Tatty bye, Netscape

Well, doesn't life just move on. Doesn't seem like yesterday that I was religiously reading Dot Net magazine and blagging 14k modems on the cheap, firing up the Windows Terminal software and hooking up to bulletin boards and then discovering this new toy, this fledgling web thing thorough Netscape for my first browser. Now, a million years later they're finally pulling the plug on Netscape.

To be honest, if I think about it I'm suprised it's still there. I'd completely filed it in the back of my memory under "old, but cool times", in other words nearly forgotten it. But hey, I'll take a retrospective second to think about it.

Right, that's that done. What's next?

A valid point...

Stolen shamelessy from B3TA....

"Still no sign of Pakistan setting up an earthquake fund for Britain is there. I say, next time they have one, F*ck em"

A plan is "That which is changed"

Well, it looks as if my planned visit to Yorkieland to drink all their beer at tomorrow's beer festival is going to go to hell, as it transpires that an old and valued buddy is popping into town from afar on business; and it's way more necessary to meet up for a small beer and a bite to eat instead. Sorry North Yorkshire, another time. Probably not a bad thing, for as much as I love the scene, the scenery and the festival in question, money's going to be tight this month and I already have way more commitment than wedge available. Hey ho.

It's been a busy week, wheels wise... it was either "go plane spotting or do the housework" so naturally I charged up the bosscam, stuck the big lens on and went for it. Two largely unproductive afternoons at Donna Nook (should I rename that Hellbitch Nook?), and one quite productive time spent at Coningsby watching the zoomies later, I have the following contribution to make to the environmental debate, nay protest on the roof of the Commons regarding the new runway at Heathrow....

"Heat is good".

Or "Screw you hippy"; to paraphrase that well known fictional voice of reason, E. Cartman esq. Do you think that I too could become a disgusting workshy soapdodger, and that the government will give me benefits so that I can be an arrogant, overeducated prick for whom laws don't apply so long as I can jam my views down other people's throats? I don't see why I have to have live TV coverage beamed into my home of this middle class noise nuisance in London when there's a perfectly good one down the road at the airfield, and the fire brigade at the House of Commons are just dying for a little extra high pressure hose practise...

Anyway's up, the day at the airfield was far from wasted, with four new frames for my collection, popped in to see a buddy on the way home who unexpectedly fed me for my troubles, which was way above and beyond the call of duty, and all round nice.

So onto the Health Nazi's. Yes, they got me in their gym. Yes, they made me run round and around. Yes, they took blood pressure and heart rate, lots. But I've not been lectured and patronised yet, and as they've found out, there actually isn't really very much that they can complain about anyway (apart from maybe my support for the local brewing industry); they're encouraging me to get back on the wheel, which is no bad thing as it's pretty much where I wanted to be anyway. No more cripple treatment please.

What the hell was that???

An earthquake actually.

Was just mooching to bed when at 0057 the house shook, I shook, in fact every damned thing shook and the cat legged it out of the door. It felt rather like a heavy freight train was going past the back door; except that they pulled the line up about fifteen years ago.

How weird. Wandered into the street to discover that most of the neighbourhood have been woken and had much the same idea. No light in the sky so that's a plane crash or a tanker accident on the main road out of the question. A look on the net reveals that folks in Norwich, Manchester and Nottingham have felt it; other checks reveal it's been felt in Liverpool; via radio the USGS are saying that the epicentre of the 4.7 magnitude quake is only about fifteen miles south of my location.

Well, what can you say about that other than... to paraphrase Weebl and Bob.... "How rare"!
The good news is everyone's alive, nothing seems broken. And what a horrible sensation. I don't like things being that out of control...

What's your secret, Mike?

Well, folks today I'm going to reveal my secret, what makes me the helloffaguy I am. Yes folks, it's beer. It's made me the man I am today.

Very hung over and feeling like shite.

But it beats the arse off being French.

Why your cat knows more than you do

Shouldn't underestimate the little dudes, seriously. Forensic evidence suggests that on Thursday evening there was a serious cider-liver interface going on involving this correspondent and friends in the locality; with the usual climax of kebab precurement; let's be honest, nobody buys those damnable things sober, it's just a Turkish Drinking Tax. Said kebab was placed in one of my metal curry bowls (civilised household you see, or one that does inpersonations) and placed on the lounge floor, as that's where I was at the time. And promptly ignored by all human life forms, as is the correct response to being in proximity to such an item, although intoxicated absent mindedness might have more to do with it. Eight'ish hours later, and with full exposure to the patrolling tomcat of the house, I can report it was absolutely untouched and totally ignored by feline hand.... erm, paw, or tooth, proving conclusively that they know a thing or two, and don't drink cider.

Oh no!! The health nazi's have got me in their grip! Was summoned to the hozzy yesterday for a session with the cardiac recovery nurse, which is an idea I've never heard of before and is indeed new. A very long, and it has to be said not unpleasant natter where she discovered that there is in fact nothing whatsoever in my diet that she can now complain about, and that most of my stats are now exactly where I need them to be, that I've lost two whole points of cholesterol since this business started and I'm now a couple of fractions from their ideal; and that they're signing me up for free workouts starting next week, which is great because it answers a question that's been bugging me since the op "when can I next exercise you bastards, can I get my bloody bike out, will somebody please give me some information?". A little flat to realise just how picture perfect my food intake has become, with the exception of not eating any oily fish (because it's yukky). Maybe a steak dinner at Damon's is in order. Thank god for the booze or I'd be lost to HN'ism for ever.

And in antidote to that, strolled up to Biro'land last night for an introduction to her legendary boozer; no, not that she IS a legendary boozer (hello Jules xx), but the rather fine pub around the corner. A listed building, which means that the gas lights, uneven slate floor and real coal fires in every room which the Health and Safety executive'd flip out at under any other circumstances can stay. Wooo! It actually gets lighter when you leave the pub and walk back into the night. And a nice pint of lovely Sam Smiths bitter for a mere £1.33, what else can you ask for? Works for me. The White Horse, Beverley, known locally as "Nellies". This is your free blogosphere plug of the day. Oh, and I don't think that Millie the cat has yet quite forgiven me for my laughing at the unfortunate turd-dragging incident of some months ago, but she is at least talking to me again, which is something.

There's a saying....

...that a shite day's spotting beats a good day at work hands down. Not sure about that. In fact, that claim may itself be shite.

A grubby afternoon at Coningsby, freezing fog around, it was just poor. Missed the first set of arrivals, and therein began a series of being in the wrong place at the wrong time for arrivals, aircraft departing when I was halfway around the airfield on my way to an avantageous spot, the advantageous spot turning into the horribly wrong spot, the camera throwing wobbles and finally when the one interesting visitor (Boscombe Down Alpha Jet, only the second time I've seen one) of the late afterenoon turned up, I'd made a spanner of the camera settings and it was an irrecoverable shot. Damn. Hey ho. So to recover the day, popped in to see a mate in the neighbourhood for a cuppa and chat, which turned into takeaway dinner (am I allowed those yet? who cares); and a stroll back via the pub and my current book. So, nothing much achieved. Got me away from here for half a day though.....

Noise needed

So, Turdwalker has returned to his nest in the west leaving a trail of wreckage behind; having brought destruction to the wallpaper, the fireplace and my favourite bootlaces. Yes, it is an odd man who has a fav' set of laces for his boots. You've all been reading this long enough to know I'm insane? The house is quiet, I am sober. It's uncanny. Been out to shop, bought groceries, a pub lunch, a coffee and a fat newspaper and that were my day. Having said that, it's an unusual thing to be out and about on a Saturday in town; shift working usually precludes it, and even when I'm not working, there's normally something specific to do. So things like the religious zealots banging out their hellfire and brimstone message, the dodgy Arab looking woman selling balloons; all these Saturday classics are things that have passed me by for the longest time. All I needed was to be in another town and have Nutty Ken stomping up and down, immaculately dressed and shouting at people and it'd have been a total time warp (wonder if he's still even alive).

Mikey in Valentines day secret engagement shocker

Hahahahah. That got ya's. As if I'd do anything so stupid. No seriously, it's a wind up. Made ya's look though. Actually treating the Valentine Corporation Marketting Division's busy day of the year with the utter contempt that it deserves.

Last night, a sensible night in was the order of the day, or at least the order of the night, drinking mineral water to aid my recovery from surgery. Honest guv. To add confusion to the mix we sent the decoys out to eat large steak sandwiches; kebabs; drink enormous quantities of very fine beer; very fine tequilla; horrid overpriced, overmarketed, bottled pisswater cider flavoured beverage; smoke strange brown cigarettes; party til stupid o'clock in the morning in a dingy nightclub and pour aforementioned horrid pisswater over the heads of complete wanks who really, really deserved it. The decoys did a very fine job of it - you'd not actually catch US doing that sort of thing, that'd just be silly.

Curiously, even though we had a sensible night in and let the decoys do all the dangerous stuff, today there seems a curious fug in the air. Bodies all over the place, reports coming in of friends making it home at mad o' clock and being at work an hour later, a general feeling of lethargy from the occupants of the Fortress, even the cat's aren't doing much. It's funny, that. It's almost as if the decoys have actually used US to decoy their own hangovers. Very strange. I may have to study this phenomena in some detail. I shall do it indoors. Wearing a duvet over my head and drinking a lot of tea.

Not a good time to have a shit eating grin

Ever wondered how people in iconic photographs feel about them? Here's Johnny Marr from an interview with The Guardian, and not a Vampire regarding THIS..... incidentally a blow up of which is framed in my house, not that I'm a sad old Smiths fan, oh no....

"I'd never given it a moment's thought," Marr says, "until they started taking pictures at my university inauguration last year. I looked around, saw the red brick walls and thought, 'this is familiar'." Marr laughs it off, suggesting the brainfreeze was merely the product of a lifelong desire to forget that photo. "I just hate it." Because it's become so iconic and stylised? "Nah. Because I look so crap in it. It's the one frame I'd put an X against to show that I didn't like it and then someone - who looked exactly the same in every single picture - decided to use it just to piss me off." Heheheheh. Apparently Andy Rourke, the bassist on the left has said that if he'd have known it'd have been so reprouced and iconic, he'd have worn less tight trousers that day. Thanks to Radcliffe and Maconie on Radio 2 for that one.

And it's off to the BBC website for quote of the day from one Ms D Parton of the good old US of A, who's had to postpone a tour due to health issues of an orthapedic nature. "You try wagging these puppies around a while and see if you don't have back problems". Heheheheh. Thanks are also due to the Great Wall chinese takeaway who in their new menu that they've shoved through my letterbox, have announced that their "Lunchbox dishes" come in a "large coontainer". What are they saying here? Are we having a Lindford moment? I think we should be told. Hey ho, it raised a smile on a slow day.

Yes, it has indeed been not speedy. At the moment, I'm looking out of the window at the fog and ground level cloud that's been around since waking; I'm considering the chances of either the Nook or CBY being worthwhile to find happy times with a good camera and a big lens, and considering what a gorgeous day yesterday was, I'm not getting answers that are pleasing. The online weather suggests snot and nastiness everywhere I want to see things, so unless I fancy going for arty effects with the Typhoons, it probably isn't worth it. Which is frankly a bit of annoyance. Plans, and all that. Hey ho.

Anyway. On the news of the weird front. I did in fact succeed in seeing my quack today. He didn't give me ten days off. Oh no. He gave me twenty one.

Which was nice.

Three weeks on the club, and then a phased reintroduction to full duties. The phrase "yay" springs to mind. If not "huzzah!". I actually feel alright. But medical opinion councels caution, so I probably shouldn't have been tonking about like a mad fool at the weekend then. Heheheh. Anyway, I'm about to pop to the office to drop the paperwork in, but I'd better not be too smug. It's a good idea to with-hold my "yay"'s, my "huzzah"'s and even my "mwahahahahahah, look paupers, free holiday!!". It turns out that one of our senior blokes who's been off with a winter lung complaint isn't going to be coming back to full health anytime soon, or in fact ever; it's turned into the sort of lung complaint that begins with the letter C and isn't the sort of thing they can do anything about, and doesn't do a lot for the chances of seeing the 2009 christmas party. Which frankly takes the shine off things, and everyone's down about it. Which wasn't nice. But understandable. Hmmm, ending a blog entry on a downer? It'll do.

Quiet times, shouty noises, smelly boxes

Well, all is quiet in the Fortress of Quiet'ytude... still on enforced rest cure from the fun factory, and it's not unpleasant. I could get used to this. In fact, although the work gear is laundered, badged and awaiting filling, I can honestly say I'm not looking forward to going back one bit. Mooching around, not a bad way to fill the day. The sun is out, the weather is not unpleasant and I'm getting a few things done. Some difficulty at the moment actually getting my quack to play ball and see me at the mo; I don't feel like going back until he actually says I should, and lets face it, if he says "another ten days off for YOU, matey", who am I to argue? Ahem. But seriously folks, I need a proper brief on when I can start exercising, when I can get the push bike out, when I can do all kinds of stuff and it's not coming from the anywhere right now; I know what I'm like, I'll only go and overdo it and break something if left to my own devices. Anyways up, I prescribe for today a certain amount of pottering around in the garden, a certain amount of fettling the Mile Eater, since I started TLC'ing it yesterday in preparation for the "return of the engine" and certainly no more "insanity strength bastard cider and beer products". Oh no. Quite enough of that stuff.

Mooching back through the world of late, this feature caught my eye.... I know it's not in the least politically correct, nice, acceptable and is in fact extremely wrong of me but it made oi chuckle. Even the Germans just wiped the buggers out en masse, it takes the towel wearing types to actually find a use for them other than flipping burgers on a special placement. Whatever next? Will the London underground advertising types reuse that five foot high gurning unfocussed face they had on their well meaning "you wouldn't give poor Droolo here a job, you prejudiced bastard; look into your hard heart and be a better person" poster that I saw last time I was in the smoke into a "know your enemy" sort of thing? "Britain's least wanted"? Who knows. In fact, who cares. It's news of the weird, folks. You couldn't make it up. But sitting here with a powerful telescope in the Fortress, I see all. Or all that the Indie and the news wires allow me to see anyway. Why can't I get paid to go out there where the metal flies and write shit for a living? I do it here for free. Ah, good point. If I'm out there with my EOS30, who's going to look after the G boy? He's having a hard enough time with the hyperactive young Turdwalker at the moment who is staying here again. The kitchen today was not pleasant. If you could bottle the smell of the litter tray today, Chanel would NOT sell it. Suffering as I was with Beerybelly and the after effects of cider, I have elected to make that the problem of TWM as she has far more experience of shitty arses than I do, and I'm just not dealing with that sort of thing first thing in the morning.

Oh and quote of the day from yesterday... "nothing says I love you like a drive by shooting". Where on earth did that come from? Why didn't I leave it there? Strange times. Maybe I AM getting a little stir crazy. Compulsory driving layoff ends tomorrow. Probably need to get out in the sun for a few hours.

Ooh arr, ooh arr, ay!

I'm not sure where in the post op rest cure program it says that you SHOULDN'T drink gallons of naughty kentish cider. I'm not sure though that it's a tremendously good idea. Hey ho. A swift pint of Tetley mild in the Nottingham Arms turned into a brief wander down to Willys for a taste of tasty Biddendens cider, which is NEVER a good idea, and as is totally predictable, turned into a serious attack on the stuff, or was that "OF" the stuff? Will I never learn? Hope not. Hey ho. MAY not have been the cleverest thing I ever did, but the new and improved ticker seems to be working anyway, walking more than twenty yards is already more comfortable. Ran into Miss Burgers from the office in the pub anyway, so it'll be around the place that I'm on my feet and I'd better not try to blag the "I'm dying" line and blag another month off work. Then again, she's a fairly forgetful soul and may through proper application of Dancing Juice forget to mention that she's seen me, or indeed just forget that she has. A social day - a visit from the man Baz yesterday, he also is on the up after some hospital related medical wobblyness and is itching to get back into doing things. To be fair, my ambition kind of ends at the entrace to the bar, never was a hyperactive chap in the "doing things" front, but each to their own. We got his bike back under cover after the weather ate it's lightweight cover and spat it out the other end, and on charge so that's a positive thing. The riding season begins to heave into view. My own beast is looking at having an engine again at the beginning of next month which is a groovy thing because that's when I can afford to pay for it. Yay.

On the medical front, the access site for the op has now got a bruise on it the size of a Slovene beef burger and blacker than a walk through Kingston at midnight in a power cut. That's attractive. My "lifting heavy things" restriction ends today, so I may move some of the things around that have been piling up for the last few days. Then again I may not. I may mooch around this place and feel like shite for a little while longer yet. Who knows. It's nice to have the options.

Bionic

Well folks, I seem to have survived my appointment with the medico's on the north bank... I am now heavier by the cost of artificial materials placed within myself to make me harder, better, faster, stronger and more importantly, considerably not dead. Bionic? Well, I'm certainly running in slow motion. But then I always did, I was built for cross country (gentle ambles, short cuts) rather than sprinting, and you can put the slow motion down to my unfit lardiness rather than some Lee Majors'esque special effect. Let me take the opportunity to say "greets" to all those who've sent greetings this week, and tons of kudos to Kelly, Dawn, Sarah, and me muvver for directly supporting me and worrying tons. Must be more popular than I thought. Of all the folks who knew about this in advance, I think I was the only one reasonably chilled about it. It's better than being in the chiller, folks. Anyway's up, for those with no sense of metaphor, I've just had some heart work done. Hey, at least it proves I've got one after all. All done under a local knockout; at times uncomfortable, downrite boring and yes, occaisionally a little scary. But the "that which does not kill me" metaphor is pretty true here, and it's nice to be out the other side. With any luck that's the beginning of the end of being stranded in the office. I'm also looking to treating myself to a steak with blue cheese topping, although I fear that rabidly healthy eating is going to dominate my life for the remainder of it, always assuming of course that I wish it to continue. Certainly I seem to have filled the fridge and freezer with things that are good for me to extremes, there is no room left in the inn. I'm car'less for a week now, doc's orders; and not supposed to carry for a few days so I got loaded for bear. For once in this bachellor pad, there's enough healthy food to survive a nuclear winter. Although I can do without putting that one to the test, eh?

Anyway, back in the world. The cat of the household has ANOTHER new game. He's an inventive lad at the moment. Moved the lounge around on Monday, don't know why, just seemed like the time to do it. The telly and associated flashy boxes are all transferred to their new home, the sofa is moved away from the wall to face the new angle. This means that his cattyness can get at the rear of the sofa, the lining, he can get inside it and he has decided that this is a fun place to have huge fights with invisible enemies. Of course, I am daft and accept rough play so I tease him when he's in there, and he goes furball on my hand, with all claws and the mad wee fighter look in his eyes as he bares his teeth in a dreadful insane rictus. Absolutely bonkers. He looks like he's enjoying himself anyway. My right hand isn't.

Friday on my mind

It's a busy one. It's blowing a gale here, and has been for two days; no heavy damage yet. The usual; the bridge is closed to high sided traffic and bikes, which doesn't bother me except in that I can't scoot up there and take pictures of sideways lorries... damn... and I must attempt to locate my wheelie bin which I last saw sideways as I left for work yesterday. A lot of things to do this weekend, so I've started it a day early. Places to go, peoples to see, things to buy, things to clean, all the pay day chores to do. Off on Monday as well, and then I get my one week NHS sponsored holiday which I'm looking forward to considerably. Not.