Water Water Everywhere - Too Expensive To Drink

Do you ever wonder "Have I got too much money?" Well, now here's a definitive check.

If you find yourself breaking out your credit card to buy Voss Artesian bottled water at £25 for 12, consider yourself institutionalised by capitalism. It does come in a natty glass bottle. But it's still just water, even if it's sourced from under a million-year old glacier in deepest Norway, filtered through virgin's hair (and bottled in a factory on an industrial estate).

To break the cycle of wasting your money on this old rope I recommend giving away all your earthly possessions. Perhaps to some starving journalists. They can be found hanging around Manchetser's pubs and park benches trying not to look like alcoholics.

Voss water can be purchased from Smithfield Wine, previous winners of Salford's Chapel Street Business Group Business of the Month. They also do a very interesting-looking bottle of Lanchester mead for 7 quid. Incidentally, if you've never tried mead, it's honeyed liquer, I promise you'll never go back to wine again.

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How To Get Rid Of YooNo Toolbar

Mozilla's latest download, Firefox version 2.0.0.14, includes a Yoono Toolbar (beta) that takes up screen space on the left-hand side, and you can't close it.

Clicking the X repeatedly, shouting at the computer and mashing the keyboard, nothing works.

To rectify this problem, go to your Mozilla browser's Tools > Add-ons > Extensions then scroll down to the Yoono icon, click on it, then click on Uninstall.

Bob's your uncle, Robert's your mother's brother, Job Done!

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Last Night's TV

Advert:

The Sun - We Love It

The Sun's new ad campaign is a just indication of the collective inanity that drags the paper down. The Sun can be clever, incisive, witty even. It has fewer typos than the Guardian. Its headline-writers are the best in the business. But this ad campaign: dear oh dear. It depicts glamorous ladies in skin-tight black catsuits (cleavage abound), flying helicopters across the globe, which drag enormous nets full of black-and-white footballs, dropping them on the unsuspecting public. Builders and truckers grin wildly, and do keepy-uppies in the street.
The balls rain down, filling roads and pathways. Women cowering under newspapers dodge them like their life depends on it.

Right then; not only is it suspiciously close to Carling's "Love Football" campaign (shown during the last World Cup), it also posits women as uptight killjoys who would run through a brick wall to get away from a football. And all this during the Women's World Cup. England are doing well, playing well, and have flashes of inspiration from the boot of Kelly Smith.

The Sun is not only ignoring women's football, it is punching it in the uterus and calling it names.
If they want to look like witless, brainless morons, they have succeeded.

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