40 years ago today

TV transmission started (recorded at Goldstone and transmitted to Houston at 011:26).	010:32	00:04	17 Jul 1969
TV transmission ended.	010:48	00:20	17 Jul 1969
Midcourse correction ignition.	026:44:58.64	16:16:58	17 Jul 1969
Midcourse correction cutoff.	026:45:01.77	16:17:01	17 Jul 1969
TV transmission started.	030:28	20:00	17 Jul 1969
TV transmission ended.	031:18	20:50	17 Jul 1969
TV transmission started.	033:59	23:31	17 Jul 1969

This makes me happy

This has been a really crappy day

Which has capped a really crappy week.

I need to lift my spirits but all I can seem to do is sit at work and hit "Stumble."

What's my motivation? Oh yeah, I don't have any.

That's sorted then.

Fuck Virgin Trains

Yesterday I spent an infuriating hour on the phone with two different Virgin Train customer "service" representatives trying to change a ticket.

Yes, it was an Indian call centre. Yes, I could barely understand them. Yes, they were rude, unhelpful and could only follow their script and yes, I was hung up on when I asked to speak to a supervisor.

All I wanted the fuckers to do was abide by their own terms and conditions and change my fucking ticket for the stated £10 fee. Simple. I wasn't asking them for anything difficult, like a pleasant attitude or a blow job before I boarded. I wanted them to put me on a train which left one day later than the one I was booked on.

If anyone who works for Virgin is reading this let me first say, "I'm fucking sorry you work for such a festering pustule of a company." I'd also like to add that if you work in one of Virgin's sweatshop call centres and you were one of the two assholes who spoke to me yesterday- I hope you spend eternity having to make cold-calls to people who can shock you in the nuts every time you ring them.

This is how it played out as I went through each page of Virgin Train website with the faceless drone:

Me: "Click on Terms and Conditions and tell me what it says"

Drone: "It says you can change your ticket for £10. But no matter, because you chose an e-ticket option you can not change your ticket."

Me: "Why?"

Drone: "Because it is an e-ticket."

Me: "And that's different because?"

Drone: "Because it is an e-ticket."

Me: "That doesn't answer the question."

Drone: "..."

Me: "OK, let's go on to the next page."

Drone: "Now select the e-ticket option and click continue, see how it now says that you can not change your ticket?"

Me: "Yes. Fair enough but go to the next page where I pay for the ticket. What does it say under Terms and Conditions?"

Drone: "That you can change the ticket for £10."

Me: "And you don't see a contradiction or a problem here?"

Drone: "You can not change an e-ticket.:

Me: "Right. Let me speak with a supervisor."

Drone: "Of course."

Click.

Silence.

The really fucked up thing is that since every train line in this goddamn country has a monopoly on their routes, if I wanted to get back to London (and, unbelievably, I did) I had to use Virgin Trains. I ended up having to buy another full-fare ticket because Virgin made it impossible for me play by their rules.

It took me fifteen minutes to dig up their customer service contact details on their website and I sent them off a sternly worded complaint. Have I heard back from them? Of course not. Will I ever hear back from them? No. Never. They want me to simply give up, accept the ass fuck and move on. Well they can suck my balls. I'm filing complaints with anyone who will listen. I'm going to the press. I'll start a boycott. I'll write Richard Branson. I'll make sure every single person I meet at any business or social event knows what gutter dwelling leaches Virgin Trains are. I will not be made to look the fool.

However, in the meantime, I'll sit in the 1st class compartment, drink their drinks, eat their food and steal their little packs of biscuits. That'll show 'em.

Honestly

I'm not an atheist- not quite anyway. But I do happen to believe that most religions, with the possible exception of Buddhism (which is more of a philosophy anyway) are pure evil.

This pretty much sums it up:

http://www.irreligion.org/wp-content/uploads/2007/12/321.gif

Language difficulties

I've been in Manchester for the past week (Macclesfield actually) and I'm having a hard time understanding what the hell anyone is saying. I don't suffer alone: two French guys sitting at the table next to me just spent the better part of five minutes struggling to understand the waitress when she asked them what type of bread they would like.

Waitress: "Wheeeet ur bruuun bred?"

French guys: "Pardon?"

Waitress (slower and louder): "Wheeeet ur bruuun bred?"

French guys: "Wit or bruin brad?"

Waitress: "Brad. Whut type o brad do ya want?"

Me: "She wants to know if you would like white or brown bread."

French guys: "Ahh! We would like rolls."

To be fair, I had to listen pretty hard to catch her drift so it's not surprising that my French friends were struggling.

They really need to dim the lights in this place. I feel like I am sitting in pizza parlor.

I've spent the last five nights at an ancient old manner house which was converted to a hotel and golf club about two-hundred years ago which, coincidentally, was the last time the carpet was changed or indeed cleaned.

I rolled up to the place on the hottest day of the year so far (30 C) and they stuck me in an attic room at the top of five flights of stairs (no lift). Even before I opened the door I could feel the heat radiating from the door. Stepping in I was slapped back by stale, furnace like, air.

I searched the walls for a thermostat, switch or leaver- anything that would activate whatever passed for air conditioning at the time of the pile's construction. Nothing. I called the front desk, "Help! How do you turn on the AC? My shoes have melted into the carpet."

"I'm sorry sir, none of our rooms have air conditioning." Came the reply.

"You must be joking! I'm in a pottery kiln up here and the damn windows don't open more than three inches!"

"That's a security feature."

"A burglar would have to be suicidally insane to try and scale the side of this building to get to my room! You have got to get me into something cooler."

Needless to say I was told that they were full up, "But there is a fan in the closet." I was helpfully informed.

That night I slept naked on top of the bed- spread out like a starfish, fan osculating a steady stream of hot air up and down my body.

I'm going to cut this short because my lack of sleep is pushing me over the edge of exhaustion.

• The next day it started raining and hasn't stopped since
• My room temperature never dropped below the boiling point of lead
• I am now in a different, modern and altogether better hotel only a few miles down the road
• I am freezing my ass off because even though there has been no sunshine for days they've turned the heat off for the "summer"

Thank you and goodnight.

The history of the universe (abridged)

http://www.savageresearch.com/humor/historyOfTheUniverse.html