I was idly flicking with the remote last night and came across 'The Day After' on the sci-fi channel. My god that's a badly made film. Watching the badly acting eighties people being turned to gas by atomic bombs (which apparently makes you briefly glow red and show off your skeleton to the world before vanishing), I couldn't help but chuckle. I don't think that was what the makers of the film wanted. They wanted me to gasp in horror.
But people aren't scared of nuclear wars anymore, especially when they cause death in such a comedy manner. We're more worried about global warming, beneficial yoghurt drinks and the kids hanging out around the nearby shops. The people of the eighties deserved to die. Look at their hair!
So, take that Reece Dinsdale! Eat vapourons John Lithgow!
I'm glad that the people in the eighties were killed in a nuclear war, they died so we could live in a world without bad clothes, greed and Steve Guttenberg.
Hang on...

Good For No-One

It's the day of our union general meeting. It's what I pay my union fees for. We get a trip to Blackpool to listen to some people drone on about things which don't concern me. I'll report back later in the blog, when I've actually been. It's 8 am you see, and I haven't gone yet. Still, I get paid for doing something that isn't software testing, so I can't complain.
I made sure I was in work early so I can use the fact that I won't be sat at my desk to boost my flexi balance. It's important that my flexi is quite high for the Ashes later on this summer. I think I may vote 'no' to our pay-offer, just so we can go on strike for the cricket in July. Bootiful.
There are only about 6 of us in up this end of the office, and the big boss lady is having a chinwag with everybody. Well, everybody bar me. I think she has difficulties with me, whereas she greeted everybody with a warm 'morning!', I got a wary 'hiya' when I barged through the door. She does seem to find it hard to talk to me. Past confrontations must still be at the forefront of her memory.
Ah well.
We saw Ben Folds on Friday evening. He was fucking aces. The music was fantastic as expected, but he was amusing, slightly odd and involved the audience in the performance. He was getting everybody to join in with him. I didn't of course, because I don't do that sort of thing. Exuberance and ebullience are alien to me.
Batman Begins was great wasn't it? I hope all the shitty directors of piss poor action/sci-fi films watch it and take notes. If you can make exciting films like Batman Begins, then I don't want to see any more shit like Resident Evil or Alien vs. Predator. I also don't want to see Vin Diesel in any more films. Well, at least you know what you're going to get with a Vin Diesel film. Have you noticed that film adverts on TV lately have been putting things like "contains mild peril" at the bottom of the screen? Vin Diesel films could have "contains poor acting, feelings of sadness amongst the audience, and the sound of people on first-dates faintly sobbing as they realise that this relationship that held so much hope for the future and that had been exciting them all week has actually been strangled at birth by the atrocious decision to watch a Vin Diesel film with their new beau."

*Delay for union meeting*

I'm back now. We agreed the pay-offer, so I'll get a nice bit of back-pay in my July wages.
It was an odd meeting that went on for what seemed like ages. You get some right freaks at the union meeting who regale everybody by giving a lengthy well-prepared speech about their opinions on the offer. One guy was so cruelly heckled that he almost started crying. That was fair though, as his speech was dull, irrelevant and slightly sinister (a bit like this blog). He'd only reached page 3 of what looked like a sizeable essay on the current state of BAe Systems.
Part of me wanted to reject the pay offer. It's what I usually do, as I think we give-in too easily. I didn't this time as it pissed off CS&S people. They get on my nerves. Maybe we'll strike over our pensions, there is certainly a decent chance of that happening. So maybe I'll get my brazier, docker's jacket and fingerless gloves one day. I know the windows I'll be chucking bricks through with 'SCAB!' written on them in blood. I have a list.

RIP Chester.
I hate it when my favourites die. Responsibility is a terrible thing sometimes.