Yawn

Why oh why did i wake at 0600 when I don't have to go to work today? I'm on leave, goddamit: I've been looking forward to a lie-in for WEEKS, and instead I've been laid out, gawping at the ceiling for half an hour.

I am not good at inactivity. This may seem an amusing contradiction to many of my friends and colleagues who have come to know and love my tendency to put things off until the last minute (see posts passim) but I'm never doing nothing. I'm just doing something I enjoy rather than things I find tedious, irrelevant and frankly, disagreeable.

What i can't do is waste time. Buses? Standing still, waiting, is a waste. I'll walk the stops. Sitting in a meeting room, small talking, until everyone arrives? Wasted time. I'm there on the dot, with papers to read if I've not managed to be last. And as for laying stationary, trying to figure out if the cracks on the roof of the bedroom are getting longer: sod that, I'm up, tea-toting and finding something to do.

But the painful truth is that there really is nothing on my list of things to do that I can crack on with at this time of the morning with out straying dangerously close to an ASBO. I'm also suffering from an excess of energy brought out by an early night and - quite possibly - having huffed the remnants of yesterday's creosote odessey when I walked past the kitchen. (For the record, I don't recall cleaning brushes with white spirit being so much fun - That's now my job). And this is despite an attack of my kappa-clad neighbours singing (SINGING) at 3am.

So here I am, tapping away at this post, which doesn't really say anything, and doesn't really serve any purpose. But it does mean that I've passed the last 10 minutes producing something rather than passively soaking up nonsensical TV dross. And in two hours time I can do something worthwhile. Like turn on the lawnmower and piss off the neighbours.

Te-Riff-Ic #9

Hell. Yeah.

Panic over. First voicemail message was from consultant wondering why not returned messages from a week ago (Answer: not received) and where the promised strategy document has gotten to? (Answer: most of weekend working on it).

One short cross-leggedly panicked moment later, the next message started: It's the client asking me to call as all plans have changed.

Third Message: consultant, again, asking me to call as client has changed mind and needs to sound me out about changes to various campaigns.

And all two hundred and sixty-four emails are system messages which have somehow replicated itself backwards and.

Only one thing for it:

Prevarication Redux

Early start today. Very early start. 0530, to be exact. No particular reason, annoyingly. Meandered my way into office at 0830.

There are three messages waiting on my voicemail. And 264 new emails in my (already cramped) inbox. Bodes this well? No.

I have been staring at the little red blinking light for 25 minutes now. I have done everything I can think of to put off picking up the messages.

So, in an attempt to punctuate the end of this period of buggering about - and in tribute to their re-emergence at Reading this weekend...

When Google Ads Attack #2

Hmmph.

Karma, it seems, has a sense of humour.

Acid Reflux. ----->

Brilliant.

Te-Riff-Ic #8

Have spend the bulk of today head down in a mahoosive and very technical document, attempting to turn it into something approaching the English language. This has, frankly, scrambled what little brains I have left to me.

So in tribute to the weekend, my Friday-frazzle and the fact I’m feeling a like I’ve been been in school all day – a glorious belter of swaggering Americana to see you into the evening.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you… the mighty, mighty Stray Cats

Te-Riff-Ic #7

This post is being laboriously, and rather painfully, pecked out.

Following a fairly comic tumble down some stairs year before last, I am saddled with a duff back. One rogue vertebrae has turned my spine into an axis of evil.

Fuck me, that was a crowbar-job. Moving on...

As alluded to in yesterday's hasty effort, I am struggling with keyboards - right now a nerve thing is being pinched between two bone things and removing the feeling from several finger things of my right hand.

This is less than ideal. I am just back from the doctor, who is very kindly sending me off to hospital for scans. It's at times like this that I remember why I stopped freelancing.

Anyway, in tribute to my hooky skeletal system, here's a little track which pops into my head now and again -the opening phrase in particular. The (again, tenuous) link with my current predicament its source album, which sports a very Ameriteen Skeleton on its cover, titled Smash.

Oh come on... at least a few points for effort?

Pebbledash and Piffle

Just have to make a quick post, despite fact am not supposed to be using a keyboard (more on that at a later date).

I am filing this architectural soliloquy under W for 'Wank'. The typos have been retained for spite's sake.

'It is the culimination of the proceses her practice has been exploring throgh projects such as the Phaeno Centre, the BMW building, and the Centre for Contemporary Arts in Rome. Traditional architectural elements are dissolved, the arrangement of spaces determined by the composition. Form follows function is an antiquated concept these days, but here function is a mere conceit. Form follows more form.Form rides everything is where parametric modelling leads - an aesthetic darwinism of evolved appearances. You can see it in almost every project to come form the DRL at the AA, the farm team for Zaha Hadid Architects, and where Patrik Schumacher teaches.With this project, walls and roof are united into a sleek 'hull', transformed by parametric process which warped slice and skew the form into a sensuous, sinuous form that rises and twists it's way across the dunes. The sheer beauty of the renderings is breathtaking. I want to inhabit its spaces (virtually). I want to fly through it. I want to explore its surface, its textures and materials. But I have no intention of visiting it.'

http://www.superspatial.com/2008/06/015-night-at-opera.html

When Google Ads Attack

I wonder how the good Tory Burghers of Strood will react when they discover the sort of ads Google is serving to their site?

Prevarication #5

If Will Smith made a movie of my life, set in a desolate, deserted Taunton, it would be called I am Hypocrite.

If Will Smith made a movie of my life, in a dystopian future Yeovil, it would be called I, Hypocrite.

If Mel Gibson made a movie about helicoptering into the Lower Parrett valley, under fire from hoards of disgruntled Somersetians, it would be called We Were Hypocrites.

Or possibly I, Sugar Tits.

Reason? I have been happily dispensing advice left, right, centre and arse-backwards to any number of people. Telling them that to make the trip they've been thinking about, change the thing that's not working, learn the skill they've been craving for years, pursue the dream that has occured to them 30 seconds before, broach the issue holding their attention every waking hour.

And all the time I'm doing the same old ignoring the same old cursing the same old lamenting the same. old. things.

Time to heed myself, I think.

GET IN

Quite possibly the best news I've had today...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7567840.stm

NAH NAH NAH NA NA NA NAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH

Te-Riff-Ic #6

Apologies to everyone at Waterloo at 0815 this morning. The hobbling bottleneck at the main entrance was myself.

Paintball + poker + pints on Saturday = broken me. Mildly dehydrated, 27 identifiable bruises and overall, shattered. My legs are worst - seized up to an extent that stairs are a challenge, hence my new role as a rolling roadblock.

So, in tribute to my bolloxed thigh muscles, today's tenuously-linked song comes from one of my favourite films.

*edit 1929 hours.... Similar apologies to all those at Bristol Templemeads, Reading and Guildford who I have similarly annoyed today. Actually: Sod you. I hurt.

Te-Riff-Ic # 5

No commute this morning, so no iThing, no tails of grim encounters with the concentrated Surrey diaspora, no psyops-stylee preparation for a day of toil.

Not commute because today is a day of Working from Home, neccesitated by a visit from a Nurse. Sadly, I am not Benny Hill. Rather, my insurance company have some 'details' they wish to check on my medical records. This means that they are coming, quite literally, for my blood.

Anyway.

Presented with an unaccustomed unallocated extra hour before I buckle down (see last post... doing it again...) I've been pottering around the house. And all the while, this has been in my head:

Prevarication #3

I went out for Lunch at 1307. It is now 1401.

I've finished my salad, have skimmed all the broadsheets, have checked my email and have made a cup of tea.

There is nothing to do and nothing to stop me restarting work. Work that has, at pain of severe chastisement, to be finished before I go home.

But I cannot bring myself to get back to it. I would rather, it seems, arse around until exactly 1407 before resuming, even though that means I will end up leaving 6 minutes later than I need to.

This is a puzzle. And it's now 1405.

*edit: And Blogger's clock is 5 minutes slow.

Te-Riff-Ic #4

Confession Time: I have started listening to Radio 2, specifically Mark Radcliffe. I rationalise this by remembering that he was on Radio 1 when I was knee-high, so that's alright then.

Even better, he's still carrying the same items he did back then - notably The Chain. It's an old idea; every day some nervous punter from Rotherhithe or wherever phones in with a suggestion for a song which is associated with the one that goes before it.

Much like Drink While you Think, but without the horrifying confessions about Ball Gags and al fresco frottage.

Anyway, the schlep was mildly peaceful this morning, so I had the opportunity to rummage through the iThing's catalogue. Normally I rely on whatever it chooses, what with my elbows being pinstriped in on either side.

So, Te-Riff-Ic #4 is a triple bill in the Key of Spain.







Enjoy.

Green Flag Flying Here

Has Prince Charles lost it? Today's pronouncements on GM crops have a touch of the Marie Antoinette.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/earth/main.jhtml?xml=/earth/2008/08/12/eacharles112.xml

PC's previous position on green issues has been logical, if perhaps a tad extreme. The stories running today, though, seems to betray a fundamental lack of comprehension of the pressures facing 'normal' people.

It's widely acknowledged that we're facing a food shortage globally, with a corresponding bump in prices locally. Don't get me wrong - his own Duchy Originals, in common with many organic products, are very tasty - but I severely doubt that PC has ever had to rummage in a supermarket's Discount Deli to grab the best red-tag deals.*

That's before we take account of the fact that organic food, by its nature, doesn't keep as well as its cheaper, steroid-laden alternatives. Like it or not, we are presently structured around supermarkets. That means one trip a week, and even outside of summer much fruit and veg will go in two or three days.

Ms Dive and I tried organic living for a while, and whilst we were very very taken with the quality of the produce (hat-tip to Abel & Cole), our food bills went through the roof and achieving variety of cooking using only seasonal veg was taking time and prep that we just didn't have.

This isn't to say that PC is entirely wrong - there's a point to what he's saying - but it's a massive concern that he feels he can take it to such extremes without thinking what the ultimate consequences will be.

*Camden Sainsburys, Aisle 3 - best Pork-Pie-Discounts evah

Ter-Riff-Ic #3

A slight departure this morning. Had a conversation with a colleague last night who, like me, is significantly obsessed with the West Wing.

In particular we were talking about the various episodes which weave a key speech or event into a piece of music - he's a great advocate of the season two finale (which I try to avoid thinking about as there's a danger that I might have to concede that Dire Straits did some stuff which wasn't, well, Dire) but whilst sprawled on the floor of the carriage this morning my head spooled back to this particular gem.

Spectacular, beautiful rhetoric. Tori Amos covering a Boomtown Rats song. A perfect three-line payoff at the end. Magnificent stuff.

Sentence, Commuted #1

An extract from the gospel of St Swt

Ch.18 v.30:

And lo, the train was delayed due to trespassers in the land of Wimbledon. And the masses were mightily vexed.

And on the train was one of such girth that two tickets should have been purchased though only one journey was taken.

And the one of girth was an eater of great mess. And the coleslaw of the eater came to rest on the bag of the watcher.

And there was much wailing, and gnashing of the teeth.

Oh Dear

I am on a teleconference at the moment.

Someone has just used the phrase 'turbine erection'.

Thankfully my phone has a mute button.

Plan for the Day

Dressing Gown + Ps2 + Kettle Chips + Ms Dive out on the piss until gone midnight =
BOY DAY

On a Mortal Coil

Do iThing shuffle programmes have a sense of humour...?

Mine has just segued from PJ Harvey's Happy & Bleeding (from the laugh-a-minute Dry album)to Kiss' Love's A Slap in the Face (from deep, meaningful Hot in The Shade).

While I'm on the subject, type coal into your text message programme, using predictive text, then cycle through the first two options. Coincidence? I think not.

Mad Mad Mad Mad

The godawful shitenasty R&B coming from the back of the office has driven me to Dixons for headphones. This leads me to question what sort of person I have become.

At what point did £40 for a pair of headphones become acceptable?

My various ancestors are turning in the grave,

Sound of Silence

I am having a crisis. One of the little silicon ear things has gone missing from my headphones. As well as meaning I will need to buy another set (and I am feeling all of the skint right now) I had no music on the train and have none at work.

Whilst this may not seem a big thing to many, it is a major disaster for a snobbish audiophile such as myself.

Reason 1: I have nothing on my internal jukebox. Actually, that’s not quite true – the last thing I heard before leaving was James Naughtie on Today, and his accent is on a slight loop somewhere behind my right ear. Anyway, the relative silence is unnerving me.

Reason 2: I am entirely at the mercy of the various voices, sounds and – this is the killer – online radio stations playing out of colleagues’ computers. Today, dear god, it appears to be Kiss Fm.

Kill me now.

Oh deary me.

Just heard this on Mark Radcliffe's show. Luckily Ms Dive has become accustomed to being shushed when random tunes totter through my consciousness, but even she was a tad bemused by this...

http://www.looseacoustictrio.com/mp3s/PinballWizard.mp3

Warning: Silly cover versions can lead to idiot-dancing around the dining table. Your self-respect can go down as well as up.

Haiku

Somerfield Salad
Limp tasteless water-full bland
Fifteen percent prawn

Te-Riff-Ic #2

I am fast losing patience with commuting. Especially when am wedged into corner in a stress position which would not look out of place in Guantanamo bay*

Anyway, this morning I took refuge in the Dandy Warhols' Bohemian Like You. Good little track, that - not least the doo-dee-dah-doo-dah synth line. And the animation which starts the video is a nice touch, too.



*Dear FT readers. We know you're reading a broadsheet. But please, for the love of apples, FOLD THE BLOODY THING.

When Spokesman Attack

I have a passing professional interest in PR and Media relations. So when I spot a quote of complete and unutterable idiocy, I cannot let it pass.

"Project manager David Linley revealed that the company had a poor success rate in obtaining planning permission."Less than 20 per cent of our applications for wind farms get approved," he said, "although once they get turned down we always appeal. At the appeal stage we expect around one in three to go through.”

http://www.saffronwaldenreporter.co.uk/content/saffron/news/story.aspx?brand=SAFOnline&category=NewsSaffron&tBrand=HertsCambsOnline&tCategory=newslatestSAF&itemid=WEED05%20Aug%202008%2013%3A11%3A26%3A680

In one fell swoop, yer man has said: We try it on, all the time. We're not very good at what we do. And we waste a lot of money on barristers.

Clear desk, out door...

£3.50 a day better off

Today I am all of the grumpy. This is in no small part due to nicotine withdrawal.

I have decided to change a habit of some 17 years and actually give up smoking (both openly and clandestinely). This decision occurred a week ago last Friday. That means I am now 11 days into being a not-presently-smoker.

And am taking it out on pretty much everyone. Especially those who have been nagging me to quit. You deserve everything you’ve got coming, you sanctimonious harping numpties.

So apologies in advance (and possibly retrospectively) to those around me if I am being a bit blunter than normal. But whatever you do, don’t get between me and snacks.

Prevarication #2

Hello. My name is Dive, and I am a recovering Geek.

As such, I have no shame whatsoever that a tiny bit of wee came out when I saw this:

http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2008/08/the_large_hadron_collider.html

Now, I have no idea what it does, but blind me if it ain't just magnificent - huge in scale, shiny in sheen and just a tad scary. Much like an extra-large doner from Hassan's of Broad Street. (More on that at a future date.)

I am a bit worried, though, at some friend's responses. One thought it looked a bit like 'a stargate wormhole membrane'. Now, I don't know anything about Stargate - I think I was in rehab, having Elementary Offside Rule and Talking To Girls 101 hammered into my overly-foreheaded skull at the time it opened - but nonetheless, I seized the opportunity to throw out a testosterone-laden ManRetort. Something about reminding me of an ex, I think.

(The act of retorting was, in itself, quite pleasant. Look at me, I tfelt I had said. I have rejoined society. My sandals have retired. I go outside. I HAVE TAN.)

Unsurprisingly it fell on deaf ears. Being unfunny, and all.

But - in a possibly karmic sense - I may as well have fallen into some sort of wormhole today.* Eight hours on to account for on my timesheet, no lunchbreak, but somehow a grand total of 2 hours billable toil.

I think I might be in some trouble come tomorrow morning.


*I'm referring to it as a VorDesk.

Te-Riff-Ic #1

Large portions of the past weekend and this morning were spent dum-dum-dumming the intro to the Violent Femmes' Blister in the Sun. Who’d have thought Four Chords could give rise to such a grin.



Hopefully it’s now firmly lodged on your internal jukebox, too. Whilst trying to dislodge it, feel free to suggest an alternative pun for the title. The shame of the above is almost overwhelming.

As was being shushed by a stentorian commuter on the 0809 from Woking as the volume on the iThing got pushed a tad too far…

Quote of the Day: 1 viii 08

"Halt. You are surrounded by armed bastards!"

I know that I'm a fair way behind the arc with Life on Mars references, but I am adopting Gene Hunt as my role model.

Bring on the camel coat, bronze cortina and chip butties. The receding hairline is already sorted, sadly.

Pseud over wicket

Now, I'm as much a fan of overly verbose and frankly wanky prose as the next bloke... but this really does take the biscuit. Yer man has, I'm fairly certain, a bit of a thing for young Mr Flintoff...

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/sport/cricket/article4439466.ece