Wednesday, 29 October 2008

Daily Mail readers can just f...

Georgina Baillie: media whore.

Ms Baillie is the "wronged" granddaughter of Fawlty Towers star Andrew Sachs, and finds herself plastered all over the newspapers this morning. I'm sure she's really troubled by that turn of events.

A little background: 23-year-old Georgina has slept with Russell Brand. She's a member of a burlesque troup called the "Satanic Sluts". Charming. Andrew Sachs has revealed that he doesn't approve of his granddaughter's antics, but it's a case of live-and-let-live. Sachs has also unreservedly accepted the personal apology delivered by Jonathon Ross.

Today, Ms Baillie told The Sun newspaper that her grandfather was "really upset and says he wants the whole situation to end". Well then, stop fucking talking about it, you attention-seeking, publicity-hungry, talent-free oxygen thief. And while you're at it, piss off back to obscurity where you belong. I was going to put an amusingly-captioned picture of Georgina in this blog post, but I'd rather my laptop wasn't covered in the vomit that would inevitably ensue. Apparently she feels "exposed" and "betrayed" by all of this. She's obviously confusing these for the words "publicised" and "wealthy".

I find it amusing that she's considering making a complaint about this to the police; obviously her hundred-and-one media appearances since the event have in no way undermined any complaint she might make. Oh, and she's clearly too far up her own bumhole to realise that no-one has actually done anything illegal towards her - the messages were left on Andrew Sachs' answering service and he has already said that he wants to take this no further. Publicly announcing that you've slept with someone you really have slept with is not illegal, as far as I'm aware.

She adds: "What's funny about humiliating a lovely old man who has never harmed anyone in his life?" I say: "What's funny about a fictional Torquay hotelier slapping the shit out of his Spanish waiter?" And the answer is, "your grandfather's entire career".

Mind you, none of the above stops Russell Brand from being a grade-A twat.

Wednesday, 8 October 2008

Sorry, you need an Internet connection to view this blog post

Joined-up thinking is a godsend. Why don't people use it more often?

Consider this: Currently my e-mail isn't working. According to NetIdentity this is a problem affecting about a third of their users, and should only last for about 8 hours. Problem is, I've had no e-mail access for an entire day now.

Logically I would raise a support ticket to ask them to look into this. NetIndentity is part of TuCows now, and they have merged the support facilities for NetIdentity, Domain Direct and Yiyd into one handy site. In order to raise a support ticket you need to register on the support site. You have to use your NetIdentity e-mail address to do this so that your account can be linked. And after you've registered you need to validate your new support account by clicking on the link in the e-mail that they send to you.

Have you spotted the flaw in this plan?

Bloody amateurs...

Thursday, 2 October 2008

Domino's numpty

Sometimes something happens that renders even me temporarily speechless. One such even occurred on Monday evening.

As Mrs Steve and I regularly do, we decided to have a pizza for tea - one from our local Domino's store. It's fair to say that since this store opened we've been regular users of its delivery service; I would imagine we've had over 50 deliveries from them. And none of them have ever been an issue.

Until Monday.

About 35 minutes after I placed the order, our 'phone rang.

"Hello, this is your Domino's driver. I'm having trouble finding your house - I'm outside number 40 and I can't see it."

At this point, it's worth knowing that our house number is 41. More astute readers will recognise that this is an odd number, whereas 40 is an even number. And yes, on our street the consecutive numbers are not opposite one another. But when are they ever?! Bloody tool.

Thus I wandered to the top of our drive - still on the phone - and located the errant driver, waving at him so that he could see where our house was.

"Okay, I can see you."

Thank fuck for that. I returned to the house and hung up the phone and waited for our tasty pizza.

And waited.

And waited.

I discovered just this morning that, after ending his call to me, the driver ventured towards our house, but clearly couldn't remember the exact spot where he'd seen me. So he guessed, and knocked on the appropriate front door.

The door he chose was to number 45. The clue to this was the fact that there's a fucking big "45" on the front of it.

Jan, our neighbour at number 45, pointed the Domino's mentalist in the right direction, and he finally appeared with our pizzas. I took them, and he buggered off.

You'd think that would be the end of my pizza-acquiring ordeal. Was it buggery! Cathy's pizza was fine, but when I opened mine, ALL of the topping was in a big pile at one end of the box. The rest of the pizza was completely empty apart from a smear of BBQ sauce.

I called the store, and in fairness to them they were very helpful. No problem, sir, we'll send another one to you - just let the driver have that one back.

About 20 minutes later, the very same cock-brain of a driver returned with my new pizza. "Oh, I'm ever so sorry," spake he. "The bag fell off the seat onto the floor of the car, but I thought it would be alright".

Thought?! That's hardly your fucking strong point is it, you bloody muppet. You didn't bother to check? You've spent at the very least 17 years on this planet and still don't understand how house numbering works?! You know you're looking for number 41 but reckon that if you can't locate it, 45 will do just as well?! You, sir, are a fucking retard.

The pizza was lovely, though...