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Argh Update

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This entry has actually been four days in the making, so it might leap around a bit.

Well here goes.

Last week….

The Course…

It was actually quite interesting, though due to travelling it did result in me doing a twelve hour day on average. My only real criticism is two things that the tutor did. Firstly, he pronounced ‘Computer’ as ‘Compudah’ and ‘Security’ as ‘Securidee’. This is a remarkably small hole to pick in someone’s speech, but when the course is a computer course and much of it revolves around security, you can imagine how often these two words occur. Often together. There are more irritating things in the world, but by day three this was beginning to make me grind my teeth. Secondly, every time he was waiting for something to happen on the screen (and those of you who are regular PC users will know how often you watch the egg-timer rotate and sigh) he would announce: “Dramatic Pause!” Now this IS irritating. This was marching him towards experimental brain surgery with a yard broom. Add to this the following fact: our sandwiches were ordered as we entered the building in the morning and delivered at lunchtime. Fine. They were from Subway and I normally wouldn’t eat food that comes from a place where tramps urinate and junkies shoot up, but I was at their mercy. I can only assume that they employ their staff from a home for the mentally retarded. How can you get an order for a Chicken Tikka Sandwich with no salad and a chocolate muffin (what I ordered)  mixed up with ham, egg and salad sandwich and a blueberry muffin (what I received.) I suppose I’m just quite lucky I didn’t get the captain of the Exxon Valdez or Hanta Virus or some such. The final straw I think is the fact that I was at the mercy of public transport. The buses were generally quite good, so I’ll give credit where it’s due. The rail service, on the other hand, is a whole different kettle of piranha. Exactly the same train got me there two consecutive days, firstly ten minutes early and then thirty five minutes late. How can this be? Because we had to sit in the middle of a hundred branchlines on the outskirts of Leeds like the Mary Celeste, waiting for there to be a platform at the station that we could use. Here’s a thought, guys. Try only putting on trains if there’s a platform available for them at both ends. One platform’s only so much use. Most humans are aversed to being marooned in a warm smelly carriage when they’re on a time limit. Assholes.

This week…


In addition there is my failing health. Yes I appear to have caught Rhinoceros Flu or Mongoose Flu or whatever the hell the latest variant is. I have spent the weekend feeling generally less than well. Every morning I am woken with amazing precision at 6am by my lungs which appear to be attempting to expel a sofa. I am short on sleep. Today, I actually feel a little better, but in his quest to make my life a living hell, God has given me a warmer feeling and counter-balanced it by completely removing my voice. Yes, I sound like someone whose throat has been cheese grated. As the Hobbit puts it I sound like Michael Wincott (look him up… you’ll know him). The main downside of this lack of vocal ability is my incapability to scream along to In Flames, which is one of my favoured pastimes. A secondary downside is the fact that as soon as it becomes known that you have no voice, all the retards and dickwads in your place of employment spend their entire time asking you questions and, when they can’t hear your reply, saying ‘Pardon?’. Assholes. These are the same sort of people who work in a bank and will apply charges on your account when you go overdrawn, despite the fact that you being overdrawn states fairly plainly that you don’t have the money to pay the charges. The world is full of assholes.

On Tuesday I felt considerably better so went to run the pub quiz, as I habitually do on a Tuesday night. I felt that if people remained fairly quiet while I read the questions out, I could probably get away with the fact that I sounded like an extra from Paul McCartney’s Frog Chorus. As it happens I did get through it quite well. Unfortunately, in order to do so, I had to force my voice to stay as loud as possible and it’s now (on Thursday) beginning to look as though I’ve permanently ruptured my vocal chords. That’s me: Mr Croaky McWheeze. And my throat feels like somebody put a wire bottle brush down it and attached the other end to a power drill. In short: Urgh.

On to a couple of other things. Today we got to do our ‘Secret Santa’ at work. This is supposed to be a money-saving Christmas thing, where you draw a name out of a hat and you buy only that person a Christmas present. Fair enough. The value of this present is £7. You what? Eh? How does this save me money? There are only four people in the office who I would consider buying Christmas presents for anyway, and I consider them good enough friends that, if we decided we would be buying each other presents, we’d do it regardless of Secret Santa. So, in fact, this exercise is costing me an extra £7 on top of my Christmas budget. In addition, while I’m quite lucky with who I got this year, there is always the possibility of pulling out the name of the World’s Most Boring turd who sits in our office with the aura of grey or the old lardsack who bathes in formaldehyde with his ferrets. What do you buy these people? Somebody tell me where I can go to buy someone a life, a personality or hygiene for Christmas. I fully expect to get something real nice from the random person who picked me. Perhaps ten or fifteen left socks, four sacks of potatoes, or a dream date with a fat Bavarian squeezebox player?

Printers suck. Printers Must Die!

Another story but way too dull to bore you with.

My God I never get to update this thing. It’s now been a fortnight I think. Today has been inexpressibly manic. We lost all users and computers from our servers at work and have had to pretty much re-do everything from scratch. I sit here in the office at 6:15pm. Alone. I think I can hear wolves in the distance. Mummy. I’m waiting for our poor beleaguered tech support guy to turn up and sort out the e-mail server. Despite not being sure how, I have the horrible feeling that this is all my fault. Although I don’t see how I can have caused it, I was the only one in the applications where this is all held. Hope I don’t get done over for this, but if I deserve it, then what the hell; I deserve it. Think I’ll move to Tibet and become a Yak herder, though knowing my luck, all the Yaks would come down with a virus, three of them would disappear, one of the vanishing ones would be the Alpha Male or whatever the fuck Yak herds are led by, and the rest would mill about and refuse to give milk until we returned the alpha or got some sort of fucking patch from Microsoft. Never a dull moment.

I was playing Zeus: Master of Olympus last night and when trying to find out why a glitch was happening, I came across a cheats page. I don’t like using cheats on computer games. It’s soft and sad and an altogether southern thing to do. Not Yorkshire at all. However, my interest was piqued by one. When run it turns everyone who works in your dairies into cheesemen. They wear triangular cheese suits. Oh my God how cool is that?

Anyway, IT support has now arrived. Further updates shortly, but Tara for now luvvies.



Written by SJAT

August 20, 2009 at 1:59 pm

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