A quick security update for you:

The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent terrorist threats and have raised their security level from "Miffed" to "Peeved". Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to "Irritated" or even "A Bit Cross". The English have not been "A Bit Cross" since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies all but ran out. Terrorists have been re-categorized from "Tiresome" to a "Bloody Nuisance". The last time the British issued a "Bloody Nuisance" warning level was in 1588 when threatened by the Spanish Armada.

The Scots raised their threat level from "Pissed Off" to "Let's get the Bastards". They don't have any other levels. This is the reason they have been used on the front line of the British army for the last 300 years.

The French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from "Run" to "Hide". The only two higher levels in France are "Collaborate" and "Surrender". The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France's white flag factory, effectively paralysing the country's military capability. It's not only the French who are on a heightened level of alert. Italy has increased the alert level from "Shout loudly and excitedly" to "Elaborate Military Posturing". Two more levels remain: "Ineffective Combat Operations" and "Change Sides".

The Germans also increased their alert state from "Disdainful Arrogance" to "Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs". They also have two higher levels: "Invade a Neighbour" and "Lose".

Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual, and the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels

The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy. These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.

Americans meanwhile, and as usual, are carrying out pre-emptive strikes on all of their allies, just in case.

And in the southern hemisphere...

New Zealand has also raised its security levels - from "baaa" to "BAAAA!". Due to continuing defence cutbacks (the air force being a squadron of spotty teenagers flying paper aeroplanes and the navy some toy boats in the Prime Minister's bath), New Zealand only has one more level of escalation, which is "I hope Australia will come and rescue us".

Australia , meanwhile, has raised its security level from "No worries" to "She'll be right, mate". Three more escalation levels remain: "Crikey!", "I think we'll need to cancel the barbie this weekend", and "The barbie is cancelled". So far no situation has ever warranted use of the final escalation level.

Note: Courtesy of one of those emails that get passed around

I suppose much of what blogging is about, is 'observation' - as one of my recent commenter's so astutely observed, it's the detail. This particular detail is a few days old now, but it has stuck with me and keeps playing across my mind.

Television round here is a fairly dull, piped in affair for the most part - 52 channels of fairly staid stuff. OK, so having the Premiership on live so many days a week is something I'd not have in the UK. The news channels though are limited to Sky News, BBC World and CNN, therefore nothing that is in any way out on a limb or massively thought provoking. And it is on the first of these that I found my detail.

For some reason, AM and I always seem to find ourselves watching this channel. I'm not sure whether that's because it's on channel 1 on the TV, whether it's because it looks glitzy compared with the others, but more likely that it's a better connection to home than the others. From a quality news reporting perspective though, it's bloody awful. The approach is easy to see, take any given subject, shake it like a terrier with a doll and then put it on the infinite repeat, but under no circumstances get to the core of the topic at hand, your audience wouldn't understand it - I have in the past, and probably will continue, to refer to it as 'Sun TV'.

In this instance, Sky themselves aren't really the point, it was an interview they ran with some UK government minister whose name escapes me. This was probably less than 24 hours after the Haiti earthquake struck and here in front of me was this minister explain what was being done to bring relief to the people of that country. It's something that should be celebrated that the UK, despite a recession to cope with, is able to muster the resources needed to tackle such a catastrophe and play its part in world affairs. I should have been able to feel that this was a positive thing I was watching, but came away feeling a distinct distaste for UK politics, as if that could be any worse than what's been witnessed in the last 12 months. What got me, was not the message, but the manner the message was delivered in - this guy was positively enjoying what he was doing! There was no sense of gravitas about it, just some guy who wanted to be seen to be delivering 'good news'. There was nothing about his manner that suggested he cared in any way, so what we got was a repetitive recital of numbers of rescue workers, sums of money and tonnes of equipment, all trotted out through an inane smirk. A government in trouble looking to put a positive spin on itself, ably assisted by a media channel that seems to see nothing more in a story than how best they can promote their own image. Wouldn't it have been nice to have posed the question "Minister, can you explain to our viewers why it is that you seem to be enjoying this..."

Non-Believers Giving Aid - Support for the Haiti Tragedy & Beyond

In an ideal world, this place would somehow probe the deeper meaning of something somewhere, but instead it continually rattles off the minutia of life; a trip here, a happening there, perhaps a snippet of life previously unreported. Did you know that they sell memory sticks in the shape of a penguin, ones with a cute little blue rubber scarf no less? I got one for Christmas you know.

You see what I mean?

Here is not really place for great revelations or world events. To engage with those might reveal more than I'm comfortable with, give a clue to what's inside, that inner seething mass.

So instead you must piece the puzzle together for yourself, but as yet I've not given you the corners and precious few of the bits of the sides. Do you see a picture at all? I think I lost the lid of the box some time back, the picture was faded and peeling anyway, so I'm not sure it would help you in any event. Maybe some lyrics would help here...

The Chamber Of 32 Doors

Artist: Genesis
Album: Lamb Lies Down on Broadway

At the top of the stairs, there's hundreds of people,
Running around to all the doors.
They try to find themselves an audience;
Their deductions need applause.

The rich man stands in front of me,
The poor man behind my back.
They believe they can control the game,
But the juggler holds another pack.

I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.
I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.

I'd rather trust a countryman than a townman,
You can judge by his eyes, take a look if you can,
Hell smile through his guard,
Survival trains hard.
I'd rather trust a man who works with his hands,
He looks at you once, you know he understands,
Don't need any shield,
When you're out in the field.

But down here,
I'm so alone with my fear,
With everything that I hear.
And every single door, that I've walked through
Brings me back here again,
I've got to find my own way.

The priest and the magician,
Singing all the chants that they have ever heard;
They're all calling out my name,
Even academics, searching printed word.

My father to the left of me,
My mother to the right,
Like everyone else they're pointing
But nowhere feels quite right.

And I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.
I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.

Id rather trust a man who doesn't shout what he's found,
There's no need to sell if you're homeward bound.
If I chose a side,
He wont take me for a ride.

Back inside
This chamber of so many doors;
I've nowhere to hide.
I'd give you all of my dreams, if you'd help me,
Find a door
That doesn't lead me back again take me away.

PS: For those who liked the cliffhanger at the end of the last post, you'll be pleased to know that the dead PC is now well again. Resurrected, Lazarus like, courtesy of a power supply replacement. Some small pride at having been able to diagnose and rectify the problem, a small part of my world that could be changed to the way I wished to see it, an opportunity to use long ago acquired skills, the sort that are never likely to become surplus to requirements.

Some days after the return to work and there seems to be a return to the position in which we found ourselves before I departed for the festivities. Things look much as they did before providing a sense of ambivalence - on the one hand things are no worse than when I left, on the other, neither have they improved. Hence the stasis.

I even looked the word up and found an slightly unexpected application for the word

Pathology Stoppage of the normal flow of a body substance, as of blood through an artery or of intestinal contents through the bowels.

I feel a desperate urge to share here, but in the interests of decorum, I shall instead just blame the meds...

Sleep since the return has been at a premium. 02:00 alarms for 03:00 taxis off the back of 30 minutes sleep do not make for good travel companions. When combined with 3 hour waits for aircraft that take-off late, barely getting to the connecting flight in time to wait on the tarmac for a further 3 hours whilst the aircraft sits in the anti-icing queue, you begin to understand the rather disjointed feeling AM and I had on finally making it to Riyadh. It was a kind of an odd weekend where sleep fell wherever it came. It's finally coming right, but the tiredness persists, compounded no doubt by the New Year imperative to exercise.

Reality is starting to kick in though, its inbox cleared of its assorted detritus and evidence of carefully laid plans discarded in absentia. Recalibration is being applied and asserted where needed, concerns assuaged and strategies reviewed. This too will come to pass...

Closer to home there are the inevitable piles of newly acquired gifts stacked on the dining table, the sense of not quite being home and the next escape to be planned. Calls to book flights already as strong as the northerly wind outside - OK, so it is in February, before when I need a new visa, a new driving licence and a new iqama (residents permit). Bureaucracy here is such that these things must align with the precision more commonly associated with a Cruise missile strike if I am to escape these parts in a little over 6 weeks time.

Before then there is the music PC to resurrect, whilst away, it died. It has been resuscitated, fitted with a pacemaker, has died again and must now face surgery. What I really need is for a Gregory House like figure to step into the breach and identify the true cause of the emergency before I undertake a wholly unnecessary (and expensive) procedure with limited hope of success. Time I think to contact 'GomezMan' - where are you Eddie?

For anyone now wishing to read such things, my About page now contains something more than a place holder. Thank you for listening, you've been a wonderful audience

Inspired by Ellie over here, as I don't think she quite believed me when I suggested she provides such, I thought I'd [ poach / recycle / adapt / embellish - delete as applicable ] my comments from her latest post and see what if anything it amounted to. I've not put anything up since getting back to the UK for the seasonal merriments and I'm beginning to suspect that small band watching maybe feeling just a tad short-changed of late. As November and December paid testament, I'm not exactly short of words as a rule, but I must confess a general listlessness towards committing thoughts to my database.

Christmas has come, Christmas has gone. The usual events have played out much in the manner that could have been predicted. Too much money spent, too much food eaten, but remarkably well behaved with the demon drink (though I can account for the demolition of 6 bottles of pretty decent champers, though not all by myself I hasten to add). Everything I thought I wanted has duly arrived and more, though how the staggering pile of books that went on my Amazon list are going to make it back to KSA is anyone's guess.

In the interests of remaining on a sound financial footing, I have not dropped into Sounds Great and slapped the Egg Card onto this little beauty though I'm sorely tempted all the same.

Which neatly brings me onto where I started off over at Ellie's place and yet another puritanical demonstration of good behaviour in the face of the temptations of Beelzebub and all his little wizards - should you have a liking for such insanities...

AM and I were exceptionally well behaved last night. The pair of us pretty much chilled in front of our respective laptop and PC for the evening, she looking at houses, me buggering about with the intricacies of jQuery (I live the wild life me...). Our one bottle of wine with our evening meal wasn't going down well at all on my part, its compatibility with my assorted mix of tablets seemingly at an all time low. We watched a few fireworks out of our 2nd storey bedroom looking across Thornton-Cleveleys, Bispham and Blackpool towards The Tower. For the most part they were a rather feeble affair compared with what Sky News offered us from Edinburgh, Sydney, Madrid and other locations

was it me, or should London have come up with something more spectacular; I don't know to be truthful, it could have just been poor coverage on Sky's part, but it didn't look to be as much as a capital city should offer, recession or not - maybe they're saving them for 2012...

There did look to be some sort of show on near where the North Pier should be, but we are too far away to see the very best of it. Bed eventually came after 01:00, but that would have been long before many.

I've never quite been able to get into the spirit of the New Year somehow, it feels to me more of a wake for something passing than it does a celebration of a new birth. I don't know exactly where that came from in my life, but it's so ingrained, I'm not sure I could change it now. The best I can point to is that I'm rarely in the same place at this time of year as I am for the rest of it - it never quite feels like the right place for it. Perhaps it will work itself out when I've settled myself in one location, or alternatively when I've worked out what's so fascinating about getting excessively drunk for no discernible reason...