There are two short words that when put together at the end of a paragraph achieve nothing but make your possible otherwise fine paragraph appear to be written by an angst-ridden 14-year-old, but I'm not going to tell you what they are. So there.

Sitting at work in the Internet Cafe type thing we have here. I have now spent three minutes more here than my 45-minute lunchbreak allows. Several seconds of this were probably used putting in the previous five-or-so unnecessary hyphens. This is not a problem as such, as we operate a kind of flexi-time. It does however help to illustrate the futility of the work I am doing at the moment, and the fact that it is so tedious that I would rather write shit to an almost imaginary audience. I know what the problem with this piece of code is, however I am expected to track it down, and the file it is in contains over twelve thousand lines. And there are another eight files that could be causing the problem. I could tell you even more exciting details, but then I would have to kill you. Or get you to sign the Official Secrets Act. And I'm not standing around for six weeks waiting for that to happen, so I guess you would have to die.

If you happened to want something interesting to read, try floss.blogspot.com. (Tom, you are my only reader, right. Bizarre that I am linking my only reader to something that they told me about). It discussed at some point, at some length, the futility of the whole Blogger ideal, which is what I kind of intended to write an entire blog about. For the lack of anything interesting to discuss. I find it weird that I keep reading this person's writings and probably know more about him than many people he sees every day, and yet he could be a stranger that I have walked past in the street and I would have had no idea.

Two more months of this to go. And a bit. Had no trouble with motivation recently, but at the moment it's all getting nowhere. Gaa-aaaa-aaaaaaah. There will be another installment of hyphens for you soon, I feel.

You may not realise, but this here blogger is one of the very best.

Simply because it does not mention "the war" once. No attempts at subtle yet uninformed and uninforming commentary is made here. Yes!

Pubs are good. Sometimes I go to them, and just to be "one of the crowd" I might have a drink or two. Then I might see a tramp, and go over and talk to him. You know how it is!

It doesn't necessarily have to be a tramp, just a person significantly older than me. They do tend to be "trampy" though. Over one of the tramps menthol cigarettes (that he can somehow afford) I would ask him to share with me the wisdom that he has accumulated over his life. Said tramp/non-tramp will then chuckle.

And while I was just shaving my face I worked out why.....

Once you get a job, in a good deal of cases you will find yourself spending most of your life working to make money for someone else. You might spend a lot of time getting to and from work, waking up early for the good of the company. Going to bed early so you are "fresh". Generally putting yourself out. [see http://drudgery.blogspot.com to discover how it is all really a load of crap. Everything.]

Contrast this with when you were young. Everything was a breeze, and you pretty much knew it. If you knew then what it was like to be an old corporate slag, there is no way you would have wasted so much time doing crap like watching Anthea Turner make a Thunderbirds base on Blue Peter. There was so much more to do.

The old tramp was laughing because he knew that the only piece of advice he could give to anyone was to make the most of not having a job. And he knew it was too late for me. Well fuck him, because next year I'm unemployed again. That foiled the smelly bastard's plans.

In a good mood today, for some reason that happens a lot when I wake up slightly hungover. It takes a lot less to make me happy - this probably just means that I have become more stupid and if I carry on I will soon be the sort of person who looks forward to spending the night in front of the telly.

You don't know Helen. You don't know me. I like it this way.

In fact, I have a feeling that this is going to be one of the sparsest, most impersonal bloggers that you could hope not to find. It might be interesting to try and put in as little distinguishing information in as possible, leaving everything entirely abstract and theoretical.

This is probably just as well, because much of what might be worth writing is too personal for its own good. Either that or it would be bad career-wise. That was a close one. I nearly let some information loose there.

Fuck a duck.

I remember now, it was actually a pig.

I haven't posted here since Friday because I have had better things to do like watch Interceptor with Annabel Whatsherface. Twice. When you're ill, you're allowed to do stuff like that.

It has occured to me that Blogger is a big pile of shit. Helen is waiting to use a computer, so I am not gonna waste more of someone nice's time doing shite like this.

Today has consisted of:

> coughing lots.
> watching lots of adverts for homeowner (not for long) loans.
> playing civilization 2. Which quickly got boring.
> wondering why I can think of nothing to do.

and most distressingly of all:

> wishing I was at work.

There was a program on about how the USA almost launched a war because of a sheep or something, but I somehow missed that part. I think this set the tone for the day.

Tomorrow, I have to go to Essex. They can have some of my germs.