Friday was the day that we had been waiting for since we married: the interview with the U.S. Embassy concerning my application for an immigrant visa. The soul-destroying, expensive misery of the application process continued right up until the actual interview proper. We queued in the rain for half an hour, but did get to chat to another prospective immigrant who turned out to be a thoroughly bloody nice chap. He had kids and everything but still had to endure the same process as us, with the added insult of having to fly from LA to London for his interview. Yes, he had to fly 6000 miles, from the US to London, for his interview with US immigration.
Once we’d worked our way past the tooled-up [Glocks and MP5s, one even with a holographic reflex sight] coppers, private security people (including one guy that always makes jokes about being bought coffee, and has done for many months at least), and an x-ray machine, we were allowed inside the hallowed atrium of the Embassy.
We took a number and waited awhile until we were summoned up to window number 1 where a clerk systematically pointed out all of the paperwork we had failed to produce. We protested that form 27B/6 had told us not to bother but it was met with incredulity. Just as we were about to give up and settle in the UK she also told us that, despite previously having sent in multiple photographs of ourselves, yet more were required and that that they had to be in a different format.
Michele encouraged me not to blow myself up and instead we went outside to a local chemist to pay a fortune for the legitimate pics.
Of course getting back in involved a pretty tortuous experience again, only this time we were able to preempt the coffee joke from the man with no neck on the front gate.
Once we handed over the pics, the entire experience changed. After a short wait we were directed to a different window, behind which sat the paragon of efficiency, understanding and cooperation. This woman was wonderful. She told us everything we wanted to know, told us how to rectify our omissions with as little hassle as possible, agreed with us that the misleading form was indeed misleading, and told us she would let the appropriate people know!
She then told us that we had finished the immigration procedure, on the understanding that we would get the missing documentation back to them asap.
Michele, incredulous, asked what had happenned to the “Green Card” style interrogation about toothbrush colour. The woman explained:

“Seeing as all you two have done since you got here is bicker, I know your marriage is genuine. If you’d have been all kissy cuddly then I’d have been suspicious…you’ve been married too long for that.”

So, providing I don’t fail the medical, that’s it!
Scary eh ?

In the 70’s, before the ethics people had any power, it was possible to conduct fascinating experiments on all sorts of people including small children. Evidently my dad decided he would see how much a 4 year old’s mind could be disturbed just by his immediate environment. So he decided to paper my new bedroom with this wallpaper. Now, it was the 70’s I grant you, but this is straight out of The Wall. Observe the scary spikey bits. Regard the brown background. See how the whole is more evil than the sum of its parts.
As bad as this wallpaper clearly manages to be, my dad didn’t think it was evil enough on its own to really cause mental scarring on his son. So he hung it upside-down. Hence the peculiarly sinister tentacles. It remained on the walls of my childhood bedroom until last week…well…some of it remained on the walls. This is probably the last time you’ll ever get to see a photo of the wall of satan’s lounge.

There have been 2 documentaries about the Metropolitan Police on TV in the past week or so. Another Peter Oborne Dispatches and then a nice 30-minute “Inside Out” with Stephen “Shagger” Norris. For those that don’t know “Inside Out”, it’s a sort of Happy Shopper version of Tonight with Trev McD.
Anyway, the essence of both programmes was very similar: The Police are at best crap, but more frequently more interested in nicking innocent people for stupid shit rather than doing the stuff they’re supposed to be doing. Lots of anecdotal evidence for this was provided involving scenarios with which most Londoners are more familiar: burglary and rape victims being ignored; people getting shot in the head for evading their fares etc etc.
Now, it’s obvious to me, and many others, that this is exactly what the Police in London are like. However the programmes both took an odd turn whereby they tried to portray these problems as modern issues, and imply that there was a time when the police were “public servants” rather than opressors.
This irritated me because, despite not having a good education, I know how the Police came about and I know why they still exist. As the Met website explains:

The word “Police” means, generally, the arrangements made in all civilised countries to ensure that the inhabitants keep the peace and obey the law.

Or “shut up” and “do what they’re told” in plain English. Nothing there about protecting the opressed and defending the rights of man you’ll notice. The Police have never been there for any other reason than to protect the rich; that’s what is meant by “keeping the peace”. It actually means stamping on those rowdy hooligans who question why people can be born into privilege while others starve.
There have been several news items over the past few years where people get mugged/burgled/attacked and the police tell them that there’s nothing they can do. Yet, the next morning, there are about 60 of the fuckers at the station helping the “revenue protection officers” protect the revenues of the private companies by nicking the poor sods who can’t afford the outrageous train fares.
Whilst this is all true, just don’t forget it’s nothing new! The police were created to protect the rich, and thats what they’re doing. All that’s new is the league tables (where they have to outdo their mates in terms of number of nicks) and the new “anti-terrorism” laws which simply help them improve their averages.

Are you unemployed, mentally-ill or just a masochist ? If so you probably watch daytime TV, and this quiz is for you:

How many Kitchen Directs are there ?
A> 12
B> 5
C> There’s only one

If you’ve got debts, mortgage arrears and even CCJs is it possible to still get a loan ?
A> No
B> Yes, and at very competative rates of interest

If you hurt yourself at work, maybe by slipping in the foyer or by falling off your lorry when you’re lacing the cover, how difficult is it to get compensation ?
A> You can’t
B> You can, but it’s difficult and probably very expensive
C> Just one phonecall to claims direct is all you need

What is the most annoying thing in the world ?
A> Harry Hastings
B> Barry Scott’s shouty voice
C> The dysfunctional, rubber Dolmio family
D> The theme music from “This Morning”
E> That old puncher who’s going to “do that equity release thing”

The Purple people have helped thousands of people. But how ?
A> Helped them buy new cars
B> Improve their homes
C> Consolidate debts into managable chunks
D> All of the above

Which of the following are a bit like that in life ?
A> A great big onion
B> A piece of shit
C> Tidying up the garden can seem like hard work, but it’s great when it’s all done.

Pop music faded away about 20 years ago. Few noticed because the decline was so slow, but it went. The music (nee record) industry, clearly miffed, did what they could to keep the corpse alive but merely prolonged the agony for a year or so too long.

But despite the rotted, purulent, body of pop being left to decay on the pavement of history, we may still observe the weathered, senile form of the industry blowing just enough air into its lungs to keep the heart going for as long as there are a few coppers to be squeezed from its rancid flesh.

The Brits: an annual celebration by the British music industry of themselves. Realising that pop is dead they made the clever assessment that if they themselves can cling on to the past, so can the rest of the over 30s. Anyone who grew up with a “top 40” or two, and with regular national, weekly, worship, in the form of top of the pops will happily hang onto the dream to keep themselves from feeling old. The BBC have been wondering what Top of the Pops have been doing wrong for the past few years, with the tragic belief that they just haven’t found the new “hip” thing the current generation like. They’re missing the point! There are no valid charts any more, so the entire concept is dead.

The record industry reluctantly acknowledged the truth a while ago and, after a trial period of “stealth marketing”, plumped for the most cunning plan of all: market to the sad old gits that still believe in “the pops”. They listen to a million bands a week and shovel the derivative, safe, ones, that sound like they may have that elusive quality “edge”, off to lucrative record deals tied-in with TV adverts, PA’s and interviews with Richard and Judy, Top of the Pops (now on the menopause slot of Monday evening, BBC2) and even the news! This way they manage to sell them to the sad old farts who still want to think of themselves as “on the scene”.

Everyone over 25 sneakily thinks they’ve discovered something young and cool! They then go out and buy the CD…because, being over 25, they still think you need to buy music…

Punk was supposed to have caused the biggest shift in the pop world ever. But what’s going on at the moment makes it look like skiffle. Sadly, if you’re over 25 you’ll be too busy listening to the modern day versions of Stock, Aitken, and Watercloset, like the Kaiser Cheifs, Franz Ferdinand, Katie Melua, Jack Jackjacksonjack or whatever his fucking name is, and any band with the word “boys” in the title.

Take your David Grey, Coldplay, Stereophonics, K.T.Turnstile. and shove them up your arse with your parents collection of Phil collins and Dire Straights. Don’t worry, we’ll all be dead soon.
Update:
Forgot to slag off Hard-Fi and Arctic Monkeys

Do you know someone who is a “bed nazi” ? Someone who has dispensed with etiquette, duvet sharing and altruism in the bed in favour of total bed domination ? Michele and I have many discussions about which one of us is the biggest bed fascist, and in the course of these debates we have attempted to list all of the biggest bed nazis in the history of the world:

• Bedolph Hitler (author of “Mein Bed”)
• Bedito Mussameanie
• Papa Doc Duvet
• Beddam Hussein
• General Pillowchet
• Robert Mugabed

If we’ve missed any then please let me know. Occasionally acts of duvet terrorism occur resulting in zero coverage or worse. Some of the worst duvet terrorists include:

• Abu Bedza
• Ossama Bed Laden
• The Talibed

Do you know any more ?

sorry…crap post…

We’ve got a date for our immigration interview at the U.S. Embassy! Eeek!
And it’s less than a month away!
Eek eek eek!

• Phishing scam with valid SSL cert – Inevitable but well presented.
• Robot controlled by a living slime mould – The birth of the Daleks ?
• Government pass ID card bill – Yet again we’re in the scary position of having to rely on the Lords’ common sense.

They say that killing gets easier the more you do it. Well if my recent mouse massacre is anything to go by then that expression is utter bollocks. We’re in a constant battle to keep the mice out of our flat and yes we’ve tried humane traps. Since moving in here we’ve slain five of the furry little things and caught one, which we released and probably killed soon after he returned. If you’ve never had mice then you’re either very lucky or just wrong. They manifest themselves as a tiny flash in your peripheral vision…did I really see anything or was it some fluff in my eye ? The golden rule, as explained my grandmother-in-law, is “if you thought you saw one, you did”.
But these ones have started getting cocky. They slowly walk across the room in front of you while you’re watching the telly. It’s like they call out “Evening! Don’t mind me, I’m just off to the kitchen for a snack. And to be honest I could do with a poo so I’ll kill two birds with one stone.”

Finding one caught in the trap is bad enough, but twice now I’ve heard the trap shut and found the poor, beautiful little thing trapped by his neck, twitching. So what could I do ? Both times I’ve had to smash him with the dust brush to put him out of his misery and it’s doing my head in.

Last night was the second occurence of this and it really bummed me out. But less than two hours later, as I was sitting watching Father Ted, another mouse slowly walked by where I was sitting and I swear I heared him say “Careful mr tough guy, we know where you live” in a squeaky Brooklyn accent.

About a year ago, Zap and I decided to try and write a sitcom about a computer helpdesk. We made a crap start but it never got further than about half an episode. Imagine how overjoyed we were to see The IT crowd….A comedy about an IT support team. Especially as it’s written by Graham Linehan and really funny. Satan pisses in my consommé once again.

For the last week I have been busy generating mucus, coughing until I puke, and feeling like death. The doc described it as “acute bronchitis”, but I called it a right pain in the bollocks. Being a bloke I knew that I had lung cancer, a brain tumor and beri-beri but dealt with it in a mature and stable way, as my wife will concur.
After four days of being able to do nothing but hurt myself coughing and soak everything within a 10ft radius with sweat, I went to the quack who managed to sort me out with some wonder pills he called “anti-biotics”. Blimey, these things are incredible. Like the rest of my family, including my wife, I am allergic to penicillin. Until recently this has meant not getting any medication to fight infections. Well, that’s not entirely true. The doc used to give me a choice of pills:

• Little pills that were about as much good as a chocolate teapot.
• Little pills that were about as much good as a chocolate teapot but also gave me severe stomach cramps and even worse wind than normal

. But these new ones seemed to sort me out in a matter of hours. When you’re really ill it always feels like you’ll never ever feel well again, a feeling which is worsened by the affect of daytime TV, and so when you do perk up it’s quite an uplifting experience.

The news did nothing to lift my spirits either. In the same week that Nick “motherfucker” Griffin and his weasel mate got found not guilty of inciting race-hate (ironically, by getting caught inciting race-hate) the whole of islam has mobilized in a mission to demonstrate that they are in fact the bunch of intolerant fascist psychos that the right had been accusing of them of being for a long while. Well done guys, the membership department of the BNP will have been super busy this week.

You see, it’s not the minority of nutjobs with their “destroy Europe in the name of muslim peace” banners that upset me, it’s the mainstream people who normally provide the acceptable face of Islam. They’re quietly and clamly arguing for a peacful banning of cartoons that may cause offence…

Cartoons are supposed to be offensive!, Over the years I have spent a huge proportion of my time laughing at cartoons that prick the pomposities of politics (right and left), religion and just about everythign else. Many of them criticise me and my beliefs, sometimes making me rethink stuff…although more usually reinforcing my original opinions.

If George Bush attempted to ban political cartoons that may cause offence to god-fearing white nazis I would not be at all surprised…likewise I would be violently angry. But now that Islam has demanded something similar the reaction of the left has been very reserved. Oh dear, our brothers and sisters who opposed the war with us are suggesting things that are a little bit..un PC. There’s no section in the “bluffers guide to middle-class guilt” on this one! What shall we do ?

In a wonderful mixed metaphor on BBC News, some London muslim cleric or other said

“yes, but freedom ends where my nose begins.”

Look, I’m an atheist. I don’t care if you want to believe in Jesus, Mohammed, or the Jolly Green Giant, just don’t try and fuck around with my rights, and I won’t try to fuck around with yours.

The main argument I have for not reprinting those cartoons is that they’re a bit crap and not very funny…but I’m not going to be blowing myself up over it.

For the last few days I have been in the strange, obsessive world of coding. From sunday morning to tuesday night I was buried so deep in code that I couldn’t do anything else, including sleep. By today I had achieved the goal, a goal that had seemed impossible and soul-destroying only hours before. Unfortunately, the final result of this painful period was something that the casual observer would regard as a slightly crap animation.
They can’t see I’m loading PNGs into a microscopic pure C app at runtime. They can’t see the animation is on a fully transparent, layered, window. They certainly can’t see that the alpha layer is being properly merged with the background in real-time. They can’t see that any further animations are going to be a piece of piss. But I don’t care…it works, looks perfect, and I can sleep again.
We had a six hour “brainstorming” meeting today and it was pretty tricky coping. Going from such low level bit-twiddling to high level, high-concept, discussion in such a short space of time is not easy. But they ordered pizza at half-time so it’s not all bad. Another day of it tomorrow, and thus another day Humph is left at home. It would be no exaggeration to say that she was overjoyed when Michele got home today. Despite recent moments of fury with her when, for example, she takes my mind off of the course of intense concentration by pecking off my escape key and running away with it, I hate leaving her at home during the day. She takes it as a personal slight.
So much to rant about, so much wearyness.
Bye George! Meeeeeeow!