Gremlins

Aha! Apologies to my reader for the lack of posts yesterday - gremlins were at work doing their business in the machine and my internet connection was down. This was pretty infuriating as I was meant to get some work off to Scott Rowley (the Idi Amin of the publishing industry) and my failure to do so probably sounded like just another in a long long long line of excuses. I could have sent it from our local internet cafe but I'm not going in there since the owner accused me of looking at pornography when I fucking well wasn't. The library's also a no-no because the computers are always hogged by Poles desperately trying to contact family back home (Mama - Do what you have to do. Sell the Trabant and my collection of Bananarama cassettes, whatever. You must raise 700 Zloty for my passage home. I am a surgeon yet all these English pigs want me to do is pick cabbages in a field). The only option other than this is to go to Newark, and if you've ever been to Newark, you'll know why I was reluctant to get my ass on that train.

Thankfully, I turned on el machine this morning and, hey presto, it's up and working again. This is good because Brad Merret (who readers of this blog will remember is dead) has sent me work and an old friend of mine called Allan (a man of science, seriousness, and too much free fucking travel for my liking) has questioned my motives for moving to the fair city of Sheffield (he believes I'm going there to be a stripper - one look at my grotesque, hairy belly would disabuse him of this notion I suspect). I've also received a missive from someone called nbpvakcv@yahoo.com with a message labelled 'sZdmoRNztOPcDGyRdnSEXUALY+EQPLICIT: our news' - no doubt a serious political essay I shall have to check out later when I'm alone and the arthritis pills have kicked in. Please feel free to e-mail nbpvakcv, by the way - I'm sure he'd be delighted to hear from you.