rARsh!

Y. O. Y.

Why, oh why do ISPs have to send delivery failure messages when the email address faked in the header doesn’t match the mailserver info in the message header? It’s clearly spam so why bother the real owner of the email address?

How was it for you, dahlink?

So, did you all enjoy your festivities?

It was back to the orifice today for me. I don’t think that’s what got me down but something certainly has.

Oh well. Ho hum.

I’ve had the sidelight fixed in the rARshMobile. I say “had fixed” because after puzzling over Renault’s lighting arrangement in total bafflement I decided to hand over £2.99 to have a Halfords chappie work out how to get to the bulbs. Given that it took him 25 minutes and he got filthy, I think £2.99 was a bargain.

I’ve started my health kick early this year. Back from Waitrose with lots of healthy food and no bread (except for pitta bread and some rather strange Mediterranean Wraps, whatever they are. I’ve seen smaller tablecloths. Quite tasty, though. We’ll see how long this lasts.

I’ve even bought a few accessories for the bike - a pump, security chain and a, um, more comfortable saddle. I wonder whether I’ll actually use them …

Ooh

It’s been a while since I logged into any of the meet market websites. Quite a while, in fact, having dismissed them as a complete waste of time.

But wait. There’s an email - and it’s not “Halla I am Olga from Russia I like your profile you write to me” spam either. It was sent a while ago (the notification email must have been spam-filed by GMail).

But ooh all the same.

Inappropriate gifting

When I arrived at the hospital to collect Dad on Christmas Day one of the orderlies was making his rounds pushing a trolley of gifts from the nursing staff to the patients. He held up two parcels. “Which one do you want?” he asked, holding two parcels.

Eventually a decision was made and the parcel was opened. A shaving travel set.

A travel set?

For patients in a secure ward?

Isn’t that a tad inappropriate?

It’s Christmas time. There’s no need to be afraid.

Unless, that is, you’re sharing the house with family.

In my case, I’m here at Chateau Pops with Wuglums and LSLP as well as Mrs LSLP, i.e. LSLP’s mother (who I’d not met before yesterday). I had, however, been warned by LSLP that her mother tends not to talk a lot of sense.

Add to the mix a rather confused Dad and there’ll be laughs a plenty.

Or so you’d think. Can’t say I’ve noticed too many so far, probably because the change of routine and All These People isn’t going down too well with Dad. He’s been happy enough to exchange drivel with Mrs LSLP but the whole experience seems to have left him somewhat bewildered and confused.

Much like myself, then, especially when, on coming down stairs this morning, I was told by Mrs LSLP “You should have let me help.” I had, after all, just been taking a shower.

I’m hiding in the bedroom to write this having been chased from the living room by the threat of Emmerdale and from the kitchen by the threat of The Archers. I don’t “do” soaps, you see. Still, at this time tomorrow I should be well on my way back to sunny Norfolk to spend a restful day at home (except for the need to visit Halfords for an onside sidelight bulb for the rARshmobile) before the return to work on Wednesday.

Merry Christmas, everybody.

Merry Whatever

Whatever you choose to celebrate at this time of year, have a merry one

A lot of fuss about nothing

I don’t know why those soft southerners are complaining about the fog at Heathrow - visibility there’s at least three times better than it is in Norfolk. It was a slow, slow trip down to the M25 but once I got there, the smog from the Big City was dissolving the inclement weather and I made up most of the time I’d lost. In fact, I made this trip in under 5 hours’ driving time which, considering the conditions, was rather good going in my opinion.

Earlier in the day I’d called in on Tall Andy, Kitten and young Sam where I received some shocking news.

“Sam’s going on a train with Father Christmas tomorrow,” Kitten announced.

“Ah, the Bure Valley Railway. Excellent.”

“No, no. From Dereham to, um, ….

“Wymondham.”

“Yes.”

“But … that’s the Mid Norfolk Railway. It’ll be a diesel.”

She looked at me as if I was somehow daft.

“Well, if you take Sam on a proper train next weekend they’ll be running their Mince Pie Specials, where you get a free mince pie and cup of coffee at the restaurant in Aylsham.”

“I don’t like mince pies. Or coffee.”

Women!

Sam woke as I was leaving and was lifted up to watch me leave.

“Who’s that? Who’s that?” he was asked.

“For goodness’ sake, don’t say ‘Dada’.” I implored.

Tall Andy laughed (which was a relief) but I don’t think Kitten is quite as fond of the running gag. Which is understandable.

Is there someone there?

It’s been rather foggy here in Norfolk for the past few days - the A11 to Norwhag hasn’t been fun at all, I can assure you. The WTB, being small and silver (i.e. fog-coloured) is clearly invisible, based on the idiot drivers I’ve been encountering, and that with the car lit up like a particularly chavvy Christmas tree. Other drivers are all idiots.

Today’s departmental meal was the disaster I was expecting and when (having clearly forgotten the chaos which last year’s brought) the poorly prepared quiz was announced I made my excuses.

“Are you going?” asked Tall Andy. “I’ll come with you.”

It seems he’d had as wonderful a time as I had.

I’ve seen sense and will be taking the rARshMobile down to Wales this weekend, so if Murph can find the car keys he’s welcome to have a play with the WTB until I get back on Monday evening.