Bad Wank
Net firms in music pirates deal
Six of the UK’s biggest net providers have agreed a plan with the music industry to tackle piracy online.
The deal, negotiated by the government, will see hundreds of thousands of letters sent to net users suspected of illegally sharing music.
Hard core file-sharers could see their broadband connections slowed, under measures proposed by the UK government.
BT, Virgin, Orange, Tiscali, BSkyB and Carphone Warehouse have all signed up.
Geoff Taylor, chief executive of the BPI, which represents the music industry, said: “All of the major ISPs in the UK now recognise they have a responsibility to deal with illegal file-sharers on their networks.”
Mr Taylor said it had taken years to persuade ISPs to adopt this view.
The plan commits the firms to working towards a “significant reduction” in the illegal sharing of music.
It also commits the net firms to develop legal music services. “Conversations are ongoing between record labels and ISPs,” said Mr Taylor.
Letters to pirates
The BPI has focused on educational efforts and limited legal action in recent years, in contrast to the US, which has embarked on tens of thousands of lawsuits against alleged file sharers.
The six internet service providers have signed a Memorandum of Understanding drawn up by the Department for Business, Enterprise & Regulatory Reform (BERR).
The Motion Picture Association of America has also signed up.
The BPI said the memoranum covered consumers who were both uploading and downloading music.
Mr Taylor said: “The focus is on people sharing files illegally; there is not an acceptable level of file-sharing. Musicians need to be paid like everyone else.”
He added: “File-sharing (of copyright tracks without permission) is not anonymous, it is not secret, it is against the law.”
At the same time the government has started a consultation exercise that could result in laws that force net firms to tackle music piracy. A working group will be set up under the auspices of regulator Ofcom to look at effective measures to tackle persistant file-sharers.
Mr Taylor said newspaper reports stating that online users could be subject to an annual levy to cover losses from file-sharing were incorrect.
“A levy is not an issue under discussion. It has not been discussed between us and government and as far as we are aware it is not on the table.”
He said: “There should be effective mechanisms in place (to deter file-sharing) and as long as they are effective, we don’t mind what they are.”
The consultation document proposed that hard core file-sharers could have technical measures imposed, such as “traffic management or filtering and marking of legitimate content to facilitate identification”.
In the past few weeks net firms Virgin and BT have sent letters to some customers identified by the BPI, which represents the UK record industry, as persistent music pirates.
‘Long process’
Before now the BPI has called for a “three-strikes” system which would see net connections of persistent pirates terminated if three warnings went ignored.
Many net firms have resisted the call from the BPI and have said it is not their job to act as policemen.
Feargal Sharkey, chief executive of British Music Rights, said the plan was “a first step, and a very big step, in what we all acknowledge is going to be quite a long process”.
Mr Sharkey, formerly lead singer with The Undertones added: “Government, particularly in the UK, has now realised there is an issue, there is a problem there.”
One BBC News website user Mark, from Hampshire, said he downloaded and shared files illegally and argued customers were “getting their own back”.
In an e-mail, he said: “I used to run half a dozen record shops in the 80s and saw how far the fat cats of the record industry would go, in milking customers and retailers dry with more hyped rubbish.”
“Why should I yet again pay for, say, the Beatles’ White Album at full whack? I already bought it on LP, eight-track, cassette, and CD! This is those customers getting their own back.”
“So will this make me sharing a CD with my next-door neighbour over the fence illegal?” he added.
Floods Two
Actually, ‘er, over there somewhere, has gotten off very lightly. She merely lost her water supply for a few short hours due to a small supply malfunctions, unlike I, who along with the good people of Tewkesbury, Cheltenham and surrounding areas, and the chavs of Gloucester are in the full hard-on grip of the total no-water situation. I say no-water, but there’s loads of the bloomin’ stuff. It’s falling out of the sky right now, as though it’s not rained all summer.
I have to endure more horrid sponge baths than is right, or normal. I’m not camping, I’m not at a festival! If I where I’d have the brain-deadening effects of beer to enjoy and thus wouldn’t worry too much about some greasy hair or slightly whiffy pits (they’re not, btw!).
I* have to seek out fresh bottled water supplies, and queue for the freebies or pay stoopid amounts of money for water. Incidentally I hate bottled water and all that the industry stands for. But right now, I do really fucking love it.
It’s I* who has to hunt for water in bowsers, and then fight of other grumpy gits complaining about my taking of said water. Finding a bowser that actually has water in it is quite an achievement in and of itself, due to the wonderful cuntyflap kids who think it’s a great laugh to empty the fucking things.
I’m the one who is slightly concerned about the amount of water that somehow is getting through to my ceiling, and then dripping on my head. That’s not a good way to wake up although it is very effective.
I‘m not the one who has lost carpets, or furniture, or precious photographs, or important documents, or a home, or loved ones due to flood waters pouring into my house. I may be a little bit damp, and quite wet about the situation, but I’m very lucky.
*Possibly not the entire truth, but you don’t need to know that. Just didn’t want to be outed as a big fat liar by herself.
_Bea Whale
Tags: Gloucester+Floods, Woe, Sponge+bath, bowser, cuntyflaps
Slippage
Oh yes, this is quite an innocent story that started out so well with good intentions but ended in peril.
We didn't really give our new years resolutions a chance to get off the ground, as by the time we'd got our act together all the evening classes of pretty much everything had already started. Shame on us.
Anyway, not put off by this, we decided to "go and get fit" up Robinswood Hill this weekend. It's a smashing place to go, and thankfully the pole thingy on the top was not a mobile phone mast, as we were debating on the way up (it was some jubilee beacon, for those interested).
So, sturdy boots applied in the car park we set off and immediately get distracted by a boomerang stuck in a bush and tried to rescue it. Unsuccessfully. We decided that we needed a big stick to poke at it if we were to stand any chance of getting at it without having our eyes ripped out by thorns.
Meanwhile, we then had a choice of paths to take to the summit; some more robust that others. We democratically came to the conclusion that it might be best to stick to the man-made path and christened it the Ray Mears path. Failure to stick to this path might lead to having to live on Robinswood Hill and eat worms (after Whale's supply of mints and my packet of Frosties had run out).
It was a lovely day and the views across Gloucester got better and better the higher up (and further away from the chavvyness) we got. We got completely flummoxed by a backwards-stylee kissing gate and were very glad that nobody saw us wrestling with it before realising it had to go t'other way. D'oh. After that, it was just a short climb to the top and we were rewarded with panoramic views as far as The Malverns and beyond. A short debate about where the M5 was later, and we decided to make our descent.
This was where it got tricky. It may have been a lovely day outside, but the paths were just pure mud. You could see in the tracks all the people who'd slipped on their arse previously and we resigned ourselves to the fact that it might happen. And it did. Stupidly enough, it wasn't in any of the steep areas – just a flat-ish bit where we'd got complacent. (I say we, but I managed to remain on my feet – a fact Whale shook her fist at me about) But you had to laugh, especially when she realised she'd put her hand down in some rabbit poo. Oh deary dear.
I had to make her sit on my coat when we'd got back to the car as she was pretty much plastered in mud. The option of going straight to the pub was diminishing, as I think Café Rene wouldn't appreciate us shedding mud all over their carpet afternoon/evening. By the time we got to the pub, we'd worked up quite a thirst and were ready for some Black Rat – probably undoing all the good that we'd done. But meh.
Tags: Exercise, Walk, RobinswoodHill, Gloucester, RayMears, TheMalverns, M5, mud, slippage, CafeRene, BlackRat
Damn you, lino!
I've just completely fwapped up 40 quids worth of lino. In hindsight, I should have just got a man in, but I woke up today feeling so positive about everything that I decided to tackle it myself.
I'd built a house before! I didn't think I'd get beaten by a bit of lino.
Bugger.
If you let your eyes go all screwy and in slight darkness, it doesn't look quite so bad. Will have to ban guests from going to the toilet during the day, and just take out the light bulbs at night. Simple.
-moosh
Failed
Yep, I failed miserably at not having my name called out in the departure lounge. Again.
At Bristol Airport, I made sure that I was absolutely on time, went into the departure lounge instead of drinking vodka and got onto the plane with no troubles. However, at Edinburgh Airport, despite being there 2 hours before the flight and having possibly one of the crappiest meals ever in the Wetherspoon's pub upstairs, I *was* in the departure lounge in plenty of time but they still called my name.
In my defence, boarding time was 8.30pm for a 9pm flight. I was faffing about with my bag at about 8.20pm when I heard them call for boarding. Not even 5 minutes later they were calling my name asking me to go to the gate immediately. Baaaah! Those cattle-herders Easyjet just wanted us on the plane asap. I was duly herded onto the plane where we sat for a good 20 minutes before they could even shut the doors. *humpf*
I think I can honestly say that I've been in a bit of a day-dreaming kind of a world for the past couple of weeks. Driving back from the airport, listening to the upbeat chirpyness that is Verka Serduchka (who says westeners don't get her/him?!), I managed to miss my turning on the motorway. Not unusual you might say, but this was my home turn off. One I know very well. Tut tut. What is wrong with me?! Only last week I was driving to work, but it wasn't until I was about 3 miles off course that I realised I was on completely the wrong road. Honestly. I'll be turning up to work in my slippers next.
On a more scary note, chatting to the Scottish director (yes, that one) about blogging he casually mentions that he hasn't been able to find this one (eeeek!). We'd been chatting about myspace and blogging last time I was up there. If any posts suddenly go missing…you'll know I've done some hefty editing 😉
-moosh
Tags: Edinburgh+Airport, Verka+Serduchka
A distinct lack
Yes, that sums it up really – there has been a distinct lack of posting over the festive season. Partly because I've had the cold from hell, and partly because I haven't been in the country – so I can be excused, really I can.
Anyway – I'm about to make up for it, working chronologically backwards until I've caught up with myself.
p.s. To the person who put "i wank with my mate" into a search engine and got our site….jolly well done to you.
This week
This week I have mainly been gnashing my teeth at Americans, burning cake, drinking champagne and eating really shit food.
My reasons for Yank bashing are very justified. I work in IT. I don't know why I do, it's certainly not for the recognition or any kind of appreciation 😉 Anyway, for my sins I wrote some software for the all the UK offices of "weird community charity" where I work. This then got noticed by the USA branch and they thought it was great and wanted it. They promised a trip to New York, and buckets of kudos for just a few minor changes *cough*
Weeks later, I'm still not finished because they change the spec (said in the loosest possible way) weekly and don't really know what they actually want. Well, that's not totally true – they know what they don't want – and that's what the UK system has as it "doesn't work for their way of working". So I'm having to re-write the system, email them "is this what you meant" and getting a "well, gee whizz we could really use a blah blah something we hadn't thought of before" followed swiftly by "why isn't this finished yet?"
Aaarrrghhhhhmotherfuckingfwapbumwankyarsejobtitcumgoatse.
Never work with kids, animals or Americans. I'm also glad that the trip to NY is off, as I may just knee them in the 'nads if I went over right now.
On a more positive note – the cake and champagne was due to it being exactly a year since I signed my life away to a 30 year mortgage. The cake just refused to cook and so just burnt itself on the outside whilst still managing to be squidgy on the inside. Well, thankfully I'm not planning on changing my career to Top Chef anytime soon. In fact trolley collecting in Tesco's actually seems like it would be a lovely, peaceful job right now.
Thank goodness there was champagne to soak up the uncooked cake that's all I can say.
Tags: Yank+bashing, champagne, mortgage
Mitey big problem
(Long post – if I could shrink it down on the main page, I would do so, but I can’t as far as I know.)
Ever obsessively stared at any tiny speck to see if it moves, before attempting to squish it?
Or investigated every little tickle or itch you feel on your skin just to see if something visible is the cause?
Ever dreaded going to your own bedroom and instead spent the night on the sofa? (married folk need not answer that one.)
I have. And if it hadn’t been for Biffovision’s latest post, I probably would’ve taken a lot longer to detangle this post from of my head and onto this blog.
About two weeks ago I was having my falling-asleep time disturbed by an itchy forehead. It was just a little niggle that was keeping me from dropping off into la-la land in bed, and I didn’t pay that much attention. For some reason my head was far more irritated by my out-growing fringe then normal, and as I had nothing else to suspect I put it down to some sort of hyper-sensitivity brought on by the anti-histamines I’d recently bought, that was my logic. If only that had by the cause, the past few days would’ve been far more pleasant.
On Friday 2nd, I met up with a couple of folks from a localish online group. I’d never met these people before but everything seemed to go well, and I didn’t embarrass myself in public which made a nice change. Saturday night was spent feeling a little more hysterical and freaked out. The itchy was more noticeable, perhaps because I was tired from the night before, or maybe because the real cause had gotten a little worse. On one of my trips the bathroom, I noticed something move in my hair. I tried to get as close to the mirror as possible and saw a small black thing move out of sight in my hair. Oh shit, I’ve got nits! Was my immediate reaction. I stripped off all my bedding and replaced it before booting up the laptop to investigate head lice. Nits are simply empty egg casing, the thing that makes you itch is the saliva of the adult louse which has supped on your blood. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how I might have got them. I couldn’t have picked them up the night before as I was feeling the need to scratch for a few days beforehand. I was seeing the tiny monsters on my pillow and after peering at them closely, I squished them and very satisfying that was too. But they didn’t look like the pictures I saw on Google Images. In fact they looked more like dust mites, but they couldn’t be dust mites as they were microscopic, so said one site. My eyesight can’t be that good?! I also discounted the fleetingly-terrifying thought that they might be bed bugs. I tried to sleep, but mostly failed.
In the morning I quietly harassed my dad into buying some head lice lotion. After a wait that seemed to go on forever, he returned with a small bottle and a nit comb and I promptly commandeered the bathroom. I read the instructions but then just forgot about them and proceed to apply the oily lotion to wet hair when it should have been dry. The combing out took ages and others were getting more and more vocal about my long stay inside the bathroom. I grabbed a clean towel that had been lying around my room and used that to dry my now supposedly bug-free hair. I was still feeling the itchiness, but I put that down to my own paranoia cos they had to be all dead now. I was told on more than one occasion during the day to stop looking in the mirror to see if there was anything there, for no one else could see the tiny things, but then I learnt the biggest lesson of this whole sorry saga that my eyesight is pretty damn good and everyone else’s in this house is rubbish.
On Monday I’d decided that they weren’t head lice cos I was still scratching and they were appearing in other parts of my room. Plus I read on some website that head lice can’t transfer from furniture or pillows to peeps, and the critters I was being invaded by moved bloody quick, so that didn’t make sense. I set about having a large tidy up, which included mass washing of anything that could be washed and hoovering that which couldn’t. My curtains and net curtain were covered in the wee beasties and I found them crawling all over my exercise bike – sadly the result of which I haven’t been on it for a while. That’s my excuse anyway. They were also in proliferation around my window, and I hit upon the bright idea of using hot, soapy water to remove them. Which worked a treat, so long as you had the cloth-face flat, with no crinkles or wrinkles in it, as you would soon find several of them walking quickly up your arm. I’d gotten it into my head that I was dealing with mutant dust mites, but they far more sensible inner me was saying that was rubbish, but that they were probably a mite. that night, whilst lying in bed, paranoid about every little speck of dust, grit and what-have-you, the highly logical division of my brain kicked into gear. They’re probably are bird mites, as they match the description and pictures I’d seen online during my frequent investigations. The fact that bird’s have nested in the guttering above my window for years and that I have my window for the most part of the year would also tie up how this infestation came to be. A little voice piped up and before long a whole chorus was chanting in my head: Shut The Window! So I did.
Tuesday was spent further delving into the world of the bird mite and I learnt some scary things. I haven’t noticed being bitten, just them crawling over my skin and in my hair. By now I was fed up with it all and just wanted someone to take away the problem for me. he lack of sleep wasn’t helping to ease the constant paranoia. Somehow, by he miracle that is the internet, I found a possible solution. (Incidentally, hsdOnline.co.uk are fantastic for dealing with all sorts of pesty problems.) So I ordered two fog fumers and two litre bottles of Protector C. Then once the order was processed, I read that orders placed before noon would be delivered the next day. It was past noon, closer to 3pm by that time. I despaired at the thought of having to deal with this problem for days on end. I wanted MY room back. It’s supposed to be my sanctuary, away from everyone else and their noise and fag smoke, somewhere I can read, listen to music, fart in private. But it wasn’t. It was occupied by others and I got the feeling they just didn’t appreciate the décor. I spent that night on the sofa, and got some sleep much to my surprise.
Around midday on Wednesday there was a delivery. And I was over the moon. After a little more hoovering, I lit the foggy and retired to spend another night on the sofa. Thursday was spent tip toeing around my room on the look out for dead things and there were lots of them. I hoovered some more, sprayed copiously and rehung my curtains. I was feeling a lot happier, but still wary. Before I hung the curtains back up, I sprayed vast quantities around the window frame and then had the bright idea to spray around the outside of the window. This was less then inspired due to the wind blowing a good deal of the spray right back into my face and my room, bringing along with it some of the mites. I did spy a large group of them on the brick work and the got a blasting from the insecticide. I didn’t reopen my window though, and spent the hot days mostly avoiding my room. Not being in a oven-like bedroom is preferable to having a power-and-money-hungry fan on full blast all day long.
I’d order a bigger quantity of the liquid annihilator, and that too surprised me by turning up the next day. Dad’s task this past Saturday was to fetch his ladder from the old workshop and the scramble up there to remove the bird’s nests and spray anything and everything he could. But he saw no nests to remove, which is odd so instead sprayed the insecticide about copiously. It didn’t rain for about a day and a half which is probably more than enough time for any parasites to kick the bucket. I still haven’t re-opened my window, as I’m not certain. The second fogging will take place tonight, so that means another night on the sofa for me. But I don’t mind. I’m just hoping that this is the end of the troubles. I’m NOT saying it is, because that would be inviting Sod’s Law to take a stand and laugh at me mockingly. I’m merely hoping and wishing and all that sorta thing.
-whale
Little Mistakes
I could have done without experiencing that week. Far too many little annoyances that have made me swear, scream and make some very angry faces.
Monday night there was a power cut in the local area; it was late and I was safely tucked up in bed, listening to music. I was a tad miffed at the loss of my evening audio entertainment but otherwise not bothered. It’s not the end of the world to lose power for 15-20 minutes. Unless it fucks up your internet connection in the process.
I called the isp, and received no assistance, which was a first as they’re usually very good with the helpful advice and problem solving. I was alone with my problem *sob*. I came to the conclusion late on Tuesday afternoon that perhaps the pc had been somehow corrupted in the power cut and thus the router wasn’t being recognised. So, that night I started the tedious process of reinstalling Windows, again! One day I’ll figure out that this isn’t the way to fix problems.
Wednesday brought many reboots of the pc, cable modem and router and cable jiggling which solved nowt. I however reached an important ratiocination: if there wasn’t a probably with the modem and pc bits it must, by deduction, be the router bit. More swearing followed in trying to unplug the cable out of the back of the pc that lead to the aforementioned suspected faulty equipment. It’s a tricky bugger, for some reason. It merely added to the high levels of frustration that I was already feeling.
Having struggled with more cables, and another reboot I discovered what a 10Mb download speed should feel like. The woo! moment didn’t last, despite the fabulously quick web page loading. I may have wasted a little time in doing nonessential, not-working-to-fix-the-problem type of stuff, but after the reinstall, I did have to go through the lengthy process of downloading and updating anything Windows-esque, and installing all those fabulous little programs that I like to clutter up the computer with. Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to shrink my unread Bloglines list – I fear that’s now a war I shall never win, I stopped trying to fight the battle some time ago. Thankfully I had concentrated hard enough to hunt down the troubleshooting page for the router. Which was probably the best move I’d made in a few days. I realisation that I could fix everything with a tiny, hidden button delivered a bigger woo moment than seeing the BBC homepage load in the blink of an eye. Who knew there was a reset button there?! It wasn’t pictured in any diagram amongst the setup instructions, and was only mentioned in a general, passing kind of way in the manual. I’d only wasted the day doing nothing important whilst waiting on important things, it could have been worse.
Cables reinstated, reset complete, reboot done, I thought normal service could now resume. Craply, my brother’s pc wouldn’t reconnect so I had to faff around with the placement of the router and various settings which had bugger all effect on his wireless pc and this laptop. I was far too angsty, tired and generally pissed off with the lot of it, following a mostly sleepless night and more hormones than I actually like roaming freely around my system. I’ve spent all day today rebooting every time the connection disappeared into thin air, and I probably shouldn’t have tried logging on IRC at all, but I was being optimistic that the problem would sort its self out, and that I might have a conversation with someone.
I did the final reset & reboot about an hour ago and, crucially, ensured all the settings were more or less how they were before the mild inconvenience at the start of the week. Thus I write this from reasonable comfort, although not bed, which is where I really should be. The fool that I am.
Not again, please!
I’m not a fan of this end of the year. (Can’t say the beginning nor middle hold any particular thrill for me either.) It’s not simply because of a certain hijacked pagan celebration, but it doesn’t help that it is coupled with the other depression-inducing events such as the turning of the year, the birthdays, the short, grey days. I’m not a SAD-type, but I am a sad git.
I have one friend who isn’t religious in the slightest but loves Christmas and feels it’s her duty to force some festive spirit into me. It won’t work. I don’t cope well with being forced to be merry, but then who does?
I did used to like tinsel, and sparkling lights (in moderation!) and the odd mince pie, but that was last year. All merriment has totally passed me by this time around. A few years ago, when mum was first in hospital, I fully swung into the spirit of the season, baking chrimbo cake and mince pies, enthusiastically decorating and generally taking charge of everything. It all fell flat when no one was impressed by my efforts; other thoughts were at the top of the agenda and my nest-making wasn’t noticed.
Shopping: I hate it. Pretty much all year round, with or without others in tow. Online shopping whilst relatively toe-crushingly free has its limitations, like added postage costs or having to wait ages to get the item that you actually need right now, only to find out two weeks later that they’re all sold out.
Real world shopping is far worse when you have company. By myself I can meander and linger as I please. I don’t have to inform anyone of my whereabouts, I don’t have to stand around waiting for someone else whilst they stare at something similar to which they were staring at three minutes ago. I don’t have to try on every shoe/top/skirt in the shop. I rarely ask anyone else’s opinion on whether or not I should buy a specific item, and I completely avoid the dreaded ‘how do I look?’ quizzing.
Having spent my entire life in such a puny city, travelling to a Proper City to engage in the torture known as shopping is frankly a massive shock to the system. Last year I was dragged around Birmingham for the first time and successfully avoided being trampled on, lost in the crowd and spending any money, all despite the best efforts of my companions. I was, however, scolded like a child to which the only appropriate action to take in response was to sulk, which I did quietly, to myself. I’ve really lost the knack of that.
For possibly the first in a very long time, if ever, I have an almost packed diary. But it only lasts 4 days. Tomorrow shall be the 2nd Annual Pre-Christmas Farmers Market Shopping Trip; followed by the far less interesting and intensely annoying dash around the local Asda. I shall be grumpy and my feet sore by evening time, but then I’m to have a meal with my festive-loving friend. Something Italian, I think, which in this city doesn’t mean much. During proceedings I shall be presented with my Christmas card, birthday card and birthday/Christmas present, expect it isn’t a birthday gift any more. The law has been laid down and I’m only to accept it in homage to the three kings and their gift-bearing. Which is a bugger. I fail to see why I should be forced to take part in a festival that is part of a religion that I don’t believe in. But that’s just nitpicking, cos the whole religion bit has been sucked out of Christmas, which suits retailers and my friend, and my brother, who likes nothing more than to show off how much of a disposable income he has by buying extravagantly expressive presents for everyone.
Chance of alcohol consumption?: 50%.
Saturday will require more walking around shops, but there is a glorious break to the monotony of shopping with a lunch enjoyed in the company of a far more festively-sensible friend. (To that person: yes, the week has dragged on, but it’s almost over!!)
Chance of alcohol consumption?: pretty much guaranteed, but in limited quantities. Walking home and restricted funds force the matter.
Sunday, is well, yeah, that day. I’m going to try to spend as much of it in bed. I predict that I’ll be described as a Scrooge at least once by my brother; and I will be generally under-whelmed by presents, food and tv and shall look forward to going back to bed. Unless I do something very unpredictable, from the family’s point of view anyway, and leave the house. I’m sure that a walk around in empty streets will suit me better.
Chance of alcohol consumption?: it’s a given that sherry and wine will be supped. English Breakfast Tea to start; sherry at 11am; the wine with dinner, and after dinner; maybe a coffee at some point; beer perhaps in the evening; water, water and water again at 5am-ish.
Monday brings a trip down to Somerset to spend the majority of the day with the aunts and uncles, and perhaps a cousin or two. I suspect that a cold buffet and masses of wine, mulled or homemade, will be offered. Hugs, stories and memories, coughs and colds and laughs will also be shared.
Chance of alcohol consumption?: pft! Ridiculous question.
Tuesday I’m planning a day off, for my liver.
My excuse
I know. I’ve been bad; I’ve been quiet. I promised something, and I’ve failed to deliver. Shame on me. The wedding post is still in production. *cough* Moving on…
At the very start of my online absence, a month ago, I had a very good excuse for the silence. I was ill. I believe this was something of a self-induced cold, if that’s at all possible. It started on a Sunday night; I was happily engrossed in a natural history programme on BBC2 when out of nowhere a hideous object floated across the screen. I, naturally, screamed; well, yelled might be closer to the mark.
It was one of THEM!
In my room!
Oh no, not again.
Three times I tried and failed to squish the thing with the mop I had at the ready. To say I was on edge, scared and fretful would be understating it. At about midnight I gave up on the game of hide and seek, which I was losing in spectacle fashion – I can see the point of minimalist living now. Trying to track down an ugly, erratically-flying, admittedly harmless, but rather large fly in a room full of books, that happens to be painted in midnight blue proved a little too much for me. I scooped up my bedding and prepared myself for a night on the sofa.
At 5 am, after not even a hint of sleep, I decided that I wouldn’t be permanently forced out of my own bedroom by something so trivial. I knew it was still in there. Did I have a relaxing, peaceful sleep? Did I bugger! I was paranoid about it flying out of somewhere (I believed it was somewhere under the bed) and brushing against my foot or leg so I spent the whole night overheating under the duvet that was tucked in so tight I couldn’t move. Uncomfortable would be a word to describe the situation.
I spent most of the following Monday avoiding my room, to afraid of running in to it again. That night I was knackered, and I really wanted my room back to myself. I sat poised on the bed; mop in hand, ready to launch a full-on attack on the wee beastie. After a little while it appeared. Trying to control my yelping to a minimum, I waited until it settled on something so that the mop attack would be 100% effective. Unfortunately, I was a little impatience and lunged at the first opportunity. I overcompensated for the previous missed chances and pushed and twisted the mop about far more than before. Upon inspecting the mop head, something done slowly, so as not to get a very nasty surprise of the supposed dead flying directly at my face; I discovered no corpse. Had I got it? Was I to have a peaceful night? Was the sore throat that had developed overnight about to turn into something more? In short: yes, yes, and yes. Some mop shaking and twisting in midair, dumped a partial corpse upon the bed; some legs, a wing, what looked like part of a body. The joy at the realisation that this particular battle was over was immense. I shut my window up, changed my bedding (it had gained a smoky odour from the sofa, the result of sharing a living space with smokers), shower and a hunt for some Tunes left me feeling far more perky then I would normally at the start of a cold.
I thought the annual horror for me was over, until one night last week. It was very warm following rain the day/night before, perfect conditions for more of the bastard things to appear. I was simply preparing a sandwich when a loud buzzing passed my right ear, and then I saw it. I’m not sure if the screaming started before or after I saw it. It certainly scared the shit out of me though. I didn’t manage to kill that one until the follow day. It thought that hiding amongst the house plants on the kitchen window sill would somehow save it; it did not. (Commence evil laughter.)
Moral of the story? Getting oneself in a right flap (technical term) isn’t good for you. And obtaining something a little more effective than a mop to annihilate your nemesis (I can't even stand to look at the picture without squirming) is a wise move. Like a damp mop, perhaps.
(Evil laughter can stop now)
Being the generous soul that I am, I shared the cold with the rest of the family. Tis my revenge on the smokers. (A little more evil laughter, that quickly dies out with the follow sentence) But mum has a persist chest infection, which isn’t helpful to her condition. And she isn’t sleeping well so is more grumpy than usual.
Scary
I have been away; away in the deeper, darker and generally murkier parts of my brain. It’s been tortuous. And fun.
I’ve also been battling demons. I say demons, actually I’ve been fighting the flying harbourers of doom. With my trusty spear and with tremendous courage, I’ve slayed many of the evil monsters.
OK, so wielding a slightly dusty mop, I’ve screamed and jumped around and pretty much flapped like a girl, and managed to squish a few crane flies. I absolutely hate them. I shall not be taking the piss out of anyone with phobias, whether the smallest spider makes them shriek or something a little more strange.
I’ve done it again!
You would have thought I might have learnt my lesson by now. But it seems not. Every so often I get the urge to install some version or other of Linux onto a computer, and every time it doesn't work.
This time I've tried to create a partition and install Mandrake on the laptop. But due to the manufacturer 's perferred recovery system – they put a partition right at the front of the drive to store the recovery software – I'm now totally stuck. Neither Windows nor Linux will load, it keeps going round and round on the recovery, and not being able to do a system restore. I have no seperate recovery disk either. I'm trying to reinstall Mandrake at the mo, but it seems to have gotten stuck too. (Retrying now).
I'm now wondering if the reload cd I have for the big pc will work. Just to have a working laptop would be nice!
Time to drum it into myself – stay away from Linux!
16: 40 – Wow Update: I sent an email to the manufacturer at 4.10; I get a reply at 4.29. They can supply a image cd to restore the laptop to factory settings. Danny Baxter is to be praised from very tall buildings – I will not hear a bad word said against him. [And should he ever Google his name…. Hi! 🙂 and thank you very much.] Fine with me. Am I correct in thinking that'll totally format the entire drive? Who can spot the computer dunce? Wishing I had computer geeky friends, of the internet sort or otherwise!
16:50 Update: Mandrake loads to a point. It stops responding to the keyboard when it askes for my user password. The reload cd isn't compatible with the laptop, but I'm sure someone already knew that. Looks like I'm buggered till Mr Baxter responds to my email, and I recieve the cd in the post, and I wonder how long that will take. *sob* laptopless! How am I going to console myself?
AAARRRHHH!!! Killthemotherfuckingbastards!!!
1.53: I really want to sleep. I ache all over, my eyes hurt, along with my head – a product of sitting crossed legged and hunched over this laptop with near constant staring at the screen, coupled with one too many late nights, (plus a little vodka earlier this evening) but I’m not allowed to slip into blissful, restful slumber.
OK, it’s a Saturday night, plenty of people are out drinking, dancing, staggering around clubs and town centres, snogging (and more) strangers, and probably hugging toilet bowls, but I doubt any normal considerate humans are bashing (or something?!) bricks about, dragging spades across concrete and generally carrying on like it’s 2 in the afternoon on a Monday (for example).
It’s next-door you see. They’ve been constructing a monstrosity of a shed for some time now, usually at inappropriate times. Tonight the geezer actually doing the work, an assumed (by us) lodger, has some mates round. Whether they’re helping him is debatable. They’re certainly helping in raising the noise levels, shouting and laughing as though they’re in the middle of nowhere. I have ear plugs in but I can still hear everything. Oh and then there’s the music: rap on the whole, with the odd soul number, with a little Bob Marley earlier on at around midnight. I think most of this output is thanks to gfm, (that’s giving my location away a little) as that’s the ident I keep hearing in-between the tracks and the rather shouty DJ. Every so often it goes quiet and I get my hopes up that they’re about to call it a night with the labouring and drinking and guffawing, but alas, it hasn’t happened yet. Obviously, otherwise it’s unlikely I’d be writing this.
If I had a loaded gun right now, I’d definitely use it. Unfortunately they’d probably see me before I could take one of them out, or the radio, as my bedroom window overlooks their back yard, one of the reasons why I suffer more with the noise pollution (and frequent air pollution thanks to the lodger revving up his bike for far longer than necessary) then anyone else in this house. I also would be thwarted, shortly followed by being arrested, due to the 1000 watt (I’m guessing) light they have conveniently pointing in the general direction of my window. An anti-tank missile might be better, but that would probably be a suicidal course of action to take, due the close proximity.
Wait! No surely not? Is it true? Has it ended? Can I finally get some sleep?
No, they’re still there. Bastards.
2.27: And now I can smell smoke, so they've started the bonfire up again!
I debated for quite a while with myself about whether to pick up the laptop or not, glad I did. Means I’ve written about something that isn’t connected to weddings; something slightly readable, after some work/thinking; I won’t spend the rest of the night unable to sleep due to thinking about writing this only to completely forget everything in the morning, as I usually do.
2.36: Well, bugger I!
It’s all stopped!
No light, no music, no blokey-type sounds. At last!
2.42: Completely wrong. The music does seem to quietened down at least, but the cement mixer is going now.
When will this end?
Can I knock myself out?
Should've drunk more vodka, or stayed on IRC for longer.
2.58: Really tired now, so I'm gonna stick a pillow over my head and try again.
Goodnight.
3.11: Oh, crap. The shouty, sweary rap "music" has restarted. I shall shortly be crying, and very grumpy tomorrow in the morning afternoon.
I is having a bad day
OK, so I'm not in agony, nor has something "very bad" happened to someone I know, it's just been one slightly shitting moment to the next since I got up. Actually it started before I even got up. To say I slept last night would be a big fat lie. There was non-sleep, with much tossing and turning. Feeling totally un-refreshed and quite grumpy, I arose with a pounding headache. Oh, the joy.
A slightly positive note, the wireless keyboard/mouse combo that I'd bought via eBay was sat on the table, instead of a little note from the courier saying "Sorry, we couldn't deliver this. You were out"; which is subtext for: "We knocked very quietly and then we didn't/couldn't wait long enough for anyone to answer the door."
With one strong mug of coffee in hand I decided to tackle the installation of the new input devices. In my eagerness, I didn't pay as close attention to the instructions as perhaps I should have. Batteries all in place, USB cable plugged in (I need a USB hub!), drivers installed, neither bit of kit works. Bumflaps. Reboot the pc, keyboard works, mouse works for 5 seconds then nothing. Arse biscuits. After another 10 or so minutes of restarting and checking cables/batteries, a sudden thought creeps into view in my tired brain. The batteries in the mouse are rechargeable, thus they need charging up BEFORE use. D'oh! My only defense is that I am knackered.
So the new joy of a keyboard that isn't constricted about where I put it on the desk, (or my lap!) has been marred by that fact that my external hard drive, containing all my music, has ceased being recognized by the pc. Mightly arse biscuiting-bumflaps.
I'm borrowing some of the 300GB hard drive my brother recently added to his own pc to try to restore matters. But the last hour of copying the entire contents of the external HD may have been in vain as I've just remembered that the only way I solved this problem before was to re-install Windows. (I can't even type what I'm now uttering!)
Tomorrow's scheduled delivery will be occurring between the hours of nine am and five pm. I can't wait for the joyous sobbing that will bring. But will it be due to great happiness, or total about-to-throw-this-heap-of-junk-out-of-the-window despair.
Nothing (much) To Report 