Staggering through the haze to 2008

I write this feeling ... poorly. No, it's not the hangover from December 31 (that, such as it was, was yesterday's burden) - It's this virus that I've managed to pick up. Lethargy and the loss of most of my voice has followed. I would have stayed home in bed but it's time to pay out the quarterly commissions at work, and no I'm not getting anything even vaguely commission shaped. More's the pity...

MODE_FALSE_CHEESY_CHEER=ON
Happy new year! The tick over to 2008 was a little over 36 hours ago and I'm still feeling hyper about the all the promise and prospects that 2008 has to offer!
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BACK TO REALITY
Ack! Who am I trying to fool here? 2008 is going to be much like 2007, only with a big slice of n=n+1 thrown into the mix. I'm still not going to be paid enough, my kids are still going to wage their ongoing campaign of terror against me and Big Brother is still going to be on TV again, proving once and for all that the desperate prayers of an avowed atheist counts for exactly diddly-squat when it comes to Australian television scheduling. (Actually that's something of a lie, Gretel Colleen has been axed from the show. The knowledge that I'll no longer have the threat of that lump of sheep off-cuts dressed as mutton lurching from ad break to ad break infesting my television is a source of great comfort to me).

LOST IN THE DIGITAL DESERT - WEEK 2
Seems we had someone from Telscrape over at our place last week, taking photos of our property in preparation to issuing a quote the digging a trench for the phone line. I'd do the job myself but for the fact that I don't know how deep the following items are buried on their way into the house, and therefore don't want to run into them with a shovel or backhoe;

• a water main,
• an electricity main, and
• a gas line.

Running into any one would be embarrassing, any two a cause for concern, and all three a potential for disaster unmatched outside of any book by Tom Sharpe. Knowing my luck (and potential for all manner of klutzy self-harm) I'd say that to even think about contemplating doing the job myself is to invite option 3, with the added bonus of large sections of the house (dislodged during the almost certain explosion promised by option 3) landing on my mangled, burnt, shocked and drowned body. No thanks, the Darwin Award can afford to wait for another year I think.