Big Brother

Deviating from the regular *ahem* Thursday Thirteen somewhat I’d like to suggest thirteen methods of not watching Big Brother.

1. Stab knitting needles in your eyes.
   
2. Sew your eyes shut using cat gut.
   
3. Drink strong liquor constantly for the next three months.
   
4. Travel somewhere remote to work 16 hour days helping to save endangered animals from extinction.
   
5. Fight a guerrilla war against Andy Duncan, chief executive of channel 4 from the hills outside his house.
   
6. Spend every waking moment running in rural areas.
   
7. Hibernate until it’s over.
   
8. Fall down a well.
   
9. Bury yourself in ice.
   
10. Get on the show yourself.
    
11. Break into the Big Brother house and gun down all those screeching harpies till their all dead.
    
12. Set off a large enough nuclear explosion to create an EMP pulse to knock out all electronic devices in the UK.
    
13. Curl into a foetal position and refuse to move until it’s over.
    

BOOOOOOOORING!

In facebook there are 43 people with the same name as me.

None of them are a handsome as I am though.

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Today’s Word of the Day is:

tatterdemalion (tat-uhr-di-MAYL-yuhn, -MALEE-uhn) adjectiveRagged, tattered.

noun

A person in ragged clothes.

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I went to see Pirate of the Caribbean III with the kids yesterday.  It was very disappointing.  I shall not be recommending it to any of my friends.

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The Little Big Boss keeps hassling me about an XML link with a new client.  He doesn’t seem to understand that “It’s in the testing phase and should be ready for testing on the live system on Friday” means that things are going well and that it should be ready on Friday.

Moving!

I stole this from Jen Dziura. You can read her reason for this question on her blog. I am too lazy to repeat them. It is a matter of interest to me as I’m hoping to move soon into a vast mansion where every door has gold knobs.

However I am interested in your responses to her blog poll: How many hours per month do you have to work to pay your rent\mortgage? (For example, if you make £80,000 a year and pay £2,000 a month, that’s about £38/hour, so you work about 53 hours to pay your rent. If you work a £10/hr job and pay £450, you work 45 hours to pay your rent, which makes you, in a way, a little bit richer).

So please answer this in the comments: How many hours do you work to pay your rent, and what city do you live in?

You may choose to be anonymous of course but I’m nosey so please don’t.

Mine was 47.

hoverFrog’s Law of TMA Apathy

Here’s the thing about my continuous study with the Open University:

I cannot do any work on a unit, other than the first one, until I have received the grade for the last TMA.

For a complete explanation of the high jinks involved with working on and submitting a TMA (Tutor Marked Assignment) read AnotherBlogger.

I submitted TMA02 on the 24th May.  Clearly there is no reason in the world for my tutor not to download it, mark it, make comments on it and submit it back to me by now.  Just because I’m one of twenty students he has on this course, just because he may be running other courses, just because it’s the weekend. 

I’m being unfair, I know, but I am totally unable to open the next unit and start my reading until I’ve got the mark back.

Or is it just an excuse to spend a few days sitting round doing nothing?

Gah! I’m so lazy.  At this rate I’ll never finish.

Oh bum! (in bullet points)

• The government has delayed the introduction of the home information pack. 
• My firm has invested heavily in one part of the pack, have set up an office and employed people to administer the production of the reports. 
• The little Big Boss is now convinced that the HIP project will be cancelled.
• As a result two people had to be “let go” yesterday.
• This has left me surprisingly sad.  I mean they were both good people and have not done anything to warrant losing their jobs.
• I’m getting an obscenely huge bonus at the end of the month.
• This leaves me riddles with guilt.
• I agreed to sell my house to someone but they decided that they don’t want it anymore.  This is the second time that this has happened.
• The kids are bickering like crazy at the moment.
• It’s too hot.

On the positive side

• I finished my TMA and submitted it on time.  I don’t think I’ll reach the dizzying heights of 96% like I got in the last one though even though all my C++ functions worked perfectly.
• I’m bunking off work early because I’ve had enough for one day.

Beet that

I’m having beetroot salad for lunch.

I’m wearing a white shirt.

Hopefully I’ll manage to eat it all without any mishaps.  It’s this kind of wild living that gets me a reputation for mayhem dontchaknow.

South West Trains

Text conversation ‘twixt me and The Hildy.

Me: Where is my train?  It’s 15 minutes late but the display still says it’s on time.  Have I got a magic time travel train?  That would be cool but not likely with SW trains.

The Hildy: Remember the train from The Polar Express.  Any minute now it will arrive and take you off to the North Pole to see Santa.

Me: Wow! Really?  That’s great.

Me (again): Oh bugger, it’s a shitty SW Trains train coming into the station.  Oh well, maybe tomorrow I’ll have a magic train.

The Hildy: Tomorrow u will have a magic train.  It’s important to keep your dreams alive.

Sometimes I think that The Hildy is the only person in the world who really understands me.  I’m looking forward to seeing Santa tomorrow as well.

If not then I’ll just go to Brighton instead.  There are plenty of worse places to visit.

God made phones

Please go and look here if for no other reason than to be amused at the picture of Postmaster General Ernest Marples demonstrating how to use a pay phone.  Actually it’s there now ==>

It’s amazing to think that less than 50 years ago people couldn’t make phone calls without a human being connecting them to the person they were calling.  Actually connecting a line through a switchboard to create a continuous copper wire connection between one telephone and another.  What a palaver.

Speaking of strange and unusual I stumbled onto this from the WordPress main page and left a few comments.  This is one of the most interesting parodies that I’ve ever read.  At least I really hope it’s a parody otherwise there is someone out there who really believes that the sun orbits the Earth.

That’s right: geocentricism stated as fact.  Never mind the Newton’s second law of motion that would sort of suggest that a smaller mass would kind of fall into orbit around a larger mass over time.  Even the Catholic church has dropped the idea that the Earth is the centre of the universe.  At least geocentricism is easier to laugh at than Creationism.

It’s not Creationism that really bothers me.  I mean the idea that some all powerful geezer sitting on a fluffy cloud made everything the way it is as part of a master plan is sort of sweet.  By sweet I mean that anyone who still believes in the tooth fairy* might take it as fact.  No, what bothers me about Creationism is the way that it has been adopted by political movements in order to promote their own agendas.  After all if the world was made like this then who are we, as humble humans, to argue with the natural order.  Why not just go along with what our betters tell us to do?  Bomb the heathens in the Middle East? Sure, the President says it’s OK and he’s a religious man and King Tony’s also religious so it must be right.  Bothered by gays?  No problem, the bible calls them abominations so it’s OK to exterminate them.  What about women? Well the bible says they are inferior to men so why not treat them as such.  Women, you’re losing all your rights and will now be the property of your father or of your husband.  If you argue then I’m afraid we’ll just have to have you stoned.

I know Creationism isn’t a Christian idea but those pesky Republicans have gotten hold of it and now they’ve gone and brought the message over here.  Hopefully the British public are too jaded to start following but I doubt it. 

I can’t wait for the backlash though.

*Trolls steal teeth, the tooth fairy is a myth.  Your mum leaves the money under your pillow.  Sorry but it’s just the way things are.

Calming down

Let’s take it as given that that estate agents are evil and move on.

In an effort to dislodge this bad mood I’ve been living under for the last few weeks I decided to try an alternate approach.  Clearly brooding in anger at the perceived inadequacies of those charged with selling my house on my behalf was doing nothing for my good mood. 

So this morning I went for a run.

It was fantastic.  As I’m sure the people who had to resuscitate me would agree.

How is it that 15 years of not exercising can strip me of my physical fitness so completely?  I’m obviously going to have to exercise regularly from now on.

Cranky Pants

Don’t even speak to me.

I’ve been subjected to the bullshit of two estate agents every hour for the past two days.  I managed to hold my temper until I received a ten minute bombast by Slimy Sam where she suggested that she approach the current owners of le château de grenouille and reduce my offer to purchase said building “because it would help you out if money was short”.

Points of fact that I may have accidentally shouted at Slimy Sam and a bit of a rant:

• I perfectly happy with the offer I have made on le château de grenouille.
• Offering them a lower amount may make them withdraw their acceptance of the offer.  I know I would.
• I am not happy about the offers I am receiving from people who are viewing my current home. 
• Either the asking price is too high and their valuation is therefore suspect or they are telling people that I will accept a lower offer without asking me first.
• I can afford the asking price on le château de grenouille even if I sell my house at a loss.
• I want a fair price for my house.
• I really resent the implication that I cannot afford to buy le château de grenouille.
• I really resent the condescending tone that Slimy Sam used when implying that I cannot afford to buy le château de grenouille.

Cliff (another word for bluff) is the one who actually annoys me most though.  Not because he has actually done anything wrong but because he’s a stereotype.  Seriously.  Imagine a stereotypical estate agent like Macaulay Culkin in a cheap suit but oozing smarm.  He was immediately acting my best friend in attitude, speech and mannerisms and I took an instant dislike to him.  I’m certain that the word “professionalism” is a complete unknown to him.  I dislike him even more than the young chap who works in WH Smiths on a Sunday who calls everyone mate and then chuckles to himself.  It’s just utterly inappropriate.

….and breathe.

OK rant over, it should be OK to talk now. 

As a therapeutic exercise I think it would be simply spiffing if you all shared your personal estate agent related malaise with me.  Then we could all unite in our hatred of these creatures.

In other news I am exceedingly happy that I have uses “bombast”, “inappropriate” and “malaise” in a blog entry.  They are three of my favourite words.