Friday, September 30, 2005

Computer Q and A

Answering your questions:
Fergus Braemar Glennoggie McShortbread - Doomed Scotsman

My computer clock always runs fast. It’s been doing so for years. Every week I have to set it back about a half hour or so. Is there a way to correct this?

Garrgh! It's no good laddie, I'm done for. But ye might make it back, if'n I stay here an' watch yer back. Aye, ye go when the barrage is done, and I'll stay here with me gun and make sure none o' them German heathens follow ye. Just do me one favour, boy - when they find me, make sure they bury me with me tam'o-shanta.

I've got icons scattered all over my desktop, how do I organize them?

Gaaakk! Me number's up, bairn. Ah've stopped me last bullet and ah'm goin' fast. Ye'd better get on the noo, they'll be comin' this way afore long. Just don't forget yer old pal Fergus and don't forget what he told ye. An' don't ye forget what he died for, neither. Ah'll ask of ye one thing and nothing more - tell them to bury me with me sporran.

When I go into Windows XP, there aren't any file extensions, such as exe, jpg
or txt shown on any of my files. I'd like to change this, but how?

Ye've been a braw pal to me, lad. But noo I'm goin' where ye can't follow. The pearly gates be openin `afore me! Ah can see the wide, green glen! Me fair hame! Think kindly o` me when I'm gone, lad, and dinnae forget the deeds I did an` the things I taught ye. On a cold nicht, when the moon is broad, remember me, and raise yer glass to yer ol' pal Fergus. That's all I ask.

When I try to delete files, sometimes I see a message saying "this file is currently being used by Windows and can't be deleted". How do I delete these files?

Ah'll no hear another word about it, lad. Ah'm old, but ye've got yer whole life aheed of ye. Stay here, and ah'll go in yer place. Now ye make sure ye live through this, and ye go back home to yer wee bairn and live a good life. Just make sure they bury me with me pipes.

I wrote into your column last month about having issues with my CD burner and you suggested that I go on without you because you'd just slow me down. I'm humbled by your selflessness but it's not helping me change my priority settings. More detailed advice would be much appreciated.

I'm gutshot, laddie! Ah followed the skirlin` o' the pipes in tae the jaws o'death! Kiss me noo, then walk away and dinnae look back. Ye'll nae see me again.

My question is regarding a problem that occurred when I tried to copy a folder with all my MS Word files to my USB jump drive. I think I may have accidentally moved the folder instead of copied it, but the folder never appeared on my Drive E: for the jump drive. I then attempted to do a System Restore to a previous day to recover the files, but that did not totally solve the problem. I can now see the folder and the files within the folder, but I cannot open them. I get an error message that says the file is already in use. Is there any way I can recover my files?

Fucked if I know, lad.

Friday, September 16, 2005

Titless Pete

Did I ever tell you about Titless Pete? He was titless alright. He was called that because he got caught in a friendly fire incident during the first Iraq war, whilst waiting for a bus in Dagenham. An Apache pilot mistook him for Baghdad and shot a Hellfire missile at him. His nipples were simply vapourised in the explosion.

By some miracle, the rest of Pete survived comparatively unscathed, but the experience left him deeply traumatised and to add insult to injury, the American government billed him for the missile to the tune of $600,000.

Anyway, the whole incident wrecked his marriage and he spent some time on the streets, before he got a job writing angry letters to Teletext. He specialised in demands for a return to capital punishment. You could always tell if a letter was one of Pete's if it ended with "and I'd pull the lever myself!".

Once he'd saved up enough money from his new job, he travelled to Switzerland to have
a pioneering restorative procedure to get his nipples back. It was a complete success to begin with, but unfortunately the nipples rejected him. Embittered, he returned home to his job, and started writing letters insulting cuckoo clocks, yodelling and Swatches, until one day he was found dead in his flat with a Swiss Army Knife protruding from his back. No arrests were ever made.

Many stories have a moral, but this one has two.

A: Nipples maketh the man.

B: Don't fuck with the Swiss.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Hello Huw.

Defenestration is defined as the act of throwing (or sometimes slow-motion punching) somebody out of a window. We see this activity glorified, nay encouraged by the media on an almost daily basis. But little mention is ever made of those who pick up the pieces afterwards - the under-appreciated men who tirelessly patrol the streets of our country every night, throwing those people back in. Without these exceptional individuals, our cities would be brimming over with the defenestrated, but like true heroes, these men are humble and modest about their duty, and claim they are "just doing their job". But I and a growing number of others believe their selfless actions should be more widely publicised and celebrated. That's why I am dedicating this blog entry to The Refenestrators.

I went to an airshow at Duxford on Saturday with dad, Justin, Shane and his daughter, which was excellent. We were able to get in free by virtue of my brother's Mob Connections, which was also excellent. I filled my camera with images, too many to post here, so instead you can follow this link to aeroplaney goodness:

Despite rain, it was a great day out for all involved, and there were some pretty amazing things to see, including a Tornado jet (loudest noise I have ever, ever heard in my entire life) 12 spitfires in the air simultaneously (first time I have ever been emotionally affected by the sight of some aeroplanes) A B-17 flying fortress (accompanied by the commentator's absolutely hilarious, incoherent ramblings about Those Barmy Brussells Beauraucrats and their devilish schemes) plus various other aerial delights. There was also a big market selling all kinds of aviation paraphenalia, and in among the endless stalls selling incomplete Airfix models, I found a couple of unbelievably cheap army surplus stalls where I got an ammo box, a hat for Claudia, and an old US Airforce jacket, with "U.S. AIR FORCE" written on it. At another stall I noticed there was a box full of old army and airforce name tags, possibly wrenched from the stilll-warm corpses of American servicemen. Anyway, they were only 50p each, so I got one for my jacket. I am now "FLYNT". Grr!

In other news, I heard "we" (the England cricket team) actually didn't lose the cricket for once, an event which has prompted thousands of people to flock to Trafalgar Square to pay homage to the "heroes" for doing what they were paid an absolutely jaw-dropping sum of money to do. Not that I'm having a go or anything. It's great that they won but the media is always so hasty to label victorious sportsmen as heroes, while the people who work constantly to save people's lives barely get a look-in. People like doctors, policemen, firefighters and refenestrators need to be paid their due.