Thursday, September 09, 2004
A weee bit peed off
Quote of the Day:I used to be `with it.' But then they changed what `it' was. Now what I'm `with' isn't `it' and what's `it' seems weird and scary to me. It'll happen to you.
-Grandapa Simpson.
Once again blogger has messed up my template. Bah this is the 2nd time in about as many months. So yes, I am just a little bit annoyed at that. I sent an email to blogger tech support asking about it and I was sent an automated email in response:
We had a simultaneous failure across multiple machines responsible for the
publishing of Blog*Spot blogs - oh did you now? Well that is all well and good but the problem wasn't with the publishing of my blog, it published with no problems. The problem is that blogger has chopped my sidebar off twice now.
but this issue has now been fixed. - The how has it happened twice? TWICE! Either you haven't fixed the issue and are lying or you didn't read my email and fobbed me off with an automated email without reading the one I sent you.
we are performing a full system audit to ensure that proper redundancies are in place. - What does this actually mean? To me it sounds like you are using jargon to skirt around the problem. How will a full system audit bring back my sidebar? And why are you telling me about redundancies? The redundancy of my sidebar made my angry, I don't want you to put it in place. Or maybe you're telling me you're going to fire whoever is responsible. But that sentence makes absolutley no sense to me.
*Deep breath* OK, I'm calm. I know I shouldn't be complaining about a (usually) very reliable service that is free. Anyway, I've reset my template so now it is just a case of adding all the links again. I'll do it when I can be bothered.
In other news I added a little more to my "Survival in a Haunted House Story", here you go:
Sidney Wexley let out a sigh from the backseat of the silver Mercedes. It was getting late now and the darkness had closed in since they had set off from London in the late afternoon. He turned his gaze to the clouds above and to him it seemed that a storm was brewing. In the front of the car his parents were oblivious to everything except their own personal vendetta against each other. They were arguing, as usual, but after eleven years of what his parents referred to as ‘friendly disputes’, Sidney had learnt to ignore it.
“Osgood!” Ophelia Wexley snapped in her sharp tones, “We’ve been searching for this house for over two hours now, stop being so pig headed and ask for directions.”
Osgood Wexley sighed, finding himself wondering, for the hundredth time today, why he married this woman. “Now dear, I’m sure we’re nearly there.” He replied, with the weary patience of a man who has learnt from twenty-five years of marriage, to someone like Ophelia, that resistance really is futile.
“You said that an hour ago…” But the rest of Ophelia’s reply was lost as Osgood turned the car radio on and set it to full volume.
A large country house loomed into view on the horizon; it looked stark and foreboding against the darkness of the cloudy sky. Yet Osgood, in all his suicidal jolliness, insisted on calling it ‘quaint’ and ‘rustic’. Sidney privately thought that ‘rundown’ and ‘decrepit’ were better suited. Ophelia was too concerned with telling Osgood that he was a waste of space to even notice the house.
Standing next to the house was a man in what can best be described as a suit. It looked like it was made of several suits jumbled together. His jacket was mainly black but it had patches of dusty orange sewn into it at random points. His shirt looked like it was once white, but constant dirt and grime had turned it into a grimy grey colour. He watched the silver Mercedes approaching and ran a hand through his greasy hair, while fixing a false smile onto his face.
The Wexley’s pulled up next to the house and disembarked from their car, while the unkempt man introduced himself as the estate agent and insisted they called him Simon. His out held hand was refused by Osgood when he saw that there appeared to be several woodlice living on it.
“I’m so glad you could make it Mr and Mrs Wexley.” Simon intended his voice to drip with charm. Instead it just dripped.
Osgood crossed his arms over his ample stomach before replying, ‘Oh our pleasure. We’ve been looking for a large country house to settle down in for years. City life does get rather tiresome.’ If anyone ever needed lessons in being pompous, then Mr Wexley would be the one to come to.
Suddenly Sidney stirred and with all the childishness he could muster retorted, “Well I think this house is smelly!”
“Sidney!” Snapped Ophelia.
Simon looked up and down Sidney’s rather skinny frame, clad in dungarees, a pair of white trainers tainted with the usual muck that children play in, with the typical ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth look’ topped off with copious amounts of sandy brown hair. “What a delightful child.” Was all Simon could come up with.
“You can have him for a tenner.” Replied Osgood.
“Osgood!” Snapped Ophelia, as though Osgood was a child who should be told off, rather then her husband.
“I was only joking.” Muttered Osgood as Simon ushered them through the heavily adorned wooden front door and into the dark house. As he entered Osgood turned to Simon and mouthed “No I wasn’t.”
Osgood, Ophelia and Sidney followed Simon through a grubby hallway, passed the type of portraits whose eyes seem to follow you. There was a crash of thunder overhead and the storm that had been brewing broke overhead. A flash of lightning lit the room that Simon led the Wexley family into. Osgood cast his eye around its dingy interior, the main feature of which was an ornate fireplace with a log fire burning in it, which flickered and caused eerie shadows to dance over the walls. Aside from the fireplace the room was fairly bare, save for a musty sofa and armchair.
Simon looked over his clipboard at the family and began his tour, seemingly oblivious to the storm overhead. “Well, this is the main room of the house. Elsewhere you’ll find five bedrooms, two with en-suit bathrooms, one bathroom, one toilet, games room, entertainment room, kitchen.” He paused before continuing, “And of course a torture chamber in the basement with fully upholstered wrack and iron maiden.
Sidney’s eyes lit up, “What, we have an iron maiden in the basement?” He asked excitedly.
“No, I’m afraid we could only get the rock group. They’ve been squatting here since their tour flopped.” Simon replied levelly.
“Oh fiddlesticks!” Sidney displayed his disappointment by kicking the sofa, and was rewarded with a shower of dust, which sent the entire group into a coughing fit.
When he had recovered Osgood tried to lift Sidney’s Spirits, he ruffled his hair and said kindly “If you’re a good boy I’ll let you stretch you’re mother in the wrack later”. He paused, waiting for the familiar ‘Osgood!’ from his wife.
However, none came. Ophelia had her arms curled up tightly around herself and was glancing around the room with a look of terror on her manicured face. The words, “There is something incredibly evil about this house. I hate it.” Came out in a barely audible whisper, with none of her usual conviction.
Sensing that he was quickly losing his customers Simon said hurriedly, “Bare in mind the amazing price of only 99p that the previous owner left in his will, as well as the fact that your investigation of this house is not without a competitor. In fact I can hear him coming down the stairs now. Me and Mrs Wexley, meet Frankenstein.” As is customary at such moments there was a loud rumble of thunder and all eyes in the room swivelled to the door, including those of the large painting hanging above the fireplace.
Already heavy footsteps became louder as whoever was coming moved slowly down the hall. Frankenstein trudged purposefully into the room, groaning loudly and with his arms stretched out in front of him. “Ugggggggggggh”, he headed straight towards Ophelia, who screamed and backed away. Then His arms rose slowly above his head as he yawned and stretched. “Oh, hello. Pleased to meet you my name is Mr. Enstein, but you can call me Frank.” The group exchange looks of relief, and everyone visibly relaxed, except Ophelia who was visibly shaking and gasping for breath. Osgood noticed and could not hide his delight as a sly grin spread across his face.
Frank looked at the group of people before saying, “Oh, how rude of me! Won’t you meet my lovely wife.”
A bland woman walked through the door with a vacant expression on her face. She shuffled across the floor and stopped very close to Ophelia who seems very unnerved as her eyes keep darting between Frank and his wife as she tries to back away slowly.
“Hello, I’m Mrs. Enstein. My husband wanted to buy this place, and I agreed as I owe him everything.” Began Mrs. Enstein, with no emotion in her voice. “You see he made me…” The rest of the group let out a gasp and gazed at Frank, who looked back, with the log fire reflected in his eyes. He grinned maliciously at them.
“…What I am today.” Continued Mrs. Enstein, after what seemed like an eternity. The group let out a collective sigh, except Sidney who seemed a little disappointed. “Which is a zombie…” Once again all eyes are on Frank and Sidney suddenly looks very interested.
“…To the television.” Another collective sigh and meaningful glances are shared, each one seeming to say ‘I wish she’d stop doing that’. Once again Mrs. Enstein continues speaking “You see I’m a housewife, but a very happy one. I’m never pressured to do anything.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Said Ophelia while offering her hand out to Mrs. Enstein. Who kept her arms by her side and looked at the hand slowly, then regained eye contact with Ophelia. The storm outside suddenly died down and there was silence except for the crackling of the fire.
However this silence was soon broken by an eerie groan, which seems to vibrate from the walls and echoes around the empty house. As if an alarm had just gone off Simon jumped into action by announcing, “At this point I’d like to remind the guests that ‘Happy House Estate Agents ©’ is not responsible for any accidents and/or deaths incurred during the tour.” The groan had been getting audibly closer throughout Simon’s speech, but now it sounds as if it is right outside the door. The entire group hurriedly huddle into a corner next to the sofa, and all eyes are trained on the door.
Suddenly a rather portly man entered, accompanied by the usual flash of lighting and thunderclap (But everyone was getting used to this by now). He was dressed in traditional vampiric regalia, however his shirt seemed several sizes too small, and his stomach appeared to be fighting to free its self from its starched white prison. This gave the impression that his waistcoat was about to fly off at any given moment. This look was completed by a cape that was disproportionately large and the pale man had to drag it behind him as he entered the room.
Greeted with such a ridiculous looking figure the group regain their composure and collectively decide it is safe to come out of their corner. The pale man must have noticed this because he advanced on the group with his arms raised and his mouth open revealing a pair of fangs. As he came towards the Wexley’s, the Enstein’s and Simon, he let out a rather pathetic “Woooooo!”
Sidney rolled his eyes and with all the sarcasm available to a child of 11, said, “Oh God. So who are you, Mr Vampire?”
In a rather broken Transylvanian accent the vampire replied, “Come closer to me little boy, and I shall tell you everythink you vant to know,” Then with a flourish he produced a bag of Haribo from the recesses of his cape, “And give you candy.”
With a breezy “Okay!” From Sidney he began to move towards the vampire, whether motivated by the sweets or a suicidal tendency it is impossible to tell.
Ophelia screamed, “Don’t do it!” All the while Osgood was mouthing, “Do it!” But neither of them made any movement to either intercept Sidney, or in Osgood’s case push him closer to his doom.
Sidney stopped halfway between his parents and the eagerly awaiting vampire and his sweets. Sidney rolled his eyes, “Why? He’s obviously not a real vampire.” He said, exasperated.
The vampire looked a little hurt at this and picked at his costume, “Vhat makes you zo sure?” He asked.
“Well, why do you speak in a Transylvanian accent and haunt a traditional English country house?” Inquired Sidney. This question bought meaningful glances between the rest of the group.
The vampire sighed, “Because… Vell… Because I come from Transylvania, but came to England.”
Sidney seemed to contemplate this for a while before asking, “Why would you do that?” He shook his head in disbelief, “I can’t think of any logical explanation for a Transylvanian vampire to travel to England.”
Once again the vampire sighed, and with the air of someone who has told a story a thousand times and just wants to get it over with, began to speak. “I grew up as young, healthy Transylvanian boy, but decided to leave zis home at thee age of eighteen for university. Zis lead to a highly successful business career, and I stayed at zis house for a day to sign the papers needed for our company to buy the Naughty Postcard Company that we heard was doing zo well here. Later that night, I was bitten by a vampire,” at this point the vampire drew himself up to his full height, which was not very much, before continuing, “and I am now doomed to haunt the earth searching for the blood of the innocents to feast on.”
Read my other stories HERE.
-Grandapa Simpson.
Once again blogger has messed up my template. Bah this is the 2nd time in about as many months. So yes, I am just a little bit annoyed at that. I sent an email to blogger tech support asking about it and I was sent an automated email in response:
Hi there,
We apologize for the problems you have been experiencing with Blogger. We
had a simultaneous failure across multiple machines responsible for the
publishing of Blog*Spot blogs, but this issue has now been fixed. To
prevent this type of outage in the future, we are performing a full system
audit to ensure that proper redundancies are in place.
Sincerely,
Blogger Support
We had a simultaneous failure across multiple machines responsible for the
publishing of Blog*Spot blogs - oh did you now? Well that is all well and good but the problem wasn't with the publishing of my blog, it published with no problems. The problem is that blogger has chopped my sidebar off twice now.
but this issue has now been fixed. - The how has it happened twice? TWICE! Either you haven't fixed the issue and are lying or you didn't read my email and fobbed me off with an automated email without reading the one I sent you.
we are performing a full system audit to ensure that proper redundancies are in place. - What does this actually mean? To me it sounds like you are using jargon to skirt around the problem. How will a full system audit bring back my sidebar? And why are you telling me about redundancies? The redundancy of my sidebar made my angry, I don't want you to put it in place. Or maybe you're telling me you're going to fire whoever is responsible. But that sentence makes absolutley no sense to me.
*Deep breath* OK, I'm calm. I know I shouldn't be complaining about a (usually) very reliable service that is free. Anyway, I've reset my template so now it is just a case of adding all the links again. I'll do it when I can be bothered.
In other news I added a little more to my "Survival in a Haunted House Story", here you go:
Sidney Wexley let out a sigh from the backseat of the silver Mercedes. It was getting late now and the darkness had closed in since they had set off from London in the late afternoon. He turned his gaze to the clouds above and to him it seemed that a storm was brewing. In the front of the car his parents were oblivious to everything except their own personal vendetta against each other. They were arguing, as usual, but after eleven years of what his parents referred to as ‘friendly disputes’, Sidney had learnt to ignore it.
“Osgood!” Ophelia Wexley snapped in her sharp tones, “We’ve been searching for this house for over two hours now, stop being so pig headed and ask for directions.”
Osgood Wexley sighed, finding himself wondering, for the hundredth time today, why he married this woman. “Now dear, I’m sure we’re nearly there.” He replied, with the weary patience of a man who has learnt from twenty-five years of marriage, to someone like Ophelia, that resistance really is futile.
“You said that an hour ago…” But the rest of Ophelia’s reply was lost as Osgood turned the car radio on and set it to full volume.
A large country house loomed into view on the horizon; it looked stark and foreboding against the darkness of the cloudy sky. Yet Osgood, in all his suicidal jolliness, insisted on calling it ‘quaint’ and ‘rustic’. Sidney privately thought that ‘rundown’ and ‘decrepit’ were better suited. Ophelia was too concerned with telling Osgood that he was a waste of space to even notice the house.
Standing next to the house was a man in what can best be described as a suit. It looked like it was made of several suits jumbled together. His jacket was mainly black but it had patches of dusty orange sewn into it at random points. His shirt looked like it was once white, but constant dirt and grime had turned it into a grimy grey colour. He watched the silver Mercedes approaching and ran a hand through his greasy hair, while fixing a false smile onto his face.
The Wexley’s pulled up next to the house and disembarked from their car, while the unkempt man introduced himself as the estate agent and insisted they called him Simon. His out held hand was refused by Osgood when he saw that there appeared to be several woodlice living on it.
“I’m so glad you could make it Mr and Mrs Wexley.” Simon intended his voice to drip with charm. Instead it just dripped.
Osgood crossed his arms over his ample stomach before replying, ‘Oh our pleasure. We’ve been looking for a large country house to settle down in for years. City life does get rather tiresome.’ If anyone ever needed lessons in being pompous, then Mr Wexley would be the one to come to.
Suddenly Sidney stirred and with all the childishness he could muster retorted, “Well I think this house is smelly!”
“Sidney!” Snapped Ophelia.
Simon looked up and down Sidney’s rather skinny frame, clad in dungarees, a pair of white trainers tainted with the usual muck that children play in, with the typical ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth look’ topped off with copious amounts of sandy brown hair. “What a delightful child.” Was all Simon could come up with.
“You can have him for a tenner.” Replied Osgood.
“Osgood!” Snapped Ophelia, as though Osgood was a child who should be told off, rather then her husband.
“I was only joking.” Muttered Osgood as Simon ushered them through the heavily adorned wooden front door and into the dark house. As he entered Osgood turned to Simon and mouthed “No I wasn’t.”
Osgood, Ophelia and Sidney followed Simon through a grubby hallway, passed the type of portraits whose eyes seem to follow you. There was a crash of thunder overhead and the storm that had been brewing broke overhead. A flash of lightning lit the room that Simon led the Wexley family into. Osgood cast his eye around its dingy interior, the main feature of which was an ornate fireplace with a log fire burning in it, which flickered and caused eerie shadows to dance over the walls. Aside from the fireplace the room was fairly bare, save for a musty sofa and armchair.
Simon looked over his clipboard at the family and began his tour, seemingly oblivious to the storm overhead. “Well, this is the main room of the house. Elsewhere you’ll find five bedrooms, two with en-suit bathrooms, one bathroom, one toilet, games room, entertainment room, kitchen.” He paused before continuing, “And of course a torture chamber in the basement with fully upholstered wrack and iron maiden.
Sidney’s eyes lit up, “What, we have an iron maiden in the basement?” He asked excitedly.
“No, I’m afraid we could only get the rock group. They’ve been squatting here since their tour flopped.” Simon replied levelly.
“Oh fiddlesticks!” Sidney displayed his disappointment by kicking the sofa, and was rewarded with a shower of dust, which sent the entire group into a coughing fit.
When he had recovered Osgood tried to lift Sidney’s Spirits, he ruffled his hair and said kindly “If you’re a good boy I’ll let you stretch you’re mother in the wrack later”. He paused, waiting for the familiar ‘Osgood!’ from his wife.
However, none came. Ophelia had her arms curled up tightly around herself and was glancing around the room with a look of terror on her manicured face. The words, “There is something incredibly evil about this house. I hate it.” Came out in a barely audible whisper, with none of her usual conviction.
Sensing that he was quickly losing his customers Simon said hurriedly, “Bare in mind the amazing price of only 99p that the previous owner left in his will, as well as the fact that your investigation of this house is not without a competitor. In fact I can hear him coming down the stairs now. Me and Mrs Wexley, meet Frankenstein.” As is customary at such moments there was a loud rumble of thunder and all eyes in the room swivelled to the door, including those of the large painting hanging above the fireplace.
Already heavy footsteps became louder as whoever was coming moved slowly down the hall. Frankenstein trudged purposefully into the room, groaning loudly and with his arms stretched out in front of him. “Ugggggggggggh”, he headed straight towards Ophelia, who screamed and backed away. Then His arms rose slowly above his head as he yawned and stretched. “Oh, hello. Pleased to meet you my name is Mr. Enstein, but you can call me Frank.” The group exchange looks of relief, and everyone visibly relaxed, except Ophelia who was visibly shaking and gasping for breath. Osgood noticed and could not hide his delight as a sly grin spread across his face.
Frank looked at the group of people before saying, “Oh, how rude of me! Won’t you meet my lovely wife.”
A bland woman walked through the door with a vacant expression on her face. She shuffled across the floor and stopped very close to Ophelia who seems very unnerved as her eyes keep darting between Frank and his wife as she tries to back away slowly.
“Hello, I’m Mrs. Enstein. My husband wanted to buy this place, and I agreed as I owe him everything.” Began Mrs. Enstein, with no emotion in her voice. “You see he made me…” The rest of the group let out a gasp and gazed at Frank, who looked back, with the log fire reflected in his eyes. He grinned maliciously at them.
“…What I am today.” Continued Mrs. Enstein, after what seemed like an eternity. The group let out a collective sigh, except Sidney who seemed a little disappointed. “Which is a zombie…” Once again all eyes are on Frank and Sidney suddenly looks very interested.
“…To the television.” Another collective sigh and meaningful glances are shared, each one seeming to say ‘I wish she’d stop doing that’. Once again Mrs. Enstein continues speaking “You see I’m a housewife, but a very happy one. I’m never pressured to do anything.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Said Ophelia while offering her hand out to Mrs. Enstein. Who kept her arms by her side and looked at the hand slowly, then regained eye contact with Ophelia. The storm outside suddenly died down and there was silence except for the crackling of the fire.
However this silence was soon broken by an eerie groan, which seems to vibrate from the walls and echoes around the empty house. As if an alarm had just gone off Simon jumped into action by announcing, “At this point I’d like to remind the guests that ‘Happy House Estate Agents ©’ is not responsible for any accidents and/or deaths incurred during the tour.” The groan had been getting audibly closer throughout Simon’s speech, but now it sounds as if it is right outside the door. The entire group hurriedly huddle into a corner next to the sofa, and all eyes are trained on the door.
Suddenly a rather portly man entered, accompanied by the usual flash of lighting and thunderclap (But everyone was getting used to this by now). He was dressed in traditional vampiric regalia, however his shirt seemed several sizes too small, and his stomach appeared to be fighting to free its self from its starched white prison. This gave the impression that his waistcoat was about to fly off at any given moment. This look was completed by a cape that was disproportionately large and the pale man had to drag it behind him as he entered the room.
Greeted with such a ridiculous looking figure the group regain their composure and collectively decide it is safe to come out of their corner. The pale man must have noticed this because he advanced on the group with his arms raised and his mouth open revealing a pair of fangs. As he came towards the Wexley’s, the Enstein’s and Simon, he let out a rather pathetic “Woooooo!”
Sidney rolled his eyes and with all the sarcasm available to a child of 11, said, “Oh God. So who are you, Mr Vampire?”
In a rather broken Transylvanian accent the vampire replied, “Come closer to me little boy, and I shall tell you everythink you vant to know,” Then with a flourish he produced a bag of Haribo from the recesses of his cape, “And give you candy.”
With a breezy “Okay!” From Sidney he began to move towards the vampire, whether motivated by the sweets or a suicidal tendency it is impossible to tell.
Ophelia screamed, “Don’t do it!” All the while Osgood was mouthing, “Do it!” But neither of them made any movement to either intercept Sidney, or in Osgood’s case push him closer to his doom.
Sidney stopped halfway between his parents and the eagerly awaiting vampire and his sweets. Sidney rolled his eyes, “Why? He’s obviously not a real vampire.” He said, exasperated.
The vampire looked a little hurt at this and picked at his costume, “Vhat makes you zo sure?” He asked.
“Well, why do you speak in a Transylvanian accent and haunt a traditional English country house?” Inquired Sidney. This question bought meaningful glances between the rest of the group.
The vampire sighed, “Because… Vell… Because I come from Transylvania, but came to England.”
Sidney seemed to contemplate this for a while before asking, “Why would you do that?” He shook his head in disbelief, “I can’t think of any logical explanation for a Transylvanian vampire to travel to England.”
Once again the vampire sighed, and with the air of someone who has told a story a thousand times and just wants to get it over with, began to speak. “I grew up as young, healthy Transylvanian boy, but decided to leave zis home at thee age of eighteen for university. Zis lead to a highly successful business career, and I stayed at zis house for a day to sign the papers needed for our company to buy the Naughty Postcard Company that we heard was doing zo well here. Later that night, I was bitten by a vampire,” at this point the vampire drew himself up to his full height, which was not very much, before continuing, “and I am now doomed to haunt the earth searching for the blood of the innocents to feast on.”
Read my other stories HERE.
// posted by Paul @ 5:50 PM 
