SEPTEMBER 27
THERE won't be many pics like the one above for a while as today I accidentally damaged my phone. Well, I say "accidentally damaged" but what I really mean is "I threw it at the dashboard of the Mini while having a shitfit on the way to work and knackered it". Now as the reasons for said shitfit are, in hindsight, rather petty and embarrassing I'd rather not go into details, but I would imagine all of Ev's friends know by now so feel free to take the piss by e-mail.
(I would like to take the opportunity to publicly apologise to Ev for throwing the wobbly while on the blower to her. I'm sorry, love, it was crap of me.)
When I got to work I could see the damage to the phone was pretty bad - the front LCD screen is shattered and the inside screen just has a funny pattern which means your liquid crystals are enjoying a new-found freedom swilling around inside the phone. Amazingly it still works, although I can't connect the Bluetooth as I can't see the menus and I have to dial numbers as I no longer have a screen to look at.
The real kicker is that, had I waited another few weeks to throw my toys out of the pram, I'd have been in line for an upgrade. Whether I buy a new one is entirely up to my financial advisor (Ev) but if I do get a new phone, you can rest assured I'll take the old one apart/microwave it/drive over it for a cheap update.
SEPTEMBER 24
I DON'T care if it's a Ferrari, F40s are bloody ugly.
SO I went back to the bookstore on the way home from work yesterday and picked up the book The World's Worst Cars. Reading it last night only confirmed my suspicion that, God love him, my old man has (or at least between 1973 and 1988 had) bloody terrible taste in cars. For in its pages, along with the Princess, Ambassador and Marina, I also found the Austin Maxi and Austin Montego, both of which he owned. However, as my mum wouldn't let him buy a Japanese car (which although shit in the 70s were infinitely better than anything British Leyland was churning out), I suspect she has to shoulder some of the blame.
SEPTEMBER 23
Well that's saved me having to think of an update.
SEPTEMBER 22
AFTER something like 156 days since the last decent downpour, the rain has made a comeback. Driving home from work today (I'm in over the weekend doing a special section) was turned into a carnival of fun not just by the pissing rain but also by the blinding sunshine coming through the passenger window. Lovely.
At least it wasn't as bad as driving home in the pissing rain on Friday night, when aside from the pouring rain I also had to contend with a retard who for some reason thought his hazards were an adequate substitute for actual lights. Several SUVs made it onto my personal shitlist, along with two BMWs, an Audi and some crock of shit I think was a Civic. If I've said it once, I've said it a million times: they will give a driving license to ANYONE over here. And don't even get me started on the sodding minivans.
I really, really want to vent my feelings about minivans but as we have some friends who are minivan drivers, Ev thinks it might be undiplomatic. It's frustrating for me, though. In fact, it's a lot like being at a party which is crashed by some cast members of The Real Wives of Orange County. You want to stand up, point at them and laugh but you can't. You also can't make comments about how the IQ of the room has plummeted. Nor can you ask your fellow partygoers if any of them dialled 1-800-RENT-A-BIMBO. Going up to them and asking them if their skin is supposed to be that shade of orange is right out, too. As is noting that the volume of silicone in the room has suddenly gone from zero to about 60lbs. Another thing which may be considered impolite is wrapping them in barbed wire, sealing them in a large box full of broken glass and dogshit and throwing them off a cliff. But that's nothing compared to what I'd like to do to the average minivan driver.
WE WERE in the bookstore tonight where I spotted the guide to the 150 worst cars ever made. Flicking through it revealed that my dad owned three of them - the Austin Ambassador, Morris Marina and Leyland Princess. I want to have another look as I'm sure the bright orange 1975 Austin Maxi he owned must be in there as well.
SEPTEMBER 18
I HEARD back from the bloke I bought the Mini postcards off. He did send them, it's just that he sent them to the wrong person and he'll "be in touch soon". Riiight....
WHILE arsing around with Google Earth the other day, I came across this odd pattern in a field outside Hereford:
Anyone have any idea what caused this? Is it an attempt at speednobbing gone wrong? Mail me and let me know as I really am interested in knowing what caused this. Honest.
AND our beloved new editorial system is still throwing up odd error messages such as these:
Read the one above carefully to see the error.
This one's not too bad until you look closer:
Read the one above carefully to see the error.
And, finally, my all-time favourite:
THAT'S it for now, but tune in again to find out why all cyclists are twats.
SEPTEMBER 12
TODAY'S illustration is provided free of charge by Jules, and shows Peter "Evacuate? In our moment of triumph?" Cushing's house in Whitstable, Kent. Although I suppose it's his ex-house, as he died in 1994.
I'M HAVING more shenanigans with sodding eBay. First off, the git who sold me the amazing shattering Mini left me negative feedback, meaning my 100% positive record is down the shitter. What I hate about eBay is that the sellers wait for the buyer to rate them, and then base their feedback on that. In a perfect world, the seller should give me good feedback 'cos I usually pay within minutes of winning an item and that's all the seller cares about - getting his/her money. My rating of them depends on lots of factors, including the item arriving at my door in one piece. So I tell the truth about one arsehole (the feedback I left was along the lines of "Item turned up in pieces") and he takes a pop at me. Generally I give good feedback even if the item takes its time getting to me (stuff from the UK takes ages as the sodding US Customs opens just about every package in case Bin Laden's hiding in one. God knows what they made of the mustard powder mum sent a while back. Mustard, I suppose) but if I shell out my hard-earned cash on something I don't expect it to turn up in bits.
Anyway, my current eBay problem revolves around some Mini promo postcards that I ordered back in July and which still haven't shown up. I've sent the seller a polite email asking if they've sent them so now all I can do is wait for the reply, which knowing my luck will be along the lines of "I sent them in July, screw you limey".
TODAY marked my third day of being cigarette- and nicotine-patch-free. Given that few days have gone by since 1983 (and certainly none since about 1989) when I haven't had nicotine floating around in my system, I feel a bit odd. Put it this way - imagine starting smoking now, in 2007, and giving up in 2032 - that's how long I smoked for. And it's not like I can have a cigar to celebrate. But the urge to rip my co-workers' faces off has subsided a bit, so I guess that's a good thing.
SEPTEMBER 10
NOW available from MutCo: the all new, all singing and dancing* Not-Quite-Such-A-Tard-But-Still-In-A-Box. Fun for all the family. Fully machine-washable. Assembled in Indonesia from left-over Nike swooshes and the souls of dead workers. Guaranteed to contain at least fifteen brain cells, some of them in working condition. Only $34.99 plus $250 postage. Operators are standing by, so call now!
*Product does not actually sing and dance. May vomit.
CONGRATULATIONS to Flynn, who's finally got his PhD. Apparently there is a celebratory piss-up planned so if someone could buy him a pint on me that would be great.
I MANAGED to go all day today without a cigarette or a nicotine patch. I might be getting there.
OH, AND today we had fresh Rolos.
SEPTEMBER 9
NOW available from MutCo: the new Tard-In-A-Box. Fun for all the family. Fully machine-washable. Assembled in China from lead and pet food. Guaranteed to contain at least three brain cells. Only $14.99 plus $250 postage. Operators are standing by, so call now!
SEPTEMBER 5
THERE'S this strange American custom (which I think I've mentioned before) where people bring in chocolate and sweets and leave them on their desks for others to help themselves. I've been helping myself to them for months out of the jar one of the advertising girls has and the other day I suddenly felt guilty for all the choccy I've nicked and put a couple of dollars in the jar for her to buy more.
Now there's been a few problems in the past which mainly revolve around the fact that the bowl is frequently filled with Reese's candy. Far from being a good thing, this is a disaster on a par with the Star Wars prequels. For while Reese's make chocolate, they feel the need to add peanut butter to it.
Now excuse me if I go off on a tangent (it's my website so screw you) but I have a question: Who in the name of cocking Christ thought chocolate and peanut butter go together? It's bastard horrible. It's an idea up there with giving Jeffrey Dahmer a big knife, a cooking stove and a Boy Scout. Put it this way: At no point have I ever looked at, say, a Yorkie and thought, "what that big bar of delicious chocolate really needs is to be plastered in peanut butter." When I buy Ev a box of chocolates (which I never have, but that's not the point) I don't think, "I know - I'll improve the taste and texture of these $25 choccies by dipping them in Von's own-brand extra-chunky peanut butter." (What I think is, "Christ, I could have got a toy Mini instead.") Hey, I know - try it for yourself. Get some chocolate. Plaster it in peanut butter. Eat it. Want to puke? Welcome to my world.
So tonight I feel like something sweet and went to get some choccy. To my delight there were Rolos in there (I didn't know you could get Rolos in the States. I still can't find a sodding Mars bar though) and I grabbed a couple and returned to my desk. Upon opening the wrapping paper, I found this:
Christ on a bike, how old is this Rolo? It looks like it belongs in the Egyptian section of the British Museum. I didn't put $2 in the jar and go without a pack of crisps for this. I was hoping for bite-size Mounds (sort of like a Bounty but with almonds) or something. But not ancient Rolos. So I left a note in the bowl:
I did debate adding "or the puppy gets it" but I think I've made my point.
ON ANOTHER note, sorry for not keeping this updated but I've been through a series of mood swings recently thanks to nicotine withdrawal. However, as I'm now coming up to my 11th week since giving up the urge to kill is subsiding, meaning I should be spending more time updating the site and less wanting to kill every last one of you.
