Let me be your swampsnake...

... till the real one comes along.

And so opines the album, Next, by the Sensational Alex Harvey Band. The glory and the ecstacy indeed. Now, I've mentioned these cheerful chappies from the '70s before so I won't go into detail again, but hearing that opening lyric decided me on the title for this blog which, otherwise, would have something like feckity feck feck buggery fecking feck bumholes. Or something like that.

Case 1, m'Lud:

After living spam-free for well over a year some annoying so-n-so has discovered my main email address and is using it to send me press-release-looking spam advertising a venture capital company in America or Canada (depending which part of their website you look at). I tracked down their website, opened a nondescript Hotmail account and emailed them to tell them that someone is spamming me in their name (of course, no self-respecting company would do that itself, would it). For every email I get I will send them one back from the Hotmail address - or maybe I'll set up a Yahoo as well. I know it'll do little good except ease my distress. If it continues I'll have to start attaching miscellaneous photos and things to use up their bandwidth too...

Case 2, m'Lud:

A mere 5,000 miles or so, or something like that. That's all. I walk round the corner and what happens? Yes, you've guessed. I got my horoscope done in Mayan heiroglyphs when in Mexico - it was something a bit different that could be framed on return home. Carefully packed for the journey home, carried very carefully so as not to crease it and all that jazz. I finally get round to going to the local framers here in Streatham and what happens? Rain! I hide it under my jacket to protect it and in the process manage to tear it slightly... oh feck! It's not a big tear and you'd probably have to look for it in order to see it once it's framed but I'll know it's there... O well.