Procrastination by Numbers

[cunningmatt]

I'm enjoying checking out your sisters.  Ahh the joke that just keeps on giving.  Terrain is looking nice and natural, like the variety in tone you've got there.

Thanks dude, hope you like blondes as I think that's the way my siblings are going. Thanks really pleased with the hills.

Love the terrain but what do you mean the blog isnt just a list of incomplete projects?

I thought thats how all projects went in this hobbey?

But no my friend! Resolution to paint five pieces of terrain this year - already painted three forests and three hills (five if you count the split ones separately!)! Woo hooo!

[roland murat]

Thanks dude, hope you like blondes as I think that's the way my siblings are going. Thanks really pleased with the hills.

But no my friend! Resolution to paint five pieces of terrain this year - already painted three forests and three hills (five if you count the split ones separately!)! Woo hooo!

A project finished! Is the sky about to fall on our heads?

[DarkStalker]

Interestingly I have noticed the Drop Pod doors are a little bit less obliging when it comes to staying shut now they've got a few layers of paint on them. Don't know if anyone else has noticed this, or had any thoughts remedies bar leaving them open all the time. Think of the draft.

Any options for embedding some magnets under the paintwork near the door tip? Should aid keeping them held up and be quite discrete if you can drill/sink them in.

[roland murat]

Have to say I really didn't enjoy putting mine together and its very much back of the queue to get painted - not a great model in my eyes but serves a purpose on the table.

[cunningmatt]

Any options for embedding some magnets under the paintwork near the door tip? Should aid keeping them held up and be quite discrete if you can drill/sink them in.

This sounds like a good idea, though probably 427% more effort than I can muster! Hahaha. Must get around to sorting out a drill and magnet kit. Get motivated Matty! 

Have to say I really didn't enjoy putting mine together and its very much back of the queue to get painted - not a great model in my eyes but serves a purpose on the table.

I was quite lucky in the sense that I bought one second hand already assembled. I don't mind mine, but it does seem like an awful lot of hassle for 35 points!

[cunningmatt]

Procrastination by Numbers: Update 105 – Sweatier than a Sumo Wrestler's Bum Crack Tuesday 23rd July 2013



It's too hot to paint, so instead I've written this. Enjoy...

What's the opposite of freezing your tits off? Heating your bollocks back on again? Whatever it is, it's happening to me.

We've all been praying for this, the glorious sunshine paradise that Britain has now become. And it's here. It's great, except for the annoying piece of grit in the Vaseline, that it turns out we still have to do stuff. Apparently a scorching heat wave is not sufficient enough for your boss to turn round and simply let you have July off.  I mean, all I have to do is turn up in an air conditioned office and look at a computer screen pretending to do something resembling a job, and even I can't be bothered to do that. Some poor sods are actually attempting to do proper energetic work-like things in this heat. Look at Andy Murray he managed to win Wimbledon in the blistering 30-degree heat, and up until the minute he picked up the trophy he was actually Scottish. Let's be honest growing up in Scotland, lovely as it is, is hardly training for how to deal with extreme heat. It's a true fact that there are less air conditioning units in Scotland, than fresh vegetables and that's saying something. And before you accuse me of being xenophobic read that sentence again and you will see that it's true of all nations, not just Scotland, this being due to the relatively abundant nature of vegetables and the lack of regular human consumption of air conditioning units. So there, wind your neck in!

Whether you enjoyed the sunny day or not, by 10pm you're over it. Like an annoying child with a Peppa Pig DVD on loop, it was fun for a while, but we are now ready to slap the child. Similarly we'd be quite content with the temperature dropping a bit now in preparation for bed time.

But no, Mother Nature's thermostat has broken and is jammed on "Constantly Pump out Boiling Hot Air", and sadly she's on British Gas' 24-hour call out plan, so the chances of anyone coming round soon to fix the blazing heat are pretty low. Then when they eventually do come round, Mother Nature will be out because they'd said they'd be round between 8am and 2pm, but they didn't make it until 3pm and Mother Nature really needed to pop to the shops and felt at half two she just couldn't wait any longer to go, in case they never showed up and she wasted the day she took off work. And then Mother's Nature's boiler is not in the best of conditions, it's several billion years old and they probably don't make replacement parts any more. Sorry I think my brain may have been addled by the sun and allowed that metaphor to run on far too long.

Climbing into bed during a heat wave is about as pleasant an experience as climbing into Jimmy Savile's coffin, but without the opportunity for at least a mildly amusing Facebook update. The temperature in your room is hovering someone around the low forties and you are hot, bothered, sweaty and your testicles resemble a matching pair of rather unattractive boil-in-the-bag walnuts. The perfect conditions to sleep in, if you happened to be a volcanic fire spirit summoned from the gates of hell.

In a desperate bid to make the bedroom vaguely habitable every single window in the house is forced open as wide as possible, in fact if you could, you'd have started scrapping out the mortar and removing the bricks from load bearing walls just to gain some sodding ventilation. Yes, you'd be quite prepared to throw all sense of structural safety to the wind, if only there was even the slightest hint of wind. Opening a window generally brings a solid wall of hot air, as if you had opened a 400-degree blast furnace to retrieve a molten lead ingot, without even a cursory oven glove for safety.

Concerns about intruders during the summer months take a back seat, in a desperate bid to form even the remotest of draughts; you consider even leaving the front door open. Virtually laying down a welcome mat for anyone who wants a simple break-in. Quite frankly if they can operate in this scrotum scorching temperature they're quite welcome to take as many of your possessions as they can carry. At least the breeze caused as they make off with your 50" Plasma TV might add a modicum of relief to your sweltering body. To be quite honest you'd happily invite in a genital-wart ridden serial rapist, as long as he had the common decency to pick up two Classic Magnums and a lemon Callipo on the way round to abuse your body.

Disappointingly the only visitors you're likely to get are four billion insects swarming into your room. If only they've counted for benefits purpose, you could get such a large rebate on your bedroom tax bill you'd be able to afford to fully air condition your house. But no the insects are in, despite you taking precautions and turning every bloody light in the building off, they used their laser-guided pinpoint accuracy to home in on the standby light of your HD-ready TV, which the burglars hadn't had the f**king manners to come and steal in the first place. Now the entire insect kingdom is performing a re-enactment of Dirty Dancing on your face, before they start chomping away at any exposed piece of your flesh they can find, like they've paid for the all you can eat buffet at Pizza Hut five minutes before closing time!

Talking of exposed flesh, there's a lot of that on show. It's so hot you've dispensed with pyjamas, bed socks, slippers, hot water bottles, duvets, blankets, fitted sheets, pillows, in fact anything that could possible retain even the smallest fraction of warmth about your body. You're now just lying completely naked on the bare frame of your bed. Sexy time! Except rather than you and your partner taking on the characteristics of a wild, sexual charged stallion, you more closely resemble a dying trout marinating in a pool of your own sweat. And your energy levels are less that of a great Lothario, more that of an asthmatic London Marathon runner at the 25 mile mark - with a skin tone resembling that of a rancid strawberry.

From the back of the loft you manage to find an arcane desk fan, which hasn't been used since the Renaissance period. Could this be your salvation from an eternity of a hot slumber less night? The first attempt simply blasts a thick cloud of dust in your face, such that your body looks like it's been dredged out of the deepest recesses of Pete Doherty's nose. Further refinements bring no joy, for it turns out that moving about four millimetres from the front of the fan renders the breeze completely unnoticeable. Instead you are now being kept awake by the noise of the rotating blades, in addition to the sauna like conditions of your bedroom.

Fans aren't the only the noise keeping you awake, as the open windows now allow a veritable chorus of feathered friends to get revenge for all those chicken burgers and roast turkeys you've ever eaten, as a choir larger than that buggered by even the most prolific Catholic priest keeps you from getting any shut eye. Birds seem to have an odd shift pattern with rather irregular working hours. During the summer they work virtually 24-7. Eating worms, singing about whatever they sing about and shitting all over your car windscreen without rest. Come winter time and everything's different, work's much harder to come by and all of avian kind has to take up short shift work to make ends meet during their sabbatical, barely rising for four hours a day. With of course the exception of the smug Robin who seems to have cornered the market with a cushy side line posing for Christmas cards, cakes and wrapping paper. Bet all the Wood Pigeons are jealous!

Of course nothing is permanent, not even the hell of a hot night. Eventually your brain manages to drown out the noise of the fan, the birds, and even the unfortunate bird who flew into your fan – you knew you should have shut the window! You've scratched at your insect bites so much you're your fingernails have scraped away all your skin, and can no longer feel the pain of the bites. And eventually the temperature relents, your eyes shut and sleep begins. Unfortunately it's now 7am and you have to get up for f**king work! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!

[fatolaf]

Think we need an update Matt, been a while 

[cunningmatt]

Think we need an update Matt, been a while 

I think I may need a campaign to get me back writing again, not a series of linked games, but an actual organised support rally with placards and everything. I jest. Sort of.

Apologies for being "off the grid" for a while, a number of factors have contributed to this:

• A temporary lethargy as regards Warhammer/Warhammer 40,000 which seems to have lifted.
• A varying employment situation that leaves me either busy and working, or unemployed and lacking drive.
• The new expansion pack to Civilization V
• The fact I actually have a boyfriend. Yes I was as surprised about this as you, in fact I was probably most surprised. But through a combination of Black Magic and exceptionally favourable lighting I have tricked someone into going out with me. Though they find it funny to refer to Warhammer as Warcraft, just to wind me up - don't they know Warcraft is for losers like Mr Shakey Shakey!

Any how hoping I will become freer again in the next few weeks, that combined with the prospect of new Ultramarines may persuade me to rob the local bank and purchase some Centurions. Failing that I might get my arse in gear and paint/blog/game again. Fingers crossed!

[TkaiC]

I think I may need a campaign to get me back writing again, not a series of linked games, but an actual organised support rally with placards and everything. I jest. Sort of.

What do we want? Procastination!

When do we want it?  Er, in a bit.

[roland murat]

very good Tom./ If only I could be bothered to respopnd.....oh.