Work Day

Wednesday, May 24th, 2017

To see people is this journey, and adventure.

It starts with the preparation.  What must I think about?  My handbag and my equipment.  Clothes, clothes, what shall I wear, ah the dark blue, ever reliable.  Not black, no Sir, not black because that’s the default of that group, of those people or those people or them.

Let’s not be mistaken for belonging.

Oh, the fear of it takes me and I have another cup of stimulant activate the brain make it go faster the black cloud is dogging my footsteps must keep ahead keep running keep going oh gods why is it so quiet here my mind is going around and around and that thing from childhood and embarrassment that happened then it was just the other day when

Happy music, my body has moved, the other part of me has put on happy music.

Soothing, beats; girls and boys sing in high tones with heavy vibration through my floor.  It’s all about love and dancing.

Oh, it’s all about love and dancing, push out the words while it happens give birth to a new idea launch into the wilderness, Kate says like an arrow and we’ll never forget her lyrics and what they meant talking about forbidden love only now understood.

Each key under my stumbling fingers, feels different, but the dichotomy is that my position is numb, constantly backspace rubout delete delete delete can’t even spell that right, and the machine corrects and underlines and takes away the autonomy so it doesn’t matter as much and I am trained and taught that imprecision is ok when it’s not!

I knock the cup over because my hands don’t know where they are.

The music has stopped but I don’t notice because I have heard it and memorised it, rinse and repeat, how the shampoo companies love the Japanese who follow the instruction to the letter.  The music in my head carries on with perfect recall, but I couldn’t tell you the words because I have not isolated that part and thus my memory in the whole is an amalgam in the whole of the music, I can analyse it and split it.

How long have I been sitting here?

Coffee cup is empty, hip hurts, must push these words out, they’ll be good words I know a stream of perfect meaning.  Stop.  Get coffee.  Move.

Is it?

I ask myself all the time, is it a stream of perfect meaning.  There is always a temptation to edit myself, to redact, redraw.

No time.  Coffee going colder, reaches perfect temp, think about it sitting there waiting for the perfect moment.

No time, because each word is crafted like wood, fixed and malleable, permanent and constantly changing.  I know the words, they’ll be seen by different readers, they’ll um,

“negotiate their own meaning”

“interpret the essence”

If only I could be sure I’m hitting the keys in the right order, or hard enough, or the right one.

I keep my head down as I type, not really looking at the keyboard, but not looking at the screen either, but somewhere in between, a no man’s land (HAH!) of imprecision.

Pause, sip.  A perfect moment of too hot for gulping down, a hit of heat, my very own crack of the day and it only costs pennies to make!  Hot drinks are addictive, I know it.

12 days until smart meter, I looked at the calendar.

What was I thinking about?

Oh yes, writing.  Here I am and as I think about it more and more consciously the worst my typing gets as a golfer thinks about his swing.  My own brain gets in the way, as with motor-biking and sex, and chewing gum and writing, the talent is to get my brain out of the way.

That one, that me that talks to you?  An idiot, she only gets what I feed her, we try to not bring out Cold Logic too often, it scares people.  Wittering me, that’s the ticket, let’s not be too deep eh?

Don’t bring out Emo, please dear god don’t bring out Emo, she might be able to do the dark writing, but she is terrifying, and what if I’m feeling what she’s feeling and I have a heart attack and die.  It makes my heart pound just to think about it.  But my children.

I’m in love with them.


WTF is wrong with you.  Wouldn’t you die for yours?  Wouldn’t you die in fire and look at them and be ok with it while the fire burns and scars you from without and sets every nerve ending into hideous awareness of your mortality?

I won’t put up with their bullshit but I would walk broken glass for them. I would sacrifice everything for them.

That’s what it is to be in love with someone.

Most people find it too much.

Here is a life, it is tamped down, kept to a smoulder.

I long to burn like fire, rise again like the phoenix.

I am Fire, that’s the one we keep under lock and key.  That’s the one manacled and chained.

I have mistaken it for rage, and goodness don’t anger it.

But it has never been rage, it has been more, so much.

I cannot describe it, but you can bet I’ll try.

Fire is the only name I have for it.  Fire is the heat of its’ passion.  Fire is the light and the dark, the burning and the ashes.

They’re right comedy, comes in the threes.

Oh my Fire I am sorry for you because you must perforce be a prisoner within, and I keep you from burning me by having you in that locked room, that furnace wherein you consume yourself, and just when it seems you are gone I feed you just to keep you alive, because if the Fire goes out I die, and I am afraid to die.

So afraid.

I thought all my tasks were done and the Fire could rest, but my sons, you need me.  I feed the wood chips of your love into Fire and it leaps into life again.

I talk to the Angel of Truth again and feed Fire.

I talk to the Good Man on the path to Hades and feed Fire.

My crushes, and feed Fire.

My Critical Friend, and feed Fire.

I am alive, I feed the affirmation of my friends into Fire and it lives!  We are ALIVE.

I have no time to write this, because I must work on books and code and jobs and everything but I must write now busy busy busy maybe get discovered write all the time, dictate maybe, no my interaction with the keyboard is too personal, too damn can’t use that word already done it there’s another why can’t I be a child again when I knew all the words.

No-one knew the words.

It was explaining patiently until I found the words that people understood.  My mastery of the words was far beyond them.  I have unlearned.  I am a cripple now.

Ah! Words, look at you.  They think you’re so great, but you’re maimed and hideously disfigured.

“I’m am not an animal, I am a human being!”

Ah, but you’re not are you?  To slow you down I have had to lobotomise you, cutting away pieces of your memory until I can be understood by them.  I have cut out each word, an incision precision, an excising of your repletion.

Yes, we hunt for exactness, precision, accuracy.  Change the subject, what was I talking about?

The circle closes, we aim inwards, and close in on the metaphor.

Almost everything I say is some sort of metaphor now.  It’s a struggle to talk directly.  Oh foreigners, people for whom my precious English is god given, if I believed in god like that.

People, people think I’m exaggerating.

Most of the time I’m ameliorating to something that they’ll believe, but in truth life is more extraordinary than that, particularly mental life.

Here I am in my head, and they all want attention.  Words, Fire, Love, Logic.  I have not got it to give, I must pay attention to things outside my head, and aren’t they cross about it.

I don’t know what I’m writing about here.  It’s personal, but not organised.  It’s probably the most honest thing I’ve written.  I’m exposed, and raw.  I think twice and three times about publishing it in any way, but I write for others to read, and that circle is important.

Oh, plaudits please come to me!


Oh, Shallow, you’re here.  There we are, looking for plaudits.  Shallow.  Shallow makes a me a whore.

Oh yes, Logic pipes up, but you are blesséd.



Because that’s how I talk in my head, that’s my internal dialogue, because when I’m thinking in words, which so much of the time I am not, that’s the sort of pretentious twat level I work on.

So, I dumb down.

Oh gods, I dumb down ALL THE TIME.

Oh, I’m so tired of being dumb.

My First Book

Saturday, August 29th, 2015

Support independent publishing: Buy this e-book on Lulu.

I wrote a book.  I’ve written a number of potential books over the years, not the least of which is Snow on this very blog.  It’s not finished, though I’m fored up to do so now, but there are many things to do now that I have written and self published.  Self-aggrandizment does not come easily to me, but I have to self promote, apparently.  And I was going to write with my Girl Name, (more about all that later), but I’ve published under the name Friday Jones.  This is my name in the real, non-internet, world.  Wow, I’m out there.  I feel vulnerable.

I’ve dedicated this first book to my eldest Son, Dominic.

The next will be dedicated to Ulysses.


If you’ve ever played Mission, my Sci-Fi roleplaying game, this might be of interest to you, this book, because it details the beginnings.  let me quote the blurb I wrote for it…

This is the history of the creation of the first Mind of the Conglomerate, that which will become the Galaxy spanning civilisation of peace and culture. Here are the seeds of Human Affairs, the rise and eventual downfall, the relationship between Humans and Minds; and the ethical and personal battles fought before Humanity takes to space guided by the Minds, and abandons Earth to its fate.

All very dramatic, but I have quite different text on the back cover, that talks more about the relationships that develop in the book.

When I write I “see” everything in front of me, I see the relationships, where people are standing, like a little movie in my head.  I can barely get it down fast enough.  I developed some craft here, for the first time, I went backa  few times and considered the words I had used instead of merely burting everything out.  I still have to do that to some extent, and proofing and editing was painful, because the only way I could slow down enough and inspect my own words was to read it out and record it as I went.  That took hours.

Bits of the book made my cry at various times.  I have no idea if I related the intensity of my feelings to any potential readers.  No spoilers, but the book spans some considerable time, and so there are complete lives in it.  What weirded my out though was that the launch of a spaceship made me cry.

I suppose I shouldn’t close without providing some links, because that would be daft.  I used Lulu, which turns out to be a bit more costly for the purchaser in print than I would have liked, but I didn’t ahve to do any outlay or upfront money or minimum purchases or anything like that, so kudos to them.

Electronic: ePub which can be readily converted for your Kindle, or you can find it on Amazon and other services like Nook iBook or whatever, but Lulu‘s marketplace provide the most revenue and least mickey-taking…


Print: This is Lulu’s print on demand service, so I think it’s a little expensive, but you do get an actual book in your hands…


Thanks again to all my friends on Facebook who supported me by reading the first dodgy bangin out erroneous chapters and said “Hey Friday! This is the good thing, publish it!”

It had better be good now.

Thanks for reading.


(The electronic cover)

Coding for other people

Thursday, September 1st, 2011

I’m a coder, amongst other things.

I’m not a business type person, despite the fact that I have an MSc in E-Business, I’m too  much of a hippy to actually DO business, I hate taking money from people and I hate chasing them for it.  In the past I’ve learned that that I don’t have enough clout to sue people when they rip me off, and I don’t charge enough.

Recently I’ve learned that I can never charge enough if I’m coding for other people.

The problem here is that code is complex, very complex, and much of it is given away, (see Dan Pink, the Surprising Truth about what Motivates us, wait for the programming part).

And that’s a problem, because as an individual I can’t explain what takes time, and I’m often paid for my time, not my output, except…

…I’m paid for my output not my time, when the truth of it comes, because no-one seems to understand what takes time.

Because I code web things, I have to have to hand knowledge of at minimum, four programming or query languages, three different systems setups, two different operating systems, possibly across continents, etc. etc., all the paraphernalia that comes with coding, and people say “wow that’s intense”.  This is often followed by, “Can you just…”

No, I can’t.

I’ve been involved in coding projects recently, I took over from someone else who had left the code in the middle.  I didn’t know how much was involved, because one cannot.  I wasn’t given a proper spec, I wasn’t insistent enough about that, and I should have been.  I didn’t draw lines around what I was expected to do.  Given the amount of time that I’ve put in, now to the detriment of other projects, I cannot probably catch up with those projects properly.

Alright that’s bad.  But eventually, fixable.

But what isn’t fixable is that I do NOTHING else but code right now.  I don’t write, I don’t cycle, I don’t motorcycle with my friend, I don’t see my kids, I don’t work on my teaching material for next year, and I’ve turned into a HORRIBLE person.

I want silence in the house, (the kids are on summer break), I argue with my girlfriend, I argue with my ex-wife, I’m impatient with my boys, I’m impatient with my girlfriend’s kids.  I haven’t been to my roleplay club.  Basically I’m a moody fuck.

Studying for my MSc was easier on my life than coding.

I know this is a bit rambly and a moan, but you know, put up with it.

I have clients from years ago now that I still host, none of them paying, and I don’t even know what status their sites are at because I’m now realising that my American host  changed DNS on me a while back, and though they say there was an email I don’t see it.

So I have to go around changing this stuff, except that I’m going tom write and say I can’t do this any more, not “I can’t do this for free any more”, just I can’t do this, I can’t host, I can’t do code for people any more.

It does not pay enough, because no-one understands what code involves, it makes me tense.

To hell with the money argument, stuff the money.

Coding makes me tense.  Ten cups of coffee a day, (I had gone down a lot, except that Uni gives me a bad coffee habit), makes me tense.

I have realised, finally, that I don’t LIKE coding for other people, and it does’t like me.

I love coding, for me.

I don’t love myself very much when I’m coding, but when it’s for me, I can put it down and become a human being again.

Here’s the thing, no more coding for other people, no more hosting, no more horrible person.

I’m going to dedicate myself to teaching in Uni, and getting my PhD.  I’ll probably write come code for that, but at the end of it, I’ll have a PhD.  I’ll probably teach people to code a bit, but I won’t be doing it.

…and I’ll be a better, nicer person at the end of it.


Friday, July 8th, 2011

Complaint from #lovelyGF about strings on Thunderbirds…

“You can see the strings!”


You can see the strings

Spammer tries to keep it quiet

Thursday, March 3rd, 2011

I’m a contrary person, live with it.

Here a spammer tries to look legit, and inserts a confidentiality clause, meaningless of course, at the end.

I’m f the opinion that since email is inherently not secure, if one does not know who the recipient is, one cannot expect any kind of security or confidentiality.  If one does know the recipient, then one might be bound by contract or common decency.  In this case however…

(And for those still waiting, Snow 16 will be coming soon.


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Freedom 2 – A ray of light

Monday, December 13th, 2010

As a matter of public record.

I ranted on this in this month’s freedom column about taking responsibility for us, collectively, on demonstrations.

I’ve been remonstrated with for taking that stance, and I note as a result, that there are other points of view, which I don’t agree with, but which nevertheless are valid, sound view which deserve consideration.

However, I’m not really addressing those arguments here because they were put forward in an another forum.

What I would like to note as an addenda to the foregoing, is that Thersa May in Parliament today, publicly noted that the Police felt that most of the protesters were genuinely upset, genuinely protesting, and that there was a hard core of separate trouble-makers around who were out to cause trouble.  Well done on the Police for identifying this and being willing to say it, well done on Theresa May on saying it in Parliament.

Here is the statement. This is right on statement.

It is these people that we must eject from protests that arise as a matter of genuine unrest.

Violence only detracts from the message.

Don’t let them do it to you people.

BUT, remember this moment, it is a moment of acknowledgement, a light in the darkness.

It’s not the Miners strike after all.

It’s nice to be wrong sometimes.


Friday, December 10th, 2010

I’m writing in the UK and I’m a UK citizen, I was born and bred here.  Any remarks I make have the full set of prejudices that I carry with me as a result of this, and must be considered in this light.

This said, racially I have some Asian background, but no culture because I was discouraged from having any.  I’m aware of it though and it has had influence previously in my life.


We enjoy a certain amount of freedom in this country, and although we frown at the CCTV, the actions of the Police, (Protests, photography), we can roam the street with a certain amount of immunity from violence, (generally, there is always the criminal element), random arrests, spying, (but bear in mind what I said about CCTV) and the other trappings of rule that is an indication of an insecure culture and government.

I’m aware that people are fed up with our current government already, if the tweets and news I see are anything to go by, then they are very fed up indeed.  I think the Lib-Dems shall not see power again this century.  I think that people feel betrayed.

There is a time-line here.

In 2008 we had another financial crash.  Commentators doing the analysis called the recovery and rescue of the banks “Socialisation of the debt” and “Privatisation of the profit”.  The banks have us over a barrel, “the best will leave” if we are too punitive.  Banks will offshore their activities, more than they do already, and the government will lose billions in tax revenue.

That’s a problem, where does the power truly lie?  From the little scenario above, it seems that it lies in the hand of the banks who certainly do not answer to the will of the people.

But it seems from the unrest that the government do not actually answer to the will of the people.  There are many fine words about compromise, but they cut no ice when jobs are going, and we are approaching the one in ten of the famous song about hard times in the eighties.  People are angry, very angry.  Angry at the protests, angry at the cuts, angry at the damage, angry.

They have every right to be angry.  We should be angry.

We should be absolutely hopping mad.

Oh look there’s a student or hanger on throwing a half brick.


I started by saying that we enjoy freedoms in this country, and we do.  We can be dissidents, unlike say, oh I don’t know Liu Xiaobo, who today got Nobel Peace Prize, denounced by China as interference.  China needs to be put under pressure to free Liu Xiaobo, but it will not respond to it.  China was praised by Thorbjorn Jagland, according to the BBC, for “Lifting millions of people out of poverty.”

I’ve met plenty of Chinese Students, they are proud of their country.  I know people who have gone their and travelled freely, taught, lived, loved.  The everyday experience of the Chinese seems to be improving.  The government lets go of control slowly.

Liu Xiaobo should be freed, but rapid change in governmental policy is chaotic, sudden freedoms mean that one is free, as Heinlein once wrote, “free to starve too…” because economic changes come too rapidly for the government of the day to make sure that everyone eats, the trash is collected and that people are not too corrupt.  I invite the reader, and I’m going to apologise in advance to an entire country here, to compare and contrast Russia’s experience with China.  Forward to freedom, but not too fast, because otherwise there are no queues for bread or rice, because is no bread or rice.  Take a look, and I’m NOT apologising here, at North Korea.

The Chinese don’t riot not just because their government will oppress them, but because things are getting better.  Students have told me this.  They recognise that there are problems, but if you change everything all at once, things will go very wrong, and that there will  be unrest.  They have the assurance of a consistent government, even if we in the west think it is a bad government in many ways.  China creeps towards freedom, and Liu Xiaobo pays the price, because China needs activists, but the government will assert its power when it feels threatened, and thus he is in prison.  It is not a travesty of justice so much as a result of an individual losing the argument by might, the government’s might.  Free Liu Xiaobo.

We, here in the UK are changing things quickly, the new inexperienced government thinks that all the changes are necessary and good, and we do not.  We have good reason, people bandy about figures for how much tax is avoided on the part of big companies and rich individuals and I could do that too, but it is just sufficient in my view to say that rich individuals and big companies can afford big lawyers and fat fees and off-shoring to help them avoid tax, and I can tell you that in every contact I have had with the tax system weather as student, a company bod, a consultant or whatever, the same message comes, don’t pay tax if you don’t have to.

Fine, but now we say that there is a moral obligation for companies &c. to pay the tax they morally owe, because we subsidised the banks when they were in trouble.  Are they doing the same for us?   No.

No, they are not. They are in profit once more, and we are suffering the cuts.  And so student fees triple, the Lib-Dems guarantee that they are basically seen as liars, (I get that they are in coalition, but emotionally I feel the same, intellectually, more complex), and students are on the streets protesting.

I have seen interesting pictures around this, school girls protecting a police van, (well done those girls), random protesters protecting policemen under attack, and most clearly of all, someone saying “Wind the  window up !” to Prince Charles and Camilla.

Ah, now we arrive at it.

Remember the miner’s strike?  What happened?  It turned nasty, and new, and in my view pretty draconian laws were enacted to prevent secondary strike action, striking without some pretty severe rules on balloting, (think BA in the summer stopped several times by the courts, because that is what companies turn to now even for the smallest infraction of the ballot rules), and generally tore the heart of the unions, and I feel for the country.

France still strikes, rebels when the people get hacked off.  We laugh at them, then sympathise.

But oh, oh you protesters yesterday, you waste your time and effort, because we have already seen violence, and that is wrong.

Oh deface a building or a statue, these things can be repaired, though you risk offence if you deface, I dunno, the Cenotaph, when soldiers are still dying for Afghanistan, so doing that would be dumb right?

And say, attacking the Prince of Wales, who just happens to be Chancellor of the University of Wales, (as we are reminded in a typically flippant student council agenda), which includes Bangor, which I happen to be an Alumni thereof, and having participated a little bit in student democracy happen to that his Chancellorship is fully supported by the student body and has been for a long time.

I went off on one.

Point is, you dumb-asses, don’t attack the most “right on” eccentric royal and don’t attack the chancellor because now Cameron is going to rain a very large drum of Whoop ass on your heads and prosecutions will follow.  And then there will be new laws.

Stop cocking the protests up.  STOP.

Protest peacefully, give the police the run around, disobey, be dissident, but stop being violent, because you’re making a right mess of it if you do that, because the media does not then get the message across that we’re really really un-happy, it just shows a few more pictures of some arse-hole putting the boot in or swingin on the flag, or god forbid that damned silly still of Charles and Camilla looking horrified.

Stop being stupid, stop getting us in a situation in which the government is going  to punish us all by creating even more draconian and daft laws than the last one did.

And by the way, I’m no great lover of the police as the state enforcers, but these people have lives and families, and some of them even sympathise because they do not live in isolation from the rest of us.  Show them some respect by not beating the living daylights out of them and maybe they will not act out of fear either.

Yes, protest, disobey, be dissident, but do so peacefully; because unlike Liu Xiaobo, you don’t face being locked up just for being dissident.  Remember that you are essentially free.


Addendum, and Police, remember that we don’t need this sort of bollocks from you either.  It cuts both ways.


Corrected for grammar and spelling.

Sociologists the scientists

Monday, December 6th, 2010

This will probably be short.  Or not, I don’t know.

I have decided, while writing Snow, that Sociologists, and by this I mean social workers and the like, are the ultimate experiential experimenters.

They look, like any scientist, for causes.

This idea, this search for causes infects us like the greatest of memes.  It enters our daily life, this seeking for causes, it drives our justice system, at least, in the UK, (not presuming to speak for other places I don’t have experience of…), drives our social policy, our policing, our television, (think Discovery Channel), but not unfortunately our politicians, (see, can you say “pillocks”?)

Anyway, I’m not ranting about that now, I wanted to reflect that while writing Snow I constantly return to causes.  I’m driven to it even while the writing is driven by the stream of consciousness kind of outpouring that gives my creativity a space to play in, and some of the more bizarre parts a space to get out.

It’s hard to open that channel.

But even when that outpouring happens, I find myself looking for causes, and when I look, and in my head I am looking around a vista of the world that I am reporting, muchly, and sometimes that world is a memory of the past, (the character’s past, I’m trying to cut down on the hideous revenge shooting and subsequent torture these days, because it sets a bad example for the boys, and I don’t their mother rolling their eyes in exasperation, so no, I pass on that.  Even for some interface designers, though in my darker moments wresting with some new program….  )

Moving on.

I look for causes, and I think and increasing number of us look for causes, because we have become social scientists, chemists, physicists, biologists, and practically anything in fact, with an “ology” in it, even on occasion, oologists; studiers of eggs.  Particularly when associated with the study of Pigs, or Baconology.

Point is, I remember what my character remembers, which is a particularly difficult thing to do, because I “see” what I am writing, and “live” memories of characters I write in the first person, and sometimes I get these flashbacks because I am seeking the causes.

We have all been made scientists, to some degree.

What we could do with, is the mathematical language with which to express it.  For sociologists, that doesn’t always exist, yet.

The Santa Chronicles, and why I’m truly evil

Monday, December 6th, 2010

Go away children this isn’t for you, it’s for adults, even though it contains no actual “adult” material, where “adult” is used as a euphemism for scatology or sex.


I had trouble with Christmas when I was first married, hated it, always stressy, always dreadful at childhood home in later years.

Actually in the very early years, I remember it being quite pleasant, masses of family around, toys, lots of baking and Aunts.  I really enjoyed that.  It was jolly, not because my parents were believers, but because there was always something good going on.  I like to hang on to that thought, because it’s quite a good memory.

By the time the boys came along, Paula had gone mad every Christmas and spoiled me rotten, as she does now with the boys, and jollied me up again.  And we spent a lot of time off at Christmas and visited, and hung out and it was generally wonderful.

But the boys started asking questions to which I had not which I had not any answers.

Like how could Santa get around the world in one day?  How does he know if we’ve been bad or good?  Who decorates the Christmas tree on the evening of Uly’s birthday, (six days before Christmas).  Why don’t we park on Yellow lines?

We don’t park on yellow lines because they have a compound that melts tyres, and then the ticket is for littering.

So, in the style of Calvin’s Dad, I answered the questions as best I could.

It’s clear to me that when I die I’m going to hell.

For example,

How could Santa get around the world in one day?

Ah, well, you see Santa doesn’t actually have get around the world in a single day.  The Dutch, to pick someone at random, have their gifts on December 5th.  Different people do things at different times.  Santa has a holiday in the summer like everyone else, as depicted in Father Christmas goes on Holiday.

How does Santa afford all the presents?

Hobbes, the tiger philosopher seems to think that Santa is just getting into debt, but this is clearly not the case.  Santa can easily afford anything thanks to his lucrative sponsorships deals, (Dom pointed this one out to me when he was very young and we were not sure how we were going to do Christmas one time, so we were trying to manage his expectations), with the life of Coca Cola.  Dom seemed to think at the time that any information on the internet saying that Santa, (no children here, right?), wasn’t real, was an adult conspiracy, was clearly just part of that conspiracy.  We had to “have a word” with Uly before he went to Big School, because we were not sure what his belief status was.  Thanks to my clever evil explanations, his belief was extremely sound indeed.  Um.

How does Santa know if we’ve been good?

Easy one this.  Despite all the spying work they do on the side, Santa’s sponsorship deals are so very lucrative, do a simple search on the web to see how many places his images appear, all that royalty can pay for a great deal of information, and it is the CIA, cleverly disguised as the USA’s Central Intelligence Agency, that collects this information.   Three simple words, Keyhole Satellite Imagery.  It also explains why NORAD are so willing to tracks Santa’s progress on Christmas Eve. It’s actually the CHRISTMAS Intelligence Agency, it just does spying and stuff on the side, because you know, as you’ve got it, might as well use it for terrorism protection and stuff, no point in doubling up.

Who puts up the Christmas tree?

That would be the Christmas Fairy.  Ulysses asks,

“But I saw Mum putting it up one year, couldn’t the Christmas Fairy come?”

“Ah, no son, she is the Christmas Fairy.  She gave up an immortal life to be with me.”

“Oh, cool.”

And that was just fine until we got divorced, (and I can I just say that, as I’m referring to this, that our divorce is basically my fault and not hers, and she still has my utmost respect and love.  More so actually, because she has behaved with openness, grace and dignity throughout.  She still behaves with love and respect towards me and we co-parent.  I go to stay and we get on well.  She is the epitome of a dignified and loving woman).

So Ulysses one day said to me..

“So I just want to get one thing straight Dad.”

“What’s that son?”

“You remember you said Mum was the Christmas Fairy?”


“And you said that she was the Christmas Fairy and that she had given up an immortal life to be with you…”

“Uh, yes.”

“And now you’re divorced.  Just saying , you know.”


Oh, I’m going to hell.  In a hand basket.

Funniest Spam Ever

Saturday, November 20th, 2010

Because sometimes people post some class bullshit.  From my junk mail.

(In a review, which I rarely carry out).



Our ref: ATM/13470/IDR
Your ref:…
Date: 02/11/2010


I am The Rt Hon David Cameron, Prime Minister British Government. This letter is to officially inform you that (ATM Card Number 4900101775551222) has been accredited with your favor. Your Personal Identification Number is 413. The VISA Card Value is Ј3,000,000.00(Three Million Great British Pounds Sterling).

This office will send to you a Visa/ATM CARD that you will use to withdraw your funds in any ATM MACHINE CENTER or Visa card outlet in the world with a maximum of  Ј5000 Pounds daily.Further more,You will be required to re-confirm the following information to enable;The Rt Hon William Hague Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs. begin in processing of your VISA CARD.

(1)Full names: (2)Address:   (3)Country:    (4)Nationality:   (5)Phone #:   (6)Age:   (7)Occupation:

Forward Reply To:

TAKE NOTICE: That you are warned to stop further communications with any other person(s) or office(s) different from the staff of the State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs to avoid hitches in receiving your payment.


The Rt Hon David Cameron MP
Prime Minister.

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