The beginning....

I've moved. Those select bunch of you that I don't consider tossers can come join me at my new blog (so, um, that's pretty much all of you then)...

It's at passablycontent.blogspot.com - see you there :)

The end.....

This blog is now defunct, for I am no longer a contractor.

I started this as something to do in the long boring evenings in some godforsaken part of England while stuck on a contract. In my many, many nights spent in a B&B room (or a short-term lease on a flat that was too short to get cable or internet connected) this was something to write on my laptop to upload the next day at work. It was something to limit my drinking, because nothing drives you to open that second six-pack like only having a choice of 4 terrestrials channels and a hint of fuzz that might be channel five.

Only now I don't drink, now I live at home every day of the week instead of just two, and tomorrow I start as a permanent member of staff with a fuck-off pension and a chance to watch people I don't know very well make an utter arse of themselves at the christmas party.

I think I shall take a very small blog hiatus while I decide what to do next.

It's been emotional.

Hangin' wid da homies...

A couple of weeks back I attended my university reunion. It had been X* years since we all graduated and had all been in the same hall of residence. A big group of us met up every year anyway, but what with this being a special year we roped in as many as possible (one couple flew in from Texas).

It was kind of strange seeing everyone again. With one notable exception everyone was either an accountant or worked in IT (despite only one person studying either of those subjects) - the notable exception being a 'freelance writer.'**

We took over the best curry house in Clifton and then, for old time's sake, embarked on a Clifton pub crawl until everyone realised they were no longer 20 and headed back to their hotels at midnight. I, of course, wasn't drinking which was convenient as it meant I could ferry our disabled member from pub to pub while he got wasted. While this sounds like a pain it was in fact great fun because I got to use his Badge of Power

Having a Badge of Power*** is the most awesomest thing ever. You can park anywhere! After living in a city where the few available parking spots are jealousy guarded like Faberge eggs (and almost as rare), being able to dump the car halfway up any pavement you like and walk away whistling was the height of coolness.

See you, Mr. Double Yellow Lines, I spit on your pathetic attempts to stop me parking here - for I have The Badge of Power! Mwahahahaha! Loading bay? LOADING bay!?! I laugh in the face of loading bays! I mock their usual 'Do Not Park Here' status as I crush them beneath my wheels. All hail The Badge of Power! Those silly zig-zag lines by pedestrian crossings? See how they cower from the might of The Badge of........what?.....but I have a badg......really?........ok ok, I'll move it. No need to get arsey about it.....

Stupid pedestrian crossings. *grumbles*

Anyway, a good time was had by all, and I thoroughly enjoyed being bouncy and awake the next morning amongst a collection of bad hangovers. We spent the afternoon lazing in the sun around Cabot Tower which I had amazingly never visited during my decade (*cough* or so *cough*) in Bristol. I took the following arty looking shot:

The gardens surrounding the tower are beautiful and full of wildlife, including squirrels (hence the title of this post). As far as I'm aware I'm the only red squirrel remaining in Bristol after my fellow reds were supplanted by the American grey squirrel. In a move unprecedented in human history, a whole bunch of brash yank squirrels came to England many years ago (in the infamous words of one long-gone red, they were 'Over-fed, Over-sexed and Over Here'). They caught the eye of a few impressionable young red females and *poof* a couple of decades down the line and we're nearly extinct. Of course, the greys turned out to be better at a few things than us reds - namely Eating, Sleeping, Shagging and Living - but that's not really the point.

I did notice that all the squirrels by Cabot Tower were half breeds, and the ones doing best of all were showing more red than grey. As you can see from these pictures, they happily came and shared my nuts:

Note the white belly in the second shot - a classic sign of red genes triumphing over grey.

It did leave me with a troubling thought - if the red gene is slowly proving stronger than the grey, how did the greys wipe out the reds so quickly? A glance around told me the answer. Y'see, the people bringing nuts were only feeding those that looked more red and ignoring the greys. So sure, the grey may be better at actually foraging for nuts, but us reds are clearly better beggars.

Big Issue anyone?

*Not telling you what X is. It makes me feel old :(
**She actually stars in fetish porn films from Spain. It's a career I guess.
***Or, as my friend with dodgy knees calls hers, 'my spazzy badge'

Inappropriate

Call me old fashioned, but I do not think that the appropriate response to a text reading 'Have a good day. Love you' is one stating 'I hearr you'.

That's one mere step away from:

Person 1: "You are the true light of my life. Without you gracing my presence my heart would be a vast desolate place where nothing could ever grow, but with you a part of me I feel our love could conquer anything!"

Person 2: "Word."



(In the interests of fairness - and me not getting walloped - I'd like to point out it was swiftly followed by a non-typoed text saying 'I heart you'. Not swiftly enough to avoid me taking the piss, but then I'd hate to disappoint :) )

Things you shouldn't overhear from a toilet cubicle pt.1

'Oh dear!'


That just conjured up toooooo many mental images, Mr. Hairy-D&D-playing-40 -year-old.

Golf ball kills my telly

So there I am, settling in for a minor 72-hour Ryder Cup marathon that was going well for me (though not for Europe), when Ian Poulter smacks a tee shot high into the Kentucky Sky...

....and......

....well I haven't got a fecking clue as my TV turned itself off. When it could finally be roused from its electronic slumber it showed all three primary colours in three different locations on the screen. It was like trying to watch television after taking a cap of acid and then drinking twenty special brews.

It also made watching golf impossible as the only ball visible all the time was the green one (the red and blue balls being rendered almost invisible) yet in a strange quirk of light the only hole visible was red. Trying to follow a putt that even when it reached its destination was three inches away from itself (if that makes sense) proved impossible.

"I have become the destroyer of Korean electronic equipment"

Anyway, I did what any sane person would do, drove to the nearest electrical retailer, walked through the door, pointed at the nearest TV of comparable size, said "that one" and was home and set up inside of the hour.

Poulter won too :)

I am quite puzzled, however, by the extremely homophobic American crowd. Every time the Americans hit a good shot, the crowd would taunt the Europeans with a repeated, rhythmical chant of "You are gay! You are gay!" which seems exceptionally harsh - we haven't even got any Frenchmen in the side this year....

The red mist descends...

We have a cafe at work. Just that, a cafe. It has one of those chrome coffee making machines but it's staffed by the usual local 'gert lush, me luvvaaaaaaa' Bristolians.

My point is that it's not a Starbucks. It's a caff, a soss'n'eggs sarnie in the morning, greasy spoon caff.

I overheard one of the 'new media department' today as she ordered a:

"Tall skinny latte"



Seriously, die now. Die horribly. Of Ebola or something. Just. Die.