Excellent work.

Driven to near exhaustion by the thankless task of trying to marry up SQL Server 6.5 (1997) to VB.NET 2005(actually not as impossible as it sounds!), I finally decided to remove the old server and replace it with the MSDE, which is the core server for SQL Server 2000.

I mounted it up after a mammoth session trawling MS, and was rewarded by more trouble.

Then I took some trouble.

I read the documentation, and installed a new instance(on my NT4 antique)with the command line arguments correctly set; the reward?

Marvellous.
The new instance was immediately transparent to Server Manager 2005 on my main computer(over my network) and I was easily able to connect.

But what's this, you might ask. MSDE has no databases or scripting tools.

No problem!
Connecting SQL Server Manager 2005 to MSDE(server 2000 is supported!) I ran an installation script on my main computer and hey presto as if by magic, a fully-populated 'pubs' database was created on the NT4 networked server through MSDE.

Better still, the database was fully available as a Visual Studio.NET data source and was completely and transparently integrated into the applications.

So if you want a network backup server for peanuts, you know what to do, eh?

Nicely Said.

The ease with which moral cowards denounce the committing of lesser evils is a grotesque parody of the difficulty with which the brave have in choosing them.

Posted by Deogolwulf at 4:40 PM

Peter Hain is A Lying Skank

What about Sky News eh?
Reporting on the first visit of an English Rugby football team to Ireland in ninety years(since the original Bloody Sunday), Peter Hain said things to the effect that 'this was unthinkable when the bombs and bullets were flying only ten years ago."
He then came out with the standard soft socialist introductory mantra"It is a measure of Tony Blair's success..."
Then I switched off.

For the record, the IRA cease-fire came into effect when Conservative John Major was Prime Minister.
John was not only the last Conservative Prime Minister, he was the last person to be remotely recognisable as a Prime Minister, not some shrieking, simpering dog which bites all who oppose its mouth-foaming quest for recognition.

New Labour?
Bunch of cunts more like.

Call The Police!

To his fans he is the fifth Emergency Service.
Soon the first will be back, as he is going to reform 'The Police', the fabulous band of the 80's.

Discussing this with a relative, things became interesting.
Apparently, if Sting was a nationalised industry, he would weigh 30 stone, be unable to get off his bed and play crap tunes on a Vibrophone balanced on his enormous stomach.
He would need billions of pounds to keep on producing poor music, and everybody would always be talking about how he needed modernisation after years of neglect and underfunding, first under the Tories and now under New Labour; the money would disappear on consultancy fees, with barely an extra Big Mac to feed his huge belly.

Eventually he would be renamed 'Stigmata' and privatised.
Shortly afterwards he would go broke and get sold to the Chinese for £50, who would then sell his vital organs for aphrodisiacs and leave the dead body in a Music Museum in the midlands.

This Just In....

According to the little counter down there, we passed the 1000 mark this evening.
That's 1000 since December 2nd.
Let's see; 1006, number of days 76, so on average 13 people visit every day.

That is modest, but more than double the six I used to get when the blog was tracked .
I would recommend the change to an unmonitored blog.

Snow Joke.

Sorry. Haven't got one.
But last week when the snow was thick on the ground I popped over to 'The Pub' to be greeted by the staff and their dogs in a spacious emptiness that was nevertheless filled by a roaring coal fire and the light of candles.
The beer?
Well, having read a novel in which all the breweries had been nationalised and the beer named 'John Bull Bitter' by the government, I couldn't resist this; it was 'Bull Bitter', and was a light, hoppy drink of about 4% strength.
Sometimes, Hell Ain't A Bad Place To Be.

Unbridled Competition.

"Yesterday's uncontested absurdities are tomorrow's incontravertible truths".
This is pretty close to something Ayn Rand said in the seventies.
Trouble is this; in the eighties, when she held sway over entire nations through the shared truths of her ideals, through Ronnie and Maggie and half a hundred others who are now fading from view, the scum was almost brought to a moment of revelation.
Almost.
The British Communist Party dissolved itself.
Almost.(The constituent communists remained).
The Soviet Union became, merely, the repressive Russian Federation(with fawning sympathy shown by the Union's former fellow travellers in the West, except for Leutenant Frank Drebbin) as part of the desperation of quietness which was the crucible of today's counter-revolution.

The fellow travellers all over the West reached their 'epiphany' moment, or rather their pretense at an epiphany moment, when the scales dropped from their eyes and they saw the true awfulness of the breaching of the prison walls and the dazed curiosity of the newly freed slaves, both in the East and the West.
Thankfully (for them) the Chinese oppressors took a big gamble and arrogated some fake outrage to their cause when they used military force to destroy a potential People Power liberation at Tiannenman Square.
Immediately the frightened scions of the former Status Quo were encouraged, and alleged people like Ted Heath flocked to the Red Banner.

Over the years, slowly, timidly, carefully, but steadily, the contras have regained their confidence under cover of lip service.

They would agree absolutely with my opening quote; they have read all the same books we have.
But whereas we see it as a warning, they see it as an operational instruction, even a truth which they must use.
So, the noise surrounding the alleged issue of global warming is controlled minutely to absolutely ensure that the absurdity is uncontested, and lo and behold, a new orthodoxy is being imposed.

Who would have thought that these creatures were so disgustingly corrupt back in the eighties, that they would see our tracts and culture as nothing more than a training ground for their evil ambitions?

Incidentally, the picture is from 'Allposters.com'.
Be advised.
They 'no longer sell' this one.

Do They Know It's Randmass-Time At All?

So often we have been told, by people who should and obviously do know better, that Objectivism is a 'cult' or 'religion'.
To believe in a religion of any sort, one must first undergo a conviction by-pass, a short circuit of neuronic association, which literally means that the subject is in possession of beliefs which are beyond all evidence and discussion.
But in the case of a religion, these beliefs must necessarily have come about through random, revelatory means, the acquisition of the belief system being a complex descent from an initial premise or position which is held above all conviction-based argument.

The only similarity between Objectivism and religion, therefore, is that Objectivists will certainly believe truths which they do not regard as open to discussion, and it is this outward similarity that might lead to foolish, or even culpable, attempts to label Objectivism a religion.

The similarity, however, is only outward.
Recognising that you can only displace the depth of human influence that religious fundamentalism arrogates by countering with an equivalent depth of reasoned conviction, Objectivists maintain an impervious zeal which is yet not zealotry.

This is the crux of the matter; to millions of people who have since the earliest age been pressured into a conviction by-pass, that is, being taught to accept as an article of faith things which are really counter-intuitive, the step to replacing one set of articles with another is like throwing a switch; the load doesn't change, only the direction of the current, and these people are not Objectivists, despite their outward conformity to a system of truths.

What makes an Objectivist an Objectivist is the recognition that nothing is to be believed unless it is true.
Which is definitely not an excuse for equally religious persecutions of those around them to 'expose' the underlying lies(which are created by that persecution like a self-fulfilling prophecy).


So, to ask an Objectivist whether he or she believes in Randmass should be nothing more than a mildly amusing irrelevance; a militant ideologist Objectivist might see in this a method in the (presumed) struggle to influence the world.
But obviously such a person would be more of a communist than an Objectivist, since they would be making the effect on others the central motivation of the action.

Indeed, it might be said that any private group of private people gathered for the purpose of the expression of truth was more objectivist than any person or persons who simple rote-recite Ayn Rand's works.

Deadly - In The Hands Of A Professional.

Du du du.....du du du duuu du du du du du du du duuduuduuh!
Bodey, Doyle, what are you doing parked up in a West Yorkshire High Street?
Whatever we are, you made us!
I didn't make you into Yorkshiremen!Now get back down South and kill some terrorists!

Of course, Bodey and Doyle drove Fords, especially the Mark 2 Capri.
Back in the late sixties Ford decided to phase out the V4-powered Corsair, and replace it with a much less family-friendly coupe called the Capri.
Eventually this went on to possess a 'Power Bulge' when the mighty Ford V6 three-litre was installed.
Obviously this car was quite rare as most execs(like my dad) only had the budget for the 2-litre straight 4.

Of course, then dad lost his job and company car, became self-employed and ended up buying a new Porsche 944 Turbo every year.
So he was alright.
Alright?
But the people at his company called his 2-litre Pea-Green metallic Capri, with the Power-Bulge bonnet lifted from the V6, "Father's Final Fling".

And yes, the car was a right goer!

I Strike At You From The Heart Of Western Civilisation

This beast is part of the biggest publishing organisation in Yorkshire.
I picked up a load from them this afternoon.

Too bad I didn't get any pictures from where I delivered; the Leeds University Student Union building was crowded with the most ridiculously beautiful young women, dozens of them.
I had a big smile on my face.

It's worth noting that the picture above is taken from the mezzanine level at around 15 feet up.
The multi-million machine is enormous.

Scenes From The Arab Street.

Sorry about the night-light quality of this photo.
The car is a Supercharged Mercedes-Benz with a private number-plate; an expensive number-plate, worth more than the car.
The location is one of President Blair's palaces- a new school in a poor area- and the car was in the car-park.
None of the students can afford a car, but the car-park is packed every day.
And then there is this.
Would I begrudge a teacher his luxury Mercedes?
Certainly not. Scum and the parents of scum exist solely to service this louse's delusion of usefulness.
And if it belongs to a parent?
So glad you feel able to visit a poor neighbourhood to facilitate Tarquin's continuing 'education'.
It must make the poor kids really look up to your children.

Perhaps the Moslem Armies really should liberate us from the heel of state oppression. Then we can slap statues of worthies with our flip-flops.