Greetings Hallowed Friends

...and nothing is fucking well happening. Thought I'd set myself up with a project.

So I'm bringing LJ back...

It is with a heavy heart and huge pulsing nuts that I feel it is time to turn this journal "Friends only".

Whilst I'm not in favour of making anything on the web "private" (*cough* DES / WEP / other shit anyone?), it seems a sensible thing to do in order to do to prevent the relatively normal, well balanced (Yet web-literate) people I work with from being exposed to my demented ramblings and unsavoury friends.

Want adding to the friends list? Ask and ye shall receive.

Ninjas fucking rock.

So, the contract's going into the post right now. I've heard I'm NOT going to be stealing a whole rack of BladeCenter servers.

Got me a contract. Getting me a loan. Getting me a car. Getting me groove on.



Just need a couple more things and I can start plotting shit.

I don't dig; I undermine.

w007, pwn3d and other idiotic exclamations of leet culture are all over the inside of my brains, painted in a bright neon hue that brings on an almost orgasmic euphoria.

The first set of work I was to do for the lawyers was to set up a couple of content management systems on my server so they could have a piddle about with some of them and work out which one they wanted me to build their webshite on top of. However, being sidetracked by the possibility of high commerce in London, moving all of my shit from one big stone box to another and the high high joys of lying around in the nude trying to work off a Strongbow hangover all conspired to me not bothering forgetting to get around to it.

Then I found http://www.opensourcecms.com/. Which is the fucking daddy, and clears the rest of my day's schedule for looking at porn, smoking nasty rollies, reading Molesworth and pining for Irn Bru.

Nice.

Welcome to drnuk unemployed Brad mode. Soon to be replaced with Job Brad, so I'm quite enjoying being a bit of a scumbag for the time being. Hell, it ain't going to last.

I have discovered a fairly may-jar downside to this scumbag way of life, and that is the Kryptonite-like powers of industrial quantities of cheap cider. Last night, after drinking a reasonable about of BOGOFF(YOUDIRTYCUNTS) strongbow and James' free vodka I set about trying to do some work for the lawyers, since the first thing I got when I checked my email was a set of bitchy messages about how the lawyers had bought me lunch and by all rights owned my soul.

So I sit at three in the morning and I can't remember how to spell my *Nix username.

It's Brad.*

I should hasten to add that it wasn't that I'd forgotten the damned thing. I actually couldn't remember how to spell it. It's a problem that took about five minutes to fix.

Once it had been fixed, I was presented with the major problem of dealing with ten digits and a hundred and four keys. Every single one with it's own goddamned agenda. Turns out I've had a pretty shaky relationship with my hands, and that any indiscretion on my part will have the fuckers rebelling like those stinking 60's style hippies who didn't know what was good for them. I went to Nam. I did my time.

It was as much as I could do to work out where the keys to type "WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS" over and over again, before passing out, face down on the desk.

Oh, all right then. I could only work out how to do it once, then I copy-pasted.

Cider. Officially DOES turn you into Beckie...


*Yes. I know I shouldn't tell anyone what my username is, but frankly, if you can break my password in less than the time it takes for me to get an alert mail I'll let you fuck my cat. Which I will have to buy.

I'm back on the internets. Fuck you all with sporks.

I managed to win me a pair of weekend camping tickets to Bloodstock at Rock of ages. Anyone want to buy them - £60 the pair, open to negotiation. Text me on 07931901133 since there ain't no internets in the new house at the moment...

Further to being taken for lunch by lawyers the other week, on Wednesday it appears I'm being taken for lunch by a stack of securities traders in Westminster.

I'm getting everyone else's luck this past few weeks. WTF?

He has a class level of 2:1.

Fuck you academics, I win.

I'm all organised and junk... Today there was lunch meeting - where it became apparent that despite it not being an awful lot of work, it's going to be the end of August before it gets finished because the chambers are rebranding and they haven't finished all that concept bollocks yet. So over the next week / two weeks alls I have to do is stick test pages on top of a selection of CM systems so the lawyers can choose which one they want to build on top of.

I also managed to arrange a 25% retainer. Although the brief says there's only a grand available it looks like this could go up to maybe £1700 / £2000. Score one for commerce.

I'm also waiting on a phone call from some bint about a proper job too - only a day or so after applying for a stack on jobs online. God bless the inter-ma-web...

So - um - yeah. Things are looking up. For this reason and this reason alone I can say this with sufficient authority.

FUCK THE FRENCH

Hell - I gots to keep my vicious streak in.

1. I am the nekkid mogul
2. I make commerce happen from my house.
3. Whilst sitting in the nip with the curtains drawn
4. (Because it's too damned hot to wear even the flimsiest of pants)
5. I've gotten some lawyers to invite me to a business lunch
6. Because of this I need to be more efficient with language
7. Hence: BULLET POINTS!

Photos from the Tim shaving

Well, here we are then. I'm in a bit of a better mood. No money, no job, but it looks like I've got me a web design gig. This should be interesting, since I'm throwing myself in at the deep end and hoping I don't sink like a fucking stone. Still, if I manage to not totally screw up I should make meself about a grand for about three weeks work.

In other news, the world cup started, apparently. This isn't something I'm looking forward to - since it essentially bars me from entering a pub until the whole hideous debacle's over. Since I refuse to go outside, this means I'm going to be sodding housebound until I can find a nice dark cave with no television that sells booze to similarly minded morlocks.

I mean COME ON, my life's fucking empty and depressing too, but I don't spend it fixating on some jug-eared, granny-hoe fucking chimp's metatarsal. All these fucking soft news articles about how the pride of the nation rests on one man's foot need to stop.

1. It ain't news of any description
2. If you're taking that seriously you need to read a book. Probably "Brave New World" by Mr Huxley. Whilst doing so replace all instances of the word 'Soma' with 'Football'
3. National pride is actually decided through a combination of economic, historic and (serious) social factors.
4. The concept of nation itself is fucking retarded

It's going to take me a little while to get good again, but I'm totally back.

Single again.

Do you ever feel like you've completely underestimated someone for your whole life, only to have it smashed away quite abruptly?

I just got my birthday present from my brother.

Cool Runnings on DVD.






I've not spoken to him since Christmas day. Which would be before I decided it's the best film ever made.

The original plan for Sunday still stands. That is:

The Eldon from 11:30 or so onwards.

See some of you there / then

Degree finally completely over. Huzzahs are in order.

In other news, in alerting my old Nottingham posse to the notion that I'd finally done with education I found out that an ex-girlfriend's getting married.

On 6/6/6

I would hazard a guess that I'm pretty happy for her. Probably. But now I'm appalled by two things. Firstly, that a bird who sat on me knob is settling down, and the chosen date - I mean COME ON