It works. Isn´t technology the bees knees?

Dear soul, the wonders of technolgy. Here I am in the depths of the Balearics, yet given the wondrous achievements of Innocenzo Manzetti, Antonio Meucci, Johann Philipp Reis, Elisha Gray, Alexander Graham Bell, and Thomas Edison, and others too few to mention, and subsequent technological advances in the nature of what I understand is called by younger folk 'the internet', I can upload illustrations from my 'memory stick' and 'post' them here on my 'blog'. So who says all this nonsense is just for nerds. But enough bullshit. The photo below is just one I have on my memory stick, of my son Wesley when he was about two. Below that is one of Wes and his sister Elsie when he was a little older and she was about five. Christ I miss them.

I've done it again. I thought I was getting just ten minutes of internet time, but I seem have bought 30, which is a pain as I hate to waste them and I shall have to blather on here for another 25 till they are all gone or do something else, such as look up crap on Wikipedia I am not in the slightest interested. One thing I can to, however, is post a picture of my esteemed editor, Mr Paul Dacre, which years ago I go out of the picture library so that I have it made into mouse mats (remember those?) to give as joky presents to my boss and deputy boss (well, you got to get ahead somehow. Don´t be so sniffy). Here it is:

No, it's not. For some reason it won´t upload. Perhaps Mr Dacre's reputation has preceded him here to Ibiza.

Still to come: as many photos of tubs of lard as I can get on my memory stick. Thinking about it, I might even be able to upload video. Lord isn´t technology exciting!

On a far more sombre note, Piers Merchant, the Tory MP who cocked up his career by getting involved in a sex scandal, has died of cancer. Just read it on the Mail's website. I knew Piers rather well when I was a reporter on The Journal in Newcastle. He was the chief reporter, and and we used to sit next to each other for about a year. He was a bit of a nutter even then, but we got on and he and his wife were good company. I remember singing (for some reason) Jerusalem outside a nightclub one night with them tho´ I barely know the words. Poor chap. His wife, Helen, was extremely nice and stood by him when he made a fool of himself with some bimbo or other. God bless his soul.

Damn, another 17 minutes to go. What the hell is there to look up and waste all that time so that I am not actually giving money away, which of course I am.
(Another tub of lard - actually, a tubbess of lard - has walked past. I promise you, I shall post some piccies. Am I being cruel? I bloody well hope so. Is this what we fought the war for? No dammit, it isn´t. We fought the war so that every household in the land would have the choice of at least 40 televisions channels.