timboblog

Deary me

I am quite tired, as always. So now you know.
Also, the capital of North Korea is Pyongyang.
And we may have buried treasure right in our flat! Under the floor, yes, but technically that is still in the flat. Getting permission to dig it up; now that is going to be the hard part.
And before anyone kicks off, I may not be writing, you know, anything, but I am taking pictures, so I'm not entirely lazy in the strict sense of the word. If you want to use the loose sense then that's fine and hey, you've got me there. Bollocks.

I need to read some books (ie. more than none) and embark on a relentless pursuit of elongating my sentences, in the vain and hope that some poor fool might get totally the wrong end of the stick and consider me even slightly more intelligent than a bean.

That was a start.

And a big hello to all the fools out there!

Zoom in, zoom out

My head just emptied of anything to say. How annoying.

Time for a list cum summary. A means of emptying my head-shaped digest while the banshees wail out the front. Somebody get me a pitchfork and some mace.

• Grandparents are great, and 60 years is some benchmark.
• Cameras are complicated, but where once I was scared and ran away, now I am brave and tackle them head on. And buy lens things on ebay.
• It is terribly important to make time for 'me time'. Without this illness will surely follow. And it has followed.
• The rabbit lives to eat another day.
• I need to speak to a hairdresser and discover ways and means with which to make my locks even brighter than they are for next to no money. It must be do-able. It must be.
• Facebook has interconnected me with the burbling remnants of my lesser childhood and somehow this pleases me. I thought I would be horrified and try and shut it out, but it doesn't seem quite as bad as I thought it would be. Or maybe I'm just going senile. It's a bit like a school reunion, but without having to go, and without the twats.
• You can never have enough Chinese takeaways.
• You will never have enough money.
• Enough is enough.

Charlotte and myself have been together 6 years today. She's celebrating with a bout of tonsilitis and I've got a heap of mini chocolate eclairs. Oh life is good!

I love you my darling baby.
You light up my world.
x

Fucked by life in general

Things happen.

They always seem to do this.

Bloody annoying it is too.

You know (I'm sure that you do), you get the urge to have a good old-fashioned relax. Generally involving plump cushions, pina coladas and a foot massage. Maybe some dusky maidens, or even better, my girlfriend.

Then it all goes to tits in a maelstrom of bollocks.

It could be argued that my explanation... interpretation... whatever you want to call it, leaves a little to be desired, but I personally think that the phrase 'maelstrom of bollocks' says all that needs to be said.

The maelstrom of bollocks this evening has consisted of me mistakenly believing that I could setup a new internet router and wireless network in 15 minutes. I possibly set the bar a bit high there, but you have to have dreams don't you? Obviously, it took me an hour and a half. This was made up thusly:

>Plugging everything in = 2 minutes
>Running the installation disk = 5 minutes
>Running the 'easy wireless connection' thingy = 1 minute
>Realising that the 'easy wireless connection' thingy isn't working = 2 minutes
>Pressing various buttons randomly = 10 minutes
>Installing things on the laptop hopefully = 2 minutes
>Realising that that's not working either = 5 minutes
>Uninstalling and reinstalling  it again just in case = 15 minutes
>Trying the 'easy setup' thing again = 10 minutes
>Repeatedly restarting the PC only to find it's still not fucking doing what it's told = 15 minutes
>Having a sit down = 3 minutes
>Deciding to read the PDF manual  = 1 minute
>Reading the manual = 3 minutes
>Trying a different setup thing online = 10 minutes
>Giving up with that bollocks and deciding to just try and set a network up on the laptop = 2 minutes
>Windows network setup thing faling miserably = 1 minute
>Doing the same but with the Intel wireless setup thingy instead = 2 minutes
>Finally getting a fucking wireless connection! = 1 minute

As you can see, I could have been done and dusted in THREE MINUTES if I'd NOT done what the manufacturers told me to do. Two words: Fucking Bastards.

Still, it's done now, and I can sleep soundly again. Sound in the knowledge that I've lost an hour and 27 minutes that I will never get back, but have also saved myself almost £20 a month in broadband bills. So that's okay.

What isn't okay is that sweet little Koko the bunny has some sort of split personality disorder and thinks that she's a sabre-toothed tiger. A very small but incredibly vicious one at that, so much so that as of last night I have a medium sized chunk of skin missing from my hand. We've banished her to the yard tonight and this seems to have calmed her down a bit. She grunts too. Fluffy weirdo.

We've lost another rabbit too. Little Honey dumpling. I really really miss him, the poor little guy.

I'm angry as well as sad because this house is apparently a rabbit death trap.

That's four in the last year that it's claimed, none of them over two years old. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that's not normal. So we're gonna have to move, for the sake of the rabbits if nothing else. It's good here and it's close to the sea, plus it's super cheap for Brighton, but it's falling apart, has deep-lying damp all about the place, wallpaper coming off randomly, strange tiny bugs in the kitchen, and it gets fuck all daylight what with it being the basement flat. So we just have to get our shit together, get some money, sort ourselves out and go.

Easy!

Not a bunny wedding

Although what a lovely idea that would be.

We had two bunnies that absolutely adored each other, so I imagine that they could have had a bunny wedding, if such a thing exists, and I think it does. They're not about anymore, sadly, so it's not gonna happen. And now I am sad. Fucksticks.

Anyway, back to whatever the fuck I was actually going to write about before I went and hijacked my own post: We went to a wedding the weekend before the weekend before last. And that is what I meant to write. It was a good wedding, it obviously had oodles of moolah lavished on it, and there were lots of screaming children. It also had (for us) a free bar, a fucking well snazzy bedroom, and, err, that's about it. But it was a really good free bar and a really fucking well snazzy bedroom.

It was Charlotte's brother's wedding. Charlotte's brother who never talks to her. And her Evil Dad and Evil Aunty were there being as, you know, they are her brother's Evil Dad and Evil Aunty too, although he doesn't think they're evil. And there is tension, and it is rubbish. Basically there's a massive backstory here that I'm not going to go into because it would take a long long time and I don't want to write about it because it's not my place and just, well, just plain old no.

Instead we shall focus on the alcohol, of which there was alot. A ridiculous amount, and of an incredibly expensive nature too (up to £5 for a beer! Fuck me rigid!), which is why I was extremely pleased to hear that Evil Dad would be paying for everything. I know what you're gonna say, ("oh, if he pays for the expensive drinks then he can't be all bad") but this gesture does not make him un-evil. He's still a bad man. And a bald man, but that's another post altogether. So anyway, I got totally out of my tits, mixed drinks all over the shop, had champagne, lager, wine and whisky on the go all at the same time, and yes, I chucked my guts up. Not all over my brother's very nice suit which I had borrowed off my very nice brother (thankyou lovely brother), which was good news. I did however have the longest hangover known to man, which lasted all of two days, and meant that it took us five hours to leave our hotel room the morning after. Luckily, the girl at reception was really lovely, and gave us no grief whatsoever about the fact that we checked out at 1pm rather than the usual 11am. That's what you get when your room costs £150 a night. Or so it would appear.

I also nearly got into a fight with some dickwad who presumed to know everything about everything, told me I didn't know anything about 'the situation', whatever that is, and then stomped off like a twat (luckily enough for him...) thereby avoiding Star Trek 9: The Wrath of Tim. There were apparently two incredibly drunk Scottish men singing old Scottish songs really loudly in the lobby until about 2am, but I unfortunately missed this due to being draped over a toilet bowl at the time. One thing I did not miss was the hotel's fire alarm going off about 28 times at 4.30 in the morning, the fire brigade coming as that's what they have to do when alarms go off like that, and then the afore-mentioned alarm going off 45 times AGAIN at intervals from 8.30 in the morning. What a lovely peaceful wedding night the bride and groom must have had!

And it rained all day. That's what you get for having a wedding on a bank holiday weekend.

Anyway, it's all good, because as a result of The Most Wonderful Fire Alarm In The World the hotel manager has offered us (and, I imagine, all the other guests, although maybe he just asked us because we're special) a free night and breakfast at his lovely hotel due to the inconvenience caused. Nice hotel manager man! Lovely man! Yes, we will take free stuff gladly!

So, everything considered, it was an alright wedding. We knew hardly anyone, and the one's we knew we didn't really like, but at things like that it's easy to ignore people, so, you know, it's all good. And the hotel was very nice. I would recommend it purely on the basis that they were nice to me, which is a pretty good reason to recommend something, so yeah , go there.