Spam. Why?

Can anyone tell me what spam is meant to achieve?  Yes, I know its annoying in its attempts to flog things you don't want, but, while I can understand the 'junk mail' ethic of blitzing you, there is very little point if the telephone number on your junk mail menu is for a pizza delivery service in Jakarta (unless of course you live in Jakarta).  

I have tried to reply out of sense of experiementation usually with words of abuse or mockery to these spamming fools knowing full wel that I could well be opening pandora's box to a whole load more - so its usually been done on an email account I no longer wish t use.  .  And yet, none of the email addresses connect you to anything.  I just get bounced mail messages.  

If my friendly Chinese delivery menu's contact number was constantly non-available, I'd give up.  

If any spammer wishes to contact me personally and tell me how I can lengthen my SAD TH11N D1Cc or actualy allow me to acquire a cheap copy of WINOZ XP then I'll be glad to find out just what it is they are actually selling.  Because in the unlikely, nay, impossible circumstances that I do need such services, then all I'm hearing is a dead line.

Mood:  OK - just OK
Book:  Keep the Aspidistra Flying by George Orwell
Moozik:  Random iPod moments

Sad and ignoble end of the Joy Report

....and I've just noticed that my Joy Reports weren't exactly a screaming success.  Truth is,that other than the odd incident involving, say, dead people, or perhaps power failures across London, the tube has been a sweetie for weeks now.  

Oh well, the Big Girl tells me to spark up a bus stops to encourage the bus's arrival.  Now I've told the world how crap my journey is, suddenly it is no longer crap.  So it worked then.  Sadily I don't believe in that sort of crud, but if I did...

i kid you not though, in my teens, I could predict almost to the second when the next bus would appear in view.  Being the sceptical man of science that I am, I would like to dismiss it as mere coincidence, though it did happen far too often for my liking.  And if I'd been blessed with a true psychic gift, why couldn't it be something useful, like predicting lottery numbers.  Didn't help Mystic Meg, mind.  

Funky widget

I've just downloaded a widget for the Mac which allows quick and easy blogging.  So I hope to start posting micro blogs whenever the mood takes.  

Should be much easier.  Anyway, time to give it a try.

Three Joy Reports in one - and a word on orange

Oh gosh, I’m stumped. Joy reports are joyous. There weren’t any problems on Thursday, yesterday or today, and on Friday I worked from home. Perhaps District Line chief executives are prowling the line this week.

Has anyone noticed just how bloody cold the refurb’d trains are on this line by the way? Don’t get me wrong, I generally approve of the redesigned carriages, especially the less harsh on the eyes internal lighting. The un-refurb’d trains went from having pinky coloured tubes, chosen when the trains were new in 1979, making them seem rather warm and inviting, to a rather harsh blue shade meant, I think, to emulate daylight, or at least the grey British version of daylight, placed there, virtually overnight and with no prior warning, in 2002 or so. They are actually the same colour as the tubes used in an S. A. D. lamp I have at home. Maybe TfL were doing their bit to combat passengers’ winter blues. When they were first installed, I felt rather nauseous, especially as the internal panels of the trains, and seat coverings, were a rather delicious orange. The two colours didn’t mix well though. Unhappily, the nice orange panels have been replaced with a bland grey. I’m sure this makes the trains harder to vandalise, and I guess they don’t show up dirt so well, but I liked the orange, and salute the genius who chose the colour, and double-salute the person who signed it off for the contract. I reckon I might be in a minority though. Remember the glory of 70s kitchen appliances and you’ll know the kind of orange we’re dealing with. Orange Smartie orange. Scrumptious. Heck, once I can make my camera produce the colour properly I’ll bung a picture of a door panel in so you can see that I’m truly not getting over-excited about it.

The refurbs’ lights are more a neutral yellow colour. But alas, the heat seems to have been turned to half power on these trains. Not quite the refrigerated meat lorries that are the C stock Hammersmith & City/Circle line trains, but a good attempt.

The light fantastic

We went to see the Dan Flavin retrospective at the Hayward Gallery yesterday.

I think this is the first time the exhibition has been shown to such an extent in the UK - there were 90 pieces there yesterday, including his line drawings and ideas for future sculptures.

Dan Flavin was a New Yorker who designed sculptures made of commercially available neon tubes, and some of them are plain beautiful, as well as being stark, fluorescent light never being that flattering a media. The first exhibit you see when entering is a grid of about 200 squares made up of bright green neon tubes. Others are smaller. One I liked particularly was made up abou 120 circular flouresecent tubes, the kind you used to find regularly in 70s designed kitchens.

Apparently many of the bulbs are hard to pick up now as fashions have changed and gases and gone up on value. Apparently, some of the rarer Philips tubes have had to be scoured from various old warehouse stock. I would hate to have to be the person to turn them on each morning - I'd dread the sound of a now-valuable tube popping.

Worth a visit, and look out for the array of 18 bright green tubes laid vertically to form an eight foot high wall. Its like the gateway to heaven. In fact, there is a yellow version too, but the green one seems far more dramatic to my eyeballs.

Despite being given a ticking off from one of the Hayward's staff, here is a rather bad picture I took with my mobile phone which sort of gives you an idea of what to expect. The picture is rather blue, where the real sculpture was actually made of multi-coloured tubes and is far more stunning and gorgeous than my poor old Motorola can deal with.

Mood: Bit bored, but in an OK way
Book: The Lost Cosmonaut - Daniel Kalder
Music: 6Music's "Freak Zone"

Joy Report

Left home: 8.40
Tube arrived: 8.48
Arrived at work: 10.05

The exception which proves the rule. Problem free – but how long can it last?

Not doing much today. Mick is over for the week as his flat is be redec'd.

Ate a nice lump of duck and apple pate for lunch. Hmm, maybe a lunchtime snack breakdown report is also required until the daggersdukc newsworld becomes populated with, er, news. Oh bugger it, here goes then.

STOP PRESS: THE DAGGERSDUKC LUNCH REPORT

Pot Asda duck and apple pate (9/10)
"Pick up a pie" pie from London Bridge station. Variety: Lamb and rosemary. 8/10 (not enough meat, otherwise, perfect)
Pack Golden Wonder cheese puffs (8/10)
Pack Doritos (Cool Cheese variaty)
Cadbury's Bourneville (small)

I'm not going to rate the common foods out of 10 - why bother? Most have tried them and will have their own grading. Sadly, I've eaten this healthy repast. Tomorrow, if you are lucky, I'll post a picture of my lunch in its full, uneaten glory.

Mood: Evil in humour
Book: Women in Love - DH Lawrence (audio on iPod)
Music: Various shuffled selection on 'pod

Tube Joy Report

In the light of not having much to write about – or at least not wishing to write about much at the moment – I’m going to post the time it took me to get to work on a daily basis. This will be for my own amusement, so don’t expect a giggle-fest.

Numero uno: I swear my journey times are getting longer. This will prove this to be the case, or otherwise.

Numero duo: I want to point out all the faults and tribulations. Many of these are unannounced by the Chief Disseminator of Information employed by the Transport for London Politburo, and so, being a public spirited chap, I want to put the record straight and possibly present this diary to said politburo chief.

For a while after Tim O’Toole took over and put up a ‘how we’re running’ board at each station, the information was clear, as well as spread far and wide by driver and tannoy alike. But they are slipping back to their wicked ways. I’m sure they don’t tell us in order to un-exist the problem, making their stats look better. Well, I for one, am not convinced. In a world full of Animal Farm style crows, let me tell you that Sugar Candy Mountain does not exist. So when we are told, sheeplike, that the service has improved by 3.3756 percent, don’t believe the hype. In fact, don’t believe anything these arseholes say, because it was all written on the back of a fag packet while the chief mechanic was being shagged by a sheep half way down the Old Kent Road on a 453 bendybus.

Today’s journey Joy Report

Left home 7.33. 6 minute walk to tube station
Train arrived 7.44 (good)
Delays on Hammersmith and City Line (reported on tannoys)
Very slow service from Whitechapel to Baker Street. Lots of pauses. No Met Line running Aldgate-Baker St, so slow, crap change required.
Arrived to work at 9.38 (38 minutes late)

Limp wrist action

I have a secret collection. My wife knows about it, but I doubt many, if any, of my friends have noticed. It’s nothing pervy or offensive, but I am partial to collecting the odd watch or three. Lynn collects clocks, and has a noisy, rather obnoxious cuckoo clock which stutters the hours and half-hours whilst ticking somewhat inefficiently. The last time we did a count, she had 58 clocks, including a caseful of miniatures and a clock made of industrial tools bolted together.

I only have eight watches, which admittedly, is pretty pesky for someone who calls themselves a collector. An automatic, a conventional windup, an extremely ugly LCD, which is my most worn watch due to its indestructibility, and several analogue quartz watches. I’m not much taken with fashion or price (one of my favourite, sadly deceased watches was a purple dialled baby I bought in Spandau Market, Berlin, last year. That only lasted 3 months, but it looked fantastic – cost was 5 Euro).

I had been looking for an LED watch – one of those watches whose numbers glows ruby-red when a button is pressed. These are relics of the seventies and I fondly remember my “BIONIC MAN” WITH SIX FUNCTIONS (!!) LED watch. Presumably the Far Eastern licensee was not wealthy enough to pay for proper Six Million Dollar Man branding or the watches they made were too crap for the holder to associate themselves with the manufacturer. It was cheap and generic, and didn’t last long. But this toy fascinated my eight-year-old self. About a year ago I started to look for one which used the same time delivery technology as my BIONIC wonder. There seemed to be plenty of old ones around for sale, including some wonderful Pulsars, but to be honest

1) they were bloody pricey for an old watch, and more importantly

2) I like to wear my watches and the technology was pretty flaky in the 70s. I wasn’t sure how well any item I bought would stand up to the rigour of actually being worn. After realising I’d be out of pocket, I gave up and forgot about it until a few weeks ago.

Then I found a site which sold watches with that same 70s design, but which were new and contained updated 00s LED technology and power management (the 70s originals ate batteries like sharks eat fish). And here it is on my rather hairy arm. If you are interested, some better pictures can been at www.led-watch.com. You can buy one as well – mine is the TX5.

Baby, you can drive my car

Lynn puts her foot down



Yesterday, Mick, Krissy, myself and Lynn took our first driving lesson - remember, we are all blind and partially sighted, so for us, all in our 30s and 40s, this was a very big deal.

The lesson took place at an airfield somewhere in Northamptonshire, a place called Brackley, and run by a company called Driving Ambition (www.driving-ambition.info). We divvied ourselves into two dual control cars. Mine and Lynn's driver was Ian, and with Lynn behind the wheel, they set off learning the gears, clutch and steering. They then moved on to slow practice runs around the airfield and the last half hour was spent riding around the perimeter, getting up to speeds of 50mph. Lynn had a massive smile on her face throughout, and was a careful, methodical driver. Ian guided her steering vocally and, despite her lack of sight, I didn't feel as if we were in dangerous hands once. Given a full deck of sight, I'm sure we be driving carefully and safely all over the place.

Whereas I just wanted to do a Schumacher. We got up to speeds of 60mph. While I was happy to get as much speed out of the car as I could given the pot-holey state of the road. Our instructor would, I think, have preferred me to have taken things more relaxed, but this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I wasn't going to waste it on the niceties of polite, considerate driving when the chance tot take the Playstation rally game into a real car (a nice little Honda).

This is an experience I would recommend to any blindo who hasn't driven, and isn't likely to, legally anyway.

Another experience I would recommend is a trip to the Great Nepalese restaurant, at the side of Euston Station, which is where we rounded off our very tiring and exhilarating day.

A fantastic way for Michael to celebrate his 40th.

Mood: Chipper
Book: Saturday - Ian McEwan
Music: Sparks - Hello Young Lovers

Thank Allah

A moderate Muslim is heard. Cor.

I'm not saying that these views weren't present all along, but its nice to have it confirmed. Half the problem is our sensationist press presents stories about angry, rioting Muslims as though they were the only kind - rather like the Muslim press presents us as Westerners as all, Bush-loving infidel lackeys.

This man talks a lot of sense about the reaction of Muslims in the Middle East to the Danish cartoons and compares it to the non-reaction of those in South East Asia.

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/02/15/opinion/15raslan.html?th&emc=th

Pictures of the Prophet - but not a cartoon

Following my last entry about the cartoon which doth offend, I thought I'd add this little fact I found out this morning whilst listening to The Today program on Radio 4.

There is an image of the Prophet Mohammed which has been sitting doing no-one any harm in the University of Edinburgh's art gallery. It was painted by 13th century Muslims and is the oldest known portrayal of the prophet. Now one could say that whereas the painting is reverent while the cartoon pokes fun, this was not the point I've heard. ANY portrayal of Mohammed is counted as un-Quranic. If that's so, how has this picture been hanging for decades without anyone being blown up or worse still, without there being a boycott on Scottish products? You know how much the Pakistanis and Egyptians just love their haggis? No, there isn't any pork in haggis.

Therefore I'm led to believe that there is a story behind the story. Nothing is what it seems is it?

I believe that the real behind the scenes tale will come out within the next few weeks, though I strongly feel you can't take away Iraq and the war with the Texas Yokel and Mr Blah out of the equation.

And while I am an ardent advocate of free speech, the fact that the French satirical magazine who initially published in France, have decided to publish the cartoons again, I think this is s step too far. Free speech is one thing, but deliberate antagonism, merely for the sake of doing so, is another. Time to move on, we know we can publish in Europe.

The cartoon doth offend

I’m nominally a Christian with critical opinions, regarding both Christianity, and life generally. Religion has been at the centre of more wars than just about anything else, including famine. I also believe that science, vested interests aside, is generally a ‘good thing’ and that the Enlightenment n Europe set us apart from the reigns of the spiritual and this is why we are mainly both wealthy and tolerantly pluralistic. The Catholic branch of Christianity didn’t hold all the moral or physical answers to our burning questions about how our world works, and because we are humans, and by our very nature curious, a few of us challenged the status quo. Long may we go on learning about our world – it is human to study, absorb and change our behaviour based on what we know and what we might find.

Of course, just because we think we know something, doesn’t make it truth, hence Thomas Kuhn’s “Paradigm Shifts” occur, these being major changes in the ways we examine the world. From Newtonian theories of Physics to Einstein’s. And isn’t that a jolly good thing? Religion, if left unchecked, does nothing positive in the name of progress other than hold us as a race back from scientific progress. I’m not saying all scientific progress is good progress, but it means that any superstitions (eg, “witchcraft”, and other so called heresies) don’t keep their foothold here for long. Religions aren’t bad in themselves – who could realistically say that Christ’s basic tenet that we should treat those in ways we ourselves would like to be treated is anything other than a positive statement about how we as humans should live? But absolute power, held by those with a vested interests in maintaining a religious status quo, are as easily corruptible as those with power in other realms. Religion isn’t created by God, but by corruptible humans.

So the cartoon was let out of the bag and all hell (or at least the promise of hell to us infidels) was let off by the more extreme Muslims. And this anger was over what exactly? Showing 12 ‘derogatory’ images of the prophet, so I’ve been led to believe, in fact pillorying him. Oooooh, what a shocker!

Sorry, but Jews have managed to get through a holocaust and have continued to develop what was already a useful tool – self effacing humour. My dad (who is a real Christian rather than a plastic one like me) can’t watch TV without hearing a stream of blasphemous words, as he regards them. Plenty of Christians feel as though their opinions have been steamrollered, or at least disregarded by mainstream UK politics and civil society. So in the face of being ridiculed, Jews laugh at themselves and Christians have developed thick skins, or have just switched off as much as possible from worldly society. Anyone who calls themselves a Christian in public and hasn’t developed metaphorical calluses has either got so much charisma that they can just brazen their way through the tirade of abuse, or can articulate themselves out of a situation decisively through argument. Regardless, Christians have learnt that to consider browbeating of their religion as a personal attack achieves nothing more than allow others to escalate at best criticism, at worst a kind of nagging mocking, levelled at them and their beliefs.

So what do extremists Muslims do to sell their beliefs as viable in a modern age? Oh yes, threaten to firebomb a Danish newspaper office, wave guns around, hysterically cry for the death of Europeans – hey, haven’t they learnt that us Euros stopped believing in God 80 years ago or more? Well, that’s rational isn’t it? That’s going to generate a shedload of converts. Do they believe an omnipotent prophet is going to need such puny assistance from the likes of mere mortals? And do they seriously believe that their actions will please the prophet? Perhaps they do. If so, it sickens me to think humans find this kind of action attractive.

Well I’m not a Muslim, though I have a great deal of time for those who are serious about what they believe in, eg, have thought about it and questioned some of the wilder actions of people associating themselves with the label. What I don’t have any time for is for childish playground antics (unfortunately the materials used aren’t just fists and feet, but guns and bombs – the mentality is the same and sucks equally). And I would argue to the death that almost* no-one has the right to censor any belief that another may hold. Argue with them until you’re blue in the face. Debate until neither of you can stay awake. Fight your cause with words, not violence.

The reason we in the west have progressed, made things, changed our ideas is through debate and by proving that even the most seemingly ingrained rules can and should be challenged. Debate and the freedom to do so. This is why God no longer “appoints” our monarch and the church is unable to put people to death for brewing up a few roots in their living room.

This extreme version of Islam takes us right back to the dark ages. No thanks, you’re welcome. Give me free speech every time.

***

Yesterday, to the surprise of many, Nick Griffin from the BNP along with his cohort was not charged with allegedly inciting racial hatred – I think most pundits thought he’d be at Her Majesty’s Pleasure for quite some time.

Good.

Its not “good” because I love the BNP and all they stand for. It would take the threat of facial surgery performed by an angry gorilla armed with a machete before I ever put an X in their box. It IS, however, a victory for free speech. Griffin and his nasty army may be talking complete guff, and, if they are, the best thing they can do is hang themselves with their own logical rope. I’d rather be shown how my plans will fail rather than be told that they simply will, “because I say so”. To be told he is a ‘racist’ is (let’s face it) probably true, but I find it heart-warming that a jury, who know the case better than me, can dissent and let him off. The question of Griffin isn’t the seemingly obvious one “is he or isn’t he a racist”? Of course he is, and by their own terms, I find Griffin’s views reprehensible, and I trust that the British public, by not voting for his party en masse, despite the piss-poor opposition until Cameron appeared, agree. Of more concern to me is “knowing that Griffin IS a racist, does he therefore have the right to openly enunciate his opinions”?
To suggest that Griffin’s views can be silenced by putting him away simply gives ammo to those who believe he is a hero of our times. But unlike many of our politicians of the increasingly nannyish times we live in, I do believe we are not entirely stupid. I questioned the logic of the NF when they were active in the area near where I grew up – Southall – in the late 70s when I was 12. I think the average voter can do likewise with this lot.

Let them speak. Then let’s mock them for the dangerous nincompoops they are. As the Tories found out during the 80s all the press slagging about their sleaze changed nothing. It took Spitting Image, a satirical puppet show of all things, to cause ructions within the party. Humour in the face of war really is the second best weapon. But the worst attack any can make (OK, with the exception of say, nuclear attack or having a piranha on the end of your finger) is to ignore your attacker. Works for me.

* When it comes to censorship I’m a good honest hypocrite here. The only exception to my rebuttal of censorship is on those materials which affect, or involves kiddies. The only right you have to watch filmed sex involving real children is the right to have your balls cut out with blunt garden shears. Slowly.

Job interview update

I did not get the job I mentioned a few entries back.

Bummer.

Back to manic, pointless bordom then. At least at the moment my job is run at full throttle. The other condition it can degenerate to is stop. Anyway, more on this when I get round to the annual summary.

Romfod - amusiing fact (it amused me anyway)

Been off the blogging for a bit - busy little me hasn't got time, or rather there are always more pressing matters. I'll try and write a summary of my 2005, if and when I get a few magic minutes. (Ha ha).

Anyway, this little fact amused me. The town of Romford's name was not, as you might imagine, named after a river Rom which could be forded here. This is the logical conclusion, right? Wrong. The town came first, the river was (and is) a stream originally known as the Murkeyditche. The name is a back-formation.

And having tried to cross it at various times while wandering through Eastbrookend Park, which runs behind our house, I can testify to its murkiness.

And that's your lot until I can be arsed to write again - which will hopefully be sooner rather than later.

Music: Lots -updating iPod so putting lots on and hearing most of it.
Books: Martin Lewis's MoneyDiet
Blog I like: Diamond Geezer's (Google-able), particular his somewhat obsessive diary of Bow Road station refurbishment which reminded me the Curious Tale of the Dog and the Night Time in its minute detail - find and read (warning, its long and you have to get into the spit or else it just seems a bit OCD-ish.

Party victim

After a rather so-so party held in the Green Man in Euston on Saturday, a few of us travelled back from central London to Daggers for a little drink and a post-party chat about shite all. We found this specimen having a well-deserved post-party snoozette on the Central Line.

Sadly, he was removed by a (very pleasant, I have to say) member of the British Transport Police who asked him where he was going. “Walthamstow” he said, somewhat blearily. Despite the train pulling into Liverpool Street where he could have picked up an overground connection, he insisted on going back to Oxford Circus. The copper asked him if he had been with anyone earlier.

“Well”, he said, “my wife was here when I fell asleep”.

So…the question – what on earth happened to his wife? Gave us something to speculate on while we travelled the long and well-worn path to the burbs.

The meaning of 'scundered'

I just realise that I used a word in my last entry, 'scundered', which most people won't have heard of.

Simple: its from Northern Ireland, and according to the BBC's "Voices" website, specifically from Belfast, where coinidentally, my wife hales from before her family moved to Craigavon in the late 60s (my mum-in-law has an old proddy "Shankill" accent).

It simply means 'embarrassed'.

You can have a look at other Northern Irishisms here:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/northernireland/voices/atilazed/a.shtml

Chav versus opera singer

The picture was blatantly swiped from Sha Crawford’s blog and illustrates to the uninitiated what a female chav looks like. Go and have a look at her site, it’s a fun read.

http://sha-crawford.blogspot.com/2005/05/chav-for-night-sleezy-men-free-drinks.html

A little story that warmed my heart:

Three or four chavs were gathered round a phone on the train back to Dover from Charing Cross. The phone was blaring some undoubtedly “lush” music. Annoyed at having her journey interrupted by this musical equivilant of shit, she put herself next to these fools and burst into song. These chavs found it very amusising indeed, giving her abuse for her efforts. But the good lady was neither intimidated, nor an amateur, in fact she was a pro opera singer on her night off. She delivered a full aria to the carriage, which then gave her a standing ovation.

The chavs, truly scundered, sulked off.

The world's saddest place

During our trip to Krakow, we visited Auschwitz 1 and 2, also known as Birkenau.

I can’t do this topic justice so I won’t try. Everything, which can be said, has been about the concentration camps of Germany, Poland, etc. There is no need to say any more. Plenty of information, should you want it, on www.wikipedia.org.

In my opinion, like I guess many others’, these camps are some of the saddest places on earth. The day, as you can see, was not the warmest – heaven knows what I must have felt like without the luxury of winter clothing, and for Krakow, this was not a freezing winter’s day. Credit due to the country of Poland for keeping the three camps in fairly good shape, for generations such as my own, to pay our respects to the slain and mutilated of the Hitler era. More importantly, for neither glorifying it by giving the “Experience” treatment, though tourism is inevitable. And for leaving them, as much as possible, in their bleak and mostly undisturbed state.

This is a photo I took from the watchtower overlooking the camp. The quality isn’t great, with reflections from the windows behind the camera, but the second part of the tour was rather rushed and, therefore, so were my pictures. It gives an idea of camp's scale - this was one quarter of the "accommodation" - the gas chambers were demolished two days before the Allies took over the camp and many of the buildings were demolished or have rotted.

Despite the necessary herding, I was more disturbed than I though I’d be, as were the rest of the coach. The journey back to Krakow was almost silent. That night, I contemplated on the atmosphere of the camps when everyone had gone home and the place remained bleak and silent. If you were a ghost-hunter, then surely this would be the ideal spot to detect the spirits of the painfully departed.

The word I think I'd describe my experience here is "awestruck", pure and simple. Here, in your face, is the evidence of death - not a death to a statistical body of people in a history book but real flesh and blood humans. In the main concentration camp, there were displays of belongings taken from the inmates as they arrived - hair, shoes, clothing. The dolls' clothes were somehow the most disturbing.

My great grandfather, Philip Jacobs, was a Jewish exile who moved to London in the 1920s, so I don’t think I can start to contemplate on what might have been if he’d stayed. You'd not be reading this, because I would undoubtedly not be here to write it.

Secret Santa

Nearly finished Christmas!

Bought the final Christmas present, for our Secret Santa do at work. Its for a guy I don't know at all, and since its secret, though a copy of "You Are What You Shite", a book I bought in Books Etc on the way home, appropriate.

For myself I bought a book about Lifestyle Envy by Alain de Botton and Merde Actually, the follow-up to A Year In The Merde.

Too tired to knock up a curry, so had turkey drummers (the adult version of Turkey Twizzlers I suspect) in macaroni cheese.
Yum.

Job interview

Four weeks ago I took an interview for a job at the civil service - name of dept etc withheld until I know more.

Why has it taken four weeks...and counting....for them to answer? I know I'm still a prospect as I get an email from them once a week asking me nicely to keep waiting and apologising for same. But I'd really like a firm reply, the waiting is doing me in.

The job is centred around two things I'm passionate about and so I'd almost eat my right testicle to get this job - which makes waiting twice as hard. Come one guys at the Department of Tr... oops, tell me I've got it. The interview was a two hour grilling, I think I answered the questions fairly robustly and even though I'm not a snivil servant, you know I deserve it.