A tale of two knuckles

Cookery tip #1:

When cooking a joint of any type it needs to rest before carving. The molecules in the meat relax and the joint is served more tender.

1. Do not put the baking tray and Joint on the hob and try and cut a slice off, for a bit of a "taster" straight out of the oven.
2. If you decide to ignore step 1. have the Numbkins in your brain (Beano Readers) disable or over-ride the auto-reaction part of the brain.
3. When (please note, when not if) the tray and joint start to slide off the hob while hacking into unrelaxed meat. Stopping said slide, do not use the following method. Sticking your finger into the hot oil and up against the side of the tray. It will work, but you will spend at least 1 evening wondering if it was worth it. + Not that hungry suddenly.
4. Should you experience #3 , before grasping the molten finger, ensure you drop the knife.

Un-Fucking_Real. I have a blister the size of Tiger Woods nuts, before all those blondes turned up, and a cut which can be seen in the middle of it like a fossil trapped in umm that yellow stuff.

I have weird manflu as well.

During the day, fine. As soon as I think about bed, dry scratchy throat.

The Vodka and orange trick failed for the first time ever last night. It gave me acid indegestion on top of or underneath my sore throat.

Going to gargle salt water and hit the sack.

A new direction

Having heard more from Foxxx of the ins and outs of software developement in senior management, and from my own experience, it seems clear to me there is a role for a person to step in on a contract basis.

1 : The Father Dougal type

The fuckwit, all the managers can blame stuff on and come out looking squeaky clean.
"Dougal, you said it had to be done that way, this was the scope, that was the timescale, these were the resources needed, that was the budget, it had to be this colour, those were the new requirements"
I'll provide a checklist they can use pre-meeting for me to look stupid and carry the can for.
"What!, on your arse I did" just to give that manager a bit of credibility.
"Yes you did, you had on a Blue cardigan".
"Ah yes, that sounds familiar now".

OR

2: Vague Guru

"As a team bringing this project in is like we are trying to land a helicopter". Waft hand at the open mouthed suits.
"One of you controls the collective (up and down), another the cyclic (left and right), you the throttle(how fast up and down) , and finally someone the anti torque pedals (which way you point). If you don't do it in a co-ordinated fashion, you'll crash together, land somewhere else and get taken prsioner together and be sodomised, or just run out of fuel and crash together.
At the same time as running your own bit of control to make a landing you must also complete a particularly tricky Soduko puzzle which you personally will be rewarded on, regardless of your helicopter".

Hmm this is actually quite good.

I can't get bogged down in specifics, so it's questions.
"Why are we going up when everyone else was set up for us to descend"?
"The airfields over there, who has us pointed at those mountains? Can the up and down or left and right people bring us back around?
Maybe I should throw in, the windows are blacked out, and the landing pad is specified on a sheet in the cabinwritten by a dyslexic seaman".

Gettin late, I have to sign on tomorrow, so I'll sign off here

Space, the final straw.

Happily left unbroken.

Before I start, I should mention I've been back on the Sainsburys own brand Scotch.
+ Drinking it is part charitable. Someones lad at Gods waiting room has some kind of illness and is collecting plastic bottle tops. I have a carrier bag full of milk and coke bottle tops. No I don't drink milk and alcohol.
That plastic bottle tops thing better not be a wind up, I've been doing it religeously. To the extent of pickeing them up in the street.

Talking of which (this is going to be a ramble kind of one sided conversation), I resent the postal strike. I've had to go around the local streets myself chucking rubber bands outside peoples house.

+ +If anyone reads this, I hope they appreciate that I actually got out of bed to come write it.
Ya know how it is, if you at all creative. You get an idea, and then spend the rest of the night running it through in your head and editing it. Fall asleep at unGodly O'Clock (Irish pagan version of Old father time?) and wake up with it a faded memory but knackered.

So, back to the point. Ish.
Anyone who has visited my Belgravia (ok Pimlico then) apartment will have an appreciation of the scale of the place. However, tonight I even managed to suprise myself but discovering a tumble dryer I'd forgotten I had. I could have pawned it, had I known.

I'm a hoarder, I hang onto things for sentimental value, future use, or just too lazy to chuck it out.
I have a bus ticket I kept from the time I got a blow job aged 14 on the top deck of an 11 bus, from the hottest 6th former from the girls school nearest ours.
OK I didn't and I don't, it was the PE Mistress in the back of her car. By the end of term we all had a bus ticket. Alright, that isn't true either.
Soooo, I hoard things. Some of us are hoarders and others minimalist.
I visited one chaps new apartment and it was lovely. "When is the moving in day" I asked. "What do you mean, I've been here 3 years"!
"Where's all your stuff"?, "Over there" came the reply pointing at an egg cup or something equally small.

Well, tonight when I couldn't find the bed, it occured to me that I'd been somewhat lax on the domestic chores and laundry was starting to take over the bedroom. I looked at it and sighed, it takes an age washing and drying and then hanging on the radiator because it isn't dry.
Ping, that was me btw not the machine, didn't I buy a tumble dryer once in better times?
A quick hunt and I found it, behind a secret door in the bathroom, under a pile of bus tickets and behind some old Dutch woman called Frank.

Space, the final straw.Happily left unbroken.

Mong Magnet

I've had to use pubic transport for the last couple of days, and noticed something about myself.

Wherever I walk or just stand, people are attracted to me magnetic fashion. I've had people see me coming up the street and cross the road to stop in the middle of the path, just to make me walk around them. Other people drift away from the kerb or railings to intersect my route. Some wlaking in front of me suddenly go into a moondance and back into me. Others absorbed by newspapers, or wearing hats made from Pelican bills pulled down to their nipples, or tapping at mobile phones, or with brollies carried like shields, veer from side to side of the pavement until they clip you as they walk past and shout "Look where your going". I was actually standing still lighting a cigarette when one such did this.
"I was standing still, you gormless drag queen" I shouted at the fat bint who waddled up the road. She managed to rotate enough from above the buttocks to flip me the finger.

I had another gormless bint in front of me at the Oister top up machine, just the other day. It was the only one working. She Fannied about looking for her card in the handbag which was called a Bergen when I was in the army for 5 minutes. Then spent an age looking at her travel history, like it was a novel??? Having discovered where she'd been over the last month, she checked her account. ACCOUNT FFS, she had £2.80 on the card, it took a milisecond for me to read, but her cubing it by Pi in her budgeriegar sized brain took an age. When the answer came back £2.80, she decided she needed to put more funds in, unfortunately hours of rummaging through the Bergen revealed her credit card was in her inside pocket. She then fucked up the pin code twice, and took the card out to try another. I wish I was joking.
I had stood behind 1 person in a almost empty Regents Park underground, there was a queue of 10 by the time she'd finished. AND to cap it off she meandered across in front of me tapping into her mobile as I was leaving the station.

Today then

Slept badly last night.
Sainsburys do their own brand Scotch. With money running it I've been partaking of it instead of supper. A £9 investment will see me through the week, Coke not included. I suppose the same would be enough to make a decent Irish stew, but who the f*ck wants to eat that all week. It's fine when you have 16 kids to feed, but not when your a batchelor.
Anyway, that own brand Scotch doesn't half make you have weird dreams. I've been having them for weeks, but last nights was the worst.
I dreamt I was being spitroasted by two of my close mates, Ian and Simon. WTF? Even more disturbing, I was enjoying it, in the dream anyway. Try it for real chaps and things will get nasty, pronto. I woke up a couple of times, just goes to show what a shit pair of lovers these two turned out to be, and found myself back in the same dream when I fell asleep.
Weirder still, Ian insisted on wearing a condom while Simon insisted otherwise. What the hell is my subconscious telling me? Ian doesn't trust me and Simon don't care.

So, bad night and awoke with a crook in my neck, well Ian is quite tall. Bum ok though but then Simon is ickle.
Had the alarm set for 08:30, it is signing on day today. Woke at 08:00 to some serious drilling. Stop making up your own punchlines.
They are upgrading the Victorian water mains outside my house. They did it last year, all of last year, but I guess they only upgraded them to Edwardian. I haven't paid the Poll tax substitute so I guess they're now replacing them with Saxon plumbing. If the noise my cistern makes when it refills is anything to go by, I'm not a far off. I might just hang me arse out the window.

So, traipsed down to the JobCentre, but it's called something else now and I'm a customer now I guess to to discuss my "account" and prove that I had actually been looking for work like a good client so they would continue paying me.
My "advisor" is a skinny teenage Indian virgin in his first job. I was actually there at the desk when he sat next to some fat bloke doing his training a couple of months ago.
Having ticked off the official questions on his list and tapped at his keyboard, he reaches the "Ask a bonding non-work-related question" box to be ticked.
"So, are you going anywhere nice for Christmas"?
I did an internal "WHAT! is he taking the fucking piss?" I'm going to Tesco's and Sainsburys to compare their out of date produce.
"I'm not sure" I answered "Maybe you could give me a bit of advice, on that score".
"I'm here to help in any way I can"
"Well, I liked St lucia last time I was there, but Tobago is meant to be amazing, what do you reckon"?
No reply.
"Shall I sign that"?

My new CV - The Opera

Act One, Scene one.

As the ballifs disappear off set with his PC and lap-top, the hapless (hopeless even) heroe is left at his desk writing his fake CV.

Too late he realises he's written it in Italian. MS word would have resolved that, if only he still had......
His only saviour is that he included subtitles, only to discover that the default setting is chinese.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Xv1-vxnu-g&feature=related

Act One, Scene Two

Mong and Pong hear his wailing, and arrive on set to investigate.
I'll finish scene two later, but no doubt they'll be a couple of Homo's, just to make his day even worse.

Re-inventing myself

Obviously required, judging by the lack of enthusiasm my Cv is generating.

I've considered several avenues, ranging from professional savant(fuck it I tried 1 F with 2 S's, 2 f's with 1 s, and all the combinations in between) anyway from an dyslexic Idiot Savant to painter and decorator. There's no point me writing this crap if your going to hit the punchlines ahead of me.

Fine.

I'm going to market myself as a "Futurist and process analyst". Based upon, my degree in Design and Technology from Imperial college, and further studies at loughborough, my book (which I did well out of) which detailed trends which are now happening in the gaming market (if only I'd got beyond writing the third chapter), and my MBa gained while in um Mombassa or somewhere else equaly difficult to get references from. And lots of companies I've been retained by.
Obviously, I'll have to find companies who have gone to the wall, but I can counter that by saying I predicted it, months in advance.

Day of the Dentist

A week or two back I thought I had a damages case against Nobbies Nuts.
I found two bits of stone in my mouth whilst eating his dry roasted variety.
The two bits of stone turned out to be the fillings from my top and bottom rear Molars on the right hand side (from my perspective).

A phone call confirmed that my dentist only did patients who would pay (through the mouth).
So, I had to book an appointment with the Greek dentist I'd thanked the Gods I was earning enough money, to get away from.
Last time I saw him he had checked a filling with a metal toothpick thing. The filling was fine, but that was no use to him, so he clamped my head and exerted great pressure until the filling kind of popped.
"Yes, I thought so" he declared "this one also needs to be replaced".
"You bashtorf" I drooled at him. I'm not so stupid I haven't forgotten my Physics lesson from school. Umm pressure and surface area stuff. An Elephant walking across your lino floor wearing stihettos will do less damage than um a family of Pakistanis, who have a greater land mass.

Anyway.

Had to see Painless Potter today. There's one for the Bob Hope experts pub quizzers.
I'd seen him the week before, explaining that I had lost my two back fillings. After half an hour of mistaking me for Dustine Hoffman he declared his findings. Two fillings were missing from the back.
"I, awredy old u at, en I ame in"
I should point out this isn't Doric, it's Dentic.

So, his diagnosis was, both teeth were wisdom and needed to be pulled. Lucky for me, he wasn't up to the job. Although I wonder now how lucky that is, just how major is this? I'd give my hind teeth to find out.

So, turn up at his abbattoir for some minor work he's identified at 16:00. The Novocaine has only just worn off and I've stopped bleeding. No food tonight.
I picked up a copy of Readers Digest in the waiting room, and read the following, which I don't know if it was nerves or not but made me guffaw out loud, frightening the other victims in waiting.

Yers, I half inched their Readers Digest.

I got talking to a lovely elderly couple at the supermarket, but subsequently missed my bus.
As I walked home, a car pulled up and the passenger reached behind her and the rear door opened.
Seeing it was the old couple I got in. They looked at each other, then asked where I was going.
When we reached my house, I thanked them and enquired if they had much further to go.
"Not really" they replied "We were outside our door when you got in".

I'm using that in the book somewhere.

So, today then

I dunno about this Blog stuff. What is it? Like a diary but less private.

Fine. That said, only one persons reading it anyway. But she does have great pins, tits aint half bad either. Then again, from past experience it could be only me reading it. Still, I have great legs too.

Ooh before I forget.
What is the last line in Anne Franks diary?

Answer at the end of this.

So, today then:

Woke up 08:30 with the alarm, got up 10:30 when the need to pee got too great.
Went to Marks dad kevin at the hotel where he works to get my tools back. He used them to put up pictures. I was supposed to do it but an interview which came to nothing got in the way.

Mark had used the BIGGEST bit in the box, to put up postcard sized picture frames. Thank fuck no-one was leaning against the wall next door, he'd have killed them. Maybe they were away, I'll have Cosmic come over and exterminate the worlds hugest brick eating bugs, when they come back. Assuming the massive holes on their side of the wall need explaining.

To cap things off, he'd obviously dropped the drill at some point and bollixed it. The locking mechanism was, well locked solid. Knackered my hand trying to undo it, but no joy. On the way home I dropped into the Consti to see if Adam was about, he's got big hands. Unfortunately not but Jeremy was. Jeremy has even softer hands than me, as his dealing will testify. However he did mention that Mark had already said something about pushing a locking button on the drill.
Crap, clearly. Why would you mention using a button on a drill down the pub? Particularly when not such effing button exists.

Local builders yard did a bingo or bollix fix with a couple of mul-grips, and it was bingo. Well until I use it next, then I'll see.

Got home. Him downstairs is having kippers for lunch. It stunk as soon as I opened the front door. Opened the flat door, and the fire alarm is not going off as such but giving a beep every few minutes. Found a back-up battery replacement, sorted, so it wasn't the Kippers.

£90 left in the bank before I hit my overdraft limit. Then I'll start getting letters at £35 each telling me what I already know. Time for drastic measures.
Took my first prized possession down the pawn brokers. It was worth £1500, I got $140 for it.


Answer to the Anne frank above:
It was my birthday today and daddy got me a drum kit.

Someone viewed my blog

almost straight away.

Went back a little later and someone else had also taken a peek.
Penny finally dropped, it was me looking at my own blog being registered.

Sad

Today

Today, I did the usual, looked for jobs, 4 cv's sent out.
1 hopeful one just up the road for an office manager.

Only thing different today was starting a blog.
Had 15 mins to kill waiting for Question Time.