How to be an Idiot No 153.

So the urge came upon me.  It doesn't happen often.  Suddenly I decided to fix the kitchen sink!  Some time back, in the days of never ending rain, I obtained a tube of sealant for the job.  The sink required urgent repair as the sealant was fast falling apart.  This was a result of the building moving slowly, oh so slowly, over time.  I had replaced the sealant about ten years ago in a similar situation and now I noticed the gaps along the wall, plus the tiles separating from one another by some distance.  I decided to act!  
Some months later I bought the sealant and placed it in the corner so I would not forget.  Cold weather, very cold and lots of it accompanied by freezing rain, distracted my well meant intentions.  Time past, only a few months or so, but today the great day arrived!  I got to work with a will, well a small Stanley knife actually, removing the remnants of the previous badly bodged job.  This went well.  By the time I had finished this small area was covered with foul, used sealant, several tiles that fell down, one breaking as it did so, plus an amazing amount of muck from who knows where!  
Was I dismayed? Well yes actually!
Anyhow I organised the job, took the old tube of sealant still in the sealant gun all those years later from the gun....hold on how does it come out?  
I pushed it, I pulled it, I turned it this way and that.  I twisted that bit, pulled this bit, cursed it a lot, but it would not remove itself.  This is daft thought I as I had this trouble before and in the end it was a simple thing to remove the old tube.  I just couldn't do it!  Pull, push, twist, curse, drop it, start again.  Look at it carefully from all angles, inspect every part, it is simple, it must be that bit, no it isn't, try this, didn't work.  
Isn't it always the way.  Instruction manuals always say 'Place part 'A' in part 'B,' then using Philips screwdriver screw bolt.'  Simple, but you don't have that screwdriver, the part 'A' doesn't fit and Part 'B' is a different shape from the illustration.  Now I had that sort of problem.  
Naturally I threw it down and had tea.
Later, much later, I picked up sealant gun and just pulled and pushed at both ends and the old tube fell out.
Apart from almost breaking my toe I was pleased!   
Insert new tube.  Cut top off.  Place hose bit on end.  Take aim.  Fire!
I slowly began to squeeze the trigger, aiming carefully at the chosen line.
A thickish stream of sealant came out and failed miserably to follow the line which I was taking.  Hold on!
This stuff is grey!
What?  
In my anxiety to purchase the cheapest of the several thousand tubes standing at attention in Wickes I forgot to check the colour!  It was Grey, not white!
Grrrrrrrgnarllsnarlgrrrrrrrrrrr etc.....
Insert new tube, a tube of white sealant, hold on, I don't have one.  
Off to Tesco!  Much closer than Wickes.
One tube of £1:49 sealant, much cheaper than Wickes, later I start again.  This time the job is done, and done very badly indeed!  Technical things, like switching on a light, turning a handle and sweeping a floor, are all a bit much for me.  Inserting a never ending toothpaste like substance into a long slender gap that keeps moving was asking for trouble.  Much later the gap was filled, very badly indeed, so was the sink, the tap and even a gap on the cooker behind me!  How?  
What a mess!  It has revealed a talent unequaled since thon fellow claimed the tower at Pisa would stay straight as a die for ever.  
Tomorrow I do the bath, where, at the moment, only one tile requires replacing.  At the moment......

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"Age shall not weary them...."

Well actually....

So I decided to be clever.  Chasing graves I could not find the other day I came up with a cunning plan.  The CWGC have friends who photograph such graves, and there are other means to identify the fallen.  The plan was simple, download the photos, print them out on one sheet of paper (cheaply) and carry this to either of the two cemeteries.  Brilliant!  In the morning I stuffed myself early on with somewhat stale bread, switched off the laptop, and got ready.  Then I realised I had forgotten to download the pictures.  This meant switching the laptop back on, awaiting the interminable time while it set itself up again, and then searching for the desired shots.  This I did.  I switched off and the laptop slowly ended the procedure, and as it did so I realised I had not printed them off!!!  I left anyway, my memory would be good enough I said, now that I had reacquainted myself with them.  I also planned to cycle there through the back paths, thereby avoiding the big hill both ways.  It's a delight going down such hills, but not if the traffic is busy.  Immediately I forgot to go the easy way and joined the early morning traffic on the main roads.

Later, after once again stuffing myself with stale bread, this time with greenish cheese, I decided to finish the first cemetery where two graves were still undiscovered.  This time I had already not only downloaded the two photos, I had printed them off!  Therefore, dressing carefully for the warm sunshine, checking the camera battery, and ensuring I would be back in time for the football, I set off.  It was as I passed the market I realised I had left the pictures at home.  Not only have I yet to find Mr Smoothy, my memory failing here, but later on I discovered a new man is also lying undiscovered by anyone somewhere in the other place!

Tonight, after ignoring all these mishaps, I spent a day with God and the football.  All went well, nothing could possibly go wrong, and it was when I was removing the beans from the microwave, after several minutes of heating, the lid came off and the hot sauce went all over my hand.  I now type with one hand grasping ice cubes, and the other keeping well away from the idiot.  What else can go wrong I ask?

This song is appropriate I feel....

    

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You Canny Fix Stupid

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Isn't Life Great?

This is a sink.  In the sink lies a bowl.  Inside the bowl lies, just visible, a frying pan. Now it is not unusual to see a pan in a washing u bowl, but this one is different.  This is a symbol of my life today!  You see I used the pan to fry some mushrooms and tomatoes to go along with my fish, chips and beans, a nourishing but unspectacular chow the other night.  The pan was later stored away at the bottom of the oven, some oil still inside, awaiting further use. Last night, using all my intellect to the fullest effect, I decided that eating the remains from the bag of oven chips would equal my tea because I was too lazy busy to fix anything that required effort.
It was while I searched the web for dead soldiers in the fields of France and Gallipoli that I began to actually taste the aroma of war. The burning smell from the shells and destroyed buildings was very clear to me as I Googled.  It was as if I was there!  I was!  The frying pan was burning and the house was filling with smoke and all was danger!  I ate in a calm atmosphere, eyes nipping with the smoke in the air, doors and windows open, and a cold draught going right up my kilt!  The smell still lingers today, even after a lot of elbow grease has been involved.  
Life will be better from now on, I wonder if I bought that lottery ticket.....?

The Bike

The sun was shining, the sky was blue, so this afternoon, once I had worked up the courage, I got out onto the bike for the first time in two months.  I had decided yesterday that another exercise period was required, so this morning I attempted just that and in the afternoon I jumped on the rusting old bike and pedaled around for twenty minutes. The sun may have been shining but the wind was coming from the east, via Siberia, so while my genteel hands were warm and cosy in the gloves my face took an instant dislike to being frozen.  Once home I walked around the town continuing to being frozen but the only way to avoid the knees freezing up also!


This little trip made me wonder how, in 1974, I had managed to cycle from Edinburgh to London!  I had the idea that this would be a cheap holiday so I decided to by a bike!  Now remember that I had not ridden a bike for about ten years yet I searched the papers and found one on sale for £18!  I made my way to the south east of the city and bought a bike from a man who told me that the owner had, "Gone to Australia."  I found myself wondering in he knew he had emigrated.  However I got on the bike, somewhat shakily, and suddenly remembered I had miles to go through Edinburgh streets.  I cannot recall the journey but I suspect it was not straight forward.  A few weeks later I set off on my journey.  Today, having developed the brain a bit better, I would spend six months training for this venture, checking the food I ate, stocking up on carbohydrates and the like.  Then I just jumped on the bike, a packet of sandwiches and a few bags of raisins and nuts or some such, and discovered this was not going to be as easy as I thought.  Cycling to work was one thing, cycling with packs on the bike another, and it rained!


It tool me two hours to be clear of Edinburgh as I wandered through Leith and Musselburgh heading for the A1 and the road south.  It did not take the rest of the week to make me realise I was a clown!  Cycling the back roads of the A1 was pleasant to look at, but the up and down nature of the roads got very wearing, especially as old men on ancient bikes swept past me contemptuously.  Averaging fifty miles a day (today about three!) I made it in a week.  I stopped at a couple of Youth Hostels for the first two nights and was not impressed, so stayed in a couple of pubs and a couple of boarding houses after this.  The locals were friendly and while they considered me an idiot they managed not to do this to my face.  I don't know why, I agreed with them!  Had I been making a telly programme about this I would find adventures, women, excitement, women, crimes, women, rich rewards, women, interesting places full of the rich with women, but as it was just me I merely took a fifty mile shortcut that took me a mere ten miles further on one day, and no women!  The wind, naturally, was constantly against me, the rain knew where I was, I discovered that 'Mild' was acceptable beer, that 15th century pubs bedrooms floors sank in the middle, and that when you pass the Hartlepool United Football Club doorway you are miles of course. I intended to ride through York but took the wrong road and went around it and couldn't be bothered to go back, I stopped to take a picture of the lovely pink sunset over the 'Selby Oil & Cake Works,' forgetting the 'Instamatic' had a Black & White film inside,  and that road signs saying 'Village 1 mile,' are followed at 30 yards by another claiming 'Village 1/2 mile.'  


I suppose it was worth it but how I did it I do not know.  The bike was sent back via a carrier, and took 8 days to arrive, and I returned by train!  No fool me.  Had I the energy would I do this again? Yes, but with a bit more planning this time, and a car as back up!  I used the bike a lot in those days, for work and pleasure.  I cycled over the Forth Bridge and back via Kincardine, up into the lower Pentlands, struggling up the slope, and racing back as Edinburgh slopes down to the Forth so I got home a lot quicker than I went out! The only problem with the bike was that twice the tyre exploded in the middle of the night while at home!  We never worked that one out.  The 'Sun' racer was a good bike for me, but I prefer my present ageing one I must admit.  Maybe I had better try another trip tomorrow as they claim snow is on the way.  Hopefully it will remain in Scotland, where it belongs!

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How to be an Idiot No. 87

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Yesterday the lovely Jenny Woolf informed m that today would be better.  She was wrong! Quite how such an intelligent well traveled woman could think things would improve escapes me for the moment, but wrong she was.  Last night I went very early to bed, just in case I set fire to something, and rose as expected totally knackered yet unable to sleep on at 6:30.  By 7:30 I had wandered around Sainsburys, early to escape the hordes of Friday women shoppers barging their trolleys into one and all, and gathered my few requirements.  All was going swimmingly!  The shop was empty, I avoided the staff filling shelves and even evaded the trolleys they pushed hither and thither.


It was when I emptied the basket (I always use a basket as it is quicker and easier to evade women with trolleys) on to the belt where the almost friendly half asleep Phillipino awaited my goods. It was then I allowed the basket to over balance and dropped the brown sauce onto the floor. "Dearie dearie me," or something, said the supervisor at who's feet the bottle landed.  She was not referring to the brown sludge at her feet, she was referring to me lying on the floor crying "Not again! Not today also!" for several minutes.  They helped me out quite quickly after this.


By 10:30 I had locked myself indoors, dropped the milk out of the fridge, barged into the furniture while hoovering,lost dozens of cassette tapes down the back of the unit in unreachable places but as yet have not set fire to anything. I updated the answers to the comments, as I had forgotten them for several days while looking for my head.  Now I am back off to bed, wake me when it is safe to come out again!

"If at first you don't succeed, give up and go to bed!" 

Robert the Bruce.

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How to be an Idiot No. 86.

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The day was destined to be bad.  I woke sluggishly to the gentle sound of Gregorian chant, chased those monks away from my window, and headed of into a day of woe.  I felt a bit hebetudinous and went around making a mess of things. Failing to type correctly, putting the tea bag in the cup, then doing it again, and wondering why the world appeared a bit 'off,'  I then put my glasses on and the world returned to some sort of normality. Having to sign for my scrounging layabouts allowance today I had to ensure the paperwork was up to date, it was, somewhat.  I then sauntered around to the dole, wearing my jacket, and found my penthouse condominium fails once again to inform me of the weather outside. Inside it was chilly, outside it was very warm indeed.  Sweltering I scribbled something that once was my name and in the following short conversation I said things I regretted afterwards.  "What an idiot," I thought!  My big mouth!  I then went home, sweltering, hitting myself as I went.


This afternoon I went into the town again, see above 'Jumbo' the old water tower, now I believe converted into living quarters.  Naturally I was out the door into a higher temperature again wearing the jacket as I had forgotten the warmth.  I did notice one side effect was the lassies insistence on making the most of the years last few hot days by stripping off as much as possible.  If only I had taken one of those famous blue tablets the spam merchants are always offering!  The meeting, with yet another man who suggested what has already been attempted, went as well as could be expected. I made my way back to the station happy I had not made any more stupid remarks or done any foolish things.  The train journey was short and sweet and I happily changed for my connection.  A train stood on the platform and I glanced at the monitor informing me of the 'Liverpool St' Destination.  I did not however notice the time!  I sauntered past the waiting train and stood idly gazing down the track at the distant signals and fast disappearing train I had just left.  I mused on the Kestral high above circling around and around, scaring even the crows who rose to greet him.  I watched an attractive dark haired lass give me the "drop dead creep" look, I noticed a station operative (we used to call them porters) enter a locked room with a teenage lad and a police officer (he unlocked the room before entering before you ask).  The 'Beep Beep' sound came from the train.  The doors closed and I watched as it began the journey to London.  "Hello I thought, why is he reversing?" He was not reversing, he was my train and I had misread the times on the monitor!  I waited a full hour, in the heat, until the next train (full of London commuters) arrived.  

It's all becoming a bit of a circus actually

I am off to the 'Deed Poll Office' tomorrow to change my name to 'Dostoevsky Idiot,' as this seems to me to be more appropriate.  

There is a train down there somewhere with a few very irritated passengers.  I suspect the driver may well be a relative....


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How to be an idiot No 48

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Kitchens


For the idiot the kitchen is one of the wonders of the world! Here he will find so many areas in which to make his mark that he may well begin hyperventilating at the thought of what lies before him. Let us notice how an idiot deals with the microwave. He, his spouse or indeed his nurse, has produced some excellent home made soup. All our hero has to do is place this in the microwave oven to reheat the stuff. Simple enough! Well no actually. You see  a suitable dish is required for this job and Mr Idiot has already placed some soup into a china bowl and watched as this cracked apart and flooded the microwave with his dinner. Next he used one of those tinfoil ones that hunks of expensive meat arrive in. This resulted in an electrical storm such as those usually found only in the Serengeti National Park! However after much practice and a few words of advice from the woman in his life (Why isn't she doing this? That's what she is there for!) he chooses a suitable container, sets the time dial and stands back. Several minutes later he anxiously removes his soup and begins eating. This quickly ends as he discovers that he has set the time dial but not the temperature and is now eating tepid soup. He rushes back to the brute and inserts the soup somewhat angrily into the thing and sets both time and temperature correctly! Just to ensure success he adds another minute and retires grumping as he does so. Hunger is beginning to produce some irritability it appears. As the 'ping' sounds he rushes to the oven, grabs the door open and retrieves the soup. He does this in such a manner as to allow his now, 'piping hot' lunch to spill out and cover his the fingers! His screaming of unholy oaths encourages the container to be dropped onto the floor followed quickly by the contents. Standing by the freezer, his hand thrust inside in an effort to lessen the searing pain against the ice, he contemplates both the mess on the floor and his beloveds "Have an accident?" 
"No thanks, I already have one," he mumbles from behind the freezer door.
The red marks on the fingers disappear after a few weeks.


Ah, the freezer! While we have our hand inside it is noticeable that the ice has indeed began to clog the freezer cabinet. This calls for Idiot once more to show his qualities. The idiot looks upon such work as a bit of a nuisance as he has better things to waste his life upon. However to ensure the fridge freezer runs smoothly it must be defrosted every so often, about once every ten years or so, and now is the time to do this! He has in his mind a freezer compartment completely cleared of ice, the contents aligned in a practical order, and the machine running with a smooth gentle burr throughout the day. He of course deludes himself!
Mrs Idiot, not an idiot in herself but daft enough to end up with him, she would tackle this problem in a simple manner, after all that is one of her jobs innit? She who must be obeyed would have ensured the contents of the freezer compartment were allowed to run down before the operation began, she then would switch of the freezer, leave the door open for thirty minutes and then, in a smooth swift manner, remove the ice which has by now gathered on the floor of the compartment. This naturally is too much for an idiot.


His first step is to empty out the many frozen items found within. The second is to run around the floor retrieving the frozen peas that were in the upside down bag at the front, and also put back those garlic bread lumps that she insists on feeding him.  All items are dumped on top of the freezer cabinet in a higgledy piggledy fashion These include that green odd shaped thing  he found in the corner whatever that was! 
Work may now begin.
The idiot, who may or may not have switched the thing off, will grab a knife or some other dangerously sharp object and attack with a will the ice flows sufficient to worry shipping in the north Atlantic that has been allowed to dominate the brute! He cuts and thrusts with this impliment, shaking the cabinet and within minutes the floor is once again covered with frozen peas, hamburgers, and frozen peppers. These escapees will take several days to collect having found the strangest of places to run into, and even then will be discovered many weeks hence, usually sqashed and smelly, under his slippers. The pies which have removed themselves will be returned to, probably, their boxes whether covered with dust or not. With today's shop bought pies this may well make them more nutritious!


The chasing of the peas will not introduce any wisdom into our hero's mind. He will continue to cut and stab at the ice which slowly is beginning to give way, just as the remnants of  contents atop the freezer are also giving way and colapsing around the floor once again. His efforts to catch them as they fall enables the idiot to knock over the bottles at the side, breaking one and allowing the sauce therein to mix well with the floor beneath. While doing this the knife will enter under his left thumb and the red stain may well remain where it lands for some time before noticed. Much, much later, the ice removed, the floor mopped, the freezer is switched on again, that's if it had been off in the first place. The idiot has a large lunch. This is not because he requires one after his exertions but because he has taken so long to do the job that that most of the contents have begun to thaw and must be used immediately! His dealing with indigestion will be dealt with elsewhere!


Shall we regale you with his ability to place plastic items on the electric hob and turn on the wrong switch? Do you wish to know about his desperate opening of windows and doors to remove the acrid taste of plastic from the home? Is there really a need to detail the long and arduous struggle to replace the melted kettle, that bowl he never understood the purpose off, or his scraping the hot plastic from the (new) hob surfaces? I don't think so. Mr Idiot and his beloved, that's her holding a half empty (cheap) vodka bottle in one hand and a golf club in the other, need to be left alone to discuss his desire to be helpful around the house. I think it better we left them alone to do this, don't you?

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Wednesday Joy

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So, sluggishly pushing aside the ageing ex-army blankets I entered the world as fresh as a daisy, albeit one that had experienced a very rough night. After a gallon of coffee I headed for what I refer to these days as 'work.' I clambered aboard the rusting bike and headed down the pavement towards the corner thirty yards from my door. I sniffed the air, I noticed the sun, I appreciated the warmth on my feeble body, I observed the bright blue of the sky, I ran into three policemen!
Just as I reached the corner three of the boys in blue (well one was female but often it's hard to tell isn't it?) arrived at the same time as I, and I met them head on! I suddenly forgot everything and the conversation, which was was polite, almost friendly, as I blabbered stupidly while they beat the life out of me. "Just for practice you understand," said the leader, an experienced and possibly senior, officer. I gathered the remains of my limbs, thanked them profusely for not giving me the ticket, three tickets one suggested, and raced off slowly to 'work.'


Entering in my usual cheery manner I greeted the two ladies sitting at reception, the sour faced bint I noticed was not there today, possibly at home practising her early menopause I suspect, and greeted the men in the warehouse in similar cheery manner. They as yet do not comprehend me as others do so there were no remarks informing me where I could place my cheeriness, there was however a bad air. This is partly caused by the drain near the door, it is mostly caused by the bad news. This news I heard last week, the place is closing down! The company, who have only recently moved here, have decided to 'outsource' their warehouse. 'Outsource' is another way of saying 'getting another to do it cheaper.' There is no doubt the warehouse is a bit of a muddle, and there is no surprise that money is a problem after their recent move here. However while several of the boys will find work elsewhere, many are 'agency temps' anyway, others will end up like me, old and unwanted! Naturally the 'suits' are saying little. If they could it would make things worse, and as it is a 'suits' mindset not to say anything unless it is required, nothing is said. Result, no-one is sure of anything!
When I started I noticed a problem, now understanding it I feel bad for the ones that will lose out. The whole operation is planned for a week or two ahead, yet silence is what is heard, an no news is indeed bad news for morale!. Two weeks before they become unemployed, unwanted and kicked out onto the street, while po-faced receptionist will most likely keep her face furrowed on the four days she actually shows up.
This of course means my job will end, and I do not know when! Marvellous! I sit here with limbs aching because no pretty girl will massage them for me, debts so high George Osbourne (the Chancellor) has offered to help me budget (No thanks Georgie!) and an energy loss that equals that of a Rangers player called upon to represent Scotland!
Still, as I always say, it could be worse, I could be English!

After reading this I may go in for an 'Idiot of the week' award, well I would but I might win it myself of course. This idiot was forced by his screaming wife and terrified kids to act the 'hero.' His job was to get the spider from behind the loo and remove it, or the family would be constipated by dawn!
Now normal folk would get a bit of card and chase the brute from it's (is it male or female and how do you tell?) hiding place. Not our hero. Maybe it is because it was late,maybe it is because he is an IT expert and more used to staring at spiders on the web (get it?), or possibly it was because he lives in Clacton (IT expert in Clacton?) where stiletto heels and ankle chains still abound among the Essex Girls there, but our hero went for the dramatic solution. He fired an aerosol spray, some sort of deodorant (BRUT probably) and then, for reasons of his own, lit a cigarette lighter to see if the spider had gone.
Naturally it exploded!
Burns to fingers, ambulance to hospital, 'Daily Mail' for photograph. (And how come this is in the 'Daily Mail' I ask? Do you get paid for blowing yourself up stupidly these days?). A small story to show that the stupidity of the Essex Man never dies, even when an IT expert!


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How to be an Idiot No. 67

An excellent way to prove your idiot status is the misuse of the shopping talent.
The best example is to find yourself in a state of financial embarrassment then break the printer! A complete idiot first takes too long to replace the ink cartridge, then when that is done, notice the other cartridge is giving problems. With skill this can easily be turned into a right disaster. After vain attempts at electronic engineering, using pliers, screwdrivers, curses and an extremely heavy hand, the experienced idiot will soon be found sitting, head in hands, on the floor gurgling away and vowing to visit the man who developed computers for home use. This by the way would not be a 'social' visit.

As time passes and what little money is available drifts of into the debt pile the proper idiot will then decide a new printer is required. Whatever the financial situation, one must be procured as this machine is part of the finding employment and paying the debts. A trip around local merchants ensues. e.g Tesco and Argos. Tesco are selling a HP F4280 and one or two others for around £30. This looks good. However the idiot is no fool. Jumping in to obtain one of these machines may lead to more debt which cannot be afforded so maybe, just maybe a way to fix the other may be found.

Time passes. The Dole office assessment arrives and is passed. The dole office interview arrives and is, er, we wait and see, and wait, and wait.... eventually an answer. Several forms to fill out and join the waiting list! After this long delay they insist I must hurry as any delay may hinder employment! I consider just sending them a roll of red tape! However I fill in the forms, discover I must send copies of other forms and have no way of copying them as the printer is broken! After an idiot long delay I decide I must buy the cheap one I saw before. Off to Tesco I go, and of course the special price has long gone, as indeed have the printers. There are a couple available starting at around £58. I go home. I scour the Argos catalogue, and decide on the cheap 'Canon' all in one printer. Naturally while in Argos my eye is caught by an HP model which costs just under £50. Knowing HP I decide to go for it.

Here it is installed, working quite happily, copying my documents, which have now been posted safely, and while not as robust as the previous HP model, Chinese workmanship is not what it was, I am reasonably content, until this goes wrong. As pupil Idiots you will of course appreciate that I have paid £50 for the model I could have got for £30 a short while ago. And I wonder why I am now taking money out of the credit card so I can pay off the credit card?

Men and thinking go together.

(Stolen from elsewhere, but I have lost the link!)

Typical Idiot!

Of course it had to happen! There I was, washing down the skirting board that was last cleaned when Maggie Thatcher was still kicking people out of work, and lo! There was the answer! I had moved the cupboard on which stands the non working printer, and noticed the cable had worked loose.

Now, apart from struggling (still) to fix the 'No Audio Device' problem, I also had to work out why the PC would not accept the 'All in One' Printer existed. This meant a trawl, long and arduous for a non geek, through the HP website. I spent a short eternity downloading drivers that I thought were going to update the thing, no they didn't. On top of which I wandered through the web looking for help. Non came.

Several days later I discover it was the cable coming loose when I had to shift everything to get the PC back in place. This is going in my new book, 'How to be an Idiot.' maybe however I would be better calling it, 'The Diary of an Idiot,' and just putting down the day by day acts of folly that cling so close? You ask why I gave up working on hospital wards do you......?

I've Done it Again!

I've done it again!
After climbing out of my bed, washing my face and this time remembering to take my glasses of first I wandered through to the west wing and made what passes for a 'healthy breakfast.'

After this mound of 'Bran Flakes' covered in raisins and oats I dumped the bowl alongside the rest of the weeks used crockery and made the tea. The kettle (£4:98 from Tesco) came shaking and steaming to the boil, I poured the water over the milk and tea bag (Half price Somerfields) and brewed the concoction with the aid of a dirty spoon (Charity shop 5p). Job done, as well as possible, I returned to my post at the broken laptop (Crooked second hand dealership) and placed the mug in its rightful place.

It was then I realised I had done it again!
I already had a mug of stewed tea sitting there quietly awaiting me spilling it all down my ageing fleece! What is going on in this mind? I forget things like this all the time. I would say it is the beginning of Althez...altezhi, altzleh..going gaga if it was not for the fact this habit has been with me always. I am scared to open that storage cupboard now, just in case a body falls out, someone I forgot I accidentally locked in. Which reminds me, there was a thump thump sound a wee while back that I don't hear nowadays.......

Now What?

I empathise with whoever produced this poster. The fact that it has the address 'Despair.com' on the bottom helps to gladden my heart! Where better to go when life treats you in its own merry way?

Consider the situation.
The washing machine does not work,
The VCR only plays on 'fast forward,'
The PC died suddenly,
This laptop's screen failed, the dial up modem fails and the CD fails,
The stereo does not obey,
The Freeview often stops for no reason, and only by swapping to another (identical) remote will it work,
The aerial is inadequate and the picture shakes every time a car passes, TV programmes are dumbed down garbage and there is nothing to watch,
Radio programmes are slightly better but remain poor nevertheless,
The press is full of half truths and lies, and rarely informative,
Now the printer will not work because I need to reinstall the disk,
This cannot be done as the CD does not work as I deleted the relevant folder by mistake,
Therefore I cannot enquire about work as I cannot print the letters and CV's,
My cash flow has reached a balanced level - nil,
Now someone has sent me a leaflet saying 'Mothers Day approaches and suggesting I spend masses of cash with them so I can 'Spoil my mum,' I know what I'd like to spoil,
The Heart of Midlothian have had a rotten season - even for us,
Work is not seen, age and dodgy knees and professional idiocy hinder - but not in that order,
The police have, once again, informed me I cannot go around beheading women in Tesco's even if they take all day to pack their bags, and I cannot exterminate the adolescents who gather over the road with rat poison either, add to that their latest visit re the 'clocking' of the cheery evangelist who knocked on my door this morning and foolishly said 'Rejoice' and you understand my mood has not lightened any,
Neither has looking in the mirror and seeing my reflection still there,
Memories of the failures keep returning, and there is a lot,
The virii that has plagued me since 1987 keeps returning and interrupting my life, 'Who will rid me of this turbulent bug?'


Now what? I cannot tell you how excited I am about the future.
How much is a paupers grave anyway?
Rejoice? All I need now is for this machine to fa

Workstep

Every two weeks I attend 'Workstep.' One of those government ideas to get folks like me back to work. It originated with the Royal British Legion and I suppose it grew out of their experience with helping ex-service personnel back to work. In my case I think they reckon I was playing the 'Old Soldier' and dumped me on this! Every two weeks I go upstairs and meet the attractive, competent, far too good for this job, young lass who assists my feeble efforts. Well at least she has amended my CV and no longer refers to my original attempts as 'dire.' So, after an needless bath,in spite of the cost of soap, I wandered off in good time.

I should have realised as I passed the sentry that something was up.

His smirk should have made me realise that he knew I was going the wrong way. His assistant was, as usual, sauntering about in the back of the auditorium chatting.When I got upstairs I glanced at the wee darkened room where I usually meet the lass and saw her busy with another so I sat down in the far side, the only available space. John, my regular dole man, was staring at his PC and trying to work out what button to press and so ignored me, I then returned the thought.

I sat and waited,

and waited,

and waited.

The elderly gent opposite, near the entrance door, looked at his watch, many times, and he supped some sort of sports drink, much needed for this place I thought! He waited, and, waited and watched his watch. And waited....

I waited, filling the time watching the women wobbling by.The thought passed through my mind that far too many were using the lift to climb one flight of stairs, and far too many sausage rolls were being eaten instead of food! Next time I will bring a 'Weightwatchers' poster with me and hang it on the wall to frighten them.

I continued waiting,
and waiting.
Others waited, no one spoke.
A 'Chav' wandered over from one of the desks where he had been chatting amiably. He sat along from me in that 'Chav' style. Legs apart, arms folded, brightly coloured baseball cap perched on the back of his head, his nylon fashion trousers in danger of giving electric shocks to passing strangers, and he waited.
After a while he was called to another desk where he, it turned out, was pleading, pleasantly, for an immediate hand out.

Then the nutter entered.

Naturally he sat a few feet from myself. Don't they always? He immediately began shooting at invisible targets over on the far side of the room, then the folk behind, then the ceiling, and on...
If only he had waited?
He continued firing at unobserved targets then, horror of horrors, he spoke!

"I have passed stage 11" he said, friendly like.

I ignored, surly like.

He returned to firing, and waiting.

The elderly gent looked at him from afar and glanced at me, I noticed his thoughts, they were similar to mine but I did not have the relief that the nutter was on the other side of the room.

"Got any children?" dafty asked. I stopped myself saying "Not on me," in case it led to conversation and merely grunted, "No," and stared across the room at two fat women tottering towards the lift. It creaked somewhat worryingly as they entered.

John my man then appeared and spoke to the daft one, he informed him the lass we had both come to see was to be found downstairs today!

I stared.
I then spluttered something about the waiting.

He grinned in a somewhat gratuitous fashion when informing me he had not seen me staring into space for the twenty minutes that seemed like several days. Gurgling with needless pleasure he told me it was the 'Scope' woman who was sitting in the dark room and I was mistaken. He smirked again and off I trooped. As I came downstairs the sentry cackled in an evil manner, and I began to lose the guilt I had gathered when informing the nutter to bring his sawn off shotgun next time."They would like to hear how loud it can be," I told him. It will be then my turn to cackle!
The 'Chav' crinkled his way past me to collect his winnings and head for the Jewellery counter at 'Argos,' the shop, not the ancient city state.
The appointment was cancelled and I just e-mailed her my failure instead of weeping at the desk as normal. I bet she missed that, especially as she also had to deal with the nutter. Once more it is back to the routine search, and maybe, just maybe, something will turn up. I wonder if I have any long lost rich great uncles near death out in New Zealand or Mombasa or the likes? Here's hoping, I mean, good luck to him, or her.....

HELP!

HELP!!!! I need help! I have allowed something to slip my mind. You see I was hurrying to enrich my life with a nourishing sausage dinner. I fixed the pasta that was being used as a base, and added tomatoes and a large broccoli. Marvellous and almost healthy!

It was delicious! Of course the special sauce did improve it, as it always does, and I sat back with the small portion of Christmas pudding content and happy. What more could one ask?

So, I went cheerfully to do the washing up, even though it truly is woman's work! This was accomplished efficiently amid a flurry of soap suds, all except the tray used for the sausages! I looked everywhere but could not find it. This was a mystery I could not answer. I remembered taking the sausages out the oven, deciding the were not quite ready so chopped them up to speed the process and returned them to the oven for a few final minutes.

Oh dear! I had a sudden thought. I remembered switching off the oven and ....oh dear! Yes indeed there in the oven were the blackened remnants of my beef sausages! Now usable in some form of engineering or possibly as Royal Artillery shrapnel! As sustenance they failed badly.

I blame unemployment. If I had work that stimulated the mind instead of the dullness that has set in during the past few years I am sure this sort of thing would not occur! The work I have done has often been repetitive, even when enjoyable, but the brain needs stimulation. So far the greatest incentive comes from perusing other folks blogs. Surely that cannot be good enough!

Age!

So last night I put the chicken in the oven. "Two hours should do it," I says to myself as I withdrew the Imitation Peshwari nan from the top shelf. I then happily stuffed my fat face with the aforesaid nan and cheese. I live well here!

Today I decided to clean up the PC, hopefully not repeating the mistake of the other day when I deleted the connection with the CD which, by the way is still defunct! So I press 'Start' then press the appropriate button.Or at least I thought I did,but suddenly this broken, secondhand, laptop was switching off! I had automatically pressed the 'Shut down' button. What seems like an age later I had finished the start up process and promptly forgot what it was I had been intending to do in the first place. I remember now, but maybe I will leave that for another time.....

I have however attempted to put another nan into the oven, but failed. The reason? Some fool had left a chicken in there all night,uncooked. The said fool had taken the Peshwari nan out the oven, turned it off, and forgotten the chicken was inside. What a life for that chicken. Maybe she was free range, maybe she saw some daylight, although with all the bird flu scares I doubt that. Passing through a factory complex, she is killed, defeathered and trussed up like a...well, turkey! reduced in price to help Tesco increase her profits, she ends up, cold, bare and lonely in an oven that last saw cleaning fluid in 1996! Why did the chicken cross the road, I can guess she had foreknowledge and wanted a better life!

How to be an Idiot. No. 65

This lesson in idiocy is a simple one.

First decide there is too much 'stuff' on the PC, and then remove it.
Use all the usual tools, 'Ad-Aware,' 'AVG' and the like, then progress to a little function called 'Find Junk Files.' A useful tool for removing dead links and,would you believe, junk files.
Simply run these programmes and delete.
Easy.

The important thing of course, especially with the 'Find Junk Files' operation, is to fail to check just what exactly is being deleted! It is clearly displayed in front of you, and a check is recommended, but of course you need not bother because, 'They are all junk surely?' is the grand attitude!
At least that as my attitude.

Now the CD Rom will not play, the 'My Documents' and 'My Pictures,' files will open but fail to display, and I await with trepidation whatever else will malfunction during the course of the day.

How to be an Idiot No 66.

Shopping!

Why women enjoy this type of thing I am not sure. But there are times it is indeed enjoyable to shop. Having managed to pay off my debts, and rejoicing in merely being on the breadline as opposed to under it, I went shopping with a glad heart and empty pockets. However, with the cold days approaching I had noticed my only good pair of trousers were rather too thin for the cold days ahead, so a thicker, warmer pair were required. Now for almost 25 years I wore cords. Blue, green, brown, maroon, almost any colour, Wrangler, Levi and preferably, cheap types!
Now however they cannot be found anywhere! Proper cords have disappeared from the shops as the indolent youth of today want strange shaped things they refer to as 'fashion! Ptah! Now as you know I am not one to complain, in spite of wandering about every suitable shop in the locale, and being unsuccessful in my quest, but complain I can. Far too many expensive goods on offer, and the only cords to be found were overpriced in M&S. Tsk!

However, I ended up in Tesco once again, and splashed out £6 on a pair of , what I thought, were suitable goods. These trousers appeared thicker than the ones hanging in the cupboard, they were an appropriate colour, the same as the pair in the cupboard, and were only £6, the same price I had paid months before when the sun rose early and shone all day - except when it rained. Anyway I took them home satisfied with my purchase and glad to be at last able to wander out amongst polite society without freezing things that are best not frostbitten. Let joy break out.

Today I tried these trousers on. For one thing they size on the label appears a lie, my stomach should not push against the belt like that, the others with a similar size label appear fine. The length is OK and the fabric , well the fabric is exactly the same as the original pair I thought too thin! The professional idiot has replaced his thin trousers with a pair exactly the same!

Is it any wonder I find it hard to get a job.........

How to be an Idiot. No.26.

In the UK job searching starts with the newspapers and the Job Centre. In one we read the local work available, in the other an Internet search can be made of work opportunities nationwide. Both, I find, lead to dead ends! That however may just be me of course. Anyway, I have sought work through these means, and one or two others, diligently,in spite of what the folks at the Job Centre claim. What does the word 'Malingerer' means anyway? But I digress, I discovered another mode of idiocy this past week.

The job appeared ideal! Working a small machine making frames for pictures, or maybe just scanning documents as part of the process for a small friendly company not to distant and paid well enough for me. So I sit down and write! I compose a letter detaining my suitability for such work. It was good I thought, succinct and honest. I had the print out from the screen in front of me, and the one I obtained from the Job shop a few days ago. two different jobs available! Great! I pondered the chance of one at least being open for me, and I even began planning my day according to their hours.

The letter pleading my case, and I am told I am a right little pleader, appeared just so in my eyes. The references from previous work, and what passes for education from the dim and distant, oh so distant, past were clear. I checked the e-mail address and sent it to the Mrs someone or other as required, spellchecked for the third time,just in case, and after a brief run through sent it off.

Phew! That had taken all evening. But I was sure that if I was turned down, again, it was not for the want of effort on my part! That was a good letter,I felt smugly satisfied as I awaited the soon to be response. Deep inside I wondered how they could resist! OK others may be better, younger, experienced and all that, but apart from that, I was a very good option for this little job I thought.

Later, clearing away the deep layers of papers, books, cups and assorted detritus that appears like magic every so often on the desk I picked up the Job centre form with the job details printed in large black letters. It just happened that the name at the bottom was different from the name I had sent the e-mail to. Hmmm,two folk running the show I thought. On further examination of the two item details I discovered, much to my shock and woe that it was in fact two different companies, working in the same compound! I had addressed my details, really suitable for the first business to the second one! Woe is me. Do I try it again? Shame faced and embarrassed I pondered why I had mentioned my famed organisational ability, my attention to detail and my efficiency.

I sit here now, staring at the park opposite lacking the will to live any longer.