Pynchon

How much time do you spending doing, as opposed to spend watching? I seem to be spending a lot of time watching at the moment.

When I restarted the blog (it's a long story - some of you know it) I changed my sidebar from lists of blogs that I like, split by country, to lists of things that I am seeing, doing, watching, experiencing, etc. One of those lists is a list of favourite TV programmes. I thought that there would hardly be anything on that list as, of course, I watch very little TV. I was wrong.

I have a rule that I will only add a programme to the list when I am watching it, either on TV or DVD. Tonight the new series of "C.S.I. Crime Scene Investigation" started on Channel 5. Another one to the list. It will be number 6. I fully expect that by the end of the year I will have reached 20 TV programmes (no mention yet of "24", "Doctor Who", "Hustle", "Spooks", "55 Degrees North", all due new series this year, not to mention the DVD's I have yet to watch of "Drop The Dead Donkey", "The Prisoner", "Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy", "I, Claudius" and others). I watch too much TV. I know way too much about TV.

I am finding it a bit depressing. I sit in a vegetative state every night, except for brief interludes eating and messing around on the computer, watching the TV. It flows over me. It's easy. It's crap. It's a half life. Too tired. Too bored. Still. Quiet. Dead.

About time that I turned the fucker off. Yeah?

A correction to a previous post. The Osmonds album was not called "The Game", it was called "The Plan". Also, the fine tune "Crazy Horses" did not appear on this album.

It serves me right for not checking out my information before I posted it. I blame Lorraine, the Osmonds, God, Jim Carrey, Bruce Springsteen, the receptionist at work and the guy who sat behind me on the bus yesterday afternoon. All of them conspired to create this appalling faux pas. I am prostrate before you. I beg your forgiveness.

In fact, I'm off to find a sword so that I can commit hari kari. There's one around here somewhere.

(No. Nothing much happened today, except that one of the guys in Tech Support handed in his notice. Possibly a harbinger of a mass exodus from the Company to come. A couple of people also did not turn up to work, claiming to be ill. It's a laugh.

This evening we watched "Life On Mars". It's very good. I then went on the computer and loaded up the Monkees "Headquarters" album, which is Fab by the way, onto my MP3 player and then surfed the net until I stopped.)

Proof that there is a God!

In other news, I went to see my Mom today. She was fit and good and is planning parties. One will be on 22nd April, which is her 71st Birthday, and the other will be on 4th August which would have been her and my Dad's 50th wedding anniversary. She has been a Pynchon for 50 years. It's a long time. Apparently my Mom wants some outrageous bling as a Birthday gift this year. My Mom also told me that she has placed an order for a funky walking stick. This is a turn up, because not too long ago she told me that she would rather "kill herself" than have to use a stick. She claimed today that she did not remember saying that.

My Brother has bought himself a bluetooth phone and was eager to share some of the pornographic clips he had accumulated from his friends. All pretty typical stuff really. What disturbed me is that I could have told him the name of every actor and actress in the clips that he showed me. It's not good, is it?



This afternoon I went to see Michael Haneke's "Hidden" or "Cache". Michael Haneke made one of my favourite films of all time, "Funny Games". In my opinion, in it's depiction of cold and blank faced evil, "Funny Games" has yet to be bettered. Lorraine was very upset by "Funny Games". We saw it about a year after we started going out together, and she told me that if I ever took her to see anything like it ever again that it would be the end of us. True story.

"Hidden" is about a TV literary show host who starts to receive secretly filmed videotapes showing his house and himself and his wife coming and going. At first it is just annoying and disturbing and then the situation starts to escalate. I quite liked "Hidden", but it is a frustrating film. Slow, measured and deliberate and it has an oblique ending that will get you shouting at the screen in anger as everything is left open to your own interpretation. I read somewhere that Hollywood are planning a remake.

Fuck, no. Please.

I've just re-read my last post. From that post you might have inferred that I was finished with the blog, that I had had enough and I was on my way. No, such luck I'm afraid. After a short period in which I made love to a beautiful woman, got screaming drunk, told my manager Orville Turd that my pay review was "shit" and "appalling" and "disgusting" and that departmental manager James Cunt was a "fat", er, "cunt", told the rest of the office the same, had a puff or two on some ganja, I'm feeling on top of the world.

I did try to post on Thursday night after watching "The Eleventh Hour" (this week Ashley Jensen had a shower scene, but sadly didn't show anything, Boo! Hiss!), but Blogger was fucking about, so I gave up. Instead I haunted various message boards on the net causing misery and distress wherever I landed.

Friday afternoon we got the annual pay insult. I am proud to announce that as of the end of the month I will be taking home approximately twenty quid more a month. That converts to 35.46USD, 40.65CAD, 47.18AUD, 217.79ZAR a month, for those that are interested. Frankly, it is fucking rubbish. I am worth more. They know it and I know it. Percentage wise Lorraine got a little more than me, but she is also worth more. Lorraine works harder than me, puts in longer hours and is more dedicated. (During her review she told James Cunt that she would be interested in going for Orville Turd's job. He seemed taken aback by her brazen ambition.) They told me that I was lucky, as some people did not get any pay increase. (Apparently mostly programmers and developers. I am rubbing my two fingers together and playing the world's smallest violin, just for them.) I told Orville Turd that they were taking the piss thinking that I would be happy with twenty quid a month more, and that I would be considering my position over the weekend.

There are dark rumours that a takeover of the Company is imminent. Bring on that happy day, but I hope to have left first.

Last night we showed our faces at Freddie Broad's 40th birthday drink at The Station in Sutton Coldfield. We couldn't stay long, because I had agreed to work half day on Saturday, but we stayed long enough for me to get very drunk, smoke a bit of an interesting substance and watch two blokes at another table intently because the one of them was an albino and the spitting image of legendary DJ Jimmy Saville, and the other looked like a 1970's Open University lecturer. Heroes, I suppose.

I went to work this morning. I was slightly under the weather, I suppose, but the guy working with me did not notice. Afterwards the guy gave me a lift into town. He had the Ordinary Boys album on in the car. They sounded very Jam/Clash/New Wavey. I liked it.

In town I bought some food and also the N.M.E. for the first time in about 5 years. The N.M.E. listed what they thought were the top 100 British albums of all time. Interestingly enough I own 7 out of the 10 albums in the top 10. (I'm cool!) "The Stone Roses" album was number 1.

When I finally got home Lorraine jumped on me just as I got into the house and said that I must buy the Arctic Monkey's album for her. This was a surprise. To my knowledge the last album Lorraine ever purchased was "The Game" by the Osmonds, circa 1972. ("The Game" is apparently very good and contains the mighty "Crazy Horses".) I asked Lorraine why she wanted the Arctic Monkey's album and she said that she was "Intrigued by them" and mumbled something about the Chris Evans Show on Radio 2. Oh. That's OK, then.

I have not heard so much as a note of the Arctic Monkey's music. I know that they are getting a lot of hype at present. Good band? Bad band? Anybody care to comment? It doesn't really matter. I am going to buy it anyway. Interesting enough, for a band that only released their album on 23rd January 2006, the album is in the top 10 of the 100 best British albums of all time in this weeks N.M.E. Slightly premature, perhaps?

Gotta go. A hot woman awaits. I'll be back tomorrow for more fun and frolics.

Words don't come easy. That was from a song ("Words" by F R David - it was crap, but my Mom liked it) and it seems to be true at the moment. Sometimes you can just run out of things to write. Maybe I need to have a break from writing.

Let's see.

Just before I left the house this morning (I had my coat on), Moon The Cat decided to have a shit. It was large and it was juicy and it was alive. I looked at the poo and the poo winked at me. Moon sneered. I thought about leaving said poo until the evening, but that would not have been right, and Moon would probably just have shit in the hallway to teach me a lesson. So, still wearing coat, I emptied Moon's litter tray. I only just made the bus.

It's a good analogy for the life of a Support Analyst in the Company. We clean up the messes made by other people. I sent out some software last week which I had been assured had been tested by the programmers and signed off. (I did not and could not test it myself. No time, etc.) Today we found major problems on all of the sites to which it had been sent. There were emails flying. What was I going to do about it? My reply? Nothing. Ask a fucking programmer and I stood my ground. I think that they hate me, that I am difficult, but I don't care.

I also found out today that a girl in the office, who I will not even dignify with an amusing name; a lazy, stupid, ignorant, useless cocksucker (literally) of a girl, managed to prise a five grand pay rise out of the company in the middle of last year and got it backdated to January 2005. How? She is a drinking buddy of the department manager James Cunt and is being groomed for a managers job. Apparently her current line manager is trying to find ways to demote her. He won't succeed.

I have never felt so disillusioned.

I forgot to say that I watched "Layer Cake" last night and got completely confused as to what was going on about half an hour in. I will have to watch it again. Lorraine didn't see it last night (she was in bed by 9pm) so she is game to watch it sometime.

Enough writing. Yeah. There are some good writers on these blogs. Go and have a look at them. I'm done.

In the end we never did go to see "A Cock And Bull Story". When she got in from work Lorraine was tired (she had been up since 5am), hungry (she only had a cold sandwich at lunchtime as the hot food on offer in the canteen was "Shite" - her word) and cold (minus 3 or 4 in Brum last night). Lorraine looked at me like I was going to shout at her because she had changed our plans. I didn't. Am I that big a monster? I hope not. It's only a film, and there's always the weekend.

So... We ordered Chinese takeaway to save having to cook and then settled down in front of the TV for hours. (That's a surprise, Pynch. You never watch TV. Oh, fuck off, says Pynch. What else were we going to do?) First up was the end of series 3 of "Alias" (what are you up to, Jack Bristow?) and then "Life On Mars", which featured some classic Sweeney style cars driving down alleyways, knocking over cardboard boxes, etc. I suspect that "Life On Mars" isn't going anywhere, but it is enjoyable.

That was our night. Good, eh?

I need to see what everybody is up to, but it won't be tonight.

I can't believe that the last time I wrote anything on the blog was Thursday night. Doesn't time fly when you are having fun? And I have been having fun, believe it or not.

Today I have been at home. Somehow I have managed to accumulate holiday days, and I have to take them before the end of March, so there you are. I've been busy. I got up at 9am, had some cereal, did last night's washing up, hoovered the entire house, had a wank to some Jenna Jameson opus, took my coat to the cleaners, bought fish, chips and steak and kidney pie and went home and ate the lot (fat bastard!) while watching the midday news. Then I fell asleep. I woke up about 20 minutes ago. I am kind of disgusted with myself. I didn't have a plan for today, but if I had had a plan, it would not have been the above. Lorraine is on the early shift today and I am expecting her back by about 4pm. We intend to go out later to see Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon in "A Cock And Bull Story". It looks good.

Yesterday I had a religious encounter in town.

I left the house in a bit of a strop. The reason? It's a long story involving the TV series "Murder She Wrote", a guest star appearing in the "Murder She Wrote" episode that was shown on one of the cable channels yesterday, other series that the guest star may have been a regular in, Pynchon's hilarity at Lorraine's suggestion that this guest star actually played Oscar Goldman in "The Six Million Dollar Man" (No, he fucking didn't. Oscar Goldman was played by the legendary Richard Anderson), Lorraine's anger at the Pynchon's hilarity, Lorraine's insistence on looking up the identity of the guest star on the "Murder She Wrote" entry on IMDB, Pynchon's alarm at Lorraine actually touching his computer, Lorraine failing to boot up the computer after several attempts, Pynchon booting up the computer on his first attempt (obviously having the magic touch), Lorraine looking up "Murder She Wrote" and finding the name of the guest star (Don Galloway, who was one of the sidekicks in "Ironside") and finally Lorraine saying that "Well, he looks like fucking Richard Anderson and what does it matter anyway?" and wandering away with a smug look on her face.

Got all that? Believe me, I was pissed off. Sometimes I hate the cow. I left the house with a can of red bull, drank the lot in one go and got on the bus. I had to stop myself from clenching my fists and grinding my teeth.

In town my first stop was the fine emporium that is W H Smiths where I picked up two newspapers, the News Of The World for the free "Highlander" DVD and the Observer for the free "Dune" DVD. (And no, I do not read those newspapers, but I figured that the paper would come in useful for the cat litter. The only newspaper I read is the free Metro on the bus in the morning.)

I got onto the high street, still faintly annoyed, intending to go to Dixons to price up computers for Top Sister. Then I saw something, a red mist descended, and I lost my mind for a moment. What did I see? It was a Hari Krishner (mid 20's?) and he was going through the technique to extract some money from a young lad (16/17?) and his lady (a little younger) on the street.

This is the Hari Krishner technique.

1. Approach someone unawares. (Lots of people walk around in a daze. We all do at different times. I certainly do. It's easy to get near somebody without them noticing.)
2. Give them a big smile. (Happy people are nice people. Apparently Hitler and Stalin both had beautiful smiles.)
3. Give them a book. (The person will take it. Mostly people always do. I read somewhere that only 1% of the population will not take something that is handed to them for fear of giving offence to the person doing the handing out.)
4. Tell them how friendly the people in Birmingham (or Manchester or London or Cardiff, etc.) are. (Are you going to disagree and say that they are all cunts?)
5. Refuse to take the book back. (Make your hands busy. Put your hands behind your back. Stand sideways on, so that it is not easy for the mark to hand the book back.)
6. Get a donation to pay for the interesting book.
7. Take their money... and onto the next sucker.

This happened to me once, but I did not part with any money. I think I was lucky, or maybe I was in a bad mood that day, but when the friendly, happy, colourfully dressed child of God would not take the book back, I dropped it on the floor and got the fuck out of there. Many a time, while out and about in town, I have seen this scenario unfold. I have never interfered before as it was never any of my business. I interfered yesterday.

I walked over. I tapped the young lad on the shoulder. He was holding a book. I said, "You don't have to take this off him." I took the book out of his hands. I turned to the Hari Krishner. I said, "Take your fucking book." He said something, but I didn't hear it properly. The Hari Krishner seemed agitated. I said again, "Take your fucking book." He said, "There's no problem here", but he didn't take the book back. I dropped the book on the floor. I turned back to the young lad and his lady (who was wearing a quite tight crop top that really made her boobs... Sorry, getting distracted here) and told them to "Go now!" at which they practically sprinted away from the looney (me). I then turned to the Hari Krishner and said, "And you should be fucking ashamed of yourself" and turned and left, leaving the chaos behind me. I was very happy for the rest of the afternoon, my civic duty well and truly having been done.

Yesterday afternoon I went to see "Jarhead". Now, don't get me wrong, I thought that "Jarhead" was a good film, enjoyable, well directed and well acted (Jake Gyllenhaal is one of the most interesting actors working today), but the story and characters were a cliche and it has all been done before. This makes me really sad. "Jarhead" is based on a memoir by the writer Anthony Swofford of his experiences in Gulf War I and if the film is really true to his experiences, and accurately portrayed, then that makes his story a cliche. I don't suppose if I had lived through those things, and had the discipline to remember and put them down on paper truthfully, that I would like a snotty git like me calling my true story a cliche. I heard that "Jarhead" has had mixed reviews. What was the box office in the States? Did it do very well?

What else? Nothing much. Saturday was spent at work in the morning, which was not very interesting except that Lorraine managed to piss off the guy who was working with me when he turned up late (he always does) by saying that we were putting bets on how late he was going to be. Later we were out and about pricing up computers for Top Sister. I'm not impressed greatly impressed with what was on offer at Dixons or Currys, but Comet has some good deals. I just need to do some cross checking online and at other outlets.

And now... To the ironing board. Will the excitement ever cease?

All I do is get up, go to work, come home, eat food and watch TV. It's a great life, man!

This evening we watched "The Eleventh Hour" starring Patrick Stewart and Ashley Jensen (from "Extras"). It was the first of a series of thriller/dramas about a government sponsored science troubleshooter traveling the country, trying to stop the misuse and mis-application (is that a word?) of science. Patrick Stewart played the scientist and Ashley Jensen played his bodyguard (yeah, really!) The first episode was about illegal human cloning.

I thought it was great! Very serious and dramatic and shot through with the blackest of humour. You also, nearly, got to see Ashley Jensen's tits. I'll definitely be watching again next week. A mutating virus is next up!

Hells bells. It has gone midnight. No rest for the wicked, eh?

40 minutes or so ago we finished watching "Carry On Up The Spartan", sorry, "Troy". It's a film full of beautiful, long haired, buff looking men (and women), some of them wearing tight leather skirts. There are fights, beards and portentous dialogue. At times Brad Pitt gazes soulfully into the distance (no doubt thinking of Angelina and who can blame him?), his features ablaze with conflicting emotions. At one point Brad deflowers a virgin (Rose Byrne, possibly the new Bond girl) who looks a bit like a young Gillian Anderson. We wondered why the great Brian Blessed (the loudest British actor working today) was not offered a part in this movie. We worked out that he is far too subtle an actor.

We thought that "Troy" was dreadful. It was almost a parody, which was it's saving grace as far as I was concerned. We were entranced for the whole 2 and a half hours of it's running time. When the dialogue was not up to it, Lorraine and I made up our own. When Orlando showed himself to be a chicken shit, Peter O'Toole should have said, "You bring shame upon this kingdom!", but he didn't. So I did.

The highlight of my working day was Vicky Sunshine waving at me from her car as she arrived at work. I forgot to say that we shared a moment in the canteen yesterday.

I said, "How you doing, Vic?"

She said, "Fine John. How are you?"

I said, "Busy."

She said, "Me too. No time. Gotta go."

And with a thrust of her chests in my general direction, she was gone.

Lovely girl. Lorraine was standing next to me during this entire exchange and I swear that I could feel her laser beam stare burning the hair off the side of my head.

Not connected to the above, I'm sure, Lorraine told me that she will be "Too tired to do any sex things this week, so don't even ask, thank you very much". Last night, before bed, I found some clips of Christy Canyon on the web and entertained myself. I know. It's very sad.

Is it possible to have too much sleep.

I went to bed at 10pm last night after watching "Life On Mars", because I felt awful. I slept for nearly 9 hours and awoke feeling awful. Tired and groggy and awful. The bus ride to work was awful. Work was awful. The food in the canteen was awful. (My friend Joey Lips' dinner was awful. It was that awful he went and got his camera phone, took a photo of it and emailed the photo to the catering committee as an example of the awful food that the canteen produce.) During the afternoon the phones were awful. Lorraine and I watched two episodes of "Alias" on DVD this evening and they were not awful.

Today's post has been bought to you by the word awful.

Good night.

(I know that this whole post is a cop out, but I was busy writing something else. Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime?)

It has been a movie Apocalypse!

Early evening yesterday we went to see "The Chronicles Of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe" at the Electric Cinema.

I've got to say that I liked "Narnia" a lot, although it does have some problems. Out of the three pre-Christmas blockbusters that were released in this country ("King Kong", "Harry Potter And The Goblet Of Fire" and "The Chronicles Of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe") it is probably my favourite. Problems? It is curiously small scale and low rent compared to something like the "Lord Of The Rings" movies (funny I thought that because I did not particularly like those movies). The battle sequences are not quite so large and the violence not quite so graphic. It might disappoint some people because the bar has been raised in what is allowed in fantasy movies, but in the final analysis "Narnia" is a film for children and has been designed as such. I also had a curious sense of deja vu while watching. I did read the book at junior school (Good God, more than 30 years ago!) and could have sworn that I did not remember any of the plot except for that peculiar time twisting ending, but somehow I did. The faun, the giving out of the weapons, the White Witch. It was all really familiar.

Apparently the go ahead has been given for the next book in the series to be made into a movie. Good. I enjoyed it.

Last night we watched "Kill Bill 2" on Sky Movies.

I must admit "Kill Bill 2" was better than I remembered, but still feel that Tarantino will never use one word when he can get away with using seven. He does write great dialogue, and he had great early success because of that, but he has also forgotten when to stop. You cannot have an entire movie with all of the characters afflicted with verbal diarrhoea. Or perhaps you can? What do I know? Too much, Quentin. Too much and it made the film too long as well. Cut some of the dialogue and use it in another movie for God's sake.

The Uma Thurman/Daryl Hannah fight is still terrific. The best thing in the film.

This afternoon I went to see Neil Jordan's new movie "Breakfast On Pluto" starring Cillian Murphy.

6 people walked out of this movie (always, I find, the sign of a good film when it happens at the Cineworld on Broad Street). I have no idea why these people walked out. "Breakfast On Pluto" is a wonderful film about the life and times of a sweet and gentle transvestite, set during the Sixties and Seventies. Why were these people upset enough to leave the cinema? Was it the homosexuality of the main character? (I didn't think that the scenes were particularly explicit.) Was it the recreation of the activities of the Republican movement in Ireland and the UK mainland during that time? (There is a recreation of a pub bombing which, excuse the enthusiasm, is fantastic!) Was it the sight of a particularly sleazy looking Bryan Ferry? (Nice moustache, Bryan.) I don't know. Their loss.

This evening we watched "Cold Mountain" starring Nicole Kidman and Jude Law on Sky Movies.

When "Cold Mountain" first came out I dismissed it as Miramax Oscar fodder purely on the strength of the trailer. Very wrong of me. I rather enjoyed "Cold Mountain". It is a story of separation and the power of love, set during the American Civil War. Yes "Cold Mountain" is a melodrama, and to be honest perfect viewing for a rainy Sunday afternoon, but it is superior melodrama. I did notice something that I thought was interesting. The movie has very many guest stars (I will not list them here) and every single one of them is introduced to the film with their back to camera. What was that about? Stylistic technique? Was the Director daring us to guess who he had managed to nab for the next guest slot? I pointed it out to Lorraine and she told me to shut up and watch the film. Cow.

I do like Nicole Kidman. Very early on, when she was still married to Tom Cruise, I read an article which stated categorically that although she might become a better actor than Tom Cruise, she would never be a movie star because she did not have the IT factor. I think that she has proven them wrong, don't you? I suppose on pure box office she will never equal Tom Cruise, but the parts that she plays are so much more interesting and varied than the ones Tom Cruise plays.

What else? Nothing. We arose late this morning and watched the repeat of "Dancing On Ice" on ITV2. Total clunker. Outrageously bad and as such essential viewing for every Sunday morning from now on.

I said that I would write about the team meeting that took place on Thursday.

Our team meetings are never very interesting. Orville Turd emails us an agenda (which I only ever glance at) a couple of days before the meeting. We go into the meeting. I always take a plastic cup of water, which I drink quickly. I then put the cup over my mouth, suck so that it sticks to my face and pretend to play the piano. (British comedy genius Eric Morecambe used to do it. Remember?) Orville goes through the agenda. Comments are made on each point of the agenda. Some people talk a lot (me and Ginger Foghorn) and some people never say anything (Larry Skin and Bill Broad). The toss is argued. Sometimes Orville will lose his temper when he is getting criticism. Often he will say his favourite phrase, which is "There's nothing I can do about it". The meeting will finish. We will go back to our desks. Nothing done. Nothing achieved. A couple of hours away from our desks. (Nice!) Boring. Predictable. Nothing. Also I have never, ever had any actions allocated to me as a result of one of the team meetings, which I suppose is good.

On Thursday we trooped along to Suite 2 and were confronted by James Cunt, departmental manager and growth, already in the room. Orville Turd was surprised.

"I didn't know you were going to be here?", said Orville.

"I thought that I would sit in today", said Cunt.

What was he there for? I think that he was there to intimidate us. Perhaps Orville had said that our team meetings never went well and that he was not getting the respect due to a manager. Perhaps he felt that somebody senior in the room would lead to a more constructive meeting. Perhaps the negativity that always rose up would be reduced. He was wrong. The meeting started and we (and I am surprised to say it, but a few people backed me up) ripped the agenda, Orville, Cunt and the attitude of the company to shreds.

Funnily enough it wasn't as bad as it could have been. I was expecting the line, "Well if you don't like it here, why don't you go and work somewhere else?" but that was never said. Cunt listened, digested and argued his case on various points (I suppose that he had to), but he was lost the argument every time and he knew it. With regard to the telephone answering technique I said that this was "trivial messing about" and we should be spending our time on something constructive like getting the development and testing cycle correct. He argued that it was crucially important how the customer perceived us on their first contact. True, but I asked him how he felt we were doing it wrong at the moment. I also commented that by the very nature of our business a scripted phone response would more than likely to piss off any customers ringing in. I also pointed out that Lloyds TSB had just announced that their help desk people but no longer be using a rehearsed script when they answered the phone due to the annoyance it was causing their customers.

All left open. No decisions made. After saying that he (Cunt) hoped to be more hands on in 2006 (Oh, fuck No!), and saying that he was personally disappointed with his own performance in 2005 (surely not!) and that he hoped to do better in 2006, he left the meeting.

I said in a previous post that things were changing. Oh, yes. The second after Cunt left the meeting, Orville told us that he (Orville) had handed in his notice. I am reading between the lines here, but it seems that that the team leaders meeting he attended on Tuesday was a bit of a finger pointing exercise, with the finger most definitely being pointed at him. Orville did not feel he was getting the support he wanted (from mangers or team) and he decided that enough was enough. He had quit before, and was convinced to stay, but that was a cry for help that had not been heeded. He said that during the 3 months he has left he will be a "pain in the ass" to the development and testing teams. I asked him why he couldn't be a "pain in the ass" to the development and testing teams and still keep his job, but he declined to answer that.

Lorraine asked me if she should go for Orville's job. I told her that she should. She would be a good choice. It might kill us, of course... I have complained long and hard about the amount of time she spends at work, but who am I to stand in her way? Upwards and onwards is my Lorraine, unlike myself who feels sometimes that he is going downwards and downwards. I wish I gave a fuck about work. Really I do. But I don't.

Lorraine is naughty as well. On Friday she went into work wearing a necklace with the letter "M" as the centerpiece. It was her Mom's. (Her Mom's name was Marilyn.) She said that if anybody were to question her as to the meaning of the letter "M" she would say that it stood for manager.

A bit later today we are going out to see "The Chronicles Of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe" at the Electric Cinema. It will be nice to go out to see a film together. It is an early evening showing, as well. Pynchon and Lorraine out after dark. Whatever next?

Lorraine wants to watch "Kill Bill 2" later on Sky Movies. I cannot say that the thought fills me with excitement. I didn't like it much. Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. Not as good as "Kill Bill 1".

I have cut my little finger. It is really painful. I am dying.

I was up very late last night watching the last two episodes of "Lost" (puzzles upon puzzles upon puzzles, and ain't it just fine?) and then had to get up very early this morning. I now feel absolutely wasted.

I did want to write about the team meeting we had today because things are changing. I won't. I think it would all come out as so much gibberish if I wrote about it now, so I am going to delay until the weekend. At this moment I need to get some sleep.

Nearly the weekend.

Today I have been mostly checking out ladies breasts.

First up was Lorraine. Lorraine came out of the shower this morning and was headed down the hallway draped in a towel. I asked her to "Give the boys a flash" and she did. Her bosoms jiggled nicely. Good girl.

Second up was Vicky Sunshine in the canteen at lunchtime. I had not seen Vicky since Christmas. She seemed to have put on a bit of weight over the holiday, but so what? Vicky was still scrumptious enough to spread on my toast and eat. Her mammary magnificences were putting undue strain on the buttons of her blouse. Serious stuff, man.

Thirdly, say hello to the new girl in accounts, Angie Springfield. Angie could be Vicky Sunshine's younger sister. I was heading down the stairs while she was heading up the stairs. Her top was quite low cut and I had a fine view of her mountainous cleavage; a cleavage so deep that if I were to have fell into it I would have needed grapling gear to get out. I was very careful passing her on the stairs, lest my enormous erection knock her flying.

Last but not least, Sandy Trout, my opposite number on the other product we laughably support. Sandy asked if she could use my PC do run something and I said OK. I lent her my chair but remained standing. Her top was also quite low cut. Need I say more? Sandy said to me, "Why don't you sit down? I could be some time." I declined and said, "I've been sitting down all day. I need to stretch my legs." I think I sounded convincing. Sandy's tits were smaller than the previous 3 ladies, but they were perfectly formed.

Go on. Say it. It's like political correctness never existed, isn't it?

We have a team meeting tomorrow. Secrets may be revealed. A rough agenda has been sent to us including the crucial topic of... wait for it... The Correct Telephone Answering Procedure. So, I'm to take it that my normal opening line of "What the fuck do you want?" isn't correct, then? (That was a joke.) Well, I for one am glad that the Company has it's priorities straight. Fuck the backlog. Fuck the lack of staff. Fuck the problems with the software. Answer the phone correctly. Words fail me. Really they do.

I have got to go. Lorraine is prodding me with a fork to get off the modem.

A couple of weeks ago I had a dream that John Simm was the new Doctor Who.

I swear to God I had that dream before I heard so much as a whisper about John Simm's new series, "Life On Mars" , which started yesterday. For those outside of the UK, "Life On Mars" is about a Detective in 2006 who, on the trail of a serial killer, is involved in a car accident and wakes to find himself back in 1973. Or is it about that? It is not made entirely clear. Anyway, I liked "Life On Mars" a lot. Fish-out-of-water jokes, bad clothes, great music and 21st century versus 1970's culture clash. I particularly liked Philip Glenister's great assimilation of John Thaw's persona from "The Sweeney". Now that was a series...

If John Simm does happen to become the new Doctor Who , circa 2008/2009, just remember that you read it here first.

In an exciting evening at residence chez Pynchon, I

1. Ate junk food.
2. Watched an episode of "Alias" on DVD.
3. Did some ironing while watching "Soapstar Superstar" (Fucking dire! Some of those vocals were as flat as Keira Knightley's chest. And while we are on the subject, Cilla Black? Why?)

Secret things are going on at work. (Ooooh...)

The regular Team Leaders meeting went on for 4 hours, amid rumours of a big shake up in the way that the department is organised. Apparently my manager, Orville Turd, came out of the meeting with a face like thunder, sat down and flung some papers across the room. I later saw him in the canteen and he looked like he was about to burst into tears. To be honest, I think that Orville Turd is a shit manager who doesn't know how to motivate or support us, but on a one-to-one basis I quite like the guy. It is just that he is just so totally useless and out of his depth in the job that he is doing. He quit once and was convinced to stay by department bossman, James Cunt. Perhaps Cunt thought that he was doing Orville a favour. He wasn't. The man is very unhappy. He should leave and get himself an easier job.

Perhaps it will all become clear what is happening tomorrow?

Other than to say that I am writing this while listening to the magnificent "The Who Sell Out" by The Who (who else?), which I ripped onto my MP3 player not two minutes ago (and it's really distracting writing while listening to music because I normally write in absolute silence, except for the grinding noise of my shit PC), there is absolutely nothing to write about.

So... The ABC of me, nicked wholesale from the mighty Graham.

A - Accent
None whatsoever. Everybody else says that I have a thick Brummie accent, but they are Bastards and you can discount them.

B - Breakfast Item
Some kind of cereal.

C - Chocolate or crisps?
Ah, that would be crisps.

D - Dad's Name
Ringo.

E - Essential everyday item
Bus pass.

F - Favourite film
"The Day The Earth Caught Fire" and "On Her Majesty's Secret Service". There are others, but I could be here for hours.

G - Gold or Silver
Gold... but I do not wear any jewelry whatsoever.

H - Hometown
Birmingham.

I - Icecream Flavour
Don't have one. Maybe strawberry.

J - Job
Software (if you can call that shit I look after, software) Support Analyst.

K- Kids
None at all. We won't go there, if you don't mind.

L - Living arrangements
North Birmingham. My house is a hundred and fifteen years old and looks it.

M - Mom's Birthplace
Birmingham.

N - Number of significant others you've ever had
One. I was a virgin when I met Lorraine, but I have had unfulfilled lust with many a lady.

O - Overnight hospital stays
Never, touch wood. I am indestructible John.

P - Phobia
Suffocation, choking. Same thing?

Q - Queer
It doesn't disgust me. I suppose on the Kinsey scale I am a 2.

R - Rock or pop
"New York, London, Paris, Munich."
"Everybody's talkin' bout, Pop Music".

S - Siblings
3 Sisters and 3 Brother's. 2 of my Brothers died in childbirth, but they were here, they existed, they had names and they were part of my family.

T - Time you wake up
5:50 or 6:50, except at the weekend.

U - Unnatural hair colours you've worn
I have never dyed my hair, not even once.

V - Vegetable you refuse to eat
I love vegetables. All of my managers are vegetables, but I wouldn't eat any of them. (Cue crude sexual comment - except maybe Wendy Scott).

W - Worst habit
Biting my nails.

X - X-rays you've had
Just when I broke my left leg and my right wrist. Oh, and my teeth once, a long time ago.

Y - Yummy
Kate Winslet.

Z - Zodiac sign
Virgo.

This evening I have had a headache that will not quit, a huge argument with Lorraine and it took 4 attempts to boot my computer up.

I really cannot be bothered. I will go to bed in a minute.

What I will say before I go is that "Brokeback Mountain" is as good as the critics have said it is. (Flowery language ahead!) It is a beautiful, melancholic, poetic, bittersweet and mesmerising film. Early days yet, and it is only the second film I have seen at the cinema this year, but I have the feeling that "Brokeback Mountain" will be in my top 10 films of 2006. Surely Heath Ledger must be a shoo-in for the Best Actor Oscar in March, with Jake Gyllenhaal and Michelle Williams both up for Best Supporting Actor and Actress? It is a wonderful film. Go and see it.

A mess about with my sidebar and I am a done.

Fucking hell! "Revolver" sounds pretty good on my Creative Zen Sleek player!

Ha ha ha! Should have done this years ago. You do realise, that I am now going to become a digital entertainment bore, don't you?

Back tomorrow.

I am a wuss. Really I am.

I have worked in different strains of IT since 1982. Firstly as a computer operator (BIG TAPES! BIG DISKS! BIG COMPUTER ROOMS! - None of this namby, pampy PC and micro shit!), then as a programmer, then as an analyst/programmer and then as a support/analyst/programmer/dogsbody/(and anything else you might want to add). During all of that time I have been driven by one clear, guiding principle and that is that I will have nothing to do with technical issues or hardware because I am not, and never have been, competent with physical things (except in the ways of love, obviously ;-).) What's that I hear you say? I could learn this stuff if I tried? Sure could, but I don't want to because it scares me. Fuck off. End of subject. There are people (Lorraine included) who can do this stuff better than me.

For Christmas, amongst other things, Lorraine bought me a Creative Zen portable music player. It plays MP3's, WAV'S and other musical kind of things. It will hold approximately 10,000 tracks, depending on format, and is a fantastic and beautiful present. Obviously it was also a disaster as it would also involve me having to finally install the Belkin Hi-Speed USB 2.0 4-Port Hub, which we bought a good 18 months ago, onto my PC to convert my single free USB port to 4 available USB ports. To do that I would have to get to the back of my computer.

The last time I saw the back of my computer was when the engineer came to install Broadband. (Shit! I am sweating at the memory of it.) It was a fraught experience. After plugging everything back in, the screen wouldn't come on. The USB port wouldn't work. There were loose cables. There were electrical buzzing sounds. Strange things happened when I booted it up. (Ever since that day I have had to do several returns' when booting up because of the software that was installed. The engineer said that this was normal. "Bollocks", says Pynchon now, but didn't say anything at the time.) Pynchon had a mini nervous breakdown and developed a migraine.

Wuss.

Anyway... The hub has been installed, but I haven't tried it yet. I am waiting for the Creative Zen player to be charged up, and then I will be installing the software, and then I will trying to use the port.

Other than that, today has been a pretty mundane day. Yesterday, Lorraine had a card from the Post Office saying that they had tried to deliver a parcel that was too big to go through our letter box, so she was very excited about that and insisted that we leave the house at the crack of dawn to pick it up. It turned out to be an underwater picture of her twin nephews swimming (think the cover of Nirvana's "Nevermind" abum). Interestingly enough the babies' genital area was subtly shadowed out. I suppose I can understand why. There are some evil bastards out there.

We took in some dry cleaning, picked up some shopping, went into town, purchased tickets for the stage production of "Get Carter" at the Midlands Art Centre in March, hung around Beatties (which closes in a week and now resembles a very sad jumble sale) and bought some leather boxes (why?) and came home. No time for a film, but I will be going to see "Brokeback Mountain" tomorrow.

Lorraine is having her hair done tomorrow. I must remember to tell her that she looks gorgeous and she will.

I have been a surfing and a shopping (I have just purchased the very strange film "Primer" from DVD Pacific) and a catching up with blogs. It has left little time for anything else. I said to myself earlier that I would be in bed before 11pm. I am 2 minutes late. Ahem.

Razorlight were playing their mighty fine tune "Somewhere Else" in the canteen today. (Not literally. They were on MTV.) It kind of suited my thoughts about work, perfectly.

What a shithole.

I have been writing a letter. Yes, I know. Snail mail. A real, honest-to-God letter. A letter to be printed on paper, put into an envelope, a stamp affixed to the envelope and then posted in a post box. A letter. How quaint...

I don't remember the last time I wrote a letter as opposed to an email. Actually I do. It was a covering letter to the builder who fixed the valley on our roof, thanking him for his efforts and containing payment for said work completed. (He did a good job and I think that a good job needs to be recognised.)

There is a point to this.

The letter this evening was written to a lady who used to be my boss for 3 years in the early 90's. When she moved on from that Company, and I got her job, we corresponded for nearly 10 years. I liked her a great deal, but as these things often happen, gradually the letters became less and less and eventually stopped. This Christmas she sent me a card via my Mom. She was exactly the same. Rude and funny.

The lady does not do computers. No email address, so snail mail it was.

I was not going to blog much tonight, because the letter took a while to write, but the story of why I had to write the letter has taken care of the 'not goint to blog much' problem, hasn't it?

(I really do need to try to write a little better. The above was all self indulgent shit, and about nothing at all, wasn't it?)

Back tomorrow. "Lost" is on in 9 minutes.

As ordered by the lovely Lorraine, today I went to the cinema. I saw "The Producers". I would have preferred to have seen "The Chronicles Of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe", but Lorraine has expressed an interest in seeing that film this weekend, so there it is. (I'm still going to see "Brokeback Mountain" this weekend, regardless of any plans she may or may not have for us over those days.)

So, "The Producers" it was. I liked it, most of it. It was way too long, though, and some of the songs were a bit weak, but it was good enough for a bored Pynchon afternoon movie experience. Nathan Lane was quite brilliant, but that was no surprise. Matthew Broderick and Uma Thurman were OK, but it was pretty obvious that neither of them are musical or stage performers. I just loved Gary Beach and Roger Bart as the campest couple to ever appear in a movie musical.

I cannot make any comparison with the original version of "The Producers" because I have never managed to watch more than the first 20 minutes of that movie. It is one of those fabled cult movies (like "The Blues Brothers") which I have never quite managed to get.

We ate leftovers this evening. We will be eating leftovers until August. I developed a headache which remarkably dissipated when my Brother called to ask me to check if Blueyonder was working OK. It was. Oh, joy... I'll be round at my Brother's this weekend messing around with his computer setup. Pray for me...

So, how has your New Year been so far? Is everything still feeling new? Are you busy, happy, full of energy and life? Is the diet working? Have you been confronted with a Burger King/McDonalds/Taco Bell on the High Street, raised your hand and declared "No! I shall not eat crap!" Does everything seem brighter and more energetic? Is everything full of possibilities? Have you seized those possibilities?

You haven't? Me neither.

Yesterday, in between making sarcastic asides to Lorraine on various subjects (Sex, women who will wear sexy underwear for their men, people who are young but act old, money wasted on gym memberships, the pointlessness of trying to make a change at a Shithole-Of-A-Company, etc.), I spent in front of the TV watching bad TV movies. During the afternoon we watched the DVD of "Batman Begins" (which I love) and in the evening we watched "I, Robot" (which I also love, despite the fact that in tone and execution the film is a million miles away from Asimov's original stories and really only shares a few character names and concepts in common) and then "Mad Max 2" (a classic.)

Sometime during the evening (in the middle of "Mad Max 2" - hiss, boo) Mark sent me a text message wishing me a Happy New Year. Surprised the hell out of me as I had no idea he still had my mobile phone number. Surprised the hell out of Lorraine as well. She had just turned on the phone for the first time in days and was playing a game of snake or something. I did reply Mark. I don't know if you got it. Happy New Year, mate.

Other highlights? There weren't any. Oh, yes. We picked at leftover food all day. No energy. No life. No enthusiasm. New Year Blues. It's real, man.

Today was better. We got our asses out of bed and out of the house and walked down to the Fort shopping centre to have a look around. We bought some food, despite my argument that we have enough food in the freezer to last us until next September. In the afternoon Lorraine got on the modem to do some work (!) and I went into town. I spent my Debenhams vouchers on a very cool Ben Sherman shirt, which I have decided I will wear when fluttering my eyelashes at Alison Goldfrapp next month from the front row of the Birmingham Carling Academy. Later this evening we might watch "Rebus" and I might watch Mick Jagger and James Fox in "Performance", which is a great film that I have not seen in years.

Lorraine has ordered me to go to the cinema tomorrow. She says that I am having cinema withdrawal symptoms and am like a bear with a sore head. Obviously I have no idea what she is talking about.