keresaspa: (Tiger Jeet Singh)
Why is it so bloody hard to buy a tall bookcase that is no more than 25 inches wide unless (a) you're happy for the shelves to collapse under the weight of more than about three books or (b) you're happy to shell out the guts of a hundred quid for some old second hand piece of tripe from one of the increasingly gouging "charity" shops? Lousy minor setbacks. I blame the Tories.
keresaspa: (Tiger Jeet Singh)
I have very a vague recollection of riding a tricycle out the back yard (no gardens in those days, we wuz poor but we wuz happy) when I was around two or three but details are sketchy at best as to whether it was actually mine or not. Beyond that I've never had any involvement with pedal contraptions in my life. Whilst every child would happily free-wheel through the barrios of Belfast and its environs the notion never appealed to me, being something of a lazy little git and also (little did I know) struggling with the reduced energy levels that haemochromatosis imparts. As a consequence not only have I never owned a bicycle but I can't actually ride one and the few occasions on which I have attempted to utilise a static exercise bike I invariably pedal backwards, a bizarre affliction caused by a combination of my lack of cycling knowledge and my laterality.

As time has gone on my feet have become my mode of transport and given that something like 75% of my a-to-b movements are now accomplished by walking inevitably cyclists have become my natural enemies. Just as cyclists hate the drivers so we walkers detest the cyclists with their horrible attitudes, their silent speed and their flagrant disregard for the rules of both the road and the pavement. I've lost count of the number of times I've expelled a sexual swear-word after some bike bugger who suddenly whizzed past my shoulder at a dangerously close distance or who, upon encountering a red light, suddenly mounted the pavement to speed at pedestrians. And don't get me started on the hateful tossers who ride a bike to walk their dog (dogs being runners-up in the walker's natural enemy contest).

As a consequence you don't need to guess how much interest I have in those long, drawn-out cycling contests like the Tour de France. Well, stone me because suddenly the Italian version is taking place on my bloody doorstep. Strictly speaking it hasn't even started yet but I am without doubt completely sick of it already. Now we all know that I'm a total droopy-drawers and as such the enforced jollity and enthusiasm that has arrived along with lycra-clad steroid guzzlers might be appealing to all of my fellow denizens of Farsetshire but for me they can cram it with walnuts.

On Monday we had the Belfast marathon, the annual spectacle of sweating nonsense that renders every May Day in Belfast a junk day in which it is impossible to get anywhere. Now we are to have four days of solid disruption just to determine which jacked-up pedaller gets to go on to the next stage or something. God knows public transport in Belfast is bad enough but for the next few days it is going to be so slapdash that it might as well not even exist. Belfast will become every bit as impassible as on any 12th of July and all for a substantial loss and the possibility of advertising (because there are apparently a significant number of people in the world who have never heard of Belfast but will do so because a bicycle ride is here). Give me strength. I know that the local mugwumps are obsessed with brining daft one-offs to this city but this is one we really could have done without. At the best of times this is a congested hell hole, where the simple chore of getting from one side of the city to the other can take over an hour by pubic transport, but with all this nonsense doing anything will be virtually impossible, particularly for those without cars and who have impaired mobility. But who cares, eh, we have a bunch of juiceheads on bikes that nobody has ever heard of so it's all worth it. Had the council ever bothered to invest in a transport infrastructure that doesn't rely on the roads all of this might have been no big deal but they haven't and a result for the second time in a week the city has to come to a standstill for some silly little race. Why this couldn't have been dumped in the Glens of Antrim or some other hick place that no sod ever goes is beyond me, rather than ballsing up a whole city just for bloody cycling.

Put it this way if I don't get to the matches on Saturday because of all this tripe then I'll be frightfully cross with the organisers. Rotters.

Dun with it

Dec. 8th, 2013 06:47 pm
keresaspa: (Tiger Jeet Singh)
Dunmurry is a suburb of Belfast or Lisburn (depending on your perspective) that used to be a separate village but has now been swallowed up by the expansion of both larger settlements. It can essentially be divided in twain between the Catholic and Protestant parts, the former represented by the republican Twinbrook and Lagmore, the latter consisting of Dunmurry village and a couple of outlying loyalist estates that are strictly speaking in the village of Drumbeg but generally included as part of Dunmurry. Dunmurry is, frankly, a shitehole and stands alone as probably my least favourite part of the greater Belfast area with even the soul-destroyingly horrid Upper Knockbreda Road left in the shade.

Despite this, as part of my quest to visit every football ground of intermediate status or better in said greater Belfast area (I'm taking the limits of the Metro bus service as the edges for now, meaning that ten remain unvisited, a doable target by the end of the season), I found myself in the selfsame Dunmurry yesterday. Dunmurry Young Men play in Division 1B of the Northern Amateur League on a bit of grass that they have erected a fence around. Despite the fact that you can watch the match from the main road they still expect two quid entry at a level where higher up clubs often charge nothing. You then have to stand on a five feet wide gangway between a broken wooden fence and their clubhouse to watch a match taking place about twenty feet below in a hollow. As if the ground isn't a big enough dump some inconsiderate tosser decided that for the entire ninety minutes their hateful bastard of a dog would be free to run back and forward barking its head off and getting in everybody's way. The brute spent a good two minutes sniffing my crotch and wouldn't bugger off no matter how much I told it to do so, spending the rest of the time generally annoying everybody by marching back and forward and yapping non-stop. Call me old fashioned but if I'm expected to shell out two quid to watch a bunch of amateurs I really would rather not have to spend the evening removing dog hairs from my clothes into the bargain. I'm not a dog person (nor a cat person, or a children person or an anything that hangs around your legs making a nuisance of itself person come to that) so I really hate the tendency that some dog owners have of foisting their beasts onto everyone whether they want them or not. If you must bring a dog to a football match put a leash on it or better yet stay the hell away. Nuisances.

And, just to add insult to injury, no bus came for half an hour so I was stuck in Dunmurry for thirty minutes longer than I wanted to be. Thankfully though I have now ticked off both grounds in Dunmurry village and will, with any luck, not need to visit the godforsaken place again. Roll on next Saturday when I can be in the much more salubrious surroundings of the Monkstown estate. Much more like it.
keresaspa: (Mister Harman (Arthur English))
I have spent the last few Sundays indulging in a spot of what might be called (at a push) excavation. Where I live suffers from a touch of damp and, based on no evidence whatsoever, I decided that the piled-up soil and greenery surrounding my place must be causing it and so it had to be removed. I am not by nature a gardener, finding it to be a tedious chore like all manual work, and as such clearing gutters, cutting down bits of tree and bagging up sacks of soil, humus (and quite possibly hummus as well) and generic waste holds little joy for me. Nonetheless I was eager to crack on and finish the blasted thing but unfortunately today's plans have rather gone for a Burton due to a combination of an outbreak of wooziness and bits of rain that have turned the soil from sod into a right awkward sod. It may yet be that I have a stab at doing a little bit but the grey sky suggests that an afternoon of removing old pieces of fireplace grate and vintage Tudor Crisps packets (do they even exist any more?) will have to be shelved until next week. And after I went to the Shankill and got proper garden waste sacks and all.
keresaspa: (Terry-Thomas)
You know those double CDs you get sometimes? That's right, the ones where there is a CD on top as normal and then another one underneath that you have to lift part of the box to get at. Well, they're another thing that needs a law of standardisation put in place. Either hinge them at the spine or hinge them at the opening but stop this take your pick. How many times do you find yourself struggling to lift at the spine, even cracking the box, only to discover that it is one of those that opens from the other side? Just me then. No, I think we've all done that and I think we can all agree that it is a pointless choice, every bit as annoying as Colin Murray, shoe shops or people who say things like "should of" and "damp squid". CD case manufacturers get your heads together, decide on one side or the other and stick to it. Thank you.

I could add further ire about the skin-tight plastic that they insist on wrapping the cases in but that would inspire more anger than my fragile biosystem could cope with in one day so I'll leave it there. Goodnight each.
keresaspa: (Captain Mainwaring)
There was a time I enjoyed April Fools Day (at least I think there might have been) but it has become such a drag due to the sheer overkill of it all. Lying stories by media outlets have become so ubiquitous now on this day that I find myself doubting absolutely everything. OK so some are obvious, not least the Guardian's effort (like Shaun Ryder could have associated himself with David Cameron and ever shown his face round Manc again, unless he actually wanted his melon twisted for real), but so much that you read and hear has a grain of doubt to it that you find yourself questioning it all, afraid to look foolish lest it turns out to be some overpaid hack having a terribly original joke at the expense of the worthless plebs. Sure, I'm absolutely disgusted at the complete hypocrisy of the Conservatives and especially the Liberal Democrats but is it worth getting too worked about in case Chris Huhne pops up tomorrow to say "just kidding"?

Let's face it, like everything else, April Fools Day has become too contrived, too expected, too bloody commercial. The days when people genuinely got away with elaborate hoaxes like the spaghetti tree are over because, quite frankly, the whole format has had the arse torn out of it. In this digital age can they not just set in place filters to allow buzz-kills like myself to banish all this crap from our screens as quite frankly I'm not even convinced Falkirk actually won the Challenge Cup much less anything important. Bloody nuisance.
keresaspa: (Percy Sugden)
It occurred to me today whilst negotiating the joys of the Metro service on the Cregagh Road that isn't it high time we had a formalised bus etiquette put in place about when it is polite and when it is impolite to change seats. It's already a slightly uncomfortable situation for cold northerners to be forced to sit beside strangers but guidelines about the acceptability of moving really need to exist. Today a slightly shifty looking middle aged man took up residence in the seat beside me, there being no free double seats available, so fair enough. Before long one or two were available but he remained in situ which again was fair enough as moving at the first possible chance might come across as a little insulting. Before long however there were six or seven double seats going begging and yet my travelling companion saw no need to take one. By the time it had come to my stop there were three of us on the whole bloody bus and yet I was still wedged against the window by Mr Nevermove. OK, I know I'm oozing animal magnetism (well, I'm oozing something anyway) but there is such a thing as personal space. With this in mind I call for the creation of a new addition to the list of life's unwritten rules, namely that once there are five free double seats it is perfectly acceptable, nay desirable, to get up and move to one. Go tell it on the mountain.

And speaking of creepy buggers who won't piss off I see that Bertie Ahern is to be expelled from Fianna Fail for sleaze. As expulsions go this is right up there with the time that Sharon Ebanks was kicked out of the BNP for anti-Semitism (rather than being half Black, which of course had nothing to do with her expulsion whatsoever). What next, somebody being kicked out of the Tories for being a smug, self-satisfied, public school tosspot? Good Lord, being sleazy was practically a prerequisite for Fianna Fail membership in the days of Charlie Haughey and Albert Reynolds so the sudden pretence of being purer than the driven snow is frankly laughable. The Failures love their sleaze and always will and when Michael Martin's secrets eventually come out he will look very foolish over this.
keresaspa: (Shakuni (Gufi Paintal))
There are few things in life more horrifying than the phrase "easy self-assembly" are there? Long-term readers, if any, will be well aware that I have previous in this area but nevertheless I recently launched myself headlong into the fray by getting hold of a CD tower from that august purveyor of tasteful shite Argos. Rather than waste time on the details it will suffice to say that the "easy" part of the phrase was a bald-faced lie and that the supposedly most simple part, attaching a piece of wood to another two pieces of wood, proved absolutely impossible for reasons I still haven't quite worked out. When screws fit very snugly with every test it seems beyond the realms of reality that they should fall out every time you insert them with a screwdriver but that is precisely what happened, to the point that I gave up and broke out the Uhu. After fannying about levels that were just ridiculous the thing is finally standing now, albeit with the two major sections showing a join that would embarrass Ernie Wise's wig maker and a wobble that suggests future mad dashes to avoid the thing toppling over. Of course, the sensible thing to do would be to stop buying CDs altogether and thus not have to figure out how to store so many of the bloody things but that's not an even an option as one can never have enough music and downloads just don't do it for me. Still, you would think that after years of things like this existing they would have figured out ways to make these things easier to build rather than making them progressively more difficult. Or alternatively after years of trying you would think I would have improved at these sort of tasks rather than getting worse at them. Either way "easy self-assembly is a bloody lie and I hate it. So there.
keresaspa: (Tiger Jeet Singh)
Does this bloody site ever work now? Being the technophobe that I am I have no idea what "Varnish Error 503" means but I am sick to the back teeth of looking at it. I don't know if it is yet another bloody Russian attack or if they are STILL updating their servers but it is ridiculously irritating. I'll waste no more of my words as I fuly suspect this post to disappear for the next few hours and I'll end with this.

One for RonnieB )
keresaspa: (Haku)
Minor things that annoy me number 128,580,357 in a series: people who can't queue properly. There are four particular queue foibles that really irk me. The first of these is that old favourite of standing vaguely near the end of a queue but giving no indication whether or not you are in it. If you're back of the queue make it clear by following the existing shape and by not suddenly becoming fascinated by something in the opposite direction, if you're not go and stand somewhere else, you bloody nuisance. The next annoyance is people moving about once they are in a queue. If it's very cold I can bear people stamping their feet on the spot (even though I have yet to see that have any appreciable impact on temperature) but don't start walking backwards and forwards standing on my giant toes just because you are a little bored. Related to this is the queue group, where five or six people stand in a sort of huddle in a queue, blocking everything with their annoying ways. Often the two will be combined if it is a group of teenagers (as it nearly always is, with elderly women the only other section of society to regularly form a queue group) as the boys in the group will giddily run around the girls in a desperate attempt to impress them in that wick way that teenage boys do. All this will be done whilst wearing those stupid bloody jeans that the kids insist on wearing nowadays, the sort that are too tight and yet somehow also too loose simultaneously and thus nearly show off weedy boy arse by sliding down despite also clinging like lycra to scrawny boy legs. Whoever invented them wants horsewhipped! Finally my personal pet hate is when somebody queues on my shoulder. It is a simple concept, folks, stand behind the person in front of you in more or less the same position with maybe up to six inches leverage on either side. Do not stand almost beside me - we're not together and you're not getting in front of me. I'm a wide human being and were I to raise my arms I could conceivably block an entire street so you are not going to sneak past me by being up my hole for news. Wait your bloody turn!

Apologies for that little bit of puce rage my lords, ladies and gentlemen but recent bouts of standing in lines of people have reminded me how much I hate the whole flaming concept. That and the fact that minor annoyances are invariably amplified when one has a cold, especially of the sort that clings to your forehead and gives you aching eye sockets for your trouble. Still let's try to look on the bright side - Odemwingie has signed a new deal and Wigan Athletic can turn their attention to more realistic targets like members of Blackburn Rovers' third team. Nope, the queues thing is still bugging me!

Ip dip

Jul. 22nd, 2011 06:33 pm
keresaspa: (Seagull)
There are few bigger pains in the arse (no pun intended) than being pooped on by a bird, are there? Actually it had never happened to me before. Until today. Three miles away from home. With no coat. So I had to walk home from bloody Cregagh with a pile of poo on my back. Bloody birds! Still, I've been told that it's good luck so bring on the lottery wins.



And of course it was a seagull - poetic justice!
keresaspa: (Cookie Kwan)
So the big snow finally went and a sudden unexpected heat wave of sorts has replaced it. For my part it is something of a good thing as at least my heat is (sort of) working again although having to sleep in the living room (with precious little actual sleep being had due to an aversion I have to being too near the floor) and the disruption it engendered did rather make the whole Christmastide a bit more of a chore than I would have liked. Still the snow was, in retrospect, picturesque and, as is the case with every fall of snow we have now, must be recorded for posterity thus:

Snow )

But the snow is now a memory and yesterday a venesection was due with the promise that I might soon be given a respite by being switched onto once every three months rather than once every fortnight. No sooner had I set out to catch the bus than I noticed something unusual about the two big houses facing my stop.

The story continues )

So that's the end of that chapter. Another attempt will be made tomorrow when I will no doubt be told that there are no doctors in the entire hospital and that I should come back every day for the next six months on the off chance that one deigns to grace us with his presence. Either that or I'll touch for another sprog who has never done the blasted procedure before, doesn't know how to clamp a simple tube and doesn't know what ferritin means as happened last time. Fun all the way.

Oh and I suppose, just in case anybody is reading this, other than the usual hordes who descend on this journal wanting only pictures of Lorraine Kelly and Juliette Binoche (always give em what they want), I should say a happy new year to all. Which I just did.

Snotsnail

Aug. 1st, 2010 09:54 pm
keresaspa: (Ivy the Terrible)
I suspect I might be the only one to care about this but new Hotmail is officially shite. There does rather seem to be a snobbishness which dictates that no-one uses Sabeer Bhatia's creation unless they are a gay, a woman or a mental but to date I have found that it serves my needs perfectly. But after giving it a chance to grow on me I hereby declare the new version to be glitchy, gimmicky, lacking in substance and generally unalterably keech. My git of a laptop is slow at the best of times but it absolutely despises this new set-up to the point where simply opening an e-mail can take up to two minutes. And for all the new version's much promised new features it still won't let me block those bloody fake e-mails from somebody purporting to be Facebook that infest my junk box. Were it not for the fact that I absolutely loathe googlemail I would give serious consideration to ending my long association with Hotmail over this pointless revamp. I'm not going to do it mind, so there has been little actual point to this rant (as usual).
keresaspa: (Two Ronnies)
Somewhat inevitably, given that the weekend is about to start and so access to a dentist has become impossible, the temporary filling decided that today was the right time to give up the ghost. A stray raisin in this morning's cereal was the problem as it lifted the edge of the thing away from the socket. Most of the filling is still in place but there is now a gap and it wobbles whilst what is left of the tooth is spewing out that awful taste that only ever exists when you are undergoing orthodontic work (and which I had hitherto believed was the taste of that just dreadful pink water that they make you gargle with). The appointment is on Monday so hopefully it will hold on until then without being too annoying but my innate pessimism relating to all things medical leads me to believe that the blasted thing will fall apart early tomorrow, resulting in the ruminations of Jeff Stelling and company being rudely interrupted by the sudden shock of exposed nerves.

But anyway, changing the subject completely, I had a rare glance at rotten old Freeview yesterday and noticed that the TV News channels that have been there for a while have suddenly sprang into life, spewing forth a bunch of pointless bile about first-person shooters and new Fun Lovin' Criminals albums with the truly execrable Alex Kramer hyperventilating over it. A look at their website reveals bugger all so I was wondering if any of you meeja savvy types that peruse this pile of old tosh can enlighten me what this terrible new channel is all about? The ten minutes that I caught were so awful that I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be an attempt by Kelvin MacKenzie (*spit*) to launch his own vanity station.

Anyway I must push on as it is almost dinner time and I'm the mood for some crushed temporary filling and chips. If you hear a scream of agony about half three tomorrow you'll know it's only me.
keresaspa: (Lester and Eliza)


No better way to sum up some of the things that are currently happening in the world. Firstly another duff result for Albion. A big part of me reckons I shouldn't worry too much as the Baggies are still five points clear of the chasing pack and there isn't even one team that looks consistent enough to mount a real challenge. But then the pessimist creeps in as Albion have suffered a few too many questionable results already this season and Nottingham Forest under that wee git Billy Davies are looming ominously on the fringes. As well as that there is a bit too much reliance on Simon Cox for goals right now and a new striker is essential in January. Overall improvement is needed and quick because this current team looks like it would crumple under the pressure of the play-offs.

A similar reaction struck me when I heard the news that the porn boys are ready to pounce on West Ham. Talk about a marriage made in hell - a club followed by a bunch of arrogant cockney tossers with persecution complexes joining forces with that horrid human being David Sullivan. From continuing to pimp Mary Millington even after her suicide, by way of putting out pornography in the guise of a newspaper in the Daily and Sunday Sport to his whole "poor boy done good" (through exploitation of vulnerable young women) demeanour Sullivan has always wound me up royally and I was very glad when that Ricky Steamboat lookalike ran him out of Birmingham City. Not only that but him and Gold (whom I know nothing about but whom I’m told has the same poor boy done good through porn shtick) were also the ones who forced that God-awful, self-obsessed, self-publicising bastard Karren Brady on us all. There can be nothing good about somebody who associates themselves with porn barons, Saatchi & Saatchi and Alan Sugar in one lifetime – I suspect she pulls the wings off butterflies as a hobby. Between that hellish triumvirate and the succession of gittish managers such as Barry Fry, Trevor Francis and Alex McLeish they really did make Brum very easy to hate. Add them to West Ham and their world cup winners and I reckon the whole concoction will be just about unbearable.

The Paw Broon reaction would also be needed for the current shenanigans over at the made-up language agency. Interesting to note Doddsy asking hairy arse face if the Ulster-Scots Agency is fit for purpose. I suspect that the answer would have to be a resounding 'yes', assuming that the purpose in question is to waste loads of money on a language that was made up by a couple of geezers with a book of Robert Burns poetry and an axe to grind at some Ulster Clubs meeting or other in the mid 1980s. It's bad enough that a divided society has a minister who is supposed to represent all cultures but who refuses to even enter Catholic churches without him being wedded to the whole nonsense of a so-called language that any English speaker can understand. We all know you're an Ulster nationalist Nelson and that you're only in the DUP because Hugh Ross' mob had about as much support as Breckland Wanderers and you are clearly a man who likes power (witness his previous run in the Ulster Unionists when they were the top dogs) but as a culture minister you could only be more biased if you got "kill all taigs" tattooed on your forehead. The sooner you and the Ulster-Scots Agency disappear into obscurity where you belong the better. If no fan of the Alliance but if ever a position was tailor made for them then the Culture Ministry is the one. Certainly an Ulster-Scots waffling Orangeman who hates gays, the GAA and shops opening on Sundays can never represent all cultures fairly.

And finally, in a complete change of pace, I am issuing a mild plea for aid here regarding an album that recently came into my possession. Based on the two highly unlikely assumptions that (a) somebody passing here owns a copy and (b) anybody is actually reading this any more I am asking for a track listing for an album called "Window" by a band called (wait for it) Window. All I can tell you is that it has a psych/folk sound with a female vocalist and the cover looks like the picture below:

Album cover )

It came into my possession recently but is showing every track as 'untitled' and the internet has turned up nowt of any use, primarily because of the vague title (put window into Google and it assumes Bill Gates and his operating system are meant). So if any of the hordes reading this can help do let me know or I'll have to stamp my feet and tear my clothes in frustration. And trust me, nobody needs to see that!
keresaspa: (Tiger Jeet Singh)
So those of you based in Blighty or her occupied territories who utilise Freeview - any advice on this retune crap? I've scanned for new channels and I've done the restore factory settings scan but I'm still getting prompted to do the retune. Perhaps I'm missing the point of what it's supposed to be about but from what I can see I have done what they asked so why are they still demanding more from me?! I already have to put up with only having access to about half of the channels I am due thanks to the terrible reception round my way (understandable given that a transmitter is within walking distance, he said sarcastically) but now it seems that no matter what I do they'll be half-inching more from me. Gits! Freeview really is a lot more trouble than it's worth. Anyway, any help would be appreciated as I am that close to disconnecting the thing, binning it and putting my foot through the TV screen!
keresaspa: (Gus Goose)
Pain, agony, ouch, etc. Or to put it another way, I'm a bit on the sore side right now. Today I decided would be a good day in which to do something I had been thinking about for a while now - moving a filing cabinet from my old bedroom upstairs to my newer place outside apropos of ensuring some new reading material for the long hours of insomnia. Unfortunately since I vacated my old bedroom it has become what is technically known as a midden, to wit a dumping ground for suitcases, clothes, exercise equipment, tins of paint and various other stuff that nobody really wants but that equally nobody wants to get rid of. So before anything could be done a path needed clearing amongst the rubbish. A terribly fiddly job involving lots of things falling, indeed the sort of hateful little slice of life that makes you miss the smokes (because no minor irritant happened to me as a smoker, you see). Once that was done the contents of the cabinet had to be emptied and dumped in my auld doll's room. Again fiddly with things falling.

Plain sailing from here on, I thought, not reckoning with the fact that our landing is narrower than Kate Moss on a hunger strike. As a consequence the clothes horse and clothes press that inhabit that area had to be moved temporarily to the bathroom. More things falling, more seething from my good self. I also hadn't reckoned with just how bloody heavy the cabinet was, even having been emptied. After just about managing to walk the bugger to the top of the stairs I was struck with the realisation that somehow it had to go down the bloody things. With a bit of thought it was decided that the only way would be for it to be laid flat and slid down the stairs, with me in front of it to ensure that it didn't go flying down and crash straight through the front door. That was the killer part! The weight of the bloody thing was immense, as I realised whilst trying to support it with my hands, to the extent that I only avoided a handful of notices in the Irish News through a sudden rush of adrenaline that allowed me to stop it braining me at the last second. Then, just as I suspected, as soon as it was on its back it took off with sudden velocity and I was forced to tilt it back up a bit in order to move it down more slowly. By this point it was crushing my chest somewhat severely and for once I was glad to be a fat man as, thinking on my feet, I took a page out of the weightlifting handbook and rested the load on my ample breadbasket. Having convinced myself I had a Terry Hollands physique I pressed on, although in fairness it stopped my ribs from cracking and my lungs from being punctured, so score one to the spare tyre (for a monster truck) which would be amply awarded with a fish supper later. Eventually I managed to get the cabinet down the stairs with just a bunch of bruises and a complete lack of breath for my trouble. The ordeal was not over as the back step still had to be negotiated as well as the raised part in front of my door but compared to the Gehenna that was the stairs they were easier than falling off a tightrope made of soap.

So as I said earlier, a bit on the sore side right now would be the crux of this story. Still a bunch of old football magazines, Dandy annuals and republican newspapers should keep me amused for a while so it's not all bad. Just mostly!
keresaspa: (Idi Amin)
If there's one thing you don't need during a quit attempt (feeling a good deal better physically but craving them more than ever today, thanks for asking) it is unnecessary annoyances. With that in mind I really should not have ventured to Sainsburys today. In and off itself food shopping is already quite annoying but today was a whole new kind of annoying. My own fault of course that I decided to arrive there around half three just as the schools were out. I have no children for a reason - they get on my wick! So trying to shop in a place crammed full of middle class mothers and their over-indulged offspring was hardly a nice experience. Add to that the blasted teenagers arriving with their rapid-fire, breathless, inane chattering and my head was ready to explode. Still it could be worse - I reckon I'll have an attempt at the town tomorrow!
keresaspa: (L7)
Hippy new drear and all that. The attempts to follow this from the public library continue in their frustrating ways but, fingers crossed, that will be solved before long.

Anyway, I have to rush as these things are still timed so, as I missed the opportunity at the end of the year and it is now an annual tradition, here are my top ten albums of 2008:

10. Jade Warrior - NOW
9. My Dying Bride - An Ode to Woe
8. Katy Perry - One of the Boys
7. Sarah Brightman - Symphony
6. Metallica - Death Magnetic
5. Gabriella Cilmi - Lessons to be Learned
4. Ida Maria - Fortress Round My Heart
3. Levellers - Letters from the Underground
2. A Fine Frenzy - One Cell in the Sea
1. Scarlett Johansson - Anywhere I Lay My Head

No responsibility taken for awful taste contained within. And now I must go as time is running out again. Ooh but this is annoying!
keresaspa: (Tiger Jeet Singh)
My blooming bank is acting the arse now. As part of this British Library trip I need a bank statement that is no more than three months old to prove my address (quite why my address matters when I'm not borrowing anything I don't know). So I had intended to order one at the start of last week but of course being a Fenian I am confined to barracks whilst the idiots walk on the roads so it was last Wednesday before I could put the request in. Still, I thought, it should only take a couple of days to fire this out. Some hope! I'm still waiting and I have this horrible suspicion that the thing won't arrive until after I'm gone. If that happens the only option I'll be left with will be to bring my last statement from April. In theory I suppose it is on the three month limit but the date will make it three months and a couple of weeks old and so probably unsatisfactory, leaving me with either a wasted trip or forced to bung whoever's arranging my pass a bribe. Can nothing in this modern world happen without a whole bunch of pointless drama surrounding it? Bloody banks and libraries!

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