The latest version of Oche Assistant has finally been built and submitted for approval to the AppStore. More info about Oche Assistant here

Players of Rappelz might be wondering what difference each of the stats makes to your character. Here's a list of what additional benefit you should get from each additional +1 statistic buff: +1 Str = 2 P.Atk for Melee, 3/8(or 0.375) P.Atk for Range & +10 weight limit +1 Vit = 2.25 P.Def and 30 Max HP +1 Agi = 0.5 Evasion +1 Int = 2 M.Atk and 30 Max MP +1 Wis = 2 M.Def, 3/8(or 0.375) M.Acc, and 0.5 M.Res +1 Dex = 13/8(or 1.625) P.Atk for Range, 0.5 Accuracy, and 1/8(or 0.125) M.Acc

I think everyone knows someone who has been affected by cancer so please give generously to the gorgeous girls of Citi Cards UK who are spending a Saturday afternoon raising money for Cancer Research.

Citi Girls In Pink sponsorship.

This weekend saw the 3rd annual beer festival held by the folks of Forever Bury. This is an event that always promises to be entertaining and beer-riffically educational, and this year was no exception. This years event comprised of around 50 beers and ciders from all corners of the country and as usual I had to start with a cider or two. Cider never tastes right once your taste buds have been introduced to the bitters and stouts, still, that never stopped me from returning to it when the organiser plonked a barrel of the appley-goodness next to me and proclaimed that its contents were free. The evenings musical entertainment consisted of a three piece band (one acousitc guitar, an electric guitar and a saxophone), they were reasonably in time and didn't make many mistakes but I think they lacked the presence of a vocalist - make a note of that for the next event. The food stall also closed down quite early, around 8 o'clock; people generally fancy something to eat as they are leaving a booze-up so I'd have expected it to be offered around last orders but that didn't happen; still, I suppose there were plenty of other eateries close by. The choice of beer was very good, with a nice mixture of dark and light ales; there didn't seem to be any fruit ales (such as Framboisenbeire) but what they did have was of excellent quality, the most potent (with a whopping 9% ABV) being one made from licorice. Unlike most licorice ales I've tried, this one actually tasted of licorice! As with previous year, this weekends event was organised by-and-large by Bury FC enthusiast Dave Gifford who's passion for the club and the event was evident to anyone who could stop him from rushing around long enough to have a chat. The organisers of the event (Forever Bury) are always looking for members and donations. Please see the Forever Bury website for details of how you can help this good cause.

Do you want to learn how to make your own beer? Don't miss out on the 1-2-3 guide that is on offer from EZ-Brew for only $27 (around 18). Click here for more information on the EZ-Brew Beer Making Course.

I've finally got around to updating my DVD to PSP guide. Check it out here. Since the last version I've managed to find a couple of utilities that may make the job a little easier for those who haven't got the time or inclination to battle through some of the more cryptic opensource solutions. At the same time I've also uploaded a few resources that may help your poker game. Check out my new Poker Resources page.

I've been back at work for two weeks now and I'm already thinking about my next break. That's not how I used to be, at one time you'd have to drag me kicking and screaming from work, but these days the monotony and beaurocracy get to me more and more and I just can't be bothered with the seemingly endless stream of pen pushing that blights my day. I'm a code monkey, I do code; I used to be quite good at it: knocking up symphonies of logic and procedure that would calm the sea of a hectic business' needs. But these days I just bang along to the tedious plinky-plonk of "Chopsticks" being played badly on a mis-tuned piano. Its hardly inspiring. The only restbite from all this monotony comes courtesy of my uncle Terry, who, due to his unfortunate and untimely passing, has provided a good reason to escape the insanity of work for a day. Some would say that sounds rather callous, but I would happily repeat the last ten years of madness and misery to spend just another few hours with him, chatting over a pint or two about his new found happiness for the Spanish town he'd adopted. Goodbye and Godbless uncle. The second hint to the disasterous year that may be ahead can be summed up by a line from the Bolton Evening News: "Arsonist Strikes Twice At Party House". It appears that one of my distant in-laws was throwing a new years party and things went ever so slightly wrong -- twice! Needless-to-say, the next time they're thinking of throwing a party they'll remember not to play "Disco Inferno". I've also just found out that one of my old collegues got married before the new year. Speaking as your humblest baggage monkey I would like to wish you all the happiness in the world. While I'm on the subject, anyone who's in the unfortunate position of needing to write a wedding speech could do a lot worse than taking a look at these "How To" guides. Afterall, not all of us have the witt of PG Wodehouse.

I'm older, and its official. Too be honest I can't say I noticed the clock tick past midnight or even felt the weight of another year fall onto my shoulders. I was too busy reading. For the first time in a long time I decided to get out my dusty old omnibus of "The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy". I must have read Douglas Adams' adventures of Arthur Dent half a dozen times during and after my student years. Whether I've read it or not I've always taken it with me on long haul flights and car journeys partly for entertainment, partly as something to take my mind from whatever tedium I'm forced to endure, but mostly because it reminds me of home; sitting back on the sofa with a warm mug of coffee, trying not to nod off before the next chapter. It's often tag-lined as being "A Trilogy in Five Parts", not quite as catchy as "A Trilogy in Four Parts" which it used to be known as but at least its accurate. Too be honest I was never enthralled by the fifth and final book "Mostly Harmless". I never got over how easily Adams dissolved Fenchurch -- I understand how a miserable Arthur is probably better from a story-writers perspective but I think most readers wanted her to stay for a little longer. If there was an absolute requirement to bump her off Adams could have at least give her a decent death. Maybe having her eaten by the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal while a helpless Arthur tries not to peep under the towel covering his head. Thankfully I have to read through four more books to get to "Mostly Harmless". So what has the last twelve months brought me? One on the biggest changes has been the introduction of my neice. Babies are very strange creatures; how can something so small have such an emotional affect on those around them? I've recently been thinking of what my main uncle/godfather duties are. So far I've come up with these three rules:-

• being there when she needs someone to make her smile,
• making a confusing world a little less complex,
• keeping her pockets full of change.

Admitedly the second and third rules don't really apply until she can a) converse to a limited degree and b) understand the concept of money, but I think the first rule should be enough for the moment. What do I think the future will bring, to answer that I need look to the past. There are two main aspects that I would like to change; work and play. Firstly regarding my career: For the last few years I've been playing a game which is now getting a little repetative and I've finally come to realise that I don't think I'll win anytime soon and now is the time to either change my hand or find a new game to play. Maybe I need a totally different game genre to help whet the edge I've allowed to dull in recent years. The second aspect of my existance I need to address is my playtime; I need to concentrate on the teachings of the Flying Spaghetti Monster and find me what every pirate should have. (Is that "a parrot" I hear you cry?) I needs me a wench. Preferably buxom with a large bank balance and a vested interest in her fathers whiskey distillery, but I'm not really that choosey anymore. Anyone who makes me smile, shows me the world, or keeps change in my pocket will do. An old friend of mine has some interesting views on the current state of popular literature on his website.

The Dickens classic always been one of my favourite stories; its got 3 ghosts, 2 deaths and a little cripple boy, what more could the reader want ? As it happens some kind folks at Project Gutenberg have been good enough to key in the entire book for you to download, but as it is Christmas I've provided a link to my own version that you can browse online. For those who like to turn the pages of a real book I've provided links to Amazon where you can purchase a paper copy. A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens.

It's that time of year again; a fortnight before Christmas and I can already sense the ghosts of yuletides past creeping up on me and bringing back memories of yesteryears seasonal sins. The only redeeming feature of this "holiday season" is that I have somehow managed to avoid taking any vacation time off work and have a stupidly large number of days to spend. I don't know why I bother, I never know what to do, but at least I can do it without having to wake up an some Godawful hour of the morning. Its the mornings that get to me; 9:00 o'clock and it's still dark, dank and miserable. The evenings aren't much better, or lighter. How come the term "Holiday Season" has started to creep into the language? I can recall there being winter, summer, autumn and spring but have no recollection of "holiday". I believe its because some poxy conservative white protestant bureucrat is afraid to remind people who have migrated to this country that this once great nation is primarily made up of white anglosaxon Christians. Whilst most of these Christians are not wholly devout the majority do like to be reminded of the story (and I repeat STORY) of Jesus. Christmas is a celebration of a time when some poor unfortunate Jewish girl was knocked up in time for Chanukah and was so afraid to tell her dad of adolesent springtime fumblings behind the goatshed that she figured it'd be easier to say an angel had "visited" her. The only real difference between now and then is that most petrified impregnated teenagers these days haven't got the nerve to blag it; let's face it, your benefits are bound to be affected if you put down "God" as the father. Enough misery for now.

I woke up this morning and turned on the TV. As with every other morning before it I started to nod off again, there's something about early morning TV shows that encourages you to sleep -- maybe it's that Fiona Phillips women. Anyway, just as I'm settling down for a wee morning snoozette I became aware of a great evil. Suddenly I felt a shiver run down my spine. Infront of me I could see a red mist rolling over the Lancastrian horizon and hear the faint footfalls of some heavily laden beasts. Then all became clear. Somehow North Korea had test fired a nuclear weapon -- who in the name of Jehova gave these people nukes? A couple of decades ago the most technologically advanced weapon in the whole of Korean involved a great deal of elastic and some bits of bamboo. Finding out that North Korea had let one off was somewhat disturbing, but not as disturbing as the wave of nausea that flowed over me when I realized what had to come next. Enveloped in a cloud of red, white and blue smoke I could see a lone figure on the horizon. The figure held aloft a six shooter and let off a few of his own. George "Dubya" Bush was on the case; he'd teach these commie bastards a thing or two about kicking nuclear ass. I started to think back to Star Wars and the rise of the Empire; I'm just waiting for the moment that Dubya is voted special emergency powers by the senate and orders a clone army of Jarheads to fight the good fight for democracy, for world peace, for the oil (wait, thats not right). I've just taken a quick look on digg.com and am proud to see that one of the bonus elements to come out of the destruction of New Orleans (remember that place, the one which Duyba left to hang out to dry -- literally). It appears that the influx of out-of-state workmen has significantly raised the level of prostitution in the City. I've never really seen the problem with prostitution, as long as the girl/guy involved is doing so willingly then why should there be such a moral issue. Let's face it, I whore myself out to a large corporate every day, eeking away my soul and dignity with each mindless policy and procedure I'm forced to endure. I think the problem of prostitution boils down to old religious bigotry. A long, long time ago, in a fallacy far, far away, a bunch of really insecure beardy blokes got together around a campfire and decided that they were giving too much denari to the local whores and were basically being treated like a bunch of bitches -- they were brassic man, stoney broke. I feel it is my duty to state that these beardly blokes are not related to the biker/beer-swigging, happy beardy blokes that I've spoke of earlier -- they are quite happy to throw their denari at a frolicking fillie. So, back to the ancient beardy blokes, they got their heads together and came up with a plan that would ensure all the other men wouldn't want to give money to women and make the ladies feel inferior -- they were going to make whoring an offence to God/Yahweh/Allah -- needless to say, deities don't visit women -- that'd be soooo wrong cause they are dead duurty, so women will just have to believe the beardy ones, or be stoned to death as disbelievers. Of course, men are men, and some of the beardy blokes had great difficultly in keeping their boners in their robes. They started to get all embarrased having giant boners in the presence of their camels, so they decree'd that God/Yahweh/Allah had commanded them that all women should cover there face along with the rest of their body to avoid temptation, and that whores should be cast aside, so far aside that they wouldn't even accrue taxation. Back in the real world, I've got some advice for you: If you don't want to see women, cut out your own eyes; if you don't want to embarass your camel with your tiny boners cut off your cocks -- don't oppress or brainwash your women into believing that wrapping themselves in acres of body-condoms are good thing for them.

It was a spare of the moment decision; should I go home, or should I pop around and see my old friend Cllr Mullen. As it happens I was quite lucky to just catch him coming home from the Labour Conference. With great excitement he informed me that for the last couple of days he'd been hanging around with the stars of Emmerdale and Coronation Street as well as those two shifty blokes named Blair and Brown. Forgetting about foreign policy or the state of the economy, his primary concern was who's sleeping with who in Emmerdale. The councillor yesterday experienced a few more of his 15 minutes of fame when a cunningly placed sign with the daubing "Pick Me" held above John's head, was picked out by the host. If someone can find a clip of his moment of fame (repeated on BBC Parliament, apparently) please forward it on. It looks like Hannah has finally got a date for her Christening; unfortunately the original choice of Godmother will be out of the country for the actual event (bobbing around the US and generally getting up to no good) so it looks like Hannah will be the lucky owner of two Godmothers -- one who will be at the event, and another who'll be there in spirit. From a Godfather perspective this is quite a good turn of events, 'cause it means there will have to be two booze-up's -- thus doubling the opportunity to get them very, very drunk... (only kidding S & K :-) ) Of course the drinking is not the only reason for the ceremony, the real reason is to provide the child with a moral and spiritual rolemodel. As part of the Christening deal, the little churub has to be presented to a congregation eager to take on fresh blood; this basically involves carting her down to church and hoping that she doesn't decide to scream the place down. In recent years I've only been to church on a few occasions; christenings, weddings, funerals, bahmitzvahs (strike that last one) -- I don't believe that going to a large hall every week and praying to a God automatically makes you a better person; for the faithful, your reward will be based on how you lived your life, and how you treated others, not by how closely you follow religious dogma. The most prominant reason for not turning up for regular mass was recalling the hours of fire & brimstone given by past priests. So I was rather surprised that the current priest made the hour long service fly-by -- at one point I did actually check the clock to see if I'd really been there an hour. The resident GJ (God-Jockey) Fr Manock should be praised for the upbeat manner in which he puts across God's message, especially his use of song during the service. For those wishing to find out more about the ministry, and especially those wishing to donate to the "New Church" appeal, please visit www.radcliffecatholic.org.

It's been a while since I last did any real coding; I've found that doing it for a living somewhat interferes with those creative juices that are needed to oil the thinking process. Anyway, I've been inspired by an interesting web site www.oceangram.com into writing a simple "message in a bottle" type random chat client that can be added to any web site. If you want to play around with it just drop me a note and I'll send you the code you need to paste into your webpage. The client is inobtrusive, if you want to send a message just key it into the text box in the top right of this page and press the send button. You will be told if there is a message waiting for you, to read it just click on the "message available" text. Also on the theme of new stuff, my sister eventually did hatch, not the 6/6/06 as predicated but a few days later. Here's an "arty" black and white photo of Hannah. **UPDATE**: The Javascript chat client has been removed after I noticed it was slaughtering my webserver... Methinks it'll need a bit of recoding :-)

Was enticed by the lovely Angela to watch Miami Vice yesterday, I believe her main reason for wanting to see the film was based entirely on Colin Farrell taking one of the lead roles. I do have a vague memory of the TV show from the 80's; fast cars, flash suits, highly tanned female forms and the cool synthesised music -- but don't ask me if I can remember the plot of any single episode. When it comes to the 2006 remake they've still got the cars, they've still got the suits and they've retained the tanned babes, even the music, albeit different, isn't too bad. Remarkably they've also developed a plotline which, rather like the original series, is entirely unmemorable, presumably this is so "Miami Vice 2: Bigger Boats for the Buoys" can share not only the same cast but also the same story. The main element of the film which leaves a "no friggin' way" doubt in your mind is the presence of Farrell's facial hair; when the film started my first thought was that the director had made the extremely bold move of making a gay Crockett -- sure, it would have given the film a marginally wider audience, but it feels out of character with the 80's original. I almost expected Don Johnson to jump out of the scenery with a razor in an effort to diminish the mockery of a character that made him a household name. Farrell definately got the dodgier 'tache but at least he got the most shagging; although I imagine Farrell probably insisted on so much hetro action after seeing the facial fuzz that he'd be forced to wear. If you've got money burning a hole in your pocket and absolutely nothing to do then go and see the film, but don't expect too much from it. There were several moments in the film where dialogue between the main characters didn't seem to make sense; they used English words but I didn't have any grasp of the semantics or context, presumably this is because I'm not an undercover member of the vice squad. The plot was extremely predictable and I just got the feeling that I'd seen the film before. Wait to rent the DVD or watch it when it hits satellite/cable.

After spending the previous weekend in Puerto Banus on a company paid back-slapping exercise I was disappointed to find that the my "man flu" was making a return for the upcoming weekend. While in a muscus filled delerium I was acosted by ones heavily pregnant sister to go see "The DaVinci Code". Good Jesus, it was tedious -- I almost wanted the sister to drop the kid during the film so I'd have an excuse to get the hell out of there, but was reminded during the trailers that 6.6.06 was almost upon us and I could be uncle to the Devil's Spawn -- all she has to do is keep her legs crossed for another week.

I remember reading the Dan Brown book. From what I can recall it was a fast enough read with fairly short chapters (a mechanism to prevent yanks from nodding off) and a controvertial storyline that attacked the Catholic church and helped finish off the last Pope (God bless the little fella). I don't get what the big deal is, so what if some bloke called Jesus had a ex-whore for a wife -- as long as there's tread on the tyres who gives a damn. Forgiving the questionably implausible storyline the film had two main failings.

Firstly, the female lead never got her kit off, not that the pigeon breasted French bird did anything for me, it's just it would have made the film less tedious; and secondly, Tom Hanks never died during the filming. Surely if there was a God He'd have looked down on all of His creation and smited Hanks, preferably in a painful way. On second thoughts, maybe God just didn't want to endure yet another "Hanks" mini-season on TV -- which I'm hoping some TV exec would have the called "A load of old Hank". Stay tuned for some "I'm a TOM HANKER" sudoku puzzles. This weekend saw the first gathering of the St Mary's old boys for almost 15 years -- anyone who remembers St Mary's (Radcliffe) and Peter's/Monica's (Prestwich) from the 80's and 90's are welcome to have a beer with us during our next meeting -- which will be announced here before the actual event happens. I'll also be converting the www.bonkers-in-bury.co.uk website into a forum and offering email redirects for anyone interested.

Another weekend is over and we're steam-rollering into the summer season -- it's not that I hate summer time, far from it, the longer, brighter days are a lot less miserable than the winter equivalent, its just that with the sun comes exhaustingly hot days, sleepless sweaty nights and a new wave of those little buzzing bleeders know as wasps. There's nothing worse than waking up to *that* humming noise, and listening intensly to try and figure out where it is and more importantly which way its heading. I know they are smaller than me and that the harm they could do would be short lived, its just a matter of the inconveniance of finding a slipper/newspaper/book and clearing the resultant mess made when its tiny body is rapidly introduced to my weapon of choice and the window. Of course, wasps aren't the only creature to come out at summer. I've also got to contend with ants, flying ants, arrogant little bleeders that stubbornly try to invade the house every year. Nothing stops 'em, not bleach, not ant powder, possibly not even molten lava, though I've not got any actual lava to test the theory. Speaking of hot places, the Australian government announced last week that they are to allow any holiday workers to apply for up to a years extension to their visa if they spend part of their time working within certain seasonal and agricultural sectors. Full details of the Australian visa extension scheme are available on the BBC's website.

It's been over a fortnight since a bout of "man-flu" knocked me for six, infact there was a half written blog that I've just deleted which I never got around to completing or publishing while attempting to stem the river of mucus that seemed to eminate from most of my front facing orafices - it was not a pleasant sight to behold. In typical fashion I only really started to feel better on the Sunday evening which pretty much meant that my Friday night and Saturday were ruined; being ill on work time is almost forgivable, but being ill on my own time ? Obviously these bugs have NO sense of fairplay. I've been trying, and may I add failing, to do less geek-like things; for some reason I have a strange notion that building a distributed filesystem similar to the one used by Google is the way of the future and have in some small way been trying to emulate the filey goodness of the Lord Google using the Java language. My first port of call was obviously to see what else was out there by using that most hallowed of search engines, the Good Lord Google itself. Surprisingly enough some people have tried something similar, the Nutch project attempts to implement an entire Google-like search engine, complete with it's own distributed filesystem and distributed processing model. Quite how successfully it implements it I'm not really prepared to say, but I've not managed to get the distributed file system to work in any sensible manner. St. Patrick's night was the final nudge which tipped me off the waggon; how selfish of an entire nation to coerce me into buying and consuming pint after pint of their finest stout ale. I suppose it was a good excuse to go and see my old friend and favourite web enterpreneur at his local Irish club. It was during this meeting that we came across the idea of creating little pixel banner adverts somewhat similar to the Million Dollar Website idea. An example of the idea can be seen at the top of the side bar to the right.

This weekend saw the first "Febfest" beer festival in Bury, obviously I had to check it out ! I think everyone has an idea of who goes to beer festivals. We're talking beardy, hairy-bellied blokes who like nothing more than sitting on wooden benches eating tepid meat pies and getting gently poached drinking potent urine coloured liquids. The more cynical minded would also suggest that said liquids probably tasted like urine, and were most likely sourced at the previous weeks beardy gathering. But that's by-the-by, and considering I did drink a few half's I'd like to think that the stuff in the barrels had come from a far better place than the dodgy portaloo's outside the main tent. Yes, beardy blokes were there, it was to be expected, nay, required. They added a certain ambience to the place, helped complete the picture as it were. The whole setup of the festival seemed a little odd, you had to pay admission and buy "beer tokens" for a pound a go at the old railway ticket booth then you had to wander over to the tent to pick up your glass. It wasn't until I actually entered the tent that I discovered why the "beer token" method of payment was chosen instead of the cold hard cash approach. Those serving the beer were quite rightfully also enjoying the odd half, and while none of them were staggering around I got the impression that performing any correct change calculation above and beyond 1 token=1/2 pint could cause a little trouble, especially when the customers were also well on the way to the "hangover hotel". Once inside the tent you were greeted by what can only be described as an "Ale'ing wall", around 100 barrels of various alcoholic mixtures sat in rows three high across the longest side of the tent. Infront of the barrels were the defenders of the kegs, beardy blokes who have sworn to protect their precious from anyone who doesn't brandish the sacred token of pintage. Most of the beardies gathered in nodding herds, to each herd was appointed a female, who suprisingly didn't have a beard, well, not a publicly visible one at any rate. It was only after half an hour did I realise our little group was forming its own herds, quite spooky. After tasting my way through several ales, and a rather weak tasting (yet highly intoxicating) cider I came to the conclusion that my favourite ale was the Black Witch from Moorhouse's -- please follow the link for locations of stockists and pubs where you can find this fine beverage. For those living in the Bury area I'll save you a click-though, the nearest pub is the Dusty Miller, Crostons Road.

For those budding artiste's out there the wonderful people at art.com have created a fun little on-line art pad. It might look basic but you can knock out some pretty fine masterpieces, and what's more, they let you save them for public viewing. So, come on, d'you know what it is yet?

For the last few days newspapers and TV reports have been declaring this week to be the most depressing week of the year, with today in particular being the one most likely to discourage you from crawling out of your warm bed in the early hours of the morn. The notable absence of shiny happy people (holding hands or otherwise) is being blamed on those institutions that prey upon the naive and vulnerable; the shylocks, the vile lenders of money. While the major finance houses are not entirely innocent of the "crimes" they are accused of, it must be pointed out that they are only supplying a product to meet a demand. In short, if people didn't want the money the finance houses wouldn't offer it. The real perpertrator of the crime is the very same media which is pointing their accusing fingers towards the defenceless shylocks. It's the media which plant the seeds of desire in peoples minds; they show us sports stars and talentless "C" list celebs wearing the latest fashions, using the latest gadgets and holidaying on the sun-kissed beaches of a far-away private island. They should take more responsibility for the irresponsible manner in which they encourage the general public to buy more and more socially desirable "life enhancing" products. The general public can be forgiven for being confused by these money pimps; they tell us what to buy then chastise us for borrowing what we can't afford. Even the advert breaks between programmes offer to sell us solutions to our newly made money problems by throwing yet more money towards us -- for a price, of course. And to whom are these advertisements carefully targetted towards you ask? Not suprisingly its those same naive and vulnerable people that the media claim are being taken advantage of by the finance industry in the first place. To those poor souls who have been ass-fettled by the big corporations the only advice I can give is this; In the case of credit cards, phone your creditors, tell them you are having difficulties making payments and try to work out a hardship plan with them -- in most cases they will be able to offer some help, often by removing the interest charges if you keep up with an agreed minimum payment scheme. Make an appointment with your local Citizens Advice Bureau, the volunteers who work for the organisation are there to help. Be wary of the "all in one place" loans which are currently quite popular and generally targetted to those naive and vulnerable. Take a look at the small print at the bottom of the advertisements. That quick 20,000 loan may end up costing you over 52,000, thats over 200% of your original debt. If you're interested in working out how much of your actual debt you're paying off with each payment take a look at this generic loan calculator. Above all, don't do what the money pimps want you to do. Your survival on this planet is not dependant upon you owning the latest Nokia, iPod or Nike -- however, products from DEViNE Studios may just save your life (Damn, I'm whoring myself out again ! :-)

To coincide with the new look and feel of the site the official DEViNE Studios/DEViNE By Design merchandise store is now open for business. Any imagery listed in the Gallery section of this site will be available in the store on t-shirts, mousepads, mugs and even underwear (!) -- spare a thought for the site admins g'vnor and help keep the site running.

From out of the heavens a voice of great power and majesty spake unto me, "And let thee check'eth thine logs of web, for opportunities missed shall be glimpsed" I just assumed it was just another whiskey induced halucination; similar to those visitations of Jimi Hendrix and Jerry Lee that I've experienced in the past. But no, this was real. The logs revealed that some people out there in Internet land are still interested in obtaining the "Unseen Countdown" and the "Starwars" footage supplied by the kind folks at LimpFish.com. For those special people I've relocated the files in their original location, so your links will work again. For those who wish to see these video masterpieces for the first time take a look at the links below... Beware, content may not be suitable for the very young. Format: [AVI] [3GP] Click here for the unseen Star Wars footage [MPEG] [3GP] "Unseen Countdown" merchandise now available in the Gallery section.

While considering a future in digital film and media production I've finally come to the conclusion that I don't really have a chance of ever becoming one of the greats. It's not because I feel that I lack the talent. Neither is it because I'm deficient in the mental bus fare needed to cope with the battlefield that even a simple production can throw upon you. No. After analysis of recent directors it has become apparent that the only way to get ahead in the business is to grow a beard. Think about it...

• Lord of the Rings, King Kong -- Peter Jackson, man with a beard.

• Star Wars -- George Lucas, man with a beard. Ok, Episode 1 sucked, and Episode 2 was an abortion of a film, but he made up for it with Episode 3.

• Jurrassic Park, Schindlers List -- Steven Speilberg, man with a beard.

• Alien, Abyss, Titanic -- James Cameron, man with a beard

That's not forgetting directors such as Francis Ford Copolla and the much underrated Kevin Smith (of "Mallrats" and "Jay and Silent Bob" fame). Some would say that the obvious solution given the evidence would be to throw away my razor and let nature take its furry course, and I would be inclined to agree with you. Unfortunately I have been cursed by the ginger-gene, this shame sadly prevents me from growing that which would provide me true greatness. PS. Pete, If you're looking for someone to get your coffee's while on set, just drop me an email.

We're currently just North of New York in Connetticut. Spent the day roaming around Ellis island and Liberty island. Personally I think 3 weeks alone with Eddie has started to affect me... the mere glimpse of a semi naked woman is promoting (un)healthy thoughts. The statue of Liberty no longer is a symbol of American-French friendship and the promise of hope to generations of immigrants... no, it has become tarnished, tarnished by the Eddie effect... it had become just a tall French chick in a toga, and all I could think of was what was under the toga. Mike was quite distressed to find that due to the 9/11 disaster visitors are no longer allowed to enter the French chick -- something he's been wanting to do, in the singular, since arriving in Las Vegas... He must admit that he enjoyed the free feel up by security on the way into the ferry. I must appologise for the infrequency of these posts, it is mainly due to the lack of free (or even money orientated) internet booths, and the hectic schedule that we've been following... and before anyone asks, we've not seen the hurricane, but the weather was blustry the following day. I'll leave you with a couple of photos of New York and the famous toga-wearing French chick. See ya'll later.

 

Someone once wrote that the reason Washington DC was chosen as a location for the seat of power was because the uncomfortably clammy climate made living there almost unbearable leaving only those who had a passion for politics remaining to govern the country. Having spent a rather pleasant day wandering around the various monuments I can only imagine the overbearing humidity and heat of a Washington summer - a glimpse of which was felt as evening approached. Driving into the capital was reasonably straight-forward, for some reason the roads have been given letters as names, most odd, but it did make sense after a while. Security around the capital, while present, wasn't over bearing; the highest security presence being situated, as expected, ontop of the White House. Washington D.C caters very well for the tourist, with most of the tourist attractions open for free to the general public. Unfortunately for us, the hurricane had pretty much wiped out most of the power in the D.C area so we found it quite difficult to find a motel for the evening, eventually we drove 30/40 miles outside of Washington before we found any place which was reasonably priced and available rooms. It must be noted that the picture of the Whitehouse was taken rather hurriedly by myself as MikeI decided to block traffic in the "van", much to the annoyance of the local police. Only Mike could p*ss off the cops in the middle of D.C. infront of the number one terrorist target of the Western World. At least I was holding the camera if the attractive (female, I must add) officer with a gun decided to put a cap in his ass. Here are some pictures from the walkabout.

 

I can't hand-on-heart say I was a fan of Elvis. To be honest I never really listened to his music or watched his films but suprisingly I still felt drawn to the place he called home. In order to get into Graceland you have to goto the tourist offices, first impressions told me that this was a place for racking up as much Elvis cash as possible. The King may be dead, but if the cash flowing into this place couldn't pay for the research required to produce dandruff sourced clones of the King then nothing could. I'm not gonna lie and say it was cheap, it cost more that a few dollars to wander 'round the Kings old domain, and even more to get the headphone/mp3 player which allowed you to learn about what you were looking at. Still, how often do you get to wander 'round the home a legend. I was a little dissapointed by my first glimpse of the house, it looked a little small -- but then again, I thought the same of some of the celeb homes in Hollywood. The tour takes you through most of the lower floor of the house, including the "Jungle Room" thats referenced in the Marc Cohen song from which this blogs title comes from. The upper floor is restricted as the property is still a home, and rather like a stately home the residents would like a little privacy. You only get a true impression of the property's size when you wander around the grounds, ok, so it's starting to look a little bigger. Throughout the grounds you are informed of the Elvis story, not wanting to spoil it for you I won't tell you how it ends, and virtually all of his show costumes are on display as you walk through his career. I would recommend anyone with a remote interest in music to visit Graceland; even if you aren't a fan of the King you should get a taste for who he was and how he lived, afterall, without him there wouldn't be Rock 'n Roll as it is today (personally I prefer B.B. King -- who incidentally has a bar in downtown Memphis) Without wanting to spoil the end of the Elvis story too much, here's one of the pictures we took while paying our respects to the one and only Elvis Aaron Presley. Catch 'cha later.

It's day 13 of the tour, unlucky for some I guess, but for me it's very lucky... 'cause I get to visit two places which I simply couldn't miss... Those who know me may be aware of my fondness for whiskey, single malts or slutty blends are always greeted with the same friendly smile and no-nonsense introduction to the back of my throat. While I'm sure whiskey afficionardos would rather pour scorn than a generous double, I'll always have a soft spot for the worlds most popular Tennessee Whiskey. Straight, or on the rocks is the only way to serve it, and once you visit the spiritual home of easy riders and rock sluts and witness the time and effort that goes into the production of every drop you'll never again corrupt it by adding a certain fizzy, sugary and caramel coloured syrup. Lynchberg Tennessee, population 361. A small (some would say "Hick") town in the middle of truely idealic countryside greets all comers with a warmth and a friendliness that you've almost come to expect from the commercials and advertisments, and just like the adverts, the old boys are sat on rocking chairs taking in some Tennessee rays while their ex-collegues (and neighbours) volunteer to show guests around their old workplace. A guided tour of the distillery takes around an hour and is given by one of the very friendly and knowledgable locals who prefer to keep themselves busy in their retirement years. The tour is free, as are some non-alcoholic refreshments offered after the tour. Donations are appreciated, and considering the insight you gain into the production of whiskey and the history of Jack Daniels they are well deserved -- even Mike dropped a few dollars into the pot ! For more info on Jack Daniels and the tour (including a virtual tour) click here.

Its our first day on the real open road, we've just left Los Angeles and are heading towards Arizona. Stopped off for something to eat at Peggy Sue's 50's style diner. The food wasn't too bad, was persuaded to buy some of Peggy's homemade pie -- can't say it was very memorable. As we left we noticed some military vehicles causing a sand storm in the adjacent deserty area. For some strange reason I got kinda tense being so close to the US military; maybe it's because they have an uncanny habit of accidentaly blowing up British troops. Let's face it, two Brits in the middle of the dessert is an accident just beggin' to happen...

We're still in Los Angeles -- just chilling... We've got some photo's of the Hollywood sign and are about to check out the hand and footprints outside of Mann's Chinese theatre. Catch you all later.

We're now in Los Angeles (north Hollywood). We've been on a little tour to see where the stars live. It included Sylvester Stallone, Maddonna, Eddie Murphy, Britany Spears, Cameron Diaz, Brad & Jen, Tori Spelling, Al Pacino, Rod Stewart, Tom Jones, Frank Sinatra's last house, Jenifer Lopez, Carol Lombard, The Osbournes House, George Clooney, Alex Baldwin, Will Smith, Peter Falk, Aaron Spellings' 123 bedroom mansion, Hugh Hefners playboy mansion. Of course, our guide told us all this so in reality the properties could have belonged to anyone -- but on the whole they were pretty large abodes in a nice area of L.A. and looked like they were probably owned by the stupidly rich and famous.

We have managed to survive San Francisco. For those thinking of visiting the place I advise that you first goto Blackpool, find a tanning salon then get a day return from Stargate to Fleetwood. Pier 39 etc are reasonable if you like wandering around shops and have a passion for sea-food, if those things aren't for you then I suggest staying away from the docks. The cable car ride is worth the 45 minute wait (yes forty-five minutes) and we were kept entertained by two of the locals. One of them was playing some decent'ish riffs on an old electric guitar, while another one was begging change "for a chicken sandwich". The chicken sandwich guy was being shoo'd away by a small chinese chap who ran the security for the cable cars, eventully the chicken guy got p*ss*d off at being moved on and so started shouting obsceneties at the little chinese bloke. You could hear the chicken guy bellowing "Suck my c*ck, taste the Gook -- you Gook" from a block-away... I guess San Francisco truly is the city of *brotherly* love -- and we're talking in the biblical sense. Later on we drove across the Golden Gate bridge to find the Skywalker Ranch only to be escorted away after only taking one photo of the front gates... Unfortunately we didn't get a photo of the blonde cutie that pushed us away :-) Here's a couple of pictures of the cable car and one outside the gates of the infamous Skywalker Ranch.

Looks like we were a victim of bad labour day timing. At the large tourist/ticket booth we were told that the earliest trip we could book for the Alcatraz and Bay tour was Monday... today was Saturday... in a word... BUGGER !!!! Still, managed to get a few photos.

We have finally made it to San Francisco. It seems that we are once again in a Godless world with only our cameras and MP3 players for comfort. The plane journey was relatively uneventful, once I was shoe-horned into the seats I found nodding off every now and then quite easy, but 15 hours on a plane is not a pleasurable experiance, neither is wandering aimlessly around American airports with a large set of baggage. Anyway, going to catch a cable car and visit Alcatraz. See you all in a month.

Those who know myself and young MikeI may have been aware of our previous Blog files that detailed our trippette to Boston, MA. Due to the great success of that site we've decided to create a new blog that will be following us throughout our impending rollercoaster of a holiday through the U.S of A. With any luck it may also be of some use to the authorities should we disappear off the face of the earth.

Cheers, Beers & Hooters After discovering that the first picture of Cheers was a wash-out, it was decided that we should go forth and get a decent picture of the famous Bostonian bar. The city of Boston is rather like Manchester in it use of one way streets; something that caused great annoyance to our guide as he kept finding himself in the wrong lane, or just past a turn-off. I honestly don't know how we got to the bar, cars from the left and right were dodging and weaving infront of us: at one moment I thought Eddie had closed his eyes to issue a quiet prayer. After a wander through one of the parks in the middle of town we appeared outside the "Bull & Finch" bar and took a couple of photos of us underneath the "Cheers" sign. This evening there was much more totty out on the street than the previous venture into town, however I think Eddie must have decided that taking pictures of them would have seemed too touristy. After Cheers we were taken to another delightful bar in the Boston area... Hooters is considered a family fast-food/restraunt/eatery where the young serving wenches dress in white, tight, low-cut t-shirts and hotpants... The Edster was rubbing his thighs with glee... but only after finding out they served root beer. :-/ Be back soon...

Throw another city on the barby God Yesterday was hot (101'F -- the highest recorded in Boston for about 10 years), today is just as bad... As I've mentioned in a previous Blog, I feel that the great glowing ball of nuclear fussion we call the Sun is trying to kill me. Eddie managed to fullfill one of his goals for the Boston trip and actually tried some Clam Chowder... Clam Chunder would have been a more apt description of the delicacy... But fair play, he ate it :-( Last night was mainly spent in the local Irish bar knocking back pints of bitter while listening to some of the local karaoke "stars". Eddie, of course, got the hots for some petit blonde girl that did a turn, a feeling I'm sure was not mutual. Tonight we'll probably be going to a couple of bars in the centre of Boston; who knows, the Edster might get lucky... Is it me, or can anyone else hear the thunder of hooves? -- That's it, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse have turned up :-) Now thats a tasty burger... Today's lunch mainly consisted of MacDonalds -- I know, it's amazing, they actually have them over here too. Three guesses for who suggested this eatery !!! Next it'll be Burger King or, heaven forbid, a Pizza Hut.

Fanueil Hall and beyond... Last night we were shown some of the many sights of Boston by our tutor Francios. Eddie, of course, used this as a photo opportunity and managed to break his 20 picture limit. Hopefully he'll have captured some of the historic sites such as Bunker Hill, Harvard and the Bull & Finch; however I feel that he spent most of his memory and battery power trying to snap the local totty.

There is a God... Eddie's eagerness to calculate the number of pictures he could take every day was thrown to the gutter this morning when he couldn't manage to get his battery charger working on the US power source... Yeah.... This means that my mug shot won't be being displayed throught half the Western World. The Sun God Cometh... Whenever and wherever I go in the States it's always 95'+ and I've finally figured it out: I am some form of Sun god... The great big glowing ball of heat and radiation hates me and follows me around on the off chance that it can give me sun-stroke. This week is set to become one of the hottest weeks in Boston this year... Great... I love the sun... It makes me come out in a lovely lobster colour.

We have finally arrived and was able to acces the internet via a very kind lady at an information booth in the Mall. The hotel has beaten my expectations; not only does it have an English style bar, it also has an English style bar that serves extremely good Guiness; the Talbot Club has something to beat now... The bar is now becoming our second home; they serve beer, they deliver pizza; we may not return home if this level of service continues. Eddie even managed to break his 3 pint maximum, which of course meant he was randy as hell... I feel sorry for the poor girls sat to the left of him. Just had lunch in the middle of a tropical jungle, very nice (and large) pizza between the two of us, the only problem was the occasional thunder-storm and elephant noise (but maybe that was Eddie on the pull again). Get back to you later...

Despite a clear warning to the contrary, young Eddie started the morning off by taking a good long stare at the chest region of the *Bountiful* Maria; luckily I had previously warned her of any passing advances that he may have thrown towards her. On arriving at Manchester a thought started perculating through the mind of Eddie; did he turn off the TV, and did he lock the front door -- it's a case of "Hello Boston, goodbye wide-screen TV" It wasn't until I got to the airport that I realized that my coniving family had switched my jacket -- now it looks like I've been kicked out of a yacht club... The jacket switch came with a price, the bloody brass buttons sparked off the metal detectors and I got a free feel-up at security; Eddie wants to borrow the jacket when we get to the US. The flight was quiet, we got to see the London Eye and the Houses of Parliament; however on landing we've found that we are in a Godless airport without a Starbucks... The in-flight meal consisted of a cake with poppy seeds on -- but it wasn't the same as the poppy-cake I got on the "Dam'": if it was we wouldn't need a plane to fly home... Eddie has calculated that he can take up to twenty pictures a day with his current memory cards... God alone can save me now. Signing off for now...

This Blogger account has been set up to record the daily diary of the week long trip to Boston. God only knows what is going to happen over the following few days, hopefully we'll come out of this thing alive. But if we don't make it back, please Martin, shag a nurse on my behalf and think of the happier times; times when Balance Transfers was merely something that our customers did to clear off their balances with us; when the IT team didn't have the rich side/poor side devide; when we didn't have to use the codeword "Janeway". Those were the happy days, no forms to fill in and enough mainframe rights to kill half of the business...