Explosions and Boobs

Someone appears to have finally worked out what the internet is for:
Explosions and Boobs.

Click the link and you get exactly what it says on the tin: a picture of an explosion and a picture of some boobs. Thus:


Hit REFRESH and you get a different picture of an explosion and a different picture of some boobs. Hit REFRESH again and you get another explosion and some more boobs.
There’s none of that irritating writing that can sometimes detract from these sorts of images. And quite right too. There’s no need for any sort of explanation here. We know what we’re seeing here. We’re seeing explosions and boobs.

I can’t help but wonder if this is a forerunner for a more advanced site that would perhaps have pictures of, say, explosions, boobs, beers and great  sporting moments – something along the lines of explosionsandboobsandbeersandgreatsportingmoments.com, might work.

And before I get accused of deserting my female readership, well, I am. Just for this one post.
And the ones about football last week.

I’ll do something on flowers and Justin Timberlake tomorrow*, ok?

* Almost certainly a lie.

Not in Cape Town this morning?

Sorry for you…

Cape Town, 8:48am

Not wanting to get all soppy and poetic or anything, but I do live in the most beautiful city on the planet.

Have I won?

After the misery of yesterday’s Wembley play-off defeat, I’m all ready to give up football for good.

Ja, right.

But I could do with some good footballing news to take away a little of yesterday’s hurt – and I may just have got it.


Following a mysterious call to my cellphone a few days ago, I have now received an email telling me that I have won tickets to the Confederations Cup next month. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t like the “You’ve won the Nederlandse Staatsloterij” emails that you and I are always getting. (I have now secured over €1bn on the Dutch Lotto without having spent a single cent. It’s great value for money.)

No, this email appears to be from a competition that I actually entered and they don’t need $300 to let me have my prize. Also, the email originated in South Africa, the telephone numbers match up and there were no spelling or grammatical errors. If it is a phishing scam, it’s a damn good one. So good that I’m almost tempted to give them the information they need.

I’m still not completely convinced though, so watch this space. I refuse to get excited because I very rarely win stuff. My biggest haul ever was a month’s supply of breakfast cereal for winning a quiz on KFM. And I had to chat to Nic Marais to get that – I surely deserved more.

Maybe the reason I rarely win stuff is because I rarely enter competitions. Although, that means nothing, as my Nederlandse Staatsloterij success proves.

Lead balloon

Well, that was suitably depressing.

Same time, same place next year, I guess.

Think I’m still in shock, so more may follow, probably involving swear words and general anger.


My god, that Mike Dean is a complete twat.

Ooh look! It’s started already!

Why I heart technology

So today is the big day when the red half of Sheffield and the claret and blue whole of Burnley descend on Wembley Stadium in London for the Championship play-off final – a match worth anything up to £60 million to the winners.
I did want to go, I did look at flights, I did not think I could afford it. So I’m watching on TV.

My dad and my brother are going though. Lucky bar-stewards – they’re almost through Nottinghamshire on the M1 already.

The plan was for them to park at Watford and catch the metropolitan line through to Wembley Park. Which would have been great, except for the Bank Holiday engineering work which means that line is closed.
Cue a mildly concerned sms from my Dad and cue me swinging into action.

First, check the reports of engineering work on the real-time interactive tfl tube map. They’re true. Moor Park is utterly buggered.
Then, use the regular tube map to choose an alternative route.

Use Skype to  call Dad on his cellphone and suggest Hillingdon as an alternative. He asks for a postcode for the station, which I google and find, then sms him via Skype as we chat. He types it into the satnav and they have instant directions.

5 minutes from that first sms: sorted. All from 6,000 miles away. I heart technology.