World peace.

The world turns in an oblate spheroid kind of way about it's imperfect axis and as such these variations in rotation and shape dynamics cause tension. Not in the fabric of the world so much although earthquakes, tsunamis, tornadoes, and general devastation do play their part, no, I'm thinking of the human element, the fifth one.

We jolly well do our damnedest to cause conflict don't we. You might be thinking 'Hang on Shirley, I've never invaded Poland or hacked to death a whole nation 'cos they looked at me funny', but let me tell you, we're all (even glorious me) ready for a punch up. Remember the last time someone cut you up on the road or didn't hold the door of a shop for you? You muttered something under your breath (how exactly do you do that?) or maybe stuck a finger or two up, maybe even made the 'WANKER' sign at them.

Sometimes a little gesture is all it takes. Imagine if you will a trip to a supermarket, that's the place chaps where ladies go to spend money on exotic products that can't be deep fried, fried, or drunk. During your trip whilst searching for those twisted reconstituted chicken lumps that the kids like, you inadvertently bump trolleys at the frozen foods cabinet. The chunky gold bedecked tattooed family beside you don't like it and it all kicks off. Before the Daily Mail has had time to write a scaremongering witless title, The Battle of Greenhithe has become an event. It escalates beyond the frozen aisle as sides are taken with small similarities keeping people together.

'That man has the same logo on his jumper, I'll side with those people' and so on. In the first aisle a man has just died from having a frozen fish finger thrust through his ear, it's getting nasty.

You may laugh but over the years, battles have raged and at some point the very reason for the start becomes lost as the human passion for conflict drives the horror onward.

Then, it snowed. Yes, that's right, snow. This week we've had in excess of 15" of it in North Kent over just a few days. Day two saw six of us from my road out there clearing the road, talking and joking and generally keeping up morale as we went. Day three saw the same as fresh snow fell overnight. Even on day four when I managed to drive my car to work, those that I walked past in order to get to where I'd parked it were cheerful in our exchanged greetings. 

Maybe it's just a British thing, but we all get together and sort it out when it snows hard. Let's experiment, rather than investing billions in armament and defense, the boffins working on a giant snow machine to coat any part of the world about to descend into chaos in several feet of the white stuff. Instant cooperation guaranteed.

So then, there it is, a not very complete manifesto for World peace. The snow has gone now, would you all mind if we got on with ignoring each other again, at least until the next natural phenomenon pulls us together. Thank you.

I've been busy, now I'm in France...

Hello bloggettes, glad to have you about again. This week, starting Monday 15th 2010 sees me and my dear Father in La Belle France. We are here with the sole purpose of visitng several war graves and monuments from the First World War, or The Great War as it was called at the time. No one thought it possible that so many nations could ever entertain the thought of doing that again....

So, we took the ferry from Dover at 9am and by lunchtime had arrived at the Canadian memorial that is Vimy Ridge. This is staffed entirely by young Canadian nationals, they were all keen, knowledgeable folks, indeed we only confused one by referring to the time as 'half one' rather than 'half past one'. Fortunately a delightful young lady showed us (and two other visitors) the site and the underground tunnel complex. We spent an hour there marvelling at the engineering feats performed in virtual silence (the germans could hear the tunnels being dug) whilst enduring a constant barrage of artillery and mud and cold.

After the above we drove on to Thiepval. This is simply huge, a monument to mark the 72,000 missing after the first battle of the Somme. Just so huge, so many men.

ABBA!

Ooof! Shirley Strumpet strikes again. Several weeks ago, my good lady wife, her future sister in law (and mine too I suppose) and a neighbour went to see an ABBA tribute act. This would send a shudder down the spine of any music lover but they seem to get off on crap, so there you are.

The tribute act was so terrible that the girls decided to have their own. Corrine the neighbour of my future sister in law offered to host said party. I was of course invited. My protestations turned to squeals of joy when I realised it meant that my stunningly beautiful alter ego, aka Shirley Strumpet could come out of the closet....

Right then. ABBA, not wanting to go as one of the four worst people in music history, I decided to go as a song! Ah, clever. Well, no. Most of their song titles are so dull and lacking in inspirational content that I went pretty instantly for 'Money money money'. Many hours passed, much cutting, sewing, dying, and pin pricks later, I had a costume. No pictures here, you'll have to trawl the internet for such filth!

To go with my dress, I found a lovely pair of purple 4" heels in Next and used the traditional 'Shirley' wig and padded bra (Thanks New Barn) slapped on a touch of nice blue eye shadow and some mascara, job done. Tart, or slapper. Whatever.

The party was cool, plenty of people dressed up in what had become the extended theme of 'The 70's' and some of us got very drunk. I do remember at some point sucking red wine from some ladies (a real one!) dress as I'd just splashed her.....also, throughout the entire evening, I don't think I fell over once, did anything I should regret or break any furniture either, although I did perform the wiggly worm. Not a good idea. Sorry everyone.

The weird continued

In addition to the strange days at work I've already encountered, a new twist was added today. Whilst developing the forward sounder for electric cars, I came up with the ground breaking suggestion that they ought to sound like, er, cars! Apparently I was the first to suggest such an astounding revelation. So, our professor in acoustics, the suitably named 'Deaf' Geoff Leventhall conjured up an engine sound that would closely mimic that of a regular Internal Combustion Engine, or ICE if you're an American.

The meeting that the new sound was presented at was peculiar for two reasons. Number one, I was present (remember, I'm a graphic designer...) Number two, once again I added my simple observations.

'This sound is wrong, it's too regular, electronic sounding!' Gasps all round, including the company chairman. Years ago I used to keep my tongue still, now, having turned 40, I just spout and see what happens :)

Daring as it sounds, I put forward the idea that the sound needed 'errors' that made the noise more like an engine with it's often slightly irregular beat. The new sound has been called the 'Kelly irregular'. Thanks folks.

Today I get the phone call from the office.
'Hello, Kelly we need your house number.'
'And why is that?'
'Because your name is being put down as the inventor of the sound.....'
'Oh, OK.'

And there it is, I'm now a registered and patented inventor!

Bloody hell, if this invention gets taken up by all the electric car makers in the future, I'll buy you all a beer!

All aboard!

A dry day, so we took advantage, mounting our cycles (wife borrowed friends, having no bike of her own!) and for the first time ever, taking the children along an A road. I made wife lead so she couldn't see the constant danger that presented itself as despite oft repeated warnings, both kids kept straying toward the centre of the road. After half a mile we turned off and took to smaller lanes through a little village, then over a ford and into a forest. Both horrid kids splashed through as many brown water puddles as they could. Fortunately, no one died.
The afternoon saw an excursion to Lulworth Cove. It was a sea of cars and ill prepared fellow tourists. From Lulworth it's possible to walk the coast path to Durdle Door. Why do so many people embark on a 2 mile trek up stony paths wearing sodding flip flops? The silly buggers hold the rest of us up, blocking the path exclaiming 'Wait Trev (or similar abbreviated unfortunate name) I got a bleedin' stone in me shoe.' Well of course you did silly mare, now piss off to the shops or MacDonalds or wherever you normally go.
So, we walked to 'the door' enduring the strong winds all the way. Sorry everyone. The mile or so back put the wind behind us, we stopped for a cream tea in Lulworth. Now, two things, the cakey bit is pronounced scone, with the 'e'. If you call it a scon, you're an idiot, or from Somerset. Secondly, put the jam on first and the Queen will invite you to tea anytime, whack the clotted cow junk down first and we're back to idiocy and Somerset. Get it?
Accompanying the sickly jam/cream/bun thing, we had tea. Served from Neville UK stainless steel teapots, into genuine Genware cups and carried on a 'Made in Charlton' Genware wood laminate tray. Excuse my intimate knowledge of café ware, I used to work for the company that made it all. Oh, the stailess stuff was made by children in India, the chinaware in Turkey and really, the trays did used to be made in Charlton. I know that 'cos I made one there myself. Next time you're in a cafe, turn the tray over and check. It really embarrasses those with you.
Now, we're in a nice pub, The Red Lion at Winfrith. Badger Brewery beer, jolly nice food and no fruit machines either. Nice. The end to another day in paradise.

Day two.

I was going to start this entry like the shipping forecast, then realised that I had no idea how to begin, lacking as I am and having still not read Charlie Connelly's book about it. Sorry Charlie. Needless to say, the day started with rain remeniscent of my Nan's bed sheets blowing on the line. Billowing, constant, wet. Corfe Castle (or it's teetering remains) was our first port of call. Duly handing over half an arm and one leg to Clerk 1, we entered the grounds of the spectacular ruin. Now, is it a ruin that is a spectacle, or a ruin that was spectacularly ruined? You'll have to visit to find out. Mind you, there are some simply huge walls that even Whimpey Homes would struggle to describe as 'within tolerances'. The wind and rain continued to lash like Simon Cowell's tongue, forcing us to randomly shelter 'neath the stonework. A break allowed a hurried lunch of sandwiches and wasps, then on to yet another Pay and Display, sorry that should have been an ampasand (& for everyone else) rather than 'and' that sucks you dry of change like a tuppeny East End lady of ill repute would other parts of you. Imagine for a moment, a world without pockets, we'd be in a constant transport loop, never daring to stop! One long walk ensued to gasp at the mainland's version of the infamous Isle of Wight's Needles. I bet the Needles doesn't have flies. Back again to a neat little beach with 'facilities' that consisted of a whimp serving random Fairtrade comestibles from a wooden hut. Sod the foreign farmers, just give me a cup of honest Bwitish tea! We didn't conquer India for nothing you know!
Return to camp via Wareham for a quick stop at Sainsburys. Would you believe, they don't sell chillies there, so we had Con Carne for dinner instead. Fortunately, they sold me some wine. What I would really like though, is a mobile network. Let's see what tomorrow brings.

Camping - the tent kind

So, here we are. Dorset. Journey made, safe but for one BMW driver who thought speeding inside of me as I pulled back to the slow lane post caravan overtake, was a good idea. He very nearly got wiped out Paradise City style. Cock. I think I flashed him in excess of 20 times.......

Now then, rain. Most of it is of course falling where we are with overly heavy rainfall expected tonight. Nothing new there then, we are after all 'camping'. It seems that 'camping' today is not much like camping at all. Sure, we have a tent, but we also have electric light, an electric kettle, George Formby Grill, gas stove and grill, larder, hair straighteners, hair dryer, electric heater - oh heck! Far too much! We're CAMPING not at home! We also seem to have the biggest tent here, nestled amongst the caravans and motorhomes. A five room mansion with kitchen diner, three bedrooms and a utility room. Phil and Kirsty (oooh Kirsty) might not wax lyrical over it, but we do stay dry inside. Toilet? No. Tried a portable one, just once. If you like chemical splashback around your nadgers, then they excel at that.

Did I mention the rain? It's still falling. I'm currently enjoying a shit in the well kept facilities. Proper toilets, no chemicals. Showers too! Cleaned twice daily. The escape to the toilet block is the ideal opportunity for five minutes peace and check emails and texts. Except, there's no sodding signal here! Free WiFi, oh yes, just don't expect to be able to make calls. You'll be reading this the day after I wrote it, provided I don't get washed away tonight (guess what, HEAVY rain forecast. Oh joy). Tomorrow we'll visit civilisation, and telephone signal land.
Right then, dinner done, washing up, er, washed up. It's not washing up is it, that's the act of cleaning kitchenware. Stupid saying.

And now to the best bit. For the first time ever, there's a pub right near the campsite. I'm there now, admittedly with the family, but hey ho, at least I have a beer.

Daddy, what do you do at work?

Not so long ago, I could answer that question simply.

'I'm a graphic designer, that means I draw adverts, logos, brochures and things like that darling.'

Except.........if you asked me what I do now, I'd be hard pressed to give a definitive answer. Although I'm still employed as a 'graphic designer', and this goes for my four colleagues too, 'WHAT THE BLOODY HELL AM I DOING STANDING ON A SCISSOR LIFT 30FT ABOVE GROUND?'...which is exactly where I found myself yesterday.

Let me explain. We were filming, with the aid of a professional cameraman/journalist who wears Hush Puppies so must be quite normal. Every now and then we produce a 'case study' video on one of our products, and in the last week, other than trying to catch clouds, two of my partners could be found, again with sensible cameraman, doing a bin round with a dustcart, for instance. Not that it was really a dustcart, who makes bricks from fire ash these days! The modern term, and therefore, politically correct name is Refuse Collection Vehicle, furthermore, in the age of abbreviation, an RCV!

So, there I was, the 'trained' operator of the thing pictured right! We were hired this on the basis that it was good on uneven terrain, oh, and also on the basis that we parted with £649 freshly ironed Lizzies. We got around the money issue by giving them Tom's credit card details....4456 7801 2219 ha! Not that stupid!

Neither the cameraman, David, or I like being up too high, although I must admit that my problem is often more to do with width. Being 30ft up on the 3rd floor of a hotel for instance, doesn't present a problem.

Down below, way down below, my friends were standing amidst a 16m diameter circle of beeping lorry reversing alarms, teasing a blindfolded (blindfeld? makes sense!) old lady into pointing in the correct direction to identify where the 'reversing lorry' might actually be. Now, to clarify, our company makes an alarm that isn't annoying and can easily be located. Wait a minute, all that effort in advertising and I've just summed it up in one short sentence! So anyway, blinded lady points at random sequence of alarms, our clever new one comes out top! Oh yes!

Then, we descend slowly to the earth to film our wonderfully eccentric chairman extolling the virtues of our unique product. I get to hold the microphone boom, the grey furry type that often gets into shot in cheap TV sitcoms. Chairman is told to 'talk to Kelly' as he answers the posed questions. I nod, off camera, and getting elbow cramp.

This whole episode, already over 5 hours in (for me anyway....) is joined by The Noise Abatement Society chief exec Gloria (Hello dear) Elliott and her Septic sidekick, PR Girl Lisa Lavia (Oi Tom, no!). Decamping from the village hall field to the office boardroom for an interesting lunch. Randall Pants was dispatched to Waitrose in Dartford earlier in the day for lunch items but was thrown out owing to a bomb scare! An interesting turn of events as the most oft committed crime in Dirtford is mismatched velour attire. Anyway, back to lunch. We all sat down, all 8 of us, picked through spicy chicken wings, scotch eggs and dips, talking amiably about noise nuisance.

Where did we begin again? Oh yes, me being a graphic designer. Do you get it yet? WTF do I do again?

There's more. Next entry. It gets weird. No really.

x

mobile blogging

does it work?

Serious back pain, or, how to change a head gasket

Tools. Sheds. Unnecessary bits of wood. Random scraps of anything. All the old T-shirts that your wife/girlfriend thought had been thrown away. That's just some of the things a man covets. Some men, and this may or may not include me, even have Haynes car manuals for cars they either no longer own, or sometimes never have.......which brings me on to my subject. My lovely little Fiat Cinquecento 1.1 Sporting threw a fit last week. It was expected as there was water loss from some unknown yet suspected problem. Rather than bore you with the details, suffice to say, my good friend Simon [or Rmad as others know him] borrowed my 'Cinq' to drive to the Haynes Motor Museum in Zummerzet to visit a car shown. On the return leg, the car showed it's appreciation by spitting it's water content out all over the M25. Nice.

The upshot - I ordered parts. Parts arrived. I got greasy, oily, dirty. My finger nails look like Steptoe's and my stance now resembles that of Richard III. It seems that whenever I do any kind of DIY, the danger, toil and expectation of a job well done turn me into a crookback. All I need now is some oil if the Americans have stolen enough this week and some water, which of course is a finite and cyclic resource too. Just think, the water that goes into my car may well have been bathed in or drunk and therefore passed, by good King Richard himself!

Fortunately for me, I'm always ready to take something apart, see what's wrong and then put it back together. It would be nice to be so well paid that I could just say things like 'You there, grease monkey. Fix this!' Throw the keys and a wodge of Lizzies at the offending working class person and wait for it to be done. But no. In this modern age, creative people like me are cheap.

The car might be fixed, nearly, but I'm going to take a good few days to recover, even with the aid of two bottles of Old Speckled Hen and some red wine. Swedish massage anyone?

And the score is: Me 2 RotW: Loads!

Wine. The fluid variety. Known to New Barn as the bringer of 'Three Days of Torment' seems to be in plentiful supply. Last week I replaced the offside light cluster (you can't beat a good light cluster) on Cynthia's Mercedes A Class. She'd reversed into another car and smashed the lens. At this point I think I should explain something. I work for a company that sells aids to commercial vehicle operators, the kind of aids that help one reverse and manouever (never get that right) large vehicles correctly without causing hazards or accidents.

So I struggled all lunchtime with the offending wrecked part, fortunately the metalwork around the lens was cool, undamaged. The breaker supplied replacement went in OK. Job done.

So, yesterday Cynthia gave me a bottle of Domaine de Gagnebert which will be opened soon. I was rather grateful, being a wine ponce and all. Then, I get a call from my not quite sister in law who has a PC and is a bit fit! (just realised she has a link to this.....) she's having video camera to PC trouble. So, we connect her PC up and start converting video files from her Sony camcorder. F*ck me is complicated! As a Windoze XP user, she can't burn direct to DVD through the movie app. There were at least 20 opportunities to say 'BUY A MAC' and I took them all, throwing some extra hints in where I could. The upshot of this is that she brought a bottle of wine with her. Very nice it was too. But we still had to solve the issues, luckily I could google from my handy Mac and soon had a PC exe file on her laptop (the computer, nothing more!) to use to burn stuff. Then......having burned a disc, the PC refused to play it in Windows Media Player........we finished the wine and gave up. She'll be buying a Mac soon I wager. Apologies to the staff at PC World (excluding Mac) who will deal with her tomorrow.

Summary. PC's - for people who want a computer but have no desire to do anything useful.

Be cider seaside be cider sea.

Minehead. It's a long way from here. Five hours in the car with wife and kids, which in the real world equates to listening to Heart FM whilst simultaneously being forced to watch Eastenders and eat McDonalds food for 30 days straight. I'm filing this for Patent as a means of torture with the UN before anyone else gets the idea.

So, scene set. We were to spend the weekend there, starting early in the 'let's get round the M25 to the M3 before all those Mondeos and BMW cock series cars clog it up' kind of early. We made it too, rolling our ride by 7am, heading west. Oh no, hang on, the M25 was a TRAFFIC JAM about junction 10. Someone had crashed somewhere whilst doing something other than paying attention. Whilst crawling along at 10mph or so, the centre lane looked stuck solid more than ours, the reason? You know the answer already, yes, an Audi had stuffed his soppy cheap disco rope lit front end up the arse of some old bloke (well, his car anyway) who in turn was far to close to the car in front of him. Whallop! Three insurance claims. Thanks chaps, we all appreciate the rise in costs.

Then, it got better. No really! Stopping at Little Chef on the A303 at the wonderfully named Barton Stacey it was clear to see that Heston Bloomingthing had never even visited one. Apart from the level of service you'd expect, the bacon I had in my Olympic Breakfast (£7.99) would be best used as the sole on a running shoe. Maybe that's the connection...........I think the 1930's style investigator Barton Stacey should investigate.

Minehead found. Welcome cup of tea at friend's house then checked in at The Gascony hotel. One family room, top floor. Sorted. Nice room. Two single beds for kids, one double for two short in stature adults. Laura Ashley had clearly been the room's previous occupant. The toilet did give a nice view of the high street though, so all was not lost provided the net curtain at the window did it's job whilst I was doing mine. The most outstanding piece of English Hotel Design came in the form of the shower which I was to experience the following morning. Shower in bath job, loose curtain around bath so the water could run onto the carpeted floor. The dribbly shower head helped there as the water ran down the hose, around the mixer tap and formed a neat puddle. Hmmm, the shower head. Now, I'm all for equality but getting a dwarf on tiptoe to mount the shower head bracket at the limit of his or her (equality rules still) reach was a bit too much. Luckily, by bending at the knee a little and contorting slightly I could effectively rinse my armpits, one at a time. Pressure. Sometimes it's a good thing, especially in domestic plumbing.

We ate well. Three fried breakfasts, one HUGE stew followed by a dessert that should induce instant heart failure at 50 feet (Thanks Michelle!) one very good Chinese meal and the best bangers and mash I've eaten for ages, albeit in the weirdest restaurant I've ever visited. It felt like we'd gatecrashed someone's wedding reception, all large round tables, empty but for the table cloth. Nice beer though.

Weekend over. Car packed. Goodbyes said. Road hit. Traffic hit. M25 crawled. Home by 9:30. Almost. A jolly nice friend of mine had borrowed my own little car to visit a car show as his had broken and we did the return exchange at 10pm Sunday night. Unfortunately for him the car had decided to blow it's head gasket (that's next to the suck valve for any girls reading) part way home and he felt guilty for it. Silly boy. I'll delight in taking it to bits and fitting new parts, they are already ordered of course! Tinker time!!

Blog out.

It's only a shopping trip, what could be weird about that?

Sorry Peter. It got weird didn't it.
Further to my mention of absolutely needing a pair of 4" purple heels for a party costume, the other item of 'ladies garments' that would be required to complete the look needed purchasing. So, lunchtime today, Peter (who's quite normal) and I saddled the yellow horse and rode into danger zone of Dirtford (sic) town centre. It's more of an epicentre to be honest, think blast radius and fallout to get somewhere near the holocaust that is Dirtford (sic).

It's true, people who have nothing to be ashamed of go there to feel good about their lives. In fact, if you have a wardrobe that doesn't come exclusively from Primark (or Primani if you're a Dirtfordian) then a walk down the high street makes you feel as if your outfit has come from the most highly regarded couturiers in all the land.

Anyway, back to the 'item' which was, and is, a pair of white leggings, oh yes. The well stocked market has a plethora of vendors who sell and ask no questions, the money buys silence. One particular street trader of note had just the thing on his rail. The middle aged lady also browsing was perhaps a little perturbed to be joined by one man (the other, slightly younger man stood back a little) fingering the same goods as herself. As all the garments were marked as Medium, Large, Extra Large and Dartford Size I asked her 'Do you know what size I'd need for these to be OK for a 16 dress size girl?'. She very kindly suggested the L/XL might do it, Peter then valiantly shouted from his loitering position that 'They'll be your size then mate!'. The lady had backed away by now. Poor girl. I interrupted a deep conversation in fluent Gujarat to hand over the very respectable £3, not an eyelid was batted. Money talks.

Just in case you were relaxing now, thinking that the weird part was over.........we then headed to Marks & Spencer, which should always be called that, not 'Markses' because that's wrong. Poor Mr Spencer gets left out. My good friend and fellow shopper wanted crusty bread, which was fine, but I was absorbed by the condiment jars, in particular one that contained Sweet Chili Dipping Sauce. This was clearly the right shape for what I wanted. Oi! You from New Barn, don't go there! It's obvious, as I'm having trouble trying to locate a clear resin (with dried flowers in it) gear knob for my car, I've decided to cast my own and this jar is EXACTLY the right proportions. Clearly, the Sweet Chili Dipping Sauce will be used first.

So there you go. I'll be making a mould and casting my own knob (New Barn, shut it!) in the near future. Move on.

Now I've begun - there's no stopping me!

Mwaha ha ha. Or somesuch modern sinister laughing.

Gadzooks this computer age takes one by surprise. everything is linked to everything else! I can buy car tax online and the database knows if I have insurance and an MOT for goodness sake! Even at the MOT station I use (where customers are expected to help out to earn a cup of tea) there's a finite time allowed for the test before the computer says 'time up' in it's efficient serif font.

I'm told (by a geek) that my blogs can be linked to my Facebook page (yes, don't look surprised, old people have them too) and my twitter tweets (see, we do know what's going on!) and also can be printed onto toilet paper within an hour at any good Boots store. I mean shop.

One rather good example of technology and a competent user happened this week. Our marketing director (Initial caps to follow) wanted some ambient sound to use for a test we are running at work. Within an hour I was wandering around Dartford town centre using a video camera to record the general sounds of a busy town. Having connected the camera to my trusty G5 Mac (well, I want to do it properly) and copied the digital tape file to iMovie with one click, I extracted the sound file (ooh! one more click!) and opened it in Audacity (it's free, fantastic and only a Google away) looped it and saved it via Mac's built in bluetooth to my mobile phone. Presto! (A Rush album, no 'hey' required) job done.

Dearest Tom was in a state of wonderment - 'I've never worked anywhere before where stuff just gets done!' he exclaimed. Hey ho, credit offered, credit taken. Mind you, this exercise was the culmination of many years audio and Mac experience coming together with a desire to deliver.

It's often said that I speak and write like dear departed jolly Great Uncle (very removed) Shakespeare, well, if this is the case it's only because I have a particular penchant for the use, weaving and subsequent wearing of the words that we English hold so dear. Any resemblance of Bill Shake is merely coincidence. Look at me, well nourished, clean shaven, not a ruff in site.

'Percy, you look like you have swallowed a plate!'.

Aha! Thanks to 30SomethingGeek

I have rediscovered blogging. Well, it's been over a year since I made my blogging debut as Shirley and I'm at it again. Strangely, this new post also coincides with my having bought a particularly fetching pair of purple 4" heels.......

To allay any fears of my slipping into transvestism I can assure you (if not myself) that this current footwear of the lady kind buying trip is once again in aid of a fancy dress party. 'But wait' I hear you cry, 'surely you could go as a man!' you add. Well, no. It's an Abba party, that quartet of Swedish pink pound (or pink Krona if you will) heartfelt pop music pedlers from northern europeland, that I think, kind of rules out any chance of being manly at that party!

Let me pull you closer to my world. You may have read in post one that I occupy my day as a graphic designer, that in itself is perhaps as misleading as my blogging title as I spend very little of my day actually doing anything resembling that.

Today for instance, I spent a fair amount of time creating a 3D animation of a Toyota Prius driving past a pedestrian, then spent an hour in an impromtu meeting about what an electric vehicle should sound like! Honestly. Oh, and there was also the open discussion over who wanted to drive a truck to Scotland for some roadshows that we are doing. It looks like GeekChap and I are pulling that particular gig. Which is cool.

Post over. More to come. No really.