It is 04.30 on Easter Sunday and Dandy and I are downstairs.

I’m not too sure why Dandy is (unless it’s because of his FOMO), but I am here because I have a cold.

It’s not manflu, it’s just a cold.

But the associated nasal flow means being horizontal right now is not exactly a great idea.

So I’m up.

With a bogroll on one side, and a loudly purring catten on the other.

*honks nose into strip of bogroll*

*Dandy looks unamused but continues​ to purr*

I’m thinking of playing with a new tech project.

Taking an old but reasonable spec laptop, wiping it, installing Linux, putting some Office-y apps on, and using that as my main home computer.

Pretty straightforward, except I can’t decide which flavour of Linux to go for.

The host operating systems in the datacentre, after a couple of shots of prototyping and a massive flirtation with Centos, were built with Debian.

KX Studio looks very interesting, but as you might guess from the name, it was developed for a different purpose, and not as an Office platform. Maybe KX Studio is a different project for the future?

Elementary Loki looks extremely slick, modern and, built on Ubuntu, LTS is not going to be an issue.

Or there’s the openSUSE operating system, which has everything I would need (but it looks just a bit dated).

There are many things to mull and consider, but it’s going to be an interesting little project.

Meanwhile I still have a cold, and Dandy has gone outside to stretch his legs, or whatever it is that young cattens do at this time of the morning.

Getting very wet

If you go to Holme Pierrepont, on the outskirts of Nottingham, you will probably find yourself ambling across the landscaped grounds of the National Watersports Centre.

National Watersports Centre

National Watersports Centre

Here you’ll find large expanses of calm water, where you can hire a canoe (or a kayak), and paddle about a bit.

NWSC Kayak

NWSC Kayak

Or if you fancy something a little quicker, and you want to have a crack at sailoring, you could soon get on with one of these.

NWSC Dinghy

NWSC Dinghy

And if you wanted something even more reckless you could try this.

NWSC barrels

NWSC barrels

Or this.

NWSC towski

NWSC towski

Or if you’re a total nutter, you could try what I caught this load of people doing on Sunday.

NWSC white water rafting

NWSC white water rafting

NWSC white water rafting

NWSC white water rafting

NWSC white water rafting

NWSC white water rafting

NWSC white water rafting

NWSC white water rafting

NWSC white water rafting

NWSC white water rafting

NWSC white water rafting

NWSC white water rafting


Oh, I went to a pub for lunch.

Then went to the RSPCA animal rescue centre and almost burst in to tears and tried to come home with all of the animals.

Failed, obv.

Then I took the ZX10R out to finish scrubbing off its tyres.


It’s simples, simples

Look, it really is very, very simple:

  • It’s ‘there’ or it’s ‘their’
  • It’s ‘we’re’ or it’s ‘were’
  • It’s ‘it’s’ or it’s ‘its’

My 16yo daughter knows the rules behind each of these alternatives (and their correct uses), and she lives in a country where English is not the first language.

Why are some people who were born, and educated, in the UK, incapable of following some simple grammatical rules?

Are these people stupid?

Or are these people lazy?

The answer must, surely, be one of these?

I know people who are diagnosed with dyslexia, who get these simple rules right.

Let’s not look for excuses, let’s look for answers.

Why are some people incapable of speaking (and using) their language correctly?

Is that too much to expect?

That the people who were born and educated here would be able to speak and use their home language correctly?

Is it?

Sex – out of this world!

While you and I fall in to bed at night, and have our deep, dreamless sleeps (and occasional excellent hugs), Stephany Cohen is beamed aboard alien spaceships and has sex with members of various alien races.

I show the clip of her interview, on BBC1s This Morning, without further comment:

Stupid surveys

I do online surveys for OnePoll.

The thing is, when analysing any survey response, the quality of the response is only as good as the question and answer options that the respondent has been given.

This morning’s survey – which goes by the snappy title of JM PL 0603 VK – asked, at question 17:

Do you regularly buy shallots?

My – correct – response was ‘No’ (because I don’t ‘regularly’ buy shallots. In fact I can’t remember the last time I bought shallots, but it certainly hasn’t been for a year or two).

Question 18 (if one had answered ‘No’ to the previous ‘Do you regularly buy shallots?’ question) was:

‘If no, is it because…?

  • I don’t know which dishes to put them in

  • They are too expensive

  • They take too long to prepare

  • I don’t know why you would use them instead of an onion

  • I don’t know where to buy them

  • I don’t know how to prepare them

Actually, none of the above. I don’t buy shallots regularly because I have no call to buy shallots regularly.

But the poorly thought-out logic is that people don’t buy shallots for one of these reasons – and one of these reasons only – and only offers the respondent one of the above *mandatory* responses.

So, in order to complete the survey, I had to give a completely bogus response.

I do hope OnePoll don’t undertake surveys on behalf of the government or any political parties!

¡ǝɔunp ɐ ʇɐɥM

Today, whilst my mind was totes engaged on Higher Things, I put £65-worth of unleaded fuel in to my car.

My car is a diesel.

So not only am I down £65 on the cost of the unleaded fuel, I’m down a similar amount (being the cost of filling up with diesel), and I’m down £125 (being the cost of the mechanic who drained the tank for me).

This was a fucking brilliant day, obv.

Now the thing is, I know where my mind was, during the ‘misfuelling’ (as I have been informed this type of cockup is now called).

My mind was thinking about someone.

So what I need to do, obv, is to try and train my mind to stop thinking about someone (or in fact something, and/or anything).

I think I have two chances of this happening.

Fat and ‘no’.


Dressing up, down, and to the right

The thing about this time of year is the social events that one feels obliged to decline.

There are Balls. I only went to one last season. It was excellent. But I had declined three.

This year I probably have to decline four.

I have two school reunions (including an annual Old Boys dinner) to decline.

There is the inevitable ‘former colleagues’ Christmas Party to decline (three of those).

I don’t mind getting in to a Black Tie (or White Tie for that matter), I just don’t like the way that some “do’s” pan out.

There is another annual event, that occurs at this time of year, that used to involve a party.

But I don’t do jelly and ice-cream any more and Karen Hargreaves is now married with kids and has stopped trying to snog me in the garden shed.

That’s such an easy annual event to walk away from, I couldn’t remember, earlier this evening, what the number behind it is.

Senile, obv.

Random thoughts

My head, suddenly freed from the state of torpor that has entombed it lately, has gone bonkers.

It is throwing out random thoughts; unbidden, unprovoked and even unpoked.


Do I want to throw proper full-time work in, and go back to university to work towards adding a Ph.D to my BA (Hons) and Masters?


Do I want to throw proper full-time work in, and just work on my writing?


Do I want to do something else? Something totally random?


The more I think about it, the more I find the idea of working on a Ph.D attractive.

There’s an area of psychosis that sits between schizoid personality disorder (SPD), obsessive-compulsive personality disorder (OCPD) and mild bi-polar disorder (BPD) that intrigues me.

I have, in retrospect, been observing classic behaviours of this condition over the last four months, right down to the multi-personality traits and associated denials and credible, almost self-believed, lies.

I have been kicking myself that I failed to identify the condition, but, in mitigation, it is only now that the whole truth has come out, that all of the evidence is available.

There is, somewhere, a paper on conditional triggers and associated medication (the subject is on a very long-term course of varying-strength anti-depressants), but I can’t put my hand on the reference.

I’ve been up in the loft to try and find my text-books, but they must be in my lorry up at the stables.

I have become energised.

This afternoon I filed divorce papers with the Oxford court.

It is as if this one action, putting my name at the foot of a seven-page document and submitting it to the divorce court, has somehow released me from a state of mental lock-up.

Maybe this is the piece of closure that I’ve been missing.

The court papers that I have submitted lists the full names and addresses of the five men involved; I’m also suing them all for the costs of the divorce.

It seems right, and I feel sure the court will agree.

I almost want one of them to challenge the papers; then we could have a full-on legal battle with, ultimately, court-ordered evidence produced from Google’s email servers.

Almost, but not quite.

I’ve emailed Sophie to tell her.

She seems OK with it, and has said she’ll not challenge what we both know to be the truth.

I’m glad.

It’s not my intention to crush her, though I have moved to a position of not wanting to see her or speak to her, ever again.

I need to move away from a relationship which, by her own answer on Saturday, is dead, and I need to distance myself from a very unwell person.

This sounds callous, but her behaviour, infidelities and lies have caused me such pain that I can’t face being near her any longer.

Which is why, I suppose, my brain is looking at alternative life-possibilities.