my innermost sanctum

a run-up

in conjunction with the d-day anniversary, the imperial war museum comes up with a shedload of titles that have got me ticking away, and if i should:
- either order them online
- or go to borders to lay my grubby mitts on

on top of that, the museum is organising a series of events also.

darn. if only i'm in london right now.

more bitchiness

a colleague from yet another department that i have to work closely with vented her spleen to me moments ago. about, who else, but them collective client "services" slags:

"they seem not to use their common sense - or much of their brain - when they sell *commercial spots. they always oversell and when we tell them about it, they just shrug their shoulders and said, 'not my problem'."

me: "if they do possess at least half a brain, dya think they'd end up in sales? they are no different from pimps and whores i tell ya."

ouch.

* commercial spots: an advert break in a telly programme has a certain fixed number of adverts that can be screened. so what my colleague meant is all them slags care about is guaranteeing or promising airtime to their clients' commercials regardless if advert breaks are sufficient or otherwise.

not another one, puhleease

yet another "pious" muslim - does it always have to be a slip of a lass? - made some really loud noises about how her school dashed her hopes of becoming a doctor. she was banned from school due to her insistence in wearing the jilbab.

ok, before anyone slags me off for being a racist/xenophobe/anti-muslim - how dare you - let me set the record straight. i have absolutely nothing against islam or its adherents.

only towards those - and this includes practitioners of other faiths also - who think they deserve very special treatment; or in their wee minds think that they are way above everybody else. just because their religion exhorts them to behave in a certain way. or that their religion is the only true one on this side of the cosmoverse.

what's astonishing is that about 80% of students of the school this wotshername attended is muslim. yet she rebelled against them, and then claiming her human rights was breached.

well, if she's striving to become a strict or better muslim, isn't it better if:
- she bunks off to where her family originally comes from - where almost everybody wears exactly same as she does
- she becomes a nun - which of course, there ain't any in islam.

this wotshername should consider herself very lucky she doesn't live over here on the wee isle. them Legitimate Gangsters don't suffer fools gladly; and they'd not hesitate to name and shame those who try upsetting the social balance. especially when it involves religion.

no matter, it makes you wonder if 15-year-olds like this minging wotshername know what the hell they are talking about. does any of you's when your fifteen? i was in a perpetually confused state of being when i was fifteen.

and she whined about being robbed? she brought it upon herself wot.

daft cow.

b_mc.t's sparkly gem

the diff between a cow-orker and a colleague is the HUGE *MASSIVE* gulf of intelligence that divides them.

"don't come near me..

... or i'll snap yer head off. geddit?"

miniaturised

whilst checking on a suitable gift for a blogger or two - and meself of course - decided to pay airfix.com a visit - which my bro used to be a fan of, airfix models that is, many many many ::ad infinitum:: moons ago.

and lo and behold, this got me drooling:

now i know what i want ::hint, hint:: for crimbo, then.

knackered

indications that brain cells are scattering all over such that some may have gone missing permanently:
- what you actually meant to say/write/blog turned out to be the opposite - which is utterly embarrasing
- yer blinkers playing tricks on ye - and it's worse if yer a specky
- the urge to throttle cow-orkers is so irresistible that you could hardly keep yer arms to yer side
- found yerself speaking and, horror of horrors, writing like them grammatically-challenged natives
- visions of pints of guinness looming large

i really do need a break from all the madness. gah!

found

a new planet has been found in the Taurus constellation, more specifically in the CoKu Tau 4 star by NASA's infrared telescope, Spitzer.

this is fabtastic news. at least those numerous wee island amoeba's, chav's, mongs and lowest common denominator's could be sent there by the shiploads. regardless if that planet is uninhabitable.

just imagine. more space and breatheable cleaner air for those of us remaining on the blue marble.

wooot?

just heard over the radio that linkin park are coming to these shores. on 22 june. for one night only. and on a tuesday that.

reet. will mull over if i should go see them. and that means taking a day off work the next day to recuperate.

decisions, decisions.

larf's

from a mate who emailed me this. enjoy.

Signs in China

1. In a Beijing hotel lobby:
"The lift is being fixed for next day. During that time we regret that you will be unbearable."

2. In a Shanghai hotel elevator:
"Please leave your values at the front desk."

3. In a Hangzhou hotel:
"The flattening of underwear with pleasure is the job of the chambermaid."

4. In a Jilin hotel:
"You are very invited to take advantage of the chambermaid."

5. In a Wuxi dry cleaner:
"Please drop your trousers here for best results."

6. Outside a Tianjin clothing shop:
"Order your summer suits quick. Because of big rush we will execute customers in strict rotation."

7. In a Xian tailor shop:
"Ladies may have a fit upstairs."

8. In a Guilin hotel:
"Because of impropriety of entertaining guests of the opposite sex in the bedroom, it is suggested that the lobby be used for this purpose."

9. An ad by Kunming dentist:
"Teeth extracted by the latest methodists."

10. In a Hangzhou zoo:
"Please do not feed animals. If you have suitable food give it to the guard on duty."

11. From a karaoke bar song list in Suzhou:
"I'd Like to Teach the Wound to Sing" and "What Kind of Foot AM I"

12. In a Taiyuan bar:
"Special cocktails for the ladies with nuts."

13. Hainan airline ticket office:
"We take your bags and send them to all directions."

14. In a Huashan temple:
"It is forbidden to enter a woman. Even a foreigner if dressed as a man."

15. In a restaurant menu in Harbin:
"Salad a firm's own make - limpid red beet soup with cheesy dumplings in the form of a finger - beef rashers beaten up in the country people's fashion."

16. In a DongGuan Pub:
"No push, no fun. No clothes, no sweat"

unreliably reliable

UNRELIABLE FACT OF THE DAY
From the Brains Trust
27 May 2004

A QESTION OF SPELLING
The real reason that George W Bush wanted to invade Iraq was to get it renamed to something that didn't confuse him because there's no "U" after the "Q". Iraq and Qatar form what White House insiders call the "Axis of Scrabble cheats".

trolley dolly's for hire

the following headlines had me spluttered all over, emphasis mine:

the qataris must be either mad or joking. them trolley dollies - especially those of the wee island airways - are well-known for their propensity to goof up/murder the english language. like this classic example which never fails to elicit a rather disturbing mental image: "sir, you want sauce on your balls?"

either that cow was poking fun at the language. or that she was an absolute spastic beyond redemption. i'd like to think it is the latter.

giddied

what those psychologists say about colours affecting your sense of perspective, balance, perception, blah has got a kernel of truth. be it your room, clobber, warpaint, blah.

at this time of typing, i swear i'm feeling a tad flighty. how come? it's this thingy i'm wearing which is in a shade of pink that puts hello kitty to shame.

which reminds me not to buy any garb in that colour in the future.

reviewed

it's that time of the month when i'd introduce or recommend blogs i regularly read:
1. the gray monk
2. miles prower mk.ii
3. pornetry

go say hello, people.

quizzed

nicked off the kaiser's.

Which OS are You?

a wee rant

them sales gits are at it again. or rather, more specifically, the bunch of four whores banshees collectively called "client services co-ordinators" who work in the front line.

yep. i kid you not. client services. i wonder what sort of services they really provide their clients with.

alrighty, where was i? their job is basically to bully department x which i work closely with. like when there is a need for more commercial breaks, i look into the adjustments and summat. one of those miscellaneous extraneous duties of my job.

so today, as i'm already up to the eyeballs with changes in telly schedulings, department x emailed me one long list of utter tosh which was marked with the ! thingy. as per the usual, blood rushed to my bonce. them banshees seem to know when to hit us with their load of bollocks. at our busiest. each time. without fail.

so i rang department x telling them exactly that i can't attend to it immediately. and then they bleated, "oh, actually it's quite urgent as sales want to check their inventory.."

as them banshees sit quite near to me and that i'd stood up then, i replied, "tell them to go fly a kite."

i don't give a damn if any of them were within earshot. bringing in the dosh for the company doesn't make them more important. or cleverer.

really, i do wonder what other servicings their clients get.

when oirish blinkers are smilin'

aussie Simon's despairing with his bairn - wee lasses of age 3 and 2 - who go gaga over a trio of irish wee laddies. who are yonks older than they are.

crikey. they certainly are starting young these days.

it's something about the irish accent that turns females on. i've seen lotsa cow-orkers turning into mush the minute a colleague opens his gob. he is charming but not particularly fit.

nay, methinks it's gotta do with his being an expat. you know, the oodles and oodles of dosh he's making. or, that of his position which is high up in the food chain. that's certainly more like it.

i must say that the accent doesn't work on me. whatsoever. in spite of a couple of irish fellas working at the local. and a handful of regulars that i came across there. i really can't quite figure out how come.

no matter, give me an english blokey anytime. and it's not that accent, mind :P

today's lesson

Lesson #5: Wee Islander Idiosyncracies Part 2

it's a fact that wee island slags are not too chuffed when their objects of attention - what else, white blokeys - look at other birds. even if the chaps in question ain't exactly their paramours. and said bints would not hesitate to engage in a wee catfight with their "rivals" to reclaim their "property".

may i add that these catfights are usually trivial. and kiddie in nature.

one fine example:
location: at the local this saturday past
characters:
- some royal navy sleazebag = RNS
- an english geezer = EG
- some loony wee island bint who might be said geezer's bird. and who might be about my age also. or several yonks older = LWIB
- a decent england rugby shirted ginger = ERG
- yers truly = BMcT

act one scene one:
BMcT, upon arrival at the local at half three in the afternoon, noticed that RNS was eyeballing her. instead of wasting her time, she quaffed her pint of guinness, and chatted with another regular until he left just before five. at the same time, BMcT enjoyed whatever attention that was feted upon her.

not necessarily RNS's.

act one scene two:
just before half five, BMcT realised that the local would screen the Super 12 finals on the telly. yay. and then the crowd started trickling in, mainly aussie.

'cos those who cheered on for the Crusaders happened to be english.

act two scene one:
during half time, BMcT decided to move to another seat at the bar counter as she spied some chappie in the england rugby shirt. ie: ERG

as she was parking herself, LWIB came up and sat to her immediate right. and introduced herself to BMcT. oh quite a friendly bird, that. BMcT thought. but that was not to be.

act two scene two:
whilst watching the second half of Super 12 and chatting with ERG, RNS flirted outrageously with LWIB. who returned same. so did he with BMcT sporadically.

who did her darnest to avoid the paws of RNS. by sitting close to ERG.

act two scene three:
whilst discussing about the upcoming FA Cup finals between manyoooo and millwall with ERG, LWIB suddenly turned around and screeched in cantonese (chinese) to BMcT:
literal translation into english - "you can't sit still huh? you poking my back all this while!"

BMcT, strangely calm, answered in english in a rather controlled voice, "well take a look at this wee space 'ere matey. don't blame my elbow." and at the same time, making an elbowing motion, "see?"

LWIB who was already reaching boiling point - due to her failed baiting of BMcT - wailing rather loudly like a loony banshee on speed, to EG and RNS:
in wee island working class english - "she keep poking my back!!"

RNS then stepped in between us, "c'mon ladies, behave yerselves blah yadda yawn.."

BMcT completely ignored them buffoons, continued yakking with ERG. and then without any warning, LWIB plopped onto the floor. appeared knocked out. stone cold.

both EG and RNS did all they can to revive her. almost everyone present looked on at this wee playacting - as was told by a server who revealed that was what them both had said.

act three scene wotever
after much later, ERG asked BMcT if them buffoons were still around in the vicinity. which she replied in the affirmative - as she had stepped outside and enquired the servers, which they pointed out to her where they exactly were.

even ERG thought LWIB pulled a fast one when BMcT recounted - the second time - what the fracas with LWIB was all about.

it must be emphasised that in no way BMcT influenced ERG into agreeing with the playacting bit. also, to be honest, BMcT could have reacted by chinning LWIB but she refrained. even from calling LWIB names like "mad cow".

see what i mean about wee island slags?

toons

well sorted!

whilst chatting with an ex-fling a mate on the messanger thingy earlier, he in old blighty and yours truly on the wee isle, he revealed that he's just got a girlfriend.

and me mug lit up instantly. couldn't be more delighted for him. no really. he's a nice lad to begin with, and to think that we are still keeping in touch long after his short hols over here.

oh, and another mate whom i once fancied will be walking down the aisle shortly in july. another english blokey who has lived here for eleven years, getting hitched to a local bird. must be the h2o around 'ere, i tell ye.

yep, yet another sorted fella, still bandying about the odd text or messenger thingy with. it's folk like them who are hard to find these days. innit?

cow

the following textings serve to show why most of my good mates tend to be not female. this acquaintance happens to be canuck, late 20's and sees herself as utterly brilliant just because:
a. she has lived in asia for close to 10 years alone
b. she runs her own beauty business all this while

see the beauty bit? without further ado, said acquiantance shall be named cow. you's will know why. here goes:

me: are you up for a pint later today?
cow: not sure as i may have a dinner. blah yadda blah
..much later..
cow: i can make it only at eight or eight thirty if you are still up for it
me: sure do, meet you at muddy's then? ie: my local
cow: sorry. i don't like that place it's a meat market. you remember the slimeballs? she got herself into deep shite by choosing to sit with a couple of semi-drunken gerry's the first time she was there. also, she might had it confused with Ballymoons, the local's dodgy sister bar upstairs
me: i don't take notice of them. the regulars and staff are ok though trying to be diplomatic, though gritting me canines
cow: is bar 5 ok? or ice cold beer ok? i'd been to ice cold beer whose growing clientele tend to be mainly wee islander pseudo-sophisticated slags
me: what are the men there like? :D hey, i'm female after all
cow: the men are of better calibre and not as slimey :) oh really? blokes and birds are all the same everywhere, darling. they only come with different names
me: sorry bars are not quite my scene though i don't mind trying out bar 5
cow: isn't muddy's a bar too? what the fuck?!
me: it's a pub as they serve only ales, bitters and lagers just like any *english pub. whereas ballymoon is a bar with designer liquours i didn't say *irish 'cos i didn't want to confuse her further

no, she hasn't replied to that one. no matter, now you's know why certain females simply can't be mates with?

feathered terrorists

long before suicide bombing becomes the hallmark of the tamil tigers and mad muslim fundamentalwotsits, british intelligence had thought of sending trained suicide pigeons on a mission carrying explosives, or biological weapons, flying into enemy targets during wwII.

as revealed in documents released to the National Archives, MI5 were not in favour of the scheme; branding the brains behind it as a "menace in pigeon affairs". whatever that means.

imagine if MI5 gave their utmost blessings to it. between then and now, boffin's might tinker with pigeon dna, turning them out to be living bioweapons. several times improved and upgraded. no?

unreliably reliable

UNRELIABLE FACT OF THE DAY
From the Brains Trust
21 May 2004

MAKING F1 MORE EXCITING
In a bid to make Formula 1 races more exciting, half of the drivers will race in the opposite direction round the track.

why i "like" my job even though it's utter bollocks

the NHL eastern conference playoffs between Philadelphia Flyers and Tampa Bay Lightning is now on the telly 'live' as we speak. it's the first period still with the Flyers scoring 1-0.

and no, i'm NOT skiving.

toons

first impressions

snippets off today's daily rag's forum page, on foreigners' views of the wee isle, both sent in by wee islanders:

by wee islander #1:

but of course, thais do 'cos it's the farangs' dosh they're after. and because of it, them provincial slags are so ever willing to sell themselves to the farang, never mind even if it's a pittance. or that the farang are old enough to be their granda's.

also, the aussie woman's comments obviously showed her complete ignorance about the root of wee islanders' problem: high cost of living. and if she's really complaining about having to live in a wee flat, why the fuck did she marry a wee islander then?

by wee islander #2:

reet. effin' obvious that this journo hasn't visited other asian countries. besides, what does she actually expect of wee islanders?

cute naive time-warped asians all dressed up in their quaint traditional costumes and blah so that tourist mongs like her could share numerous snaps of locals with their equally mongish mates, and then chorus:
"ooooh, look at those exotic necklaces! do they actually make them for a living by selling them to tourists? i mean, look at the environs around them! they look so dirt poor that's why they need our money to feed their hungry bairn! we should do our bit in helping them third-world dimwits!!"

bint.

which reminds me of a wee tale i came across many many many ::ad infinitum:: moons ago, names appropriately changed to suit the characters:

excellent.

today's lesson

Lesson #4: Wee Islander Idiosyncrasies Part 1

wee islanders do not cover their gobs when they cough their lungs out. or sneeze their brains off. when in public.

just imagine the assorted bacteria and viruses i'm breathing in at this time of typing as cow-orkers sitting directly behind and to my left are hacking their guts out.

first world "country" ::snigger::, third world denizens. 'nuff said.

how low can you stoop?

from a dodgy bar mailing list which someone at the workplace subscribed me name to:

see the emphasis about the bit where a bird will get lapdanced upon by five other slag's? the mental image is disturbing.

regardless, what has the wee isle become now?

polluted

now i know why i'm such a scatterbrain these days:

oh yes, that bane of the modern office: emails. technology is supposed to aid us, not holding us back. though many a time the opposite is true here at the workplace.

coupled with feckless muddleheaded folk who are so completely inept in business correspondence:
- that they mark every darn email of theirs with the ! thingy
- clutter everybody's inboxes despite the irrelevance of subject matter
- having no absolute idea how to write a decent logical email

on second thoughts, these polluters are not as harmful and insidious as the ceaseless mindless kiddie chattering's around me.

how come? i always end up brain dead upon reaching home. and mind, i even caught myself speaking ungrammatical english not a few times. like they do.

see what i mean?

heard off the radio

some of you's would have already known about the olympics 2012 shortlist which was announced yesterday in Switzerland.

Rio de Janeiro was one of the four cities whose bid's were rejected. and the official reason given was of the rising crime rate over there, which raised security concerns. or so said the IOC geezers.

however, the real reason was - as straight from the reporter's gob - that the brazilian representatives behaved rather undiplomatically by bleating utter tosh, directing at new york and london, along the lines of: ".. at least terrorists don't come and attack us..". or somesuch.

that is a totally unnecessary flippant remark there, matey. or that you had too much sun inside that noggin of yours.

unreliably reliable

UNRELIABLE FACT OF THE DAY
From the Brains Trust
19 May 2004

LABOUR LABEL LUCAS LIBELOUS
The Labour Party is threatening to sue George Lucas over the Jar Jar Binks character in the Star Wars 1 and 2. They have issued a statement to the effect that since Binks has bug eyes, talks rubbish, is a strange ginger colour and an appalling diplomat, it can only be based on Robin Cook.

the cosmoverse

purloined off Rocket Jones, a fabtastic offering by NASA on the cosmoverse and beyond; replete with gobwatering piccies and deep topics like astrophysics and biomedical research.

snap!

snaps i took with my trusty camera phone on a sunny saturday afternoon in and about the so-called civic district last february. do not adjust yer screen though. these piccies were doctored in such a way to deter potential thieves.

chijmes (as in chimes) - formerly known as the convent of the holy infant jesus (chij); and informally, the town convent.

this lovely site was turned into an impossibly expensive albeit pretentious place - eg: gourmet restaurants and dodgy bar's abound - where the equally pretentious nouveau riche but with absolutely no class hang out.

every wednesday night sees cheapskates of the lowest of the lowest ::this is not a typo:: common denominator dressed up in expensive threads queuing up for free drinks at one of the pick-up joints called China Jump. this is also where numerous white expat blokes go to for some free bonk or two.

these two herds of specimens are but a fine example of "like" attract "like".

this colonial bungalow, opposite chijmes, houses the priest(s) of the next-door church, the cathedral of the good shephard. the oldest catholic church on the wee isle. and one which i go to pray when i'm in the vicinity.

i'm not catholic though. nor belonging to any religious order. but don't ask me how come i seek sanctuary there 'cos i have no idea myself.

what was formerly a catholic school started by the la salle brothers, st joseph's institution is now an art museum which is just a stone's throw away from the above-pictured church. a complete waste of taxpayers' dosh if you ask me, 'cos 99.9% of wee islanders don't go to museums. whatsoever. nor do they appreciate art. of any form.

seriously, if any of them starts appreciating art, i'd see pigs fly. and the sky turning green and the grass blue, and then the sun rises from the west, etc etc etc.

today's lesson

Lesson #3: the oft-uttered word "Urgent"

when them workplace weasels bombard your inbox with emails marked ! and expect you to attend to their requests immediately, don't. what is deemed urgent is usually not. it's their utterly poor sense of timing - and sitting on their own work for ages - that explains the bollocks.

so, instead of going blue in the face, reply them that our work is equally urgent. and that it would be marvellous if they could help us complete our work.

but of course, if said weasel happened to be yer gaffer, you can't possibly tell them exactly, can you?

toons

unreliably reliable

UNRELIABLE FACT OF THE DAY
From the Brains Trust
14 May 2004

WHO'S GOT THE LONGEST?
There is a competition amongst Microsoft employees to see who can prolong an irritant the longest. Hands down winner, (created in 1986 by Bletchley Feeble) is the confusing Abort, Retry, Fail? which has never once been answered correctly. A close second is the repeated access of an empty floppy drive (Morgan Zerklunkowickz, 1987).

toons

eye candy

found this piccie of the f/a 22 raptor by chance, nicked without permission off the US air force site.

ain't it a beauty? just look at that pair of delta wings. here's more about the aircraft, dubbed "the 21st century fighter".

:: blinkers glazed ::

kewlworthy

whilst clearing up my favourites thingy that had been accumulated on a disk, i chanced upon some links that i planned to re-visit but didn't. and it struck me how long ago it was the last time i chanced upon them.

anyways, here are a few which are worth a mention:
- CRAYON -> stands for "create your own newspaper". whereby there's a wide selection of the world's rag's and online sites on varied topics for you's to customise. and then, you's could give a name and even a motto to yer own rag.
- castles of britain -> for fan's of historic architecture. like moi.
- church crawler -> ditto ditto/religious architecture ditto
- the history guy -> for military history types. like moi.
- prelude to the invasion - world war II -> events leading up to the allied invasion of normandy.
- the battle of monte cassino -> a relatively unknown bit of wwII that took place in italy, which eventually led to the downfall of the axis weasel's.

well, that's about all for now. so keep yer eyes peeled for the next edition.

depression

the gerry's could be one of the blue marble's massivest whinger's also. witness this headline:

it's the depressing economy in the country that's affecting their sense of perspective:

and i thought only wee islanders are known for their constant whining's, about just anything and everything under the sun. and it's getting louder by the day, contrary to the official propaganda bollocks that the wee island economy is picking up.

serves to show that lifeform's, regardless whence they come, react similarly when faced surmounting adversity. innit.

'keeper

a moggy aspiring to be a goalkeeper. a footy 'keeper, to be precised. and no, i'm not making this up. go watch this cracking video of a ze frank's moggy called annie.

and then click on "practice" and "world cup". i was cackling away like a witch while watching the aforementioned's.

b_mc.t's sparkly gem

i'd rather look at an old cow's behind, than that nightmare-inducing mug.

disturbing

a fine posting by English about the burgeoning peasant underclass in England, that strikes a chord with me as the exact same phenomenon is occuring right here on the wee isle.

not sure if it's a blue marble-wide disease. or that there is indeed an ongoing conspiracy in the guise of a mighty evil breeding programme specially designed for 'em chav's.

seeing the huge numbers of peasantling's loafing about, talking to one another in a volume that's meant for the hearing-impaired; it does make me wonder if this sorry lot deserved to be sent to school in the first place.

when they are better off tilling the land from dawn to dusk. ooooh, nasty that.

and at the same time, go read this piece about feckless amoeba's, nicked, without permission yet again, off English.

which reminds me, it's about time to go check my blood pressure.

skived

apols for the silence, luv's. been away from the office today and will be also tomorrow. i was totally fed up with the madness at work yesterday, that explains the skiving.

email after email from department x deluged my inbox *daily* since late last month, implying that i did not attend to their requests. when i had already specifically informed them, earlier this month, to expect loads of scheduling changes from department y. which would mean their work would be greatly affected also. but at the same time i made sure i did my bit to ease their workload.

i'm not sure if they didn't quite understand my explanation. or they chose to assume that i was avoiding work. otherwise they won't be amoebic enough to jam my inbox innit?

not until my senior sent them a strongly-worded email, that i could barely hear a whimper. they seemed to avoid looking at me when we walked past one another. no more friendly hello's and summat.

says alot about their state of mind innit. or the severe lack of.

anyways, wish me luck for a job interview tomorrow morning 10:00 hours WIST, for a sales/marketing position.

i'll make up for the lack of posts soon, yes? do keep comin' though, 'cos i need all the lurvin' you'll never know what's in store :D

member

whilst walking by the reception counter on my way in to the office proper this morning, a st. andrew's society monthly caught me blinker. of course, i exclaimed with utter delight upon seeing the tartaned print all over.

yep, as one would have already guessed, said society is a gathering of sorts for:
- scots who work here on the wee isle
- anyone who has a scottish parent or grandparent
- anyone of scottish descent

and they have got a chieftain to boot.

as i was intrigued by it, i went to the website to find out more on the membership. it is open to non-scots types, BUT they are designated as associate members. as opposed to ordinary members who are of scots origin.

reet. did i detect a hint of discrimination 'ere? regardless, i could apply for the membership all the same in the name of B McTavish. for a lark. and then see their reaction afterwards.

heh.

yet another invasion

given the latest Marks & Spencer's latest misfortune, here's a giggleworthy piece of speculation on what Tony Blair had done in order to save M&S.

yes, he requested the Shrub to intervene. and i'm outraged. but not as outraged as witnessing the wee isle's M&S decorating each and every outlet with the stars and stripes over the weekend.

today's lesson

Lesson #2: How to speak like a scot

whenever Alex Ferguson comes on the telly, turn up the volume to full. and at the same time, lip read.

if all else fails, try to catch the scottish premier league on the telly. especially the old firm clash. which is the only one available in these parts anyways.

a word of caution though: don't attempt aberdeenian if ye haven't grasped enough glaswegian.

----------------------------------------------
addendum: just reminded by DW, how could i forget to add wee Gordie Strachan and Graeme Souness?

today's lesson

Lesson #1: How to speak 'strine or kiwi

1. download or listen to any tune by any australian or kiwi artiste/band
2. then turn up the volume to full blast. but ain't loud enough to burst yer eardrums
3. pay attention to how the tunesmith(s) warble
4. re-play and then warble along with said tunesmith(s)
5. ensure lyrics to that particular tune yer listening to is on hand. if not, nick copy from any of the numerous lyrics sites; and then paste 'em on .txt format
6. voila!

i guarantee ye will speak 'strine or kiwi like a native in no time. alternatively, try watching any aussie drama/film/rugby/footy/wotsit if it's shown on the telly. and if yer lucky, like me, listen carefully to how yer antipodean workmates/mates/neighbours/wotsit speak.

yes, practice does make perfect. i say this 'cos i'm listening to crowded house's "take the weather" on winamp as we speak.

toons

b_mc.t's sparkly gem

crikey, did i really type that out? must be a slip of the fingers then.

dispute

a geezer out jogging made some discovery that may annoy australians. whilst passing by an ancient stone with an equally ancient drawing on it, said geezer saw what appeared to be a curvy swastika. that maybe a representation of the boomberang.

and as such, said geezer went out to proclaim to the whole wide world that the boomberang was actually an english weapon. not aboriginal australian.

so, how and where did the aborigines get that idea from?

dream job

i'd gladly trade my job for one like this geezer's, as a chant laureate. ie: writing footy chants on match days throughout the 2004/05 season. in addition, he will be paid £10,000-a-year. just for writing footy chants. mind.

i could have qualified too, as a footy poet in residence. like Sarah Wardle and a few others.

sigh. never mind then. who knows, i may be spotted some day via this blog. maybe.

poem

work may take over my life today. in the meantime, enjoy this poem i wrote back in april 1999, which first appeared on blogspot last may.

A TALE OF A (WHINY) FOOTBALL WIFE

Life’s indeed wonderful
I’m married to the most popular footballer of the land
- if not the world
with two lovely kids in tow

Yeah, I’m really proud of him
he’s got *loadsa* medals and adored by millions
Though I can’t say the same
about those screaming females

Then one day a scout from
a famous foreign club
came up and offer him to join them -
200 million pounds per week!

Life’s tolerable when we first arrived
it’s not easy living in a foreign land
The food, the weather, strange customs…
…I don’t speak the language

I pleaded my husband to go home
He talked of contracts
that I don’t quite understand
Really

He’s wanted everywhere
It’s time to go home I told him
He decided to return
for the sake of our children – and me of course

breanagh mctavish © 1999

disclaimer: i am not a football wife. nor formerly associated with a footballer of some sort. if you's think this poem is really apt and spot-on, it’s because of those moaning bunch of football bint's we have had read about in the news. notwithstanding, that football bint depicted does resemble victoria beckham, innit?

shudder. i meant as if i could have known back then!

transmission disrupted

there may be no blahing later today due to the dreaded slave labourer appraisal. which was supposed to be done and over with last friday. but postponed to this afternoon 16:00 hours WIST sharpish.

drat.

normal programming may resume afterwhich.

eh?

further evidence as to why certain specimens should be forcibly removed from the human evolution tree before they cause more damage:

re: that abu ghraib prison hoo-ha. on one of the amoebic juveniles who was pictured grinning, giggling and wotnot at them iraqi prisoners; a cow-orker not only defended her, but declared how proud he was of said juvenile:

eh John, are you by any chance a lost relative of 99.9% of wee islanders?

also, i'm not surprised that these reservists claimed to be acting on orders of their superiors. 'cos thinking, reasoning and questioning are some of the intellectual activities that totally escape imbeciles.

so, who wouldn't take advantage of them then? i definitely would grab the opportunity with both paw's.

b_mc.t's sparkly gem

Shhh.. I'm trying to hear my brain.

toons

tour

go on a virtual tour of the solar system. detailed information of each planet, the sun and asteroid belt are presented in neat sequences.

with a kewl intro music to boot.

oh lordy

surely not every writer possesses all of the following ugly traits?

this new book the journo talked about is a compilation of accounts by spouses and bairn of what it was like living with a writer.

ever since i started bloggin, i have styled meself as a writer. so, i can't agree more with Graham Greene about some of the characteristics listed above, as i am in fact:
- vain -> if it's not vanity, why the hell do i still maintain this journal, innit?
- arrogant -> to the point of being twatish at times
- self-pitying -> i do suffer bouts of it sometimes
- foolish -> matters of the heart, oh yes

so there. it's not as disturbing as it sounds.

d'ya know...

the wee isle, to quote the daily rag's primary school-standard science section, "..has one of the highest rates of lightning activity in the world..".

this is all due to the islet's tropical weather and geographical location that bring about the aerial electrical charge. i was rather pleased with meself for chancing upon this piece of tidbit, only for the following paragraph to somewhat spoil my reading pleasure:

given the location and size of the wee isle - which can't even be seen on any known existing map - is the comparison of data with the above countries fair? why not its nearest neighbours in and around the region since they all share exact same or similar attributes?

or is it necessary at all?

further proof..

.. that 99.9% of wee islanders are beyond all forms of redemption:

when loads of wee island birds subject themselves to re-modifcations imaginable to their mugs and trunks, it's clear that they've totally lost the plot.

the reason is simple: they're utterly desperate for male attention, and consequently, some form of relationship to make themselves deemed desirable. and wanted.

a fine example of their non-existent self-worth is the following absurdity from a bint who put herself through a bust enhancement thingy, off a freebie morning daily advert:

seriously, said amoeba ought to go get her brain checked. if there is one, that is.

slagged off

i read with sadistic pleasure - via email - that a manager has just ticked off a sales slag for her galling manner in overriding his authority. with regards to a missing thingy belonging to said manager's department, but agitated said slag enough to throw her weight about.

these sales vermin were employed basically to whore themselves sell advert spots on telly programmes and wotnot. but they have this mistaken belief that everybody else at the workplace should worship the ground they walk.

hooray to that manager for putting that slag back in her place.

random haggis facts

cut and paste random facts off the brain's trust. enjoy.
------------------------------------------------------------

Relatives of the Scottish Haggi by the_other_giuliani

Less known than the Highland Haggis is their South American counterpart, the Patogonian Haggis, a fierce meat-eater known to have mauled and devoured back-packers, pumas and descendants of Welsh immigrants. Even less known is the New Zealand Haggis, which completely resembles the flightless Kiwi and is therefore "pretty hard to spot" says Andrew M. Patterson of the Christchurch Bird-Watching Society.

--------------------------------------------------
More Haggi Facts by The Ego

The easiest way to tell the sex of a common haggis is by looking at their legs. Male haggi travel around mountains in a clockwise direction and therefore have a longer left leg, whilst females travel counter-clockwise and have longer right legs. The common haggis is for this reason one of the few animals that use the missionary position.

--------------------------------------------------
Catching Haggi Properly by phanty

The only strain of haggis which can be caught be approaching face on is a mutant strain bred in the 1970s which escaped from a research site near Inverness. Common haggi have four legs and due to their excellent forward eyesight and hearing, will always evade predators in front of them. The correct method of catching them is to approach from behind and whistle. The animal will turn round to seee who is there and then roll down the hill. Flying haggi cannot be caught by this means because they have no legs. Instead they have a smooth scaly belly which they use to skim over the tops of the heather. This also makes them very resistant to shotgun pellets.

--------------------------------------------------
Haggis - catching it and serving it by Marianne

The haggis is a small turkey-sized two-legged creature that lives on Scots mountains, and consequently has one leg shorter than the other in order to deal with the gradient differential. Haggi (the plural of haggis is haggi) are caught by two people with a bag. One sits at the bottom of the hill with the bag. The other roams the mountain until he or she comes face to face with the haggis, which cannot turn around and run away as it would then be in the wrong direction for its legs to work properly.

It falls over, rolls down the hill and is caught in the bag. When the haggis is served at table, it is accompanied through to the dining room by a man in a tartan kilt playing the bagpipes, then addressed officially with a poem by Robert Burns, and then cut open with a sword before being served to the gathering accompanied by a pastinaceous side dish known as neaps.

first friday

it's the first friday of the month today, and that means it's the monthly canuck association pub night.

woot!

hang on, since i'll be hosting it again - the second in a row - that'll be double woot.

woot²!

mascot

as you's may notice, that green waving creature up there is not me. rather, a blog mascot that was first introduced at my old blog.

it's called nessie ::ah!:: and is in keeping with my scottish "heritage". image stolen without permission off animation factory.

fierce creatures

i think i spoke too soon about not making jokes about birds. of the feathered kind that is.

firstly, we had yorkshire crows acquiring the habit of rubber chewing. and now, a flock of peacocks behaving yobbish, terrorising everyone, every car and every window in a Worcestershire village.

i'm not exaggerating with the last two. peacocks turn aggressive at the sight of their own reflections, in the mistaken belief that the latter are other males.

that is one fine example of a collective of bird brains.

film

i'm waiting in anticipation for troy to open over here in the middle of this month. methinks. can't wait to nitpick what's missing or added in the name of artistic license either.

not to ogle at brad pitt, mind.

nay, it is to relieve the tale which still holds lessons - to me at least - like:
- never interfere or get involved in other people's affairs
- the idea of war is utterly daft
- people go generally weak in the presence of (mere) beauty
- never accept any gift that's a passing resemblance to a horse

and that big question: what's so effin' big deal about this bird called Helen? all looks but no substance there.

ok so i may be a tad harsh about the last bit there. if Helen of Troy - or Sparta technically speaking - did exist thousands of yonks ago, how would i know what sort of person she really was? innit?

no matter, that's human nature and foibles for ye.

unreliably reliable

UNRELIABLE FACT OF THE DAY
From the Brains Trust
6 May 2004

DON'T MENTION THE WAR....
It is a widely believed fact that the English spend so much time talking about the weather, gardening and cricket because the last time the country took any interest in religion and politics, we had the Reformation and a civil war. We have since been banned from discussing these subjects by an obscure European gentleman's agreement dating from 1687.

further proof..

.. that 99.9% of wee islanders are beyond all forms of redemption:

the following took place just about five minutes ago:
cow-orker sitting in the cube farm next to mine received a phone call on her mobile which wasn't meant for her. ie: caller dialled a wrong number.

so she said in english - said cow-orker is eurasian: "wrong number."
caller/amoeba: "blahblahblah"
cow-orker: "you have called the wrong number."
amoeba: "blahblahblah"
cow-orker passed the phone to cow-orker sitting behind her: "T, could you please tell this woman it's wrong number? she's speaking in chinese."
cow-orker#2 speaking in chink to amoeba: "who are you looking for? this is not the number you dialled."

eh? i thought "wrong number" is a common wee island term that everyone regardless of race understands? anyways, cow-orker#1 was quite annoyed with the amoeba who had the effin' gall to retort - instead of apologising - in chink: "what WRONG number?!"

what's with some of these chinese? or was she expecting my cow-orker to reply her in chink? whatever, yours truly didn't help matters when i said to cow-orker: "you should have said long numb-berh."

everyone cracked up. except for a handful of closet racists sitting behind and next to me.

i don't give a fuck i tell ya. if i were her, i would have replied my standard, "dya understand english or not? i'm not chinese you know" with an exaggerated malay accent.

it's raining again

the above title sums up nicely about the weather now. and i'm hummin' to that supertramps tune as we speak.

poem

a poem written by none other than breanagh mc.t, first published on blogspot exactly a year ago! enjoy.
------------------------------------------------------

a merriment while the pub's on fire
- a re-fuelling tale of Bertie the polka-dotted walrus, Jagerjit the balti-mad mop-haired sealion, and a guinness-quaffing two-tailed moggy called Eh?.

A polka-dotted walrus chugged my pint of guinness
"Bring on the Balti!" hollered its mate
a mop-haired sealion
"Some dancing blokes to go along also!" I chimed in
All this while the pub's on fire

"Oh my goodness!" exclaimed the landlord
a one-eyed Irish scarecrow
The aptly-named Seamus O'Crow
"Would you care to join us?" asked Bertie
the polka-dotted walrus

"No, no, carry on if you must," Seamus replied
"But mind, this pub's burning fast!"
We all guffawed at his comedic flappings
but never would I the least expect
not a single drop of guinness left by the crack of dawn

So we trundled off for home from the burnt down pub
A lesson not that we have learnt
but a friendship has been forged
The polka-dotted walrus Bertie, me and
Jagerjit the mop-haired sealion

original work © breanagh mctavish 2003

wot a bird

this cockatiel, christened Baggio, learnt to sew after watching its tailor-owner. and because of its brilliant sewing skills, Baggio has not only become a hit with customers, but also earned a spot on a telly talent show.

certainly, Baggio has given an entirely new meaning to the words "bird brained". and i promise i'll stop using the fakey *bird@brain.co.wi addy from this moment onwards.

nb: *bird@brain.co.wi copyrighted breanagh mctavish 2004

larf's

here's yet another recycled thingy off the blogspot. enjoy.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

When NASA was preparing for the Apollo Project, it took the astronauts to a Navajo reservation in Arizona for training.

One day, a Navajo elder and his son came across the space crew walking among the rocks.

The elder, who spoke only Navajo, asked a question. His son translated for the NASA people: "What are these guys in the big suits doing?" One of the astronauts said that they were practicing for a trip to the moon.

When his son relayed this comment the Navajo elder got all excited and asked if it would be possible to give to the astronauts a message to deliver to the moon.

Recognizing a promotional opportunity when he saw one, a NASA official accompanying the astronauts said, "Why certainly!" and told an underling to get a tape recorder.

The Navajo elder's comments into the microphone were brief. The NASA official asked the son if he would translate what his father had said. The son listened to the recording and laughed uproariously. But he refused to translate.

So the NASA people took the tape to a nearby Navajo village and played it for other members of the tribe. They too laughed long and loudly but also refused to translate the elder's message to the moon.

Finally, an official government translator was summoned. After he finally stopped laughing the translator relayed the message:

"Watch out for these assholes. They have come to steal your land."

further proof...

.. of 99.9% of wee islanders are beyond all forms of redemption:

an advert of one of the numerous privately-run commercial schools (called MDIS) had one delectable-lookin' bird praising their Oklahoma City University (USA) programme; emphasis mine:

"the overseas lecturers at MDIS brought with them vital industry knowledge and insights. i can apply everything i learned in the real working world."

bird's name deleted as it was deemed totally unnecessary by breanagh mc.t

as for "the real working world" bit, i'm not aware that a parallel cosmoverse - presumably called "the unreal unworking world" - does exist after all.

deep slumber

a reader asked popular science:

"Why can't we put people into some sort of cryogenic sleep and launch them to Mars -- or to an even more distant destination, like Alpha Centauri?"

interesting prospect that, as there are a handful of sci-fi visions that were already realised - somewhat - in the last few decades. but as the writer explained, cryogenics is not as straightforward as it sounds as it involves biological and ethical issues.

that however did not stop boffins from coming up with two options:
- hibernation -> that is more realistic and practical
- suspended animation -> the use of ice that is both impractical and harmful to cell tissues and structures

in short, this is a cautionary article that certain sci-fi ideas are best left where they are. in the realms of science fiction.

rain rain go away..

the weather, at the moment of typing, is exceptionally dark and gloomy outside. with heavy rain throughout expected.

and wee islander's, being what they are, are "discussing" about it right now. sample the following snippets:
- "phwoar, so dark outside!"
- "yah, about time to since it's been so hot the past few days"
- "how to go for lunch?" "carry umbrella, lah."
- "expect a tornado!"

the last is mighty exaggerating. i mean, the wee isle is so wee that it's a tad impossible for a tornado to even possibly unleash it's wrath on.

but who knows, it may breeze past us that none of us notices it.

done!

btw, to those who are curious, i already have my barnet shorn. took advantage of the weekly 2-hour lunchtime today, to the hairdresser's and a spot of shoppin'.

this weekly 2-hour thingy had the gaffer declared moons ago as a "privilege" and, on the same breath, "gesture of appreciation" to us hardworking slaves.

he couldn't even made up his mind as to which.

anyways, i needn't subject my hair to the ridiculous amounts of goo anymore. not until it grows to a certain length...

piccies

nicked off shutterline, photo of the day by a blake heminger:

you know its' time...

... for a haircut when the barnet starts having a life of its own. subjecting it to:
- a curling brush and extreme heat from a hairdryer
- dollops and dollops of goo - otherwise known as hairstyling moose/gel/wotsit - in a vain effort to curb the stubborn bits

will come to nought. grrr..

refuelling

it's confirmed. i'm going to the local for a refuelling session later today. and i'll make sure i leave this place at 18:00 hours WIST sharpish.

*mad world

as long as there are different races coexisting, racism is a fact of life that would not go away or be eradicated.

here's irvine welsh's first-hand account of the horrific madness surrounding Sudan's native population - treated no less as second-class citizens - who are at the mercy of migratory nomadic arabs.

to think that the arabs - supposed guests - could commit those atrocities against the natives who are also their spiritual kith, it makes you wonder if they qualify the "human beings" tag at all.

* oh yes, this rather unoriginal title is nicked off tears for fears' tune of same name.

unreliable reliable

UNRELIABLE FACT OF THE DAY
From the Brains Trust
3 May 2004

THE URALS
The population of the Ural Mountains rose from 5 million people to over 260 million people during the 17th Century due to fabulous advances in rock-climbing technology.

further proof..

.. of 99.9% of wee islanders are beyond any form of redemption:

an email i just received from some sales "manager" seeking participants for the annual corporate community games. whereby companies battle it out amongst one another in sport like badminton, basketball, bowling and footy.

the following are said manager's exact words, cut and pasted for yer bewildering pleasure:

Hoopsters

Hey there,

Need to form MIXED team for 4 on 4 Basketball. Looking to enter a team w a min. of 5 pp and max of 6. Interested? Just get in touch w me.

slag's name deleted to protect breanagh mc.t's identity

obviously texting shorthand gets into the way of official correspondence. but when are they going to learn that not everyone understands their peculiar brand of shorthand?

appraised

the dreaded annual slave-labourer appraisal has arrived. in fact, i was handed that godawfulshadeof pink form last friday by the gaffer during one of them time-wasting braincell-depleting "meetings".

i was scheduled this friday at 14:00 hours WIST for the wee review with the gaffer. i have yet looked through it 'cos i know it'd be the same old questions rehashed. to think we had just under a week to fill it up with ego-boosting self-praise. apart from rating ourselves to show how worthy we are to the company.

or how worthy we think we are to the company. inflating our self-worth by writing down improvements we assume we have made to our work ::yawn::

which actually meant if we were had been thoroughly assimilated. completely turning into one of 'em feckless spastics. so beloved by equally feeble-minded two-faced manager's.

and then when the time comes to face the gaffer, peering at the godawfulshadeof blue form on his desk, comparing your own and his ratings of you, the slave; they almost always are the exact opposite.

in other words, performance appraisals are futile, totally one-sided and an utter sham. not to mention, ego-bruising. oh yes, i have one *massive* ego.

honestly, if anyone were to say they are either looking forward to it; or don't mind going through this entire crapxercise, they must have come from a different planet altogether.

or should go have their brains examined.

oh yes, i AM bitter. 'cos i suspected the gaffer fibbed about changes in the overall points system that resulted in yours truly missing out on a wage increment last july. 'cos the slave labour relations folk didn't make any announcement to us.

no matter, he has lost my respect due to one particular incident. as to how come, i'll reserve another day to vent my spleen.

toons

larf's

here's another one.
------------------------------------------

Notification of Compulsory Enlistment

Sent: Wednesday, January 29, 2003 10:40 PM
Subject: Notification Of Compulsory Enlistment

Under the Emergency Powers Act (1939) as amended by the Defence Act (1978), you are hereby notified that you are required to place yourself on standby for possible compulsory military service in the American Conflict.

You may shortly be ordered to depart for the Middle East where you will join either the 3rd Battalion The Queen's Own Suicidal Conscripts or the 2nd Foot and Mouth. The regulars are too busy driving Green Goddesses to be there themselves.

Due to the recent rundown of the Navy and the refusal of P&O to lend us any of their liners, because of the deplorable state in which they were returned after previous adventures in the Falklands and the Gulf, it will be necessary for you to make your own way to the combat zone.

H.M. Government have been able to negotiate a 20% discount on one way trips with Virgin Airlines and you are strongly urged to take advantage of this offer, RyanAir also do a nice little £9.99 trip.

Because of cutbacks in Government expenditure in recent years it will be necessary for you to provide yourself with the following equipment as soon as possible:

*Combat Jacket
*Trousers (preferably khaki - but, please, no denim)
*Tin helmet
*Boots (or a pair of sturdy trainers)
*Gas mask
*Map of the combat zone (the Ordinance Survey :2800 Outdoor Leisure Map of Iraq will do)
*Rifle
*Ammunition (preferably to suit previous item)
*Suntan oil

If you are in a position to afford it, we would like you to buy a tank - Vickers Defence of Leeds are currently offering all new conscripts a 0% finance deal on all X registration Chieftains, but hurry, as offer is only available whilst stocks last.

We would like to reassure you that in the unlikely event of anything going wrong, you will receive a free burial in the graveyard of your choice, and your next of kin will be entitled to the new War Widows pension of £1.75 per calendar month, index-linked but subject to means testing, and fully repayable should our side eventually lose.

There may be little time for formal military training before your departure and so we advise that you hire videos of the following films and try and pick up a few tips as you watch:

*The Guns of Navarone
*Kelly's Heroes
*A Bridge too Far
*The Longest Day
*Apocalypse Now
*The Matrix
*Blazing Saddles
*The Desert Song
*Mary Poppins

We do not recommend that you watch Khartoum.

To mentally prepare yourself for your mission try reading the works of Wilfred Owen or Rupert Brookes. This should give you some idea of what may be involved.

Yours faithfully,
G Hoon,
Ministry of Defence.

(A Bush/Blair Production) Sponsored by Mars, the official snack of World War III

larf's

a recycled post off my former blogspot thingy. enjoy.
------------------------------------------------------------------

Death Sentence

An Englishman, a Dutchman and a Frenchman are all in Saudi Arabia, sharing a smuggled crate of booze when, all of a sudden, Saudi police rush in and arrest them.

The mere possession of alcohol is a severe offense in Saudi Arabia, so for the terrible crime of actually being caught consuming the booze, they are all sentenced to death!

However, after many months and with the help of very good lawyers, they are able to successfully appeal their sentences down to life imprisonment. By a stroke of luck, it was a Saudi national holiday the day their trial finished, and the extremely benevolent Sheik decided they could be released after receiving just 20 lashes each of the whip.

As they were preparing for their punishment, the Sheik announced:
"It's my first wife's birthday today, and she has asked me to allow each of you one wish before your whipping."

The Dutchman was first in line, he thought for a while and then said:
"Please tie a pillow to my back."

This was done, but the pillow only lasted 10 lashes before the whip went through. When the punishment was done he had to be carried away bleeding and crying with pain.

The Frenchman was next up. After watching the Dutchman in horror he said smugly:
"Please fix two pillows to my back."

But even two pillows could only take 15 lashes before the whip went through again and the Frenchman was soon led away whimpering loudly (as they do).

The Englishman was the last one up, but before he could say anything, the Sheik turned to him and said:
"You are from a most beautiful part of the world and your culture is one of the finest in the world. For this, you may have two wishes!"

"Thank you, your Most Royal and Merciful highness", The Englishman replied. "In recognition of your kindness, my first wish is that you give me not 20, but 100 lashes."

"Not only are you an honorable, handsome and powerful man, you are also very brave". The Sheik said with an admiring look on his face.

"If 100 lashes is what you desire, then so be it. And your second wish, what is it to be?" the Sheik asked.

"Tie the Frenchman to my back."

rare piece

a hilarious insightful article by a 30-something wee island journo. wee islanders are accustomed to calling strangers "auntie" or "uncle", regardless of the latters' age.

it is quite reassuring to know that i'm not the only lifeform struggling to come to terms with prematurely greying barnet. but unlike said journo, i don't have any problem with individuals calling me "auntie".

'cos that means they look up to me, as someone who's profoundly wise. or that i look older than my age.

ack!

some bright idea

i really have got nothing better to do. i've come up with a new "country" code to fool 'em spammers.

as some of you's may know by now:
.au = australia
.uk = uk
.in = india
.ch = switzerland

and more which will take up alot of space if i were to list them all here. without further ado, here's the new thingy which i hope would be cosmoversally recognised some day:
.wi = wee island

being the generous soul that i am ::cough:: you's could use it if you wish to, if you do not want those evil twats to jam yer inbox. examples on how you could utilise the .wi thingy:
- daft@cow.co.wi
- baa@baa.co.wi

fret not, usage of either .wi or the fakey daft@cow.co.wi / baa@baa.co.wi is entirely free of charge. and your peace of mind is guaranteed. another fine example, 'ere. note the amazon bit.

daft@cow.co.wi and baa@baa.co.wi © Breanagh McTavish 2004

re-worked

i have too much time on my paws. or rather, the need to call for attention.

stuff that i re-did: the biog, the scottish blah's, and the british legacies thingy. do take a peek.