Or then again, maybe not...

Literally within minutes of Blogging my denial of access to UKWS all was well and I could get on again. Is there a moral there? Whinge to your Blog and everything will be made right? In that case I need to whinge about my latest review 'cos it's proving to be, er, tricky...

Gagged!

Oh woe is me, for I am undone. But even having done myself up again it's not good news. No matter what I try I can't get on to UK Workshop for my daily fix. The horror. It's not nice to be twitching like this, and breaking out in sweats ain't becoming. Every 3 or 4 minutes I try the site again, and every time it's "the operation timed out etc etc". Sob. I even tried with Explorer, just in case it was having a hissy fit about Mozilla, but to no avail. With help from Sig I've eliminated the probable cock-ups at my end, so I'm coming to the conclusion C has decided the only way to get me to be quiet is to prevent me getting to the site at all...

Nah. only joking.

Although...

West side story

Or maybe East side. Ah, there's the problem. Where exactly is the best place to put the Creature from The Black Lagoon, AKA the Maxi? On the West wall? Or the East? I thought I was set, and now I keep having 12th and 13th thoughts. Back to procrastination again, as I avoid going into the workshop at all so I don't have to do anything about it. But I must; the old man wants his bench and I need to get on with the tables for the folks which means the workshop has to be in a workable state again - soon. Urgh.

But on a more depressing note, it's my birthday tomorrow. Oh joy. The only ray of light is at least I know I've got a couple of good books on the way; I know this 'cos I bought them myself... Other than that I have no idea which pearls of toolish loveliness may be en route chez Alf (ooh look, a linguist). If any... Sigh.

But on a lighter note, the move of UK Workshop to a new server seems to have gone all right. This is Good News, 'cos at some point Cornish Workshop has to get moved there too. I have a feeling I'm going to need a password to move the name along with it, which worries me. I probably know it. Almost certainly I probably know it. The key question is; will I certainly know it when I need it? Oh deary me...

Old, so old...

To have one grey hair is a misfortune. To find two is worrying. Now I've found a third and that's it really. Over the hill, a has-been, one foot in the crematorium, this woodworker is as good as being no more. Of course I'm sure it's just a complete coincidence that this crop of washed out folicles has appeared just when I'm trying to make spokeshave handles. I mean it can't possibly be that reviewing is prematurely aging, can it? Aye, and there's the rub. It's not really premature is it? Oh me. So old... But then I always get like this on the run-up to my birthday. I'll be suicidal by the 30th...

But on another, much more important, note; what is it with Polos? The round, holey, minty sweets, not the Vee Dub. They must make millions of 'em, right? In state of the art, specially built I expect, Polo-making machinery. (And incidentally, what do they do with all the centres...?) So why is it you sometimes get a, well, soft Polo? You set out to suck away at it without busting through to the hole, in the time-honoured tradition of time-wasters everywhere, and suddenly it's crumbling in your mouth and the new world record is a washout. It's like dodgy pottery that hasn't been properly fired. Why can't the polo machine make them consistent? I blame Nestle. Look what they did to the Rolo packet. Taking away that extra one, and now they can't make decent Polos. The world's going to pot, it really is.

Sorry? What? Musing from the workbench you say? Yeah? So? Can't a person muse on Polos while they're at a workbench...?