Author: Mosh

OK, two bits of news and gubbins and stuff. News. Gubbins. Stuff. That makes three. Hmm. Sod it.

Coursework report complete and in an envelope to be posted tomorrow. There are bits I should do more work on and I know it, but seeing as I don’t have a database to test the triggers and procedures on, that just isn’t going to happen. Still, 5900+ words for a report that’s meant to be 5000 – 7000 words is nicely middle-ground. There is the small matter that I think it’s too biased towards one section, but frankly, I don’t give a **** any more.

Thank you all for the best wishes and the “you can do it” stuff. I await my mark sometime next year so I can say “told you I’d **** it up” and prove you all wrong.

More important things, now. KitKat has been for her trip to the vet. She was great, really well behaved. Thanks to Sharon who managed to borrow me a cat-carrying box thingy from a person at work. I put it down last night and she nosed around and wandered in. I struggled to get her back out of it again!

This morning involved a bit more of a struggle as she wasn’t interested, so some neck cruffage was used. She was quiet in the car, and no scared “**** and piss everywhere” event occured. I kept her on the passenger seat with the grille towards me in case she got nervous. I should have known better – she kept trying to scratch my arm every time I went to change gear.

She only got nervous when we reached the vets and I put this more down to the noises and smells. She was OK with the injection and being put into the cage thing they kept her in. There’s now a chip in her neck that’ll get her back to me if she goes walkies anywhere and she’s due back in 2 weeks for the next round of boosters.

The location of her girly-equipment, though, is a mystery. There was a small scar when they shaved her, and when they had a dig around, it seems they’d already been removed. As neither Housemate Kim nor myself ever remember seeing her with a shaved side, we can only assume she’s older than we thought and that ratboy and ex-mrs-ratboy got her from a shelter that neuter the cats as they come in. Still, better safe than sorry and £30 I’d rather have spent to be sure.

She’s still a little tender and isn’t wolfing her food like she usually does. However, she did make it into the bathroom sink so she could play with the light switch so she can’t be that bad.

Barring emergency announcements, there will be no further posts or replies to comments until I complete my final RDBMS Project Report. This should, with any luck, be by Sunday night or early Monday morning.

A word to those considering doing something like this in the future: Don’t think you can get 8 months’ work done in 4 days. Although I feel I will just about do it, it’s not bloody easy. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

Catch you on the flip side.

No snipey comments. No anti-Bushisms. It’s the 11th of November when we remember all our war dead, regardless of when that war was, or why it was fought. We’re in a war now, for better or worse, and the dead keep mounting. But these men and women still do their duty and my hat is off to every single last one of them. I seriously doubt I’d ever be able to do what they do, and what others have done.

One of my grandads was a commando. He took part in the Normandy landings, but I never really spoke to him about it. I don’t know why not – whether it was something he didn’t want to discuss or maybe he never thought I was interested. I know he wasn’t ashamed, but on the other hand he didn’t boast.

I saw Saving Private Ryan when it came out, and I cried when I got home. Not a little whimper, full on floods of tears. Because up until then, up until watching that opening 15 or so minutes, I hadn’t even the slightest clue what my grandfather – and thousands of other men on both sides – had gone through. How cheap life seemed for those hours and days, how quickly it was ended but how valuable they all ended up being over time.

That’s why we all should take some time today and remember those who’ve died fighting for our country, your country, their country. Their beliefs and those of others. No matter how much you agree or disagree with war, these people did their duty for what they believed was right – sometimes in spite of it. British, French, American, German, Japanese, Australian… I don’t care.

Every one was braver than I will ever be. I thank you. Each and every one of you. You should not and will not be forgotten.

Some readers may recall my letter to the Post Office. Well, I got a reply this morning. Surprise, surprise, it’s a form letter which doesn’t answer all the issues raised on my initial complaint.

All it says is that they’ve now settled on a single delivery (I know – I don’t care. I only ever got one a day anyway) and that this reorganisation means that some deliveries will be “a little earlier, some a little later”. I don’t call 3 hours “a little”. I also want to know how my deliveries could even possibly ever be a little earlier when the posties have been told they can’t start delivering till 9am. That’s 90 minutes later than I used to get my mail delivered.

The alternative offered was to use their free “Mail Collect” service. This involves me going to the sorting office and picking my post up. What they don’t mention is that this service is only free if you pick your post up after 8:30am (it may be 8:00, I’m not sure) and that’s not possible as I need to be on my way to work by then.

In addition, as I pointed out on my original mail, the sorting office is nowhere near my bloody house despite there being another one opposite the end of the street. Wrong postcode. Now, were they to drop my mail at the local one then fine. It would be about 100 yards out of my way in the morning. For that, I’ll stop by and pick my post up. But no way can I get into Bradford town centre for 8:30 and then expect to make Wakefield by 9:00.

Of course, if they’d actually read my original mail then this wouldn’t have even been suggested.

Think I’ll send another letter. I wonder if I’ll get the same bloody reply again. Useless.

You are industrial/hardcore metal. Conventional
songwriting goes out the window and is replaced
by something quite bizarre. You singer pretends
to be a robot and sings about how in the
future, earth will be taken over by “the
machines”.

What sub-genre of metal (music) are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

It’s not far off, actually. I was thinking “Fear Factory” through most of the quiz.