Road To Nowhere

Stupid spider is now out in the garden.

Nibs set her free after she turned up in the bath again on Monday evening.

Hopefully she'll live a cheery life out there. She was enormous and there clearly wasn't enough for her to eat in the bathroom.

I quite like them in the house - they eat flies and no one likes to encourage flies. Ewww, nasty little insects with their grubby feet and vomiting thing. Anyone remember Enid Blyton's Pip the Pixie stories? They were little lessons about nature told through the eyes of, err.. a Pixie called Pip. The fly story was quite vile.

Twice tonight I've rescued the same big field spider from our bath.

My technique is to get them to run onto a strip of loo paper and then drop that onto the floor so they can scuttle off - preferably somewhere else.

One bottle of peroni later this one is back in the bath.

How stupid are they?

Or do they just like sliding down?

My hairdresser has broken her hand.

Girls go: "Oh my God! How can you survive? Are you on valium? This is a tragedy. How will you cope?"

Boys go: "aw". I might add here my hairdresser is seriously gorgeous. Boys go "AWWWWWW!!!!!" *Better*

Today I let someone else cut my hair. It cost me £16 more because he own the flamin' salon and yes, it's all right and everything, even though Nibs thinks I look like a "schoolboy in mascara", but I miss her. Man; not the same. Chat; not the same. Cut; not the same.

I can't believe she's been that clumsy *says she who fainted into a door and still has slight bump over left brow*. But Nina fell really badly and squished knuckles and stuff apparently. Poor lamb. She's had two operations.

Get better (back) soon, Nina, and please be better by November 15 or I'll have no hair for Christmas! (Unless Santa sends me a wig!)

BIG kiss better XX

Social media is where it's at, folks. Old news media is dead/dying: long live social media.

I spent Friday in workshops and presentations at the CIPR northern conference and that message came through over and over again. I've heard it before but it seems to me it's moving faster and the message gets louder.

If the trend predictors are to be believed then we, as bloggers, have increasing clout and in terms of relaying a targeted message. We are far more strategic than traditional news media - newspapers, tv etc. For example, we know, pretty much, our audience. We know who subscribes to our blogs. This, perhaps, explains why spammers try to piggy-back on our sites, placing urls through to their clients' websites.

I thought this was interesting: Boris Johnson's PR campaign for Mayor of London election made excellent use of new/social media and associated imagery. His PR team had an army of bloggers who were asked to blog on topics at points in the campaign, spreading a message instantly.

Did you see any of those illustrations of Boris silhouetted, with his bike, in candy colours? All designed to appeal to the "i-pod generation".

I like a newspaper. I find it hard to believe I'll give up rustling paper on the bus for a palm-pilot thing. But I may find it harder to buy one. As it is I struggled to buy a Guardian yesterday morning at 8.30am, though that was because the Labour party Conference has hit town... and there hangs another tale.

Apols kittens.

Have been mega busy at work this week.

Tripette was fab and I'll post pix as soon as.

Had an uber full-on day at the Chartered Institute of Public Relations Northern Conference catching up with people but mostly learning loads.

I'll bob by with highlights later. But as a taster I have:
* Labour man confesses he reckons this weekend's Labour conference is Gordon's swansong
* Shoutiest man in the world runs the Comms at Westminster Council
* Why finger food at lunchtime can never include steak on a slice of bread
* How I only managed to say two spectacularly stupid things while attempting to engage suits in conversation
* And consequently why i shouldn't be allowed more than one cup of coffee in 24 hours.

But greatest trauma of the week - my hairdresser has broken her hand!! Much (much) more on that to come... but now a bottle of Leffe and a prog on Roxy Music beckons so alters my kittens, later....

Anyone else getting visitor comments from some bloke who appears to be thrilled about a certain hotel chain?

He's quite casual about it "oooh, that's a lovely city, we stayed at blah". But he's been by twice now and I smell chopped meat product.

never let it be said that I am not a trend setter...

...or that Mrs Beckham is trailing in the wake of a 43-year-old woman in Manchester when it comes to haircuts.

I had mine shorn at the first (and only whiff of sunshine this year back in June).

I suppose I'll have to grow mine now.

Grrrrrr!

Having whinged about the wierd world of IT, someone sent me this - see below - today.

I'm not saying they haven't made some of these up.

But it might explain why they talk to me like i'm eight.

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Tech support: What kind of computer do you have?
Customer: A white one...

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Customer: Hi, this is Maureen. I can't get my diskette out.
Tech support: Have you tried pushing the Button?
Customer: Yes, sure, it's really stuck.
Tech support: That doesn't sound good; I'll make a note.
Customer: No , wait a minute... I hadn't inserted it yet... it's still on my desk... sorry....

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Tech support: Click on the 'my computer' icon on to the left of the screen.
Customer: Your left or my left?

===============

Tech support: Good day. How may I help you?
Male customer: Hello... I can't print.
Tech support: Would you click on 'start' for me and...
Customer: Listen pal; don't start getting technical on me! I'm not Bill Gates.

===============

Customer: Hi, good afternoon, this is Martha, I can't print. Every time I try, it says 'Can't find printer'. I've even lifted the printer and placed it in front of the monitor, but the computer still says he can't find it...

==============

Customer: I have problems printing in red...
Tech support: Do you have a colour printer?
Customer: Aaaah....................thank you.

===============

Tech support: What's on your monitor now, ma'am?
Customer: A teddy bear my boyfriend bought for me at Woolies.

===============

Customer: My keyboard is not working anymore.
Tech support: Are you sure it's plugged into the computer?
Customer: No. I can't get behind the computer.
Tech support: Pick up your keyboard and walk 10 paces back.
Customer:! OK
Tech support: Did the keyboard come with you?
Customer: Yes
Tech support: That means the keyboard is not plugged in. Is there another keyboard?
Customer: Yes, there's another one here. Ah...that one does work...

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Tech support: Your password is the small letter 'a' as in apple, a capital letter V as n Victor, the number 7.
Customer: Is that 7 in capital letters ?

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Customer: can't get on the Internet.
Tech support: Are you sure you used the right password?
Customer: Yes, I'm sure. I saw my colleague do it.
Tech support: Can you tell me what the password was?
Customer: Five stars.

===============

Tech support: What anti-virus program do you use?
Customer: Netscape.
Tech support: That's not an anti-virus program.
Customer: Oh, sorry...Internet Explorer.

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Customer: I have a huge problem. A friend has placed a screen saver on my computer, but every time I move the mouse, it disappears.

===============

Tech support: How may I help you?
Customer: I'm writing my first e-mail.
Tech support: OK, and what seems to be the problem?
Customer: Well, I have the letter 'a' in the address, but how do I get the circle around it?

===============

A woman customer called the Canon help desk with a problem with her printer.
Tech support: Are you running it under windows?
Customer: 'No, my desk is next to the door, but that is a good point. The man sitting in the cubicle next to me is under a window, and his printer is working fine.'

===============

And last but not least...

Tech support: 'Okay Colin, let's press the control and escape keys at the same time. That brings up a task list in the middle of the screen. Now type the letter 'P' to bring up the Program Manager.'
Customer: I don't have a P.
Tech support: On your keyboard, Colin.
Customer: What do you mean?
Tech support: 'P'.....on your keyboard, Colin.
Customer: I'M NOT GOING TO DO THAT!!

I'm off to the emerald isle this weekend coming. To Dingle especially.

I am going to be drinking lots of guinness.

I am going to be scoffing nice scoff.

I am going to be taking lots of pictures.

Happy, happy, happy.

I am going to be taking my cossie, though only paddling because I promised *pah!* as tides are scarey and I am mortal *apparently*.

But will get sand between toes and play, play, play!

*I am quite excited about this trip*

I went for a run this morning, for the first time in ages.

I tend not to run much in the summer. Too hot and sticky and too many things that bite.

A chill in the air, a breeze; that's my preferred weather for hoofing up and down the riverbank. There's a bit of a path but it's more grass than anything so don't go imagining nice, shingly paths like you get in the inner city - this is more cross-country.

Today was more sliding about in the mud than running after the storms.

The river burst its banks yesterday and I'd walked up stream in the afternoon, up along the high path, scrabbling under branches and through nettles to watch dozens of footballs, a beer barrel and huge branches rush down the muddy waters.

Today the flotsam and jetsam was tangled in the bank and on the path, a rather sad reflection of what we dump. A lot of polystyrene, water and pop bottles of varying sizes, balls galore and that beer barrel turned out to be an empty guinness one. It beached in West Didsbury.

Puddles on the right bank were full of wee fishes, trapped by the receding water and doomed. Though a nice surprise for the herons.

It's ideal for watching wildlife, post-flood activity is busy-busy and there's no people to disturb the activity. Ducks stand in the shallows snaffling everything they can see. Geese do the same, occassionally venturing into the water which is flowing far too quickly for them.

And now I'm home, the mud bathed off me and muscles pleasantly aching and ready for a huge breakfast of porridge and tea and sunday papers.

Needless to say it looks like rain again.

And while I'm about quoting the Guardian...

You never read about cats being found doing something this moronic.

CLICK HERE

For the love of god.

What hope do children have if they are being educated by idiots who would come up with the idea that a Carol Ann Duffy poem could incite someone to violence?

CLICK HERE

I know the pen is supposed to be mighter than the sword, but come on.

It's Carol Ann Duffy.

I've had the pleasure of meeting Carol Ann Duffy on a couple of occasions. She's a nice, quietly spoken woman.

The last time I heard her read it was from a book of poetry which largley laid bare the break-up of a relationship.

She is the antithesis of glamorised violence. Her poetry is not about glamorising violence.

Surely a poem that introduces the word 'knife' into a classroom gives teachers the opportunity to discuss the subject in a learning setting.

Not saying the word does not make the problem go away.

Q: What do you call a bloke with a bird of prey on one shoulder and bird of prey on another shoulder, pushing a dyson round with the lights off?

A: Hawk Kestral Man Hoovers In The Dark!

Ouch!

I had a fine night out with SJ last night.

Cocktails at Harvey Nicks, a treat for me for being clever and passing that MA thing - which goes to show how busy we've been because I graduated from that in July. One martini, one singapore sling and we were stood in St Ann Square having the 'where shall we have tea?' debate and being all giddy and indecisive.

We settled on this Italian place on Deansgate that does lots of wee dishes, bit like tapas, but Italian.

So we order our peronis and get down to business; scoffing food and recounting tales of Bad Rhona and sundry celebs and the hot goss we've picked up from our showbizz reporter chums and mee-ja mates.

To our right is a middle-aged couple. Bloke has his back to us. As we're polishing off pint number two I look up and notice the middle aged man has gone to the loo, revealing that middle-aged woman has blouse completely undone - way-way down to her navel, anyway - and certainly revealing a lot of her chest.

She seemed happy. She was smiling. Her dessert arrived. She smiled more. Who wouldn't it was chocolatey.

I whispered to SJ, 'don't look to your right now, but that woman's breasts are out'.

SJ looks immediately and confirms.

We wonder whether she knows. Whether we should tell her. Waiters and waitresses carry on as if nothing were amiss. We get distracted by garlic bread and a conversation about Judy Finnigan and her wardrobe malfunction moment. And then near-naked woman is gone. into the night, with the man in the anorak.

A mystery to ponder...

They're filming something in the main square in Bolton this dinner time.

I passed a film crew outside WH Smiths. They had that railway track stuff, a camera man being wheeled on it and a man with a fluffy womble mike thing. So proper filming.

A crowd of about 50 looks on. As I casually gawp on my way to the bank I walk past two lads rounding the corner.

"Oy," yells one of them at the crew. "Porn star."

Three of the film people turn round.

The crowds titters.

... I could see my breath.

Is it allowed, palming us off with autumn when we've seen less than a whisper of summer?