A big tidy up (ongoing)

Tidying up electronic photo files

Huge external drives beget headaches. The first thing I do is copy all the data I could ever possibly need to doubling up here and there. The promise, of course, is that: “there'll be plenty of time to sort it all out later, most important right now to back it all up and not miss anything”. There's never enough time, let alone plenty. That 'enough is as good as a feast', I'll accept that can apply to food; never to time. Imagine the luxury a feast of time would provide. So what happens is that the data only ever gets added to, sometimes in the watertight anal fashion computer storage requires as a minimum, and more often in a more haphazard way, with fingers crossed and a repeat promise to “sort it out later”.

I've found folders within folders doubling up the contents of the parent folders. I've found duplication and redundancy all over the place. Thankfully, there's no gaps. Just so much belt, braces, second belt and braces, trousers tattooed onto lower body, under-trousers, trousers, over-trousers and over-over-trousers, that massive drives are telling me they're almost full when actually, with a bit shuffling, time and review, there's space to spare.

At least with prints and negatives and physical things, there's a natural check: do you really want to throw those away? On the computer screen: bin? click, yes, you sure? yes, too easy to say goodbye to too much too easily.

Comeback Sunday

Not enough for Italy (but enough to give England a shakeup before facing Wales). Enough for the bad blood between Ferguson and Benitez to cause another lack of handshake press meltdown.

Business: I'll smile, I'll pretend, I'll shake hand with the devil.

Sport: however dire things on the pitch become, pitch is war, final whistle means war's over, shake and make it up, unless someone's gone so far beyond the pale that he'll never be seen again, in which case it's fair enough to do whatever you like, on or off the pitch, to get your team what your team deserves.

For someone unwilling to work with anyone full of their own press importance (Beckham, Rooney, Keane) and willing to ask him some hard questions, Don Fergusoni expects everyone to kiss his hand, bow down and accept his club's dominance. Whoever challenges this cops his displeasure. Which, unfortunately for Demento, means very little to anyone with a brain. Therefore he loves Steve Bruce, Sam Alerdyce, and all the others unwilling or unable to amount to a challenge, and can't cope with any other approach.

Eyeball yucca plant

We have a large Yucca plant. A leaf stabbed me in the face as I was playing about at the back of the telly. Apparently, this was hilarious. Particularly as I'd protested long and loud about being the worst -trained person to take on the connecting computer to telly duties. Duties much better suited to smaller people. Those less likely to suffer yukka-leaf-eyeball injuries.

Not that I'm bitter or anything. Just await revenge, mockers, I shall return, armed with a sharp-edged yucca-leaf, and put to the sword houseplants that attack their owners.