Tue, May. 15th, 2007, 07:24 pm
So, two years after going to work for the Great Satan
, I finally got fed up with earning low-margin outsourcer's wages and decided to join the great tide of Kontraktor Skmu and have landed myself a nice little earner doing systems management stuff at a large investment bank in Dorset. This is a lot nicer, being away from the Big Smoke and little more than an hour from home.
Well, that has to be the easiest new job I've ever blagged my way into. Although I had a few interviews, I ended up taking a contract with an old mate whom I phoned just on the off-chance that he might have soem work for me to do.
So for you London-based BOFHen, I'll be Beating the Eagle from December 1st!
Guess what? It's my 37th birthday on Sunday.
So tonight is drinking practice for tomorrow night's grand booze-up in Winchester with Dorian WINOLJ, whose birthday was on Thursday.
I'm going out now. I may be some time...
Fri, Oct. 17th, 2003, 10:06 am
Bugger. I have the distinct impression that it would be wise for me to start looking for a new job.
If there are any Solaris/Linux/Oracle wrangling jobs going in the Bristol to London area, I'm yer maun.
Tue, Sep. 9th, 2003, 05:23 pm
Having been out belting around the Solent in a speedboat for 6 hours or so with various interesting people (including drpete
) at the weekend, and already suffering from a slightly knackered lumbar region (the sacro-iliac joint, for the techies), I now find that my lower back is pretty much immobile and rather painful, requiring industrial quantities of Ibuprofen to make life bearable.
Still, at least the day off sick from work yesterday meant that I could catch up with my long-neglected game of GTA: Vice City
on the PS2.
So, I've been taking the poo-coloured Fireblade to work for the last few days, having resurrected it from under a tarp in a dried-out mudhole in the garden.
Now, yesterday I couldn't be arsed to ride it all the way to work (100-mile round trip and quite tiring on the return leg), so I took it to Pewsey and left it at the railway station while I jumped on the train.
Imagine my surprise, not to say extreme irritation, when - on my return yesterday evening - the stupid remote control widget wouldn't disarm the immobiliser which would both enable the engine to start and stop the BLOODY ALARM from shrieking at me. I received some very odd looks from the other commuters...
I soon realised that the battery had expired - several minutes of frobbing the little button like buggery and the little indicator light barely glimmering were a pretty good indicating of this diagnosis.
Girding my loins (which is a dodgy thing to do in leather trousers), I set off for the local Kwik-E-Mart in the hope of purchasing a replacement battery for the remote control wossname; and was duly overjoyed to find that they did, in fact, have exactly the right battery. The shopkeeper even lent me a little Phillips screwdriver with which to dismantle the stupid thing. I replaced the battery, frobbed the button, and lo! it worked!
I gleefully set off for the station car park. Gleefully, that is, until I reached the stranded motorcycle and found that the stupid effing sodding remote control doohickey was about as much use as the proverbial chocolate teapot. Bugger.
Being a lazy sod, I couldn't be bothered to walk to the shop again, so started grubbing around on the tarmac for a suitable object with which to unscrew the remote control again, eventually finding a ring-pull from a beer can. After a struggle (the duration of which far exceeded that which would have been required to get to the shop and back again) I succeeded in re-opening the transmitter. I wondered "Perhaps the battery is in the wrong way round?". Nope. Bugger. Again.
I then had a brainwave. I tried to call a chap named Gary, who lives in my village and who (handily) runs a taxi firm. DQ had never heard of him. So - obviously - I phoned the pub where he drinks and got his number that way. Great - he could come to the station to collect me, and I could then get the AA to drag the recalcitrant machine home again! He'd be there in 25 minutes...
...which gave me time to fiddle with the remote thingy again. After a while I got to thinking and idly wondered whether - for some odd reason - the transmitter needed to be reset when a new battery was inserted. So, guessing wildly, I took the battery out, pressed both buttons and - keeping them pressed - somehow shoved the battery back in. The light lit up, the receiver on the bike made a horrid screeching noise and the sodding thing disarmed. Grrr.
So I then had to wait for Gary to turf up and humbly apologised to him for a wasted journey and paid him the fare (he's a nice bloke and a useful man to know, after all), and buggered off.
And got home to find that the left footpeg was hanging on by about 2mm of bolt thread; I thought it felt a bit wobbly.
Walking has never seemed such a sensible idea...
Fri, Aug. 1st, 2003, 01:47 pm
Fred, my 3-year-old brown-spotted Bengal cat, is dead.
I had a phone call from the vet in the next village last night - which I missed because there's no mobile phone signal where I live - to say that Fred had been found with horrific injuries from an impact with a car not 200 yards from my house.
The grief of losing what I can only describe as my best friend hasn't really hit me yet, all I can feel is anger at the hooligan who hit him and drove off, and guilt for not having got the message and seen him before he died...
To the kind person who found him and took him to the vet; what can I say? You're a decent human being and I thank you for what you did.
Roam free, Fred.
Fri, Nov. 22nd, 2002, 05:20 pm
Web server problems... "The sky is falling! Quick, man the pumps!"
Ah. The firemen are on strike... bugger.
Oh, thanks to ramtops
for sorting this here account out for me.
Hey-ho, time to stroll off home and prepare the Graet Event on the Archers tonite.