Oh boy, and are we in for lots of doom and gloom to come?

Looking at the headlines, there are two things we need to worry about, and perhaps something to look forward to.

Brrrrr…
Firstly, people are extremely worried because, with December approaching, there is some compelling evidence to say that it might get cold! I don’t know how we’re going to survive if that happens. The problem is that it’s not only going to get cold, but we might even have snow too. The country will grind to a halt. We might have to don hi-vis coats and sweep our paths!

Now, I’m not sure about everyone else in Britain, but for as long as I can remember, as soon as the clocks go back each year, we’ve been threatened with “The worst winter on record EVER!” and it’s never materialised. And so what if it does? When was the last time anybody except the Ock Nock Nooks and the Cumbrians had the opportunity to play out in the snow instead of getting stuck in it coming home from work for the one day that it falls?

Cocks.

Lock ’em up!
Apparently, most people in Britain want terror suspects to be detained without formal charge for as long as is necessary to gather evidence against them – according to some reports at least. I think that should be “Of 432 people who rang our phone line, 321 agreed with the proposals to detain terror suspects for 90 days without charge”. Of course, this is a phone poll in a hang ’em high, right-wing tabloid.

“I am arresting you because you look a bit shifty and you’re driving a souped-up Honda with the music on too loud- and that’s more than I have to tell you under the Terrorism Act”

Bollocks to that.

No offence intended
People are up in arms because certain “Theys” are banning Christmas because they don’t want to cause offence to other faiths (“Winter lights” instead of “Christmas lights”, not being able to wish people “Merry Christmas”, etc, etc). When are the politically correct numpties who are in charge of making such decisions going to learn that you don’t have an open and welcoming society by banning things because YOU think they might cause offence?

• Firstly, you ask people what offends them and ask them to justify this. In many cases, people of non-Christian faiths have no problem and the problem lies solely in the warped mind of a white, middle-class, lefty graduate who’s been on too many equality and diversity courses wthout ever actually speaking to to somebody from a minority group.
• You then tell them that there are certain things that they do that might cause offence to certain sections of society, but we’re all grown ups and we have to accept that people have different values and so long as no harm or offence is intended on anybody’s part, then we should all get along fine.
• If people find our traditions offensive for no good reason, then is they who have the problem and it’s this that needs to be addressed, rather than banning things.
• We all live happily ever after.

And that is what I think.

Oh, I forgot the good thing – Tony Blair’s defeat in parliament over the Terrorism Act.

..burning like fire
Getting up is very difficult when it’s dark; it seems to compound the chronic fatigue that is borne out of months of sleep deprivation. The state of malaise is aggravated by having pissholes for eyes – they just do not want to open. Bloodshot ‘n’ baggy is definitely “in” this autumn. Still, the last thing you need is for your eyes to look even piggier by wearing your specs, so you persevere with contact lenses.

So this exhausted commuter finally makes it out of their house and into their car. The rising and setting winter sun can be quite a hazard for motorists; this morning’s trek to Runcorn was quite painful for me in that, in addition to having the low sun in my face for the entire journey, both of my eyes were being irritated by the contact lenses I was wearing. On reaching work, I decided to give the contacts a quick bath. I took out the left one, was shocked and appalled, and was forced to remove the right one, upon which I’d have been incandescent with rage had I had any energy.

Look at these buggers:

And on closer inspection:

Bastard things.

I blame that woman at Costco: “Are you sure this is your prescription?”

“Yes, I’m sure, order them please.”

“Absolutely sure you want these lenses?”

“Yes, yes, please order them”

“OK then, on your own head be it”

Now I know why I heard an evil cackle as she turned her back to me.

Not all bad news
It certainly wasn’t: today was an excellent day when it came to bowel movements; Boots had my styling product in (and it was on three for two); we had those nice big mushrooms with tea; I got my webcam working; I said “Off you pop” to the popups; and I played the best jolly jape on dear April.

Disturbing
Some blogspot sites have been blocked by the work’s firewall. And no, that’s not a jumped-up excuse for selective commenting or favouritism. Well, it is. But it’s quite scary – who’s blog will be blocked next? Will this mean that I have to spend the WHOLE day actually working? God, I’ll die!

Aerial
Got the new Kate Bush album, Aerial, today. Some of it is really good (mainly the second of the CDs) and some of it is weird to the point of being plain old daft. For example, in “pi” she actually sings out the number. There’s also another one about a washing machine. However, mixed in with the expected oddness is some really beautiful stuff.

If you like Kate, give this a go because there’ll be something on there that you really enjoy. If you can’t stand her, don’t bother.

A shorta fairytale
Once upon a time, a girl asked a guy:

“Will you marry me?”

The guy said, “NO!”

And the girl lived happily ever after…
…and went shopping, dancing, camping, drank martinis, always had a clean house, never had to cook and farted whenever she wanted.

THE END

Right, I’m off to see if April is repentant and I might consider taking off that e-mail divert.

Cakesniffers beware! Listening to readers: ignoring their suggestions
Not wanting to provide an insecure blogging experience, Cakesniffers (UK) Ltd. conducted a series of focus groups and brainstorming sessions with breakout groups in order to gauge feelings on how best to improve things.

Of course, content of Cakesniffers beware! was not up for discussion, but our stakeholders were allowed a free voice on many matters relating to it.

A consistent theme running through discussions was the problem of popup ads that readers encountered on visits to the popular blog. Another major concern (of April pissoff was spam comments and the attempt to stop them by the use of word verification.

Google Adsense has been deleted in an attempt to address the pop up problem. There will be an ongoing consultancy exercise and readers are asked to note whether they still experience problems of this nature. Cakesniffers Chief Exec, Tina, did point out that use of Google Toolbar (for Internet Explorer and also for Firefox) will cut out popups of this nature. However, it was recognised that the onus was rightfully on the publisher and so the chance of advertising revenue has been sacrificed in the interests of readers’ needs. Selfish fuckers.

Naughty, naughty, very naughty
Word verification has also been turned off after repeated requests (non-stop whinging) from the lovely April pissoff. Cakesniffers has gladly taken the opportunity to hand the spam over to April by changing the comment delivery e-mail address to hers.

No need to thank me April, you’re most welcome, it’s an absolute pleasure.

I’ll change it back on Friday if she behaves herself.

Sniffycam
Check the quality on this photo:

Yup, I done got meself a Sniffycam.

I’d like to thank Logitech for providing duff software with it. It only took me three attempts and a driver download to get the bloody thing working.

Now, if only I could figure out how to incorporate Sniffycam into my blog. Unfortunately, I’m too stupid for that sort of thing, so you’ll have to do without live images of me looking gormless and bored while I pick at imaginary spots on my neck and chin.

And no, I won’t be turning tricks in messenger either.

Back with more on-the-pulse current affairs later, but for now, I need a wee.

In this day and age – it being two thousand and five AD – why the hell is Times New Roman font still in existence? Hmmmm, hhhMMMM?????

I’ve always hated Times. This is mainly because I have difficulty reading it (I don’t know why this is, but it’s true) and it also looks completely shit.

What do I mean by “it looks completely shit”? Well, it’s too fussy.

Let’s have a look at something

Everything about Times New Roman makes it difficult to read.

Imagine my disappointment when, having reinstalled MS Office and that, all my Outlook e-mails started coming through in Times Bastard New Tossing Roman? I’ve tried eveything and it won’t change. I’m completely arsed off with it. I think it may have something to do with loading my existing Outlook data file, although Piggy would tell me not to worry my little girly head with that sort of stuff and he’d be right.

Hrrrm, wonder what would happen to my PC if I deleted Times from the font library. It’d probably trigger a chain of events that leads to a huge international conflict or something – it’s amazing how these things can sometimes start.

Bollocks, that’s all that can be said on that matter.

Aside from this, the new and improved Sniffy PC is, well, new and improved. It’s like having a new toy and everything.

Boring techno crap finished with.

Confessions of a domestic goddess
Moving on, some might write a post contemplating what it might be like to stay at home, using domestic appliances for sexual pleasure, but that would be rather crude. I can’t imagine anybody with any intelligence or sense of self-worth doing that sort of thing. Very degrading.

Confessions of an axe murderer
I’m saying absolutely nothing!

Confessions of a lawbreaker
Not me of course, but I happen to have gotten hold of some photographs that were taken on somebody’s way home from work today. They happen to travel the exact same journey as me and it also took them AN HOUR AND A FUCKING HALF to travel the 8 mile journey home.

Why is it that people drive like complete spazzes when it rains? Modern cars have good braking systems, decent fans to clear steamy windows, windscreen wipers, traction control – loads of things to make driving safer and easier. Yet people still completely lose all sense when there’s a bit of water around. Nobheads.

Confessions of a Mousesniffer
The male Mousesniffer sibling, Max, degraded himself the other night.

Happy was he,
Lay beside me
On his pillow.
Purring away as I tickled his chin, shoulder and ear,
He rolled over for more…

Tell you what, installing software (and hardware add on bits) onto a PC has got to be one of the most tedious tasks possible. If you do things properly, you have to shut down, restart, then shut down again after the installation of each new bit. It has something to do with a register apparently.

And when you’ve got a couple of firewalls on there too, each time a new component is installed, you get a friggin’ annoying pop up message that you don’t read and just click OK. It could be asking if you want to wipe your hard drive for all you know, but being close to losing the will to live, I really don’t care anymore.

Of course, I shouldn’t even be trying to think about this sort of thing, what with having my head filled with thoughts of fluffy little kittens and flowers and frilly dresses – there’s simply no room in there for all this techno mumbo jumbo. Piggy and Tazzy are right and us girls are best of leaving that sort of thing to the hairy hand brigade.

Anyway, it’s working and seems to be OK. Pain in the arse.

Fucking MSN music bastards though. Don’t know why I downloaded stuff from them, I’ve had to activate new licences for all the stuff I’ve bought from them and you’re only allowed to do this a limited number of times. Cocks.

Clad me in leather and sit me on that throbbing machine
I’m doing a charity motorbike ride for the sickly earth angels at the local Royal Manchester Earth Angel’s Hospital next month.

Don’t know how the hell I got roped into this, but I’ll be mixing with minor celebrities (Bev Callard, aka Liz MacDonald) from UK soap opera Coronation Street. It’ll also give me the opportunity to sit on a huge vibrator for about 15 miles while dressed as a, well, don’t know really, might even do fancy dress.

I’m going pillion of course, having never ridden one of these fucking death machines, but even this is very courageous of me. Motorbikes terrify the bloody life out of me.

Oh, and not forgetting that it’s all for the local earth angels who are poorly around Christmas. Still, at least in hospital, they’re not hanging round the fucking streets or in the shops, getting under proper people’s feet.

Bless them.

I can feel a Yes/No and a musical interlude coming on. Better than feeling my period coming on I suppose. But for now, I need some sleep.

At the gym, you see some horrid things. Today’s delight was a bloke wearing THIS type of thing:

You can’t see it from this picture, but his ever-so short shorts had vents in the sides so you could see hip and everything. Worse still, he was the hairiest beast on the fucking planet: there was thick, black hair crawling over the top of his vest (yes vest) and down the tops of his arms. I almost fell off the treadmill in disgust. Cover yourself up, you perve.

Why do people wear outfits like that? You look stupid enough when you’re using the machines of torture without wearing a costume that draws even more attention to you.

Shouldn’t be allowed.

Leave it in the locker
You don’t realise how much your clothes absorb cooking smells until they given the chance to fester in a confined space for an hour. Got back to my locker at the gym this afternoon and could have been mistaken for thinking that somebody was cooking a beef casserole in there. Silly me, it was my stinking manky top that had been oozing the aroma of last night’s tea.

Did I mention that I’d been the gym today?

Conical conundrums
Any ideas as to what this might belong to?

Let’s just say, I’m really very surprised to have been able to take this photo – this may or may not be a clue. Why the fuck would anybody be interested anyway, for fuck’s sake.

Fucking bastard cat

Moose Mousesniffer, sister of Max Mousesniffer had me having kittens this afternoon. She’d gone out for toilet this morning and, despite bad weather, nobody had seen sight nor sound of the little beastie since. Now, even though you generally get the most out of fireworks after dark, thicko bastard tosspots like to set them off right through the day too. It’s great to feel like you’re reliving the air raids day and night for two months of the year. Anyway, shortly after little Moose left for her comfort wander, the loudest fireworks imaginable started going off. Wankers. Worried for her nerves and safety, I tried to call her in, but there was no sign.

When she still hadn’t reappeared later on this afternoon, I had visions of her having a supersized rocket strapped to her and her being launched skywards, a ball of singed fur and flame. So I braved the elements as darkness began to fall; walking a circuit of the avenue and back alleys, round the nearby waste ground where a gang of hooded youths were gathered. I put my own hood up and scowled.

Calling her name, looking a complete dick and getting ever wetter, I walked the streets for half an hour and then returned home, Mooseless and sick to the stomach with worry. As I approached the door, I was met by a forlorn wailing and its perpetrator: Maisie Moo Mousesniffer. Little bitch was as dry as a bone; she’d been hiding under my sister’s car all the bloody time.

Fucker.

However, she’s safe and that’s the main thing. But I’m not sure she ever got her poo because she’s making some really loud “I need to go toilet” noises.

Piggy and Tazzy had a trip to Blackpool the other day. A journey from hell, culminating in a day from hell, that would have taken them past this on the motorway.

That’s right, this is the motorway that runs near to my house that I walk under to go playing out in the local woods.

Anyway, it’s not that interesting, but anything to induce flashbacks to ‘Pool in the Boys from Barnsley is a good thing.

Otto update
He’s no longer cursed by the sprites that dogged him yesterday, but he’s not quite right. You know how those people who claim that vaccinations gave their kids autistism? Well, it’s like that with the cat. He’s not right at all. If he doesn’t get back to normal I’ll have to get rid of him; he’s really boring at the moment. Just like me.

Going out with a bang
Need to think of something to post, must think of something to post! Fuck it. I’ll go the gym.

The English language is a wonderful thing to be proficient in. English is recognised the world over and it unites many different people.

However, take a look at the different types of English and you’ll soon come to realise that things aren’t as simple as they appear.

The differences between British and American English are well noted: the Americans generally being too stupid or lazy to be bothered to spell things properly, with an obsession for omitting Us and replacing Ss with Zs. It’s not just spelling though and we have different words for the same things: car parks; mobile phones; lifts; shopping centres; bonnets and boots, to name just a few.

It’s easy to seemingly pick on the Americans, simply because the most notable differences exist between British and American English. However, even within the UK, there are regional dialects that mean it’s often difficult to know what people are saying in certain parts of the country. Then again, you probably wouldn’t want to bother visiting such areas or conversing with the inhabitants anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.

Interlude: Norton is doing its weekly hard drive scan and it’s slowing things up to such an extent that as I’m typing, I’m seeing one character every 5 seconds. Time for a brew…

Anyway, one of the North Americans who endure this blog was interested in knowing more about the colloquialisms that I use. In other words, “Tina, your English is terrible, you use too much slang, please can you translate?”

Of course I can, although it’s difficult to recognise what’s slang from proper. If there’s any I miss out, let me know.

• Numpty (sl) n: I think it comes from “empty headed” and that’s exactly what it means, somebody who’s completely dim.
• Minger (sl) n: The g is hard in the pronunciation of this one. A person, usually a woman, who is very unattractive, not only in terms of looks, but in terms of dress, the way they act, everything.
• Mingin’ (sl) adj: When something is horrible, it is “minging”. This can be a food, or it can be used to describe how you feel about yourself or somebody who is “mingin'”, for example, if you feel manky after the gym or getting dirty somehow.
• Manky (sl) adj: Something a bit nasty in the sense of it being a bit grubby or grimy. Dirty, but not quite disgusting.
• Mither (sl) v, n: Fuss. Also: faff and fart.
• Librarian (sl) n: Gay woman.
• Slapper (sl) n: A promiscuous woman, often a minger.
• Fandabidozy (sl) adj: Excellent, fantastic!
• Fuckin’ delish (sl) adj: Fuckin’ delish!

Enough of that, I can’t think of any others.

Cryptic fare-thee-wells: Cakesniffer in offline horror?
My PC is getting a new hard drive and operating system installed over the weekend so there’s a possibility that it’ll be out of action for a bit. I’m not sure how easy it is to pick up the internet again when you upgrade your PC or whether I’ll have configuration problems and that.

And that
I ADORE the way Herge uses “and that” when compiling a list, constructing an argument and that. Makes me laugh every time I see it.

Messages from beyond the grave
Anybody got any messages for dearly departed Trillion? I’m seeing her on Sunday. Should I try to persuade her to start blogging again?

Current sounds
Una paloma bianca sung by Beniamino Gigli, lovely.

The Mystical Celtic Cross Stone (courtesy of Coldcoldearth
Ok Happy Bidding Bloggers. Auction starts at midnight. Good luck

eBay.co.uk: The Mystical Celtic Cross Stone (item 6223682975 end time 15-Nov-05 00:00:00 GMT)

And may it bring you all good luck

Otto…

…is on his way back from having his teeth sorted. Dirty little bastard has got the mankiest teeth on the planet and he won’t let us brush them, so an operation and £200 later, he should be OK for another few years till they go rotten again.

It’s always a concern when you can’t just pick your animal up from the vet and when vitnree insists on seeing the patient’s family. All sorts of things go through a worried owner’s mind: Did they do the wrong op and amputate a leg by mistake? Did they kill him? Have they found something (else) wrong with him?

I’ve just learnt that they gave poor little Otto a ketamine overdose and that he’s completely off his tits. His (remaining) pupil is totally dilated and so he’s suffering total sensory overload (on his left hand side anyway). Worse still, he’s got to stay indoors for at least two days. That’ll be fun, whingy little bugger that he is.

Stupid wankers.

Back later with stuff that’s not about cats or other stuff that sad wankers usually blog about.

OK, a quick edit so you can have a laugh at a trippy cat…

I’ve no idea what he thinks he can see, but he’s convinced there’s something running around in front of him

After wanting to start a vicious rumour* about my sister and her gay pal having a baby together when they buy their house together, things went slightly tits up. The sale of Anna’s house fell through (and hence everything else) because a delay in the eviction of a troublesome neighbour meant that the Anna’s buyer obviously didn’t want to complete if there was no firm date for getting rid of this neighbourhood nuisance (the neighbour, not Anna).

This is the culmination in a long series of unfortunate events suffered at the hands of the City Council and Anna and Gary lost their patience and decided to seek legal advice with a view to sewing suing the useless lefty cunts.

Cut to a swish set of offices on St John’s Street the other afternoon: Anna and Gary are met by a chap who says that he’d like to see them separately at first. Confused, they insist on going in to the solicitor’s together and with a bit of argument, the chap says that it goes against what they usually do, but since they were so insistent, it was OK. They enter his office to be faced with a comfortable leather sofa and an examination couch, complete with stirrups….

“Woah, woah, WOAH, my friend!”, exclaimed the older Sniffer sister, “what’s all this about?? I know it’s not cheap, employing the services of a solicitor, but this is a bit over the top isn’t it?”

“Solicitor?” he asked, shocked, “you’re not here for an assisted conception consultation? Oh my, I’ll go and get Mr Soandso from upstairs.”

You see, it’s fated to be. I’m going to push things along I think and, who knows, I may be Auntie Sniffer within the year!

*Vicious rumour or premonition? It seems that I may have hidden powers that need cultivating.