For some reason I keep thinking of song lyrics from my school days — variously, the Good Things in Life by the Man from Delmonte:

“I just like your boyfriend,
That’s all I like about you
I’m not jealous at all
I’m just upset,
Why do you get all the good things in life?”,

Don't Shoot Shotgun by Def Leppard and Pulse of the Rhyme by Ice–T. Not sure exactly why. Maybe it’s just because, although I got no time to sit and flip and pop bullshit, I’m still wondering why you get all the good things in life and if there’s anybody out there.

In case you need it, snow report for St Martin de Belleville (where me and seven friends will be snowboarding/skiing for a week from Saturday).

OK; we’ve gone XHTML. All validates; dead easy. Since I haven’t got a Mac to test on, Mac users please email me and tell me it doesn’t work. Hopefully though, it’ll be OK, because the layout was all CSS in any case, so there were no nested tables to worry about. I still need to check it in Netscape. I never managed to get the old html4.01 pages to work in Opera, for reasons I did not manage to understand - CSS quirk?

My Uncle Con

Godfather, teacher and friend, you will be sadly missed.

XHTML

I think it’s about time I converted this site to xhtml. Here’s a first draft of the front page that validates and that was pretty quick to do, so when I get a bit of time it should be a simple matter to apply the same idea across the board and voilà.

Site about pubs [via Bandy]. Reading this makes me want to go to the pub. Is booze a good thing? I was thinking of giving up booze for Lent, but I think I would really miss going down the pub.

People should have to take a test and get a licence if they want to carry umbrellas. Why do people think they have the right to blunder along a crowded street, vision obscured by a golf umbrella large enough to house the second stage at the Reading Festival, poking people in the eye with their sharp spines. If you can’t control your brolly and show some consideration for other pedestrians, you’ll just have to get wet. Your hair didn’t look that good anyway…

A night of weird dreams: variously, being given a Cohiba cigar in a cigar tube, which when opened, turned out to be filled with cocaine; then bursting into flames and being on fire all across my upper body, in extreme pain and having to frantically roll around to extinguish myself; then switch to getting changed out of sports kit in Freshfield's reception in full view of the receptionists (who were behind a glass screen, like in a bank) who were laughing and applauding the fact that I was wearing absurd bright pink underwear; then leaving in my new smarter clothes to meet Robert Maxwell in a hotel lobby and having to play with his two little (7 or 8 year old) kids and their toys. No doubt the diagnosis of all this is total lunatic.