All roads lead to Google

Or maybe that should be Google points to all roads. Here are some of the search terms people have entered recently, mostly in Google, to reach Rather Snappish.

a little mouse with clogs on	new jersey scum swamp
oven chicken burgers	say hello say goodbye
pvc miniskirts	pierced tit
hard drive removable racks	klagenfurt snow report
babes in fishnets	babes in miniskirts
lesbian drummer	bill bryson fucking bricks
you have the nerve to call me coloured	euphemisms swear
i saw a mouse there there on the stair	micropig and photos
cigarette virginity every game	clogs pierced

And my absolute favourite - God knows what Gwen is going to make of this:

gwendolyn porn

The Rather Snappish School of Languages

Melanie: Can you remind me, how the hell do I say "Hello, how are you?" in Russian
rather snappish: Either: Dobriy dyen'. Kak dyela? or Zdravstvuitye. Kak dyela?
Melanie: I'm meeting some guy Vladimir someone or other tonight about work and I at least want to say "Hi" in his language (I'm assuming he's a Russian). And how would he say fine?
rather snappish: Uh... khorosho, probably ("good").
Melanie: You're an angel, I owe you a favour.
Melanie: Thank you, hopefully I won't get it wrong and insult him, the only thing I remember is something you taught me about 15 years ago, along the lines of your daughters pregnancy brings much joy to our village!!!*
rather snappish: Byeryemyennost' nashyei dochyeri dayot mnogo radosti nashyemu syelu!
rather snappish: It was a bad joke - a line from a M*A*S*H episode.
Melanie: Aah! Well maybe it will impress him anyway. Got to run, thx so much, I'll let you know if I inadvertently propose to him or something.
rather snappish: that would be your style!
Melanie: Fuck off!! That's more my style.

I have such charming friends.

* - Father Mulcahy was trying to calm down an extremely agitated Chinese prisoner by repeating Bung chow in the belief that it meant "peace and friendship" when in fact it meant "your daughter's pregnancy brings much joy to our village". At the time I was doing a Russian degree. People regularly demanded that I speak some Russian but I could never think of anything to say. Then I saw this episode of M*A*S*H one day and was amused by the phrase so I translated it.

You thieving Gyppo bastards!

Happily we don't have to put up with this sort of moronic legislation in the UK (yet), but I cannot help but sympathise with the righteous anger I'm reading all over the web from Americans about the Consumer Broadband and Digital Television Promotion Act. Unlike Reid, I've bought loads of CDs in the last year. A substantial proportion of those purchases were driven by the download of an mp3 or two in order to find out whether I liked the music first. I also much prefer to own the original CD, with the proper sound quality and the artwork.

I strongly disapprove of music piracy. It's hard enough for musicians to make a living with people stealing their work. Sure, I download lots of music; but to preview it, not to steal it. If I like it, I buy it. If I don't, I delete it. The only time I burned a whole CD was a few months back when I downloaded the whole of UFO's "Strangers In The Night" album because I couldn't buy it here. When a friend went to Boston a couple of months ago I got her to buy it for me. It's much better. I can hear things on the original that aren't there on the one I burned from mp3s. There are millions of people all over the world who do what I do. We're not thieves, just customers.

One NIL to the mighty reds!

So, we had a great day out yesterday. Oh yes. Took my newly season ticket-holding mother to Old Trafford for the first time. What a day to go! OK, we won there three seasons ago, in December 1998, but the previous time was in 1930. Best of all we did so deservedly. As was noted in the Observer which makes a very welcome change.

Theatre of what?

I've been to Old Trafford several times before but yesterday was the first time I've sat in the corner they now graciously allocate to away fans and I was, frankly, disgusted with the facilities. In more ways than one.

Firstly: legroom. There is no legroom in those seats. I'm only 5'9" and upon arrival it took me two attempts to sit down due to the way I had to arrange my legs to avoid leaving my kneecaps on the seats in front. Looking around confirmed that most people seemed to have similar problem unless they were shorter than average.

Secondly: the jacks. My mother reported that the ladies' was okay. The gents' however was pretty poor. One long trough which appeared to be suffering some sort of unalleviated blockage as by half time it was three quarters full and close to the top by the end of the match. Lovely.

Thirdly: the smell. I didn't notice it at first when arriving and sitting down, but the first time people stood up after the game kicked off, I noticed a distinct foul smell coming from God knows where, but seemingly all around. Once detected this got more and more intrusive as the game progressed. By the time the second half was underway my mother was covering her face with a scarf every time we stood up. The concrete under the steps was filthier than any football ground I've ever been in. And the smell? Definitely stale piss. The smell of doorways and alleyways at night. Absolutely vile.

So I'm thinking I may need to revise my opinion of Micky Potter's oft-stated theorem that all cockneys stink of piss. Judging by Old Trafford, he's dead right. Theatre Of Dreams, my arse. Stadium Of Piss, more like.

New month, new boss

Spent another fun day in Warrington today. Astonishingly, it was quite sunny and warm and for once the visit wasn't too trying, which made a welcome change. The meeting was due to start at nine-ish this morning so we travelled up last night. Previously we would stay at the Horrible Inn but corporate belt-tightening means that's been 86ed in favour of the Premier Lodge across the road. Having stayed there I'm mystified as to how the Horrible Inn gets any business. The Premier Lodge has bigger and better bedroom and bathrooms, better food and bar and is thirty quid a night cheaper.

There has been yet another corporate restructuring, so my new bullet-headed Kiwi cow-orker and the Evil Taskmaster Mogsy* came up to give a demo of the system we're building to the guy the BHK and I will be reporting to in a couple of weeks after Mogsy leaves. Afterwards we dropped in on the NOC boys as Mogsy wanted to say his goodbyes, so I had to put up with the usual smartarsery - "you have a court appearance?" - from the scruffy bastards because I was wearing a suit and they'd never witnessed this before. I replied that seeing as I was meeting a new boss for the first time I thought for once that not showing up looking like the bass player out of Iron Maiden might be appropriate.

* Bastard, sneak, quitter.

I only dream in black and white

So, the first gig of the New Year was Tuesday. Slightly belatedly, because I didn't get my skinny cracked ass in gear in time to get tickets for the Be Good Tanyas at the Borderline last week, much to my annoyance. Anyway, Iron Maiden at the Academy in Brixton. First of three benefit gig for Clive Burr, former drummer who left in 1982, now diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. So three sold-out nights with 4000 people each at £25 a head, plus all the profits from the merchandise (and believe me, we Maiden fans buy a shitload of t-shirts) and the band and record company's profits from the single of "Run To The Hills", currently sitting pretty at number 9 (and I bet I'm far from alone in being the only one to buy both CDs and the 7" vinyl) should mean that Clive suffers his illness in a good deal of comfort. The show was great of course. Maiden are one of the world's most reliable live bands. Two days on and my neck and shoulders are still killing me from leaping around. Always a sign of a good night.

I'm hoping this is going to be another vintage year for gigs. Last year I saw all kinds of people: Iron Maiden, Marilyn Manson, Dido, Mark Knopfler, Peter Maffay, Blackmore's Night, Al Stewart, Cowboy Junkies, Tom Paxton. So far the schedule this year includes:

Garbage, Brixton Academy, London
Catie Curtis, Borderline, London
Rammstein, London Arena
Blue Rodeo, Borderline, London
Jewel, Royal Albert Hall, London
Peter Maffay, Saarterrassen, Saarbrücken
Mark Knopfler, Shepherd's Bush Empire, London