Yes, I know it’s a rather twisted topic for my first update in ages – but hey twisted is as twisted does 😛 (I’ll explain further on down).
It’s been a fairly crappy few months, what with servers being shut down and the owners not passing this teeny bit of info on so I get clients calling me complaining they can’t reach they’re website so in the upshot I lose a client who was paying me 2.5k (approx) a year for updates and maintenance of his site GRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
OK – 2.5k a year is sod all in the grand scheme of things but add that to other income and it all adds up and I ain’t rich by any stretch of the imagination so if any of you ladies sussed out my pic and thought ‘yummy’ is he rich? (BWAHAHAHAHAHA – yeh right as if on both counts) – ya outta luck!
What else has ‘appened? Well it appears I’m up for a tranny in the Sonata – 12 hundred bux 🙁 ummm my PC went bang which meant a new mobo, cpu and ram – it’s been bloody hot, Christmas loses all meaning when it’s like 120 degrees 🙁 about the only decent thing to happen (weather wise) is we’ve had some rain lately so the grass has taken on a greenish tinge, not that awful brown that seems to be everywhere.
Oh the subject of this rambling 🙂 – the first bit is because I’m sitting here here listening to ‘Yes’ and the second bit is cause I think Charlie Dimmock (a presenter on the TV show ‘Ground Force’) is cute :-).
OK, she’s no raving beauty (well she is but I ain’t admittin’ it ;-)) but she makes me larf and we all need that now don’t we. Anyway, off I go to find something else to do.
A twelve inch plastic tree pressed firmly into an old chipped cooking pot blinked forlornly, highlighting the neatly wrapped presents that lay around it. Presents for his two sons and daughter, presents that each year increased the pile.
Sitting at his table, he stared at his meagre Christmas fair – the roast chicken with boiled and roasted potatoes, sprouts, peas and beans and Yorkshire pudding all covered in gravy and mint sauce.
A bottle of cider (non alcoholic, he hadn’t touched alcohol for years) fizzed and popped as he poured it into his glass. Bowing his head, hands clasped he muttered a prayer of thanks and hope but deep down he knew his hopes would once again be dashed – slowly he began to eat.
His meal finished, he popped the single cracker, its bang echoing throughout his two room flat. The hat and toy landed on the floor where they would stay untouched until the time came to clear the table ‘tomorrow’ he muttered. Making his way to the pile of presents he rubbed them gently, rubbing the dust from those that lay near the bottom of the pile – standing he walked out the door.
A light drizzle touched his face as his feet shuffled along the cracking pavement. Crossing the road he pushed the park gates open and walked across the grass to the bench under the old oak tree.
Sitting down he hitched his jacket up and forced his hands into his pockets for warmth. Giggling gleeful children rode new bikes and skateboards across his vision; slowly he pulled a fading and cracked photograph and cradled it as one does a new born baby.
Darkness began to slip into his Christmas day – house lights opposite the park now illuminating his life – one in particular but try as he might he just couldn’t see through the window, then as if snuffing out a candle the curtains were drawn and the light along with his hopes vanished.
The walk back to his flat seemed to take longer every year, but with each step came a twinge of hope – a hope that maybe next year he would see his children on Christmas day, the children he hadn”t seen on that day for three years – oh how he’d exchange all his visitation rights for just one Christmas morning.
Fanciful fiction? Maybe but then again maybe not.
How many fathers are there on this planet who work day in and day out, to pay child support but because of a lop-sided legal system miss out on watching their children tear frantically at Christmas wrapping paper, their eyes bulging at the sight of the many and varied presents that lay in front of them?
Granted there are some fathers that should only get supervised visits – damn some should be supervised by an armed security guard but they’re in the minority. What of the majority?
Where this came from is beyond me – maybe Christmas and the fact it’s become nothing more than another Hallmark day with a TV full of pathetic soft porn American comedies is sending me off on the sadness slide. As it happens, all my kids grew up with two parents – sheesh my youngest will be 21 in a few days so I can say I’m one of the lucky ones.
Anyway, it’s Christmas Eve and I should be working so I best be off.
All the best for the season and I’ll catch y’all next year.
Here I am happily(?) working away in my little home office when next I hear a yelp, then everything goes off. Now, I knew exactly what happened so I ran outside to see my 9 mth old dog (his pic as a pup is in the gallery) running around in circles in the backyard, the hair on his back standing up and a rather shocked *groan* look on his face.
Turns out the dozy bugger decided to chew his way through a mains line and copped 240 volts on the tongue 🙂 I shouldn’t laugh but it’ll (I hope) teach him to knock off the chewing of everything and anything – and I MEAN ANYTHING!
He’s a cross German Shepherd – Malamute so I would have thought he’d be a bit brighter, not literally sparking up :-P. Trying to calm him down was fun, although only 9 mths he’s a monster of a dog and he ain’t stopped growin’ – oh well, all I can say is ‘yaye for circuit breakers’
Bloody age, one minute you’re chasing 18 so you can get into the pubs and the next you’re wondering why you’re yawning at 5pm. I’ll tell you why, it’s called “BLUR.”
Now if you haven’t twigged yet, blur is the time as it zooms by and you don’t even notice it until it’s too late. Ok I’m still a spring chicken, just a piddling 48 years old but what happened to the last 25+? My youngest will be 23 this year, number 2 will 25 and the eldest 28 or is it 29 eeek – damn failing memory 😛 It only seems like yesterday they were arguing over who owned what Barbie (they’re all girls by the way :-)), or hiding boyfriends from their Tad.
Now it’s time to watch the grand-kids grow up, the 2 boys now play rugby league (their mothers wouldn’t let ’em play the game they play in Heaven the buggers ;-)) 2 of the grand-daughters are in kindy and the third has just discovered that if she pulls on the phone cord it falls off the desk, or putting food caked hands on the TV gets her Tad-cu a touch cheesed off because he’s gotta to wipe it clean. One of these days I’ll leave it till it builds up and drives everyone else nuts. I spose that’ll teach me for bein a picky sod 🙂 Anyway, I’m away – my elbow and shoulder is givin’ me gyp, probably from many years of shifting gears in a truck and then 10 years of sittin’ at a desk.
Have you ever looked, I mean REALLY looked at your PC’s HD partitions? In a fit of boredom I decided to check out what in the hell was hiding on the ”D” drive just for the sake of it – WRONG MOVE. Day two and I’m still sorting through numerous directories full of duplicate files, files that date back to 1997, files I knew had but could never find, etc etc etc.
It’s amazing how much junk can be stored on a HD and what’s worse is how much junk can stored on a CDRW that you think is a good back up but ends up being dupes of stuff already on your HD – sorta makes ya wanna type format c: – format d: etc 🙂
Anyhoo, I”ve got ‘Floyds – Final Cut playing in the background so this little break shall end here so I can get back to it or believe me I won’t 😉
What is it with these morons that have to drive up and down your street with their car stereo’s at full blast and all you can hear is ”boom boom boom” Where’s the bloody music?
You can’t call that crap music, it’s nothing but mindless drivel for the masses of mindless cretins that pass for youth these days. Granted there are some who listen to REAL MUSIC, what’s been disgustingly tagged ”classic rock” by the media, damn I even know of some that listen to Michael Buble. Can someone please explain to me what it is with this boom boom rubbish?
Can someone please explain to me how a DJ can be classed as a musician <- that one I find hysterical.
What ever happened to all the time changes or music that made you think. What ever happened to the likes of E.L.P. or King Crimson, geez even Mussorgksy (yeh I know that’s def pre-classic rock). It seems to fit in, you must be willing to wear a neck full of gold chains, hands full of gold rings, drive a bloody Cadillac with a dozen women in various states of undress in the back and spend the best part of your time talking (and I use THAT term loosely) in some incoherent babble that no-one can understand unless they’re dressed and act the same.
Okay that maybe sounding a touch over the top but I blame TV for killing music, REAL MUSIC. Now there’s a thought, The Buggles were right – Video DID Kill The Radio Star.
I was wandering the TV today looking for something to interest me on a lazy Sunday and if it wasn’t golf or the Olympics it was MTV and more of that boom boom crap – I might email my cable carrier and ask if they’ve got copies of the old Midnight Special or In Concert series locked away in a vault somewhere for us that want to watch REAL MUSO’S.
Anyway, don’t forget to buy my book 😉
I have a like(?) for obscure motor cars, by obscure I mean stuff everyone else dislikes 😉 so the chance to pick up a ’91 Hyundai Sonata GLS with a V6 and Auto trans, plus Air con, Power Steering, blah blah all the good stuff for five hundred bucks was too good an offer to pass up. I tell you what, those that pass these cars up even at recommended retail are mad – talk about a comfortable and quick sedan.
Anyhoo on to the nuts and bolts of it (literally). It was thought to have a blown water pump (that’s why it was so cheap), ehh no problemo NOT! I’ve got a mobile mechanic that does all my work and the grief he had to go through just to get the water pump off. Remove the Power Steering pump, an engine mount plus numerous other piddling little bits that were just to much in the way GRRRRRR – cut a long short, he sorted the water pump out, did a pressure test and we find a blown head gasket AARRGGHHHHH!!! It turns out because it had boiled (read cooked) at one stage because the previous owner was a twonk and drove it with a dicky water pump it blew not one head gasket but both so they are now sitting in a machine shop getting faced and crack tested. The odd thing is, it looks like by checking the bore that the bottom end had not long had a rebuild??? Bizarre to say the least but one hell of a bonus.
It all goes back together in a few days thankfully. Now electric windows especially on earlier cars are pretty much guaranteed to play up and this was no exception. The right rear motor was gone, an easy fix and the master switch block on the drivers door was also being a pest so I ordered one from a wreckers as I”m not overly keen on spending four hundred bucks for a new one *shudder*.
This is where it all became fun. Apparently the car I’ve got is in the middle of model change over which meant the first switch to arrive was the wrong one – then we find out the there is a different one for the 4 cylinder variant and a different one again if the indicator lenses are orange instead of clear (this is sounding well bizarre aye :-)). The wrecker finally found one in downtown Melbourne 800 miles away but at least that’s now fixed also.
It’s going to be a damn good car when it’s finished, I might post a few pics – don’t ask why, I’m just an ego-maniac 😉
Ooooooookay, some person trademarks a crowd yell (Aussie, Aussie, Aussie – Oy, Oy, Oy) and the country is up in arms about it (well the current affairs programs are anyway). . .
While I sit here listening to Dave Gilmour, I’ve been stewing over this trademark rubbish, and where the hell it came from (the call) in the first place. Now if anyone has ever heard of Max Boyce, you’d know where I”m going with this. I remember seeing him live in Sydney in the late 70’s – the LP I have of his here is dated ’78 (live at Maesteg) which starts off with a lead in to ”Sospan Fach” which ends with ”Oggy, Oggy, Oggy – Oy, Oy, Oy” <- where have you seen that before!!
Every sporting match I saw from the late 70’s, early 80’s had Australian crowds shouting ”Oz-zee” followed by three hearty claps, this Aussie, Aussie, Aussie thing has only been around for maybe 10 or 15 years.
Now lets do some maths. 2004 minus 10 or 15 equals 1994 and 1989 – oooookay (remembering Max Boyce and his Oggy, Oggy call), this Australian call is still like 10 or 15 years behind Max.
For clarity, I’ve emailed the man himself to find out when he started that ”Oggy, Oggy Oggy – Oy, Oy, Oy” call, if not for history sake then just for mine.
It’s like when you hear announcers announcing (yes they do that *grin*) a band as English when they actually come from Wales – take Badfinger for a start, or Budgie. It seems like that unless your name is Tom Jones you’re gunna get stiffed.
Another way they manage to avoid the countries name is by calling the person British, like say Sir Anthony Hopkins, the great British actor – ummm why not Sir Anthony Hopkins, the great WELSH actor. If he was English, they’d call him English – def not British.
Credit where credit is due yeh!
Some other famous Welsh People for you to consider:
Roger Glover (Deep Purple) born on a farm in the Brecons (so I heard)
nnahh bugger it, I could go on for hours…