Now blogger has pop-ups telling me about its new and great improvements, stuff it.
Some things are meant to be invented and this is one of them. I want a dozen delivered for my birthday, passionfruit flavour would be nice and raspberry of course. How delicious does this look. I hadn't realized that a week had passed since I blogged. Passing out in front of a warm fire will do that. The Weather Bureau announced that we had more warm days in July this year than last year. I do not believe them. If it wasn't so traumatic, I'd get last year's diary out and check but that means seeing what mother was up to and it's bad enough this year. She was cold yesterday, that's SHE, the one who is in the warm bed talking to the dipstick who'd just come in out of the freezing July. She has a cotton blanket, two mohair rugs and a flanny nightdress on. She can't find her other blankets. That's because the stupid old bat made me take them home a month ago because they were too heavy on her legs. AAAAAAAAnd here it comes, the last word as always, 'was I sure?' So, we continue with the internet. All of a sudden I can't log on again. Mr. Terrribly Efficient had put in a pop-up box that won't let any updates go on without my permission which included me trying to log on. For once Windows was a help, that'll go down a treat at Head Office when they get a yes, it was a help instead of the usual fuckoffno. The setting was on halfway and it needed to be on high, it comes up, I say yes and internet log on window appears. I can't believe how many apps are running along with my log on. I still want my XP back. Now for the scam news. After all the drama, I get a phone call from an African, not racist, I know the accent from the girls down at the Home, he was gabbling, I yelled since this was 9 o'clock at night. Something about my computer and it was sending virus signals to Microsoft. Another African takes the phone, the supervisor and easier but not much, to understand. I said everything was fixed and virus scans detected nothing. He insisted that I sit at my computer and hand over remote control to him before my computer was damaged beyond repair and I passed on the virus intent on world domination. Well that's what it sounded like. He had the nerve to tell me not to yell, me, who yells at robot calls. God how I miss the old fashioned phones that one could smash down and shatter ear drums. Next day, another call, another African but much more refined in English. Computer virus detected at Microsoft, danger of cyber crime, virus world domination, must hand over remote control or zombies will eat my brain. They shouldn't have given me a day to prepare, bad mistake. Which of my 3 computers is in danger.....crickets chirp.....the one you are sitting at.....I'm on the phone.....crickets chirp.....aren't all 3 of your computers at the same IP address.....of course not........why not?.......my husband, the IT consultant likes to change and test virus programmes........crickets chirp....chirp.....chirp.....clunk. Damn, didn't get to use my last bomb. I'll keep it until next time, that's the one where I tell him, his call will be recorded and sent to the fraud squad for performance evaulation. And I still want my XP back.
Three days ago Microshit downloaded a bucket of updates which wiped out my connection to Optusnet and internet. I rang this morning for troubleshooting at Optus and was told they'd confer with Micromoneymakers and find out what was wrong. Three hours later, no lunch and needing a pee, I was not a happy blogger. The thought of having to go shopping for a fortnight's food, do the banking in the bank, post cheques and pay cash for the rates never mind not being able to ebay and buy books had me in meltdown. Thank you Antikva for ringing and giving me the internet address for Optusnet because you know, no internet. And another thank you for giving me that tip about the phone which is another nightmare. Want to get rid of something on the Home page, hold finger on object, wait for remove to pop up and press, this takes two fingers which I found out after 5 tries. Anyway I ring Optusnet again with the press this number, press that number, blah blah and I get this sweet little bloke who was probably 10 years old. For a solid hour with narry an 'oh God' under his breath, he walked me through getting my internet connection back. He wasn't sure but he thinks the updates wiped out my administrator rights so the computer smart arse decided not to recognize me even though I was still using the same swear words I always use when talking to machines. Then I managed to lose the entire Optus broadband button from the computer. My fault, I use the mouse with my left hand so I was getting the right and left clicks mixed up. In the finish I managed to hand over complete control of this machine to Mr. Impeccable Manners and told him to take the $7.50 in my bank account as long as he fixed everything which he now has. He told me I could get a technician to take me back to lovely old familiar XP but he's fixed 8.1 so it shouldn't give me anymore trouble. He said the problem is, 8.1 is very delicate and touchy, I told him to punch it into submission. I'm a nervous wreck about turning it off after I write this blog. If you don't hear for another week, don't worry. I'll just be cranking up the old 32 bit horse and buggy and using that. And no, I haven't managed to make a phone call yet but they called me. Wanted to know if I'd like to play a game, dicing with death they are.
Pauline 20th century heroine answers the call of the Queensland dinosaurs.
Ranting Saturday night because Dutton looked like he was back become lightly surprised to find him behind on Sunday, moderately overjoyed to watch his margin thin by Sunday night but still no celebration because votes are still being counted.
I suppose the post mortems have already started behind closed doors. Blame 18s for thinking, pensioners for being scared or wealthy losing money anything but the real reason, serving their political party instead of the people who vote for them. One of the commenters said on Saturday night that the postal votes would favour the coalition because they were more co-ordinated in sending out the information. Not in this electorate, not one Government flyer but plenty of Opposition information including a postal voting form and return envelope.
Complaints everywhere because of the number of independants but ain't Democracy grand and nobody had to face a bullet to vote. But of all the elections not to put in a Drover's Dog, he could a been a contender since most of the mongrel breeds got dumped.
The right stones must be scoped out, found legally or thieved from gardens without fences or neighbours who have been annoying the crap out of me for the last 40 years. I do have outdoor paint and 2 turtles, 4 gnomes, a frog and a pot waiting for a coat of said paint. Patient they are, 6 years of waiting but soon, soon.
I probably would fall off the rocks climbing down but the view across a whole load of brilliant sea would be worth it. That's my eldest granddaughter on those rocks. Her father used to do the same thing except he would usually be hanging off a cliff photographing a waterfall. Mother is back at the Home. My sanity is creeping back, slowly. I have a lesson for all dumbarses. When you get a new phone, don't get the same number as the previous one until you learn how to use the new one. Anyway now no-one can get me on the mobile because it's dead and the other isn't alive yet. I left home around 12 to vote, not too far. It sprinkled rain. I stopped next door to thieve some of their flat rocks since both cars were missing. Unfortunate to collide with them coming out of the polling booth. Prayed bag would not slide off the walker and drop stones at their feet. Steel myself to walk into the school where my son was one of the first students, push the memories back to the dungeon and lock the door. Voting on my feet because mother made me miss the postal vote deadline. I mentally got the giggles as the paper was so long, it went across the bench and up the wall. I had an image of Will Smith in Men in Black trying to fill out test forms and dragging the table across the floor. I had pencil, paper and glasses trying to escape. Trying to read the tiny writing was a bastard but I finally found all the people I had decided on and that included the looking after animals party. The voluntary Euthanasia Party was voluntary, mandatory and I would have included it for mother. If I made any mistake, I hope it was for someone good and not Pauline Hanson or Family First or any other creep party which was hard since most of them were creep parties. Missed buying a lovely sausage and onions, no chairs to sit on and I was beyond standing and there is no way I could steer walker and stagger with food at the same time. I was forced to dine on the delicious odour of frying onions following me down the road. Double strength cappuccino at the local and a litre of ice-cream in the bag started me off on the last leg to home. 2 o'clock I fell in the back door.
I will be watching the ABC count with the delightful Antony Green and using the remote to delete any face I don't like. Usually the ABC is well mannered and not like the other stations which resemble a bunch of cage fighters.