Time for a change

Head Rambles Posted on by

I don’t know why this clock-change lark has me so bothered.

After all, I don’t pay much attention to time as I rarely have to be anywhere at a specific hour o’clock.

I tend to live by my own internal clock.  I get up in the morning/afternoon when I have finished sleeping.  I eat when I’m hungry, I do my own things whenever, regardless of what time of day it is and I go to bed when I am tired.  Time only creeps into my schedule when it comes to meeting someone pedantic enough to make an appointment, or when I want to watch a particular programme on television.

So why does the clock changing affect me so much?  I don’t honestly know as it shouldn’t make the blindest bit of difference.  It just means that the evenings get darker that much earlier [which I hate] and the mornings a bit brighter [which doesn’t bother me as I’m asleep].  It shouldn’t make any difference but it does.  It upsets me to think that it’s later [or earlier?] than I think it is.  And I’m cheesed off with Herself asking me “what time would it be normally” over the next few days until the dust settles.

Of course one of the things that pisses me off is having to go around adjusting things.  A lot of my stuff is connected to the Interweb or to satellites or to something else technical out there, so those things adjust themselves automatically.  I still have to change clocks and my watch and the central heating though.  The oven, the microwave and the car can fuck off though and stay at whatever time they are currently at.  But it’s still pain in the arse time.

Partly why it pisses me so much is that it’s an arbitrary thing which is dictated by some fucking bureaucrat somewhere.  I would imagine most people would be much happier to leave the clock alone?

If I had any say in the matter, I’d bang us all back onto Dublin Time.

Those fucking Brits have a lot to answer for.

 

Pulling a stroke

Head Rambles Posted on by

Herself is home, hale and hearty.

Live is gradually resuming a semblance of normality and she even managed to do a few hours in the potato patch this afternoon.  In return, I told her she could leave the dishes that had accumulated over the last seven days and she could wash them tomorrow.  Fair’s fair.

Naturally over the last week I have been consulting my good friend Doctor Google on a few topics mainly centred around stokes, their symptoms, prognosis and all that crap.

Most of the sites the good doctor referred me to all mentioned the same symptoms –

SUDDEN numbness or weakness of face, arm or leg – especially on one side of the body.
SUDDEN confusion, trouble speaking or understanding.
SUDDEN trouble seeing in one or both eyes.
SUDDEN trouble walking, dizziness, loss of balance or coordination.
SUDDEN severe headache with no known cause.

They all say the same thing too – call the ambulance immediately.

Now I have a serious problem with this.  I am not one to waste those ambulance people’s time and I would hate to cause a false alarm.

But all those symptoms apply to at least half the lads down the pub of a Saturday night.

Should I call the ambulance or not?

Would they agree to drop me home on the way to the hospital?

 

Missing the habits

Head Rambles Posted on by

Does your partner do something that drives you insane?

By partner, I mean wife, husband, boyfriend, girlfriend, goat or inflatable doll [I’m broad minded].

Do they whistle tunelessly through their teeth?

Do they pick their nose and then flick the bogie so it sticks to the middle of the television screen?

Do they decorate your bathroom with their underwear so you can’t even reach the bath, let alone the shower?

Do they slurp their soup?

Do they insist on talking about nothing all the way through that programme you have been waiting to watch, while you have to sit in stony silence through all their crap programmes?

Do they insist on leaving their muddy wellingtons in the middle of the doorway so you keep tripping over them?

Anyone who has ever lived with anyone else will know what I mean.  What starts off a an endearing little habit, over the years become something so fucking irritating that you find yourself doing an interweb search – “murder extenuating circumstances”.  That amusing little foible has reached epic proportions of irritability that you really and truly worry about your own sanity.

But  just stop for a moment and think.

If you find yourself once more on your own?

The silence is so profound you ache for that tuneless whistle.

You miss that little blob on the middle of the television screen as the programmes don’t look right without it.

You throw your own underwear around the bathroom as a bare bathroom somehow just looks wrong.

You will wish for that melodic sound of slurping soup.

You stop watching those programmes because they are no fun on their own and anyway you miss the running commentary about Whatshisname the actor who is married to Yer Wan who used to be in some soap opera or other and what the hell was her name anyway?

You keep falling through the kitchen door because you have braced yourself for the wellingtons, but they are not there any more.

The time may come when you would give your right arm, your eye teeth and in fact all your limbs just to have those irritations back.  Because lack of irritation reminds you of a lack of partner.

There is a lot worse than an irritating habit.

Such as silence.

 

Penetrating my rear end

Head Rambles Posted on by

I just came back from being out [as one tends to do].

Out of idle curiosity I fired up the old laptop and checked to see if anyone had sent me any mail.

The messages only flooded in.  After a couple of minutes the damn thing was out of breath with the effort of all those messages.

Over 460 of them.

Now I am a friendly sort of bloke and am not short of a friend or two, and very occasionally one of them might write to me, but this was fucking ridiculous!  460 mails?

I then realised they were all from this site frantically telling me that someone was trying to break in.  In the space of forty minutes the place was under constant attack by people trying to guess my password.

Why?

Everything that I have written is there for everyone to see, so why the fuck would they want to get into my engine room?  There is nothing there but the usual old shit you’ll find behind the back wall of every WordPress site, plus a couple of old rags and a half eaten tin of sardines.  No credit card details; no old love letters; no banking details; no incriminating evidence of any sort whatsoever.  So why the frantic bother?

For the sake of anyone trying to guess my password, don’t bother.  I find it hard to remember so you’ll find it even harder to guess.  To make life infinitesimally easier for you, I can tell you that my password isn’t “password”.  Nor is it “administrator”, “Gandalf” or “Grandad”.  Alas it isn’t even “incorrect” even though my laptop seems to think it is [it’s always telling me my password is “incorrect” which just goes to show how dumb computers are].

I have a little thingy in my engine room.  As well as telling me whenever there is an attempt at a forced entry it also locks that person out so they can’t even try again.  Well, they can but they have to wait 60 days before they can have another go.  This presumably means that there were 460 separate attempts to break in, which is even weirder.  Why the sudden interest?

Anyway, to all you nice people who have been trying to penetrate my nether regions – tough shit.

See you in 60 days.