I’ll tell you where you can shove it…

As you are probably aware, Karen and I bought a house a fortnight ago. After about a week, I got bored of having the estate agent’s “Sold” sign stood up in front, so I took it down and laid it flat on the ground (allowing the estate agents to pick it up and take it away when they are in the area).

However, Karen informs me that at some point this morning, the “Sold” sign has been re-erected. Clearly, we need to move it a little further from the front yard so that it won’t be instantly replaced. Here are some thoughts.

1. In the dead of night, take the sign round to the churchyard and stand it up in front of the church. For maximum potential offense, stick it through someone’s grave, preferably a recent one.
2. In the dead of night, situate the sign in front of a nearby school. That will cause some rumours to fly about in the morning, eh?
3. In the dead of night, install the sign next to the railway line. Then, when a train comes past, it will make a fabulous clacking noise like those plastic things that you put in your bike wheel.
4. In the dead of night, scour the town for dog turds. Collect them all up into one large pile that is sufficiently big to support the sign. Place the sign in the pile.
5. In the dead of night, break into the allotments and locate the sign on some random guy’s plot. When he discovers it, he’ll be all, like, “But it wasn’t even on the market!” and “How much money did it sell for? Is that my money, now?”
6. Uhm… in a pub.
7. Throw it in the municipal swimming pool.
8. Balance it atop a telegraph pole.
9. Traffic cone.
10. Paris Hilton.



What the… did the Government quietly reclassify [Kahlua][] as a Class A drug while I wasn’t looking? Nobody seems to be selling Kahlua! I’ve tried various supermarkets, I’ve tried various off-licenses, and none of them sell it. In fact, most of the time when I go into an “offy” and ask for Kahlua, the chap on the other side of the counter shows no signs of even recognising the name!


I’m starting to panic. This is all horribly, horribly wrong.



My t-shirts are good for two days now. Winter is approaching.




The Best Days

I used to think that the best days of my life were behind me. I would look back on carefree times, knowing that I’d never be able to get them back. I’d never again make a nuisance of myself on a University campus, and [Shiny Tight Stuff][] would never again spend an entire summer drinking beer in the afternoons and making music.

[shiny tight stuff]:

Yesterday morning, while lying in bed and listening to Bernard making silly gurgling noises, I realised that these are the best days. Right now. Maybe there will be some more best days in 20 years, when Bernard has left home, and Karen and I can let our hair down at last, but I’m not going to make any assumptions about what the future holds.

The best days can’t be captured and preserved. Photographs can remind you that you were there, but you can’t retrieve the emotions that you felt. Photographs of good times just make me weepy and nostalgic.

Words can remind you what the emotions were, but not how to reconstruct them; just like how the word “skyscraper” doesn’t contain sufficient detail to tell you how to build one.

Wisdom can be very depressing, can’t it? I’m looking forward to spending some time with someone who doesn’t have any of it.

Critters Gardening Top Photos

Wildlife In The Garden

I went out into the garden today and saw a fab-looking spider, so I dashed off to get my camera.


And then a rather large dragonfly, one of the largest that I’ve ever seen, came fluttering past. “Please settle on a leaf somewhere,” I implored. The dragonfly obliged, and stayed there long enough for me to get half a dozen shots.


Computing Photos



I’m now the proud owner of a Jerker desk.


Talk Like A Pirate Day

September 19th always has been, and will continue to be, [Talk Like A Pirate day][]. Which is why (if the [plugin][] is working correctly) this entire site should be appearing in Piratese for the duration of the day.

[talk like a pirate day]:

*Note: this entry was written a week ago, and scheduled for later publishing. It should not be taken as an indicator that [Pipex][] have managed to get round to reconnecting me yet. In fact, if this note is here, you can probably take it as an indicator that they most definitely haven’t.*




The house move is imminent. I might be without internet access for a while. I don’t have much confidence in [Pipex][] these days, but maybe they will prove me wrong.


**UPDATE:** All in all, I have to admit that Pipex have done a decent job of getting me connected at the new place. My confidence in them is somewhat restored, though I maintain that their telephone support is understaffed.


A Drama Unfolding

*Continuing from [here][]*

> Here mate tell shaggy tht tht guy he called just called me back. Lol. He wasnt to happy. Dont think its gonna work mate. He didnt know who shaggy was.

I suppose it was inevitable that Charles would text me again. I’m now pondering my next step. I think that it’s time that Adam replied. I reckon this:

> Hi Charles I have a confession to make. I slept with your mum. Lol.



Wrong number perhps Lol

> Adam my parents are gonna want to talk to yours Lol. So just tell them tht your rents are out. But say tht its ok with them when you i put you on to my dad. If they ask your mom will be givin us a lift back to your house from the pub. Charles.

It took me a few minutes to decipher this, but it looks like Adam and Charles are planning to go to a big party. I wonder if there will be hookers and gin.

If anyone wants Charles’s number to wind him up, just ask me. Maybe one of us could leave a voicemail that says “Charles, this is Adam’s father. We’re onto your little game.”