Substitute
A pointless day today. An eighty mile round trip to partake of a Windows XP training course that wouldn't tax a three year old. I now know how to install it and add users. I'd love to say none of us knew that before we attended but I don't, with my hand on my heart, think I can. Y'see this is what happens when multinational corporations underbid for contracts in order to win them. They have to save a fuckin' lot of money, usually at the 'customer interface' end. Cue: redundancies, figure-fiddling and cutbacks, cutbacks, cutbacks. Seven of us dragged from all over Northern England to be patronised as a result of the client demanding some training be given to deal with the "new" operating system being deployed over the next few months.Any self-respecting support person would have familiarised themselves with this ancient OS years ago surely? What we needed was an advanced, tailored to our particular network configuration, in-depth wallow. Not a friggin' Mickey-Mouse pile of crap that allows our Lords and Masters the right to say: "we invest in our people, look at all the courses we provide". Honestly, it wouldn't have taxed Noddy.
Back again tomorrow to learn how to switch the PC on. Probably.
Last night Eldest and I trundled off to local number one to watch the Mighty Blues
They didn't disappoint. 2-0 down after twenty minutes or so and we were both of the opinion that a profoundly embarrassing drubbing was on the cards. The ale flowed and was quaffed with all the urgency of the nerve-shredded City fan. So much so that by half-time we had drunk five pints each. Mind you, by half-time we had pulled it back to 2-2. More beer was required and acquired.
Then the most surreal thing I've ever seen occurred. Delia Smith of TV cook fame appeared on the pitch (she is a director of Norwich City FC BTW), and started to harangue the home fans for not getting behind the team. There she was - microphone in hand - shouting "WHERE ARE YOU? LET'S BE 'AVIN' YOU" at her own supporters. At first I thought "is this something to do with "Red Nose Day"? But then I remembered RND is strictly the Beeb. Mr Murdoch wouldn't get involved with that would he? Not enough profit.
Eldest got it right though: "Too much brandy in the pudding love". 'Nuff said.
Anyway, after Delia's
Today the radio and newspapers have been full of Delia's faux pas. Still, we've all woken up the morning after regretting a few words spoken in haste and drink and had to deal with world's press haven't we?
I'm back on a "jazz" kick at the moment. It's all Mr Metheny's fault. Bringing out intelligent albums with only one track on them, it shouldn't be allowed. But it has been allowed and I bought a copy and listened and loved and, as a result, I have dug out Miles and Louis and a few others. Retrospective bliss.
All those well-recorded brass instruments triggered a Pavlov-like 'let's look for more of the same' investigation of my extensive but haphazard CD, mini-disk and cassette collection. As usual serendipity* takes over and I rediscover gems from the past. Recently it has been Chicago. Often called the poor man's Blood, Sweat and Tears (who were actually shite), they were a force to be reckoned with between 1969 and 1971. Three double albums of hard rock, noodling jazz and catchy pop. Beautiful. If you ever want to hear some exquisite Jazz-rock with a pop sensibility (and some of the best horn arrangements in modern music) check out Chicago Transit Authority, Chicago II and Chicago III. Don't, and I mean DON'T, bother with anything else they ever did, for they embraced corporate America and disappeared up their own arses.
C'est la vie.
*What a gorgeous word to describe a gorgeous situation.
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