It’s the only way to describe my poor old blog.
Sorry Blog, but I’ve been distracted of late, and would make with a stinging nettles and the flogging, but there is a dearth of them, being in the midst of winter such as we are. Be assured, though, that I will rectify the matter with the oncoming of Spring, and meanwhile will make every attempt to write to you far more often.
Trouble is……. writing long emails as lately has taken some steam from the boiler.
I was hoping the muse would kick min if Io started some mindless rambling, but so far not much is going on………. Half watching a film doesn’t help a whole lot I guess. It’s “Becoming Jane”……… about Jane Austen before she was a successful writer……. I turned over to it at random from a crappy cooking contest program…….. one of the plethora that cascades from the telly these days by way of national entertainment.
Anyway……. it’s a good film, and it sure highlights the lot of women back in those days. Having an opinion about anything was considered such a wrong. Even to an Old Chauvinist Greaser like me it defies belief. I’m frequently in despair of what this country is turning into, but when you really think of the reality that we’ve left behind from the ‘good old days’, well, there was a lot wrong, for sure-certain. You either had, or you had not……… boy do we ever have it easy these days.
What is a real pity is why the things that were good had to be sacrificed and squandered so completely to make way for the things that were so wrong to be put right…….. if you see what I mean.
Why is that?
Maybe it’s the momentum of a ‘pendulum’ in all things, in that it has to swing to and fro and only settles on the middle when the energy to push it ceases to be.
The nature of a pendulum being what it is, though……….. sitting in a rested middle means it ceases to be a pendulum, and just becomes a useless weight.
I guess it just has to swing, at whatever price.
Nite,K.x :o)
Wednesday, 3 March 2010
Sunday, 25 October 2009
Women make it complicated......... (but it's kinda ok.) :o)
I wrote this a while ago………. Took it out of an email I was writing at the time, and made it stand up on it’s own. Go on……… tell me I’m wrong. :o)
Women make it complicated
That's the one thing that worries me about getting the love of my life.......... women have a gift for making things real complicated......... for example, you fancy something to eat, and they start insisting you heat your beans in a saucepan, transfer them to a clean plate, add lettuce, cabbage, cucumber and stuff like that, and lord knows what else. Most of it has to be bloody opened / peeled / washed/ cracked / prised / sliced / diced / grated / mashed / tossed / whipped / stirred / folded / buttered / oiled/ fried/ boiled/ blanched/ grilled and heated in many other weird ways, and in several other saucepans, casserole dishes, you-name-it, too.
Then you gotta make up some gravy / sauces / dressings and things called ‘garnishes’; I ask you, what’s a bleddy garnish? All this makes a helluva mess, and so then you’ve gotta wipe up all the clutter, clean the damn chopping board(s) (just the one will never do!), and all the stuff you used to mutilate, sorry ‘prepare’ the food.
Even though you’ve been up to your elbows in soap and water for half the day, you have to wash your hands for the tenth time, get out knives / forks / spoons / chopsticks and other things you never knew existed before you met her, and lay the damn table, using a nice white Irish linen cloth. That’s the one that has to be washed every time you as much as look at it, and not to mention ironed as well afterwards.
I mean…… IRONING a table cloth??? Jees!
Then, because it’s now fast becoming a ‘romantic’ meal, when you thought it was just ‘fancy something to eat’ you gotta turn the telly off, find the candles, fix them in the holder, and light the soddin' things. Bugger, burnt your fingers. Now you gotta run your hand under the cold tap, and suffer the indignity of being told you're “such a baby” into the bargain, and not to make a fuss 'cos it can't hurt THAT much, (It bleddy well DID!) as she holds your hand under the tap with all the grip of a hairy-assed Sumo wrestler. Strength mysteriously absent when she didn't have the strength to carry the four-tons of shopping she made you bloody buy yesterday, and on your day off too.
Then you gotta dry your hand in a clean towel, get told off for getting garage grease and stuff under your nails, then get a real bollicking for being vulgar, when you nuzzle up close to her scented long neck and suggest to her that dipping them in some fresh, warm, Pussy Juice would get it off it real easy. Her sensitivity is pretty rich considering she spent half of last night with her legs over your shoulders, shouting “FUCK ME!! FUCK ME!!” to the neighbours.
There were you, thinking that it was what you were doing all along, surprised and dismayed that she hadn't noticed you were doing your bloody best! She shouted “DON’T STOP, DON’T STOP!”, so you’d tried to get a few more revs up, without falling out and missing a stroke, despite the cramp in your left calf and splitting a couple of toenails scrabbling for some grip with the other leg on the damn slippery black silk sheets. The ones she suggestively mentioned would be soooo sexy. The ones you knew bloody well were going to be trouble the second you looked at the price tag, as you coolly flourished the plastic to impress her with your New Man Spares No Expense style.
Anyway, by the time she's got the Burneeze cream out, and struggled with the plasters that won't stick because of the overzealous application of the cream plastered on your fingers, everything has gone all to pot, quite literally. The gravy's gone all weird, the stuff you opened / peeled / washed/ cracked / prised / sliced / diced / grated / mashed / tossed / whipped / stirred / folded / buttered / oiled/ fried/ boiled/ blanched/ grilled and heated in many other weird ways, and in several other saucepans/ casserole dishes/ you-name-it, has gone all to hell too, and the candles have dripped wax all over the bloody Irish linen white thing you'd been forced to spread on the table.
She’s started to knock up something else, to replace the burnt stuff, and for sure-certain you can feel a good few more laps of kitchen-based domesticity coming up. You resign yourself, and start to scrape the burnt pans, after being told not to "just-stand-there-looking-at-it-if-you-hadn't-made-all-that-fuss-and-been-more-careful-in-the-first-place-it-wouldn't-have-burnt". Your helpful suggestion that maybe if you could “sort-of-just-stir-it-all-together-and-see-what-it-tastes-like, babe”, meets with a disgusted “Don’t be stupid; you can’t do that!”.
“Actually you can”, you think to yourself, but know full well that such thoughts won’t overwhelm her powerful Girl-Logic software systems, and so you strategically keep the thought secreted well away from the Brain-to-Mouth short circuit, that has dropped you right in it so often before.
At long last, after a repeat of the whole performance, you finally sit down to eat. You find yourself thinking “What a bleddy price to pay for a regular shag”, and just in time shut the thought down in blind panic, only too aware of her sensitive telepathic and intuitive skills. The ones have seen right into your thoughts so many times in the past. HOW does she do that?
Then there’s trying to see what you're doing in the soft, dimpsy candlelight, whilst attempting to look into her eyes romantically, and not spoil it by being a wuss, and wincing at the pain of the damn fork pressing into your burnt fingers. When you see how she is looking back at you, you realise, with the fixed grin that you desperately try to warm up, that lovemaking that night is going to call on every ounce of proficiency you have at your disposal.
Too late, she’s triggered your simple and hair-triggered Primary Man Circuits. The Member for Bathpool is stirring, albeit pretty half heartedly like mortally wounded old soldier making one last effort to rise up and salute the distant call of the Bugle; loyal to a fault, and willing to fling himself into the breech one last time for Honour and Valour. You find yourself wishing, not for the first time, that you’d avoided introducing the Ferret again that morning, close thing though it was, after climbing aboard twice last night. Doesn’t she realise the damn Well isn’t bottomless? “Not really” is the obvious answer, by that look of “You’re going to be a Lucky Boy tonight!” in her Make-Sure-He-Notices furtive glances at you.
Then she goes and reaches up and does that thing with her hair. The thing she does without knowing how it leaves you helpless, and at her mercy every single time. With an inward sigh of contented resignation you smile at her, knowing she’s always going to have her way without even trying.
Still, you remembered dreaming of one day meeting a gorgeous nymphomaniac just like her, but sometimes realise it’s resulted in life being much more complicated, and an awfully long way off the simple life you once enjoyed. For instance; Getting up out of the armchair when the adverts start, opening a tin of beans, shoving a spoon into the tin, and back to sit down again before the film kicks in again.
Food.
Done in a jiffy,………..and if you lick the spoon clean, absolutely no washing up.
Simple.
Quick.
No Wucking Forries! :-)
© Kevin Udy.
Women make it complicated
That's the one thing that worries me about getting the love of my life.......... women have a gift for making things real complicated......... for example, you fancy something to eat, and they start insisting you heat your beans in a saucepan, transfer them to a clean plate, add lettuce, cabbage, cucumber and stuff like that, and lord knows what else. Most of it has to be bloody opened / peeled / washed/ cracked / prised / sliced / diced / grated / mashed / tossed / whipped / stirred / folded / buttered / oiled/ fried/ boiled/ blanched/ grilled and heated in many other weird ways, and in several other saucepans, casserole dishes, you-name-it, too.
Then you gotta make up some gravy / sauces / dressings and things called ‘garnishes’; I ask you, what’s a bleddy garnish? All this makes a helluva mess, and so then you’ve gotta wipe up all the clutter, clean the damn chopping board(s) (just the one will never do!), and all the stuff you used to mutilate, sorry ‘prepare’ the food.
Even though you’ve been up to your elbows in soap and water for half the day, you have to wash your hands for the tenth time, get out knives / forks / spoons / chopsticks and other things you never knew existed before you met her, and lay the damn table, using a nice white Irish linen cloth. That’s the one that has to be washed every time you as much as look at it, and not to mention ironed as well afterwards.
I mean…… IRONING a table cloth??? Jees!
Then, because it’s now fast becoming a ‘romantic’ meal, when you thought it was just ‘fancy something to eat’ you gotta turn the telly off, find the candles, fix them in the holder, and light the soddin' things. Bugger, burnt your fingers. Now you gotta run your hand under the cold tap, and suffer the indignity of being told you're “such a baby” into the bargain, and not to make a fuss 'cos it can't hurt THAT much, (It bleddy well DID!) as she holds your hand under the tap with all the grip of a hairy-assed Sumo wrestler. Strength mysteriously absent when she didn't have the strength to carry the four-tons of shopping she made you bloody buy yesterday, and on your day off too.
Then you gotta dry your hand in a clean towel, get told off for getting garage grease and stuff under your nails, then get a real bollicking for being vulgar, when you nuzzle up close to her scented long neck and suggest to her that dipping them in some fresh, warm, Pussy Juice would get it off it real easy. Her sensitivity is pretty rich considering she spent half of last night with her legs over your shoulders, shouting “FUCK ME!! FUCK ME!!” to the neighbours.
There were you, thinking that it was what you were doing all along, surprised and dismayed that she hadn't noticed you were doing your bloody best! She shouted “DON’T STOP, DON’T STOP!”, so you’d tried to get a few more revs up, without falling out and missing a stroke, despite the cramp in your left calf and splitting a couple of toenails scrabbling for some grip with the other leg on the damn slippery black silk sheets. The ones she suggestively mentioned would be soooo sexy. The ones you knew bloody well were going to be trouble the second you looked at the price tag, as you coolly flourished the plastic to impress her with your New Man Spares No Expense style.
Anyway, by the time she's got the Burneeze cream out, and struggled with the plasters that won't stick because of the overzealous application of the cream plastered on your fingers, everything has gone all to pot, quite literally. The gravy's gone all weird, the stuff you opened / peeled / washed/ cracked / prised / sliced / diced / grated / mashed / tossed / whipped / stirred / folded / buttered / oiled/ fried/ boiled/ blanched/ grilled and heated in many other weird ways, and in several other saucepans/ casserole dishes/ you-name-it, has gone all to hell too, and the candles have dripped wax all over the bloody Irish linen white thing you'd been forced to spread on the table.
She’s started to knock up something else, to replace the burnt stuff, and for sure-certain you can feel a good few more laps of kitchen-based domesticity coming up. You resign yourself, and start to scrape the burnt pans, after being told not to "just-stand-there-looking-at-it-if-you-hadn't-made-all-that-fuss-and-been-more-careful-in-the-first-place-it-wouldn't-have-burnt". Your helpful suggestion that maybe if you could “sort-of-just-stir-it-all-together-and-see-what-it-tastes-like, babe”, meets with a disgusted “Don’t be stupid; you can’t do that!”.
“Actually you can”, you think to yourself, but know full well that such thoughts won’t overwhelm her powerful Girl-Logic software systems, and so you strategically keep the thought secreted well away from the Brain-to-Mouth short circuit, that has dropped you right in it so often before.
At long last, after a repeat of the whole performance, you finally sit down to eat. You find yourself thinking “What a bleddy price to pay for a regular shag”, and just in time shut the thought down in blind panic, only too aware of her sensitive telepathic and intuitive skills. The ones have seen right into your thoughts so many times in the past. HOW does she do that?
Then there’s trying to see what you're doing in the soft, dimpsy candlelight, whilst attempting to look into her eyes romantically, and not spoil it by being a wuss, and wincing at the pain of the damn fork pressing into your burnt fingers. When you see how she is looking back at you, you realise, with the fixed grin that you desperately try to warm up, that lovemaking that night is going to call on every ounce of proficiency you have at your disposal.
Too late, she’s triggered your simple and hair-triggered Primary Man Circuits. The Member for Bathpool is stirring, albeit pretty half heartedly like mortally wounded old soldier making one last effort to rise up and salute the distant call of the Bugle; loyal to a fault, and willing to fling himself into the breech one last time for Honour and Valour. You find yourself wishing, not for the first time, that you’d avoided introducing the Ferret again that morning, close thing though it was, after climbing aboard twice last night. Doesn’t she realise the damn Well isn’t bottomless? “Not really” is the obvious answer, by that look of “You’re going to be a Lucky Boy tonight!” in her Make-Sure-He-Notices furtive glances at you.
Then she goes and reaches up and does that thing with her hair. The thing she does without knowing how it leaves you helpless, and at her mercy every single time. With an inward sigh of contented resignation you smile at her, knowing she’s always going to have her way without even trying.
Still, you remembered dreaming of one day meeting a gorgeous nymphomaniac just like her, but sometimes realise it’s resulted in life being much more complicated, and an awfully long way off the simple life you once enjoyed. For instance; Getting up out of the armchair when the adverts start, opening a tin of beans, shoving a spoon into the tin, and back to sit down again before the film kicks in again.
Food.
Done in a jiffy,………..and if you lick the spoon clean, absolutely no washing up.
Simple.
Quick.
No Wucking Forries! :-)
© Kevin Udy.
Tuesday, 6 October 2009
Have just received my new Microsoft keyboard from Amazon, a bargain at £11.95 inc vat and p&p, and bought to help with the Nanowrimo thing. The laptop and the board it sits on (to keep cooling vents free and unblocked) weighs a bit heavy on the old knees after a few hours, so just having the keyboard alone on my lap helps a lot. It’s a wired USB keyboard…… maybe I should’ve got a wireless one. Maybe I will, and use this one on the computer upstairs. Maybe. :o)
Microsoft Comfort Curve Keyboard 2000
http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000B9OIIU/ref=ox_ya_oh_product
This is an ergonomic keyboard, in as much as the keys are curved at something like six degrees upwards each side, and although I only type with two fingers…….. despite my intentions to learn to touch-type……… it’s surprising how you find yourself hitting the wrong keys when they’re arranged and spaced even only a little differently. The slightly more comfortable position for the hands to sit over the ‘home keys’ night make the touch-typing a bit easier I guess, so I should persevere with the practice lessons I guess.
Not a whole lot happening here at Fortress Wheelrest. I’ve been practising on the model plane flight training software, and am a lot better than I was to start with. I can take off and land ok now, turn, level out, swap left for right when the plane is coming back towards me again, which is the big thing that’s hard to grasp without too much ‘thinking’ whilst the plane goes straight into the ground. I can loop fly upside down ok(ish), throw it about, doing some aerobatics, and recover straight and level afterwards, but the intuitive and instinctive stick movements are a looooong way off as good as they need to be. It still goes into the ‘virtual’ ground fairly regularly. This flying training software has already paid for itself in saved crashed to get me as good as I am so far.
Ok, that’s it for today……… not worth the reading really, but since no-one's reading it, (unless the visitor counter's faulty), ………who cares? :o)
K.x :o)
This is an ergonomic keyboard, in as much as the keys are curved at something like six degrees upwards each side, and although I only type with two fingers…….. despite my intentions to learn to touch-type……… it’s surprising how you find yourself hitting the wrong keys when they’re arranged and spaced even only a little differently. The slightly more comfortable position for the hands to sit over the ‘home keys’ night make the touch-typing a bit easier I guess, so I should persevere with the practice lessons I guess.
Not a whole lot happening here at Fortress Wheelrest. I’ve been practising on the model plane flight training software, and am a lot better than I was to start with. I can take off and land ok now, turn, level out, swap left for right when the plane is coming back towards me again, which is the big thing that’s hard to grasp without too much ‘thinking’ whilst the plane goes straight into the ground. I can loop fly upside down ok(ish), throw it about, doing some aerobatics, and recover straight and level afterwards, but the intuitive and instinctive stick movements are a looooong way off as good as they need to be. It still goes into the ‘virtual’ ground fairly regularly. This flying training software has already paid for itself in saved crashed to get me as good as I am so far.
Ok, that’s it for today……… not worth the reading really, but since no-one's reading it, (unless the visitor counter's faulty), ………who cares? :o)
K.x :o)
Wednesday, 30 September 2009
On buying cheer-up stuff, and new hobbies....................:o)
Hi Y’all,
I’ve kinda fallen off the blogging for about a week now…….. had some crap from work that put me in a dive, and took the wind out of my sails a good bit. Pile-of-shit job dominated by weenies. Not that it’s by any means unique in that description these days; I guess a good few of you could say the same thing, so Enough Said.
The result has been no writing. Stopped dead in it’s tracks.
In an attempt to drag myself back up to some altitude, I’ve been doing The Usual and been throwing money I can't afford at buying stuff I don't really need, to cheer me up. In effect, buying cheer-up presents for moi, ..............and y’all will know by now that I LOVE presents! :o)
I do it all the time, even though I know it only achieves a few things……… none of which were the primary aim………..
1) Blows a lot of (very) hard-earned cash
2) Clutters this place up even more than it already is.
3) Cheeses me off even more when I have to face up to what it’s cost to be ‘lifted’ for such a short time.
4) Often breeds a New Hobby, which adds to the pressure to enjoy yet another one I don’t have the energy or time for.
I wonder how many, or rather, how ‘few’ men do this? I say ‘men’ because have a feeling the ‘few’ are mostly men. I work with women, have done for something like 37 years, and find that very few have ‘hobbies’. Many read, probably more than men do, but few have any other interests. Not many have the traditional interests of sewing and knitting, few draw or paint, and certainly those that indulge in the traditionally ‘male’ stomping grounds are like hen’s teeth. Bleddy rare.
So, as far as I can tell, it’s mostly men who have hobbies, and they tend to have one or two that they stick to. How many gather them up like swept leaves like I do, and keep them all, ready and waiting to be dipped into? I have what I call Option Paralysis …………. Having so many options, that the effect is to be spread too thinly and so not really doing or enjoying any of them, but at the same time feeling the pressure that having invested in them all, I SHOULD be doing them.
Part of it is definitely a cheer-up strategy, and that I think comes from spending so much time alone, and in particular having no woman………. a ‘hobby’ that supersedes all others, cheers like no other, and somehow has the catalytic effect on me of inspiring me to be more active and finding the energy to do all these hobbies. A Woman is a very special thing to have in your life, but she sure does have to be the right sort of woman.
Quite a few aren’t content until their man is well and truly in harness, and pulling for all he’s worth too. That suits many, and I’m the last to say it’s always a bad thing, but it is for me, that’s all. It’s why I’m alone……… I won’t settle with someone who is wrong for me, and not just for my own sake either. If she’s a mismatch for me, then it follows that I’m a bad blend of man for her. Depending on who compromises the most, or if neither do, it’s a rough ride, and a waste of two lives.
If that sounds like I’m a selfish pig you’ve read it wrong. Read it again, and think about it.
So, throwing money at stuff, and a new hobby. I was already blowing a small fortune on writing books to keep myself enthused about the Nanowrimo writing marathon in November, ( http://www.nanowrimo.org/ ), then No-Problem-Pete got interested in buying a Radio Controlled (RC) Model Aeroplane. A Hobby Zone Super Cub, to be more precise.
Oh dear.
It comes complete with a control box that is exactly the same as the control boxes used in flying these model planes, and so I will be able to get some ‘stick time’ in before flying for real. That way, I’ll hopefully gain some reactive skills without smashing up the relatively expensive plane.
Oh yes, …………. you guessed, didn’t you?
I’ve kinda fallen off the blogging for about a week now…….. had some crap from work that put me in a dive, and took the wind out of my sails a good bit. Pile-of-shit job dominated by weenies. Not that it’s by any means unique in that description these days; I guess a good few of you could say the same thing, so Enough Said.
The result has been no writing. Stopped dead in it’s tracks.
In an attempt to drag myself back up to some altitude, I’ve been doing The Usual and been throwing money I can't afford at buying stuff I don't really need, to cheer me up. In effect, buying cheer-up presents for moi, ..............and y’all will know by now that I LOVE presents! :o)
I do it all the time, even though I know it only achieves a few things……… none of which were the primary aim………..
1) Blows a lot of (very) hard-earned cash
2) Clutters this place up even more than it already is.
3) Cheeses me off even more when I have to face up to what it’s cost to be ‘lifted’ for such a short time.
4) Often breeds a New Hobby, which adds to the pressure to enjoy yet another one I don’t have the energy or time for.
I wonder how many, or rather, how ‘few’ men do this? I say ‘men’ because have a feeling the ‘few’ are mostly men. I work with women, have done for something like 37 years, and find that very few have ‘hobbies’. Many read, probably more than men do, but few have any other interests. Not many have the traditional interests of sewing and knitting, few draw or paint, and certainly those that indulge in the traditionally ‘male’ stomping grounds are like hen’s teeth. Bleddy rare.
So, as far as I can tell, it’s mostly men who have hobbies, and they tend to have one or two that they stick to. How many gather them up like swept leaves like I do, and keep them all, ready and waiting to be dipped into? I have what I call Option Paralysis …………. Having so many options, that the effect is to be spread too thinly and so not really doing or enjoying any of them, but at the same time feeling the pressure that having invested in them all, I SHOULD be doing them.
Part of it is definitely a cheer-up strategy, and that I think comes from spending so much time alone, and in particular having no woman………. a ‘hobby’ that supersedes all others, cheers like no other, and somehow has the catalytic effect on me of inspiring me to be more active and finding the energy to do all these hobbies. A Woman is a very special thing to have in your life, but she sure does have to be the right sort of woman.
Quite a few aren’t content until their man is well and truly in harness, and pulling for all he’s worth too. That suits many, and I’m the last to say it’s always a bad thing, but it is for me, that’s all. It’s why I’m alone……… I won’t settle with someone who is wrong for me, and not just for my own sake either. If she’s a mismatch for me, then it follows that I’m a bad blend of man for her. Depending on who compromises the most, or if neither do, it’s a rough ride, and a waste of two lives.
If that sounds like I’m a selfish pig you’ve read it wrong. Read it again, and think about it.
So, throwing money at stuff, and a new hobby. I was already blowing a small fortune on writing books to keep myself enthused about the Nanowrimo writing marathon in November, ( http://www.nanowrimo.org/ ), then No-Problem-Pete got interested in buying a Radio Controlled (RC) Model Aeroplane. A Hobby Zone Super Cub, to be more precise.
Oh dear.
Some of you will know what's coming..................
Cut a long story short, he bought one…….. actually he bought two on Ebay, kinda accidentally. He’d bid on two to make sure he got one, but unfortunately that strategy backfired, and he wound up with both of them. Both were brand new, and are ‘electric, powered by a battery electric motor instead of the nitro engines, which is pretty much the same as a petrol engine. Of the two he bought on Ebay, one has an uprated, higher voltage battery pack, and so a bit more powerful, which was the one he got flying with.
He was doing very well, until a big crash the forth time out, when the radio control lost all contact due to interference from another source somewhere nearby. It went over on it’s back, and dived smack into the ground, breaking in half just ahead of the tail and also breaking up the battery compartment and the nose cone. It’s all been all glued up, some parts replaced, and is ready to fly again, so all is not lost.
Cut a long story short, he bought one…….. actually he bought two on Ebay, kinda accidentally. He’d bid on two to make sure he got one, but unfortunately that strategy backfired, and he wound up with both of them. Both were brand new, and are ‘electric, powered by a battery electric motor instead of the nitro engines, which is pretty much the same as a petrol engine. Of the two he bought on Ebay, one has an uprated, higher voltage battery pack, and so a bit more powerful, which was the one he got flying with.
He was doing very well, until a big crash the forth time out, when the radio control lost all contact due to interference from another source somewhere nearby. It went over on it’s back, and dived smack into the ground, breaking in half just ahead of the tail and also breaking up the battery compartment and the nose cone. It’s all been all glued up, some parts replaced, and is ready to fly again, so all is not lost.
I had a go with it for a couple of minutes on it’s first flight, and was absolutely bleddy useless, so I’ve bought a Mode 2 (Most comon control configuration in the UK) £20 flight training simulator for the computer, called RC Plane Master by Reality Craft.
It comes complete with a control box that is exactly the same as the control boxes used in flying these model planes, and so I will be able to get some ‘stick time’ in before flying for real. That way, I’ll hopefully gain some reactive skills without smashing up the relatively expensive plane.Oh yes, …………. you guessed, didn’t you?
I bought the other plane off N-P-Pete, and also ordered a ‘Disaster Crash Pack’ of spares too (because the inevitable will definitely happen). It includes all the major parts likely to be damaged in a crash, apart from the complete fuselage……… and some glue, and a spare battery pack so I can get more flying in whilst the battery is being recharged.
Here’s a YouTube vid of one flying, and flown by someone who’s pretty good at it too.
Believe me, it’s far from easy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TeB3sP-rVYQ&feature=related
There’s quite a few vids on these things flying, and some with on board video cameras, which look brilliant. You can fit floats in place of the wheels to take off and land on water, and even skis for snow.
So, another hobby which I need like a hole in the head. (Some would say that would be a good idea, actually) Well, actually, not quite a ‘new’ hobby, but one I’d got into a bit a good few years ago now, when I bought a Precedent Hi Boy petrol engine kit RC trainer plane. I part built the fuselage, fizzled out, and it’s still hanging in the lounge from one of the beams in the ceiling. Much inspired again, I’ll learn on the spanking new Super Cub, and then get the Hi Boy finished, and converted to ‘electric’, and fly it at long last.
Here’s a YouTube vid of one flying, and flown by someone who’s pretty good at it too.
Believe me, it’s far from easy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TeB3sP-rVYQ&feature=related
There’s quite a few vids on these things flying, and some with on board video cameras, which look brilliant. You can fit floats in place of the wheels to take off and land on water, and even skis for snow.
So, another hobby which I need like a hole in the head. (Some would say that would be a good idea, actually) Well, actually, not quite a ‘new’ hobby, but one I’d got into a bit a good few years ago now, when I bought a Precedent Hi Boy petrol engine kit RC trainer plane. I part built the fuselage, fizzled out, and it’s still hanging in the lounge from one of the beams in the ceiling. Much inspired again, I’ll learn on the spanking new Super Cub, and then get the Hi Boy finished, and converted to ‘electric’, and fly it at long last.
Why electric? Well the internal combustion (IC) engines are very noisy, and so there are fewer places you can fly them, whereas electric powered planes are far quieter, even the ‘noisy’ ones. IC engines tend to be messier, and more troublesome at times too, or so I’m told anyway. Modern electronics, motors and batteries have made electric far more powerful than the previous components were, and so electric is now a viable option compared to some years ago when I first bought the Precedent Hi Boy. It’s a heavy plane though, so I need to learn a lot to be able to choose a suitable electric motor and battery set-up for it.
Hand’s up who’s bored half to death by now?
My apologies. :oI
Well, it’s nearly one-thirty in the morning, and I should be in the sack.
Nite nite y’all.
K.x :o) (Just a reminder……….. the ‘x’ is exclusively for you chicks who might be reading this!) :o)
Hand’s up who’s bored half to death by now?
My apologies. :oI
Well, it’s nearly one-thirty in the morning, and I should be in the sack.
Nite nite y’all.
K.x :o) (Just a reminder……….. the ‘x’ is exclusively for you chicks who might be reading this!) :o)
Tuesday, 22 September 2009
Word-count practice month is up today.........
Word count is 6,162 over target. :o)
Total.......56,162
Will start all over again with a new practice word-count month tomorrow...........
K.x :o)
Total.......56,162
Will start all over again with a new practice word-count month tomorrow...........
K.x :o)
Laugh-out-loud books........... and one in particular. :o)
Hi Y’all,
I’ve been reading a rare book, ….. One that really made me laugh right out loud.
A lot of books have reviews by people who describe how a book had them ‘laughing out aloud’, and quite often by People Of Note, sometimes on behalf of Publications Of Note,. Sometimes the book was so funny, evidently, that such an open display of humour was unavoidable in public.
Well, that’s as may be, and far from it for me to doubt the truth of the reviewer, but quite honestly I find few books really are that funny. Most are quite funny, but those that really make you do more than chortle, smile, or interrupt the natural breathing rhythm to shove out a reverse sniff from the nostrils are quite rare. Maybe it’s just me who finds that, but I suspect not.
The book which has had me laughing aloud, and to the point of moist eyes a few times, is Rich Hall’s ‘I Blame Society’
To some extent I think it was helped by my having his ‘voice’ in my head pretty much all the time I was reading it. Made all the easier because it’s written in a dialect which kinda makes it hard not to ‘hear’ him in your mind, and that dry way he has of telling a yarn, assuming you’ve seen his stand-up performances, and/or other appearances on TV. I’ve recently seen him on our British comedy quiz show, ‘QI’, hosted by the amazing Stephen Fry, so that may well have been the reason his voice was speaking to me.
It didn’t have me laughing all the time by any means, and certainly not aloud every time I did laugh, but I couldn’t go very far without something funny hitting home. The other day, (the pebble collecting day), I sat on the beach and absolutely howled with laughter a good few times. I rocked back and lay there laughing for a minute, dried my eyes and sat up to read the same bit again, only to burst out laughing and repeat the performance.
It was a pretty empty beach. Just as well. Undignified behaviour for an Old Greaser.
Now, before you get the impression that I’m claiming this to be a great work of literature, I’m not. Partly because it isn’t in ‘classic’ terms, but also because I wouldn’t exactly be qualified to make such a judgement. To be honest, I hold a personal view that a great work of literature could be anything that intensely amuses the reader, is especially fluid and easy to read, and fills your head with what was intended by the author. Still, that’s not the point………. I’m not qualified to judge, that being generally the preserve of the finely educated.
Anyway…….. to quote Amazon’s synopsis:-
‘Married six times, all to women named Brenda, Otis Lee Crenshaw's bourbon-fuelled odyssey takes him from the high mountains of East Tennessee to the bottom of the music charts. A man not above faking his own death to sell more records, this is his not quite true story of romance, recidivism, country music, and an unshakable belief in Marriage at First Sight.’
Ok, so that’s generally the gist of the book, but in amongst it all are some wisdoms, and here is where I wished I’d noted the page numbers where I read them, but I didn’t, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. You will probably have to be the sort of person who ‘thinks’ a lot about life, has been hammered by it at times (and who hasn’t, bar the very fortunate?….. Or perhaps less fortunate, I guess.), and can think a bit sideways at times too.
There was one morsel that tickled me, and I had been dying to try it out on someone since I read it……….. I was at work yesterday, and got my chance. Someone (We’ll call her Cheryl, shall we?) was going on about something or another, bless her. Some detail of out working day that was to be set in concrete as it tends to be these days. There were a few staff around to be amused by my great wit, and so I took a risk……….
“So, I’ve moved all the furniture around and it should be better for you all now”
“Cheryl, do you hear that?”
“What, I don’t hear anything?”
“Exactly, Cheryl, because that’s the sound of nobody giving a shit”
Everybody laughed, mainly because I was laughing my head off, and I JUST got away with it. It was a real close thing, because ‘Cheryl’ is Quite an Important Person, and knew she shouldn’t really be seen to see the funny side of it. It was ok because she knew it wasn’t meant spitefully, and I was just getting a laugh out of it.
Getting away with it. My biggest kick since I was born. :o)
Not so great when I come a cropper though, but isn’t that the measure of how good something feels………….. how bad the downside is. How dark the flip-side of the coin.
Sorry, rambling away.
Maybe I’ve read this at just the right time, in just the right mood, and so it floated my boat, I dunno. I read another of his books, called ‘Things Snowball’ a while ago, and can’t remember clearly, but don’t think it had me laughing as much as this one did. I must have a look for it, and read it again. Different things ‘fit’ us at different stages of our lives.
I’ve actually gone and rummaged around for ‘Things Snowball’, found it after ages wandering around my books, muttering, “I bleddy KNOW it’s here somewhere”, but not being able to see it anywhere. You know when you can ‘see’ where it is in your mind’s eye, but when you look there, it’s ‘gone’.
I suddenly found inspiration, and went delving into The Big Box, so called because it’s a real big box, yanking all the books out, finding it wasn’t there, and then and not being able to pack the same number of books back in again. There’s a lesson to be learnt there, and one I’ve learnt and seemingly repeatedly forgotten; never be too efficient in your box-packing/storing/tidying, because if you don’t leave some slack, you’ll never do such a good job when you go and take something out, and so The Untidiness will start all over again.
Always leave some slack in your efficiency!
In the end, after looking absolutely EVERYWHERE, I found it two books down from the top of the stack on the floor by the bedside cabinet. I KNEW I’d see the bleddy thing recently!
You know what it’s like when you find a book, especially one you’ve driven yourself to the edge of what sanity you have left, and believe me I can scarce afford to go anywhere near that precipice; you just have to start skimming though, and reading at least bits of it, don’t you? I ended up reading a few chapters ……… and, sure enough, ………… nope, nothing like as funny.
Funny, but not laugh-out-loud funny, as the reviewer on the back cover from The Scotsman claimed. Still we all find different humour funny, and so maybe these reviews, including my opinion here, aren’t worth reading. You just have to suck it and see. (Stop it!)
So, as per the usual, I guess I’m wasting everybody’s time here today.
Sorry (sigh) :oI
Ok, that’s enough…….. it was just going to be a few lines.
Y'all know how it is.........
K.x :o)
I’ve been reading a rare book, ….. One that really made me laugh right out loud.
A lot of books have reviews by people who describe how a book had them ‘laughing out aloud’, and quite often by People Of Note, sometimes on behalf of Publications Of Note,. Sometimes the book was so funny, evidently, that such an open display of humour was unavoidable in public.
Well, that’s as may be, and far from it for me to doubt the truth of the reviewer, but quite honestly I find few books really are that funny. Most are quite funny, but those that really make you do more than chortle, smile, or interrupt the natural breathing rhythm to shove out a reverse sniff from the nostrils are quite rare. Maybe it’s just me who finds that, but I suspect not.
The book which has had me laughing aloud, and to the point of moist eyes a few times, is Rich Hall’s ‘I Blame Society’
To some extent I think it was helped by my having his ‘voice’ in my head pretty much all the time I was reading it. Made all the easier because it’s written in a dialect which kinda makes it hard not to ‘hear’ him in your mind, and that dry way he has of telling a yarn, assuming you’ve seen his stand-up performances, and/or other appearances on TV. I’ve recently seen him on our British comedy quiz show, ‘QI’, hosted by the amazing Stephen Fry, so that may well have been the reason his voice was speaking to me.
It didn’t have me laughing all the time by any means, and certainly not aloud every time I did laugh, but I couldn’t go very far without something funny hitting home. The other day, (the pebble collecting day), I sat on the beach and absolutely howled with laughter a good few times. I rocked back and lay there laughing for a minute, dried my eyes and sat up to read the same bit again, only to burst out laughing and repeat the performance.
It was a pretty empty beach. Just as well. Undignified behaviour for an Old Greaser.
Now, before you get the impression that I’m claiming this to be a great work of literature, I’m not. Partly because it isn’t in ‘classic’ terms, but also because I wouldn’t exactly be qualified to make such a judgement. To be honest, I hold a personal view that a great work of literature could be anything that intensely amuses the reader, is especially fluid and easy to read, and fills your head with what was intended by the author. Still, that’s not the point………. I’m not qualified to judge, that being generally the preserve of the finely educated.
Anyway…….. to quote Amazon’s synopsis:-
‘Married six times, all to women named Brenda, Otis Lee Crenshaw's bourbon-fuelled odyssey takes him from the high mountains of East Tennessee to the bottom of the music charts. A man not above faking his own death to sell more records, this is his not quite true story of romance, recidivism, country music, and an unshakable belief in Marriage at First Sight.’
Ok, so that’s generally the gist of the book, but in amongst it all are some wisdoms, and here is where I wished I’d noted the page numbers where I read them, but I didn’t, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. You will probably have to be the sort of person who ‘thinks’ a lot about life, has been hammered by it at times (and who hasn’t, bar the very fortunate?….. Or perhaps less fortunate, I guess.), and can think a bit sideways at times too.
There was one morsel that tickled me, and I had been dying to try it out on someone since I read it……….. I was at work yesterday, and got my chance. Someone (We’ll call her Cheryl, shall we?) was going on about something or another, bless her. Some detail of out working day that was to be set in concrete as it tends to be these days. There were a few staff around to be amused by my great wit, and so I took a risk……….
“So, I’ve moved all the furniture around and it should be better for you all now”
“Cheryl, do you hear that?”
“What, I don’t hear anything?”
“Exactly, Cheryl, because that’s the sound of nobody giving a shit”
Everybody laughed, mainly because I was laughing my head off, and I JUST got away with it. It was a real close thing, because ‘Cheryl’ is Quite an Important Person, and knew she shouldn’t really be seen to see the funny side of it. It was ok because she knew it wasn’t meant spitefully, and I was just getting a laugh out of it.
Getting away with it. My biggest kick since I was born. :o)
Not so great when I come a cropper though, but isn’t that the measure of how good something feels………….. how bad the downside is. How dark the flip-side of the coin.
Sorry, rambling away.
Maybe I’ve read this at just the right time, in just the right mood, and so it floated my boat, I dunno. I read another of his books, called ‘Things Snowball’ a while ago, and can’t remember clearly, but don’t think it had me laughing as much as this one did. I must have a look for it, and read it again. Different things ‘fit’ us at different stages of our lives.
I’ve actually gone and rummaged around for ‘Things Snowball’, found it after ages wandering around my books, muttering, “I bleddy KNOW it’s here somewhere”, but not being able to see it anywhere. You know when you can ‘see’ where it is in your mind’s eye, but when you look there, it’s ‘gone’.
I suddenly found inspiration, and went delving into The Big Box, so called because it’s a real big box, yanking all the books out, finding it wasn’t there, and then and not being able to pack the same number of books back in again. There’s a lesson to be learnt there, and one I’ve learnt and seemingly repeatedly forgotten; never be too efficient in your box-packing/storing/tidying, because if you don’t leave some slack, you’ll never do such a good job when you go and take something out, and so The Untidiness will start all over again.
Always leave some slack in your efficiency!
In the end, after looking absolutely EVERYWHERE, I found it two books down from the top of the stack on the floor by the bedside cabinet. I KNEW I’d see the bleddy thing recently!
You know what it’s like when you find a book, especially one you’ve driven yourself to the edge of what sanity you have left, and believe me I can scarce afford to go anywhere near that precipice; you just have to start skimming though, and reading at least bits of it, don’t you? I ended up reading a few chapters ……… and, sure enough, ………… nope, nothing like as funny.
Funny, but not laugh-out-loud funny, as the reviewer on the back cover from The Scotsman claimed. Still we all find different humour funny, and so maybe these reviews, including my opinion here, aren’t worth reading. You just have to suck it and see. (Stop it!)
So, as per the usual, I guess I’m wasting everybody’s time here today.
Sorry (sigh) :oI
Ok, that’s enough…….. it was just going to be a few lines.
Y'all know how it is.........
K.x :o)
Sunday, 20 September 2009
Remember 'J' and 'R'........... and 'S and 'A', ........please.
Remember my good friend, ‘J’, whose husband ‘R’ is critically ill with Cancer?
If you do, how about stopping still for a minute, and sending a few positive and good thoughts Out There to them both in their living hell. Please, ……………it doesn’t take long. If you don’t remember them, scroll down to the blog I wrote here on 15 September. ............ Then send out those thoughts.
And for S too, who’s having to do the hardest thing and have her beloved horse, ‘A’ put down this coming Friday.
Spare some thoughts for both ‘S’ and ‘A’ too will you, and especially on Friday.
I think these thoughts, and prayers if you pray, carry more weight than we can ever know.
Thankyou
K.xxx :o)
If you do, how about stopping still for a minute, and sending a few positive and good thoughts Out There to them both in their living hell. Please, ……………it doesn’t take long. If you don’t remember them, scroll down to the blog I wrote here on 15 September. ............ Then send out those thoughts.
And for S too, who’s having to do the hardest thing and have her beloved horse, ‘A’ put down this coming Friday.
Spare some thoughts for both ‘S’ and ‘A’ too will you, and especially on Friday.
I think these thoughts, and prayers if you pray, carry more weight than we can ever know.
Thankyou
K.xxx :o)
Saturday, 19 September 2009
Two days to spare..............
50,556 words.
Beaten the practice 50,000 word count with 2 days to spare! :o)
Beaten the practice 50,000 word count with 2 days to spare! :o)
Friday, 18 September 2009
End of day word count.............
Getting there……….
2,858 words today,
Word count now 48,538,
Only a measly 1,462 words to go before 22nd September!
Easy peasy, good as done! :o)
K.x :o)
2,858 words today,
Word count now 48,538,
Only a measly 1,462 words to go before 22nd September!
Easy peasy, good as done! :o)
K.x :o)
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