I picked up a copy of Battlefield 1942 for the PC over the weekend. I've since had enormous fun having my arse kicked right left and, indeed, centre by a multitude of spotty american teenagers.
It is now clear to me what I must do. I must give up my job and devote my life to this game. I must play it for 24 hours a day, taking food and drink intravenously. Obviously, I will need to set the PC up in front of the toilet, so that I can take care of er... bodily functions without leaving the game.
Those kiddies will pay. Oh yes they will. Bwa ha ha ha ha!
I'm just off to write my resignation letter!
Monday, January 31, 2005
An Interesting Statistic
Well I find 'em interesting, anyway.
Despite the threat of being blown up, over 60% of Iraqis turned up to vote in the election yesterday: "Electoral officials estimated that up to eight million Iraqis voted - more than 60% of those registered."
Interestingly, this is a similar figure to the turnout at the UK 2001 General Election - 59%: "Turnout at the 2001 General Election was 59.4 percent, the lowest since the introduction of universal suffrage."
Of course the only threat to the British public was that fact that they might miss an hour of telly.
So what should we read into this? Hmm?
Despite the threat of being blown up, over 60% of Iraqis turned up to vote in the election yesterday: "Electoral officials estimated that up to eight million Iraqis voted - more than 60% of those registered."
Interestingly, this is a similar figure to the turnout at the UK 2001 General Election - 59%: "Turnout at the 2001 General Election was 59.4 percent, the lowest since the introduction of universal suffrage."
Of course the only threat to the British public was that fact that they might miss an hour of telly.
So what should we read into this? Hmm?
Friday, January 28, 2005
It Hurts...
These exercises that Stead has me doing with the new dumbells. They hurt. It's bad enough during the workout when I'm expected to lift the damn things in a variety of interesting, painful and impossible ways, but the morning after is awful.
Did I mention that as part of this, I'm walking up the stairs to my office very morning? 14 floors it is. 15 if you count the so-called 'terrace'. I may die.
Ugh.
Still. I'm told that in 12 weeks I'll feel and look like a new man.
Did I mention that as part of this, I'm walking up the stairs to my office very morning? 14 floors it is. 15 if you count the so-called 'terrace'. I may die.
Ugh.
Still. I'm told that in 12 weeks I'll feel and look like a new man.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Keys
Being a professional Numpty, I feel that it is important that I do something monumentally Numptyish every now and again. Not too often. Just occasionally. If one were to indulge in a constant stream of Numptyness, one would lose one's edge and tip over into simple Village Idiocy or Moronity and we wouldn't want that to happen, would we?
So my major act of Numptocity for the month simply consisted of the leaving of my keys on my desk when I went home last night. Very simple, you might think. The sort of thing that a Dumbass or Plonker might indulge in. But the full Numptoid genius of this act lies not in the location of the keys, but more in the sequence of events that resulted from that small action.
Witness the hilarious chain of events that ensued…
Having accepted a lift home from the Steadmiester, we proceeded to Argos where we purchased dumbells (more on that later). Following that glorious retail experience we then continued on to a major fast food outlet, where we consumed burgers made exclusively from cardboard and dust (anyone? no? dust?). Very tasty.
It was upon leaving said house of cuisine that I realised that I was not in full possession of my faculties… I mean my keys (the doctor says my mental state is quite stable, now). Now this would not normally be a problem. Vic would be around with her key, so I could turn up just a little bit shamefaced, take a bit of a ribbing and that would be
that.
Not this time, however. What actually happened was this: Vic had gone to the pub immediately after work. Being in a relatively noisy environment, she was unable to hear my repeated calls to her mobile. Foolishly, I thought that she would notice the many, many missed calls, voice mails and text messages soon enough, so we decidedto impose ourselves upon the Woolies for a cup of tea while we waited for her to call back.
An hour or so later, she still hadn't called. Nor was she answering her mobile. Bugrit. So we concocted a simple solution to the problem. We would head on down to the Parkway – the pub that Vic and her work cronies always, always (and I do mean 'always' – I don't want you to be under the misapprehension that this isn't a bona-fide 'always' situation) go to when they drink after work.
So off we went. To the Parkway.
Now, the Parkway is one of two pubs immediately next to each other in Stoke Gifford. They are the only two pubs in Stoke Gifford. And they're next door to each other. Go figure.
Anyway – Stead, not knowing Stoke Gifford as well as he might (and being unable to follow the instruction 'take the first left') drove into the car park of the Beaufort to the sound of my ridicule and derision (kind, sensitive phrases like 'What part of FIRST left didn't you understand you dipsh*t?). As you will see later, I had to eat my words.
One car-park later, we established that Vic was not, in fact in the Parkway. You will recall that a paragraph or two ago I may have mentioned that Vic always goes to the Parkway. Always. Well… apparently not always.
Ultimately, we decided that the best course of action was to head back to Stead's house, where he could show me his amazing patented dumbell technique, passed on to him by a mystical sensei, or ex-boxer or something back in the early eighties. I bet he had a mullet.
I finally got a message back from Vic at about 10 o'clock. You'll never guess where she was. Not in a million years. Not a chance. It's unguessable. Can't be done…
…oh. You did. That's right. Rather than go to the pub that she always, always ALWAYS, goes to, Vic and her mates went next door to the Beaufort. Remember the 'wrong car-park incident. It's kinda like we were being given a helping hand from above, guiding us into the car park that we needed to be in. But me n' Stead being awkward buggers, we decided to ignore that helping hand and go on our merry way. You can't say the the-powers-that-be didn't try. They threw the frickin'
bone and we ignored it.
So there we go. Four and a half hours later, I finally got home. And more importantly, Stead got rid of me.
That's it. That's my Numptiplicty for another month.
So my major act of Numptocity for the month simply consisted of the leaving of my keys on my desk when I went home last night. Very simple, you might think. The sort of thing that a Dumbass or Plonker might indulge in. But the full Numptoid genius of this act lies not in the location of the keys, but more in the sequence of events that resulted from that small action.
Witness the hilarious chain of events that ensued…
Having accepted a lift home from the Steadmiester, we proceeded to Argos where we purchased dumbells (more on that later). Following that glorious retail experience we then continued on to a major fast food outlet, where we consumed burgers made exclusively from cardboard and dust (anyone? no? dust?). Very tasty.
It was upon leaving said house of cuisine that I realised that I was not in full possession of my faculties… I mean my keys (the doctor says my mental state is quite stable, now). Now this would not normally be a problem. Vic would be around with her key, so I could turn up just a little bit shamefaced, take a bit of a ribbing and that would be
that.
Not this time, however. What actually happened was this: Vic had gone to the pub immediately after work. Being in a relatively noisy environment, she was unable to hear my repeated calls to her mobile. Foolishly, I thought that she would notice the many, many missed calls, voice mails and text messages soon enough, so we decidedto impose ourselves upon the Woolies for a cup of tea while we waited for her to call back.
An hour or so later, she still hadn't called. Nor was she answering her mobile. Bugrit. So we concocted a simple solution to the problem. We would head on down to the Parkway – the pub that Vic and her work cronies always, always (and I do mean 'always' – I don't want you to be under the misapprehension that this isn't a bona-fide 'always' situation) go to when they drink after work.
So off we went. To the Parkway.
Now, the Parkway is one of two pubs immediately next to each other in Stoke Gifford. They are the only two pubs in Stoke Gifford. And they're next door to each other. Go figure.
Anyway – Stead, not knowing Stoke Gifford as well as he might (and being unable to follow the instruction 'take the first left') drove into the car park of the Beaufort to the sound of my ridicule and derision (kind, sensitive phrases like 'What part of FIRST left didn't you understand you dipsh*t?). As you will see later, I had to eat my words.
One car-park later, we established that Vic was not, in fact in the Parkway. You will recall that a paragraph or two ago I may have mentioned that Vic always goes to the Parkway. Always. Well… apparently not always.
Ultimately, we decided that the best course of action was to head back to Stead's house, where he could show me his amazing patented dumbell technique, passed on to him by a mystical sensei, or ex-boxer or something back in the early eighties. I bet he had a mullet.
I finally got a message back from Vic at about 10 o'clock. You'll never guess where she was. Not in a million years. Not a chance. It's unguessable. Can't be done…
…oh. You did. That's right. Rather than go to the pub that she always, always ALWAYS, goes to, Vic and her mates went next door to the Beaufort. Remember the 'wrong car-park incident. It's kinda like we were being given a helping hand from above, guiding us into the car park that we needed to be in. But me n' Stead being awkward buggers, we decided to ignore that helping hand and go on our merry way. You can't say the the-powers-that-be didn't try. They threw the frickin'
bone and we ignored it.
So there we go. Four and a half hours later, I finally got home. And more importantly, Stead got rid of me.
That's it. That's my Numptiplicty for another month.
Monday, January 24, 2005
Bad Haircuts
Had my hair cut today. It looked alright when he'd finished cutting it, so I paid my money and left.
It's awful. Really, really awful.
It's awful. Really, really awful.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Lan Party
Well, Saturday evening held a new experience to me. I was invited to a lan party. So I dragged my glorious new PC over to Dave's house for a bit of lan party action. I've never really participated in online gaming before, having never had a computer that was really up to it, so this was really, really cool!
I may not actually be good at gaming, but I had a lot of fun, and I think my presence made a positive difference in many of the team games that I participated in. Day of Defeat is a pretty cool game.
As with all of these things, there were one or two people who take gaming far too seriously, though. Not only are they really good at it, but they get cross with those of us who aren't. And woe betide anyone who doesn't take the game a seriously as them! Tut tut tut.
We played into the wee hours… I didn't get up til about 11 this morning. It's a sad, sad situation.
I may not actually be good at gaming, but I had a lot of fun, and I think my presence made a positive difference in many of the team games that I participated in. Day of Defeat is a pretty cool game.
As with all of these things, there were one or two people who take gaming far too seriously, though. Not only are they really good at it, but they get cross with those of us who aren't. And woe betide anyone who doesn't take the game a seriously as them! Tut tut tut.
We played into the wee hours… I didn't get up til about 11 this morning. It's a sad, sad situation.
Friday, January 21, 2005
The Gig To End All Gigs
Well, Stead had his Tsunami Benefit Gig at the George in Chipping Sodbury last night. And it ROCKED!!! There's very little more I can say.
Well... Alright then, I can think of a few more things.
I took the afternoon off to give The Stead a hand preparing the venue for an evening of hard rocking. Stage Electrics had given us the use of a PA which turned out to be far more than we needed. It took us about 3 hours to set it up and get it working.
There were 3 bands – Diamond Joe, Reservoir Hoggs, and of course The Torr.
Diamond Joe went on first. They were pretty good, although Vic didn't rate them as apparently Fabian (the lead singer – sounds like a made-up name to me!) was singing flat all the way through it. The important thing, though was that I enjoyed their set. They had some good songs and that's what counts, isn't it?
Next, the Reservior Hoggs went on. Unfortunately, their guitarist had called off – not sure why – so Bezz from the Torr filled in for him. This was actually a pretty dull set. Nothing memorable. Although her singing was fine, their lead singer (other than her most impressive thighs) was pretty forgettable. Sorry. That's just the way it is.
And then the highlight of the evening. The Torr. Wow, did they kick ass. I've heard a few of Stead's recordings and I've been to a handful of their recent gigs, but this really was the best I've heard 'em. They certainly blew the other two band out of the water! The rocking went on until well after 11 and they had to endure three – yes, three – encores.
An amusing incident occurred early in the evening. While the bands set up for sound checks, Stead and I nip over to the newsagent for a few cokes to keep us going. After serving the woman in front of Stead with her cigarettes, the girl behind the counter suggests to this woman that she could get her 200 fags for £30 as her dad is a lorry driver and brings them into the country on the quiet. Just come back on Friday, she says, with £30.
When the woman leaves, Stead looks at the girl behind the counter and says "You can't do that!"
"What?" assed the girl, clearly bewildered.
"Offering fags like that. It's completely illegal," says the Stead, "I'm a police officer and you're under arrest"
The girl visibly pales and mutters "oh my god…."
Fortunately for her, the Stead isn't a policeman. But she was truly terrified. I know it's not right that intelligent and reasoning individuals like us should take such pleasure in the discomfort of other. But still…
Well... Alright then, I can think of a few more things.
I took the afternoon off to give The Stead a hand preparing the venue for an evening of hard rocking. Stage Electrics had given us the use of a PA which turned out to be far more than we needed. It took us about 3 hours to set it up and get it working.
There were 3 bands – Diamond Joe, Reservoir Hoggs, and of course The Torr.
Diamond Joe went on first. They were pretty good, although Vic didn't rate them as apparently Fabian (the lead singer – sounds like a made-up name to me!) was singing flat all the way through it. The important thing, though was that I enjoyed their set. They had some good songs and that's what counts, isn't it?
Next, the Reservior Hoggs went on. Unfortunately, their guitarist had called off – not sure why – so Bezz from the Torr filled in for him. This was actually a pretty dull set. Nothing memorable. Although her singing was fine, their lead singer (other than her most impressive thighs) was pretty forgettable. Sorry. That's just the way it is.
And then the highlight of the evening. The Torr. Wow, did they kick ass. I've heard a few of Stead's recordings and I've been to a handful of their recent gigs, but this really was the best I've heard 'em. They certainly blew the other two band out of the water! The rocking went on until well after 11 and they had to endure three – yes, three – encores.
An amusing incident occurred early in the evening. While the bands set up for sound checks, Stead and I nip over to the newsagent for a few cokes to keep us going. After serving the woman in front of Stead with her cigarettes, the girl behind the counter suggests to this woman that she could get her 200 fags for £30 as her dad is a lorry driver and brings them into the country on the quiet. Just come back on Friday, she says, with £30.
When the woman leaves, Stead looks at the girl behind the counter and says "You can't do that!"
"What?" assed the girl, clearly bewildered.
"Offering fags like that. It's completely illegal," says the Stead, "I'm a police officer and you're under arrest"
The girl visibly pales and mutters "oh my god…."
Fortunately for her, the Stead isn't a policeman. But she was truly terrified. I know it's not right that intelligent and reasoning individuals like us should take such pleasure in the discomfort of other. But still…
Sunday, January 16, 2005
Moving House, The Danger Room and Mad Eric
It feels like there's a never ending steam of house moves going on. In 2003, we moved house 3 times. Then in 2004, I helped Stead move house. Now he's moving house again. I know that's not actually very menay house moves in total, but all I said was that it SEEMS like it. Ok.
This time, Stead's buying his own place rather than renting. So on Staurday we went down to Fishponds Road to pick up a Luton van. We emptied out his one bedroom
back-to-back box of a house (with cardboard walls), drove it over to his new place - a 3 bedroom detatched mansion (at least incomparison).
Interesting place, Stead's new house. The hallway and lounge have some very tasteful wooden beams on the ceiling and walls - yes, walls. Actually, it looks more like they staples a few bits of 2 by 4 to the wall and ceiling and painted 'em browner. Niiiice. Then there's the nice anaglypta rendered walls. Nice texturing.... for the sixties. And of course we mustn't forget the carpet. The lovely lovely carpet. That belongs in a pub. DOn't ask about the internal doors. Just don't.
The highlight of the house, however has to be Mad Eric's Danger Room. Eric, presumably is the name of the young lad who lived with his mum and her boyfriend in this house. We surmise this from the 'inscription', written in black marker on the bedroom door, underneath the FHM girlie sticker. 'Eric's Room' followed by the horribly mis-spelt 'Smoking Parler'. On the outside of the door frame, is a hole that looks suspiciously like a bolt used to be attached to the door. The outside of the door. What, you may ask, were they trying to lock in?
Upon entering Eric's room, the full horror of it becomes clear. Turned to maximum, the badly installed dimmer switch causes the light to come on with the awseome power of what appears to be a 20 watt bulb. Worse than that, the light flickers on and off, occasionally getting a little brighter. Remember the Electric Six song 'Danger, High Voltage'?
The one of the walls is full of little embedded ball bearings, as if Mad Eric had a BB gun and spent his evenings firing them at the wall. The opposite wall if full of little holes - probably from missing a dartboard. The whole room was pretty mucky. Ewwww.
So... Mad Eric, who was almost certainly a smoker, was locked in his room at night (possibly just on the full moon) where he shot holes in the walls with his little bb gun. The airing cupboard door, immediatly iopposit his room has at one point become very intimate with someone's foot. Was Mad Eric a kicker? I suppose we'll never know.
Anyway. We sent the Vic round with some antibacterial wipes and some Orange Mr Muscle to make the whole place a bit less grimy. Give it a couple of weeks, and I'm sure you'll never know it was as nasty as it is now!
This time, Stead's buying his own place rather than renting. So on Staurday we went down to Fishponds Road to pick up a Luton van. We emptied out his one bedroom
back-to-back box of a house (with cardboard walls), drove it over to his new place - a 3 bedroom detatched mansion (at least incomparison).
Interesting place, Stead's new house. The hallway and lounge have some very tasteful wooden beams on the ceiling and walls - yes, walls. Actually, it looks more like they staples a few bits of 2 by 4 to the wall and ceiling and painted 'em browner. Niiiice. Then there's the nice anaglypta rendered walls. Nice texturing.... for the sixties. And of course we mustn't forget the carpet. The lovely lovely carpet. That belongs in a pub. DOn't ask about the internal doors. Just don't.
The highlight of the house, however has to be Mad Eric's Danger Room. Eric, presumably is the name of the young lad who lived with his mum and her boyfriend in this house. We surmise this from the 'inscription', written in black marker on the bedroom door, underneath the FHM girlie sticker. 'Eric's Room' followed by the horribly mis-spelt 'Smoking Parler'. On the outside of the door frame, is a hole that looks suspiciously like a bolt used to be attached to the door. The outside of the door. What, you may ask, were they trying to lock in?
Upon entering Eric's room, the full horror of it becomes clear. Turned to maximum, the badly installed dimmer switch causes the light to come on with the awseome power of what appears to be a 20 watt bulb. Worse than that, the light flickers on and off, occasionally getting a little brighter. Remember the Electric Six song 'Danger, High Voltage'?
The one of the walls is full of little embedded ball bearings, as if Mad Eric had a BB gun and spent his evenings firing them at the wall. The opposite wall if full of little holes - probably from missing a dartboard. The whole room was pretty mucky. Ewwww.
So... Mad Eric, who was almost certainly a smoker, was locked in his room at night (possibly just on the full moon) where he shot holes in the walls with his little bb gun. The airing cupboard door, immediatly iopposit his room has at one point become very intimate with someone's foot. Was Mad Eric a kicker? I suppose we'll never know.
Anyway. We sent the Vic round with some antibacterial wipes and some Orange Mr Muscle to make the whole place a bit less grimy. Give it a couple of weeks, and I'm sure you'll never know it was as nasty as it is now!
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Free Lunch
Turns out there is such thing as a free lunch. In this case, one that the boss pays for. He took us out to the local Italian restaurant(actually my recommendation). I had a damn fine lasagne, which was made even nicer by the fact that someone else was paying. Hot asfrickin' magma, though. I burned my tongue. But it was worth it!.
Mmmmmm. Lasagne….Only thing that almost spoiled the whole experience was that Penny didn't have penne. Bugrit.
As an added bonus, sticking the old network card in the new PC got me online instantly. No fiddling required. Cool.
Mmmmmm. Lasagne….Only thing that almost spoiled the whole experience was that Penny didn't have penne. Bugrit.
As an added bonus, sticking the old network card in the new PC got me online instantly. No fiddling required. Cool.
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
A New Arrival
Guess what turned up at my house today. Yes, that’s right. A selection of boxes for the cats to play with.
There happened to be a bunch of computer stuff in there, which was an unexpected bonus. Quite a good one too – here’s the spec:
Intel Pentium 4 3.2GHz processor (800fsb/1MB cache)
Microsoft® Windows® XP Home Edition
1GB memory
200GB hard disk drive
16x Dual Layer DVD-RW
ATI Radeon 9800 Platinum 128MB graphics
17" LCD monitor (DVI)
P5800 speakers
Cordless keyboard and optical mouse
Modem
Yes, that’s right. A gig of Ram. That’s more Ram than a Welshman would know what to do with. It’s nothing short of Glorious. Glorious, I tell you.
The best thing, of course is that the computer didn’t cost me a penny. Taking advantage of the government’s HCI initiative, and my employer’s fantastic benefits trading scheme, I was able to trade in a weeks holiday in exchange for the PC. Woohoo.
Only thing is… I’m having trouble configuring the network card, so I can’t get online with it at the moment. I may have to install the one from my old computer.
There happened to be a bunch of computer stuff in there, which was an unexpected bonus. Quite a good one too – here’s the spec:
Intel Pentium 4 3.2GHz processor (800fsb/1MB cache)
Microsoft® Windows® XP Home Edition
1GB memory
200GB hard disk drive
16x Dual Layer DVD-RW
ATI Radeon 9800 Platinum 128MB graphics
17" LCD monitor (DVI)
P5800 speakers
Cordless keyboard and optical mouse
Modem
Yes, that’s right. A gig of Ram. That’s more Ram than a Welshman would know what to do with. It’s nothing short of Glorious. Glorious, I tell you.
The best thing, of course is that the computer didn’t cost me a penny. Taking advantage of the government’s HCI initiative, and my employer’s fantastic benefits trading scheme, I was able to trade in a weeks holiday in exchange for the PC. Woohoo.
Only thing is… I’m having trouble configuring the network card, so I can’t get online with it at the moment. I may have to install the one from my old computer.
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