New Look

This is the all new look for Brain Splats, very different than that lovely 60's wallpaper design I had going on, I'm sure you'll agree. The reason for the change? Now that's not really your business is it? It is my blog, and even though it's free, it's still my little piece of cyber-space where I can do what I like (within the limit of decency of course, don't want Jonny Law coming down on me) and as such I can change the design.
Actually, there is no real reason for the change, apart from me being bored and having nothing else to put here. Truth be told, I would like the old design back, but can't find the template so I'm stuck with this depressing black. I suppose I could look at it as being cutting edge and stylish, but that would be a pile of shit. If ever there was a man who fought against things being stylish or hip or fashionable, it's me. I'm not one for all these cold surfaces and sharp corners and minimalist directions. Nope, give me a nice piece of comfortable, rounded clutter any day.
not entirely sure the direction this blog is going in, but there's nothing new in that. I'm sure one day i will have something important to say, but until that day comes you will have to put up with the plentiful rubbish I seem to smear onto this blog.Goodnight.

Oh, and before I forget, here's a picture of Megan Fox in her (painted on) Supergirl shirt. Why? Because it's a friggin' awesome picture and maybe someone will stumble upon my rugged patch of net due to it's inclusion. Here 'tis:

Axe-weilding Cyclepath

Another beautiful summers evening in Manchester finds the faithful inhabitants stuck inside, hidden away from the rain. Not cold though, so the chief winners appear to be the weeds that have invaded my garden, especially that pesky mule weed which I think is closely related to the triffid.

It hasn't been all bad, however, this weather of ours. The last two weeks have been pretty good, allowing for a couple of long cycles to be had. Organised by other people of course, god forbid I go off on my own back, too much effort.

First up was a charming 60 mile cycle to Blackpool. When I say charming, I actually mean really, really sodding annoying. It started off well, myself enjoying the event along with the thousands of other people who thought "Cycle to Blackpool? That'll be a doddle." However, blue skies were to quickly turn to grey (figuratively and actually as it turned out) when my trusty Kona touring bike went toe to toe with a rusty nail and came out on the losing side. This was 30 minutes into the ride, not even past the M60 ring road around Manchester, and I found myself changing an inner tube (badly, may I add) whilst every other rider passed me by with no offer of help forwarded. Bastards.
Then, a whiles later, the bicycle procession had the misfortune to pass through that veritable hell on Earth, Preston. Which was the only point where the skies opened, because as with everything else, the weather is constantly shit in Preston.
Anyway, the cycle ended and Simon was safely found in Blackpool, 3 inner tubes used, 4 punctures encountered; sore legs and out of breath swearing were the orders of the day. Along with the phrase "never cycling again."

Which was a lie as it turned out, for a week later I was on my merry way to Chester, a far more pleasant ride, through country lanes, villages and cows. Delightful. Not even a mention of Preston the entire trip. Nothing much else to report on the Chester run, we set off, we cycled for a good while and then we arrived. End of story.

So, a rather gruelling 62 mile cycle followed by a less rigorous 53 mile jaunt. Not too bad, though I couldn't be confused with a serious cyclist. And my bike is starting to become more than just a rather cumbersome hallway ornament.

Golden Age of Jobbies and Whatsits

So after many years of being content with not really being part of the technology age (actually, 'content' is probably not the right word- try 'downright smug'), I have now hit the proverbial gadget ground with a thud. Granted, I did have my desktop computer- how else would I have been able to communicate with all you lovely people otherwise?- but I was the one who would proclaim loudly that "yes, I know it's an old phone, but I don't need anything else", and "actually, I don't have television", and even "does anyone really need such clear images? Surely VHS was good enough?".

But alas, the last few months have seen the emergence of all sorts of electrical paraphernalia. I sit typing these words on my shiny new laptop, whilst the HD television brings the sound of cable TV into the house, and the iphone rests lovingly within reach. Added to this, a blu-ray player waits patiently in my Amazon basket and the DAB radio brings crystal clear football commentary to my ears.

Why such a change in technological philosophy? New credit card! That, and the fact that yes, images are better in high definition; yes, phones are better when the Internet can be accessed with ease; yes, perhaps even a little bit of tele can be appreciated (only for football mind, I still don't like having the idiot box in my home, that corrupter of minds and purveyor of garbage). Gadgets are good. I guess it's the way of all things, all homes will fill with these electrical whatsits, techno-jobbies will fill cupboards and boxes the length and breadth of the country. There is no escape from it (unless you live in North Korea that is) so it may as well be embraced.
Long live this golden age!

Nice Pics

Having stumbled upon the blog after many long weeks away, I was glimpsing over previous entries and realised there is a distinct lack of pictures floating about. Mostly due to laziness, but nevertheless, I really should adorn my posts with a little bit of visual stimuli. The World Cup 2010 is currently underway, so perhaps that theme could be utilised. But that would just be going along with the crowd. I need to stand out, be an individual. How about some really eye-popping modern art? The only drawback, however, is that I subscribe to 'all art is useless', stolen right from the introduction to The Picture of Dorian Grey, so it wouldn't be fair to either myself or the art in question to follow that route. A nice cute picture of a kid? Not unless I want the rozzers after me for being in possession of child images.
So how about a half-naked lady? That'll do nicely.

Cheerio.

Meanderings and Mutterings for the New Age

What a good title. Really like it. No idea what the rest of this blog will include, but the title sets it off at a reasonably steady pace. The only problem is I don't actually have anything to bring to the table. Nada. Not a sausage. So as you, dear reader, are already switching off and perhaps thinking about whats for tomorrows tea, I shall endeavour to churn out some of my usual crap.

Looking at the title, it seems to suggest that we are currently in the future. Which is a bit of a silly thing to say because if we are in the future then it is actually the present, but as soon as that conclusion is reached then it is in the past, and you find yourself embroiled in the Back to the Future time-line argument once again.
But maybe this is the 'new age'. It is after all 2010, and it is my first blog of said year (I know, I know, it's the end of March so the year is already a quarter of the way through, but you know what? Don't care) so we are now in a new decade of this new millennium, and technology is already at the point where it scares the be-jesus out of me.
Fair enough, we don't have flying cars but still, I used to consider myself no slouch when it came to computers, but what use is my knowledge of an Acorn BBC nowadays? Most kids in the western world have more inkling about whats going on online than I will ever have. Perhaps I hanker for a simpler time, when our lives weren't controlled by computers and mobile phones and ipods, although in saying this I do remember many times as a child when the electricity would go out (we lived in the country) and I would be determined to see out the darkness as painlessly as possible... and often reached for the TV remote. So maybe I'm not all that disconnected from technology after all.

The point of that long-winded, aimless story? No point. I'm sat at work and really bored so am just typing to keep my brain from crusting over. Honestly, 9 days straight in this place is enough to turn a nun to mass murder. Living between the walls in glorious isolation like Steve McQueen sat in the cooler- albeit without the baseball and glove, and perhaps a little less awesome. Not that sitting in solitary in a Nazi POW camp would be awesome. History and countless WWII films have taught me that. Mind you, I wouldn't mind being in the camp where Hogan and his heroes were interned. That seemed like fun. But perhaps not exactly historically correct...

Anyway, back to sense. Or as close as I can get. Alice in Wonderland is currently playing while I sit here banging out these words. Rubbish movie. Jumping on the whole 3D bandwagon. What I want to see is porn 3D. Now there's a money spinning idea if I ever heard one, 3D boobies and everything else, displayed in glorious digital. The people would come from miles around to see such a spectacle. Sure, that was the only reason Avatar was successful, wasn't it? The big blue girl alien kept revealing the slightest sight of a nipple in most of the scenes.

I'll leave you with that thought. I guess I should probably do a little bit of work, though I may just put my feet up and continue with Dickens' Hard Times. Thoroughly recommend it if you haven't had the pleasure.

Simon out.

Oh, by the way, in case you were wondering about tomorrows dinner (I started thinking about it as soon as I typed it, which is probably the reason for this blog being so 'shit'), I would just like to pass for the record that, all being well, I shall be having a burger in the Marble Arch pub. If you haven't had the experience, I urge you all to do so. The finest burger (and may I say chips) to be found in all the Greater Manchester area. Fact. The beer is pretty goddamn outstanding too.

ONLY 56 MORE SLEEPS TILL CHRISTMAS

And so it begins again. Actually, it began about half way through September. The run up to Christmas. I could remain true to type and baa-humbug my way through this post, but I'm going to surprise you all ('you all' of course being that one Austrailian kid who's computer is on the blink and has left him with this bog as his homepage) by saying that I love this time of year. Love it. Even with lots to do betwixt now and then, such as two holidays and oodles of days at work, the power of Christmas is a wonderful time. The shortening of the days, the lengthening of the nights (obviously) and the chill in the air. then we have the wonder of the German Christmas Market, with all it's mulled wine and preserved meats, far too many people crammed into a small area, but hey! it's Christmas so everyone's happy dispite the crush.

Whoops, gotta go, leaving this piece unfinished and with probably terrible prose, but my time has come to an end and there is drinking to be done...

3 THINGS THAT PISS ME OFF

Lets get one thing straight, right off the bat here. Lots of things piss me off. Granted, not as many as there used to, not since 'Simon's Philosophical Enlightening' (I may tell you of that someday, but then again, probably not) but still quite a few things. In fact, the number may well be growing once more with the onset of a new 'age decade'- hitting the 30 barrier commences the mind set of a grumpy old man and with it the feeling that you are right and everything else is too loud.

So, three things that piss me off. Why? Pretty much only because I'm sat at home on a wet and miserable day trying to kill the hours before trudging off to work. And the porn isn't working. Let's face it, why would I be sat here, typing inane paragraphs for you to, in turn, waste your time on if there was pornography to be a-viewing?

These aren't really the main things in life that piss me off, just a trio that I happened to get to thinking about yesterday while sat in work. There's none of the normal boring stuff I usually spout off about, such as organised religion or rap music, and in fact, two of these things more freak me out than piss me off. So already we can ascertain that the title is misleading and the content matter isn't terribly important. Oh boy. I really think one of two things should happen now. Either I should stop typing this drivel, or failing that, you should stop reading. If both of these fail, then I must set down the disclaimer:
"The author of this text does not accept any liability or responsibility should the passage be deemed woefully boring and not in the least bit funny."

Item the first:
Tails on people. Not so much a piss-me-off sort of item, but more something that really disturbs me, brought to the fore while watching the preview for James Cameron's new movie Avatar. Sure, it may be computer generated, and the fictional beings are actually alien life forms, not people, but the fact they are humanoid forms, walking around with tails on display is rather unsettling. Don't get me wrong, I love monkeys. Watching the cute little fellas, no matter what the species, is fun. But a different matter altogether if you put a man in a monkey suit. No sir, I can't be having that. Think of the kid from Jumanji, the one who turns into a monkey as a penalty for messing with the board. That section of a pretty harmless film is hard to watch. Because he has a tail.
Avatar, for all it's 'years in production' and 'moving boundaries of cinematic technology' is going to be an absolute nightmare to watch. People do not, should not have tails. It is wrong. So very very wrong.

Item the Second
Reproducing cartoons. I don't mean taking a cartoon character and making lots of copies of it, I mean a male character and a female character and cartoon kids being the end product. How sick must the cartoonist's mind be, imagining his creations with full functioning, anatomically present 'bits'? A recent example being the third Shrek installment where the two ogres start a family. Not only is that copulating cartoons, but it's obese, ugly cartoons having it off. Makes the skin crawl. And don't get me started on animated animals settling down to start a family, there is just way too much filth to comprehend!

Item the Last
A funny one this, as I've only just hit upon the fact that it irks me. Dream sequences in novels. Stay with me on this, let me explain. I'm a great lover of reading, nothing gets the cerebral juices sparking like a good book. But when you hit upon a great chapter, perhaps the pace picks up, maybe an important plot point comes close to being revealed, when all of a sudden the author chucks in a bloody dream passage. Very lazy and frequently filled with devices that have no bearing in the physical reality of the story. I don't remember my dreams. Dreams are not important for progression. They should not be used to, for example, show the lead character which way to turn or the next person that should be spoken with. It holds up the story and is a slack method for the author to try his hand at fantastical musings. Stop it.

Thought for the Day

I wish I was caught up in a robot war with Megan Fox.

TERMINATOR SALVATION (proper review)

"This was not the future my mother told me about..."

The groundwork had already been carefully prepared by Messrs Cameron and Schwarzenegger, the plot devices and story development penned masterfully. Even the blip of the not-so-great-but-still-enjoyable third installment didn't subtract from this rock steady franchise. We knew what the future held. It was going to be bleak but it was going to be an exciting, thrilling ride. Nothing could possible go wrong.

Except it did. It went very wrong. The first mistake was hiring a hack like the idiotically named 'McG' as director. Then running with a script that was a mess of ideas stolen from almost every other blockbuster in the last 10 years.

There really is very little of this film that could be praised. Set in 2018, the nuclear apocalypse and subsequent war with the robots which the first two Terminator installments whet our appetite for, is rudely crammed into a few very brief paragraphs at the beginning. John Connor, the hero of the film (portrayed by Christian Bale, still with the frog in his throat left over from playing Batman) is two dimensional and thoroughly unlikable and manages to come across from the outset as quite a inept soldier instead of the saviour the character is meant to be. Sam Worthington is Marcus, an executed prisoner who pops up in the ravaged future as a cyborg prototype (which strangely doesn't strike him as weird- I know if I were to suddenly wake up naked and covered in mud in a desolate war-torn environment, I might ask a question or two) but fails to inspire any feeling whatsoever. The story is based chiefly around saving young Kyle Reese from Skynet (the evil company-turned-humankind-destroyer), as Kyle needs to live in order to get sent back in time by Connor in order to be Connors father. All perfectly clear.

One main stumbling block about this whole scenario is the lack of a decent villain. There is no one to grip the viewer, to heighten the tension, which is precisely why the previous installments were so effective. The struggle is awfully one sided emotionally, and we can't really care about an angry, shouty John Connor. For a story that is about trying to save humanity, this film shows a notable lack of it.

There are many things wrong here, from the poor pacing of the story to the laughably inadequate defences Skynet has to offer, the lack of thought given to scenes (why would killer bike robots need a USB port on them anyway?) to bad dialogue- they also reuse key lines from the previous movies.
On the plus side, though, there were some pretty good explosions.

Terminator Salvation cheapens the franchise, and seems to assume that film goers are braindead morons by tacking in a shameful script around big set-piece action scenes. This film should be forgotten, and fast.

TERMINATOR SALVATION (false start review)

Killing My Childhood, 1 Franchise at a Time.

That's what they're doing. And they aren't stopping, in fact the pace is picking up.
Where have all the ideas gone? It doesn't have to be an original idea, just as long as some movie hero or icon from my youth isn't defiled, rolled in dirt and shoved in my face.
I suspect, though, that the reasons for making these sorry excuses for movies are not just to piss me off. The bad news is that they make money, lots of money, and people will always come from far and wide to sit through the tripe. Hell, even Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of the Shit Script (or crystal skull, something like that) made a shed load of dough.

I have to moan about these things before getting to the actual review. This disease is bigger than just one film. Bad scripting and hopeless direction frequently plague what should be a triumphant return to the big screen for old favourites. When one of these ideas is being penned, would it not be a sensible thing to sit down first of all, think about the history of the film, think about those that have grown up with it, those who made it a success in the first place by going to the cinema and buying the VHS and perhaps the soundtrack and other merchandising. Is it too much to ask for the writers to think, "Why don't we write a good movie to continue the franchise?".
There is also the case of studio involvement, when the money men get their teeth sunk in. Personally, I think the best example of this is in Terminator (I seem to have abandoned the review for now, but will endeavor to churn it out soon) where a small, curly haired, mute black kid keeps popping up, only to get shouted at every now and again and hands a few items to other characters. I reckon that this kid was originally in the script as a dog. Stick with me now, it makes sense- a dog doesn't speak and can fetch things just as well as any kid, and would fit a whole lot better into a post-apocalyptic environment. So here we have a case of some suit demanding a black kid instead so he can tick his minority boxes. Possibly to keep at bay the crazy Americans who would have seen this as a glaring affront to their civil liberties and tried to sue. Or something equally silly.

Sometimes the flip-side is true too, however, and a stale franchise is reworked to positive effect, bringing a fresh, more up-to-date approach. Films such as the recent Batman movies, Star Trek and even The Hills Have Eyes, but these exceptions are more re-envisioning of the originals, and its plain to see time and effort have gone into the story and a director who knows what the hell he's doing, and knows the previous movies is taken on board.

With so many more remakes and reigniting of franchises in the pipeline, I fear that my childhood and adolescent movie experiences will be further dented as time marches on. Sometime in the future, even the remakes of those great films will be remade. This is the way of the Hollywood machine I suppose, and anyway, the greatest hurt has already happened, the greatest betrayal that could have befallen a boy who grew up though the 1980's. The magic of Star Wars has been killed off well and truly and still they flog the corpse.
We can now put a name to this infliction.
We can call it George Lucas Disease.

Fun and Games

Quick, think of a number between 1 and 20. Got it? Okay, multiply that number by by 13. Then take away the original number and add 24. With me so far? The original number that you had, if you halve that and add on to the new number (if it was odd, then round UP to get your figure to add). Now, keep in mind this number that you now have, we will be going back to it.
Now it gets a little tricky. Add up the ages of both your parents and divide that number by the amount of letters in your pets name (if more than one pet, use the oldest). With this total, subtract 5 and multiply by 29. Then add the other number to this total and subtract a quarter of the total of words in this post. All done? Now write that down, slip it into an envelope and mail it to someone who actually cares. I don't.

Vicious Cycle

Summer is here once more! The world finally steps out of the harsh shadow cast by that tyrant, Spring (lets face it, Spring is not like the poems and stories of old, all lambs jumping and grass growing. No, Spring is rain. All the bloody time. Miserable wet rain). The birds are now all singing their merry songs, beer gardens get to be pleasant places to sit again, and all the girls start wearing very little. Summer is here.

At this juncture I could point out that my job requires me to sit between the walls of a huge cave-esque building under neon tubes of fake light, while the rest of you folk dance and drink and bask under the loving rays of Mr Sun (no, not Yoshimoto Sun the Japanese entrepreneur, but rather the life giving Sun up on high who bathes us all with golden goodness) and sip all manner of alcoholic beverages to heighten the already exultant mood. But no. I will not go down that path. I will not moan or gripe or grumble in this post, the Sun lightens the mood and will not permit it. And besides, having read through my last blog, there was enough acidity and complaining to fill up the yearly quota on sourness.

I have recently purchased a mode of transport that will allow me to fully appreciate this wonderful season- the pride of Victorian England, the cheapest way to travel, friend to the environment: the humble bicycle. Well, maybe I shouldn't call it humble, the thing cost enough. Two wheels, an open road and a passion for the grand green canvas known in many walks of life as 'the country'. I can almost smell the fresh air as my mind pictures cycling through lush valleys filled with the sounds of nature. And then i remember I live in England and have to be content with the ceaseless thunder of cars and the unforgiving stench of exhaust fumes (Sorry, moaning again. Will try and curb it as much as possible but it just comes naturally).

The bike in question is a fantastic touring chap, a Kona Sutra 2008. Blue, for those that want to know. I would include pictures, but that may elevate this blog post from 'pointless' to 'really sad'. Maybe next time.
After a journey from the bustle of Manchester to the quaintness of Marsden, it is now a matter of some importance to invest in a few cycle accessories. Like a map. Got horribly lost at most points, and created more of a zig-zag route than a straight line. Also need a helmet to keep mothers consternation's down and possibly to avoid death.

Bit of a Rant

D'you know what's rubbish?

A very pertinent question indeed, and even though I hear you audibly groan and think "Here he goes again", I shall persevere. What exactly am I talking about when I ask 'What is Rubbish'? Obviously I don't like much, that's pretty clear, but I am 30 years of age and feel inclined to have a go at things. Now, I could say 'everything' pisses me off, but that would make me the most miserable sod on the planet. Lots of things are rubbish though, and right now I would like to focus on one particular venomous swine. So like it or not, Simon is going to have a jolly good gripe.

The Tax Man. Even the most macabre scribe would fail to come anywhere close to this vile devil, a being so utterly despicable that children whimper in fear and grown men tremble and cry in his wake. Bizarrely, he even seems to be above the law, the thieving bastard. Think of it; I do my time between the walls, earning my way, doing my 40-odd hours per week. At the end of the month the wage slip comes along and instead of a merry "Good amount earned this time round, the first drinks are on me chaps!", the first frenzied exclamation is "He took HOW MUCH??!!". The 'He' in question is of course that foul smelling character, the Tax Man. Of course, Mr Tax Man himself states that the taxes are required to fund a great many public sector services, like the Police and the Fire Brigade and the NHS. Fair enough. I'll happily donate a portion of my hard earned wages to fund these vital departments. But if I am stumping up the money for them, why can't the government get their heads out of their asses and run them f***king properly?
Instead, mismanagement runs rampant, strange rules and guidelines are invented that hamper productivity and the country continues to go straight down the proverbial toilet. Youths clad in sinister tracksuit uniforms roam the streets spreading intimidation and destruction. Hospitals find themselves lacking supplies and beds, turning patients away and underpaying badly needed staff.

Before I go on, if anyone does come across this blog and decides to (God knows why) read the bloody thing, as a disclaimer to the comments stated here I would like to point out that I actually know bugger all about the workings of Taxes. I don't know the full extent of where they go, I don't know how the classifications are worked out and I certainly have no clue about the authorities behind them. All I know (and care about) is that someone somewhere takes a cut from my wages and I don't bloody like it. Mind you, along with other taxes, we still have to pay National Insurance too, which is a bit of a joke as the way the economy is headed, there won't be a state pension when I finally get round to retiring.

And what about the amount of tax payer money pumped into social services? Things like Job seekers Allowance. That really pisses me off. I am not proud to say that I once went on the dole before, times were tight and jobs were scarce, but I got the feeling I was getting the rough end of the stick because I was actually looking for a job. Far too many dossers sitting around all day and drawing on benefits (source material: tabloid newspapers). In my view, that is to say in the view of someone reasonably secure in employment, the Government needs to take a much firmer stand against anyone looking for a handout. You want free money because you can't find work? Screw you, look harder. You want free money because you can't work due to illness? Screw you, prove it. Easy. True, some people are genuinely incapacitated due to disabilities or injuries or the like, that should be reasonably straight forward to deal with, but everyone else can grab a shovel and start diggin'. Oh yeah, 'stress' and 'depression'? Not proper reasons. Go take a walk in the country and learn to goddamn smile more. (Disclaimer: once again, these views may not necessarily be the views of the blogger so don't hold me to them).

Well, I have spouted of a good deal, some of which which makes sense, some which doesn't, and some which will probably annoy a few folk. Nothing like a good rant. Next time, i think I'll have a pop at organised religion. Or rap music. I like this game.

Post Paddy Blues

Ahh, the 18th of March. Not really anything to point out about it, it's not special or magical or unique (unless you are a big fan of Queen Latifa who turns a year older on this day of days), it could in fact be one of those days that just pass you by without making much of a fuss. However, the 18th of March comes right after the 17th of March (the more astute readers may have figured this out already, but there's nothing wrong with a bit of catchup for the rest. And the Americans) and the 17th is of course St Paddy's day, which means that today is probably one of the special days of the year when most of the western world is nursing one huge hangover.

And, despite promising myself to restrict the booze intake, I am no exception.

Now, where hangovers are concerned, I must say that I'm not too bothered about that thudding behind the eyes as long as I'm warm, have nice food and can lounge about for most of the day. Maybe even a trip to the supermarket. Brilliant places, supermarkets. Nice and bright with lots of colour, very safe and they don't even charge you to get in! Bargain! I especially love the condiments section, loads of bottles and jars and the like... I digress however, so to recap- hangovers are not so bad as long as the day is geared to the recovery.

But on the flip side of this coin we have days like today. Upon waking, you find that all the lights in the house are still burning bright, you did make it to bed but seem to have forgotten to get out of your clothes and the contact lenses that you have neglected to remove from your peepers are now quite dry and the eyes are starting to go 'a bit crusty'. Worse than that, you realise that work is imminent and the twelve hour shift will not magically disappear if you just stay in bed. So, unceremoniously throwing your world-weary bulk out of bed, its a quick dress (or a least as fast as the head will permit. And a good deal more swearing too) and out the door without a wash, breakfast or much in the way of sense.

Twelve hours is a long time. And when hungover, it's roughly five times as long (worked that one out with a very calculated equation). So the thing to do is make sure that everyone else knows you are hungover by moaning and griping and generally being a bitter and resentful person, so that they will wish, almost as much as you do, that you were not in work that day.

Oh, by the way, if my mum should be reading this, it's not about me, I definitely wasn't drinking last night.

And one more thing; with regards to supermarkets, I do love the places, but not the supermakets in Sweden. They are rubbish.

Still Here

Hey, guess what?

I have finally tracked down the username for this Blog and managed to log in!

We are now in the year 2009, I have turned 30 and the economy is heading straight to hell.

More posts are sure to follow...

Watch this space.

Chinese Simon

See! China! That's the Pearl Tower just across the water, a very iconic building in Shanghai , and those are real Chinese people! Lots more photos somewhere, but thought I would chuck this fella in there just to prove my words.

"He'll not get there any quicker..."

Bloody Hell! Where is the year going? It's already a good dent into April , though the snow outside would belie that fact, and it hardly seems any time since I was off to Shanghai at the end of January. Oh yes, I had promised to tell you all about that, didn't I? Even show you photographs and what not. Well, as far as the photos are concerned, they are still on Mr Peters laptop, haven't quite got round to transferring them yet. And as for a blow by blow description about the trials and tribulations of Simon's trip to the Orient, well I'll sum it up with three F's:

Food

Fireworks

Freezing

Food was amazing, and hardly the same dish was returned to the whole holiday, bar a few exceptions such as dumplings (little bags of yum) and big mac. Yes, that's right, McDonald's. Not out of any "I have to have western fast food, I can't stand it any longer" mentality, but rather for the novel 'getting it delivered at 1 in the morning'. Sheer brilliance. Along with beer of course. Of which lots was consumed.As it was Chinese new year, Shanghai was full of explosions and lights with every living soul blowing shit up for fun. Probably an ancient, mystical reasoning behind the whole fireworks malarkey but essentially it's people blowing shit up. And very impressive it was too.My holiday also coincided with the coldest winter seen in Shanghai in over 50 years. Add my brothers heating not working, stick Simon in the coldest room imaginable and you get one freezing holiday. It was a cracking vacation but I don't recall ever being as cold for as long in my life.Lots of stories and experiences that I could recant but I am quite lazy, the growing time between blogs testament to that, so you will have to make do with what little I have typed.

Really, the only thing I have been up to recently (as well as spending working hours between walls) is playing the magnificent war opus that is Call of Duty 4. Having dedicated a good slice of my waking hours to the game, I can say without hesitation that i was born to shoot people in the head. Well, not really, but nothing this year has tickled me as much as getting that precise head shot from the other side of the map with my M40A3 sniper rifle. Sad? Yes. Pathetic? Its definitely on the border. But I don't have a girlfriend and money is tight so what else am I meant to do?

Also in the Simon news of late, the shock story of the missing facial hair! The beard is gone, at least for the time being. Will it return? A resounding YES, for i do miss it so. But when? That is the question. And one that is unanswerable at present. My face is cold and I look strange, but we'll try out this situation for a little while, see if it pays off.Anyway, at work at present and those films won't start themselves (actually, they could. I'm not as important as i like to let on).

Birthday Gumption

So. 29th of January. An ominous date indeed. This is the year my age finally catches up with the date it was set. Took a long time coming, but 29 years normally does. That's one less than thirty, but I suppose the important thing to remember is that it is NOT thirty. Not for another year at least. Naturally, I will still continue to tell people that I am 24. And will still be a long time from now, thank you very much.

Well, its 5am in the morning, and sleep appears to be evading me. Perhaps its down to anxiety of turning another year towards the great beyond, or else it's down to excitement of an encroaching trip to china. Or maybe I just drank too much whiskey last night, and could do with a little H2O. Whatever finds me up at this hour, it has prompted me to add to my much ignored blog, probably because there isn't a whole lot else you can do at this time.

Lets take a look at where I am in this game we like to call 'life'. At the age of 29, many people are firmly settled into families, careers, pension schemes and mortgages. Many people, but not all. I could go through that rather rudimentary list and check them off against myself, but I can tell you right now you won't find a good match anywhere. I don't have a girlfriend, I work in a job that is ultimately going to be whittled down (that's projectionist, for those not in the know, and with the advancement of the digital age, times ahead could prove tough), I am not a property owner, and I can't even drive. I do however have myself a whole lot of debt.
But wait, this isn't right, is it? I shouldn't be looking at negative aspects, especially on my birthday. Sure, it's easy to go through and state what I don't have, but what about what I do have? Great family, great friends, a fine appreciation of Scotch and a bloody excellent beard, so with the risk of sounding like a Hallmarks card message, those things make me a rich man (well, the first two. And possibly the beard). Still, it would be nice to have a bit less debt. And as for company, I think I'll get myself a dog.

Now, the more astute of you ('you' being the unknown reader, as I like to think that someone out there in the vast virtual world should happen upon my scribblings) will have probably read the line mentioning China and thought "tell me more". Well even if you didn't, I will just assume you did. Yes, China; Shanghai to be exact. I know that in this day and age, many people travel all over the world, see many of the glorious sights and secrets that the myriad different civilisations and peoples have to offer. Hell, even my parents and sister have been to China before. But I haven't. So its very exciting. And as I will be meeting up with my twin brother just 2 days after our birthday, it means more celebrations. Then a few days after that, it is Chinese New Year, so yet another shindig or two. It could shape up to be a very lively holiday indeed. And lets not overlook the fact that I have a glorious 2 weeks off of work!

Anyway, the time has ticked on quite a bit, and perhaps I am taking up too much of your time. Have to go back to bed anyway. I wish that I could promise an update of my holiday, a quick run through of the crazy escapades that were embarked upon at a later date, but given my inability to get down the last holiday report (to Octoberfest), don't hold your breath. I mean, it's almost February, and have I even mentioned Christmas? No. Although I'm sure that was fun too. Really must write this stuff down, for my sake more than yours.
I'm getting old you know...

Update

Right, well, the date is now the 3rd of November, so a fair bit of time has passed since my last entry which was on the ... 7th of August. Hmm. I suppose the few people who did check my blog have long since shuffled on to pastures new.

Lets look back on those missing months, and try to deduce whether my time was spent wisely and to the fullest, or if I have important lessons to learn , and alter it accordingly.

August

The premiership kicked off once again, and along with it the (probably) best fantasy football league too. Mr Moodies short tenancy at Chateau Bridgewater ended when he shouldered his backpack and set sail to the far reaches of civilisation in eastern Asia. Miss Lundgren turned one step closer to the great beyond, seeing in her 21st birthday with not just a few drinks (see pic), and I'm sure that some stuff happened in the news.

I worked, of that I am sure, but August was a fair while ago, so the memory escapes me just at this time.

September

Football continued, and I had the first holiday of the season, taking a trip back to merry old Northern Ireland for a handful of days. With Ally in tow, and little sis Jeni back from across the world, we set off in exploration mode to travel all the way to... Donegal (well it is in another country...). A splendid time was had by all upon my return home, much rum was consumed by Jeni and myself, and a cultural trip around the north coast and to the strange lands of the Giants Causeway.

The rest of September was pretty much work work work, but it was not too bad, as anticipation was starting to rise with a coming trip...

October

So with October, Oktoberfest in Munich!!! And dear God, it is the greatest place on the face of the Earth, a beer drinkers Mecca. In the land of beer and sausage, the jovial drunk is king! Have been meaning to write about the week spent there, and will endeavor to do so at a later date, before the memory fades like so many others, but at this time I would like to say that it held some of the finest holiday moments, coupled with not so fine- as myself and Jonny thought it would be a good idea to spend all seven nights there in a tent. Three nights in a tent would have sufficed. Four would definitely be pushing the boundaries. Seven nights is way past the very notion of being 'a bit too long'. Still, most of those nights were (sorry mum) spent in hapless drunken slumber, with only the mornings to contend with. But the actual Oktoberfest is a veritable feast for the eyes, an enormous mass of people, all merry and drinking, either munching on the many delicacies on offer (mostly sausage related), screaming with delight on funfair rides (there is nothing more fun in this world than drunken dodgems), or singing and drinking inside one of the many cavernous beer tents (see pic).

One thing is for sure: I will be back. Since coming home, I have a thirst for learning German (still to actually start, but the notion is there) and now want to end my days in Munich. If anyone has any ideas how I would go about making that happen, I would be very appreciative.

Now, since returning from Germany, I seem to have taken up residence between the walls of

the cinema, working all hours that God/Alla/Buddha/Whatever sends, so when the 30th of

October rolled around, it was glad tidings all round as Ally and myself met up with Jeni in Stoke-on-Trent to travel to... wait for it... Alton Towers!! Yay! And much fun was had. Few crowds meant that we were queuing for hardly any time at all, and managed to squeeze in more fun than there are rice crispies in a cereal box.

So, conclusions?

I work too much. Think I knew that already.

Hub-you-like

Have spent most of my day off trying to crack my BT hub. The cheeky buggers at British Telecom send you a free wireless hub when you sign up for their ridiculously high priced BT Broadband package. So when the good people from TalkTalk came calling, I jumped at the chance of almost halving my bills. Actually that's not totally correct- on a day off about a month ago they knocked on the door, and i am that gullible that i was signing contracts and grinning an inane grin in no time. Think the salesman's ploy was to bring an attractive female 'trainee' with him. Clever bastards.

Anyway, the BT hub in question doesn't work with any provider except for BT, but because it was serving me well for the few months I had it, and the fact I'm a cheap bugger and so don't want to splash out on a new wireless router, I have been online looking for ways in which to bend this moulded white plastic technology brick to my ways. And it was all going very smoothly, I had downloaded flash programmes to change the settings, backed up all the ISP's, checked out possible different DHCP's, and spent the first few hours reading what all those bloody letters and computer-wordies stood for. Didn't have a clue.
But had myself a step-by-step list of how to go about it. And go about it I did. Until I hit that inescapable 'error' message that always stands in my way.

So the plan now?
Buy myself a wireless router and admit defeat.

Not all bad though, I have been inside most of the day listening to the new CD I purchased. Had been eyeing it up for a while now and decided to spend the £12 asking price- could I have got it cheaper anywhere else? Definitely. But this was an 'impulse buy' and our national economy would be in a worse of state without that. So I was helping the economy. So it's all good.
The CD in question? The Essential Eagles Collection. And it's bloody marvelous so there.