Bloody Nora, finally got the p.c back, having parted with a not inconsiderable sum of English coin and guess what: " THE FUCKING FUCKER DOESN'T FUCKING WORK"
It will have to go back again. Fair play to the computer dude though, he has found all sorts of new and interesting ways to make it not work.

Steve Bell.

Liberating the children of Iraq.

A brief history of Iraqi resistance.

If you need something fixing you may as well go ahead and fix the chuffer yourself. I don't know how but I have fixed this bugger meself. Normal blogging to resume very shortly. Farewell early nights and waking up refreshed.
4 hours last night and about 3 and a half tonight to get the ras klart thing working, and I am pleased as hell.

I had a really odd experience earlier in Asda. Shopping in Asda is odd enough, you can tell how skint I am, it's not cheap because it's inexpensive it's cheap because there is nothing any right thinking individual would want to buy in the shit hole. Tomorrow I will spend twice as much buying decent stuff. Plus the place is full of leisure suited indidividuals with tatooed arses. The germane point is that you can see the tatooed arse, which may or may not be a fashion statement.
Anyway, earlier I was stood minding my own business, contemplating leaving the trolley and my quid deposit cos I was fed up with the shit on offer and hadn't got to the end of the fruit aisle, no red peppers, no garlic, no courgettes. no aubergine, when I got banged, hard, in the back. I paid no attention, then bang again. I looked round and it was some cunt in a leisure suit and he gave me the right fucking eyeball.
Well, thunk I, be adult, can't cause a scene in chuffing Asda, especially not sober, half my punters shop here, and their carers work here, and then where would dignity be. As he passed he again ...stared. I looked away. Once he had passed he looked around and stared again (I forgot to mention he was with his Mrs, he wasn't shopping himself). Well, not surprisingly, despite the Taoist breathing I have been practising whilst pc less, this was getting on my fuckin nerves, so I eyeballed him back ( I am 43 and he wasn't that much younger, welcome to life in the valleys)and he sort of offered me out! In the spud aisle!
Now I was in a predicament. Do I let this joker humiliate me, or do I go it for, right there in Asda, at 5 pm on a Friday? I gave him a little wink and a smile, I swear I saw steam come from his ears, then he looked round away from me and I sort of nudged him with the trolley. He gave me another look and disappeared amongst the chickens.
Interestingly, I didn't see him again, all around the shop, which is unusual, normally everyone follows each other around. I expect once his Mrs had got him his couple of of pound of raw and intensively reared beef, she couldn't contain him.
My colleagues call me a snob because I profess to hate Asda, I didn't see any of those chuffers there, nor would I as they all bring their dinner in through the week in Tesco bags.

I was reading somewhere this week that Stephin Merritt of Magnetic Fields is a bit of an arch git. Well he is, a bit, he is also brilliant. Here is to archness.