ROWLOCKS
It would appear I am unable to post anything longer than a sentence right now...parts 3 and 4 will have to wait until such time as either blogger or my browser or my computer decide to refrain from being, how shall I say...up it.
Sunday, December 12, 2004
Saturday, December 11, 2004
Part 2
(Part 1 below)
I awoke in the forenoon, pulled on my robe and sallied forth into the kitchen where I found my friend quite naked save for a pair of the most threadbare of undergarments. It appeared that he had emptied most of the contents of our Frigidaire into a heavy bottomed skillet and was wielding this in a most alarming fashion over an intense flame.
"Spot of breakfast?"
I would have declined anyway but I must confess that the sight of him attempting to remove fallen ash from an egg yolk did nothing to improve my appetite.
"Suit yourself."
He shrugged and quite spectacularly broke wind from both orifices simultaneously. His delight at the accomplishment of this feat was not, I am proud to reveal, in the slightest degree infectious.
"My engagements. Do remind me."
"Well, you did contract to provide the Badger with a phongraphic recording of a Dr John recital."
"So I did. Fuck, fuck and thrice fuck. Much as I am loathe to disappoint, That will remain a set the Badger will have to live without for a few days. Gonads and possum droppings."
"Have you given any thought to our means of transportation?"
"None whatsoever. Minutae are your department."
"Well, there is the problem of the proximity of the available stations to our intended destination to consider; the 1745, whilst being an express, would involve a disembarkation at Balatonszentgyörgy whereas the 1857 would..."
"Bugger that. We'll take the motor."
My eager anticipation of the journey was thuswise brought to a sudden and abrupt halt. I always find it exceeding difficult to take in the pleasures of the passing countryside with both legs and arms constantly braced against the eventuality of sudden impact and even 'Frank's Wild Years' played at excrutiatingly high volume is seldom enough to completely drown out the anguished screams of unfortunate pedestrians.
So it is to spare your sensibilities that I will gloss over the journey and resume the narrative at 2045 on Thursday evening as we negotiated the junction of the two major westward highways into the capital.
"Ah, Gazdagrét...there we go."
(Part 1 below)
I awoke in the forenoon, pulled on my robe and sallied forth into the kitchen where I found my friend quite naked save for a pair of the most threadbare of undergarments. It appeared that he had emptied most of the contents of our Frigidaire into a heavy bottomed skillet and was wielding this in a most alarming fashion over an intense flame.
"Spot of breakfast?"
I would have declined anyway but I must confess that the sight of him attempting to remove fallen ash from an egg yolk did nothing to improve my appetite.
"Suit yourself."
He shrugged and quite spectacularly broke wind from both orifices simultaneously. His delight at the accomplishment of this feat was not, I am proud to reveal, in the slightest degree infectious.
"My engagements. Do remind me."
"Well, you did contract to provide the Badger with a phongraphic recording of a Dr John recital."
"So I did. Fuck, fuck and thrice fuck. Much as I am loathe to disappoint, That will remain a set the Badger will have to live without for a few days. Gonads and possum droppings."
"Have you given any thought to our means of transportation?"
"None whatsoever. Minutae are your department."
"Well, there is the problem of the proximity of the available stations to our intended destination to consider; the 1745, whilst being an express, would involve a disembarkation at Balatonszentgyörgy whereas the 1857 would..."
"Bugger that. We'll take the motor."
My eager anticipation of the journey was thuswise brought to a sudden and abrupt halt. I always find it exceeding difficult to take in the pleasures of the passing countryside with both legs and arms constantly braced against the eventuality of sudden impact and even 'Frank's Wild Years' played at excrutiatingly high volume is seldom enough to completely drown out the anguished screams of unfortunate pedestrians.
So it is to spare your sensibilities that I will gloss over the journey and resume the narrative at 2045 on Thursday evening as we negotiated the junction of the two major westward highways into the capital.
"Ah, Gazdagrét...there we go."
Friday, December 10, 2004
THE ADVENTURE OF THE RAMPANT SEMI-COLON
Part 1
"It's really quite simple, old boy. Once you have dealt with the possible, all that remains is bullshit."
Thus my friend explained his easy dismissal of the two little monographs he was preparing.
"But, Kan!" I expostulated, "Have you no respect for your audience?"
"None whatsoever."
Much to my chagrin, I observed him sluice rather an excessive quantity of malt into a glass he had unearthed from beneath the disorder of his research material. He slumped heavily into his armchair and busied himself with his smoking accoutrements. Whether it was as a result of the alcohol or the nicotine, I cannot say; but the brown study that he had so recently fallen into seemed to abate somewhat and I was able to discern some small trace of a smile playing about his lips. I hesitated to engage him immediately in conversation; the memory of the wounds I had incurred on the last such occasion remained ever fresh in my mind.
"Even your limited powers of observation should allow you to notice the fact that besides this rather heavy cut-glass beaker, which could without doubt be the cause of a rather unseemly contusion were it not that its being outside of a good few fingers of Scotland's finest tends to mitigate against my using it as a projectile, I remain at this present moment entirely unarmed. Out with it, man!"
I considered, but only for the briefest of moments, subjecting this utterance to keen grammatical analysis but to risk losing the fleshy components of my other ear would have been foolhardy in the extreme.
"Well, far be it from me to..."
"Oh, let distance be no object. The further, the infinitely more preferable."
"Surely it cannot have escaped your attention that..."
"There are, fortunately, quite a sufficiency of items which escape my attention for the very good reason that they are entirely unworthy of receiving it. Pray continue, but only after you have lobbed me that bottle of Caol Ila. Thank you."
"Well, it seems to me that the very facts that you are to be handsomely remunerated for your services and that those wishing to attend your expositions are to be charged a registration fee, should lead towards your treating the situation with considerably more gravity."
"As ever, you are hidebound in your thinking. You have allowed yourself to be cowed by convention. Your vision is sorely limited; your reasoning, bobbins of the highest order."
He sank back even further into the upholstery and it was with no small sense of foreboding that I noticed he had dispensed with the glass and was drawing sustenance directly from the bottle.
"Surely their ready acceptance of my outrageous fee would indicate a rather unseemly desperation on their part, would it not? And as for my audience; well, we can discount that proportion whose limited grasp of the language would automatically dispose them to nod their heads in sage agreement with whatever utterance I might care to make, planned or otherwise; so too may we ignore those whose sole motivation for attending is to avail themselves of the opportunity of visiting the, shall we say less salubrious dens of the capital. They will be all too preoccupied with the fine tuning of the numerous inventions necessary for the apparently adventitious completion of their expenses forms."
"Adventitious?"
The beaker had fallen off the arm of the chair and was thus, out of his reach.
"Not in the sense of accidental, I admit but rather in the sense of unplanned, you tit."
I could see him weighing the equation in his mind. The effort that should be expended in retrieving the beaker measured against the pleasure of scoring a direct hit upon my person. Lethargy prevailed.
"And the remainder?"
I sensed that his train had been momentarily de-railed by my interjection and was desirous of trammelling his thoughts to the matter in hand. His predilection for committing acts of random brutality when unfocussed was uppermost in my mind.
"You appear, in your haste to find fault with my reasoning, to have overlooked the fact that my grasp of the subject matter is so complete as to allow me to make of even the most banal observation a scintillating gem of science and convolution. They will be impressed even if they do not wholly follow. Your gainsaying and constant pessimism disgust me. Pray excuse me whilst I expectorate."
And so I took my leave. The relief I felt was not entirely due to my having escaped without physical injury but more because it always pained me to witness the gradual descent into shameless depravity which inevitably resulted from his submission to the temptation of the malt. Besides, another few fingers and he would start misquoting Aeschylus. I knew from bitter experience that my desire to correct him would get the better of me and I had no wish to reacquaint myself with the prosthetics so soon after the last occasion. I donned my nightdress and retired for the night.
Part 1
"It's really quite simple, old boy. Once you have dealt with the possible, all that remains is bullshit."
Thus my friend explained his easy dismissal of the two little monographs he was preparing.
"But, Kan!" I expostulated, "Have you no respect for your audience?"
"None whatsoever."
Much to my chagrin, I observed him sluice rather an excessive quantity of malt into a glass he had unearthed from beneath the disorder of his research material. He slumped heavily into his armchair and busied himself with his smoking accoutrements. Whether it was as a result of the alcohol or the nicotine, I cannot say; but the brown study that he had so recently fallen into seemed to abate somewhat and I was able to discern some small trace of a smile playing about his lips. I hesitated to engage him immediately in conversation; the memory of the wounds I had incurred on the last such occasion remained ever fresh in my mind.
"Even your limited powers of observation should allow you to notice the fact that besides this rather heavy cut-glass beaker, which could without doubt be the cause of a rather unseemly contusion were it not that its being outside of a good few fingers of Scotland's finest tends to mitigate against my using it as a projectile, I remain at this present moment entirely unarmed. Out with it, man!"
I considered, but only for the briefest of moments, subjecting this utterance to keen grammatical analysis but to risk losing the fleshy components of my other ear would have been foolhardy in the extreme.
"Well, far be it from me to..."
"Oh, let distance be no object. The further, the infinitely more preferable."
"Surely it cannot have escaped your attention that..."
"There are, fortunately, quite a sufficiency of items which escape my attention for the very good reason that they are entirely unworthy of receiving it. Pray continue, but only after you have lobbed me that bottle of Caol Ila. Thank you."
"Well, it seems to me that the very facts that you are to be handsomely remunerated for your services and that those wishing to attend your expositions are to be charged a registration fee, should lead towards your treating the situation with considerably more gravity."
"As ever, you are hidebound in your thinking. You have allowed yourself to be cowed by convention. Your vision is sorely limited; your reasoning, bobbins of the highest order."
He sank back even further into the upholstery and it was with no small sense of foreboding that I noticed he had dispensed with the glass and was drawing sustenance directly from the bottle.
"Surely their ready acceptance of my outrageous fee would indicate a rather unseemly desperation on their part, would it not? And as for my audience; well, we can discount that proportion whose limited grasp of the language would automatically dispose them to nod their heads in sage agreement with whatever utterance I might care to make, planned or otherwise; so too may we ignore those whose sole motivation for attending is to avail themselves of the opportunity of visiting the, shall we say less salubrious dens of the capital. They will be all too preoccupied with the fine tuning of the numerous inventions necessary for the apparently adventitious completion of their expenses forms."
"Adventitious?"
The beaker had fallen off the arm of the chair and was thus, out of his reach.
"Not in the sense of accidental, I admit but rather in the sense of unplanned, you tit."
I could see him weighing the equation in his mind. The effort that should be expended in retrieving the beaker measured against the pleasure of scoring a direct hit upon my person. Lethargy prevailed.
"And the remainder?"
I sensed that his train had been momentarily de-railed by my interjection and was desirous of trammelling his thoughts to the matter in hand. His predilection for committing acts of random brutality when unfocussed was uppermost in my mind.
"You appear, in your haste to find fault with my reasoning, to have overlooked the fact that my grasp of the subject matter is so complete as to allow me to make of even the most banal observation a scintillating gem of science and convolution. They will be impressed even if they do not wholly follow. Your gainsaying and constant pessimism disgust me. Pray excuse me whilst I expectorate."
And so I took my leave. The relief I felt was not entirely due to my having escaped without physical injury but more because it always pained me to witness the gradual descent into shameless depravity which inevitably resulted from his submission to the temptation of the malt. Besides, another few fingers and he would start misquoting Aeschylus. I knew from bitter experience that my desire to correct him would get the better of me and I had no wish to reacquaint myself with the prosthetics so soon after the last occasion. I donned my nightdress and retired for the night.
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Monday, November 29, 2004
NOPE...DEFINITELY NOT WAVING
Before I go down for the third and, quite probably, the last time, I rather thought a cry for help might be in order.
Unusually for me, my powers of persuasion have proved too weak to convince the client that changing the titles of my two lectures might not be all that disastrous an idea. I was up against the power of advertising you see. I am informed that my presence in the capital has already been heralded as indeed, have the titles of my little presentations. Hot diggedy spange-wanglers.
Doubtless the Kan visage is, at this very moment, adorning every lamppost on the faux parisienne boulevards of Pest; Buda is snowed under with tacky leaflets dropped at very little expense by hang-glider pilots suicidal enough to take off from Gellért Hill and throngs of eager participants are already building up to multiple orgasm at the mere thought of whatever pearls of wisdom I may have to impart.
Now before I reveal to you the full extent of my plight, I would ask you to bear in mind that my client is an internationally renowned company and that my audience will, in all probability, entirely consist of fully qualified teachers.
The forenoon, three-hour apéritif is entitled, 'All You Need to Know about Communicative Activities to Guarantee Success in Client's Examinations'.
Okay, not altogether inspiring but I am, nevertheless, confident in my abilities to bullshit upon it in an extremely convincing manner for however long it is they manage to stay awake.
The post-prandial cocktail however, is an equus of a not altogether similar hue. Going under the rather snappy title of, 'All You Need to Know about the Use of Mono-Lingual Dictionaries and Text Books to Guarantee Success in Client's Examinations', it has me completely stumped for the minute.
Excuse me? You did say that I have to explain to teachers how to use dictionaries and text books, didn't you? Thought so. Then might I be the first today to accuse you of such a display of supreme Friday Fuckwittedness on the receiving end of which I never imagined it would be my pleasure to be?
So...your challenge for today is...well, it's quite simple really. Help.
Advice along the lines of, "Get 'em all bladdered at lunch time and they'll never notice" has already been voted down as being impractical. I was brave and quoted what I thought was a hefty sum. They didn't even blink. Buggers can get pissed on their own money, then.
Hey ho.
Before I go down for the third and, quite probably, the last time, I rather thought a cry for help might be in order.
Unusually for me, my powers of persuasion have proved too weak to convince the client that changing the titles of my two lectures might not be all that disastrous an idea. I was up against the power of advertising you see. I am informed that my presence in the capital has already been heralded as indeed, have the titles of my little presentations. Hot diggedy spange-wanglers.
Doubtless the Kan visage is, at this very moment, adorning every lamppost on the faux parisienne boulevards of Pest; Buda is snowed under with tacky leaflets dropped at very little expense by hang-glider pilots suicidal enough to take off from Gellért Hill and throngs of eager participants are already building up to multiple orgasm at the mere thought of whatever pearls of wisdom I may have to impart.
Now before I reveal to you the full extent of my plight, I would ask you to bear in mind that my client is an internationally renowned company and that my audience will, in all probability, entirely consist of fully qualified teachers.
The forenoon, three-hour apéritif is entitled, 'All You Need to Know about Communicative Activities to Guarantee Success in Client's Examinations'.
Okay, not altogether inspiring but I am, nevertheless, confident in my abilities to bullshit upon it in an extremely convincing manner for however long it is they manage to stay awake.
The post-prandial cocktail however, is an equus of a not altogether similar hue. Going under the rather snappy title of, 'All You Need to Know about the Use of Mono-Lingual Dictionaries and Text Books to Guarantee Success in Client's Examinations', it has me completely stumped for the minute.
Excuse me? You did say that I have to explain to teachers how to use dictionaries and text books, didn't you? Thought so. Then might I be the first today to accuse you of such a display of supreme Friday Fuckwittedness on the receiving end of which I never imagined it would be my pleasure to be?
So...your challenge for today is...well, it's quite simple really. Help.
Advice along the lines of, "Get 'em all bladdered at lunch time and they'll never notice" has already been voted down as being impractical. I was brave and quoted what I thought was a hefty sum. They didn't even blink. Buggers can get pissed on their own money, then.
Hey ho.
Friday, November 19, 2004
NOT WAVING...
Not wanting to appear presumptious or anything but for those of you who, for one reason or another, actually give a shit, I am in fact alive and well but am also, unfortunately, snowed under with more work than it may lie within my capacity to handle right now.
Notwithstanding the fact that I might well be outside the best part of a bottle of Chardonnay and am indulging of a rather delicious home and self made pizza (I am such a good cook) as I type, time is rather a precious commodity these days.
On top of my duties as an examiner and extra to the 22 lessons a week I already have, I have allowed myself to be persuaded into the devising, designing and subsequent teaching of a 14×45 minute, 3 or 4 week English course specific to the needs of Polish and Hungarian oil industry workers...those involved in the drilling for, to be precise.
Not a problem per se, but when the boss desirous of procuring such a course, upon hearing my quotation for provision of same, reacts thusly, "Is that all?", one may be forgiven the odd expletive or two and even the subsequent lack of any motivation whatsoever. I guess I must lack the killer, capitalist instinct or somesuch. Whatever.
The Town Hall was also kind enough to get in touch this week to sound me out as to the possibility of the future provision of translation and interpreting services. My original thought was to reply, in a Robin Williams type Scottish accent, "Fuck off!", but I managed to check myself in time...told him that although I am diarrhoeatically fluent in the Hungarian that I know, that which I don't could fill volumes equivalent in capacity to the Encyclopaedia Brittanica...and informed him that I would be only too happy (you little fibber) to act as a 'lector' and check any translations that have been carried out by Hungarian nationals and are, therefore, as eny fule know, absolute bollocks. As the guy was obviously in doubt as to his ability to give good phone, he took my e-mail address and promised to be back in touch. Sad thing is, I think he will.
Strange being an ex-pat. You daren't turn down too much work in case everybody forgets about you. And although I am spread pretty thin at the moment...rather like Marmite should be in fact...from little acorns...
Talking about acorns, I had one of the 'Ice Age' variety (nowt but a shed load o' fuckin' trouble) drop on my electronic doorstep the other day. An international, and internationally renowned, company...the one my company is under contract to examine for, to be exact...has invited me to Budapest for Friday, December the third. Although one might think such a trip has a certain attraction, there is, as always, a catch.
The catch this time is that I would have to lecture to Hungarian teachers for two sessions of three hours each on 'All you need to know about communicative activities which guarantee success in ESOL and SESOL examinations' and 'All you need to know about the effective use of dictionaries and course books for ESOL and SESOL examinations'. All you need to know, eh? I know I'm a teacher nonpareil but...
Oh well, I think I'll go for it. Even if it is hardly an offer I can't refuse.
Not wanting to appear presumptious or anything but for those of you who, for one reason or another, actually give a shit, I am in fact alive and well but am also, unfortunately, snowed under with more work than it may lie within my capacity to handle right now.
Notwithstanding the fact that I might well be outside the best part of a bottle of Chardonnay and am indulging of a rather delicious home and self made pizza (I am such a good cook) as I type, time is rather a precious commodity these days.
On top of my duties as an examiner and extra to the 22 lessons a week I already have, I have allowed myself to be persuaded into the devising, designing and subsequent teaching of a 14×45 minute, 3 or 4 week English course specific to the needs of Polish and Hungarian oil industry workers...those involved in the drilling for, to be precise.
Not a problem per se, but when the boss desirous of procuring such a course, upon hearing my quotation for provision of same, reacts thusly, "Is that all?", one may be forgiven the odd expletive or two and even the subsequent lack of any motivation whatsoever. I guess I must lack the killer, capitalist instinct or somesuch. Whatever.
The Town Hall was also kind enough to get in touch this week to sound me out as to the possibility of the future provision of translation and interpreting services. My original thought was to reply, in a Robin Williams type Scottish accent, "Fuck off!", but I managed to check myself in time...told him that although I am diarrhoeatically fluent in the Hungarian that I know, that which I don't could fill volumes equivalent in capacity to the Encyclopaedia Brittanica...and informed him that I would be only too happy (you little fibber) to act as a 'lector' and check any translations that have been carried out by Hungarian nationals and are, therefore, as eny fule know, absolute bollocks. As the guy was obviously in doubt as to his ability to give good phone, he took my e-mail address and promised to be back in touch. Sad thing is, I think he will.
Strange being an ex-pat. You daren't turn down too much work in case everybody forgets about you. And although I am spread pretty thin at the moment...rather like Marmite should be in fact...from little acorns...
Talking about acorns, I had one of the 'Ice Age' variety (nowt but a shed load o' fuckin' trouble) drop on my electronic doorstep the other day. An international, and internationally renowned, company...the one my company is under contract to examine for, to be exact...has invited me to Budapest for Friday, December the third. Although one might think such a trip has a certain attraction, there is, as always, a catch.
The catch this time is that I would have to lecture to Hungarian teachers for two sessions of three hours each on 'All you need to know about communicative activities which guarantee success in ESOL and SESOL examinations' and 'All you need to know about the effective use of dictionaries and course books for ESOL and SESOL examinations'. All you need to know, eh? I know I'm a teacher nonpareil but...
Oh well, I think I'll go for it. Even if it is hardly an offer I can't refuse.
Friday, November 12, 2004
FROGGY GOES A COURTIN'
- Why are you crying, sweetheart?
- Because I miss Jess. Where is she? Is she in America?
- That's right.
- Well, can we get on a bus to America and go and see her?
- I don't think there are any buses to America, sausage. We'd have to get on a plane.
- Can we get on a plane, then?
- I don't think mummy and daddy have got enough money for that right now.
- Will we have enough money before Christmas?
- I don't think so.
- I'll open my piggy bank.
- I still don't think we'll have enough.
- Mmmmm. Can I send something to Ann, then?
- Of course you can, sweetheart. What would you like to send?
- Something for Christmas. I know. A Krampusz!
- I don't think she'll know what that is.
- Why not?
- I don't think they have Krampusz in America.
- Oh. I could go with the postman and tell her about it.
- It's a very long way, darling. Across a really big sea.
- Really, really big?
- Very big.
- Too big to swim?
- I'm afraid so.
- How does the postman get there, then?
- In a big ship.
- Hey, I forgot Tim. I'll have to send something for Tim, too.
- That's okay, sweetheart.
- How can we send it?
- In a big box.
- A big box?
- Yes.
- A really big box?
- If you like.
- Then what if I get in the box and you can send me?
etc etc etc.
- Why are you crying, sweetheart?
- Because I miss Jess. Where is she? Is she in America?
- That's right.
- Well, can we get on a bus to America and go and see her?
- I don't think there are any buses to America, sausage. We'd have to get on a plane.
- Can we get on a plane, then?
- I don't think mummy and daddy have got enough money for that right now.
- Will we have enough money before Christmas?
- I don't think so.
- I'll open my piggy bank.
- I still don't think we'll have enough.
- Mmmmm. Can I send something to Ann, then?
- Of course you can, sweetheart. What would you like to send?
- Something for Christmas. I know. A Krampusz!
- I don't think she'll know what that is.
- Why not?
- I don't think they have Krampusz in America.
- Oh. I could go with the postman and tell her about it.
- It's a very long way, darling. Across a really big sea.
- Really, really big?
- Very big.
- Too big to swim?
- I'm afraid so.
- How does the postman get there, then?
- In a big ship.
- Hey, I forgot Tim. I'll have to send something for Tim, too.
- That's okay, sweetheart.
- How can we send it?
- In a big box.
- A big box?
- Yes.
- A really big box?
- If you like.
- Then what if I get in the box and you can send me?
etc etc etc.
Thursday, November 11, 2004
MARKER PENS
An electronic correspondence. Only the names have been changed to protect the guilty.
From: Simon
Date: 11/11/04 12:19:03
To: Perky Secretary
Subject: Re: exams
...and a jolly good day to you, P.S.!
I did indeed receive the box this morning but unless you can convince me that only 32% of the total candidates for the recent examination entered the spoken part, I will find it exceeding difficult to escape the conclusion that I have been right royally shafted with regard to my polite request for more SESOL than ESOL. Grrrrrrrrrrrrr.
I ought to thank you for providing me with an opportunity to practice my Hungarian. I now find I can swear for at least a minute without once repeating myself.
But, never fear. I shall not start marking them until my desire to, "Fail them all!" has subsided. This may take some time.
Oh well, I had better stop now, take a few deep breaths and silently count to a very large number indeed. If this fails, I shall pull on the biggest pair of boots I can find, go outside and kick the dog.
More SESOL please, or the dog gets it.
Toodle pip,
Simon
From: Perky Secretary
Date: 11/11/04 16:01:51
To: Simon
Subject: RE: exams
Hello Simon!
Let me see, what can I do for you…? You can haggle with me over this matter. Ok, I will try to send more SESL than ESOL but as you are so smart that you can mark both of them, you can help me if you mark the ESOL scripts also so please forgive me if you find some ESOL exams. I promise, next time you can get only SESL. Is it good for you?
Regard,
Perky Secretary
From: Simon
Date: 11/11/04 16:23:47
To: Perky Secretary
Subject: RE: exams
Hello my little flowering rhododendron,
Who told you that flattering me always works? I'll bet it was that Bosswoman. May her armpits be infested with the fleas of a thousand camels.
Anyway, you have brought a rosy glow of pride to my cheeks and have made my dog very happy.
Thousands of blessings be upon you,
Simon
From: Perky Secretary
Date: 11/11/04 16:51:02
To: Simon
Subject: RE: exams
Well, nobody told me this trick, I’m sneaky alone. I was just off the top of my head. It can be successfull with a man.
Cheers,
Perky Secretary
Perky secretary is new. It would appear she is a very fast learner.
An electronic correspondence. Only the names have been changed to protect the guilty.
From: Simon
Date: 11/11/04 12:19:03
To: Perky Secretary
Subject: Re: exams
...and a jolly good day to you, P.S.!
I did indeed receive the box this morning but unless you can convince me that only 32% of the total candidates for the recent examination entered the spoken part, I will find it exceeding difficult to escape the conclusion that I have been right royally shafted with regard to my polite request for more SESOL than ESOL. Grrrrrrrrrrrrr.
I ought to thank you for providing me with an opportunity to practice my Hungarian. I now find I can swear for at least a minute without once repeating myself.
But, never fear. I shall not start marking them until my desire to, "Fail them all!" has subsided. This may take some time.
Oh well, I had better stop now, take a few deep breaths and silently count to a very large number indeed. If this fails, I shall pull on the biggest pair of boots I can find, go outside and kick the dog.
More SESOL please, or the dog gets it.
Toodle pip,
Simon
From: Perky Secretary
Date: 11/11/04 16:01:51
To: Simon
Subject: RE: exams
Hello Simon!
Let me see, what can I do for you…? You can haggle with me over this matter. Ok, I will try to send more SESL than ESOL but as you are so smart that you can mark both of them, you can help me if you mark the ESOL scripts also so please forgive me if you find some ESOL exams. I promise, next time you can get only SESL. Is it good for you?
Regard,
Perky Secretary
From: Simon
Date: 11/11/04 16:23:47
To: Perky Secretary
Subject: RE: exams
Hello my little flowering rhododendron,
Who told you that flattering me always works? I'll bet it was that Bosswoman. May her armpits be infested with the fleas of a thousand camels.
Anyway, you have brought a rosy glow of pride to my cheeks and have made my dog very happy.
Thousands of blessings be upon you,
Simon
From: Perky Secretary
Date: 11/11/04 16:51:02
To: Simon
Subject: RE: exams
Well, nobody told me this trick, I’m sneaky alone. I was just off the top of my head. It can be successfull with a man.
Cheers,
Perky Secretary
Perky secretary is new. It would appear she is a very fast learner.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
VIDEO NICIES
Thanks to Lamps and those wonderful people over at gprime, it gives me great pleasure to present the following for your viewing delight and delectation.
First up, footage of an experimental mass barber robot developed by the RAF as a military cost-cutting exercise. The plan was to line up all the squaddies and then...here.
Next up, in the category of 'engage brain before turning ignition key' we have what can only be described as a "Hey! Look at me! Look at me! Ooooops" moment. Here.
Those of you who have been saving up your spare change since you were three and a half and are at a bit of a loose end as to what to do with it, could follow the example of this guy who, with little or no thought to his own personal development or social skills, has single-handedly kept the arcade owners of Japan in sake and sushi as a result of the take from this machine alone. Here.
And finally, in the category of 'way too much time on one's hands' comes a nifty little manoeuvre you never thought you'd see in a game of table football. Here.
I realise that I'm a day late regarding the birthday but, what the hell. I'm going to have a bath anyway.
Thanks to Lamps and those wonderful people over at gprime, it gives me great pleasure to present the following for your viewing delight and delectation.
First up, footage of an experimental mass barber robot developed by the RAF as a military cost-cutting exercise. The plan was to line up all the squaddies and then...here.
Next up, in the category of 'engage brain before turning ignition key' we have what can only be described as a "Hey! Look at me! Look at me! Ooooops" moment. Here.
Those of you who have been saving up your spare change since you were three and a half and are at a bit of a loose end as to what to do with it, could follow the example of this guy who, with little or no thought to his own personal development or social skills, has single-handedly kept the arcade owners of Japan in sake and sushi as a result of the take from this machine alone. Here.
And finally, in the category of 'way too much time on one's hands' comes a nifty little manoeuvre you never thought you'd see in a game of table football. Here.
I realise that I'm a day late regarding the birthday but, what the hell. I'm going to have a bath anyway.
Monday, November 08, 2004
Thursday, November 04, 2004
DIABLOGUE
I'm not entirely sure where this is headed but you're welcome to hitch along for the ride if you promise to raise a glass or few with me as we go.
As is my wont, I read the Shoe yesterday and, as is her wont, she provided a post which turned into a bit of a brain worm and which has been gnawing away at the back of my mind all day.
Not the triple whammy she was suffering as a result of D.W. being D.W., Dubya being Dubya and Alfie being Alfie but rather several soundbites concerning US politics and European ignorance thereof.
I sympathise, I really do, with most of her admirable, honest and heartfelt sentiments but I just cannot, no matter how fervently I desire it or how much of this rather delectable red I drink, see any chance whatsoever of any of them being magically zapped into reality by a simple shake of the simple Texan's schlong.
One of her wishes was that America should become more isolationalist and not ship out her military, industry, business, time and materials anywhere. Minority of one, I think there, girl. Although I'm sure the people of Vietnam, Afghanistan and Iraq would side with you on the military bit; and although I for one would have preferred the boss of the local GE factory not to have, allegedly, put pressure on the mayor of Nagykanizsa to refuse planning permission for Philips to build a factory in town, creating much needed jobs but probably pushing up GE's wage bill at the same time; and I'm sure we could all manage to live without Coca-Cola, Burger King, Starbucks and McDonald's, the likelihood of all that happening is on a par with me waking up tomorrow morning with a face full of Nastassia Kinsky's nether regions, albeit just as desirable. And anyway, you'll never be able to be at all isolationist as long as you depend on the import of foreign oil to fuel one of the most fuel inefficient economies on this planet. Saudi was becoming a bit hot and the Bush-bin Laden ties a tad too close to the surface so a decision was taken to relocate all military bases to Iraq. I await developments there with interest.
As an adjunct to this, a desire was expressed to see more attention paid to healthcare and the fights against crime, poverty and disease. Again, a wonderful ideal but all totally impossible in a society so driven by the buck as that of the US. Was it 600 million dollars spent on advertising alone in this presidential campaign? I wonder how much of that was insurance company donations? How can you hope to have an equitable system of healthcare in a country where the very mention of the word socialism is a guarantee of electoral suicide? And that is just what such a system would be...socialist. Funded by the rich to alleviate the suffering of the poor. Can't quite see that one catching on somehow.
Crime and poverty? Well, call me an old cynic but in a society where such a value is laid on conspicuous consumption, where people worship at the altars of mammon and celebrity and where everybody is under pressure to fulfill their own personal version of the American dream, then I guess crime is inevitable.
Poverty, likewise, will never be eradicated because of the aversion to socialist principles again. And, more pertinently, both crime and poverty are essential tools of the Bush administration in their desire to extend the climate of fear within the country. Be afraid. Be afraid of being mugged, shot, raped, blown up by terrists and of having your morals warped by those commie-pinko-foetus killing-liberal-Darwinist faggots. And be afraid of losing your job, of unionised labour, of cheap foreign imports, of immigrants stealing your jobs...aw, shucks...just be afraid okay? It's the American way.
And disease? Well, just who is suffering from diseases anyway? The poor, the disenfranchised, the illegals? You got the dosh, you get the doc...and the overpriced medication.
The Bush administration and even Republicanism come to that, is characterised, for me anyway, by huge defense spending, wars overseas to boost same and the rise of oil, big business and pharmaceutical lobbies to cabinet rank; tax relief for the very rich while persuading all the blue collars that the trickle down theory whereby they run after the rich guys catching the crumbs falling out of their pockets really works and by the instilling of fear into the population. Scared people are easily manipulated and there must have been at least a small part of the Republican machine that saw 9/11 as a godsend.
And the alternative? God give me strength. An entire campaign strategy based on "I am not George W. Bush" was hardly going to light a fire under the electorate was it? The timely bin Laden tape, on the other hand...
The news that "not a one of (the American electorate) cares what the rest of the world wanted" is bad news indeed. Carte blanche for the cronies to do whatever they like in and to the world at large in the sure and certain knowledge that the folks back home won't give a damn. An attitude that may yet come to haunt our very own Mr Blair one day in the not too distant.
The mole in the post, however, the depth charge, the small, strategically placed explosive detonation, the knife between the ribs, the dirty bomb...call it whatsoever you will...was the very thing which chills me to the bone every time it pings among the little grey cells; just how could a large proportion of the intelligent electorate have turned out in their droves to vote for the candidate they thought best represented their interests? I say potato, you say...I see a chimp, you see...what exactly?
And it is here that we arrive at the very nub of the problem. Jess laments that she has yet to meet any European with a true understanding of the American psyche. Notwithstanding the facts that the reverse may well be true and that we voted in Thatcher for 12 absolutely miserable, hellish and unbearable years, it remains a blatant truth that we have no conception at all of just what it is that informs the thought processes of that non-existent individual, the average American.
We see the dichotomies, the wealth of paradox and the inherent contradictions but fail to see what it is that unifies them all into a coherent whole in their minds. It is particularly hard for us English. After all, they were English once, weren't they? They still speak our language. But we were here long before they were and, therefore, must know better. So what do we do? We patronise, we mock, we employ wit, irony and most of all, sarcasm, we denigrate, we disparage, we cock snooks in our self-righteous arrogance and the phrase, "only in America" trips lightly off our tongues. Hemingway, Steinbeck, Faulkner, Updike, Hicks, Miller, Bird, Coltrane, Davis, Allbright, Carter, Chomsky, Bacall, Earhart, E. Roosevelt, King...abberations all and conveniently forgotten in our scathing desire to belittle.
But you're right, Jess. We don't understand your particular brand of patriotism. The educated Englishman is sceptical of too much flag waving, displaying and saluting and carries too much guilt from our colonial past to be patriotic in anything other than a post modern sense. The grunts will still wave the paper flags and will still turn up for royal occasions but God help us if they ever become truly representative.
To understand your respect for your president, we would have to have an equal respect for our monarch and, quite frankly my dear, I have little if any. We do not have the republican spirit because, quite simply, we are not a republic...we are not citizens but subjects and our country does not legally exist any more, so far have we sunk.
But it is your contradictions which absolutely boggle whatever is left of my mind...the longer the post, the greater the amount of alcohol consumed and this is a biggie...the irresolvable (is that a word?) dichotomies. Intelligence allied with a belief in creationism, tolerance with Republicanism, friendship with distrust, community spirit with individualism, isolationalism with interventionism, pacivism with a lust for war, compassion with hard-heartedness, generosity with greed, secularity with fundamentalist religiosity, Christianity with rampant right wingery, curiosity with narrow-mindedness, complication with simplicity, flexibility with rigidity, cosmopolitanism with xenophobia, mercy with the death penalty, basques with stiletto heels...ooops, now I know I've had too much.
I will not have the brazen effrontery to express the hope that possibly I have made sense here and, if you have been, I salute you.
G'night and God bless.
I'm not entirely sure where this is headed but you're welcome to hitch along for the ride if you promise to raise a glass or few with me as we go.
As is my wont, I read the Shoe yesterday and, as is her wont, she provided a post which turned into a bit of a brain worm and which has been gnawing away at the back of my mind all day.
Not the triple whammy she was suffering as a result of D.W. being D.W., Dubya being Dubya and Alfie being Alfie but rather several soundbites concerning US politics and European ignorance thereof.
I sympathise, I really do, with most of her admirable, honest and heartfelt sentiments but I just cannot, no matter how fervently I desire it or how much of this rather delectable red I drink, see any chance whatsoever of any of them being magically zapped into reality by a simple shake of the simple Texan's schlong.
One of her wishes was that America should become more isolationalist and not ship out her military, industry, business, time and materials anywhere. Minority of one, I think there, girl. Although I'm sure the people of Vietnam, Afghanistan and Iraq would side with you on the military bit; and although I for one would have preferred the boss of the local GE factory not to have, allegedly, put pressure on the mayor of Nagykanizsa to refuse planning permission for Philips to build a factory in town, creating much needed jobs but probably pushing up GE's wage bill at the same time; and I'm sure we could all manage to live without Coca-Cola, Burger King, Starbucks and McDonald's, the likelihood of all that happening is on a par with me waking up tomorrow morning with a face full of Nastassia Kinsky's nether regions, albeit just as desirable. And anyway, you'll never be able to be at all isolationist as long as you depend on the import of foreign oil to fuel one of the most fuel inefficient economies on this planet. Saudi was becoming a bit hot and the Bush-bin Laden ties a tad too close to the surface so a decision was taken to relocate all military bases to Iraq. I await developments there with interest.
As an adjunct to this, a desire was expressed to see more attention paid to healthcare and the fights against crime, poverty and disease. Again, a wonderful ideal but all totally impossible in a society so driven by the buck as that of the US. Was it 600 million dollars spent on advertising alone in this presidential campaign? I wonder how much of that was insurance company donations? How can you hope to have an equitable system of healthcare in a country where the very mention of the word socialism is a guarantee of electoral suicide? And that is just what such a system would be...socialist. Funded by the rich to alleviate the suffering of the poor. Can't quite see that one catching on somehow.
Crime and poverty? Well, call me an old cynic but in a society where such a value is laid on conspicuous consumption, where people worship at the altars of mammon and celebrity and where everybody is under pressure to fulfill their own personal version of the American dream, then I guess crime is inevitable.
Poverty, likewise, will never be eradicated because of the aversion to socialist principles again. And, more pertinently, both crime and poverty are essential tools of the Bush administration in their desire to extend the climate of fear within the country. Be afraid. Be afraid of being mugged, shot, raped, blown up by terrists and of having your morals warped by those commie-pinko-foetus killing-liberal-Darwinist faggots. And be afraid of losing your job, of unionised labour, of cheap foreign imports, of immigrants stealing your jobs...aw, shucks...just be afraid okay? It's the American way.
And disease? Well, just who is suffering from diseases anyway? The poor, the disenfranchised, the illegals? You got the dosh, you get the doc...and the overpriced medication.
The Bush administration and even Republicanism come to that, is characterised, for me anyway, by huge defense spending, wars overseas to boost same and the rise of oil, big business and pharmaceutical lobbies to cabinet rank; tax relief for the very rich while persuading all the blue collars that the trickle down theory whereby they run after the rich guys catching the crumbs falling out of their pockets really works and by the instilling of fear into the population. Scared people are easily manipulated and there must have been at least a small part of the Republican machine that saw 9/11 as a godsend.
And the alternative? God give me strength. An entire campaign strategy based on "I am not George W. Bush" was hardly going to light a fire under the electorate was it? The timely bin Laden tape, on the other hand...
The news that "not a one of (the American electorate) cares what the rest of the world wanted" is bad news indeed. Carte blanche for the cronies to do whatever they like in and to the world at large in the sure and certain knowledge that the folks back home won't give a damn. An attitude that may yet come to haunt our very own Mr Blair one day in the not too distant.
The mole in the post, however, the depth charge, the small, strategically placed explosive detonation, the knife between the ribs, the dirty bomb...call it whatsoever you will...was the very thing which chills me to the bone every time it pings among the little grey cells; just how could a large proportion of the intelligent electorate have turned out in their droves to vote for the candidate they thought best represented their interests? I say potato, you say...I see a chimp, you see...what exactly?
And it is here that we arrive at the very nub of the problem. Jess laments that she has yet to meet any European with a true understanding of the American psyche. Notwithstanding the facts that the reverse may well be true and that we voted in Thatcher for 12 absolutely miserable, hellish and unbearable years, it remains a blatant truth that we have no conception at all of just what it is that informs the thought processes of that non-existent individual, the average American.
We see the dichotomies, the wealth of paradox and the inherent contradictions but fail to see what it is that unifies them all into a coherent whole in their minds. It is particularly hard for us English. After all, they were English once, weren't they? They still speak our language. But we were here long before they were and, therefore, must know better. So what do we do? We patronise, we mock, we employ wit, irony and most of all, sarcasm, we denigrate, we disparage, we cock snooks in our self-righteous arrogance and the phrase, "only in America" trips lightly off our tongues. Hemingway, Steinbeck, Faulkner, Updike, Hicks, Miller, Bird, Coltrane, Davis, Allbright, Carter, Chomsky, Bacall, Earhart, E. Roosevelt, King...abberations all and conveniently forgotten in our scathing desire to belittle.
But you're right, Jess. We don't understand your particular brand of patriotism. The educated Englishman is sceptical of too much flag waving, displaying and saluting and carries too much guilt from our colonial past to be patriotic in anything other than a post modern sense. The grunts will still wave the paper flags and will still turn up for royal occasions but God help us if they ever become truly representative.
To understand your respect for your president, we would have to have an equal respect for our monarch and, quite frankly my dear, I have little if any. We do not have the republican spirit because, quite simply, we are not a republic...we are not citizens but subjects and our country does not legally exist any more, so far have we sunk.
But it is your contradictions which absolutely boggle whatever is left of my mind...the longer the post, the greater the amount of alcohol consumed and this is a biggie...the irresolvable (is that a word?) dichotomies. Intelligence allied with a belief in creationism, tolerance with Republicanism, friendship with distrust, community spirit with individualism, isolationalism with interventionism, pacivism with a lust for war, compassion with hard-heartedness, generosity with greed, secularity with fundamentalist religiosity, Christianity with rampant right wingery, curiosity with narrow-mindedness, complication with simplicity, flexibility with rigidity, cosmopolitanism with xenophobia, mercy with the death penalty, basques with stiletto heels...ooops, now I know I've had too much.
I will not have the brazen effrontery to express the hope that possibly I have made sense here and, if you have been, I salute you.
G'night and God bless.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
CRUNTING SPADGEWANGLERS
How could you? Falling for it once, I could understand...maybe. What is it with you guys? Giving that cretinous, god-bothering, knuckle-dragging, dumb-ass, jello-brained chimp and his satan-spawned cohorts another four fucking years? You deserve all you fucking well get. I hope you'll be very happy together. Just remember. Stay afraid, keep your kids indoors, hoard that food, install your panic rooms and buy like there's no tomorrow.
Just don't ask us to take you seriously any more, okay?
How could you? Falling for it once, I could understand...maybe. What is it with you guys? Giving that cretinous, god-bothering, knuckle-dragging, dumb-ass, jello-brained chimp and his satan-spawned cohorts another four fucking years? You deserve all you fucking well get. I hope you'll be very happy together. Just remember. Stay afraid, keep your kids indoors, hoard that food, install your panic rooms and buy like there's no tomorrow.
Just don't ask us to take you seriously any more, okay?
Sunday, October 31, 2004
PRAVDA
I drink to our ruined house,
to the dolour of our lives,
to our loneliness together;
and to you I raise my glass,
to lying lips that have betrayed us,
to dead-cold, pitiless eyes,
and to the harsh realities:
That the world is brutal and coarse,
that God in fact has not saved us.
I'm feeling very Russian today.
I drink to our ruined house,
to the dolour of our lives,
to our loneliness together;
and to you I raise my glass,
to lying lips that have betrayed us,
to dead-cold, pitiless eyes,
and to the harsh realities:
That the world is brutal and coarse,
that God in fact has not saved us.
I'm feeling very Russian today.
Saturday, October 30, 2004
RIP II
As you may or may not know, I have a fridge dedicated to stocks of Amstel and Stella lager type beers. It is an old one, of possible Soviet ancestry. It shed the door to its freezer compartment long since, the precise calibrations of its thermostat have long been forgotten and its light lit up only as the mood took it but it has, as stalwart as the defenders of Stalingrad, served me faithfully for many a long year.
Unfortunately, the ice around said freezer compartment had become, in the words of the great Don Van Vliet (ask councillor Bob, he'll know), fast and bulbous. A defrosting was in order.
So, making a rather uninformed assumption...the manual was in cyrillic...I depressed the button and waited. 24 hours later, I discerned a swelling pool neath its off-white mass and came to the inescapable conclusion that I had pressed the right button. I opened the door further...such an adventurous life I lead, wouldn't you say...and was faced with just as massive a bulk of ice as I had been heretofore and hitherto. Only this time it had a surface sheen of fresh melt.
Now, maybe I should have elaborated on the geographical position of said fridge but I will do so now. It is wedged at the far, narrow end of my larder/pantry/utility room...a kind of indoor shed if the truth be known...and the water it sheds during defrosting escapes via a pipe extruding from its rear. Under normal circumstances that is. Normal circumstances being obviously those under which less volume of ice has accrued due to the lassissitude of the owner of the aforementioned appliance. Present circumstances were such that water was haemorrhaging, niagara like out of the door cavity and it was only the precipient application of numerous towels that prevented serious warpage of floorboards in the great room.
I, quite understandably I feel given the situation, had a 'bugger this' moment and unearthed a rather large hammer and the biggest fuck off screwdriver in my possession. I was quite happily chiselling away when I became aware of a hissing noise, similar to that of gas escaping under pressure. The state of my mind at the time can best be described by informing you that it occurred to me that I may have inadvertently pierced a bag of the Hungarian equivalent of Birds Eye peas. Wrong.
Anyway, upshot is that I have killed my fridge and am now drinking warm beer. Life is hard.
Maybe I should contact JonnyB about the possibility of acquiring an internet fridge.
As you may or may not know, I have a fridge dedicated to stocks of Amstel and Stella lager type beers. It is an old one, of possible Soviet ancestry. It shed the door to its freezer compartment long since, the precise calibrations of its thermostat have long been forgotten and its light lit up only as the mood took it but it has, as stalwart as the defenders of Stalingrad, served me faithfully for many a long year.
Unfortunately, the ice around said freezer compartment had become, in the words of the great Don Van Vliet (ask councillor Bob, he'll know), fast and bulbous. A defrosting was in order.
So, making a rather uninformed assumption...the manual was in cyrillic...I depressed the button and waited. 24 hours later, I discerned a swelling pool neath its off-white mass and came to the inescapable conclusion that I had pressed the right button. I opened the door further...such an adventurous life I lead, wouldn't you say...and was faced with just as massive a bulk of ice as I had been heretofore and hitherto. Only this time it had a surface sheen of fresh melt.
Now, maybe I should have elaborated on the geographical position of said fridge but I will do so now. It is wedged at the far, narrow end of my larder/pantry/utility room...a kind of indoor shed if the truth be known...and the water it sheds during defrosting escapes via a pipe extruding from its rear. Under normal circumstances that is. Normal circumstances being obviously those under which less volume of ice has accrued due to the lassissitude of the owner of the aforementioned appliance. Present circumstances were such that water was haemorrhaging, niagara like out of the door cavity and it was only the precipient application of numerous towels that prevented serious warpage of floorboards in the great room.
I, quite understandably I feel given the situation, had a 'bugger this' moment and unearthed a rather large hammer and the biggest fuck off screwdriver in my possession. I was quite happily chiselling away when I became aware of a hissing noise, similar to that of gas escaping under pressure. The state of my mind at the time can best be described by informing you that it occurred to me that I may have inadvertently pierced a bag of the Hungarian equivalent of Birds Eye peas. Wrong.
Anyway, upshot is that I have killed my fridge and am now drinking warm beer. Life is hard.
Maybe I should contact JonnyB about the possibility of acquiring an internet fridge.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
OUR HOUSE
shit...what's that noise...sounds like dripping water...roof leak in the conservatory...buckets, bowls...someone get a cloth...I can't do anything tonight...I'll have a look in the morning...
okay...let's get that ladder then...up she goes...ouch, fuck...one rung's rotted away...should keep it in the garage...really must get around to building one...I see the problem...metal run-offs round the sky lights...too small or been pushed down by the weight of the tiles...really should re-tile the roof...but I need a garage...maybe I could just re-tile the extension, leave the original for later...if I increase the angle of the run-offs...maybe bang a few nails in under them...should help keep the flow in...tiles'll be at a crazy angle, though...oh, fuck it...wait for the next rain and pray...shit, is that a mouse...Jesus, three of the little fuckers sat on the window sill of the conservatory...all that junk piled up on the terrace...really should put it in the garage...bugger...okay, start shifting...all this wood...should put it in the wood-pile...I can build one behind the garage...bollocks...who put all these newspapers out here...waaaaaah, another mouse...what's all this...bloody hell...old plaster and cement and polystyrene insulation...and all these tools...maybe I can build a shed inbetween the garage and the wood-pile...shite...anyway, nowhere for the little buggers to hide now...the cats'll get 'em...but what about the dog...oh forget it...hey, I can see the conservatory again...looks good...no, it doesn't...wood looks dry as a bone and needs staining...better do it before winter sets in...now, where did I put those brushes...not in the garage, that's for sure...in the pantry...there they are...blast...hard as a bloody rock...wonder what I had on 'em...maybe I could gel my hair with it...never have to wash it again...got any woodstain, then...oh, right...interior use only...where are the bloody car keys...these gates could do with painting an' all...and as for the fence...oh well, least there's a full tank in the car...nowhere to bloody park though...it'll be okay here for a few minutes...yeah, woodstain...pine...I don't fuckin' know...that'll be okay...how much...bollocks...of course it's my car...yes, I do know...thank you...and may your crotch be infected by a non-psychedelic fungus...bastard...right...brushes, tin, aha...where's that screwdriver...Christ, this is on tight...oh, fuck...never mind, they're an old pair anyway...this'll take ages...what if I do all the big brush bits today and leave the fiddly bits till tomorrow...sorted...right, where's the turps...oh, no...don't tell me...soapy water it is then...damn and blast...wonder if I can go to work looking like this...how on earth did it get there...
Home owning sucks.
shit...what's that noise...sounds like dripping water...roof leak in the conservatory...buckets, bowls...someone get a cloth...I can't do anything tonight...I'll have a look in the morning...
okay...let's get that ladder then...up she goes...ouch, fuck...one rung's rotted away...should keep it in the garage...really must get around to building one...I see the problem...metal run-offs round the sky lights...too small or been pushed down by the weight of the tiles...really should re-tile the roof...but I need a garage...maybe I could just re-tile the extension, leave the original for later...if I increase the angle of the run-offs...maybe bang a few nails in under them...should help keep the flow in...tiles'll be at a crazy angle, though...oh, fuck it...wait for the next rain and pray...shit, is that a mouse...Jesus, three of the little fuckers sat on the window sill of the conservatory...all that junk piled up on the terrace...really should put it in the garage...bugger...okay, start shifting...all this wood...should put it in the wood-pile...I can build one behind the garage...bollocks...who put all these newspapers out here...waaaaaah, another mouse...what's all this...bloody hell...old plaster and cement and polystyrene insulation...and all these tools...maybe I can build a shed inbetween the garage and the wood-pile...shite...anyway, nowhere for the little buggers to hide now...the cats'll get 'em...but what about the dog...oh forget it...hey, I can see the conservatory again...looks good...no, it doesn't...wood looks dry as a bone and needs staining...better do it before winter sets in...now, where did I put those brushes...not in the garage, that's for sure...in the pantry...there they are...blast...hard as a bloody rock...wonder what I had on 'em...maybe I could gel my hair with it...never have to wash it again...got any woodstain, then...oh, right...interior use only...where are the bloody car keys...these gates could do with painting an' all...and as for the fence...oh well, least there's a full tank in the car...nowhere to bloody park though...it'll be okay here for a few minutes...yeah, woodstain...pine...I don't fuckin' know...that'll be okay...how much...bollocks...of course it's my car...yes, I do know...thank you...and may your crotch be infected by a non-psychedelic fungus...bastard...right...brushes, tin, aha...where's that screwdriver...Christ, this is on tight...oh, fuck...never mind, they're an old pair anyway...this'll take ages...what if I do all the big brush bits today and leave the fiddly bits till tomorrow...sorted...right, where's the turps...oh, no...don't tell me...soapy water it is then...damn and blast...wonder if I can go to work looking like this...how on earth did it get there...
Home owning sucks.
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