Mathew Browne

So my visit to the Planetarium was enjoyable but brief. Louise and I then got some of those new Creme Egg bars, which were as excellent as they sound.

It seems I successfully negotiated to keep my rent at it’s current rate for an extra year, saving myself the princely sum of £520. Unfortunately, that’s only two-and-a-half weeks rent. Such is life.

I’ve recently been fuming that someone I know has dared to schedule their birthday party on my (actual) birthday, which conveniently falls on a Saturday this year.

I am incredibly annoyed.

Is my fury childish? Perhaps. But ask yourself this - even if you had nothing planned for the day, would you really want to spend your birthday at someone else’s party (someone who doesn’t even share your birth date, rather, they have knowingly nicked yours this year because it falls on a Saturday)? Exactly.

I splashed out a whopping £10 on a haircut this morning, marking the most expensive haircut I’ve ever had, and the first haircut I’ve ever paid for. Joyous.

I’ve been steadily offloading all of my old CDs and DVDs via Amazon. In the process, I discovered one of my old Buckethead CDs is now out of print and actually worth twice as much as I paid for it in the first place. Back in the drawer it went.

My website was hacked a few days ago by some Turkish script kiddies. Thankfully they weren’t destructive - all my original files were intact - rather they renamed my index files and uploaded their own, which pointed to a suitably humiliating “Ha ha. You’ve been hacked” -esque page. Given my profession I feel suitably punked.

I picked up my guitar for the first time in months yesterday. Within half an hour I’d torn up my fingertips with the strings. That’ll teach me for letting my musical instrument get dusty…

Been busy recently with various websites, visits to the in-laws and pressing deadlines at work.

WWE Raw last night at Wembley was fucking SWEET! Managed to get 3rd row tickets right next to the aisle where the performers entered the arena. Everyone, even the seemingly small guys, are enormous. The women, by comparison, seem diddy. Apart from their surgically augmented chests. Which were appropriately massive and static. Sadly, I was busted by my Missus for shamelessly ogling the girls. This behaviour usually passes under the radar, but unfortunately for me my slack-jawed staring was projected onto a massive screen behind me, much to the amusement of the women in attendance who weren’t fixated on the totty in the ring.

Going to see WWE Smackdown tonight, but having checked the seats out last night I know they aren’t as good. They’re still excellent, mind you.

Full report soon.

I managed to escape April Fool’s Day without being pranked, thankfully. I was, however, amused to hear that a radio station near my parents (and by “a radio station”, you know I really mean “the radio station”) had broadcast an announcement that people were panning for gold in a stream behind a pub in Llangennech. Brilliant.

The open day on Monday was an exhausting affair. Rather than doing anything particularly noteworthy, I had to lug tables, chairs and assorted equipment up and down stairs and in lifts. In the process, I nearly tipped over several hundred grands-worth of scanning machine. Close call. I got home at about 9 and slept for nearly half a day…

I had restrained myself and did not read the Wrestlemania results in anticipation of watching the event on Tuesday evening. I shouldn’t have bothered - some shoddy (and not at all crowd-pleasing) outcomes really ruined the experience, and helped me easily knock on the head any notion of flying to Detroit next year to watch Wrestlemania 23 at Ford Field…

For the record, Louise and I scored evenly when it came to our predictions. 6 out of 12.

All of this isn’t to say that the show didn’t have it’s moments, particularly the over-the-top entrances and the stuntwork. In fact, the Edge-Mick Foley match made for uncomfortable viewing, given the obvious real pain that their stunts were inflicting. The accompanying photo is of Edge rugby tackling Mick Foley through a flaming table to seal his victory. Edge (the one not wearing a layer of clothes for protection, no less) had been dropped in a pile of drawing pins moments before. Other highlights of the match included both men visibly drawing blood on camera, and Edge’s missus getting twatted in the lip with a stray coil of barbed wire (then bleeding all over herself). Clearly, they are all pussies and just know how to fall.