This week I'll be mostly eating rhubarb crumble

Just say "cheese!" Or is that "rhuu-baaarb!"

I don't have time for this. (Astute readers will notice I didn't have time last week either.)

In fact, I don't have time to cook dinner tonight, what with one thing and another. I did just have time to chuck a ready-made rhubarb crumble in the oven (35mins on 150°C for fan-assisted ovens), and I managed to find a minute in my busy schedule to take a picture of me eating it.

This week I'll be mostly mishearing lyrics

Let me screw this into your shoe?

Now I've been wanting to put together a misheard lyrics vid for YouTube for about a year now. I keep getting started with something, but never really get very far.

I was reminded of this when, for reasons that I won't go into at this point, someone read out a handful of French sentences to me over the phone last night which I was required to write down.

But having French sentences read out to me over the phone is nothing to do with this week's blog. My point is, however, that those pesky French don't pronounce just about any of the letters in the entire alphabet. I mean, why bother putting 's' or 't' or even 'x' on the end of a word if you are just going to say 'uh' instead?

Moving on (and trying to get to some sort of point (please (I hear you say)))...

So here's the thing. Trying to understand these French sentences that were being read out to me over the phone is suspiciously similar to trying to understand the lyrics to just about any Earth Wind and Fire song. When we were on holiday a while back, we fell about in the car while listening to EW&F's Let's Groove, convinced that the chorus went "Let me screw this into your shoe, It's alight! Aaalight!"

So, back to YouTube. It's all well and good coming up with a misheard lyrics vid, but you've got to pick your song carefully. The classic misheard is of course Wishmaster, with almost 5 million views at the time of writing.

So, I've decided on an Earth Wind & Fire track (and no, it's not Let's Groove), and I've got the lyrics mostly sorted. Got the storyboard sorted too. Just need the drawings (hello Abbie), and to remember the password to the YouTube account that I opened a year ago and never used.

Might have it finished by this time next year. Don't hold your breath.

This week I'll be mostly watching Nascar

Picture-in-picture reaches 
dizzying new heights.

Yee-har!

I've been catching up with some Nascar races this week. The Yanks do everything big, and Nascar is no exception: Lots of cars, lots of laps, lots of racing, lots of overtaking, lots of cautions (yellow flags), lots of pit stops, lots of commentators, lots of stats, lots of picture-in-picture, lots of drivers' names starting with J and ending with Jnr.

Here's how you're average Nascar race coverage goes...

Boogidy, boogidy boogidy, let's go racing boys!

Welcome back y'all, there's 300 laps to go here at Texas Motor Speedway in this Chase For The Nascar Nextel Cup championship race. I'm Doc Rambler, here with Rusty Fender and Jack DaCarup, and we got Davie, Janie and Mikey down on Pit Road there.

That's right Doc, we got a gawd damn hot dawg of a race goin' on right here. Over to you Jack.

Thanks Rusty, just take a look at the ticker tape across the top of your screen to see that the 34 car of Jeff J Jefferson Jnr is leadin' right now man. But they just threw the 18th caution of this race here and, man, in come the leaders down Pit Road y'all. Over to you Dave.

Thanks Jack, I'm down in the 2 pit and I'm talkin' so fast 'cause we're crammin' stuff on your tv screen right there like you wouldn't believe, there's just so much goin' on dahn here y'all. The 2 car is down-and-away. Over to you Janie.

Thanks Dave, gotta be quick, the 8 car of JJ Jayjay Jnr in the bottom right corner of your screen is havin' a half a turn of wedge and two rightside tyres and, hey, he's down-and-away. Over to you Mike.

Thanks Janie, quick one here too, the 77 car of Jack JJ Jacksonville Jnr - in the top left of your screen - hits the pit box as the 07 car is a-comin' on out, and he gets himself a bit of fender damage there. The 07 car crew chief Chuck C Chucker Snr is just sayin' "hey, we was just victims right here" y'all. Over to you Doc.

And up comes the leaderboard on the screen showing the movers 'n' shakers in the race off Pit Road - and we've got the 24th lead change in as many laps here at Texas Motor Speedway in this Chase For The Nascar Nextel Cup championship race. And put a call out for the 99 car folks, on the left-hand side of your screen, he just snuck on up there and took the lead. Let's see that again. Over to you Rusty.

This is a dawg fight right here y'all. Over to you Jack.

I gotta get me some a this, man. The 99 car and the 42 car were just gittin' on down 'n' dirty an' Duking it on out, while this 5 car right here gits a bit loose and woooo, he's just drivin' the wheels off that thing there y'all. But y' know the fat lady ain't sung yet man. Over to you Doc.

And take a look at Bob Bobberson Snr on Pit Wall there on your screen, he's over the moon about that. He'll be lookin' over at Big Al Bigville Snr and sayin' "man we just ran you down". Over to you Rusty.

This here dawg fight is hot dawg, gawd dammit. Over to you Jack.

Big Al was sayin' earlier, man, that the 5 car is a bit leery on these here cotton-pickin' mile 'n' a half ovals. But look at John J Johnson Jnr in the 16 car on the right of the screen comin' down the straightaway doin' a tenth of a half second quicker than anyone else out there right now man. Over to you Doc.

He was the two thousand six winner right here at Texas Motor Speedway, and he wants to win in two thousand seven. He's a man on a mission in this Texas shootout Chase For The Nascar Nextel Cup championship race. Over to you Jack.

Sure thang, y'aint never gonna see it any better than that right there. JJ Jnr in the 64 car will be gittin' on the radio and saying to his crew chief "we gonna git ourselves some cowboy hats here Buzz". Over to you Rusty.

Gawd damn hot dawg.

This week I'll be mostly not sleeping

3 add 5 add 4, carry the 1, err ...

There's a lot going on chez Foster at the moment (mainly, relating to the actual 'chez', but that is a story for maybe next week).

There is so much going on in my head that there aren't enough hours in the day for my tiny brain to organise it all, so it seems to be working overtime during the night.

I woke up a number of times during Monday night. On the last occasion I was trying to add up a very long column of single-digit numbers and wasn't able to carry the 1 (what with being asleep). It wasn't much use that I woke up either, because my mental powers of arithmetic whilst concious aren't exactly the best, so it was no use.

I never did get those numbers added up.

Then I woke up a number of times during Tuesday night. Not really sure why.

Wednesday night was the same. The last time I woke, I was trying to remember the lyrics to a Jack Johnson song that I don't even remember the title of. It's the one that starts "doo-do-do-dee, doo-de-do-do, doo-do-do-dee, doo-de-do-do..." Doesn't help does it? Another clue? Sounds like the intro the Bon Jovi's Dead or Alive, but not a steel guitar and more jaunty. Still no help? Another clue? Also sounds like the intro to Joyce Simms' Come Into My Life, but without the warbling, and a bit slower.

Anyway, I figured maybe there was some important meaning to the lyrics, but I guess I'll not be finding out today.

Thursday night I was in major need of an early night. However, I got on a roll with a bit of writing and when I next looked up from the laptop it was early next morning.

At least I got the writing finished.

So, I'm going home tonight and looking forward to a really good night's sleep.

I always sleep well chez Foster.

This week I'll be mostly on the phone

It was ringing anyway...

So please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.

This week I'll be mostly missing deadlines

Deadlines! What deadlines?

There is a worryingly large proportion of potential readers of this blog (hello both of you) who know what I mean when I say I missed a deadline at the start of this week. My excuse is two-fold:
1) I was on holiday last week.
2) I wasn't a well bunny on Monday.

There is thankfully a grand total of zero work colleagues reading this, so I can safely skirt around the deadline I missed at work on Tuesday. My excuse for that is also two-fold:
1) I was on holiday last week.
2) I wasn't a well bunny on Monday.

There is one other potential reader of this blog (hello all one of you) who I've been failing miserably to get round to emailing for a significant number of weeks. My excuse for that is, yet again, two-fold:
1) I'm a lazy git who is running out of excuses (see also 2 below).
2) I wasn't a well bunny on Monday.

And now here we are and it's the wee hours of Friday morning, and I haven't even thought about what to write here, let alone how I might take a photo of me looking like I'm doing whatever it is that I'll be mostly doing this week.

On that note, I think I'll just let this peter out into a damp squib of an ending...

*slinks off and gets the camera out*

This week I'll be mostly on holiday

As I'm on holiday and am 
unable to take a suitable photo, 
here's one I prepared earlier.

I'm on holiday, so there won't be much to say (you'll be pleased to hear).

As we speak, well, as I write, well, as I type, I'm just down the road from where we used to live in Broadstairs, in bed with the missus who is finishing off some book or other, while I think of something to write about the fact that I haven't had time to think about what to write, what with being on holiday and everything.

I'm able to write and post this because the friends we are staying with have just today got wireless internet installed in their home. I was lured in with the usual "hey, you work in computers" conversation, which moved swiftly into the "so you might be able to give us some advice" arena, at which point I (un)wittingly invoked the "while I'm here I could sort it out for you" clause. Within 12 hours I had recommended, supervised the purchase of, and carried out the installation of, a nice shiny Wireless 802.11g ADSL router. All in return for a couple of evenings of good company, an all-day-breakfast, and a few bottles of Stella.

Beats work any day.

This week I'll be mostly all fingers and one thumb

Ouch.

My weekday apartment is just round the corner from the hospital, so I've always figured that if something dire happened to me during the week, I'd at least be able to drag myself round to the A&E ward with - say - my severed leg in a carrier bag and ask them to stitch it back on for me. For this reason, I haven't bothered getting any plasters or antiseptic cream in, because who needs that when you've got the States of Jersey health service on 24 hour standby.

So a couple of days ago when I cut my thumb on a tin of grapefruit segments, it didn't come as much of a surprise to find that I had no plasters in the place. I checked anyway. This was no ordinary cut - it was a man cut. (You've all seen the 'man cold' bit of video on YouTube that's doing the rounds?)

I was on the verge of putting my severed thumb in a carrier bag to take round to the hospital when I decided instead just to stick the little bit of skin back down again and see if it would stop bleeding. It did. Although it would start again at the drop of a hat: when typing, doing the washing up, putting my shoes on, during meetings about regulatory changes to Foreign Exchange deal confirmation. That kind of stuff.

You take your thumbs for granted, and then having to do things without one of them for a couple of days is a bit of a mare. It makes you wonder how the rest of the animal kingdom get by without their opposable thumbs. I mean, fancy being a cat and only being able to bat at a ping-pong ball, but not being able to flick it with your thumb and put some side spin on it making it curve across the carpet. Or being a cheetah pounding gracefully across the plains hunting down a tasty looking gazelle only to find that you have to claw and bite at your dinner rather than getting a good hold on it like one might with a KFC.

Anyway, I must stop there and get something to wipe all this red stuff off the right hand side of my keyboard.

This week I'll be mostly wondering who I am

The incredible hulk?

Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Bruce Banner and The Hulk. Penry and Hong Kong Phooey. Niki and Jessica. They've all got one thing in common. Or is that two things in common?

In here inside t'internet we are not necessarily ourselves. Well, maybe I speak for myself. As Hugh Simon would say if (a) he were here, (b) he were a real person, and (c) we were still doing What's Up Doc quotes: "I don't know who he is, but she is definitely not herself."

So while I'm coming up with some worthless drivel to put on here this week, one of the other internet versions of me is out there on some other web site trotting out some other worthless drivel about something or other under an assumed name to avoid embarrassment.

Here's the thing then. Am I the real me? Can I keep being the real me in here? Is it easier to be the real you on some other site with a fake name? Out there I can tell you what I'm thinking, because you don't actually know who I am. But in here...

... I fear I'm getting a bit serious. So let's call it a day. Tune in next week for some other worthless drivel that might at least fall into the 'light-hearted and vaguely humourous' category.

If you're lucky.

This week I'll be mostly frightened of an indian meal

Arrgghhh.

A few weeks back I was clever enough to give myself food poisoning. I'll spare you the details, but let's just say ... (ah, no, I said I'd spare you the details). Anyway, food poisoning isn't much fun. We've all been there, dashing off to the ... (oops, I said I'd spare you the details).

On occasions like that, what you need is someone to tuck you up in bed with a fresh cup of water, put a large bowl on the floor by the bed, and make sure there's a clear run to the lavatorial facilities. You take these things for granted until one day you find that you're yacking ... (sorry, the details) ... you're not well, and the lovely someone who would tuck you in is 150 miles away with the English Channel in the way.

But I digress.

The last thing I'd eaten before I found myself heaving up ... (yes, I know, the details, I'm sparing them) ... basically, I'd had this M&S indian. Looked lovely on the box. Tasted OK. Came with a free balti dish too. "Tender pieces of chicken breast cooked to a traditional balti recipe in a spicy curry sauce". Whatever. Didn't taste so nice on the way up ... (oh, the details).

When I'd recovered I sprayed the entire apartment with bleach. Obviously I lean towards the obsessive and compulsive anyway, so on this occasion I really went to town. In fact, after taking the remainder of the indian out of the freezer just for the 'photo opportunity' for this blog, I spent a good deal of time scrubbing my hands with a wire brush (OK, that last bit is a lie, but I was washing my hands like a surgeon).

So here's the point.

I figured that one day I might fancy an indian again. But I don't know that I will. Certainly not an M&S balti with naan bread and starter selection. That box of "samosas - delicately folded in a crisp pastry and stuffed with spicy minced meat and peas" went straight from the photo shoot into the bin.

Instead, tonight I'll be indulging in a "moist and flaky portion of fillet of cod coated in a light, crispy breadcrumb". Cod 'n' chips to me and you.

This week I'll be mostly finding scary stuff in the fridge

Blimey, it don't 'arf reek in there.

About 6 months ago I had a month off work (with a "fractured cortex" according to a certain recruitment agent). I came back to Jersey after 4 weeks to find what can only be described as a "hideous pong" coming from the fridge.

(When I say 'can only be described as', that's not strictly true. It could, in fact, be described in a number of ways, starting from "disagreeable aroma" and "unpleasant bouquet", right up to "nauseating reek" and "repugnant stench". To be fair to the smell, it was on a par with "vile putrid hum of fetid dingo's kidneys").

It turned out that a five week old half-used carton of milk was to blame. I duly poured the offending milk down the sink (when I say 'poured' I actually mean 'mashed rancid lumps of'), and set about trying to get the smell out of the fridge. I started by just leaving the door open for a bit, moved on to wafting a napkin about in there, attempted scooping the air out with my bare hands and finally resorted to putting a huge stash of lemons chopped in half on the top shelf.

6 months later the smell had almost gone. Fast forward to this week...

I bought a couple of peppers and decided the best place to put them would be in one of the fridge drawers that I've never used. I opened the drawer and lo and behold, what I imagine was once also a pepper, sat in the drawer in a pool of primeval soup, looking up, blinking in the fridge-light, and said "Hello, I'm a new species. Sorry about the smell. Have you got any deodorant?" I almost peuked into the fridge. Then I composed myself and told the pepper-thing that I was pleased to meet it and if it would let me escort it into a plastic bag and down to the communal bins I would introduce it to some new friends.

3 days later the smell has completely gone. Funny that.

This week I'll be mostly hurting in places I didn't know I had

Blimey, that don't 'arf hurt.

Let's get the Wii jokes over and done with then... I've been having a wii. I've been wiiing all weekend. I only stopped for a few minutes to have a p00. The only time I wasn't wiiing was when I was sliiiiping.

Yep, chez Foster we have a Wii. This surely is the future of games consoles. Everyone should have one. It should be the law. This isn't just pressing buttons. This is actually playing the games. It's like actual sport but without all that mucking about with membership fees, having to wear white soled trainers, and remembering to bring the deodorant.

Instead you have a Wii Mii. Your Wii Mii is a little computerised you (or should that be 'yoo') who turns up when it's your turn to tee off and takes your shot for you, or does your bowling, or can be someone else's Wii Mii's tennis partner.

But here's the problem: Wii Mii doesn't get tired out. Wii Mii plays 10 frames of bowling and bobs about on the screen grinning (or frowning in the case of my Wii Mii) apparently saying "can I have another go?" Wii Mii finishes a round of golf and wants to go straight back to the 1st hole and start again. Wii Mii plays 3 sets of tennis and doesn't even break a sweat. Wii Mii rides a cow bare-back flat out down a track knocking over scarecrows and jumping hurdles and doesn't even bat an eyelid.

But all this time 'wee you' is getting more and more knackered. As a result, I've now got a dodgy wrist from the bowling, a dodgy knee from the golf, a dodgy thumb from the baseball and a severe case of tennis elbow, tennis upper arm, tennis shoulder, tennis calf and tennis ankle.

Yep, this is the future of games consoles. And it hurts.

This week I'll be mostly too busy

Not ... enough ... time.

This is last week's blog.

The reason I'm even bothering writing this is because of the huge demands put upon me by the extensive readership of this modest weekly publication, to which I humbly submit.

(By which I mean, one of my two listeners asked where the blog was, so I'm rattling this out quick in my lunch break).

The reason I didn't get round to writing anything last week was because of the huge demands put upon me by the editorship of a certain bi-weekly publication, to which I am obliged to commit.

(By which I mean, I was late for some other bit of writing I do, so late in fact that the editor took the unusual step of using that week's editorial piece to make a point about the deadlines).

So that's it for last week. Hopefully this week's blog will be more entertaining, with lots of really witty stuff about having a Wii.

This week I'll be mostly trying to keep the blog happening

Scratches head.

Safe in the knowledge that this blog has at least one fan (who admittedly reads it for the pictures!) I'm now under pressure to keep coming up with stuff. It's not the coming up with stuff that's the problem though, it's the knowing when to stop coming up with stuff.

I'd like think that using FB Notes as a blogging app is "pushing the envelope", or maybe "using it in anger", or maybe "taking it to the max", or maybe "getting it under braking into the hairpin, sneaking up the inside, forcing it onto the marbles and hanging it out to dry", or maybe ... (erm, you get the point).

The problem is I've already broken it twice. Those nice FB people have been too busy to actually reply to my problem reports. But at least their lovely computer has sent me an auto-response informing me that they are all down the pub deciding whether to spend their vast advertising income on improving their apps, or maybe on beer.

I'm going to click the 'Publish' button now. Which may or may not work, depending on whether the nice FB have finished down the pub and got the programming manuals out...

This week I'll be mostly communicating with long lost friends

Is that you on the line?

If I'm honest, I only really had a look at Facebook on the off-chance that I might bump into some old friends.

Well I've tracked one down (hello Jerry), and he was speaking to another just the other day who says "hi", and knows of the whereabouts of another.

So I'm a happy chappy.

There's around 7 years of catching up to do. And I have to somehow explain my mysterious and sudden disappearance after having left 7 years ago, smiling and waving, and saying something along the lines of "might see you next week then"...

This week I'll be mostly writing Notes

Hmmm.

Hmmm (again).

Having experimented with writing on my Facebook wall as a journal type thing, I am now going to have a go with the FB Notes app again.

I did have a look at some actual blog apps but they seemed like overkill.