What a waste of time…I’ve just finished wasting far too long on writing a totally pointless program: a windows keystroke logger….like there aren’t millions of keloggers about all over the place. Even more bizarre considering how much I dislike Windows programming. Maybe it’s time to leave the house.
What a nice saturday. Met up with a good, old friend, Toby, and his Girlfriend Petra. It’s been a while since I went to the Hogshead in Lewisham (or whatever the fuck it’s called now). Such a good pub. An ideal place for a pub argument. Petra was tired and seemed pretty irritated by the idea of an argument…however they are key to healthy body and mind and therefore very important. So there! Went back to toby’s parents house and spent the rest of the evening in pleasant conversation, lubricated by a botttle of Jameson. His parents’ dog Jack, was detemined to have sex with my arm, but I managed to persuade him otherwise.
Funny, but I’m looking forward to Christmas now!
Africa is on the verge of a famine so big that Bob Geldorf will this time be forced to call everyone a ‘cunt’ on national telly. But there’s nothing anyone can do. Even though they only need money in the order of millions of dollars, the world just can’t afford it. We can’t ask private companies like Microsoft, Phillip Morris and Starbucks to bail them out…where’s the business sense in that ? The government certainly can’t afford it – they have to save up to buy guns for the exciting war on terror so that they can protect their oil interests. I know these bleeding-heart liberals will suggest we overturn our freedoms and insist that we give the heard-earned wealth of capitalism to the lazy poor…but these people are simply against democracy.
Earlier this evening I had the misfortune to go to Eltham. While there I popped by my mum and dad’s place to drop off a book. I’d given my keys to Kathleen, a friend who’s staying with us for a while, and so couldn’t let myself in, and rang the bell. The lights were on. The car was there. No answer. I rang again. I called them on the phone. No answer. A bit perplexing, and also a little disturbing. Being honest it was also a bit irritating because I was damn hungry and was looking forward to a slice of toast…but I got the bus home.
Later, once I’d got home, I rang to make sure everything was ok. It turns out my mum was in, but not answering the door. Earlier this week they’d had a house call by the brothers Dodgy, who told her that they needed to come in to “check the walls”. Did they learn nothing from Fawlty Towers ? She told them where to go, slammed the door and now lives in fear of their return with chainsaws.
To me, my mum and dad are mum and dad. To other people they are pensioners. Weird feeling realising that. As my mum was telling me I realised that some scum had seen them as pensioners…and so vulnerable.
It made me realise that I could kill a man in cold blood.
What inspires someone to write their blog ? It would be nice if it was the general warm, comfortable feeling of a pleasant evening…but usually it’s not. Usually it’s a passion of some sort, and I’m afraid that is the inspiration behind this entry. Despite being in the warm, with my lovely warm wife, with a lovely bottle of warm wine, a lovely warm computer network and a lovely warm telly (including a recently purchased warm digital broadcast receiver available from Dixons for only 79.99 and supplying an extra 30 channels to your TV, containing only 3 that are worth watching and even then it’s only after 7pm..) I’m feeling passionate. Sadly it’s about estate agents.
Firstly there was the BBC Holiday programme. Some gaffawing twat was describing her wonderful year-long holiday in Sri Lanka where she was looking after elephants.
How is she, a 30 year old shitgirl, able to afford such a holiday, we, the viewers asked ?
She explained that it was because she’d managed to buy a house in London and was renting it out. That was how she was funded…nice.
Now, she couldn’t afford the holiday without this extra money. Presumably she was also paying the mortgage on the place. That means she was not only charging the poor bastards who live there the mortgage, but also the the cost of her year long extravagant slothathon.
Well done young lady. Margaret Thatcher would be proud.
After this disgusting spectacle was a ‘documentary’ about Estate Agents. Not a real documantary, hence the quote marks, but one of these 7pm BBC trash tabloid scumfests that masquerades a serious journalism: 4×4.
The odious scum in this programme are beyond description. Needless to say they were all unwilling to entertain the idea that they were doing anything but a good service to society.
The investigative journalists discovered amazing news:
Thanks BBC1 – we’d never have known.
A nice evening. After yesterday’s drinkarama it was mild by comparison. Hopefully tonight I won’t have to go staggering about trying to find pain killers at 3am…
Some nice work at Daydream followed by a few pints with Roland in a pub called ‘The Barley Mow’ near smithfield market. A proper pub. The sort of pub that other pubs should use a role model. Cosy, wooden, small, full of nooks and quiet enough to allow pub-theses to be formed.
The older I get, and the more buggered my brain becomes, the more I seem to like RRRROCK type music (this includes all musical genres that have a brainless sort of “yeah man lets rock” attitude). Maybe this is one of the reasons why the death of Jam Master Jay upset me so much this week. Run DMC (and the Beastie Boys) was the first proper concert I ever went to see. I always though JMJ was the coolest member of RunDMC too – in fact maybe that’s why he had to die.
Well it turns out that SpecSavers are as good, as Vision Express are (in my opinion) crap. Today I had an eye test and managed to
all for less than I paid for that pair of wanky memoflex.
Sometimes waking up early is quite nice. The sun is out, and so is no-one else. It’s quite calm and peaceful…Lewisham actually looks very pretty at the moment. Anyway, I’ve had enough of that particular sleep session. Most of it seemed to be spent dreaming about moving out of our house and into a skip…because it’s cheaper.
On thursday I managed to break my ‘unbreakable’ glasses. An old friend, Tina, whom I hadn’t seen for many months was down and so she was lucky enough to be able to accompany me to the opticians to get the frame fixed. Sorry Tina… The optician didn’t want to replace them, and instead decided to take the piss. Fair enough I suppose…must get pretty boring playing with glasses all your life.
The ‘memoflex’ part of the glasses had apparently started to rot away. His unarguable response was
“well when we sold them to you, we didn’t know you were going to sweat all over them..”
….You fat bastard ?
Well I’m happy to take this one to the papers, court, or the end of my life. But, in my opinion:
Everyone I know has a cold, and today it was my turn.
Colds these days aren’t like the colds they used to have when I was a kid. Nowadays they don’t just come and go, they linger. They appear, and linger for months and months…somedays you feel ok, others you feel miserable, hot and achey. It never gets extreme, but it never goes away…and all the time you sneeze and feel a little bit crap. Nice.
Had a meeting with AGRESSO today. I didn’t get an erection.
Another weekend that actually only lasted ten minutes. Achievements:
A friend of mine got a suspended sentence this week….for posession of cannabis! This has pissed me off to a stupid degree. OK I know there are more important things to worry about at the moment like 90 hostages getting shot in Russia, an imminent war on non-americanism and Plue Peter presenters turning out to be (alledged) rapists…but fuck man, it’s 2002. London is full of gun crime, robberies, muggers, nonces, gangs of Eltham Geezers starting fights and plod has got nothing better to do than nick nice blokes for the crime of wanting to feel mellow and giggle at stupid shit on the telly.
Only my mum and dad could provide such entertainment. Not only did we get the best roast-beef dinner I’ve ever had, but we were also treated to anecdotes about: