When Idiots Show Themselves

There is a reason that little picture beside this post is larger-than-normal. It's because it is sort of the subject at hand.

Now, if you've seen the image, had a chuckle and are now reading this post, then you might want to skip this entry. For those at you that think the author of the image needs his or her eyes pulling out, then read on.

So - HOW is it that someone can take the piss out of someone elses opinion... And spell "YOU'RE" wrong. "I have the right to think your stupid" completely negates Idiot Authors point, and makes Him/Her look like an even bigger stupid person.

Honestly, it's not THAT hard is it? YOUR/YOU'RE, THEIR/THERE/THEY'RE.

So, yes you have the right to your opinion, and yes you have the right to think your stupid, but I think YOU'RE more stupid, Mr Image Maker.

How To Alienate My American Readers

First off, to everyone from America, and those that know today is more than a movie with Tom Cruise and a movie with Will Smith, happy Independance Day.

However... On that note, I will now be ranting.

Today, Jaysens school celebrated Independance Day.  I'm not sure how or what they did, but the kids all wore Red, White and Blue, there was an "american" themed dinner, and apparently there were various activities.

Which, in and by itself, not too much of an issue.  HOWEVER.

Why the flying fornication are our schools celebrating an American Holiday that technically, we Brits should be pissed about.  WHY WHY WHY did the kids have to wear "American" colours.  Incidently, those colours are not only the Union Jack colours, but more amusingly, the French Flag colours...

But I digress.  The party shop in town has Fancy Dress and various themed stuff for Independence Day.  Asda has a small firework selection available.  The schools are doing stuff and learning stuff about it...

Now, my gripe isn't so much the fact we are trying to celebrate a holiday over here, it's one simple factor.

We don't celebrate Saint Georges Day.  At all.  In any way, shape or form.

I am going to be writing the school a really pissy letter.  Last year, Jaysens class studied Hindu Gods on St. Georges Day.  This year was random normal lessons.  4th July rolls around, and it's Dressing Up, Themed Meals and all the rest of it.

Surely that's akin to Germany celebrating the anniversary of their defeat in WW2.  How the hell can we celebrate a pointless holiday (to us, of course, I'm not American Bashing) over here, when St Georges Day is completely ignored.  Ignored, no less, to avoid upsetting the poxy bloody immigrants and similar "We Don't Like This Country" asshats.

*snarl*

I swear, each and every day, this country loses a little part of itself, and slips further into a random amalgamation of every other bloody country.  I wonder how long till someone at the Government sits and goes through this list and announces the various celebrations we'll be making for each one...

/rant

The Never-Ending Template

As you may have guessed - by the fact there is slightly less chaos here - I have once again finished completely fucking my template fiddling with my layout.

As is usual for me, I'm still not completely sure if I like this or not, so I am going to leave it, see if it grows on me, or if it grows on me like a dirty dirty fungus.

A couple of hours back when it really hit the fan - and my backup copy of the previous version didn't work - I was ready to start head-butting the keyboard. I was sooo pissed, it wasn't even funny.

That's pissed angry, not pissed *hic*

Lucky for me, it was at that moment that Kellie decided to send me an email, and all was right again in the world. I sucked it up (the Graaaah'ness, not the email) and started again. Well, again-again-again. And finally, I win.

You maybe have noticed earlier there were ads on here. Rest assured, I have NOT sold out, and never will. The ads were part of a template I was trying to use, and were hastily deleted as soon as the template went up. If you saw a tower ad, a square, a banner or anything else, I am sorry - it wasn't me :)

So now, considering I wanted an early night, I am going to sort my crap out and hit the sack.

As usual, if you find anything wrong with the new template, let me know. If you have anything you'd like to say - and be harsh if you wanna - then go for it.

Template Woes

Slowly, slowly but surely, I am trying to get a decent template on here. Well, I say "surely" but what I mean is, "I find something rather nice, then either have to tweak it, alter it or just outright bin it"

Today is no different. I have been sat here for a couple of hours today trying to get a template to look just so but do you think I can get there? Can I f'k.

My first issue is that I fell asleep not long after I started on it. However, unlike those that feel tired and have a little lay down, I was forcing myself onwards.. And woke up an hour later in my computer chair, face down on my desk. I completely forgot what I had been doing, so I deleted and started over. Now for the last hour and a half, I've been altering and fiddling and what-have-you, trying to get a (Spanish!) template to look right.

However, I've learned from a million a couple of times when I broke 0ddness to do it elsewhere - so have been using my random blog for just such purposes.

My biggest issue, is I couldn't say exactly WHAT I want. Three columns. Clear, Clean, Professional... Dark-ish but not dreary colours. Then there is the OCD-Anally Retentive part of me that has to have things just so. Trying to balance two side columns to look neat. Everything in line. Colours that match - or near as dammit.

And for the love of all things banner-like, can I PLEASE find a template that isn't steered towards AdSense, Banner Ads, Tower ads and all the rest of that shit. And please please, a header image that I can change...

Currently, I have the following layed out on my stomping ground blog: Clicky to Lookie. There is so much WRONG with it, but the basics are quite nice. Maybe a bit cluttered - which I need to figure a way to cut down. The header image is actually two different, different-sized images which is a f'ker. And mostly, more importantly, I want it to load fairly quickly - not struggle through reams of code, background images, sidebar images and everything else... Some blogs I visit have a massive load-time thanks to the template itself, not the stuff on there. Content loading, no a problem, but if the template is slow then I get bored.

I don't know - I doubt I will use it in the long run as I don't look at it and think "Wow, that's nice" I look at it and think "Maybe it'll do for now". The current theme on 0ddness is probably my longest-serving theme since switching to the new version of Blogger, and it's not what I would call a nice template, more a "it'll do" template.

I've sifted through a load of different template sites on Google - the various search strings of "Blogger Templates" "Blogger XML Template" and so on and so on... Somewhere out there, there MUST be something that will satisfy my whiny-crotchety-anally-retentive self... There MUST be...

If anyone has any suggestions, please let me know - but if it's plastered with ads, either random ones or a banner for the author, no thanks ;)

*resumes thumping head on table*

And you know what - I dislike that template on my spare blog more and more, the more I look at it.

Too Much Good?

My life tends to have a theme. It's not a very complex theme, but, none the less, it's there, and it's so bloody obvious to anyone that knows me. When ever something good happens in my life, something arsey appears elsewhere.

Now, some people will say it's Karma, Causality, Cause & Effect - whatever, but I am fairly sure that the sheer volume of Bad that I've had, I should be entitled to a relatively long period of Good.

This weekend was fantabulous. Me, Kellie, no plans aside from "spend the weekend together" Jaysen and Tam were, as usual, with Jo for the weekend, while Kellies were either with parents, grandparents, out with friends or "around". Friday afternoon we sat together chatting, before having a long walk along the beach. Saturday we got up late, then went into town and had a wander, and Sunday, we got up even later - like, Lunch Time! - then spent the afternoon together before I had to go home.

So, lots and lots of good.

I get home to a little pile of mail that Cel (who was house sitting the cats again because she's so damn great) had stacked on the side for me. Now, a couple of bills I knew were coming, that's all good. Bills, while I don't like, I expect and understand.

However, because I don't work, I usually get my rent and council tax paid for me. Last week, I received a very friendly reminder *cough* that I hadn't paid my rent.

Since November.

So a flurry of calls, and they send someone around to sort it out with my paperwork. Now, the backdate-to-November is still being looked at, but my current claim has really pissed me off. Now according to the government, because of my back, my depression, my "pyschological" issues and what-not, I am on Long-Term Incapacity Benefit. Basically, I'm not sick enough to count as "disabled" but too sick to be "looking for work". As well as this, I get about £60 extra a week for having a wee sproglet "in my custody"

But NOW, because I got an increase in my Incapacity Benefit, I am making "too much money" and my surplus income - a whole £27 a week - doesn't allow me to gain full housing/tax benefit. So I have to find £30 a week for my rent, and an extra £65 a month to pay my tax.

In short, the government, the council - who ever - have said, "Awww poor Mr English, here, have some money" and then with the other hand said "Oh you skiving bastard, gimmie" and are taking the money they gave me PLUS a little more for their trouble.

Just when I thought I was actually getting somewhere, clawing my way onward and upward out of this dark little hole, someone has to come along with their dirty great boot and stomp on my fingers. Some days, I just want to chuck the towel in and say "that's enough, you win" because it sure as hell feels that's what someone, somewhere, wants me to do.

Up yours, whoever is trying to bring me down. I'm not happy, but I'll survive. Again.

Normal service to resume... At some point.

Almost One of Those Days

My life has been very tranquil of late. Mainly because there is very little that is actually getting to me, thanks to walking around like a grinning idiot for the most part. My life has become this really strange - in a good way - thing that I barely recognise.

I have a tan for heavens sake! NOT monitor burn, not lightbulb poisoning, but a real, bona fide Sun Tan.

Today, however, has kinda pushed my limits just a teeny bit. Nothing bad has happened, but it was borderline to me standing up, arming myself with a cricket bat, and fighting the zombie hordes in those around me.

I should have know it'd be a good one when one of the kids left a rather sharp-and-pointy toy car on the landing last night. I stumbled out of bed, and was subsquently run over by the afore-mentioned car. It got off relatively unscathed, but me, the pedestrian, suffered serious damage to my ego. Oh, and a cut toe. Ouch. Not the best way to wake up.

Then I couldn't understand why the kettle wouldn't boil for a coffee. I kept clicking the switch on it, checking it was seated correctly, checked the socket was turned on, checked the water level wasn't too low. Fifteen minutes it took me to figure out the plug in the socket was for the tumble dryer, and that the kettle plug was sitting on the work top waving at me.

Then the school run was fun, as Ruth couldn't leave at the same time as me... So I had to do the school run with a 15-16 year old brother of some of the kids, but for the most part, I was in charge. Jaysen and Tam. Ruths two girls. A friends girl that had to be taken in by us. The twins in Jaysens class. Their sister. Me, eight kids. You can imagine, right?

Then, finally, the chaos ebbed, and me and the Peanut jumped on the bus to Canvey to see Kellie. Except the driver had no idea what I meant when I asked for a "Canvey Rover" ticket. Every other bloody driver knew what I mean what I asked before now, but no no... So I had to explain I wanted a rover ticket, that let me travel TO and FROM Canvey Island.

The journey was dull and altogether too slow. Tam was good as gold for me, and we sat playing. I had Kellie stay at hers too - usually she has to meet me in order to guide me through the rabbit warren to her place, but I have solved it. So the first I saw of Kellie this morning was her greeting us at her front gate.

All that stuff - which I will gloss over to protect you lot - was very very good. The only downside to it all was she has germs. A sore throat, to be exact, and while she pressed on, over the day she slowly got more and more icky. So the germs had me all growly too.

Then Father Tim, the old bastard, decided to speed up the course of time so the hours and hours we had together lasted for around about seven microseconds. So, we left her place in plenty of time, she escorting us to the bus stop so we could say bye bye as I left. However, due to gravity and Tam wearing the worlds most diabolically evil shoes we had a minor mishap that resulted in a scraped knee, a really scraped elbow, and Daddy (In his new white tee shirt) getting covered in blood. But, with time still to spare - ten minutes - we arrived at the bus stop. Even told someone arriving after us that no, they had not in fact missed the bus.

I HATE when a bus is late. Even more so when it just doesn't show up at all leaving me watching the clock tick closer and closer and, indeed, closer to School Finishing Time. When it became apparent that I, the bad father, would not be at school in time, I got Ruth on the case so at least my son wouldn't be abandoned at the school gates. The next bus told us that the previous one was stuck a ways back... Out of petrol. HOW?! Surely the little arrowy-gaugey thing says "Fill Me Up Please!"

So the journey back to Basildon took forever. Then all the shitty school kids got on and pissed around. Shouting, yelling, effing and blinding (I'm allowed to swear on here, this is MY blog!) and pressing the stop button over and over. Me and Tam evacuated and headed to Ruth where my son was being held. I'd like to say he broke down when I arrived back, that he missed me, and was upset I had forgotten him... No, he sat eating his ice pole.

Ruth made me a coffee and the kids played. My two, her two, plus one... Then plus another when Alyce arrived with one of her, like, forty three kids ;)

Five of the PM rolled around, so we left for dinner, with the kids chattering at one another which became moaning, then whining then all-out fisticuffs. So Shouty Daddy had a moan and they cheered up. Salad, nibbly bits and tuna mayo for dinner, most of which got eaten. Then the scraps got knocked over. Sally won't clear up salad.

Pathetic mutt.

So I cleaned that up, went downstairs, washed up, came back up to find a previously unexploded mine had detonated under the kids toys, showering the entire lounge - desk and sofa included - with toys, dolls, lego, games, bits of bits, bits of bobs...

We spent an hour clearing up, only for Jaysen to "find" that the bin in the bathroom was humming. And I don't just mean it stank to high heaven... No no, it was breeding little flies. I have been seeing them in the bathroom for the last couple of days, but just assumed it was the damp curtain "bringing them in" but it turns out my delightful son has been hiding food he doesn't want in there... I pulled it out and nearly gagged.

Seriously, it smelled like a corpse under all the tissue and stuff he had padded it down with. Blergh. So that bag rapidly went THE HELL OUT, the bleach came out, the air freshener came out... I can still smell rancid grossness. I wouldn't mind if I could smell it before hand, and I am sure had Kellie noticed it day before yesterday, she would have said something.

Bed time then could not arrive fast enough, and once they were tucked into bed, I stumbled downstairs, exhausted...

And got hit by that fucking car again.

Soldiers or Their Sexes?

Those of you living over here in Jolly Old England will invariably have heard the news of our soldiers being killed in Afghanistan. More specifically, the news if filled with the story that one of the four recently killed was a female solider, working with the SAS.

The fact our soldiers are being killed out there is still irking me, that we're pretty much running a war that apparently has no end - however, politics and foreign policy are not what this blog is about.

No, my main concern is that the press have taken the fact that a woman has been killed, and have run with it. What I don't understand, is WHY.

The headlines every now and then, from both Afghanistan and Iraq often reads something like "Three Soldiers Killed in Blast" or similar, but over the last couple of days, it's read "First Woman Soldier Killed" The papers are doing it, TV and Radio, online news... Even today Sky News says something like "Four Service Personnel, including first woman casualty, to be named" One of the news stories even adds the three guys killed along side as almost a footnote:

The first British woman was killed in action in Afghanistan in a blast that also claimed the lives of three other soldiers.

And there is also

Four British troops killed in an explosion in Afghanistan, including the first female UK soldier to die there, will be named later.

Our troops getting killed is awful. I hate they are dying for others. But how must it feel for the women, that have had to fight through the male-orientated lifestyle, to be singled out when they get injured or killed. Surely they, like everyone else out there, are Soldiers regardless of their sex. I cannot get my head around the fact the press are grabbing onto the fact that this woman has been killed. Now, if they usually said "Five male soldiers killed in action" then fair enough. WHY do they single out the fact that one of those killed is a woman?

In previous wars, I suspect the "women sorts" were kept off the front line. Usually, they would have been helping the wounded, doing the administration stuff - not running around in fatigues with thousands of pounds of military hardware, popping off the baddies with their male counterparts.

I am sure the soldier killed knew the risks. I am sure when she signed up, and completed her training alongside of her male counterparts, and didn't expect to be used by the media as a shocking new milestone. The fact any of our troops are being killed is enough.

Fair play and full support to all our boys and girls out there.

Edit @ 20:42- Sky News have published a story naming the woman. What a surprise, the ENTIRE story is about her. The other guys killed alongside her have been given a paragraph between them. And even then, it's NINE paragraphs down into the story. No interviews with the family, fellow soldiers or anyone else.

Please Mr Mass Media - please cease the hyping. She, along with ALL the others, died fighting for our Country. Male or Female - I still cannot understand why the media need to focus us all on the fact SHE is a SHE. A soldier is a soldier.

See comments for more points.

Some People Make Me Wonder...

I've been toying with this blog post for a few days now, and have been wording, rewording, rephrasing and generally jiggling it around till it made sense AND prevented me getting in trouble.

It takes a lot to faze me, to shock or surprise me, but some days, I see something and just stare, mouth agap, trying to get my head around how some people made it to adulthood without getting an ounce of common sense punched into their stupid face.

Dear Dirty Mother,

I have kids. I've done it three times, and sure, it's hard work. Yep, sometimes those kids can catch you off guard and surprise you at the strangest times with the strangest things. However...

A child suddenly announcing "I need a wee" is not a big issue in the grand scheme of things. ESPECIALLY when you're in a large shopping town centre. However, I fail to understand your thought process.

Me and a friend were sitting in the restaurant eating our breakfast when you stopped on the path twenty feet from the window we were sitting beside. Where you hefted your three year old out of her buggy, stripped her off from the waist down, and proceeded to allow her to spray her piss everywhere.

In public.
On a pedestrian zone.

Now, yes, potty training CAN be difficult, and kids sometimes HAVE to go when they HAVE to go. However. There was a toilet no more than a one minute walk BACK the way you came. While we sat agap at you NOT washing the area off with water, we worked out that there are six public toilets in Eastgate alone, Eastgate that you can walk end-to-end in five minutes.

While we sat, still surprised, as you allowed people to walk through the splash-zone, I said "maybe the kiddie has a medical problem" but then countered with "But then, if that's a case, wouldn't you be prepared and have pull-ups on or something.

EVERY parent has been caught short at some time or another, I hold my hands up and admit that I've had to allow Jaysen to pee behind a bush when caught short. While Out. In the middle of nowhere.

So, to the Skanky Mother Who Allowed Her Daughter To Piss On The Pedestrian Area, I salute you, with one finger. And for the record, I took your photo, but am still debating if I should post it on here or not.

Yours,
The Grossed-Out Guy in the Window

Yes folks, she literally held her kid up, legs-akimbo, and let her spray pee everywhere, in the middle of the path in a pedestrian zone. She made no move to run in to the toilet, no attempt to wash the puddle away - not even with the bottles of water she drank from, the bottle she gave her daughter, nor the bottle she gave her friend. And in front of a restaurant to boot. The old couple behind me were as pissy as Ruth and myself so it wasn't just me being fussy.

But I photographed the silly cow ;)

Laptop Fun...

Update! After various comments on this post, I've tried a few things here and there, but it had never occurred to me to take out the battery and do it. So, I popped it of, plugged it all in and pressed the On botton. Nothing. BUT, Jaysen said he could hear the ticking, like "when the boiler has no gas" I held the button in and could hear it when WHOOSH! It turned on! Gave me a "Windows has recovered from a serious error" message, but appears fine. Rebooted it; Fine. Put in the battery; Fine.

So I have NO idea what caused the brain fart, but it would seem it is repaired. Thank you to Jack for looking at it over the weekend, and to the comments of things to try. Desktops - piece of piss. Laptops - I have no clue.

It doesn't take a lot to piss me off. OK, yes, some days the most silly of things gets me irritated, but this fun with the laptop is actually driving me insane.

Jo bought it for me last August, after my original one died, and it was fine and dandy. It's not the greatest in the world, but for what I wanted and what we could afford, it was the best gift of the year for an early birthday pressie. I've been really careful with it, keeping it away from anything nasty, keeping it cool, not using it on soft furnishings to block fans or anything, and yet a couple of weeks back, it died.

When I say "died" I mean it just stopped working. No blue screen of death, no pop, no bang, fizzle, zap or anything else. And it has stayed that way ever since. Usually, when it's plugged in, the "Mains" light is lit, as is the charging one if need be. NOW, you put the plug in and nothing happens. No lights or anything. It was running on the mains when it died - on a surge protector no less. It's not like I was taxing it either - listening to music and chatting on MSN.

As I was heading down to Mands, her better half offered to take a look, so I left it at that. Jack took a look while I was there and said there's not a lot he can do, and opening it up to fiddle would only void the warrenty. So we left it till I spoke to Fujitsu this morning.

And that's when the real hassle started.

I spoke to a very posh man there, who raised a ticket, but said unless I could PROVE it's within warrenty, either with a receipt or an invoice, then it'd be a chargable repair. Sod that. Of course, it would appear that in my cleaning, I've lobbed out the box and, consequently, the receipt :( So, the man told me to go to where I got it, speak to them and get a proof of sale. Where I headed this afternoon, thinking I could see a light.

No, no light.

The guy at Staples was useless and couldn't be bothered. He was assembling a folder for another customer. Apparently, unless I knew the DAY I bought it, they couldn't do a search for the sale. So I should get in contact with the bank and find out from them when I bought it. So, I toddled to the bank.

No, no help there either.

The only statement I am missing to show the card payment was the only statement I have missing, and apparently the bank are unable to print off a statement there and then. So I had to order some. Then, once I got home, I called Fujitsu back - would a statement be any use, but no.

So now I have to wait a week. Then take the statement to Staples. Then get them to search for the sale. Then get a sales thingie from the planks there - assuming they don't change their mind - THEN get that faxed to Fujitsu... And then comes the "how do I send a laptop to someone" issue.

Seriously, it's enough to make me want to sell a kidney* and just buy a new one. I have the credit rating of a sickly slug, so that puts finance out the window. I have money, but would need to save up, but I can always find something better to spend the money on... I'm going to try start saving, so maybe in a year or so I can afford a decent one. I'm considering going the whole hog and getting a really good one for gaming - that way I can then shift my computer off elsewhere and use my laptop for everything.

Time and Money. All fun ;)



*Kidney offer still stands. One owner, £5000 ono.

Oh My..

OK, it's May. Apologies for the quality of the photo but when grabbing the phone to take a picture I didn't realise the flash was on...

Pssst...

About ten minutes ago, I started writing a blog post in the usual style of a "shurrup bloody gossipers!" in an attempt to stop the rumours, quell the chatting going on behind closed doors and everything else. It was quite a well-written piece, taking some of the information that has filtered back to me through the various 0ddChannels out there, and justifying each and every one of them.

However. After much contemplating, reassessment and consideration, I deleted that post, removed my well formed words, perfect grammar (pfft) and whatever else fell from my fingers onto the keyboard, and came to a new, even deeper conclusion.

Fuck it!

It occurs to me I've spent a few posts here and there examining the stuff that people might have heard, thought about (and asked - I'm not quite THAT good!) and assumed. But, I have decided that I'm bored with that. If people want to gossip, you go for it. I like to think I publish pretty much everything I get up to, either on here, via Twitter, or even on my Facebook. Obviously there are aspects of my life I've always kept private, and on the grand scheme of things, there are probably only two or three people that know even more than that.

Trust issues, don't ya know ;)

So, go nuts. If you hear from someone that I was seen by someone with another person, then obviously there is something going on there. If someone asks someone why I am spending so much time with someone, thenclearly I am hiding something.

So here's the deal. Want to know something, just ask me. I might answer, I might tell you to get stuffed. Or, just gossip away. I'm going to start sowing seeds of gossip among a few key people, so the information you might get may well be tainted, which means when I announce the truth, you will look an even bigger banana.

Enjoy ;)

Makes Me Mad...

Seven in the morning, I'm half asleep, not done on my third coffee yet, and I hear the clatter of Mr Postman dropping a load through the letter box. I trundle down and collect up the crap.

I notice two Customs and Excise envelopes, one marked Important. Finally, could I have money I foooooolishly think to myself, and open it up. It's got Jaysens Medical Card in it, the ONLY item I could find with his name and address on it. The only thing I have to prove my son lives with me. "Thank you for sending the required documentation. If we require further evidence, we shall contact you."

Bonus.

So I pop open the second envelope.

Bear in mind, for those of you with Goldfish-like memory spans, what the previous envelope contained. This envelope contained a single letter. "Please fax Jaysens Medical Card to us in order to complete your claim" I looked the THREE INCHES to the left to see the card I had just received from them.

Date on that letter. Friday 2nd May.
Date on this new letter. Tuesday 6th May.
Both from the same person, my "case worker" as it were...

So, I've complied with every single bloody thing over more than two months, and now they return a document to me with a fax request. Could she not photocopy it - which she prolly did - and pretend the photocopier was a really big fax machine?!

And the next issue is... Who the fuckity actually owns a fax machine these days?! Does this mean I have to trundle into town with my £0.00 for the CSA, taking out the non-existent money in my bank account in order to use the fax that may-or-may-not exist at the library?

WHY did I post about how great things were yesterday? I should have left it till this morning... "Everythings great - but it's a pain in the arse."

So, thanks to these three branches of the government "supporting" parents...

- I've had two Child Benefit claims lost, and am STILL waiting on a third.
- I've had to send proof of my sons birth, of my sons existence AND that he lives here, and still Tax Credits aren't happy.
- I've had to deal with claims of Child Support against me, which went nowhere - and they forgot our other child.

On top of all this - Incapacity Benefit people will only pay out weekly instead of fortnightly if there are extenuating circumstances. Helloooooo?! Having fuck all money counts as extenuating, right?!

Oh I am going to be a bucket of JOY on the phone to people today.

*grumbles and mutters to the shower*

Edit: Not to mention, the bank will be taking money away from me in two weeks time because I spent money that wasn't mine. Yes folks, I will be charged for going over drawn by TWO PENCE.

It's Busy Bunny Me!

Fair to say there has not been much in the way of actual, bona fide content here on the blog for the past week... Or two.. ish. Also, it would be fair to say that I've been pretty much out of the loop in regards to keeping the world up to date on my mental health (or lack of), my physical health (or lack of), nor my normal, averagely boring day-to-day crap.

The reasoning behind all this is because I've been so fricking busy. Or, as Cassandra would say, "Oot an' Aboot" Or something similar - I usually screw up the spelling, but I am sure she'll throw something at me from the States ;)

For those that enjoy reading doom, gloom and suffering, then this post may well be something you won't enjoy reading. See, despite everything that has gone on over the last couple of months, I am doing good.

No, scratch that. I am rocking, kicking ass, winning, smiling, grinning... Dare I say it, but life is... Good. And I can't even thank blame my Happy Brain Medicine because I am sloooowly weaning myself off it. Granted, I'm not actually OFF it yet, and where as missing a dose a few months ago would see me twitching and zapping like the energiser bunny shorting out, I am now going three days between doses. Three! It's going to take time I think, and I'm dealing with some very interesting side effects by the end of day three, but I'm manly, I can cope ;)

I've been busy as a box of frogs trying to escape their prison. Mainly, I've been helping Ruth with various stuff - not that she's been slave-driving me. I had to say that. I can't deal with her moaning at me again. I offer to help with her garden, kitchen, shopping or whatever. Of course, on top of that, I've also had to deal with my personal favourite pass-time... The Rumourmill.

I know I've said it before, but people, here's a little peek into my head. Ruth has been a friend for many years. No, we're not doing the horizontal mumbo. No, we're not secretly a couple. No, I'm not using her to look after me, and No no no, she is not using me to help her out. Yes, she is a girl. Yes, I am a boy. When I say "I am going to have dinner at Ruths", that doesn't mean "I'm going to shag". It may have escaped the attention of a few persons, but pretty much ALL my friends are girlies. It just happens that Ruth lives *over there*. Next time the Web Cam is on, picture the scene - the Blood Red House of Death - his back garden pretty much joins onto Ruths back garden.

I'm not naming names, pointing at culprits or anything like that. But next time you ask, I will tell you what you want to hear, and then mock you when it comes back and bites your bum.

Anyways.

Last weekend saw me travelling to what I considered to be a local warzone of dodgy people. I freely admit I was wrong. If there is a war there, it's all completely hidden from the average passer-by (me). A few months back, I managed to find an oooold friend on Facebook. Or vice versa. I forget which, but still. When my Mum and StepDad moved us into Blackmores, (Oooh can see my garden and mums car!) the family next door had a daughter, Kellie, the same age as me. Kellie, Jay and Myself were the oldest of the pack of youngsters that travelled the local area, and we grew up together till she moved away in her mid-teens. We carried on seeing each other till our late teens, then slowly scattered to the winds.

Now, nearly 15 years later, we started chatting again and catching up. I was there Saturday afternoon till Sunday afternoon, talking till 4am, and then carrying on after a few hours sleep. Bringing one another up to speed on our lives, drinking beer, coffee, Jack Daniels, and most amusingly, chatting about the crap we used to get up to.

After comparing notes, I stand by my previous comment of "I'm amazed I'm not dead"

The very very strange thing though... I was wandering through town heading to the bus station, quite happily listening to my headphones to block out the "You effin' wanker, bitch moan piss come-and-have-a-go" Chavtastic shouting, when someone leapt from the shadows. On my way to see an old friend I've not seen for nearly 15 years, I am attacked by an old friend I've not seen for 15 years. Cassie always was mental, and still is. And yes, she reads this, and I would like to see her deny it ;)

Another topic of conversation over the weekend with Kellie, was the possibility of getting the old crowd back together. Over the last couple of months, I think I have found pretty much everyone that I used to terrorise the neighbourhood with. And I think it'd be a bloody laugh to all head out somewhere with our own kids and have a massive BBQ session or something. See how much trouble we can get into, and see how the kids compare!

Sort of a "We Made It!" celebration... I'm sure we can arrange something amusing...

When I am actually home, I am clearing up the chaos left by Jaysen, Tam or even yours truly. I blame the animals ;) I can't remember the last time I actually cooked in my own home, but you know, that's neither here nor there ;)

Since getting back onto Facebook, I've reduced the amount of Outgoing Pokage that I was dishing out, but it's still there. I even gained a few friends from the Save The Dan group! hehe I've also become rather, shall we say, addicted, to Twitter. If you have a mobile phone or live at your computer (or, in some peoples cases, both), then have a peek.

As for being a Singleton, I am completely at peace with whatever power it is that has decreed I should live as such. I talk to Jo every day or two, see her every now and then, and there is no weirdness, no tension... As I've said before, we are and pretty much always will be friends. Even with everything "behind the scenes" as it were, things aren't strained. I've said before, I saw it coming, I knew it would happen eventually, and so we're making the best of it as we can. The kids are quite happy with everything, and the "schedule" we've fallen into seems to be working pretty well. I have Jaysen Sunday evening till Wednesday when Tam turns up. Then it's me and the kids till Friday evening, when Jo comes gets the pair of them, and returns Jaysen Sunday evening.

Of course, we're both flexible - last week, Jo had a rough time with various stuff, so I kidnapped Tam back so Jo could have some quiet time. This weekend, Jo is off to see Patch for his 50th birthday. I was invited too, but don't think I'm quite ready for socialising in that aspect ;) This means I get the kids for the weekend too which is a bargain - usually it's during school time, but with the weekend we can go do whatever the hell we like! I think the lakes are in order... Followed by home and showers for those that happen to fall in.

Saying no names, of course. I can neither confirm nor deny I may or may not be slightly clumsier than the average owner of two left feet with no sense of balance...

I think my mood has been helped by the sheer volume of sunlight that is currently battering the house and surrounding area. Sun is good. Well, aside for my face which has erupted in spots. Acne keeps you looking younger I suppose... Of course, you would think that being in England the weather sucks in comparison to, say, Australia... Ho Ho. I present to the court, an Australian, bitching and moaning about their crappy weather.

Our news report tonight promised rain and 18 & 19 degrees C for the rest of the week, yay us!! That means that there is a more than 99.99% chance that I am going to get wet doing the pick up and drop offs for school this week!

Poor Mel. She's cold, she's getting soaked, and it's making a certain feature of hers even worse. I won't mention it, though I DO have photographic proof...

So, aside from all that, I think what has helped me more than pretty much ANYTHING has been my friends. From those here that have to listen to me moan in person, those I've found once again, those that I catch occasionally on MSN, pester by mail or prod on Facebook - You've made me see what is what and pull me through this.

People keep saying to me "Holy crap, I can't believe how well you're doing" but it's not me. I've had help. So to everyone, thank you.

Even to random people that arrive on the doorstep, linger for AGES, and only leave when I point out they got a ticket on their car fifteen minutes ago... Yes, it's the simple things that keep me ticking over.

So, with stuff still to be done, I'm going to set about to using the funky "Schedule Publishing" feature. It's currently half seven, still sunny, and I'm blaring out music. Let's set posting for... hmmm... 11pm..

Why?

Why not.

Crazy Austrian Freak

I assume this freak that has kept a daughter locked in a cellar for 24 years is common knowledge now across the world. The fact he used and abused her for 24 years, fathered children through her and refused to let her and some of her kids see the light of day just...

This sort of thing drives me mad.

But I don't know if it's just me, or is something pretty rotten here... Yes, this guy did deplorable things and deserves a long lingering castration (at least), but the fact he was married... And not just to anyone, but to his prisoners MOTHER. Who lived upstairs.

And claims she had no idea.

Seriously... HOW do you hide that? "Just going downstairs to do some work" doesn't cut it. And how the hell did he build the prison and she NOT NOTICE? I know there are parents of victims that turn a blind eye - out of sight, out of mind - but honestly... Twenty Four years?!

Gah!

Hooligans!

I know people should "respect their elders" and all that shit, but for once, just once wouldn't it be nice for the elders to respect the young?

It sounds crazy I know, and a lot of oldies are fine and dandy. There are, however, elements that give the rest a bad name. And yes, this sounds like something an old person would say in regards to the young.

Earlier today, just before we left to do the school run, another friend called and asked if we could grab her three monkeys. I have a Tam-beast early this week too, so me and Ruth poodled into school and grabbed her two girls, my one boy, and Alyce's three kids.

So, picture the scene... Ruth is pushing Tam in the buggy. The three boys - all aged 9 - are running around. The three girls - 9, 7 and 6 - are running around. I am following along playing with the phone as I always do. Yes, I am a geek, get over it. I pop into the chemist to pay a bill, and come out to find HER.

Ruth is looking flushed, talking to this short, evil-eyed old crone. There may have been a nose wart. I only catch the tail end of her conversation, which went along the lines of "Well they don't sound like they are having fun, bunch of hooligans!"

I look over, and as usual, all the kids, bar Tamsyn, are running around playing tag. Granted, there are whooping and laughing loudly, but they were playing tag. This old girl looks to me, looks to Ruth, and Ruth gives me the "I'm going to poke her in the yellow eyes" expression.

So we beat a hasty retreat before we put her walking stick somewhere it shouldn't go, even with lubrication. I'm then told this old girl - who was no where near the kids, so not even at risk of being bowled over - was ranting and pissing at Ruth for the state of the kids, how they were causing trouble and being hooligans.

I SO wish I was out there when she started. I would have joined in and made as much noise.

Of course, it probably looked like me and Ruth were the dodgy family from hell, with our seven kids all raising hell. If I had the money, I'd have paid my little tykes to make more noise ;)

Yuck!

It's not often I will do The British Thing and blog about the weather (*ahem*) but I felt today being the way it is, I would do The British Thing...

And moan.

See, this morning at half past six when I woke up and clambered over the nine year old, clambered over the dog and clambered over the cat, I looked outside to see the garden flooded in sunlight. "YAY" was the first word that came to mind.

Eight o' clock rolls around, the sky darkens, and the the clouds open up. By 08:20 is was torrential - I know because that's when I had to leave on the school run. By the time I got to Ruths I was wet. By the time I got to the school is was running on the inside of my coat.

Once home I peeled off the clothes and everything - coat, tee shirt, jeans, boxers and socks - all soaked. And my hair is still wringing wet. And I'm cold.

So it's me, a cuppa, some chocolate, and my hairdryer at the desk. Poxy bloody weather. Even the webcam is hating the rain as it's auto-focus is trying to see the drops of rain on the window.

I'm not sure if I should blame a certain Aussie Wench for her rain she moaned about yesterday, a friend living locally for having a bad morning and making it rain, or for me thinking YAY at half six...

For Goodness Sake...

Last night I had precisely bugger all sleep. I got in at about half twelve, messed around on the laptop till about half one, then laid in bed just listening to some music on my headphones. What followed was a night of completely disturbed sleep, interlaced with strange dreams and nightmares, the worst being one of Jo moving away and taking the kids with her.

So I'll be calling her in a while to make sure it's just me being a tard.

At half six, I decided to just give up sleep and went back on the laptop, browsing the web, playing on Facebook, checking my mail, reading through a wad of blogs and - click - the laptop goes off. Running on mains, not hot, not pushing it too hard, it just died. I fiddled with it for ten mins, but decided it might just need to have a rest, but it looks like my laptop has died.

So I come out to the main computer, let the animals out, get rid of the headless pigeon from the patio, re-bag the rubbish that has been opened by a neighbourhood cat/fox, and get upstairs, where I resume my daily motions of chatting to people in different time zones and pissing around on Facebook. I flick to another tab to check my TagBoard, get an email from Facebook with a Warning...

Our systems indicate that you've been misusing certain features on the site. This email serves as a warning. Misuse of Facebook's features or violating Facebook's terms of use may result in your account being disabled . Thanks in advance for your understanding and cooperation.

I received that at 8.47am. So I get back to the Facebook tab and find I am logged out. Log in to find this:

The crazy Aussie Wench that I am chatting with messages me to then tell me I am no longer on Facebook. Marvellous. So I message them, and get an automated reply to check their terms and conditions:

Your account was disabled because you violated Facebook’s Terms of Use, to which you agreed when you first registered for an account on the site. Accounts can either be disabled for repeat offenses or for one, particularly egregious violation.

Facebook does not allow users to register with fake names, to impersonate any person or entity, or to falsely state or otherwise misrepresent themselves or their affiliations.

We do not allow users to send unsolicited or harassing messages to people they don’t know, and we remove posts that advertise a product, service, website, or opportunity.

Our Code of Conduct outlines the types of content we do not allow on the site. This includes any obscene, pornographic, or sexually explicit photos, as well as any photos that depict graphic violence. We also remove content, photo or written, that threatens, intimidates, harasses, or brings unwanted attention or embarrassment to an individual or group of people.

So now I am even MORE confused. I message them back and ask "huh" and get an automated reply that my message is "being dealt with". And then, marked with the same time as the warning, I get the following email drop in.

Your account has been disabled for persistent misuse of the site. Please contact disabled@facebook.com for more information.

So, to recap. I am chatting on FB, and using various applications. Then I get a warning for misuse and at the same time, I get banned and mailed. They "encourage" me to read the terms and conditions, and the "ban worthy" offences are as follow:

• harvest or collect email addresses or other contact information of other users from the Service or the Site by electronic or other means for the purposes of sending unsolicited emails or other unsolicited communications; (OK, I am certainly not harvesting anything)
  
• use the Service or the Site in any unlawful manner or in any other manner that could damage, disable, overburden or impair the Site; (You mean by sending messages and poking people? oooh I accepted a friend request this morning too...)
  
• use automated scripts to collect information from or otherwise interact with the Service or the Site; (hehe yes, back to me being a spammer then)
  
• upload, post, transmit, share, store or otherwise make available any content that we deem to be harmful, threatening, unlawful, defamatory, infringing, abusive, inflammatory, harassing, vulgar, obscene, fraudulent, invasive of privacy or publicity rights, hateful, or racially, ethnically or otherwise objectionable; (Ah this must me it - I referred to Mel as an "Aussie Wench" which is clearly bad)
  
• upload, post, transmit, share, store or otherwise make available any videos other than those of a personal nature that: (i) are of you or your friends, (ii) are taken by you or your friends, or (iii) are original art or animation created by you or your friends; (Videos? Aside from the occasionaly YouTube rubbish?)
  
• register for more than one User account, register for a User account on behalf of an individual other than yourself, or register for a User account on behalf of any group or entity; (Yes, because I am sad enough to have different FB names to stalk people)
  
• impersonate any person or entity, or falsely state or otherwise misrepresent yourself, your age or your affiliation with any person or entity; (hehe I think my profile was pretty much accurate...)
  
• upload, post, transmit, share or otherwise make available any unsolicited or unauthorized advertising, solicitations, promotional materials, "junk mail," "spam," "chain letters," "pyramid schemes," or any other form of solicitation; (AGAIN with the Me Being A Spammer??)
  
• upload, post, transmit, share, store or otherwise make publicly available on the Site any private information of any third party, including, addresses, phone numbers, email addresses, Social Security numbers and credit card numbers; (Yes, because I decided a bit of Identity Theft was in order for a Sunday morning)
  
• solicit personal information from anyone under 18 or solicit passwords or personally identifying information for commercial or unlawful purposes; (I know one person under 18 on Facebook. And she never logs in very often anyway! Not to mention, her mum is on there too!)
  
• upload, post, transmit, share or otherwise make available any material that contains software viruses or any other computer code, files or programs designed to interrupt, destroy or limit the functionality of any computer software or hardware or telecommunications equipment; (Uh huh, right... "Here Mel, have a virus")
  
• intimidate or harass another; (Aussie Wench it is then!)
  
• upload, post, transmit, share, store or otherwise make available content that would constitute, encourage or provide instructions for a criminal offense, violate the rights of any party, or that would otherwise create liability or violate any local, state, national or international law; (Erm... criminal offence? On Facebook? An unsolicited poke, maybe?)
  
• use or attempt to use another's account, service or system without authorization from the Company, or create a false identity on the Service or the Site. (False Identity and logging in as someone else... Check :S)
  
• upload, post, transmit, share, store or otherwise make available content that, in the sole judgment of Company, is objectionable or which restricts or inhibits any other person from using or enjoying the Site, or which may expose Company or its users to any harm or liability of any type. (Well I don't have much in the way of porn on there....)
  

So, there you have it, for the moment, I am Facebookless, Laptopless, tired, cranky, have cold hands, need caffeine, and generally see myself being Cranky DanPants within the next few nanoseconds..

Yep, there it is...

Slow News Day?

Every morning, I check Sky News just to see if the world is about to go KaBlooey, or to see if THEY have started looking for me yet. I tend to skip the political/current affairs stuff because - sad to admit - it bores me,and I usually skip the Celeb/Entertainment crap because - shockingly - it bores me. I also avoid the Sport news because I don't care who beat who, who got injured (even though it makes me chuckle!), nor who said what about which team.

I'm not sure what that actually leaves to read, but none the less....

Some days, I read the main story, the headlines, and think "Wow, that's bad, nasty, horrible" or whatever and wonder what the world is coming to. Other days, like today, the main story made me itch my head. Now, bear with me on this one...

Rabid Puppy Bites Three People In Essex
Updated:08:39, Saturday April 26, 2008

Three people are being treated for exposure to rabies after being bitten by an infected puppy that was brought into the UK from Sri Lanka.

The dog attacked the three victims at a quarantine centre in Chingford, Essex, where it had been taken after arriving in the country.
Dr Dilys Morgan, a rabies expert from the Health Protection Agency, said the animal died in quarantine yesterday, effectively containing any risk to public health.

She said: "We understand that three individuals connected to the quarantine centre and rescue centre were bitten by the animal and all have received or will be receiving prompt protective treatment with appropriate vaccination."

Sky News health correspondent Thomas Moore said: "One would expect them to make a good recovery.

"People who tend to die of rabies abroad are those who haven't been able to seek medical help soon enough."

He added that there was no need to worry about the disease spreading.

So there we have it. Here's some information. The United Kingdom is, unlike the rest of Europe, rabies free. We don't have it here, so rabies in England is a fairly big deal. In fact, if an animal bites someone in Essex, they need to give the animal boosters to make sure it doesn't develop any nasty disease.

However, the headline, "Rabid Puppy Bites Three People In Essex" while true, doesn't actually tell the story. Yes, it was a puppy, and yes, it had rabies and bit some people. But it was in quarantine. So away from everything else. It died, so it won't go anywhere else. The people bitten - unless they start chomping their friends, are being treated, and aren't even in danger of kicking the proverbial bucket.

So, erm, HOW is this news exactly? This is the main story for Saturday morning. Not the missing mum/son killed saga, not the kid stabbed in school, not even celebrities dropping off the moral coil. And yet, the next "BIG" story on their front page is about a pensioner killed by a shark in California. WHY do we need to know that over here exactly?

I know there are people out there that believe the news is fed to us to keep us under control and living in a state of fear, but honestly, at least report something that doesn't just make me blink and then piss & moan on here! That's not control, that's just winding me up!

Dirty Chav Scum

There are few things in this town that I disdain more than your average Run-of-the-Mill Chav Scumbag. For the Uninformed/Americans (oooh low blow!) a Chav is, well, read this. And this. And this.

So, now you are educated. There are plenty of Anti-Chav sites out there if you want to know more, or if you are based in the UK, then there is always ChavTowns for more information. The Basildon write up is very interesting as, it has to be said, we do have a very large population.

Now, I might bandy around the term to my friends and people I am on a wind up with, but only as a joke. The fact is, they are icky people and I hate them, especially the Basildon Variety.

And my reasoning for this post? Well, I just had a knock at the door at half seven this evening, and there is Mr Policeman. Not a toy policeman, a real, bonafide policeman.

Complete with Stab Vest. I didn't blame him, not in this area.

Turns out the people opposite - you know the ones, in the Blood Red House of Death. Well, turns out his car was damaged and broken into this afternoon. At 3pm this afternoon, in broad daylight. The worst part of it is, everyone probably knows it was their next door neighbour and his mates that come around, but who is going to say that? On their doorstop. To the police.

In the last year, he's had paint thrown over his car, his garage door graffiti'd, rubbish dumped on and around his house, and gets abuse hurled at him fairly often. All from the same sources.

And that seems to be how it is of late. You act shitty and threaten everyone, and everyone just closes their doors and curtains and ignores the world outside. All because of the asshats in their burbury (or however you spell it) strolling around like they own the place.

I feel quite bad because I sit on an upstairs window, looking out to the BRHoD when I am at my computer. And I didn't actually see anything - I think I was actually downstairs with Tam clearing up the kitchen before the Boy came home from school. Had the DanCam been on it would have seen it all.

We all live together, next to, on top of, opposite everyone in our area, but none of us ever see anything, and even if we do, we daren't say anything. I told the policeman the guy living in the BRHoD gets a lot of shit from certain elements, but he didn't really want to know. Just wanted to know if I saw anything.

He was really unhappy when Sally (white) said Hi and brushed against his trousers (black).

At least he had his stab vest on.

Child Tax Credits

OK, so yesterday was an interesting/amusing day in regards to paperwork and red-tape at it's finest. I assumed I would be clear-sailing from here...

Yes yes, I know what they say about assuming.

So my phone just rang. "Mr English, this is Miss 'Nother from the Inland Revenue Child Tax Credits department" Whoo thinks me, finally they will tell me about my award and just when it'll be sorted.

Bare in mind, I had to make a new claim by phone, and was told 10-14 working days. Then after three weeks, I poked them, then a week later they demanded proof I have Jaysen. Well, the only proof I had to hand was his Birth Certificate and Passport. After all, nine-year-old boys are not known for their "proof of existence" aside from mess, chaos and generic destruction.

As if they need more.

So I dutifully sent off the info and she called today with the good news.

"We need further evidence that your son lives with you"

Um, what?

So she suggests getting the school to write a letter confirming that Jaysen lives with me. I call the school, and for all intents and purposes I must have sounded like a complete and utter MENTAL PERSON, asking them to confirm in writing that Jaysen lives with me. And if I didn't sound like a complete and utter MENTAL PERSON, I must have sounded like a child snatcher.

A letter from the doctor won't count as that just shows they know Jaysen's address, not where he actually lives. The school have "referred" my query to the Headmaster (which is prolly on red paper marked "MENTAL PERSON") and I may or may not hear from them. Or I'll get the police tapping on the window with a battering ram knowing my luck...

I could send a photo of Jaysen nailed to the front door, but that would only prove he is nailed to a house with the #54 on the front of it.

GAH!

And this isn't all, this is the REALLY irritating as buggery part. The "usual" proof I would send them would be Child Benefit which are the other department that I am having issues with. Now, Child Benefit have my claim "in process" at the moment, and Tax Credits are working on my claim... Both keep asking for different information, and asking for further information...

And yet they are the SAME government department!! Both are part of Inland Revenue! Knowing my luck, they sit opposite one another planning who they can push to breaking point quickest...

If someone happens to have a Very Large Wad Of Cash to hand, forward to the usual address for Hitman purposes...