no porn to be kept in PC for 1 week. get it bro? LoL.
my paternal grandma caused trouble again.
she followed my uncle back to KL, therefore no space for my uncle's daughter in the vehicle.
so she's staying for one week.
its a bitch having a cousin staying for a week.
I can't walk around the house with just boxers around.
I can't scratch my balls anyhow.
isn't is so bad?
let me tell u about my week end at Amoy Qwee Camp instead.
--------------------------------
i went to Amoy Qwee Camp to help out in Specialist Course.
i was very quiet on the 1st day.
i only talked when necessary.
i was appointed Logistics.
wahlao.
but i got to travel around the camp on the minibus.
i had to carry hot cases filled with hot milo.
i was in charge of night snacks.
after lights out, i went to bath with CLT Ithnin and CLT Kenny.
Ithnin went to a cubicle.. saw a frog in it.
hahaha.
then i went to sleep in the theatrette with only shirt and shorts on.
imagine how bad i froze.
i went to CLT Daven and took his no.4 shirt as blanket.
but when i woke up, he was wearing it.
woke up, didn't bathe.
on the second day, i started to bersuara.
got to shout at cadets. i mean i'm not abusing power.
just making sure i'm not slacking.
i stripped rifle faster than a Master Sergeant and a Cadet Lieutenant.
i didn't drop any of the 5 coins when i tried the Marksmanship Fundamentals.
heheh. quite an achievement.
at the passing out ceremony, Yusri emerged as Best IFC Skills.
i collected a few numbers too. haha.
-----------------------
shit, forgot to take POA notes from gordon.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Brothers in Arms
I just happened to stroll past ‘The Place of Shouting and Walking about a Bit’ (The Royal Shakespeare Theatre) this morning when I saw a busy group of backstage staff unloading a truck full of bits and pieces that I presume were for the latest production. I have to tell you , the memories came flooding back. Those were the days. The 1980's. Money in your pocket and a working ‘day’ that started properly at 7.00pm. The Union ruled and all was right with the world. What tales of camaraderie and loyalty I could tell. So I shall,
For instance, I remember the day when at least six of us were carrying an extremely heavy piece of scenery across a relatively empty stage. All appeared to be going well when the cry suddenly went up to ‘Stop!’ which we did abruptly. The cause of our sudden halt and interruption of our well-planned work pattern? Somebody had left a power tool plugged into a wall socket. Disaster. An electrical cable lay across our chosen route impeding our progress stagewise. Major problem. Notwithstanding a couple of important issues that needed to be addressed post haste and whilst as it were, 'on the hoof';
1. Health and Safety. (We could have had a nasty accident. There may be repercussions.)
2. Demarcation. (Whose job is it to remove offending plug and cable?)
What to do?
After a few moments of mumbling, grumbling and projected descriptions of the worst possible scenarios, we did what any sensible Stage Technician of the time would have done and sent a runner to Stage Door to ask them to send out a message (via tannoy or telephone) to the Electricians Department, who in turn would send out a message to the Duty Electrician who in turn would arrive and remove the offending plug and cable from the wall. Result? No more than 30 mins of the working day lost and smiley faces all round. In short team work at its very best. No need for the matter to go further. We were a body of men working as one. Like a well oiled spring.
Happy days.
For instance, I remember the day when at least six of us were carrying an extremely heavy piece of scenery across a relatively empty stage. All appeared to be going well when the cry suddenly went up to ‘Stop!’ which we did abruptly. The cause of our sudden halt and interruption of our well-planned work pattern? Somebody had left a power tool plugged into a wall socket. Disaster. An electrical cable lay across our chosen route impeding our progress stagewise. Major problem. Notwithstanding a couple of important issues that needed to be addressed post haste and whilst as it were, 'on the hoof';
1. Health and Safety. (We could have had a nasty accident. There may be repercussions.)
2. Demarcation. (Whose job is it to remove offending plug and cable?)
What to do?
After a few moments of mumbling, grumbling and projected descriptions of the worst possible scenarios, we did what any sensible Stage Technician of the time would have done and sent a runner to Stage Door to ask them to send out a message (via tannoy or telephone) to the Electricians Department, who in turn would send out a message to the Duty Electrician who in turn would arrive and remove the offending plug and cable from the wall. Result? No more than 30 mins of the working day lost and smiley faces all round. In short team work at its very best. No need for the matter to go further. We were a body of men working as one. Like a well oiled spring.
Happy days.
Friday, February 06, 2009
The Good Olde Days
The Guardian’s Theatre critic Michael Billington sets out Michael ‘Two Rivers’ Boyd’s plans for the future of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. Apparently lots of cold showers and heady intellectual exercises are on the cards for the present wimpy acting ensemble as ‘Two Rivers’ attempts to return to the good old days of the Jam Factory. In other words, less Corporation more Claustrophobic, no that can’t be right. Less Corporation more like the Co-op er…no. Um. Ah. Less Corporation more Corpulence, No. It's on the tip of me tongue. Got it…less Corporation more Company.
All well and good Boydy my old son but you’re forgetting one vital ingredient if you really want to return to the time when the Royal Shakespeare was held in awe worldwide. Booze mate. Booze and lots of it.
All well and good Boydy my old son but you’re forgetting one vital ingredient if you really want to return to the time when the Royal Shakespeare was held in awe worldwide. Booze mate. Booze and lots of it.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Beware the Frog People
This probably won’t be remotely interesting to anyone so I'm sorry but I have to speak out as its been driving me mad for years now. Please bear with me. And thank you for reading this far.
I’ve got a really rubbish pond in my garden. At first glance the whole environment appears dead. Indeed, I once spent a gut-heaving hour or two picking dead (and strangely transparent) amphibians from its murky depths. At the moment it lies half-full (or half empty depending on your point of view) and has bits of the decaying pond liner floating around in it. One wouldn’t think that anything could survive in its toxic waters but one would be wrong.
In happier days past, the pond looked pretty good and even had two huge goldfish (escapees from the Mop) floating stylishly around in it. Suffice to say Marx & Lenin are no longer with us. Marx going to the Great Heron in the sky and Lenin…sorry I find it hard to talk about Lenin…my favourite…give me a moment…Lenin just disappeared. The truth is I suspect Max my three-legged cat.
Anyway.
Since the demise of my beloved mop-fish I’ve been meaning to fill the pond in. Every spring I reach for my trusty yet under-used shovel, make my way up the garden towards water-world and every year it’s the same story. Frog spawn. Tons of the horrible gooey stuff. Unfortunately, being of a kind nature I cannot bring myself to bury the little buggers alive, so, trying to push visions of a yard full of bouncing frogs in a month or so’s time to the back of my mind, I retreat once again, a beaten man.
This year and determined to beat the slimy substance at its own game i.e. surprise, I moved into action a few weeks ahead of my usual schedule. Walking out implement in hand and determined to do the dirty deed no matter what, I approached the pond…and there it was floating on the surface of the dark depths. Frog spawn. Curses, foiled again.
The thing is…it wasn’t there the day before.
However they (the frog world) do it, they do it very quickly and I suspect with the one sole purpose of annoying me.
I think there’s a plot.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
According to The Guardian.... Today's Life section P 9.
...there's a mental condition called Hypergraphia which apart from being a brilliant name for a blog (remember you read it here first) is the rare compulsion to keep writing.
'Imagine living with the compulsive need to scrawl away constantly, scribbling on notebooks, napkins, walls, even skin'
Imagine? I don't have to imagine. And I thought I was in the early stages of Blogitus.
I’ve got a really rubbish pond in my garden. At first glance the whole environment appears dead. Indeed, I once spent a gut-heaving hour or two picking dead (and strangely transparent) amphibians from its murky depths. At the moment it lies half-full (or half empty depending on your point of view) and has bits of the decaying pond liner floating around in it. One wouldn’t think that anything could survive in its toxic waters but one would be wrong.
In happier days past, the pond looked pretty good and even had two huge goldfish (escapees from the Mop) floating stylishly around in it. Suffice to say Marx & Lenin are no longer with us. Marx going to the Great Heron in the sky and Lenin…sorry I find it hard to talk about Lenin…my favourite…give me a moment…Lenin just disappeared. The truth is I suspect Max my three-legged cat.
Anyway.
Since the demise of my beloved mop-fish I’ve been meaning to fill the pond in. Every spring I reach for my trusty yet under-used shovel, make my way up the garden towards water-world and every year it’s the same story. Frog spawn. Tons of the horrible gooey stuff. Unfortunately, being of a kind nature I cannot bring myself to bury the little buggers alive, so, trying to push visions of a yard full of bouncing frogs in a month or so’s time to the back of my mind, I retreat once again, a beaten man.
This year and determined to beat the slimy substance at its own game i.e. surprise, I moved into action a few weeks ahead of my usual schedule. Walking out implement in hand and determined to do the dirty deed no matter what, I approached the pond…and there it was floating on the surface of the dark depths. Frog spawn. Curses, foiled again.
The thing is…it wasn’t there the day before.
However they (the frog world) do it, they do it very quickly and I suspect with the one sole purpose of annoying me.
I think there’s a plot.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
According to The Guardian.... Today's Life section P 9.
...there's a mental condition called Hypergraphia which apart from being a brilliant name for a blog (remember you read it here first) is the rare compulsion to keep writing.
'Imagine living with the compulsive need to scrawl away constantly, scribbling on notebooks, napkins, walls, even skin'
Imagine? I don't have to imagine. And I thought I was in the early stages of Blogitus.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
LegoLand
Owing to the grim circumstances we find ourselves in, Mrs G decreed that we would feel better if we went house-hunting. Although only present in body I fooled her into thinking I was interested and off we sped. After inspecting a number of properties I decided that next time the urge took her, our time would be better spent architect-hunting (with dogs).
I’ve also decided that 200 grand + is too much to pay for an extended cigar tube with a postage stamp garden and a garage that wouldn’t take a Tonka Toy. Are these people joking or what?
And how dare they call themselves architects. Call me old fashioned and a bit of a romantic but if you were in their position wouldn’t you want to leave something to be remembered by? Like a curve.
I’ve also decided that 200 grand + is too much to pay for an extended cigar tube with a postage stamp garden and a garage that wouldn’t take a Tonka Toy. Are these people joking or what?
And how dare they call themselves architects. Call me old fashioned and a bit of a romantic but if you were in their position wouldn’t you want to leave something to be remembered by? Like a curve.
Monday, January 28, 2008
The Height of Ponciness & other things
*The ponciness of the acting profession achieved new heights today when The Stratford Standard (used in only the Best Bird Cages) revealed that RSC Director Dominic Cooke was so keen for the cast of Macbeth to create a masculine world onstage that he asked the performers to grow beards (grrrr).
**Apparently the actress playing Lady Macbeth wasn’t so keen but after some gentle persuasion plus good old one-of-the-boys Cookey agreeing to some facial fuzz himself, they say she came round and joined in the testosterone-fuelled fun.
Personally I blame the under-shaved Viagra Mortenson who played Argus son of Butchness in that film about the little people, Lord of the Things, for starting off this unstoppable trend towards all smouldering good looks and tight leather trousers.
It’s catching you know.
*Truth.
**Lie
**Apparently the actress playing Lady Macbeth wasn’t so keen but after some gentle persuasion plus good old one-of-the-boys Cookey agreeing to some facial fuzz himself, they say she came round and joined in the testosterone-fuelled fun.
Personally I blame the under-shaved Viagra Mortenson who played Argus son of Butchness in that film about the little people, Lord of the Things, for starting off this unstoppable trend towards all smouldering good looks and tight leather trousers.
It’s catching you know.
*Truth.
**Lie
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Crap Blog
Wonderfully interesting piece concerning good old Stratford upon Avon and its problem with Canada geese on Midlands Today (TV) yesterday. (Zzzzzzzzzzzz).
Did you know Canada geese deposit something like 2lbs of birdy doo-doo every day?
No neither did I.
Apparently these feathery foreign types refuse to defecate in the water like any decent bird and insist on leaving their mucky stuff strewn willy-nilly over Stratford’s river walkways. Very dangerous. Lots of little green accidents waiting to happen. [Thinks; These creatures must be the most useless of the feathery world. You can't eat them and their waste is no good for the garden. What's the point of Canada geese I ask myself?]
But wait. All is not lost. According to Midlands Today, a dog is to be trained to keep these nuisance birds on the move. Hurrah.
Hang on...wait a sec...where’s the dog going to do his business that’s what I want to know? Unless the brains behind this innovative scheme (I bet it's the Council) supply their furry friend with a portaloo I don’t see the point. If there was a competition between dog-poo and Canadian geese-poo I know what I’d vote for.
And talking of shit. Midlands Today is the worst TV news programme I think I have ever seen. A real life Alan Partridge concoction if ever I saw one and worth watching for that very reason.
Did you know Canada geese deposit something like 2lbs of birdy doo-doo every day?
No neither did I.
Apparently these feathery foreign types refuse to defecate in the water like any decent bird and insist on leaving their mucky stuff strewn willy-nilly over Stratford’s river walkways. Very dangerous. Lots of little green accidents waiting to happen. [Thinks; These creatures must be the most useless of the feathery world. You can't eat them and their waste is no good for the garden. What's the point of Canada geese I ask myself?]
But wait. All is not lost. According to Midlands Today, a dog is to be trained to keep these nuisance birds on the move. Hurrah.
Hang on...wait a sec...where’s the dog going to do his business that’s what I want to know? Unless the brains behind this innovative scheme (I bet it's the Council) supply their furry friend with a portaloo I don’t see the point. If there was a competition between dog-poo and Canadian geese-poo I know what I’d vote for.
And talking of shit. Midlands Today is the worst TV news programme I think I have ever seen. A real life Alan Partridge concoction if ever I saw one and worth watching for that very reason.
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