Right, I’m coming back down to something approaching normal after my mega-positive day yesterday, so please excuse me a moment… *ahem*
AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!!! BAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSTARDS!!!

Ah, that’s better. Sorry about that, needed doing. Not aimed at anyone in particular, just a general venting of piffling annoyance at lots of things. Work, mainly, but I’ve also been having a damn good shout at the news on the radio on my way to and from work lately, much to the bewilderment of fellow motorists. Those idiots who claim to represent “the people” whilst taking all our hard-earned wodge really do get on my mammaries. Isn’t tax great? All that lovely wodge going into other peoples back pockets so they can sit more comfortably on their Thrones of Power.

I have declared Mr Bush to be, among other less palatable names, a Useless Fat-Headed Texan With No Flipping Morals. The US Army (and now the British Army) have been rather naughty with their prisoners, and the pathetic mouthings of “disgust” by Mr Bush at these atrocities rather stick in my throat like too many crackers with not enough milk. I’m sure we’re well aware of that marvellous Gung-Ho attitude much favoured by the sort of people who are given guns and the right to shoot people and are told they’re “The Good Guys”. I don’t care whose side these nutters are claiming to be on, it’s not my side. This applies to anyone regardless of race, colour or creed who picks up a gun and decides to use it to make a career. I tend to think of the quote by Albert Einstein at times like this, which goes something like:

“He who joyfully marches to music, rank and file, has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would surely suffice. This disgrace to civilization should be done away with at once. Heroism at command, how violently I hate all this, how despicable and ignoble war is; I would rather be torn to shreds than be a part of so base an action. It is my conviction that killing under the cloak of war is nothing but an act of murder.”
Or, as summed up in the Zulu War scene in Monty Pythons The Meaning Of Life:
“I killed fifteen of the buggers, yes sir. Back home of course, they’d have tried me for murder: here they just give me a fucking medal”.

Sorry for swearing, but the whole nonsense drives me batty. Oh and yes, my Bro is a soldier. Yes, he is trained to be able to point a gun at someone who he’s never met before and pull the trigger. I expect if I had joined the Army as encouraged by my Bro’s commanding officer at his passing-out parade in Chepstow, I’d be trained to the same standard. My response (which was along the lines mentioned above) merely caused only very minor embarrassment to my folks and the stiff-necked twit wandered off to recruit someone else’s little bro.

I think what I’m really angry about here is the fact that every time I hear any mention of stupid people using the flimsy excuse “but they’re the Baddies” to do nasty things to said “Baddies”, I’m reminded that my Bro isn’t on what I’d consider to be a suitable career-path for someone I regard so highly. Still, It’s his choice. I hope he grows out of it soon and puts his talents to a more creative and productive use.

Please don’t think I’m implying all troops are into this prisoner-beating unpleasantness. I know it’s only a very few that have done this, and I know my Bro would never stoop so low. In fact, he’d be the first to wade in and stop it if he saw it happening. This is why I still regard him very highly indeed. This should make it clear that there is no cut-and-dried “they’re all Baddies” opinion here. I know people who don’t need guns to be nasty bastards, and I know people who can and do use guns but are extremely nice otherwise.

It’s so frustrating to be able to see how things can be so much better for the human race, yet we all (and that does indeed include myself) persist in totally buggering everything up and taking steps backwards.
I tell you: one day we’ll realise we don’t need bureaucracy, politicians and armies, but until that day comes we’ll just have to put up with what we currently deserve.

Eeeee, that were a right good gig las’ night! Most entertaining, I must say. And the support band were rather good also: 2 birds and a fat bald drummer with a face like a constipated gorilla trying to dislodge a particularly annoying bit of gristle from a dental cavity. The birds played guitar and bass and sang, also. One of the highlights of their act was the guitarists Urzlom-Burzlom accent though:
“Oright averyone? We’ve come orl the way from London tonoight! Worl, I come from Devon o’course *foolish giggle* but you knows wot I means!”.
OK OK so that’s a bit unfair of me, but she was (and most likely still is, of course) damn gorgeous and the accent just topped it off for me: I’m in love! Well, Ok, maybe not. She dunnarf Rock tho! Banging away at her Axe to pelt out some rather meaty riffs with her chums pounding out a stonking rhythm on bass and drums whilst the bassist warbled her way delightfully through a great set of rather good and original music… magnifcent! I love live music (and I mean *real* music, played on silly old-fashioned instruments…). Not been out to a good gig in simply aaaaaaaaaaaaaaages…
Oh yes, and All About Eve were bloody good too! Their performance was very nicely polished, (even with Julianne Regan having a bit of a sore throat: mark of a true singer to just push on through and still sound great) and despite being previously uninitiated to their catalogue from the past decade or two I found myself humming along whilst doing the obligatory nodding-dog impression as favoured by Those Who Have To Drive Home. I could have walked or even caught the bus, and thus would have danced like a possessed idiot (and there were a few of them already there) as is my wont when allowed free access to a bar, numerous glasses and something nice to put in them, albeit on a temporary basis due to said contents being transferred to my digestive system in a going-out-of-style kinda way. I must be getting old: the reason for my non-arsitude was simply that I have skool in the morning (I mean w**k, of course, but I long ago realised many people don’t bother to grow up beyond petty adolescence therefore w**k is, in many ways, like being back at skool. Alright, so I’m hardly Mr Mature. Nonetheless I much prefer to get my w**k done than tell tales, bunk off for a sly smoke or interfere with the Skool Mascot. Not that we have one at w**k, but you know what I mean. If you don’t, tough titties ‘cos I bloody don’t either. I might get round to closing these brackets in a minute and continuing with whatever it was I was going on about. Ah, here it comes now. Just you watch. Any minute. And three, two, one…).
So I got back after an extremely enjoyable night out with good chums and good music, ears throbbing likea pair of gooduns and a big grin on me mush. I’d call that a result, wouldn’t you? I decided to celebrate by helping myself to a rather large Whisky and settling down to read some more of Soul Music by the delightful Mr Pratchett. In between swigs I tried to do some more work on my PeeCee, but I simply couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t even understand what I was reading, despite re-reading the same paragraph many, many times. Time for bed, methinks.

So that was yesterday. Today was rather odd: lately I’ve been feeling just a touch pissed off with w**k by dint of having about 4/5ths of a tonne of extra w**k to do. Well, today was different. I bounced out of bed at 7 o’clock, actually ate breakfast for once, met with not-much-traffic on the way to work (in fact I got to work early), had some really nice conversations with a few of m’colleagues about how great certain things are going to be soon once all this extra stuff is out of the way and smirked at people who looked at my joyous countenance in disbelief (I’m normally a miserable bastard first thing on a skool-morning) and nudged each other in a rather lewd way (any comments along the lines of “he musta got some las’ night” were smilingly ignored) and generally bounced through the day like Tigger on amphetamines. Which was nice.

I think it’s high time I shut up now. I expect I’ve been quite annoying today and I daresay that has spilled over into this ere Blog. Too much of a good thing and all that.
Nighty night.

‹Grins stupidly for no reason and waits for effects to wear off, hopefully before the nice young men in their clean white coats come to take me away ha-haaaaaaaaaaa!›

After what seemed like an eternity, I have finally got a new Motherboard for my PC! Hoo-bloody-ray!
Now I just need to rebuild my PC and get back to using my new PC again. Sparehead 2, for all it’s useful-understudyness, just isn’t up to the job of doing more than 4 things at once.

I’m orf to see All About Eve playing in The Brook in Southampton tomorrow night with some chums (wotcher Ralphus!) which is gonna be a rather splendiferous gig, methinks! Not actually listened to All About Eve that much, which is apparantly a hanging offence, so I hope I don’t get too drunk and not appreciate the music properly… I’m downloading lots of tracks off their official website at the mo so I can get a feel for the music in readiness.
Just watched the vid for Shelter From The Rain as played in Winchester, rather good stuff and I’m certainly looking forward to the gig!

Oh, yes: I shall be starting me NZ Blog here.

‹Considers twidlywiddlyness to be an art-form that can be over-stated at times.›