Sunday, February 15, 2004

I had 110 gigabytes of Winchester memory on my puta and yet it still wasn't enough. The bytes free counter was in free fall and I figured it was high time to save a lot of stuff to disc. So, I scanned the contents in an attempt to maximise returns and figured that, as I had about 75 films on hard drive and as I have a home entertainment centre which plays a variety of discs, it might be a good idea to convert all those DivX avi. files to VCD format. I managed to find a program capable of this mighty feat, downloaded it and set off. After having spent about ten minutes watching the task bar stick at 0%, I figured it might just be time to ditch the Celeron III and upgrade to something more capable of performing the task in hand within my allotted three score and ten.

One phone call to my bank manager later (beware the perils of phone banking...the illusion of wealth it gives you is exactly that...illusory) and I was informed that my company's bank account was in an exceedingly healthy state and therefore capable of fucking the tax men by supporting an upgrade of my system.

I called my friend, who owns a computer shop, and told him to book the holiday, I'm on my way. I settled on a 2 by 256 Mb dual channel memory and a Pentium IV which also entailed a video card upgrade...TV out, video capabilities and pedal to the metal. The only remaining original components are the 80 and 30 gigabyte hard drives and my audio card...I even had to buy a new case/box/container to fit the whole shebang into. At this point, I'm afraid I rather lost the plot and my friend's holiday suddenly took on Niue proportions as I bought an HP deskjet 5150 printer and a Canon scanner. The scanner was made with me in mind...three buttons only, one for a scan, one for a photocopy and one for send by e-mail...I'm a simple kinda guy.

Now because I run on Windows XP, such an upgrade meant a complete re-installation of the operating system rather than a simple refresh and I am still in the process of re-installing all the program files I lost in the process. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck might best express the feeling engendered by this rather tiresome task.

So, I finally had a system capable of working at a speed equal to that of my un-Stellad synapses and could I use it? Could I fuck! Excuse me for a minute...I have to hit the fridge...memo to self...last bottle of Stella...refresh stocks forthwith, particularly as the Blades have a match on the morrow.

I have to give you some idea of the topography of my abode in order for you to be aware of the problem with which I was faced. Any guests I may have are accommodated in the same room as my puta on a sofa bed I installed for the very purpose. I have this very day taxied my soi-disant mother-in-law to the train station and thus regained internet access. She goes to bed at 8 pm at the latest and so rather curtailed my prime time internet activity. So, throw away your Simple English text books guys, I'm back!

So it is that, rather like the Blades, I've been playing catch up today. Having finally torn myself away from the penguin games on offer at Lamps and GCB's places, I hit on my favourite blogs and was not disappointed.

I enjoyed reading about Jess's confrontation with the American Coalition of Life Activists and was well impressed with her demeanour. My reactions under such circumstances are to a) try and reason with them or, if that fails, b) resort to a grizzly violence. I am amazed at how I have changed as I have got older (I nearly said matured then, but in the interests of factual accuracy settled on the former). In the past I would have walked over hot coals to avoid confrontation but now I find I am less likely to walk away and odds on favourite to create what my parents would call a scene. Life is too short to put up with stupidity and ignorance. Sorry, mum.

I am also all agog to discover how Roger's 'Into the Tumult' pans out and moreover very impatient to inform him that Wendy are indeed fucked.

I would also like to hazard a guess that Churchill the nodding dog was indeed modelled on Bagpuss and I await the Pixar version with bated breath.

Jess's love of stories also gave me food for thought. I figured for a moment that my supply of same was rather limited but then consoled myself with the fact that they haven't been properly coaxed out of me yet. She may apply the whip, cudgel or obscure bourbon as she sees fit. And, as it appears I have now missed Valentine's day by the merest whisper, may I say that I regret not having being born in Maryland and that she has my permission to attempt to sweep me off my feet to Niue whenever the fancy takes her.

Oh well, if you have been, it sure ain't my fault.

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