Howdy

Ooooh look! Snow! It's snowing outside. Fucking great. This snow might be good if you're ten and looking for a day off school, but for the rest of us (including me), it's a pain in the ring piece akin to having a jalapeno pepper rubbed in your eye. By Bluto from Popeye. Why so? Well, the whole country seems to have ground to a halt. And it pisses me right off. Look at countries like Russia, Norway, Sweden etc. These places have heavier snow than this all year round, yet you don't see their societies completely break down. Case in point: I am currently trying to get my O2 mobile broadband account cancelled. Mainly because the service delivered by the dongle/network signal is dire, but this is besides the point. Yesterday I called O2 to discuss my account.

I was met with a recorded message saying that O2 was closed due to 'adverse weather conditions.' Whaaaa?! It's a bit of fucking snow, for shit's sake! I reiterate: O2 shut down their complete customer service operation because of snow fall. Do people have mobile phones in Russia, Norway and Sweden? Yes. Do their phone networks have customer service helplines? Yes. Are they closed when it snows? No. Because if they were, they'd be closed 75% of the fucking year! Yet here we are in good old Blightly, wimpering behind our curtains because Jack Frost has emptied his ball sack over our gardens and roads. Makes me wanna fucking scream. Fair enough, I appreciate the treacherous nature of the roads during this cold snap (I skidded off the asphalt and into a field last week), but surely staff who live within a certain radius of the call centre (it's in Bury, near Manchester - and I used to work their many years ago) could, y'know, walk into work? Bah.

Not O2, today or yesterday

On the subject of mobile phones, you may remember that in one of my last posts I was blathering on about my O2 XDA (jeez, a lot of my life is ruled by O2 ain't it?!). Well, as January rolled around my contract matured and I was offered an 'upgrade.' For those who don't know, it's a clever way of tying customers to another 18 month contract by offering them a spangly new handset. I, like many before me, have fallen victim to this ploy and received my new handset. At this juncture, I would like to push aside all forms of cynicism and sarcasm because the handset O2 have given me is nothing short of a miraculous piece of technology. No, it's not an iPhone. Spectacular as it no doubt is, it seems that every man, his dog and big issue seller have one these days and I strive for minority status.



No, what I've got is an HTC HD2. A phone that looks and behaves very similarly to the iPhone but (in my humble opinion) is superior. It has a superior operating system (Windows Mobile 6.5 with HTC Sense interface). It has a superior screen size. It has a superior CPU (1 Ghz Snapdragon). It has a superior 5mp camera. It has integrated Facebook, Twitter, MSN Messenger and Windows Live. It has Google Maps, Opera, Internet Explorer (that allows playback of page-embedded flash and video files) and Youtube as standard. It has a proximity sensor so the screen locks when you hold the phone up to your ear. It has a light sensor that automatically dims the screen in low light conditions as not to burn your retinas out. It can be used as a WiFi router by your laptop. It has Microsoft Office as standard. It has an accelerometer. It can cook your tea for you - and eat it - while you watch Countdown in the next room.


Basically, it's awesomely good. Actually, scratch that - it's benchmark-destroyingly good. I suppose the only areas in which the iPhone could be considered truly superior are the App Store and iTunes connectivity. But I already have an iPod Nano 5G (fucking brilliant, by the way) and the built in Windows/Microsoft Marketplace used by HD2 promises to expand rapidly with the launch of the new Zune HD in the good ol' U S of A. Obviously, the iPhone has a massive advantage over the HD2 in that it's been out longer and has a much, much larger installed user base already, but it's always good to look at the alternatives and if I had to choose between the two, the HD would get my vote every time.

A bit of a geekish rant there, but that's what I like. That, and slagging shit off. That'll be coming soon...

Erm...new (old) phone and car. Yay!

My new phone/PDA thing arrived at the tail end of last week. I was beginning to give up any hope of ever receiving the damned thing after several fruitless trips to the post room, and the logging of 'negative feedback' on ebay seemed inevitable. But alas, it came on friday and I was overjoyed. This 'joy' quickly turned to abject horror though, when after ripping the box open and putting my sim card in, I discovered that the device wouldn't switch on. Devastation washed through my body as I sat there cradling the thing in my arms like a wounded soldier. All the scene needed was some rain and a muddy field for me to kneel in. I tried various different plugs and USB cables - none of which would charge the thing and even with the battery out and the mains connected there appeared to be no power entering the unit at all.

A little digging around on the internet proved useful though. An ancient forum, long since abandoned by it's members held the answer to my conundrum. Apparently, if the XDA's battery gets to a certain level of, erm, deadness, it simply will not boot at all. So, what you have to do is 'jump start' the battery with a bit of juice. So I stripped down a USB cable to it's four basic wires and blu-tacked the positive and negative power wires to their respective electrodes on the battery...and then plugged the other end of the USB into my laptop. To be honest, I was expecting a spectacular pyrotechnics display that would spell certain death for my laptop, battery and probably the whole electrical infrastructure of the building. But happened. I left the battery 'charging' whilst I made a cuppa and when I came back I slotted it into the XDA. I turned it on. IT WORKED!!! I quickly plugged in the proper USB power cord and it began to charge. The relief was unbelievable.

What I mean to say is that my phone came, I thought it was fucked right out of the box, but then I got it working. And I'm glad I did because it's a storming bit of kit. Sure, it's a bit of a brick and is uncomfortable to put in your jeans pocket, but it's essentially a handheld PC and it does everything it needs to very well. Running Windows Mobile 5 and with features like wi-fi and stuff it's a superb little (massive) phone. I'm sure the iPhone would kick it's ass in terms of features and cool 'apps,' but to be honest I don't give a flying shit. It cost me £40 and I reckon I look like less of a cunt than the average iPhone user when I get it out to text in the street. Obviously, when my upgrade rolls around in January I'll probably get yet another new handset (that new Palm thing looks alright), but until then the XDA Mini S will do for me.

Proton Impian. No, I'd never seen one before either.

Apart from new(ish) phones, this week saw me acquire a new(ish) car. My old one was a Vauxhall Vectra 2.0 SRi, which sounds quite impressive. And it was - it went like shit off a shovel...but unfortunately so did the petrol. So I sold it to a mate and then went off in search of a newer, smaller alternative. What I've ended up with is a Proton Impian. Now, 'Impian' is possibly the worst name I've ever heard for a car - It doesn't really conjure up the same kind of images as 'Mustang,' 'Spyder' or 'Veyron' does it, but like a book, it shouldn't be judged by it's name. Or summat. Now, I didn't know this but apparently Proton is owned and run by the Malaysian government. Strange but true. Also true (I think) is that Proton and Lotus are the same company. Or summat. But I digress. Ultimately, I wanted a car of similar size to the Vectra but with a smaller engine and better fuel economy. And that's what I got with the Impian. It sounds like it's got a fucking hair dryer under the bonnet at times and only has a shitty tape player/radio built in as standard...but it feels really light to drive - totally opposite to the Vectra which was a lumbering beast of Armageddon in comparison, only rearing it's roaring head to devour a star system every now and then. Furthermore, the Proton has a very basic dashboard display. That's something brain-dead Max Power reading chavs may see as a bad thing, but for me it's a godsend - no more fucking messages popping up on the trip computer mithering me to check this or replace that. Now if something's fucked, I can drive on in beautiful ignorance until black smoke fills the cabin and flames spew out from under the bonnet like I'm driving a Nicholas Cage-sponsored stunt-car. Simplicity, people, is what I'm all about. And ignorance. 70/30 split.

Unfortunately, I have no tales of drunken stupidity with which to regale you on this occasion. I did go for a few beverages last Saturday night after watching that pathetic England display against Brazil, but I could feel myself becoming very, very drunk by about midnight. You know you've had enough Strongbow when all you can taste with every mouthful is the bitter-sweet tang of battery acid. So I stumbled out of the club and got a (fucking rip-off £20) taxi home. But not before ordering a big old greasy donner kebab...

Old habits die hard.

Modern Whorefare

So Modern Warfare 2 came out today. Hoo-fucking-ray! Anyone'd think the world had stopped on it's axis the way people are going on about it. What's the big deal? There was an item on the fecking news this morning about it, for God's sake. It's the sequel to a game that has you shooting generic middle-eastern terrorists (or 'rag heads,' as many of my colleagues refer to them) with a selection of generic weapons. In a selection of generic middle-eastern towns, cities, slums etc. In a word (actually two words, technically): it's GENERIC. I've not even played it and I'm BORED of it. Yawn.

Okay, the first one was entertaining in places - that level where you get to blow shit up with a helicopter mounted gun was quite good...however I have to admit to finding Gears of War 2 much more fun. Maybe, once I find myself with £50 to spare I'll wander mindlessly into GAME and buy a copy. But to be honest, I'll never have a 'spare' £50 so that'll never happen.

The guy who lives down the corridor from me has obviously been out and bought Modern Warfare 2 though, because as I sit here writing this crap, all I can hear echoing up the void between our rooms is a cacophony of simulated gunfire, floor-shaking explosions and Americans shouting macho shit. I'm pretty sure I also heard the ubiquitous "MEDIIIIIC!" at one point too. How depressingly predictable. Why this man plays computer games at over 20,000 decibels I will never know, although on the odd occasion that he does open the crypt-like door to his domain, I have glimpsed the 60+ inch projector screen that he plays them games on. When I saw that, I realised that 'moderation' is not a word in the cretin's vocabulary.

Today saw me liberate myself from the Prison of Daylight(TM), too. As I mentioned in my last post, I have taken up road-running and since the clocks went back my window for getting out and pounding pavement has been severely limited. That's because I was wary of running in the dark...but no more! I have bought a simple yet brilliant little device...which in reality is a flashing LED on a bit of elastic that can be placed around the arm so that motorists can see you in the dark. Look, I never said my life was exciting. I also bought some new Nike running trainers since my Saucony ones shrank after I put them in the washer and then tried to dry them out by placing them, quite innocently, on a radiator. Silly me, putting wet shit on a radiator, eh? Fucking twats could've put a label inside their hideously expensive trainers saying 'do not put on a moderately warm radiator in case these £80 trainers shrink.' That little escapade actually happened last week so between then and now I've been running in some old Reebok Classics. A word of advice: don't run in Reebok Classics. I now have a blister that goes three quarters of the way around the big toe on my right foot and am in constant agony whenever I walk. So there you go.

Bought a new phone on ebay too. Well, I say new but what I actually mean is used. Hopefully not by the kind of person who shoves cheese into every little nook and cranny of every electrical device they own. And hopefully, it'll arrive tomorrow. Hopefully. That's the thing with ebay - the waiting for the item to get posted. And then the waiting for the item to get delivered. It does my fucking head in waiting for shit to arrive, it really does - especially when the item is an XDA Mini S PDA phone thing (above) that looks about 500 times better than ANYTHING I've ever owned in my pathetic life before. It's got a touch screen, wi-fi, a FUCKING STYLUS!!!!!!! I'm so excited I could spunk in my kecks at any given moment. But where is it?! WHERE?! Please GOD let it arrive tomorrow...

Optimism

Hello there. Does anyone actually read this shit? I'm guessing not, but I'm fucking bored so I'm writing this to entertain myself. Can't believe it's been 3 months since I updated this blog. Mainly through lack of motivation and a fucking crap 1992-style internet connection, I hasten to add. So what's been happening in my life? Well, I've moved away from Portsmouth - which is good. I fucking hate that place. And I've taken up road running, ditching the treadmill for the lovely outdoors. I used to think running 10k on a treader was quite good, but nowadays I tend to crank out distances of the 17-mile variety instead. How can I tell how far I've run? Well it's down to my latest gadget acquisition:

It's a Garmin Forerunner GPS watch. It's basically a watch (natch) that has GPS abilities and is tracked by a satellite so you can view, in real-time, how far you've run. Once your run is complete, you can then link it wirelessly to your PC and view your route, calories burned, distance, time, speed etc. It's a cracking little gadget although it was quite expensive. £200 actually, but I use it quite a bit so it's paid for itself. The only thing is that it doesn't like getting wet, which is a bit of a pain in the arse in England. In Winter. But when it's dry, it's brilliant.

I really love running through the countryside too, but I'm not very fond of the fucking arseholes who thunder around the pavement-less lanes of Somerset in their Volvo estates. I got hit by a deaf and dumb driver the other day whilst out running. I wasn't injured or owt, but I was wearing a bright yellow running top so I was hardly inconspicuous. Cock tried to blame me mouthing and mumbling that I should've been on the pavement, to which I replied "what fucking pavement?" Should really have poked the ugly twat in the eye, giving him the full set of sensory disabilities. Speaking of inconspicuousness, I could've done with some of it when I got caught short while out running last week - about halfway through it became apparent that I was dying for a shit and every little lane or path I ran down in my search for a decent toilet-bush had some knob walking his dog sculking about. When I did finally find a spot, I let out the most explosive watery shit I've ever experienced...but the relief was almost nirvana-like. Didn't wipe my arse though, so ran the rest of the route with a shitty crevice. That's how I roll, peeps.

What else? Oh yeah, went to yet another wedding yesterday. It was good but I'm getting a bit tired of going to these events now. Yesterday's was my fourth (yes, FOURTH) of the year and whilst I'm happy to have an excuse to go and get obscenely drunk, I'm getting a bit sick of seeing other people happily in love whilst I grow old alone and stinking of piss. Speaking of being drunk, I was yesterday. After the wedding itself there was the expected reception where a frankly unbelievable amount of free champagne, wine, beer and port was being thrown about. Not literally, you understand, but I simply couldn't control my inner alcoholic and so I (naturally) drank everything I could get my hands on. This lead, rather inevitably, to me being unable to walk after a few hours and I have only vague memories of the rest of the night's events. I do, however, remember waking up this morning feeling like a human turd and then throwing my guts up in the toilet several times until nothing but stinking bile came out. Oh, and I seem to have mislaid my brand new, 10 megapixel camera. FUCK! Hopefully, someone has handed it in to the bar at the place the private reception was held...but if not, I'll just have to wait till next payday and buy yet another one...that I can leave in a bar when I'm pissed.

I'm meant to be going to another wedding in a few weeks but I'm seriously considering making up some lame-ass excuse just to get out if it. There's only so much soft smiling and acting like you give a flying fuck that a man can fake. Great, you're getting married. And it's nice that you've found your soul mate. But let's cut the crap - when's the ceremony over? I want to get pissed and eat free food. And don't fucking judge me - everyone thinks the same way.

Oh, and my back hurts. I can't even stand up straight, so I'm walking about like the frigging Hunchback of Notre Damme at the moment . It's probably down to something that occurred last night that I can't remember. Oh well, I'm sure someone will tell me how much of a cock I was at some point.

Lastly, just to address a post I wrote several months ago - I saw Terminator Salvation the other day. I never got around to seeing it at the cinema, even though I waxed lyrical about how much I was looking forward to it - and I'm glad I didn't. What a load of shit! Crap, confusing storyline and what's with the computer generated Arnie at the end?! He didn't even look like that in the first movie - he had short hair, not Conan-style flowing locks! How the producers managed to fuck it up is beyond me, but hey. I'm contemplating going to see The Fourth Kind this week - hopefully that won't turn out to be poo. But probably will. I'm such an optimist aren't I?!

More random bullshit to come this week, fans.

The Law is an ARSE

Yesterday I nipped home from work at lunch time. I ride a bike to work, and a very nice bike it is too - it's a Carerra Subway. No suspension, no fancy bells or whistles, but it does the job and does it well. But this ain't a bike review, oh no. It's a review of the type of week I'm having: a fucking bad one.

So, like I said, I rode home from work at lunch time. So I'm cycling along a deserted street and get to the traffic lights. No cars behind me, none infront. Not even any waiting at the junction ahead to turn. But the lights are red, so like any dutiful cyclist I stop and wait for the green. I wait for another 5 MINUTES for the bastard lights to fucking change, still perched there like a bell-end on a deserted street, with no pedestrians anywhere in sight; waiting for the lights to go green.

Enough. I proceed across the deserted junction at a leisurely pace...only to spot a bright yellow blob in my periphery accompanied by "EXCUSE ME, SIR."

The fucking filth. On extremely expensive-looking mountain bikes. There was no way I could outrun them on my Subway. FUCK. They booked me for contravention of some traffic law and gave me a £30 on the spot fine for going through a red light. On a deserted road. On a fucking push-bike. What makes me even more annoyed is that at the time this jobsworth cop was writing me a ticket, a group of about 5 (obviously unemployed) scrotes shuffled past on the other side of the road clutching bottles of alcohol and jeering at me.

Justice always prevails, eh.

Self Improvement

I recently booked myself onto one of those courses that teach you how to teach other (non-English speaking) people how to speak English. It's going to cost me close to £300 when it's all paid for, but it's something I've been interested in for a while so thought "fuck it," and rang them. The actual course is called TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language - er, I think), it lasts for 3 days and it basically shows you how to construct lesson plans and give people with a basic grasp of English a bit of tutoring on how to improve their skills. The main thing about this course that interests me is the opportunity to travel to the Far East and Europe to teach once you've gained the qualification - something I'd love to do.

One of my friends has a brother who did this and he now lives in the heart of Tokyo, teaching fit Japanese birds dressed as schoolgirls and Jet Set Radio characters (I'd imagine). My jealousy can hardly be contained.

You may think this is a bit strange, what with me being in the Royal Navy and all, but to be honest I'm probably going to leaving the service in the near future. Tried it, (really, really) didn't like it - nothing more to say on the subject really...apart from "roll on freedom."

And to be frank, the fact that I'm going on this TEFL course and that I've got plans for the future is the only thing keeping me going through these dark Navy days.

In other news, I think I'm going to skip the gym and do something enjoyable tonight - like drink a few beers and play on the 360. Possibly. There's only so many times you can spend an evening waiting for the treadmill or queuing up for a go on the peck deck whilst a load of moronic Marines grunt and flex around you. Last night was just like this, and as I sat there surrounded by guys pumping their impractically large forearms in mirrors, a line from Fight Club popped into my head: "self improvement is masturbation. Now, self destruction..."

At that point I left the gym, downed a bottle of Smirnoff and cooked up a hit...

...I wish.

Adventures in Newcastle (Brown Ale)

Well I finally moved into my new gaff at the weekend, and to be honest it all went pretty smoothly. It only took me two car journeys to haul all my shit across town from my previous abode to my new place, so after I moved and sort of arranged my effects into some sort of coherent 'pile,' I went down the gym. And that's where I lay the downfall of the rest of my weekend...

Later on Saturday (after getting up at the crack of dawn, moving house, slogging it out in the gym and practically eating nothing all day), I went into town to meet some friends who were out celebrating a birthday. I started drinking Newcastle Brown Ale at 2pm. I was back in my living room, unable to walk or talk by 10pm that night after being put in a taxi by mates who were drinking such piss as Budweiser and Foster's - by the 330ml bottle I hasten to add. So to them I say this - YOU were drinking minute amounts of piss-water. I, on the other hand was downing pint bottles of Hell's own beverage. Newkie Brown - separates the men from the boys.

Apparently, I rocked up to the house with a bottle of wine (where I got it from, I still don't know) and drank it with one of my new housemates. I have vague flashbacks of this and I must've looked like a complete fuckwit spouting forth all kinds of incoherent shite to the guy. Bear in mind that this was the first time we'd met since I moved into what is effectively his house and you can see my concern. Unbeknown to me until the following afternoon, I'd also knocked over a rather large glass of the aforementioned vino tinto. All over the spotless beige carpet.

I awoke on Sunday morning with a raging hangover, unable to recall: a) how I'd got home; b) whether I'd eaten a kebab (something I plan never to do again after hearing about the recent investigation into the nutritional values of said post-pub lard-a-thon); or c) if I'd done/said anything to offend my new housemate.

You know that feeling where you can't remember if you've done something terrible whilst drunk? That's how I felt for most of Sunday. I had this disgusting knot in the pit of my stomach that was hinting that I'd carried out some heinous act of ignorance and stupidity whilst intoxicated the previous evening...but I simply couldn't recall what. It didn't help that my nose hurt (had I been fighting? with my housemate? Surely not!) and upon texting various friends about my activity I hadn't had a single reply by 6pm that evening. It must've been bad - whatever it was that I'd done.

Imagine my relief when my housemate called me saying that Saturday night had been a top laugh and all I'd done was spilt some wine. It was akin to a scenario in which the Grim Reaper opens your bedroom door whilst you're having a wank and tells you your time is up, before looking at his Blackberry, explaining that there's been a mix up and that you can carry on bashing one out over the lingerie pages of last season's Argos catalogue in peace. I was that relieved.

Oh, and I didn't throw up, piss or shit in my new room either - which is always a bonus.