from Monday 21st September until Sunday 27th with his side of life. Nic will be back as normal on Monday 28th September 2009, live from Brighton.
Batman or Spiderman would come on the screen and you’d want to be just like them, so you’d make your parents buy you the costume and you would wear it for days, trying however unsuccessfully to climb walls, or in my case jumping around the living room and swinging off lampshades until one day to my dismay it snapped off and I went flying across the living room and I was left with a wound above my right eye.
That’s because at that age you think you are capable of anything, but as you get older you start to be more realistic about such things and you may decide that you want to become a doctor, a fireman or even a teacher. When I was that age I wanted to be an actor, I don’t really know where it came from but I would randomly start throwing myself to the ground in public and making a scene, because I thought the whole world was a stage and I wanted to show people what I could do.
As I got older however I came to realise it’s not socially acceptable to make a scene, unless you’re a pair of hormonal teenagers having an argument about Lee’s msn conversation with Amy last night, I soon became acquainted with the right sources, stage school, which I attended for two years when I was 13 and went for a few auditions and got some roles in amateur performances and I loved it, until I got rejected for a part I really wanted, and then a week later an audition came up for an ITV series which is no longer on the air and I didn’t go to it because I was young and scared of being rejected again, this is one of my biggest regrets!
I started to think that what I thought I was capable of I wasn’t, and generally gave up on something that I’m passionate about.
I’ve been through many jobs and college courses only to discover something I’ve known all along; that my passion is acting and It wasn’t until last year that I got the kick up the arse I needed from someone, who I now refer to as my ‘kick up the arse person’ because they’re always there when I’m lacking motivation and I can always rely on to snap me out of it!
Don’t give up on your dreams, the only person who can make them happen is yourself.
You will get rejected, it’s just a natural part of life - but if you work hard and are determined to succeed, you will! Work towards a goal: ambition is an amazing quality to have! Just got to have a bit of faith, take some risks and learn to say ‘yes’ a bit more. It worked for me so far…
"Goals give you more than a reason to get up in the morning; they are an incentive to keep you going all day. Goals tend to tap the deeper resources and draw the best out of life.’’
Harvey Mackay
Harvey Mackay
The future’s in Brighton, who knew?
Until next time,
Nick2 x
Nick is taking over from me for the week while I get everything sorted out in Birmingham, and head down to Brighton. He's here every day from Monday 21st September until Sunday 27th with his side of life. Nic will be back as normal on Monday 28th September 2009, live from Brighton.
NICK2: Things arn't always as they appear...
Replacement Rail Service | Thursday, 24 September | Respond
Why is it that when a young teenager gets pregnant that people decide to write them off? That they are whore, a disgrace, and a perfect example of today’s teen culture?
I understand that teenagers today are a little worse (OK a bit of an understatement) than when I was a younger but I feel that because of this stigma ‘teenagers’ have been subjected to that all teenagers get written off if they happen to make a mistake.
I discovered recently that one of my sister’s friends is pregnant, she’s 15 and I guess when I first discovered the news I wasn’t best happy because it’s natural to think that she’s ruined her life even before it has had a chance to begin.
But having heard all of the flack she has gotten for it, not just by spiteful school children, but adults too! Labelling her a ‘slut’, ‘whore’ amongst other things I am too polite to mention.
Now I’m sorry, but *consults dictionary* isn’t a slut ‘A person, especially a woman, considered sexually promiscuous’?
Correct, now what I’d like to know is where an adult gets off using those terms towards a 15 year old school girl not knowing the full circumstances, but some fabricated story that their children fed them about what did or didn’t happen, one of which I was unfortunate enough to hear as I dropped my sister off to school shortly after the news, when I came across two vile disgustingly obese women, both talking and probably contemplating Greg’s after dropping their children off, with really bad yellow blonde die jobs and socks with sandals who really were in no position to be judging anyone!
Fat Lady One: ‘’Oh I blame it on the parents; she was dragged up, Just look at her.’’
Fat Lady Two: ‘’Oh I know, Lauren told me that she that she has been having sex in the same park for weeks with different boys’’
Fat Lady One: ‘’Well that doesn’t surprise me, I mean look who her mother is. Little slut, that’s all I can say’’
I was absolutely disgusted to hear people judging a child they barely know enough about to be passing judgement, now I know this girl, and have done since she started school with my sister four years ago and in fact she fell pregnant after one time with her boyfriend.
It was a silly mistake and she’s paying the price for that mistake, but it doesn’t mean she’s not going to go to college and get a career just because she has a baby, she will have to work a lot harder, which she is prepared to do.
And I respect her a lot more than some teenage girls who think they can get pregnant and live a cushy life on benefits in a council flat.
Teenagers get a hard enough time as it is because of the stereotype they have been associated with thanks to chivvy delinquents, who like to mug old ladies, graffiti and smash up bus stops.
So think before you judge, they aren’t all the same.
Until next time,
Nick2 x
Nick is taking over from me for the week while I get everything sorted out in Birmingham, and head down to Brighton. He's here every day from Monday 21st September until Sunday 27th with his side of life. Nic will be back as normal on Monday 28th September 2009, live from Brighton.
I understand that teenagers today are a little worse (OK a bit of an understatement) than when I was a younger but I feel that because of this stigma ‘teenagers’ have been subjected to that all teenagers get written off if they happen to make a mistake.
I discovered recently that one of my sister’s friends is pregnant, she’s 15 and I guess when I first discovered the news I wasn’t best happy because it’s natural to think that she’s ruined her life even before it has had a chance to begin.
But having heard all of the flack she has gotten for it, not just by spiteful school children, but adults too! Labelling her a ‘slut’, ‘whore’ amongst other things I am too polite to mention.
Now I’m sorry, but *consults dictionary* isn’t a slut ‘A person, especially a woman, considered sexually promiscuous’?
Correct, now what I’d like to know is where an adult gets off using those terms towards a 15 year old school girl not knowing the full circumstances, but some fabricated story that their children fed them about what did or didn’t happen, one of which I was unfortunate enough to hear as I dropped my sister off to school shortly after the news, when I came across two vile disgustingly obese women, both talking and probably contemplating Greg’s after dropping their children off, with really bad yellow blonde die jobs and socks with sandals who really were in no position to be judging anyone!
Fat Lady One: ‘’Oh I blame it on the parents; she was dragged up, Just look at her.’’
Fat Lady Two: ‘’Oh I know, Lauren told me that she that she has been having sex in the same park for weeks with different boys’’
Fat Lady One: ‘’Well that doesn’t surprise me, I mean look who her mother is. Little slut, that’s all I can say’’
I was absolutely disgusted to hear people judging a child they barely know enough about to be passing judgement, now I know this girl, and have done since she started school with my sister four years ago and in fact she fell pregnant after one time with her boyfriend.
It was a silly mistake and she’s paying the price for that mistake, but it doesn’t mean she’s not going to go to college and get a career just because she has a baby, she will have to work a lot harder, which she is prepared to do.
And I respect her a lot more than some teenage girls who think they can get pregnant and live a cushy life on benefits in a council flat.
Teenagers get a hard enough time as it is because of the stereotype they have been associated with thanks to chivvy delinquents, who like to mug old ladies, graffiti and smash up bus stops.
So think before you judge, they aren’t all the same.
Until next time,
Nick2 x
Nick is taking over from me for the week while I get everything sorted out in Birmingham, and head down to Brighton. He's here every day from Monday 21st September until Sunday 27th with his side of life. Nic will be back as normal on Monday 28th September 2009, live from Brighton.
NICK2: Jump on: you might aswell...
Replacement Rail Service | Wednesday, 23 September | Respond
I’m back! Did you miss me? Well of course you did. I’m really enjoying this blogging lark; this is my time to share what bugs me and talk about things I want to talk about. I’m having a ball so far and I hope you’re all enjoying my guest blogs this week so far.
So I was watching the MTV Video Music Awards last week, and I’m sure you all aware of what I’m going to mention because it was pretty much the talking point of Monday’s tabloids.
Now everybody decided he was in the wrong and rightly booed him. But what if everyone had suddenly decided that he wasn’t in the wrong? Would that be acceptable? Just because the majority of people had that opinion?
"Every society but ours believed in magic; why should we think otherwise?" "Every society but ours thought the sun revolved about the Earth, rather than the other way round. Would you decide the matter by majority vote?"
Isaac Asimov
OK, this brings me to today’s subject which is something that really bugs me with a passion, something I feel is totally unnecessary but unfortunately it will forever be apart of our society. Bandwagons.
They are every where; you can’t escape them, not even in a court of law.
They have been around since the beginning of time, when the majority believed the world to be flat, so therefore everybody had to believe that the world was indeed flat - after all that many people couldn’t be wrong, right?
Things such as billions of people around the world believing god exists, so there must be a god.
Since 88% of the people polled believed in UFOs, they must exist and Christianity is believed in by the greatest number of people in the world, so it must be true. Perfect examples of bandwagons and how people just jump on them and let people make decisions for them.
Nobody ever really wins because everyone has and is entitled to their own opinions which is fair enough, what annoys me though is when people let themselves be ruled by what others believe and don’t think for themselves, it’s the same in social media, when somebody says an album is good because it sells well people are influenced to rush out and by it, so I guess it has its pros for business people but not for the public who only realise that they have been robbed after buying the album!
I think for myself, always have done and always will do, I will not conform and be brainwashed into liking or agreeing on things, and I hope the same applies to you too!
Until next time,
Nick2
Nick is taking over from me for the week while I get everything sorted out in Birmingham, and head down to Brighton. He's here every day from Monday 21st September until Sunday 27th with his side of life. Nic will be back as normal on Monday 28th September 2009, live from Brighton.
So I was watching the MTV Video Music Awards last week, and I’m sure you all aware of what I’m going to mention because it was pretty much the talking point of Monday’s tabloids.
Kanye West stormed the stage at this year's VMAs and interrupted Taylor Swift's acceptance speech for a rant about Beyoncé.
The country singer was picking up the award for 'Best Female Video' for 'You Belong With Me' when the rapper appeared onstage and took her microphone.
"Taylor, I'm really happy for you, I'm gonna let you finish, but Beyoncé had one of the best videos of all-time," he announced. "One of the best videos of all-time!"
Digital Spy
The country singer was picking up the award for 'Best Female Video' for 'You Belong With Me' when the rapper appeared onstage and took her microphone.
"Taylor, I'm really happy for you, I'm gonna let you finish, but Beyoncé had one of the best videos of all-time," he announced. "One of the best videos of all-time!"
Digital Spy
Now everybody decided he was in the wrong and rightly booed him. But what if everyone had suddenly decided that he wasn’t in the wrong? Would that be acceptable? Just because the majority of people had that opinion?
"Every society but ours believed in magic; why should we think otherwise?" "Every society but ours thought the sun revolved about the Earth, rather than the other way round. Would you decide the matter by majority vote?"
Isaac Asimov
OK, this brings me to today’s subject which is something that really bugs me with a passion, something I feel is totally unnecessary but unfortunately it will forever be apart of our society. Bandwagons.
They are every where; you can’t escape them, not even in a court of law.
They have been around since the beginning of time, when the majority believed the world to be flat, so therefore everybody had to believe that the world was indeed flat - after all that many people couldn’t be wrong, right?
Things such as billions of people around the world believing god exists, so there must be a god.
Since 88% of the people polled believed in UFOs, they must exist and Christianity is believed in by the greatest number of people in the world, so it must be true. Perfect examples of bandwagons and how people just jump on them and let people make decisions for them.
Nobody ever really wins because everyone has and is entitled to their own opinions which is fair enough, what annoys me though is when people let themselves be ruled by what others believe and don’t think for themselves, it’s the same in social media, when somebody says an album is good because it sells well people are influenced to rush out and by it, so I guess it has its pros for business people but not for the public who only realise that they have been robbed after buying the album!
I think for myself, always have done and always will do, I will not conform and be brainwashed into liking or agreeing on things, and I hope the same applies to you too!
Until next time,
Nick2
Nick is taking over from me for the week while I get everything sorted out in Birmingham, and head down to Brighton. He's here every day from Monday 21st September until Sunday 27th with his side of life. Nic will be back as normal on Monday 28th September 2009, live from Brighton.
NICK2: Whoever smelt it dealt it...
Replacement Rail Service | Tuesday, 22 September | Respond
Okay, well it's day two of my guest blog and if you're still reading this then I must have done something right in yesterday's:thank you for reading again today.
What I hope to bring to the table this week is a bit of humour, the classic things that annoy us on occasion but also some serious subjects too…
But today is not a serious day and I’m going to talk about something that happens daily to us all and if you say it doesn’t then you are a big fat liar!
That, of course, being public flatulence, (a fart to all you immature people who were waiting for me to say it, shame on you!), It happens to us all, although somewhat privately - but for the unfortunate ones in public#
Not something to be ashamed of, it happens to us all at some point or another but it can be highly embarrassing for you but highly amusing and smelly for people around.
Now, the first disadvantage is that you can never be certain what kind of fart is going to sneak past your underwear.
If it's silent but deadly you can quickly move through the crowd hoping and praying that it doesn't follow you - but it always does, and unless you are quick on your feet, people will figure out who the offender is.
Naturally you can go on the offensive and wrinkle up your nose and start glancing around while fanning the air (Note: The oldest trick in the book and nobody really believes you!).
As I’ve already said, it is embarrassing but it can happen in a bank line up, it can happen in a restaurant, cinema, or local bar. But the funniest of all has got to be the Elevator Fart. That’s the king and queen of public farts, for the simple reasons - It’s almost always dead silent in a lift.
People usually keep quiet, keep their eyes firmly at the door, and wait for their floor. Any whisper or laugh echo’s around the box with full force, bouncing off the walls loudly for all to hear.
So a giant, rippling fart popped out by a bald businessman, holding a briefcase in front of him?
That’s like a 21 gun salute!
If you’re going to 22nd floor, you’re spending maybe a minute or two with these people.
It’s you and them, locked together.
Hearing a stranger fart on the street is one thing. Hearing a stranger fart in a tiny, enclosed room is another.
Nobody can escape the full experience, from big bang to first whiff to being totally taken over from it until the god send that comes when the doors open and you can make your quick getaway.
In the end, farting in public, although awkward and socially unacceptable, will happen often.
If you are easily embarrassed, duck into an alley and release your body of pent up gas. If not, follow the thought that farts held in could implode and then you'd have another huge problem on your hands, walls and surrounding people.
Until next time,
Nick2 x
Nick is taking over from me for the week while I get everything sorted out in Birmingham, and head down to Brighton. He's here every day from Monday 21st September until Sunday 27th with his side of life. Nic will be back as normal on Monday 28th September 2009, live from Brighton.
What I hope to bring to the table this week is a bit of humour, the classic things that annoy us on occasion but also some serious subjects too…
But today is not a serious day and I’m going to talk about something that happens daily to us all and if you say it doesn’t then you are a big fat liar!
That, of course, being public flatulence, (a fart to all you immature people who were waiting for me to say it, shame on you!), It happens to us all, although somewhat privately - but for the unfortunate ones in public#
Not something to be ashamed of, it happens to us all at some point or another but it can be highly embarrassing for you but highly amusing and smelly for people around.
Now, the first disadvantage is that you can never be certain what kind of fart is going to sneak past your underwear.
If it's silent but deadly you can quickly move through the crowd hoping and praying that it doesn't follow you - but it always does, and unless you are quick on your feet, people will figure out who the offender is.
Naturally you can go on the offensive and wrinkle up your nose and start glancing around while fanning the air (Note: The oldest trick in the book and nobody really believes you!).
As I’ve already said, it is embarrassing but it can happen in a bank line up, it can happen in a restaurant, cinema, or local bar. But the funniest of all has got to be the Elevator Fart. That’s the king and queen of public farts, for the simple reasons - It’s almost always dead silent in a lift.
People usually keep quiet, keep their eyes firmly at the door, and wait for their floor. Any whisper or laugh echo’s around the box with full force, bouncing off the walls loudly for all to hear.
So a giant, rippling fart popped out by a bald businessman, holding a briefcase in front of him?
That’s like a 21 gun salute!
If you’re going to 22nd floor, you’re spending maybe a minute or two with these people.
It’s you and them, locked together.
Hearing a stranger fart on the street is one thing. Hearing a stranger fart in a tiny, enclosed room is another.
Nobody can escape the full experience, from big bang to first whiff to being totally taken over from it until the god send that comes when the doors open and you can make your quick getaway.
In the end, farting in public, although awkward and socially unacceptable, will happen often.
If you are easily embarrassed, duck into an alley and release your body of pent up gas. If not, follow the thought that farts held in could implode and then you'd have another huge problem on your hands, walls and surrounding people.
Until next time,
Nick2 x
Nick is taking over from me for the week while I get everything sorted out in Birmingham, and head down to Brighton. He's here every day from Monday 21st September until Sunday 27th with his side of life. Nic will be back as normal on Monday 28th September 2009, live from Brighton.
NICK2: Each moment is a place you've never been...
Replacement Rail Service | Monday, 21 September | Respond
Well I had better start by introducing myself: I am Nick.
Since this is Nic's last week in Birmingham before heading off to Brighton on Saturday to embark on 3 years at university *sniffs*, I shall be taking over his blog for the next seven days; this is in no way meant as a replacement but more of a casual change to what you are used to with Nic.
Now change is something that I am going to touch upon on my first blog entry for the week, something that I don't deal with very well and I'm sure I am not the only one.
From Walkers changing around the colours for Cheese and Onion and Salt and Vinegar, Opal Fruits becoming Star burst, Leona Lewis going from ‘Bleeding Love’ to ‘Forgive Me’, two Sugababe replacements, and two Sam Mitchell actresses later, I still can't cope and I’m still reeling.
That’s because change doesn’t go down well, it disrupts the system, the cog that has been happily going around minding its own business.
I know that it’s a natural progression of life but it scares the hell out of me, because you lose all that you know. Sometimes the change is a positive thing, but sometimes it can be a bad thing.
All I'm saying, change isn't always for the better: in some cases, it can make a bad situation even worse.
I, for one, used to be really scared of taking risks: even the small ones from trying the Kit Kat Chunky, to even the more serious ones.
Then I had a conversation one day and someone important said something to me.
‘’Do you really want to sit back in years to come and think about what could have been? The risks you didn’t take? Wouldn’t you prefer to die and have people remember you as that person that made the best of his life and took risks?’’
And I’m going to admit, it changed my life - but again I was still scared to take the risks and let myself be happy, until recently when I took the risk that I had been putting off for well over a year. And I’ve never been happier.
So what I’m saying is, I could have spent this moment of my life being all sad and depressed because I was too scared to make the change and embrace it. But I didn't.
Get off your arse: don’t complain that your job is making you miserable: get out there and find another one; do the things you always think about doing but never do.
Life is all about risks, so seize the day and live every moment as if its your last, because you never know when it's going be your curtain call.
Life is to short to be anything but happy.
Nick2 x
Nick is taking over from me for the week while I get everything sorted out in Birmingham, and head down to Brighton. He's here every day from Monday 21st September until Sunday 27th with his side of life. Nic will be back as normal on Monday 28th September 2009, live from Brighton.
Since this is Nic's last week in Birmingham before heading off to Brighton on Saturday to embark on 3 years at university *sniffs*, I shall be taking over his blog for the next seven days; this is in no way meant as a replacement but more of a casual change to what you are used to with Nic.
Now change is something that I am going to touch upon on my first blog entry for the week, something that I don't deal with very well and I'm sure I am not the only one.
From Walkers changing around the colours for Cheese and Onion and Salt and Vinegar, Opal Fruits becoming Star burst, Leona Lewis going from ‘Bleeding Love’ to ‘Forgive Me’, two Sugababe replacements, and two Sam Mitchell actresses later, I still can't cope and I’m still reeling.
Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did so throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.
Mark Twain
Mark Twain
That’s because change doesn’t go down well, it disrupts the system, the cog that has been happily going around minding its own business.
I know that it’s a natural progression of life but it scares the hell out of me, because you lose all that you know. Sometimes the change is a positive thing, but sometimes it can be a bad thing.
All I'm saying, change isn't always for the better: in some cases, it can make a bad situation even worse.
I, for one, used to be really scared of taking risks: even the small ones from trying the Kit Kat Chunky, to even the more serious ones.
Then I had a conversation one day and someone important said something to me.
‘’Do you really want to sit back in years to come and think about what could have been? The risks you didn’t take? Wouldn’t you prefer to die and have people remember you as that person that made the best of his life and took risks?’’
And I’m going to admit, it changed my life - but again I was still scared to take the risks and let myself be happy, until recently when I took the risk that I had been putting off for well over a year. And I’ve never been happier.
So what I’m saying is, I could have spent this moment of my life being all sad and depressed because I was too scared to make the change and embrace it. But I didn't.
Get off your arse: don’t complain that your job is making you miserable: get out there and find another one; do the things you always think about doing but never do.
Life is all about risks, so seize the day and live every moment as if its your last, because you never know when it's going be your curtain call.
Life is to short to be anything but happy.
Nick2 x
Nick is taking over from me for the week while I get everything sorted out in Birmingham, and head down to Brighton. He's here every day from Monday 21st September until Sunday 27th with his side of life. Nic will be back as normal on Monday 28th September 2009, live from Brighton.
Handing over to Nick2
Site News | Sunday, 20 September | Respond
So this is a difficult post for me to write - it is, infact, the last post you will see here from me for the next 7 days. You all know why that is - I'M MOVING TO BRIGHTON.
For those of you who hadn't yet noticed, and to be honest I don't know how you could avoid it, I'm moving 193 miles South and a bit to the right to Brighton. I'm doing it to go to university to study English Language & Media.
So yes, today's post is a bit of a "can't be arsed, so urm - here's what's going to happen," post. It's like the last day of school, where you've been allowed to bring your toys into school, and wear your own clothes.
Only difference is, I'm the only one doing it. So there's none of the real meaning behind these days - showing off your toys to all of your friends, making sure they know yours is better than theirs.
I remember back in time sometime in the past, I took one of those toys where you built your own device around their little box thing using wires and stuff. You could build a transistor radio, and you could build something where you could transmit some very very weak signal and chat to someone else who had one of these devices.
I played around with it, put some wires in the wrong places - and took it into school. About six of us were promptly fooled into thinking this device could communicate with a boy called Sam, who as - as far as we know, floating in a small pair of Speedos in the Atlantic.
I blame Daniel Westwood. He kept us going for hours before upon asking the question "is he ok?" after lunch - we were told, "I was lying."
I was absolutely and utterly lost and confused by this situation. I felt sad for Sam, mainly because he was fictional, but also because I'm sure had he been real, he wouldn't have been very pleased that we sat chatting to him for hours instead of calling for some kind of help.
We never even sent him a postcard. We never even asked where he was!
Anyway, because I fancied a bit of a break from writing these blogs every day before I started a new chapter of my life, I've handed the blog over to Nick Baigent - he's over on the people pages here, if you want to get to know him before he actually starts giving you the good stuff.
His stuff will be here every night at midnight until Monday 28th September 2009. Good luck everyone.
For those of you who hadn't yet noticed, and to be honest I don't know how you could avoid it, I'm moving 193 miles South and a bit to the right to Brighton. I'm doing it to go to university to study English Language & Media.
So yes, today's post is a bit of a "can't be arsed, so urm - here's what's going to happen," post. It's like the last day of school, where you've been allowed to bring your toys into school, and wear your own clothes.
Only difference is, I'm the only one doing it. So there's none of the real meaning behind these days - showing off your toys to all of your friends, making sure they know yours is better than theirs.
I remember back in time sometime in the past, I took one of those toys where you built your own device around their little box thing using wires and stuff. You could build a transistor radio, and you could build something where you could transmit some very very weak signal and chat to someone else who had one of these devices.
I played around with it, put some wires in the wrong places - and took it into school. About six of us were promptly fooled into thinking this device could communicate with a boy called Sam, who as - as far as we know, floating in a small pair of Speedos in the Atlantic.
I blame Daniel Westwood. He kept us going for hours before upon asking the question "is he ok?" after lunch - we were told, "I was lying."
I was absolutely and utterly lost and confused by this situation. I felt sad for Sam, mainly because he was fictional, but also because I'm sure had he been real, he wouldn't have been very pleased that we sat chatting to him for hours instead of calling for some kind of help.
We never even sent him a postcard. We never even asked where he was!
Anyway, because I fancied a bit of a break from writing these blogs every day before I started a new chapter of my life, I've handed the blog over to Nick Baigent - he's over on the people pages here, if you want to get to know him before he actually starts giving you the good stuff.
His stuff will be here every night at midnight until Monday 28th September 2009. Good luck everyone.
How photogenic are you?
Anything Else | Saturday, 19 September | Respond
It's a fact that when you shove a camera into someone's face, people react differently. Some of those reactions are good, and some of those reactions are quite bad. Some people instincitively shut their eyes as soon as they know you're taking a picture, and others just make a weird face.
Anyone would think that photographers carry around a1 print outs of Adrian Charles in his underwear, to show like a kids photographer might use to get the eye line of your little thing in their 'cute' pictures.
No one will ever know they were taken in a shopping centre, love. Promise. Now look at this toy and PAY.
That's right...Look at the teddy....Another tenner, look at the teddy and CHEEESE!
Seems Craig, my photographer friend, thinks I'm in the "acts good," in front of a camera group. Nice to know, heh. The pictures are on Flickr, and here on the blog in a slideshow!
Take a quick look?
Anyone would think that photographers carry around a1 print outs of Adrian Charles in his underwear, to show like a kids photographer might use to get the eye line of your little thing in their 'cute' pictures.
No one will ever know they were taken in a shopping centre, love. Promise. Now look at this toy and PAY.
That's right...Look at the teddy....Another tenner, look at the teddy and CHEEESE!
Seems Craig, my photographer friend, thinks I'm in the "acts good," in front of a camera group. Nice to know, heh. The pictures are on Flickr, and here on the blog in a slideshow!
Take a quick look?
PICS: The Simply Photo Shoot
Anything Else | Saturday, 19 September | Respond
The photos from our photoshoot, in a lovely slideshow for you! :)
Old people and seat belts
Rants! | Friday, 18 September | Respond
Why is it whenever you're in a car with some old people, and they are left to put their own seatbelts on, the world becomes impossible to cope with any longer.
It's difficult to know when exactly this happens to you, but I'm presuming the change happens around the same time that it becomes impossible to 'fall over', and instead we are tormented by the need for people to recount how we'd "Had a fall," and needed to take it easy.
In the car they get, struggling with a slight amount of physical impossibility - cars being designed for people at their fitness peak, such as myself, they sit around for a couple of minutes as if to recover.
If getting into a car and fitting a seatbelt were to be an olympic sport, such as running a marathon, I imagine at this point, the athelete - or the pensioner - would vomit descretely onto the floor.
They reach around to their left, retreiving the seatbelt like someone might retrieve a small piece of rotten fish from the lettuce crisper in the bottom of their fridge, with a slight amount of disgust but a knowing that it must be done, or worse things are to come.
The second part of this task is perhaps most difficult.
The correct location for the seatbelt to be inserted must be located.
For most people, the location of this roughly next to one's right hip, immediately next to the seat is simply logical. No-one has ever questioned it.
Yet there is suddenly a slight amount of noise, "Oh where is it?" etc.. As this problem is overcome.
I fear that if old people were allowed to design cars the seatbelt would be a weird contraption which came from in front of you and attached back into the car somewhere in the kitchen.
Somewhere where we go a lot, Frank. Not too much of a hasssle to get there, but out of the way when the neigbours come over.
Nic x
It's difficult to know when exactly this happens to you, but I'm presuming the change happens around the same time that it becomes impossible to 'fall over', and instead we are tormented by the need for people to recount how we'd "Had a fall," and needed to take it easy.
In the car they get, struggling with a slight amount of physical impossibility - cars being designed for people at their fitness peak, such as myself, they sit around for a couple of minutes as if to recover.
If getting into a car and fitting a seatbelt were to be an olympic sport, such as running a marathon, I imagine at this point, the athelete - or the pensioner - would vomit descretely onto the floor.
They reach around to their left, retreiving the seatbelt like someone might retrieve a small piece of rotten fish from the lettuce crisper in the bottom of their fridge, with a slight amount of disgust but a knowing that it must be done, or worse things are to come.
The second part of this task is perhaps most difficult.
The correct location for the seatbelt to be inserted must be located.
For most people, the location of this roughly next to one's right hip, immediately next to the seat is simply logical. No-one has ever questioned it.
Yet there is suddenly a slight amount of noise, "Oh where is it?" etc.. As this problem is overcome.
I fear that if old people were allowed to design cars the seatbelt would be a weird contraption which came from in front of you and attached back into the car somewhere in the kitchen.
Somewhere where we go a lot, Frank. Not too much of a hasssle to get there, but out of the way when the neigbours come over.
Nic x
MSN is just for talking isn't it?
Rants! | Thursday, 17 September | Respond
Since ancient times there have been rights of passage between childhood and adult hood.
In modern society, these have changed somewhat: the first shag, amongst a group of teenagers is very important, and a dad's pint with his 18-year-old son is quite important. Down to their joint pint when the guy's daughter has her first period, trying to forget exactly what the next ten years holds!
But some things have, of course, remained the same. Growing out of MSN is a milestone I feel that I'm now coming up to.
And I'm not meaning this in a negative way at all, but there are certain patterns I have noticed from people about how they use MSN Messenger.
There are some people who are rarely on it. They treat it like some kind of charity for the people without friends, or the ones who have to have the world at their fingertips in order to make friends who will talk to them. And acknowledge them.
Others think you simply go on there to ask everyone how they are, where they live, how old they are and then ask them to put their cam on, before saying they're rubbish for not accepting the request and they run off to play the sims.
Or whatever. I've got bored with thinking about it!
To be honest, this has started to bore me. And now a combination of factors have meant that, actually, MSN is becoming less attractive to me.
First off, according to the information Brighton have given me, they refuse to allow me onto the service while using the internet in halls. This will mean I won't have any way to access MSN other than through my 3g dongle!
That could get rather annoying.
Secondly, MSN have decided that because they really badly coded the old version and put some nasty security bug into it they need to FORCE everyone to upgrade to a new version. I might disappear as soon as this happens.
I hate pointless upgrades for a few reasons: the first and most important being that I don't see why a piece of software that you are using to talk to other people needs upgrading. The software is already achieving that.
I manage to talk to people succesfully all the time using MSN. Although, obviously, they only ask me how I am before going because thier mums want to use the computer to browse QVC.
The second reason is that with every upgrade to a piece of software, there is all of a sudden a need to add lots of new features. This is pointless, particulally with MSN, because they force you to upgrade any way. I don't need enticing!
So, I don't think I'll be upgrading. Which, of course, means I won't be allowed online anymore. Shame.
So, how's you?
In modern society, these have changed somewhat: the first shag, amongst a group of teenagers is very important, and a dad's pint with his 18-year-old son is quite important. Down to their joint pint when the guy's daughter has her first period, trying to forget exactly what the next ten years holds!
But some things have, of course, remained the same. Growing out of MSN is a milestone I feel that I'm now coming up to.
And I'm not meaning this in a negative way at all, but there are certain patterns I have noticed from people about how they use MSN Messenger.
There are some people who are rarely on it. They treat it like some kind of charity for the people without friends, or the ones who have to have the world at their fingertips in order to make friends who will talk to them. And acknowledge them.
Others think you simply go on there to ask everyone how they are, where they live, how old they are and then ask them to put their cam on, before saying they're rubbish for not accepting the request and they run off to play the sims.
Or whatever. I've got bored with thinking about it!
To be honest, this has started to bore me. And now a combination of factors have meant that, actually, MSN is becoming less attractive to me.
First off, according to the information Brighton have given me, they refuse to allow me onto the service while using the internet in halls. This will mean I won't have any way to access MSN other than through my 3g dongle!
That could get rather annoying.
Secondly, MSN have decided that because they really badly coded the old version and put some nasty security bug into it they need to FORCE everyone to upgrade to a new version. I might disappear as soon as this happens.
I hate pointless upgrades for a few reasons: the first and most important being that I don't see why a piece of software that you are using to talk to other people needs upgrading. The software is already achieving that.
I manage to talk to people succesfully all the time using MSN. Although, obviously, they only ask me how I am before going because thier mums want to use the computer to browse QVC.
The second reason is that with every upgrade to a piece of software, there is all of a sudden a need to add lots of new features. This is pointless, particulally with MSN, because they force you to upgrade any way. I don't need enticing!
So, I don't think I'll be upgrading. Which, of course, means I won't be allowed online anymore. Shame.
So, how's you?
Broadband could be quite slow in reality
Rants! | Wednesday, 16 September | Respond
When you sign up to Broadband from BT, they give you lots and lots of information and bury something deep down inside all of the information they give you which many people simply take at face value. I, though, do not believe them.
I am generally part of the whole group of people you might decide to call "geeks," - I know my shit, essentially.
Essentially, what they're saying is true. I know it is. They have to adjust their BRA in order to make sure the line is working well.
But they may be on to something here. I've transferred to them from BE, who provided me internet faster than the man-woman from the Athletics can win a race against normal, non-man-woman women. BT are providing me with something which is at least 50% slower. In fact, it's exactly 50% slower at 8mb rather than 16mb.
This means that I've noticed the drop in speed. No-one who has eyes (and possibly a computer) could not notice a drop from 16mb to 8mb when they're looking at huge pictures of things on flickr. Or uploading files to a website.
But - even I am not now noticing this issue, two weeks after having translated. In fact, my broadband feels quite speedy. And that is, dear children, because i have got used to the speed I am being given.
Essentially, it's like someone has said, right... We're going to steal your penis and give you a vagina.
You're still a man, but over the next two weeks we'll adjust the ratio of penis to vagina, and then it'll settle down.
By the end of the two weeks, you're probably used to having a vagina although you're probably suffering the social consequences. When you go swimming, you're probably still mocked in the men's changing room, while you're disallowed and have random words shouted at you when you go in the woman's.
They did not think to provide you with breasts, for example. And yet they expect you to continue with life.
People are probably still mocking you for it. It's been three weeks.
Essentially, this is what this whole broadband situation has done to me.
I am generally part of the whole group of people you might decide to call "geeks," - I know my shit, essentially.
If your broadband seems a little slow during the first two weeks, don't worry - we're adjusting it, so give it chance to settle in before you do any speed tests.
Essentially, what they're saying is true. I know it is. They have to adjust their BRA in order to make sure the line is working well.
But they may be on to something here. I've transferred to them from BE, who provided me internet faster than the man-woman from the Athletics can win a race against normal, non-man-woman women. BT are providing me with something which is at least 50% slower. In fact, it's exactly 50% slower at 8mb rather than 16mb.
This means that I've noticed the drop in speed. No-one who has eyes (and possibly a computer) could not notice a drop from 16mb to 8mb when they're looking at huge pictures of things on flickr. Or uploading files to a website.
But - even I am not now noticing this issue, two weeks after having translated. In fact, my broadband feels quite speedy. And that is, dear children, because i have got used to the speed I am being given.
Essentially, it's like someone has said, right... We're going to steal your penis and give you a vagina.
You're still a man, but over the next two weeks we'll adjust the ratio of penis to vagina, and then it'll settle down.
By the end of the two weeks, you're probably used to having a vagina although you're probably suffering the social consequences. When you go swimming, you're probably still mocked in the men's changing room, while you're disallowed and have random words shouted at you when you go in the woman's.
They did not think to provide you with breasts, for example. And yet they expect you to continue with life.
People are probably still mocking you for it. It's been three weeks.
Essentially, this is what this whole broadband situation has done to me.
Technology never works, but it's so useful
Rants! | Tuesday, 15 September | Respond
Librarys are great places. Full of stereotypes that I can write about, which makes it ideal when I'm having a particularly dull time of life where I'm actually considering telling you about an incident involving me getting on a bus, and then getting off again after nothing whatsoever amusing happened.
I could tell you that I tried to get on a 202 with a 144 return ticket (to go to the same place, with the same company, to be fair to myself) and got told to get off the bus.
But alas, no - thanks to the wonder of my borrowing books I actually had to return them. And I quite like playing a little game which you might enjoy too.
Borrow books from a Library such as Redditch, and then return them to Bromsgrove. Borrow books from Bromsgrove and return them to Rubery. They find their way back to their own library eventually.
I actually don't like playing that game - I made it up. But it sounds fun, and is exactly what I did as well, since the 144 came before the 143 did. And Rubery library was closed.
Exciting stuff.
Anyhow, I walked into the Library and up to one of the self service machines. I am enchanted by these machines since they use RFID tags to automagically detect which books you've put there and allow you to borrow them without ever having to talk to someone.
After every single action the software is programmed to ask you "are you done?", and "would you like a reciept?" - something which I'm sure, after a long time in use, will be replaced with a "tick this box if you want a reciept" option in order to save paper. And at some point, I'm sure they'll probably scream something about an unidentified book in the bagging area.
But being me, I picked the machine by the door - and discovered that this device had a broken bin! Oh no! Since I was returning books, this was a huge issue for me. So I continued on my way, hoping that the machine would chose the blue bin, and not the red one.
Despite neither of the bins actually being coloured red or blue, the sign said that if the red bin was picked, I'd need to "hand them to a library representative".
The challenge was upon me. I began to will the blue bin to be the one that opened.
"Finished."
I waited. I focused on the blue bin. I did not know which bin was the blue bin.
"Place your items into this bin" the machine said, with an ORANGE arrow. Even the machine doesn't know.
I decided to take the risk, and walked away from the machine muttering something to myself in justification: "Well, orange is near to red isn't it? I best do this..."
I walked up to the counter. The sign above said "service". I handed the books to the woman, who looked confused.
"These were for the Orange bin on the machine, so I thought I better bring them to you."
"Oh, ok then." And she proceeded to log onto her computer, "I'll just return them for you then." ... Lots of beeping noises later.
"It looks as if you've already returned them Mr Parkes."
I already knew this information. "Thanks,"
"Oh but there's one issue - you've got a credit of 6p on your account. I'll just delete that for you."
"Urm, Okay?"
"They're good, these self service machines aren't they? Never worked, add credit randomly onto your account - but they're good things to have."
She was making conversation. I was nodding. I didn't really agree.
I could tell you that I tried to get on a 202 with a 144 return ticket (to go to the same place, with the same company, to be fair to myself) and got told to get off the bus.
But alas, no - thanks to the wonder of my borrowing books I actually had to return them. And I quite like playing a little game which you might enjoy too.
Borrow books from a Library such as Redditch, and then return them to Bromsgrove. Borrow books from Bromsgrove and return them to Rubery. They find their way back to their own library eventually.
I actually don't like playing that game - I made it up. But it sounds fun, and is exactly what I did as well, since the 144 came before the 143 did. And Rubery library was closed.
Exciting stuff.
Anyhow, I walked into the Library and up to one of the self service machines. I am enchanted by these machines since they use RFID tags to automagically detect which books you've put there and allow you to borrow them without ever having to talk to someone.
After every single action the software is programmed to ask you "are you done?", and "would you like a reciept?" - something which I'm sure, after a long time in use, will be replaced with a "tick this box if you want a reciept" option in order to save paper. And at some point, I'm sure they'll probably scream something about an unidentified book in the bagging area.
But being me, I picked the machine by the door - and discovered that this device had a broken bin! Oh no! Since I was returning books, this was a huge issue for me. So I continued on my way, hoping that the machine would chose the blue bin, and not the red one.
Despite neither of the bins actually being coloured red or blue, the sign said that if the red bin was picked, I'd need to "hand them to a library representative".
The challenge was upon me. I began to will the blue bin to be the one that opened.
"Finished."
I waited. I focused on the blue bin. I did not know which bin was the blue bin.
"Place your items into this bin" the machine said, with an ORANGE arrow. Even the machine doesn't know.
I decided to take the risk, and walked away from the machine muttering something to myself in justification: "Well, orange is near to red isn't it? I best do this..."
I walked up to the counter. The sign above said "service". I handed the books to the woman, who looked confused.
"These were for the Orange bin on the machine, so I thought I better bring them to you."
"Oh, ok then." And she proceeded to log onto her computer, "I'll just return them for you then." ... Lots of beeping noises later.
"It looks as if you've already returned them Mr Parkes."
I already knew this information. "Thanks,"
"Oh but there's one issue - you've got a credit of 6p on your account. I'll just delete that for you."
"Urm, Okay?"
"They're good, these self service machines aren't they? Never worked, add credit randomly onto your account - but they're good things to have."
She was making conversation. I was nodding. I didn't really agree.
PICS: Redditch Library
Reflective | Tuesday, 15 September | Respond
Redditch Library's new ground floor. I have no idea why this might interest you, to be honest.
I don't actually care anymore
Rants! | Monday, 14 September | Respond
You would think that having a BlackBerry improves how well someone communicates with the world.
You would think having a continuous connection with your contacts: by email, PIN, SMS or maybe even BlackBerry Messenger, by Twitter or perhaps by Facebook.
You might imagine that if you were popular, you would never stop using the device. You might think that if you sent a message to a person who had a BlackBerry they would reply instantly, and have all of the documents with them, ready.
You might think that people who own BlackBerrys are amazing people who are really important. Well, they probably are. But there is a point at which the correlation with some kind of drug takes effect.
They're often called 'CrackBerry' phones, because people are addicted to them. They've got them in their hand whether they're watching TV, dancing, drinking, on the toilet or maybe having sex.
"Hold on dear, I've got a PIN."
"Oh, no, just a tweet. I'll just update..... As you were"
But it really doesn't have an effect on how life happens in the way you might expect.
Instead, you become slightly more relaxed about the prospect of having a new mail icon. Previously, the little envelope outlook puts in your taskbar, or the little icon on my phone caused a state of panic not dissimilar from one I'd imagine Gordon Brown gets when he reads the papers every morning.
I am ready to press the button, and nuke the world, if I am not able to reply to every message accuratetly within a few minutes. I could most deffinately not walk off.
Like when the low fuel light in your car comes on. I do not, simply cannot comprehend how people can drive around with a low fuel light on, for longer than the distance between the location when it comes on and the nearest petrol station.
It is like re-creating the crucifixion and using blu tak to save money on a first aid kit and all that pesky stuff with making the nails.
To me, it is wrong.
Now - though - months after getting a BlackBerry for the first time I can now cope with a new message icon and a number above 100 for days, before eventually deciding that anything prior to right now wasn't important anyway, and clicking the magic little creation: "Mark prior read."
It is the technological equipment of walking around opening your post in your pants. A single testicle popping down to one side, cup of coffee in hand and not a single one spare to pop it back where it should be.
BlackBerry, I blame you for my inability to reply to texts unless I care or am pestered.
You would think having a continuous connection with your contacts: by email, PIN, SMS or maybe even BlackBerry Messenger, by Twitter or perhaps by Facebook.
You might imagine that if you were popular, you would never stop using the device. You might think that if you sent a message to a person who had a BlackBerry they would reply instantly, and have all of the documents with them, ready.
You might think that people who own BlackBerrys are amazing people who are really important. Well, they probably are. But there is a point at which the correlation with some kind of drug takes effect.
They're often called 'CrackBerry' phones, because people are addicted to them. They've got them in their hand whether they're watching TV, dancing, drinking, on the toilet or maybe having sex.
"Hold on dear, I've got a PIN."
"Oh, no, just a tweet. I'll just update..... As you were"
But it really doesn't have an effect on how life happens in the way you might expect.
Instead, you become slightly more relaxed about the prospect of having a new mail icon. Previously, the little envelope outlook puts in your taskbar, or the little icon on my phone caused a state of panic not dissimilar from one I'd imagine Gordon Brown gets when he reads the papers every morning.
I am ready to press the button, and nuke the world, if I am not able to reply to every message accuratetly within a few minutes. I could most deffinately not walk off.
Like when the low fuel light in your car comes on. I do not, simply cannot comprehend how people can drive around with a low fuel light on, for longer than the distance between the location when it comes on and the nearest petrol station.
It is like re-creating the crucifixion and using blu tak to save money on a first aid kit and all that pesky stuff with making the nails.
To me, it is wrong.
Now - though - months after getting a BlackBerry for the first time I can now cope with a new message icon and a number above 100 for days, before eventually deciding that anything prior to right now wasn't important anyway, and clicking the magic little creation: "Mark prior read."
It is the technological equipment of walking around opening your post in your pants. A single testicle popping down to one side, cup of coffee in hand and not a single one spare to pop it back where it should be.
BlackBerry, I blame you for my inability to reply to texts unless I care or am pestered.
Decorating
Anything Else | Sunday, 13 September | Respond
Just a quickie today, because I've got lots to do.
It's an unusual feeling for me, and something that I have created myself partially through boredom - and partially because I have simply not done anything for days, and then decided to do everything at once. It's like some kind of binge, for people who like to be radical but can't bear to not be productive.
I mean, alcohol's all very good but at the end of the day it just gets turned into sugar.
You can imagine it's something your Nan might do.
Something I have noticed over the past few days though is how easy it is to become clinically insane when you suddenly have your job and your form of transport removed from you.
It doesn't just have the effect of demotivating you, because you haven't done anything, and increase the amount of hours you can spend sleeping - it also has the effect that all of a sudden you want to eatch TV programmes with a compulsion never before experienced.
It's almost like Loose Women is suddenly interesting, and not just a show filled with moany middle aged women. It's almost like Jezza is worth watching.
Although there is a strange change that I've experienced as a result of the number of episodes of Jezza Kyle I have watched: similar to how on many shows you get an angel and a demon floating on opposite shoulders of a person.
I have Jeremey Kyle on both.
He's shouting CONSTANTLY, and he's stopping me from sleeping. He thinks I'm on coke, and I keep telling him it's just PEPSI but he's insisting we do a lie detector test.
I agreed, but the probes were too small for me to take the test. He was so disappointed, he did a little stamp. Yes he did.
And here, mate, it's MY name on the wall.
Nic x
PS. Yes, I do realise that I have got notthing about decorating in this blog. You can but guess why this is the title of the blog.
It's an unusual feeling for me, and something that I have created myself partially through boredom - and partially because I have simply not done anything for days, and then decided to do everything at once. It's like some kind of binge, for people who like to be radical but can't bear to not be productive.
I mean, alcohol's all very good but at the end of the day it just gets turned into sugar.
You can imagine it's something your Nan might do.
Something I have noticed over the past few days though is how easy it is to become clinically insane when you suddenly have your job and your form of transport removed from you.
It doesn't just have the effect of demotivating you, because you haven't done anything, and increase the amount of hours you can spend sleeping - it also has the effect that all of a sudden you want to eatch TV programmes with a compulsion never before experienced.
It's almost like Loose Women is suddenly interesting, and not just a show filled with moany middle aged women. It's almost like Jezza is worth watching.
Although there is a strange change that I've experienced as a result of the number of episodes of Jezza Kyle I have watched: similar to how on many shows you get an angel and a demon floating on opposite shoulders of a person.
I have Jeremey Kyle on both.
He's shouting CONSTANTLY, and he's stopping me from sleeping. He thinks I'm on coke, and I keep telling him it's just PEPSI but he's insisting we do a lie detector test.
I agreed, but the probes were too small for me to take the test. He was so disappointed, he did a little stamp. Yes he did.
And here, mate, it's MY name on the wall.
Nic x
PS. Yes, I do realise that I have got notthing about decorating in this blog. You can but guess why this is the title of the blog.
VIDEO: Packing
Rants! | Saturday, 12 September | Respond
I'm going away, and that involves packing. I've had a present, and I can't edit videos. Here goes.
Advantages of being a short woman
Rants! | Thursday, 10 September | Respond
I have never before contemplated the advantages of being a short woman before. This might not surprise some of you that know I am a rather tall rather male, well, man.
But today when I walked back from a short trip into Rubery I discovered that being a short old woman did indeed have an advantage when walking down alleyways.
As I was walking up the alleyway I saw a woman coming down. She was carrying two bags - one Sainsbury's, one Morrisons, perhaps showing that being a short old woman means you don't have particular allegiances to one brand, nor do you destroy the planet because you're bringing your bags.
It was at sort of the half way point before we got to meeting that I started to get worried for this woman. She was slightly ahead of me in arriving at a device I'm not sure how to name. Instead of attempting, I'll just say it's one of the sets of rails that stops bikes from going down alleyways too quickly.
She continued to walk.
She wasn't stopping. She wasn't stopping. Should I get my phone out and dial the 999 just incase? I wasn't sure, if I'm honest. She continued to walk towards the device, and towards me before I suddenly discovered something.
It wasn't that she was doing anything wrong. She was simply aware of something; presumably because of her practice at being a short woman, she was able to continue to walk forward with confidence.
She managed to continue with that look that old women who've lived through a war have mastered exclusively. The whole living without bananas, eating bombs for breakfast and building a shelter with only a toothpick, a slice of rationed bread and some powdered egg has given them a look of their own. Determination in a face.
I had been fooled by the old distance and size thing. The fact that if you take a fat person and put them far away, you can cover them with your thumb and pretend to asphyxiate them for being the disgraceful, sweaty, disgusting lump that they are.
As she got closer, it became apparent.
Being a short old woman meant that she did not have to obey the rules of the world and walk into the device to the right, before walking to the left and coming out of the device. No. Not her - she wasn't a sheep!
She ignored the device completely, and continued with her day.
Society should consider this when we next mock short women. Because they could rule the world, you know. They'd get there about 0.5 seconds more quickly than the tall women!
But today when I walked back from a short trip into Rubery I discovered that being a short old woman did indeed have an advantage when walking down alleyways.
As I was walking up the alleyway I saw a woman coming down. She was carrying two bags - one Sainsbury's, one Morrisons, perhaps showing that being a short old woman means you don't have particular allegiances to one brand, nor do you destroy the planet because you're bringing your bags.
It was at sort of the half way point before we got to meeting that I started to get worried for this woman. She was slightly ahead of me in arriving at a device I'm not sure how to name. Instead of attempting, I'll just say it's one of the sets of rails that stops bikes from going down alleyways too quickly.
She continued to walk.
She wasn't stopping. She wasn't stopping. Should I get my phone out and dial the 999 just incase? I wasn't sure, if I'm honest. She continued to walk towards the device, and towards me before I suddenly discovered something.
It wasn't that she was doing anything wrong. She was simply aware of something; presumably because of her practice at being a short woman, she was able to continue to walk forward with confidence.
She managed to continue with that look that old women who've lived through a war have mastered exclusively. The whole living without bananas, eating bombs for breakfast and building a shelter with only a toothpick, a slice of rationed bread and some powdered egg has given them a look of their own. Determination in a face.
I had been fooled by the old distance and size thing. The fact that if you take a fat person and put them far away, you can cover them with your thumb and pretend to asphyxiate them for being the disgraceful, sweaty, disgusting lump that they are.
As she got closer, it became apparent.
Being a short old woman meant that she did not have to obey the rules of the world and walk into the device to the right, before walking to the left and coming out of the device. No. Not her - she wasn't a sheep!
She ignored the device completely, and continued with her day.
Society should consider this when we next mock short women. Because they could rule the world, you know. They'd get there about 0.5 seconds more quickly than the tall women!
Sorry!
Site News | Wednesday, 09 September | Respond
Urm, essentially something went spectacularly wrong and you ended up getting a few hours of some crap posts which I use before I've written blogs for good, even though i had written the blogs. They have kind of disappeared now, so it's time for life to carry on. We'll skip these past days, and I hope you'll accept my sorries.
Urm, essentially something went spectacularly wrong and you ended up getting a few hours of some crap posts which I use before I've written blogs for good, even though i had written the blogs. They have kind of disappeared now, so it's time for life to carry on. We'll skip these past days, and I hope you'll accept my sorries.
Urm, essentially something went spectacularly wrong and you ended up getting a few hours of some crap posts which I use before I've written blogs for good, even though i had written the blogs. They have kind of disappeared now, so it's time for life to carry on. We'll skip these past days, and I hope you'll accept my sorries.
I've got a great idea Mildred
Rants! | Monday, 07 September | Respond
I was in Birmingham the other day and I spotted something which set my mind off on a wander down the little passages that I try to avoid as much as possible, if I'm honest.
There might be things down there I don't want to see - the kind of place you'd expect to see Michael Barrymore.
You know they're still around; probably not causing any one much harm - but you'd rather they weren't asking you "top, middle, or bottom?" for fear of what might happen as a result.
To be honest - I'd quite like to have been sat having dinner with the owner of this shop when they came up with the concept for it.
Clearly, from the idea, I'd would not like to have been at the dinner table when this idea had come to them. In their confused mental state, not dissimilar from instant mashed potato - and possibly worsened by the idea that they were going to unleash their plans upon the world, they may have served me a piece of cow meat with a blended hamster coolie, and a thin slice of their grandmother's psoriasis from a week last Wednesday.
I'm going to open a shop," they'd have said. We're off to a good start. "It'll sell everything for a pound."
At this point, I see this man would perhaps have sat back - looking cocky and waiting for the challenge that was to come. "It's been Done, Michael." He's probably not called Michael.
He's probably called Phil or Gossamer.
"Ah, but I'm going to sell things for a pound, two, or a little bit more. And that's what I'm going to call it as well."
He would obviously have to stop at this point to pick his nose - or push his brain back in, I'm not sure.
"People will think it's funny and then come in and I'll charge them £3, or £5 or maybe even £9.99".
Which, as I'm sure you'll agree, solves the problem. The idea of selling things at a price, of course, has never been done before.
It's a completely fresh idea.
"You should do it, Mr Crazy Man."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Parsnip."
Nic x
There might be things down there I don't want to see - the kind of place you'd expect to see Michael Barrymore.
You know they're still around; probably not causing any one much harm - but you'd rather they weren't asking you "top, middle, or bottom?" for fear of what might happen as a result.
To be honest - I'd quite like to have been sat having dinner with the owner of this shop when they came up with the concept for it.
Clearly, from the idea, I'd would not like to have been at the dinner table when this idea had come to them. In their confused mental state, not dissimilar from instant mashed potato - and possibly worsened by the idea that they were going to unleash their plans upon the world, they may have served me a piece of cow meat with a blended hamster coolie, and a thin slice of their grandmother's psoriasis from a week last Wednesday.
I'm going to open a shop," they'd have said. We're off to a good start. "It'll sell everything for a pound."
At this point, I see this man would perhaps have sat back - looking cocky and waiting for the challenge that was to come. "It's been Done, Michael." He's probably not called Michael.
He's probably called Phil or Gossamer.
"Ah, but I'm going to sell things for a pound, two, or a little bit more. And that's what I'm going to call it as well."
He would obviously have to stop at this point to pick his nose - or push his brain back in, I'm not sure.
"People will think it's funny and then come in and I'll charge them £3, or £5 or maybe even £9.99".
Which, as I'm sure you'll agree, solves the problem. The idea of selling things at a price, of course, has never been done before.
It's a completely fresh idea.
"You should do it, Mr Crazy Man."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Parsnip."
Nic x
Did you not go to class today?
Anything Else | Sunday, 06 September | Respond
The other day I was cooking. I know to some of you it might be a shock, but you needn't worry too much because it was only pasta that required boiling for about 3 minutes, chucking in a bowl and then chucking at my family.
Only, of course, this being my house and my life - things aren't that simple.
My house has the worst example of saucepan design ever. As everyone knows, metal conducts heat. That's why saucepans are made of metal - the heat goes onto the bottom, and the water/milk/gravy etc.. inside warms up, cooking everything inside as well.
Now obviously, you wouldn't make a saucepan out of plastic. You'd end up with a version of Annie Robinson's face melted onto your cooker; you wouldn't make a saucepan out of wood because you'd end up with Michael Jackson's face scattered all over your cooker.
These are basic facts which I'm sure everyone who designs saucepans learns about at saucepan design school. I presume it might be entitled the "don't be a fucking idiot class."
Despite this, the designers of the saucepans I was using appeared to be paying little attention during this lesson, although they obviously borrowed the notes from their intelligent friend. They seem to have lost a page though, because they made a mistake.
They made the handles out of metal too.
Now, I'm not normally one to make assumptions - it's got me and many other people into so much trouble in the past - deserved or not - but I'm probably presuming that they photocopied the notes, and missed one of the backs of the pages - or maybe carrying it home, the wind blew and one of the sheets flew away - never to be discovered.
Maybe someone who didn't design saucepans got the sheet, and managed to increase their mark on a science GCSE paper they were re-taking.
Maybe they never found their way anywhere. Or, maybe, just maybe - the notes were never read, and were instead used to make a very unsuccessful line of saucepans.
I'm not sure we'll ever know.
Only, of course, this being my house and my life - things aren't that simple.
My house has the worst example of saucepan design ever. As everyone knows, metal conducts heat. That's why saucepans are made of metal - the heat goes onto the bottom, and the water/milk/gravy etc.. inside warms up, cooking everything inside as well.
Now obviously, you wouldn't make a saucepan out of plastic. You'd end up with a version of Annie Robinson's face melted onto your cooker; you wouldn't make a saucepan out of wood because you'd end up with Michael Jackson's face scattered all over your cooker.
These are basic facts which I'm sure everyone who designs saucepans learns about at saucepan design school. I presume it might be entitled the "don't be a fucking idiot class."
Despite this, the designers of the saucepans I was using appeared to be paying little attention during this lesson, although they obviously borrowed the notes from their intelligent friend. They seem to have lost a page though, because they made a mistake.
They made the handles out of metal too.
Now, I'm not normally one to make assumptions - it's got me and many other people into so much trouble in the past - deserved or not - but I'm probably presuming that they photocopied the notes, and missed one of the backs of the pages - or maybe carrying it home, the wind blew and one of the sheets flew away - never to be discovered.
Maybe someone who didn't design saucepans got the sheet, and managed to increase their mark on a science GCSE paper they were re-taking.
Maybe they never found their way anywhere. Or, maybe, just maybe - the notes were never read, and were instead used to make a very unsuccessful line of saucepans.
I'm not sure we'll ever know.
Massive human logic fail?
Rants! | Saturday, 05 September | Respond
Primarially, the role of a towel is to get wet. Quite an easy job when someone rubs you all over them when they're quite wet.
And then the towel dries. After several repeated uses, the towel is declared "dirty" - ok, maybe if you live with a man there'll be a few non-specific marks around the place - especially if you live with Nick - so what do we do?
We put it in the washing machine and get it wet.
Then we take it out and those lazy ones amongst us put it in the tumble dryer and get it dry. Then we put it back in the bathroom.
Is it just me seeing this logic fail here?
I don't think I'll ever understand some of the things this world has to offer.
And then the towel dries. After several repeated uses, the towel is declared "dirty" - ok, maybe if you live with a man there'll be a few non-specific marks around the place - especially if you live with Nick - so what do we do?
We put it in the washing machine and get it wet.
Then we take it out and those lazy ones amongst us put it in the tumble dryer and get it dry. Then we put it back in the bathroom.
Is it just me seeing this logic fail here?
I don't think I'll ever understand some of the things this world has to offer.
To do lists are eternal
Rants! | Friday, 04 September | Respond
Every time I've written a to do list I end up adding stupid things onto it which I know I am never going to achieve. The standard things are always on there - you know: get up, wash, eat, do things, text Nicky at about 12 when he decides it's time for morning to happen. And then I start getting silly.
"Wash, dry, and iron clothes."
I might as well put "find cure for cancer" on there, since I think it is actually impossible to do all three of these tasks in one day. There's a simple reason why it's impossible, though, in my case - and it's not just laziness. Sometimes, infact, it's actually not even anything to do with me making excuses.
Although I guess I'm probably just making excuses by saying that, I'm really not!
I start off with good intentions for my threesome, and after the most attentive of cavaliers has jumped into the basket and wagged her tail to say "yes, so I've done as is expected, now what? I haven't read the manual this far" several times, and I've removed I walk downstairs and find the washing machine is already engaged.
And it's always engaged with something I judge to be unimportant, such as towels.
But again, I have verbally taken a wrong turn and my dictionary is screaming "unidentified item in bagging area" at me; having waited for the washing machine to be free, I have snuck in ahead of my mother's consignment of dog basket blankets or some such and managed to slot in a quick 30.
Having done the mystical thing where the washing machine measures the weight of my washing and the small gerbil inside decides it will take several years to wash the items, yet still be more efficient than a machine that we previously had, I wonder off upstairs to get on with life and write things like this.
The three hours pass and I pop downstairs to take a look at the countdown on the screen. There are 7 minutes remaining. Always 7 minutes. It's like the god of washing machines loves the number seven. He probably has his alarm set to let him snooze for 7 minutes.
That's 2 longer than me, which is fine because I tend to ignore my alarm anyway and get up when I feel like it. These 7 minutes aren't right though. And do you know why?
Because the washing machine - throughout the rest of time and history - only counts down in 2s. And those 2s are all even numbers. And yet, still, somehow, the 7 minutes remain. Glowing there in their green glory.
Like a fire engine replacement service - not quite what you were expecting, but still just as irritating as they are necessary.
15 minutes later, the machine tells me it's done and I run downstairs upon hearing the noise which my mother says is the washing machine's language for "I'm done." I think it's just a bloody annoying noise possibly related to the god's alarm clock.
Quickly, I reach down and try to open the door - before I realise that actually, there's a lock and I have to wait. This period of time while waiting is best spent, obviously, standing looking at the machine and listening for the magic little clicking noise.
Any noise from the fish in next door's pond farting to a small earthquake in Zambia means it's time to check if the lock has opened. Finally, the door opens.
"I hope you're not going to put that in the tumble dryer, it's a nice day.".
The voice of npower's billing department is here. Open the back door goes, and out I go to put it all on the line. Various shouts of how I'm doing this wrong don't deter me, as I put pegs on seams willy nilly.
Approximately 15 minutes after that's all done, it starts to rain. I go outside to get the washing in, and I'm told that it all needs to go in the tumble dryer now or it will start to stink.
You can see why from just this rather less than brief extract why it's impossible to get these tasks all accomplished in one go and why instead of achieving all of these tasks I decided coming here and telling you about it was the most important and probably best course of action for all of our sanities and, indeed, world peace. Indeed. And I bet you thought this was going to be a dull tale about to do lists, didn't you?
Ahahah.
"Wash, dry, and iron clothes."
I might as well put "find cure for cancer" on there, since I think it is actually impossible to do all three of these tasks in one day. There's a simple reason why it's impossible, though, in my case - and it's not just laziness. Sometimes, infact, it's actually not even anything to do with me making excuses.
Although I guess I'm probably just making excuses by saying that, I'm really not!
I start off with good intentions for my threesome, and after the most attentive of cavaliers has jumped into the basket and wagged her tail to say "yes, so I've done as is expected, now what? I haven't read the manual this far" several times, and I've removed I walk downstairs and find the washing machine is already engaged.
And it's always engaged with something I judge to be unimportant, such as towels.
But again, I have verbally taken a wrong turn and my dictionary is screaming "unidentified item in bagging area" at me; having waited for the washing machine to be free, I have snuck in ahead of my mother's consignment of dog basket blankets or some such and managed to slot in a quick 30.
Having done the mystical thing where the washing machine measures the weight of my washing and the small gerbil inside decides it will take several years to wash the items, yet still be more efficient than a machine that we previously had, I wonder off upstairs to get on with life and write things like this.
The three hours pass and I pop downstairs to take a look at the countdown on the screen. There are 7 minutes remaining. Always 7 minutes. It's like the god of washing machines loves the number seven. He probably has his alarm set to let him snooze for 7 minutes.
That's 2 longer than me, which is fine because I tend to ignore my alarm anyway and get up when I feel like it. These 7 minutes aren't right though. And do you know why?
Because the washing machine - throughout the rest of time and history - only counts down in 2s. And those 2s are all even numbers. And yet, still, somehow, the 7 minutes remain. Glowing there in their green glory.
Like a fire engine replacement service - not quite what you were expecting, but still just as irritating as they are necessary.
15 minutes later, the machine tells me it's done and I run downstairs upon hearing the noise which my mother says is the washing machine's language for "I'm done." I think it's just a bloody annoying noise possibly related to the god's alarm clock.
Quickly, I reach down and try to open the door - before I realise that actually, there's a lock and I have to wait. This period of time while waiting is best spent, obviously, standing looking at the machine and listening for the magic little clicking noise.
Any noise from the fish in next door's pond farting to a small earthquake in Zambia means it's time to check if the lock has opened. Finally, the door opens.
"I hope you're not going to put that in the tumble dryer, it's a nice day.".
The voice of npower's billing department is here. Open the back door goes, and out I go to put it all on the line. Various shouts of how I'm doing this wrong don't deter me, as I put pegs on seams willy nilly.
Approximately 15 minutes after that's all done, it starts to rain. I go outside to get the washing in, and I'm told that it all needs to go in the tumble dryer now or it will start to stink.
You can see why from just this rather less than brief extract why it's impossible to get these tasks all accomplished in one go and why instead of achieving all of these tasks I decided coming here and telling you about it was the most important and probably best course of action for all of our sanities and, indeed, world peace. Indeed. And I bet you thought this was going to be a dull tale about to do lists, didn't you?
Ahahah.
A bloody fun new toy
Reviews - TV, Book and Internet | Thursday, 03 September | Respond
Anyone who knows me knows I love a bloody good gadget - anything that shines, sparkles, flashes or glows blue will grab my attention and make me come running to you with glee going "gimme, gimme, gimme".
And this new toy that I've had just over a week now is not any different - it's called an e-pen, and I've already told some of you about it. Those ones of you who spend your life around me, in reality, rather than read this via RSS. And those of you who don't know are already going "I'm sorry, what is this e-pen you speak of?"
Essentially, it's a pen. You take notes with it like you would anything else. You're sat in a meeting listening to someone talk about the problems with having moss in an open area, and you're writing about it. Not really paying attention, but you know you're there to take notes.
Only difference is, at the top of the page there's a little black box attached to the very centre of the page. A tiny little box which has a LCD screen on it and a special button. It's within this box that the magic happens.
The pen itself is also slightly different - a reasonably chunky device that's not horrible to use, especially for someone like me who has actual scrawl for handwriting and so doesn't really see any difference between pens and their 'ease of use' as some people who understand how the formation of an 'e' occurs might.
And no, I'm talking about the letter.
What you do then, is place the little black box in the centre of the page you're going to write on. Litterally any piece of paper up to A4 size will do. Make sure the sensor is turned on, and start writing; in my case, start scribbling little pictures of people committing suicide because their notes aren't actually readable.
Want to do another page? Simple. Place the pen somewhere out of sight of the little device (just behind will do), press the button on the device, detatch it from the page, fetch a fresh piece and attach the box again. Continue writing. Rinse. And Repeat.
Once you're done, press the button for 3 seconds and the device will switch off. Pop the pen and the device back in its box (or a box of your choice), and be on your way. When you get home, connect the device to your computer using a mini USB cable and give it a boost charge while you open the Mobile Notes package and press 'upload'.
It grabs the notes and asks if you want to delete them from the black box. There's no reason you wouldn't want to do this really unless you wanted to upload the notes onto another computer, I guess.
And you've got an organised, recorded version of your notes which are editable and printable. Of course, in my case they're not readable - but you can't help that.
The other little clever feature is that it comes with handwriting recognition software - so you can have a reasonable accurate typed version to hand quite easily. My aunty, who's discovery this device was, has handwriting which can be read - and it converted in front of my eyes some notes she'd taken with relative ease. There were only a few places where corrections were needed and these were on letters that do look the same. My Rs for example, look like Vs.
All in all a very clever little device which from what I can see gets two reactions, in order, every time - from reasonably technically minded people.
"Ah that'll work by having a sensor and then transfering it by infra red. That's been done before"
That is quickly followed by a realisation that it then wouldn't know where I was on the page, etc.. and it just knows. It is very clever - it's using ordinary paper! How does it have a clue? It doesn't.
"Oh that's very clever. Is it expensive?"
And you'll be glad to know, it really isn't. You can buy it here!
And this new toy that I've had just over a week now is not any different - it's called an e-pen, and I've already told some of you about it. Those ones of you who spend your life around me, in reality, rather than read this via RSS. And those of you who don't know are already going "I'm sorry, what is this e-pen you speak of?"
Essentially, it's a pen. You take notes with it like you would anything else. You're sat in a meeting listening to someone talk about the problems with having moss in an open area, and you're writing about it. Not really paying attention, but you know you're there to take notes.
Only difference is, at the top of the page there's a little black box attached to the very centre of the page. A tiny little box which has a LCD screen on it and a special button. It's within this box that the magic happens.
The pen itself is also slightly different - a reasonably chunky device that's not horrible to use, especially for someone like me who has actual scrawl for handwriting and so doesn't really see any difference between pens and their 'ease of use' as some people who understand how the formation of an 'e' occurs might.
And no, I'm talking about the letter.
What you do then, is place the little black box in the centre of the page you're going to write on. Litterally any piece of paper up to A4 size will do. Make sure the sensor is turned on, and start writing; in my case, start scribbling little pictures of people committing suicide because their notes aren't actually readable.
Want to do another page? Simple. Place the pen somewhere out of sight of the little device (just behind will do), press the button on the device, detatch it from the page, fetch a fresh piece and attach the box again. Continue writing. Rinse. And Repeat.
Once you're done, press the button for 3 seconds and the device will switch off. Pop the pen and the device back in its box (or a box of your choice), and be on your way. When you get home, connect the device to your computer using a mini USB cable and give it a boost charge while you open the Mobile Notes package and press 'upload'.
It grabs the notes and asks if you want to delete them from the black box. There's no reason you wouldn't want to do this really unless you wanted to upload the notes onto another computer, I guess.
And you've got an organised, recorded version of your notes which are editable and printable. Of course, in my case they're not readable - but you can't help that.
The other little clever feature is that it comes with handwriting recognition software - so you can have a reasonable accurate typed version to hand quite easily. My aunty, who's discovery this device was, has handwriting which can be read - and it converted in front of my eyes some notes she'd taken with relative ease. There were only a few places where corrections were needed and these were on letters that do look the same. My Rs for example, look like Vs.
All in all a very clever little device which from what I can see gets two reactions, in order, every time - from reasonably technically minded people.
"Ah that'll work by having a sensor and then transfering it by infra red. That's been done before"
That is quickly followed by a realisation that it then wouldn't know where I was on the page, etc.. and it just knows. It is very clever - it's using ordinary paper! How does it have a clue? It doesn't.
"Oh that's very clever. Is it expensive?"
And you'll be glad to know, it really isn't. You can buy it here!
PICS: The festival wash out
As Time Goes By | Wednesday, 02 September | Respond
Back in 2007 I was still a part of the Rubery Festival and, well, let's just say it was rather wet. I found some pictures in a clear out of exactly how wet it was - and also got a reminder of the conversation I had with someone about the Marks and Spencer lorry.
"Could you just move that please, it's in the way?"
"Well, we could do - but I reckon it'll sink"
"It'll be fine, don't worry about it - I need it moved."
"Ok"
Then the lorry sank. Hahaha. Nice.
"Could you just move that please, it's in the way?"
"Well, we could do - but I reckon it'll sink"
"It'll be fine, don't worry about it - I need it moved."
"Ok"
Then the lorry sank. Hahaha. Nice.
6: And man must have his mate
As Time Goes By | Tuesday, 01 September | Respond
PART SIX I don’t like saying bye, and in this case – I don’t want to say bye because I think it would be better for people to realise why I’ve gone, and why I needed to. The whole reason that I need to say bye is this lack of understanding, and if I said bye, they’d never understand.
Which they already do, if they look deep down inside themselves.
In one particular case, I had to tell the person this before refusing to say goodbye and telling them to “fuck off, then”. In a nice way, of course. Because otherwise they’d have won, and I’d have said goodbye.
I’m not sure now they realize that I really am gone from their lives – and I won’t be back.
Every time I talk about this moving on, I can’t help but smile. It makes me grin, ear to ear. Moving on from this stuck in a hole life where Costa has given you less and less idea of how big the world actually is.
So these little junctions are interesting times. And some of the problems are common. I am still content that a lot of people do not know that I have gone; sometimes people don’t need to know everything.
Apart from one thing: people need to know themselves, and if the past year has taught me anything at all apart from how to work 70 hour weeks and how to despair at the number of times girls need to go to the toilet, chat, and re-apply their make up, it’s that I know myself quite incredibly well.
Even deep down at the times when you think you have no idea where you’re going – your subconscious has made decisions for you that will affect you for ages. Quite often, I think it’s best to make decisions about these things without putting too much effort on them
If you make a decision that will affect a long period of your life consciously – you’re going to over think it, and by doing that you’re going to make a decision you CAN regret – because it’s one you’ve made in the part of your brain that matters.
Remember, as I now will, that there is always someone looking after you. That person is you, but it works best when you don’t do it actively. I find that’s best with life, to be honest.
Which they already do, if they look deep down inside themselves.
In one particular case, I had to tell the person this before refusing to say goodbye and telling them to “fuck off, then”. In a nice way, of course. Because otherwise they’d have won, and I’d have said goodbye.
I’m not sure now they realize that I really am gone from their lives – and I won’t be back.
Every time I talk about this moving on, I can’t help but smile. It makes me grin, ear to ear. Moving on from this stuck in a hole life where Costa has given you less and less idea of how big the world actually is.
So these little junctions are interesting times. And some of the problems are common. I am still content that a lot of people do not know that I have gone; sometimes people don’t need to know everything.
Apart from one thing: people need to know themselves, and if the past year has taught me anything at all apart from how to work 70 hour weeks and how to despair at the number of times girls need to go to the toilet, chat, and re-apply their make up, it’s that I know myself quite incredibly well.
Even deep down at the times when you think you have no idea where you’re going – your subconscious has made decisions for you that will affect you for ages. Quite often, I think it’s best to make decisions about these things without putting too much effort on them
If you make a decision that will affect a long period of your life consciously – you’re going to over think it, and by doing that you’re going to make a decision you CAN regret – because it’s one you’ve made in the part of your brain that matters.
Remember, as I now will, that there is always someone looking after you. That person is you, but it works best when you don’t do it actively. I find that’s best with life, to be honest.
