Have spent the last couple of days fending off hordes of software bugs, which have been popping up all over my latest project like squirrels smelling an unattended picnic basket. Typically, I've just fixed one and then, with barely enough time for me to wipe the sweat from my brow and grab a frantically-needed gallon of Crazy Gino's Hyper-Caffeinated Discombobulator from the canteen, another two have materialised in its place, gibbering and cackling and taunting me with electronic raspberry-blowing.

It's entirely possible that they might eventually decide I'm too ornery to waste their energy on, and give up trying to overwhelm me, possibly pausing to look back once before they pass over the hill and salute my valiant defence, as did Ceteswayo's impis to the stalwarts of Rorke's Drift in Zulu. But I don't think so.

The way of the samurai is hard.

This week, I will mostly be typing up documentation. Anyone who's ever had to do this for any length of time, and I'm sure many of you will, will know exactly how soul-destroying this is. The degree of spiritual agony I'm undergoing is compounded by the certain knowledge that these particular documents will probably never be read by their target audience. This is because (a) they'll hardly ever need to use the systems I'm writing about, since my team will be doing all the donkey-work, and because (b) they're egregious buffoons, and believe (wrongly) that they already know everything, and so won't bother reading said documents until the system suddenly goes tits-up (at which point it'll be our fault, of course).

Okay, enough ranting now. You guys are bored.

Young Sarah is going through what we're fervently praying is the last phase of teething. The back molars are coming through, and they're not comfortable, oh no, not at all. The poor mite is a bit fractious, e.g. she bumped her leg gently against the sofa yesterday evening, and then spent twenty minutes bawling about it. The Missus and I are being very, very calm, mostly with the assistance of Strong Liquor, but it doesn't always work.

On the other hand, she did make me laugh in the lift in the shopping mall on Saturday, when she tugged at my trouser leg, pointed at the other lift occupant and said in an excruciatingly audible stage whisper, "Man smelly."

...wwwWHOOSH...

...that was the sound of my second bloggiversary passing by and me not noticing.

Two years I've been at this now, on and off, with varying degrees of enthusiasm and inspiration. I'd like to thank Selkie and Adrian, who first persuaded me to do the bloggy thing; I'd like to thank The Missus and my daughter Sarah, who have provided me with some priceless material, much of it repeatable in polite company; I'd like to thank everybody who has stopped here to read, past and present, whether to add their own sauce to the stewpot or simply to lurk in the doorway and sniff the aromas from the kitchen; and lastly I'd like to thank the voices in my head, without whose support and encouragement I would never have made it. Cheers, all.

It's amazing how events can repeat themselves with painful precision, especially the unpleasant ones.

I've just had another half-hour head-chewing session with a staggeringly unhelpful chap from our anti-virus suppliers. The expensive and shiny product we purchased from them not two months ago doesn't work properly, despite four days of the best efforts of myself and my mate Sparky to roger it unwillingly into digital submission. Now it transpires, after the latest unproductive conversation with the gormless bollock-jugglers at Anti-Virus-'R'-Us, that:

• it was never really going to work, despite their bleating assurances to the contrary
• we should be ashamed of ourselves for ever thinking it was going to work
• it's not their job to make it work for us, regardless of the equally-expensive support contract which we signed in a fit of lunacy
• we should consider ourselves privileged to pay them 30p per minute to sit on hold, with our ears growing hot and our complaints unanswered, while they batter us to death with Stravinksy and advertising
• any suggestion that they're being less than fawningly helpful with this problem will result in the costly legal attentions of thin, stripy gentlemen with menacing briefcases
• all further communications from us will be re-directed to their call centre in Ulan Bataar and answered by non-English-speaking goatherds

If anyone fancies a fun night out, with plenty of exercise and a chance to increase your knowledge and experience of high explosives, Sparky and I will shortly be leading a midnight expedition to blow up their corporate headquarters. Application forms to the usual address, please.

I'm typing this with one ear glued to my left shoulder, and an increasingly and unpleasantly warm phone sandwiched in between, trying to get hold of the Technical Support department of our anti-virus suppliers. Right now, a gratingly syrupy voice is extolling the benefits of their latest software. It apparently prevents everything, including viruses, hackers, identity theft, pornography, credit card fraud, syphilis and machine-wash shrinkage, and can be purchased for the bargain price of seven bajillion pounds per machine, and while I'm at it, wouldn't I like to visit their website, too, and see what other wallet-buggering products they can sell me?

Oh, look, now the line has gone dead. What an intense surprise. That's half an hour of my life I won't see again.

In techie news, the Daily Linguini is now Gravatar-enabled. If you already have one of these funky little personal icons, you should see it posted if you leave a comment here. If not, go and get one - they're New and Improved and have 20% more shininess, and you're worth it.

Have just had a very weird and slightly scary dream. Analyst's pencils at the ready, everyone...

I was going on a skiing holiday with a bunch of mates, and we were arguing over who was going to drive the hire car to Geneva (see? They always starts off innocuously enough). I ended up volunteering to drive, and we set off from Calais, but then suddenly it wasn't my friends in the car but my dad, and we weren't in France any more but cruising through London (even though for some reason we were still driving on the right) trying to find my cousin's house. Then I got out of the car in the middle of the motorway, and went down some steps into a sort of concrete tunnel. It was something of a maze, and I got a bit lost and wandered about for a few minutes. I ended up re-tracing my steps, but found myself in the basement of an office block. Then Wesley Snipes came into the basement, and said he could teach me kung fu by throwing crowbars at me. I had crowbars lobbed at me for a few minutes, which didn't hurt much but made my feet grow very large. Then his girlfriend (who looked almost exactly like Laurence Fishburne, only wearing a curly wig, a black patent-leather coat and a purple feather boa) pitched up, and started having a go at him for giving kung fu lessons instead of taking her out to dinner. Then I woke up.

I didn't invent a single word of that. It's all true. Eat your heart out, Sigmund.

I'm going to stop lurking for a bit, now. It's getting boring, and my throat is starting to ache from all those low croaking noises. On the plus side, I've been made an honorary bullfrog, so it's all good.

Here's a brief sample of what I've been up to since last I posted:

• broken the kitchen table (I'm really not that heavy, honest guv)
  
• been savaged by a feral guinea pig, which was clearly my fault, according to the keeper
  
• introduced my daughter to the joys of trampolines (to the lasting detriment of my shoulder muscles)
  
• monumentally cocked up the anti-virus system of a large network customer
  
• uncocked aforesaid anti-virus system at gunpoint
  
• watched the truly exceptional Phantom of the Opera in the West End (we kept peering nervously into Box Five, because you never know)
  
• tried to get two vodka martinis at The Lab in Soho in less than an hour, widely regarded as the greatest drinking challenge in London
  
• acquired a "Bob The Builder" lunchbox, and actually used it

What an exciting life I lead. Well, actually, Phantom was pretty bloody exciting as I don't usually get much of a kick out of musicals, but this one fairly blew me away. Go and see it, if you get the chance. The movie doesn't hold a candle to it.