Tech Support

My weekend at home has consisted mostly of bashing angry fists at a computer. Thanks to some magnificent bastard of a virus, I spent the whole of friday night and saturday fiddling with various tools trying to resurrect this computer. At about 9 P.M. on saturday I decided I couldn't be arsed and just reformatted. Obliteration of any form is very satisfying.

I also think I'm turning into Chris Langham. On the train back I saw a small child wearing a ticket inspector's fleece, clearly the son of a conductor. Instead of jumping to this logical conclusion, I spent about ten seconds considering what a small ticket inspector he was. Come to think of it, I also thought the same of the daughter of Jeff Goldblum in Jurassic Park 2 the other night.

I'm beginning to think maybe I don't believe children actually exist anymore. They're just small but terrifying geniuses wanting to wreak havoc.

Sold out?

Look liek the rest of Manchester also knows about the comedy festival. Tried to get into the City Life comedy finals last night in Deansgate, only to be told to sod off as we had no pre-reserved tickets.

In Rich's desperate attempt to see some comedy, we then headed to the Frog and Bucket. Just 2 people from the front of the queue, we now get told they're sold out too. Bollocks.

Ended up in Dry Bar with some live music from unknown indie bands. It turned out that these were a comedy experience in their own right. One band consisted of two bearded men, one of which had an uncanny resemblance to Bernard Black from Black Books. They then played a 20 minute song of guitar noise and primal screaming similar to a rhesus monkey escaping from their lungs.

Apart from another one who played no instruments and just waved hands around in front of a TV while changing the demo track on his keyboard every 30 seconds, they wern't too bad. I even bought a couple of singles to "support indie music" or some guff like that.

I'm going to regret it.

YER SHITE

On the way back from the pub, I ran into an amusing crackpot at the bus stop. He seemed to have a problem with Manchester students in general, calling us "fucking oxford rejects on oxford road" and finding it quite satisfying. He was suprisingly articulate for someone completely salad tossed in the brain.

I didn't manage to catch him in a full-on torrent of abuse, but I surreptitiously managed to record him getting shouty at other intervals.

Clip 1: "You're degenerate shite" [124 kb]
Clip 2: "You're a complete arsehole" [114 kb]

I found it very hard not to laugh during these. This is exactly what technology was invented for.

MASTERCHEF

Today, I discovered I can actually cook despite living off frozen pizzas and Uncle Ben's sauces for the last year and a bit at uni.

Fry some sausages in some butter, after a couple of minutes add apple segments and dried sage. Obliterate anything that used to be living about it with firey gas until golden. Top up with cider for that rustic pisshead-from-Somerset authenticiy and simmer on a high heat until the cider's almost evaporated entirely. Serve with your favourite form of potato-starch-stodge-juice-absorber. I tried adding arrowroot to make the cider residue thicker, but it just ended up with the consistency of mucus. Fruity apple mucus. It was still edible, so my improper kitchen chemistry didn't really matter.

To celebrate not eating rice for a 20th consecutive night, Patrick then made pancakes. Which is always a celebration in its own right.

Seeing as I now have arrowroot in my kitchen cupboard alongside the supernoodles and stir fry sauces, I might just try adding it to everything. Orange juice, coffee, shower water, toasted sandwiches. It'll be a great big experiment in doing stuff wrong.

Laser Boredom

One disadvantage of doing a physics degree is that after a while, lasers become almost boring. Especially when every day involves shining them at special sensing things that aren't your lab partner's eyes.

Luckily we haven't come up against much radioactiveness yet, so there are still some dangerous toys that have an appeal.

Bzzzzzzt

Can't sleep. Being buzzed continuously by (possibly) a police helicoper.

I'll wake up in the morning to find all of Manchester's pavements have been stolen by some kind of mysterious 2 A.M. riot.

Bacon++

Wetherspoons pubs are ace. Thanks to some harebrained scheme to do with promoting earlier opening, they're giving away free breakfasts at our local, which is handily about twenty feet from my bus stop. This morning I enjoyed a fried pork breakfast party. And no truckers to be seen anywhere.

Admittedly they only cost £2 normally, but I am a student and therefore need to save ridiculously small amounts of money where possible. Then spend a stupid £3.50 on some slimy bits of crunchy crap disguised as coleslaw in a LUNCHTIME SALAD FROM HELL.

Tomorrow, a bacon sandwich at the expense of a multinational. Keep on trucking.

Current song: Burning Down The House
Current decade I most feel like: 1983 - 1992
Current gaping flesh wounds in need of sterilisation: none

Deansgate: Home Of The Trombone

Time for a "what did I do today?" post. It will be interspersed with a recipe to make it slightly less dull.

This evening was spent at a comedy gig in a trendy bar / restaurant / god knows what, tucked away from the majority of students down some cobbled street next to the canal. Apparently it's the Manchester Comedy Festival. I may have inserted this fact into my brain at some point but it was filed away along with other non-essential information such as how to perform a parallel parking manouver and how not to drown.

Preheat the oven and boil some pasta.

I was dragged along by a friend Lora who seemed to be a fairly big fan of the comedian in question, Patrick Monahan. I thought it was alright, if a bit discontinuous. The guy had just got off a train running an hour late which might explain it, but she found the whole thing hillarious regardless.

Slice some aubergine, rub with oil and salt, grill until golden.

The audience was suprisingly thin on the ground, only twenty or so people, so afterwards we ended up talking to the comedian himself. Lora grinned gleefully while telling him the whole set of about a dozen gigs she'd seen him at. I came out with the more measured response "I don't have a clue who you are".

I've lost my place in the recipe book. Sod it.

A man who appeared to be a cross between a comedian and a business marketing advisor then proceeded to ply us with bookmarks to a website that appeared to have nothing to do with comedy or entertainment of a comical nature. Unless some kind of material can be developed from the promise of "making cold calling more fun". Idea: SOCK PUPPETS.

The bus ride home was then enjoyed with Lora proclaiming "I love Patrick Monahan" at regular intervals, while phoning other people up to excitedly inform them of the evening's events.

Order a pizza from Dominos.

I also caught up with Prison Break using the magic of BitTorrent. It appears to be a decent American adrenaline-pumped drama on Fox (!).

Hopefully I don't experience the wonder of " the mid season break", a television concept unknown on the east of the Atlantic because it's ridiculous. Tiny powerful ninjas will be summoned if this happens.

Now eat your pizza.

I Am Not A Pirate Of The Manchester Ship Canal

It's a blog. Jesus wept.

I generally have three rules about blogs:

• The whole "mass journalism" communist reporters FROM THE FUTURE concept is nonsense.
• Blogs are primarily shite.
• Robots are ace.

I am not going to break any of these rules in this here, my bright shiny new blog. Except for the robots one, especially if I try and build a robot and post about it because I can guarantee it'll be a mess of cables, transistors and electronic anger.

I have blogged over the ages on various websites including my own. However, when I try to get deep or do anything sensible I break down and go on a rampage of self-doubting, which invariably leads to beer. As much as I enjoy this, it's stopping me from ever continuing for a sensible length of time.

My longest attempt was one I ran with a couple of mates, but having zero visitors was disheartening. As our posts were mostly about being chased by angry dairy cow farmers and promoting the underrated Estonian bands that represent the future of indie rock through the medium of eurovision pap.

Now either leave a comment or go away. Bad grammar will be tolerated only if you have a doctor's note and a comedy malaise.

Welcome.