Hmmmm. Just testing something. Sam, you'll have to send that (or 'a') picture again. I still have it, but the encoding's all screwed up.

The rain awoke me at 6am, which is in stark contrast to the day before . . . my lips still feel sunburnt. Pictures coming up.

Pictures of Monday now up/down-loaded. But I should not be on computer . . . have university assignment due next Wednesday.

I don't think I have much to report . . . nothing much to say. The thumbnail is of a curious little design on a new cut-throat razor I bought today from Peter Maturi. Well, you know - better to have a picture of something than nothing at all . . . I think. Incidentally, Solingen is where most of my kitchen knives are forged.

I will not depart from Thee,
When Thy Heart Will break;
When Thy Heart fades away,
In the last blow of death,
Then will I embrace Thee,
In all my body and being.

(Gospel of St. Matthew, Chapter 26 or 27 . . . erm . . . one of them)

AAARRRGGHHH - just got back from the barber's (Lez(s?) Robbins) having made the fatal mistake of asking him . . . well, I opened the door, he was cutting the hair of this guy with white hair, looked in his late fifties, early sixties, and there's this guy sat down, waiting for a hair cut, on Lez's retro, cinema-style seats and Lez says, "Sorry, mate, we're closed," so I say, "No, no, I just had a quick question. I don't suppose you sell the paste for, you know, the leather straps for the cut-throat razors." Big, big, big mistake. I'm tempted to go back there, with every single hair removed from my body, and not a single nick, not a single trace of blood, and then to hold out the razor-sharp cut-throat and say to him, "Well, actually, Lez, I didn't need someone to teach me how to use this thing and, funny thing is, I know how to sharpen blades." Grrrrrr, he made me so angry. He was basically saying, "Take it back, get your money back, 'cos they shouldn't have sold it you. I gave evidence in court, yeah? 'Cos there was this guy, yeah? His name was, erm . . . Nick Howson . . . or was it Neil? Oh, whatever . . . Anyway, the point is, Peter Maturi sold him this cut-throat and, erm . . . I testified, said they never should have sold it in the first place. I mean, did they tell you how to use it?" No. "And have you got a strap?" Yes. "30 pounds?" Yes (well, 24.99) "And what about a stone? Have you got a stone?" A stone? What the frig are you on about? "To sharpen it. You need a stone. Trust me. Take it back. Look, see, if you want the paste, I can get it for you. It will be about, erm . . . thirteen pounds . . . I have to get it from Italy, but I use these," as he showed me his cut-throat-cum-disposable-razor affair . . . interesting. And I watched him using this cut-throat, and thought to myself, "Ah . . . so that's how you use it," and I've just done a dry shave on a little patch on my arm and it's now oddly smooth without a single cut . . . I guess it's easier to shave an arm than a face, though . . . the hair is of course much softer, much thinner. But if there's one thing I cannot stand, it's people telling me that I cannot do something. What do you mean I cannot? I don't have the ability? The aptitude? The experience? The knowledge? What? What is it? What is it I don't have? Grrrrrrrr. Anyway, I need a shave. Well, in that case, pay attention to the bit at the end - "Shaving with an open razor is not easy to master and this guide is not to be considered a substitute for being taught by a Barber."

It wasn't easy, no, but not impossible. I cut myself once, slightly. Problem is, though, the blade seems blunt and I don't have any of the paste for the sharpening strip and I don't want to ruin the blade by . . . you know, not doing it properly. I think back to Peter Maturi and, "Erm . . . how are you meant to sharpen this thing? When you gonna get some of this paste stuff in? And why are you only charging three pounds and that crazy Lez Robbins guy wants to charge me thirteen? And why should I mention . . . Neil Howson? Who are these people? Personally, I think if you call something 'cut throat', you're asking for trouble . . . the implies danger from the outset, you know? Erm . . . I guess we kind of fritter our lives away in details and, erm, there was this time once, few years back, as I entered the departure lounge at Washington Dulles Airport . . . I mean, I had no idea, no-one told me . . . and it all happened so fast . . . sorry. Oh yes, the cut-throat, yes."

there's no pictures . . . the Debenhams web-site . . . wedding lists . . . no pictures . . . no details . . . this can't be right. Well, how odd . . . on my brother's wedding list there is . . . there are items listed that return no results when you try to search for them using the search facility at the top of the page. Sebatier. Creuset. Splatter (John Rocha tank top?!). Colander. Chopping. Pizza. Possibly the worst search engine I've ever stumbled upon.

Yes, yes, the links page doesn't work, I know, thank you. Is this you, Michael - ics_server.intra.bt.com?

Nope - nothing to report. No data. These aren't the droids you're looking for. Move along, move along.

Apparently I haven't been writing much here of late. Well, I've been busy. It's my brother's wedding this Saturday and I'm the best man. This means preparing a speech and being somewhat organised. I've written a bit of Perl in order to download all the best man speeches from http://www.hitched.co.uk/ and thence to pick out the most common words. This is not my speech, I must stress. I have a speech already, but I'm just ensuring I have enough to fill in the 5-10 minutes alloted. Right. I better go. Expect some pictures here Sunday or some time thereafter.

Just been putting up all the wedding photos from the weekend . . . still haven't finished.

Ah . . . that's better . . . using a normal QWERTY keyboard now, but I find it rather confusing to look where the keys are. Erm . . . yes. So, for those interested in my health and well-being - the nurse (I've just been to the doctors) said my blood pressure was 'borderline', which was much better than last time. She also took some blood, via an injection in my LEFT ARM. Previously, it was always in the right but . . . no, that was just a TB thing, wasn't it? You know? The whole, "what hand do you write with?" thing, in case there was some kind of reaction . . . oh, I don't know. Anyway, she took some blood . . . dunno why. Maybe she just fancied it.

Today arrived my strop paste and brush holder from The English Shaving Company. I only ordered this stuff a couple of days ago. Crazy. In answer to an e-mail I received today - well, I've just wanted a cut-throat razor for . . . well, at least eight years, and now that I have one, having spent all that money, I might as well use it. I still can't get a fantastically close shave and I'm not sure whether this is 'cos I'm not using it right or I just didn't sharpen it properly. Hmmm . . . Anyway, forget Big Brother, this is so much better (erm . . . well, on second thoughts, maybe not that much):

http://www.uktvstyle.co.uk/WhatsOn/WatchingPaintDry.cfm

After all, I expect to see this wall. I thought someone was actually going to paint it. Pah, you're just like all the others.

And there's something very odd going on with my telephone . . . I feel like a character from a David Lynch film . . . let me explain. On 21st May, at exactly 13:40 (BST), someone left a message, but it sounds like some kind of automatic 'your call could not be connected' type of message, only it's in French. Now, I'm not very good at French, but it sounds like, " . . . ne quittez pas un correspondent," and the next bit I can't make sense of but phonetically, it sounds like 'che se bu zan dra'. Uh? What?! The next message, at exactly 13:42 the following day (Saturday 22nd), begins with the same bit of French that I couldn't make sense of that the previous message ended in, only the last couple of syllables seem to be pronounced slightly differently . . . there's more of a rolling r sound. Then, very quietly, you can just make out background noise . . . someone writing on paper, maybe crossing something out . . . I don't know. The next message is at 13:39 on Wednesday 26th. This time, it's English and a woman says, "Hello?", a few seconds pause and then, "Hello?" again and then the message ends. At 13:41 (maybe you're spotting a pattern) on Thursday 27th the message is silence, about four or five seconds worth. At 13:40, yesterday, more silence, but this time only for a second or two. And then, today, most worrying of all, most eerie of all the messages . . . at 13:41 someone left a message featuring several seconds of nothingness and then, barely audible, the words, "C'est gare . . . " (I think) but it could just as easily be "Segar" (with an acute on the E) or perhaps "Cigar" with the I pronounced more as an E . . . but I really don't know. It's a woman (again) but it sounds like it's her last breath, her dying words, the last syllable stretched out. On all occasions, the caller's number is unavailable (I have caller display, but my phone just says 'UNAVAIL'). During the week, I changed my phone message to something along the lines of "Hello, no-one can get to the 'phone right now, so please leave a message. You do this by speaking . . . CLEARLY . . . AUDIBLY . . . AND . . . IN . . . ENGLISH," but all to no avail. No doubt a video tape will arrive on my doorstep soon . . . erm . . . actually, it will have to be a DVD - I don't have a video player . . . but, anyway, it will be a DVD of someone with a camcorder wandering around my house, filming me sleeping and then it will end. Great. I sleep with an axe by my pillow, sometimes a crow-bar.

Now I'm confused . . . who's using a Sun machine, 8:16 this morning? X11; U; SunOS sun4u; en-US; rv:1.7.

It's now 13:44 . . . I'm worried.

So I've changed my answer phone message, telling them they've probably got the wrong number . . . but maybe they don't understand English. Hmmmm . . . you didn't think of that, did you?