Three things to write about

1. Monday I went and had another 2 hrs 15 mins tattooing done on my backpiece. It's really coming along now. We're probably just over halfway through. It's looking awesome, guys -- or "sick", as Gallows frontman Frank said when he saw it as Xam was working on me, because Frank was tattooing at the shop that day, too.

Some of you have seen how it's looking so far. If you haven't, I'll mail pics to any regulars who are interested, so just leave me a comment to say you wanna.

2. The British government has won the first round in its attempt to increase the detention time for terrorism suspects, taking the time allowed to keep prisoners without charge up to a mammoth 42 days, or six weeks, while they gather the requisite evidence to take them to court. Um, excuse me, but what the fuck?!

This is such bullshit. How many people have we seen arrested and held for the current 28 days only to be released without charge? Quite a few is how many. Holding someone for six weeks, potentially someone who doesn't even know why they are held, since there is no obligation for the police to tell them, is completely fucking bogus. And Gordon Brown (who spookily has the same initials as that other fuckwit) could not even have won this without pulling in reinforcements. The man's a complete arsehole and should be got rid of asap.

3. It's 12 June, and it's thundering. Thundering?! Holy shit. Welcome to summer.

Pssst... BST. PDS*

BST. As you no doubt know, that's British Summer Time. It's when the clocks go forward. Daylight Savings, if you will.

It's muggy here today, and I keep hearing rolls of thunder. And rain keeps starting and stopping.

Gotta say, it doesn't feel much like summer. I don't mind, really, though. In our little office it gets so damn hot that we prefer it when it's not baking hot.

Still, a little sunshine is nice. Makes you feel alive. Less cranky.

We like talking about the weather here in the UK. Apparently. It's such a cliché, but it's true. But I also think we are not alone in that.

* Pretty damn shitty

Thinking about things, like a walk in the park, things, like a kiss in the dark

Actually, I'm not thinking about things like that at all. Well I do occasionally go for a walk in the park, and that's nice. I'm enjoying walking more often. And it's the best way to explore a new city when you go away for a break.

I'm not thinking about a kiss in the dark, either. Although I do occasionally have kisses in the dark. Best not say any more about that, though ;-)

What I am thinking about follows.

1. My birthday. It's only four weeks away today. In four weeks -- that's two fortnights, twenty-eight days, etc -- I will be 37 years old. It's weird, because just yesterday I was thinking that I was 38. So realizing I'm not even 37 yet makes me feel even younger. Maybe this is one of the greatest things about being a toy boy: you already see that being older is not so bad.

2. Valentine's Day. It's only one week away, guys, so don't forget to buy something nice and/or make a special effort for the loved one in your life. At the risk of sounding like a brown-noser (or should that be "pussy-whipped wuss"?), I try to do nice stuff year round for my woman. Sometimes I fail, though. It seems I criticize more than I ought to. I don't even realize I'm doing it, so I'm gonna make a real effort to fix that.

3. Work. Face it, we all gotta do it from time to time. It's taking me away from blogging as much as I'd like, too. Oh well. Actually, that's not strictly true. I somehow find time to write a post each day, but I'm struggling to find time to visit all my fave hangouts. Sorry to you all, but I am making efforts to rectify that too.

4. The weather. Apparently we're going to be hit with a shitload of snow over the next 24 hours. Brrrrrr. The logs are in the cellar ready for a nice open fire.

5. Spring cleaning. Yes, I know that's a bit of a girlie thing to think about, but our cellar is a damn mess. There are two DVD players to throw out (they don't work) and one 24-inch TV, which I suspect no longer works because it's been in the cellar too long. There's also a huge stack of videotapes to sort out, and a big box full of paper to recycle. PLUS we have to sort out the lounge because we have a new piece of furniture coming soon, so we need to make room for it.

6. Cat. He hasn't blogged in a long while, and I fear his few readers are losing patience. It's not through want of trying; he just never gets a look in on the computers these days. He sends his apologies.

7. Films. I am loving watching movies again recently, so much so that I can't keep on top of my reviews (such as they are).

8. The new David Lynch film Inland Empire. This is the film I am most looking forward to this year. Tomorrow there is a screening in London, with a Q&A with Lynch afterwards. I entered a competition to win tickets, but I doubt I'll get them. And even if I do, with the impending snowstorm set to paralyze the nation, I'm not sure I could get there and back...

Anyways, I think that's all I'm thinking about today. Oh, and you, of course.

A sleepless night, cat humping, Helen Willetts, and other stuff

It's 3:39 a.m. as I start typing this post. I can't sleep. This often happens if I go to bed too early, and last night I hit the sack at around 10:30. I woke first at about 1, then again a couple of hours later. I'm sure the bit that proper woke me up, though, was Cat deciding to hump my arm, as he does now and again. Which is why so many people come to this blog when searching for "cat humping" in Google.

While he was doing the do, all I could think about was that godawful song "My Humps", and I blame this chap for that, specifically this post. Thanks Steve. Oh, I mean not thanks, the other thing. What's the opposite of thanks? Steve is the latest addition to my daily reads, thanks to Lee. And this time I really do mean thanks.

Another search term that brings people here revolves around the possibility of weather girl Helen Willetts being pregnant. Now I have not got the slightest idea why people would care whether or not Helen was up the duff, with child, has a bun in the oven, whatever. But I can, here and now, non-exclusively reveal that she is indeed pregnant. I saw her on TV last night, and there is absolutely no doubt. Helen, I do not know you, but good luck.

On the subject of celebrity rumours and the like, I have some incredible and exclusive news regarding a pretty big star. I can't say too much right now, but I will be posting later today on that subject. You seriously will not want to miss that, so pop back again in a few hours.

I'm going to flip a coin now to decide whether it's best to read for a while (I started another Dennis Lehane book) or do some work. Ooh, tough decision.

“I went out walking...”

The ol' Blog About Nowt has been a bit short on home-grown pictures of late, so I thought I'd best remedy that. I took the following photographs while out for a walk on Sunday morning. Beautiful surroundings, great company (even though I wasn't), lovely weather, healthy activity; what more could you want?


This first shot has been cropped to "big up" the dragonfly, which was my reason for the pic in the first place. The others remain as nature intended.

Tattoos in the workplace

Thanks to Red and Wrinkled Weasel for alerting me to this news story at the BBC about one Rebecca Holdcroft.

This sort of thing really annoys me. Really, can anyone explain and/or justify why a person who does not have to interact with the general public at all should not be able to wear, for example, a strappy top in hot weather?

I don't know this woman, but it seems that her employers' only beef with her is that she has tattoos. We can assume with some certainty, therefore, that she is capable of doing her job. If she weren't, she would surely not have said job any longer. But she has pretty extensive tattoo coverage, it seems, and that is clearly upsetting for some people of a sensitive disposition.

She's not got racist tattoos. Or sexist tattoos. Seemingly the subjects of her ink are not, in and of themselves, offensive. It's just that she has them at all and they are on display. Other employers have small tattoos -- undoubtedly bog-standard designs that are barely the size of my left bollock and cost about £20 ($37) -- and these are permitted. But she, who has spent thousands of pounds on getting good artists to do good work, must cover up.

Judging by the comments at the bottom of the BBC article, I, along with "victim" Rebecca, am in a minority in thinking this is an injustice. Well, isn't it? The only people who see her tattoos during the working day are her co-workers, managers, etc. All of whom know she has them. So what the fuck does it matter?! One London-based commenter says: "I think it looks vulgar, and would refuse to sit next her if she was an office colleague." This is a great attitude to have about someone just because their skin is a different colour to your own, isn't it? It really lets you feel the love in our own capital, which is supposedly a cosmopolitan melting pot. Get over your fucking self, you twat.

Are they fucking kidding us?!

I have come to the conclusion that we in the UK are being brainwashed. Now, maybe my brain is addled and I'm seeing conspiracy theories everywhere since watching that 9/11 movie yesterday, but...

Every morning I am being told by the weather boys and girls on TV that we are experiencing a huge drought. There's been talk of hose-pipe bans and lots of messages reminding us to use water wisely, turn off taps while brushing our teeth, etc, etc.

And yet it seems to be pissing with rain every single fucking day. What is with that? This morning, Helen Willetts (who didn't make it on to my weather-people list - sorry Helen) was doing an outside broadcast telling us about the drought and then said, "Hold on, I've just got to put my umbrella up." I shit you not. You couldn't make this stuff up!

I said to Wife this morning, in years to come I bet they'll talk about 2006 as the year of the Great Drought, much as 1976 is the year of the Long Hot Summer. And people will believe it. Well, herewith I am doing my bit to set the record straight. These pictures were taken from my window this morning...

Weather folk

What is it about weather-people (male or female) that we find so fascinating? Come on, it's not just me, is it? I know it's not, because even Hollywood is mildly obsessed with them. And if Hollywood bigwigs are happy to spend their money making movies about weather-people, then they must believe there is a market.

1. Groundhog Day. Probably one of THE most perfect movies in history. About a weatherman. Bill Murray almost at his best. (See Rushmore for his best performance.)
2. To Die For. Okay, not perfect, but good. The movie that made you believe, albeit briefly, that Nicole Kidman could act. (Update: she can't.)
3. The Weather Man. About a ... yeah, you know. With Nic Cage. Great actor.

Back in 1988, of course, there was also that great hit single "John Kettley (Is A Weatherman)", by Tribe of Toffs. Extra points if you got those brackets, pop-pickers.

And these days, weather reports seem to take up more and more of our TV schedules. We are obsessed.

The following list contains some of my personal favourite weather-people (all of whom are UK-based), in alphabetical order:

Lisa Burke (pictured). Famous for the weather "phwoarcast" on Sky News. Used to always show a bit of bra out of her jacket. Now she's pregnant, so much less interesting.

"Deer-in-the-headlights girl". She's quite new, and I don't remember her name. This is what Wife and I call her. She has these massive, wide-open eyes and spends half the time looking terrified, and half the time showing us the back of her head. Utterly useless, but she tries hard and she is improving. Update: Her name's Lucy.

Carol Kirkwood. A cheery Scots lass for breakfast time.

Louise Lear. She just has a great name, doesn't she? All alliterate and stuff.

Nick Miller. Whenever he appears I just have to sing "Nick Miller, no – we will not let you go!" from "Bohemian Rhapsody". Try it next time you see him.

Francis Wilson. A bit like the Keith Floyd of meteorology. Fascinating. Like a train wreck waiting to happen.

And my personal favourite, only because she's my claim to fame, is Susan Powell. We used to live on the same street and go to the same school.

Isn't the weather fun?