Monday, December 31, 2007

Swim ?

Should anyone fancy a quick dip in White Wells on New Year's Day, the usual suspects will there at 10am for our normal madcap start to the year.

Saturday, December 29, 2007

An Eye

...for an eye...

...for an eye...

...for an eye...

...until the whole world is blind.

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Captain America's Been At The Xmas Pud

The Chistmas Number 1

Well, my Christmas no.1 anyway, being the song that I have listened to most times (according to Scrobbler).

Where The Wild Roses Grow - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, featuring Kylie Minogue

It's a love song, girl meets boy, boy and girl fall in love, boy takes gir to the river to show her the beautiful red roses, boy bashes girl's head in with a brick.

In fact, nearly all of my most listened songs are a fiantly, or largely, disturbing in one way or another....

1 Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds – Where the Wild Roses Grow

2 Madness – Lola

Naive boy leaves home, has never even kissed before, falls in love with strange girl, discovers that strange girl is actually a man.

3 The Clash – Rudie Can't Fail

Who knows, what the hell was Joe Strummer on when he wrote this one ? Rudie drinks beer for breakfast, refuses to get a normal job and drinks "sky juice at 10 cents a bottle", how odd.

4 The Clash – Spanish Bombs

Strummer takes us on a blood drenched lyrical tour of the Spanish Civil War.

5 The Clash – London Calling

We're all DOOMED, but we don't care.

6 Toots and The Maytals – 54-46 Was My Number

Toots points out that although he was arrested, tried and imprisoned for the crime, it wasn't him wot done it guv.

7 Rage Against the Machine – Killing in the Name Of

RATM's sweary anthem, Zack de la Rocha hits out at the prescence of KKK members in the police. This is the best song to get drunk and shout along to, ever.

8 Simon & Garfunkel – Richard Cory

S&G are depressing sods (as must have been Edward Arlington Robinson) who wrote the poem on which this song is based), here a factory worker in one of Cory's plants bemoans his lot in life and wished that he could change places with his employer, the song is double edged, even after Richard Cory kills himself the worker still wants to be him.

9 Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds – The Curse of Millhaven

14 year old female psycopath butchers her way through large parts of her hometown's population in a variety of violent and gory ways, after being caught does she show remorse ? Or course she does, there were so many more still left to kill.

10 The Specials – Too Much Too Young

Based on Lloyd Charmer's song Birth Control, Jerry Dammers upped the tempo and made this sad tale of a young, ill educated single mum a ska classic.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Happy Christmas To Everyone

Happy Christmas folks, I hope you are all having a great day whatever your religious or philisophical bent.

Thanks to everyone who increased my collection of novels, graphic novels (Hellblazer / From Hell - sorted Christmas reading !), wine and whisky.

Thanks to all the staff that brought presents yesterday, that was very kind and sweet and most unexpected. It was a great pleasure taking you all out for dinner on Sunday, my staff are the best staff anyone could wish to have.

I'm really looking forward to the rest of the day, I love Christmas day. Mrs YS and myself will be hosting lunch for around 24 family and friends, there will be far too much food to eat, far too much booze to be downed, and just the right amount of love and laughter.

Don't forget the reason for the season.....

God Bless, have a great day,

Big Hairy McTavish, The Cheif Scottish Haggis

For My Friend Stephen

It was a cold morning in Glen Tavish, in fact, mornings were nearly always cold in Glen Tavish.

Big Hairy McTavish, the Chief Scottish Haggis, poked his snout out from his warm and reeking burrow and sniffed the air outside.

“Och,” he said. “It’s breek again.”

(Breek was a word Haggi used when they meant it was cold, damp and miserable)

“Och,” said Big Hairy McTavish again. “It’s always breek here in the Glen.”

“And what are you channering about ? Oh great Chieftan of the Pudding race ?” said Big Maggie McTavish, for Big Hairy’s complaining had woken her up.

Big Hairy turned around and shuffled back down the tunnel on his short, fat, hairy legs.

“I was just saying,” he said. “That it always seems to be raining here in the Glen.”

“Aye,” said Big Maggie. “And what of it ?”

“Well,” said Big Hairy, and here he paused, for whilst Big Hairy McTavish was a strong and wild looking Haggis, he wasn’t all that clever, when he tried to think and talk at the same time his words always came out wrong.

“Well,” said Big Hairy after rather a long pause. “I was thinking that perhaps we could get away, on a holiday.”

Big Maggie smiled, a holiday, she liked the sound of that. They could go somewhere nice and warm, she could lie on a beach and sunbathe.

“And where were you thinking of taking us, Oh Mighty Haggis ?”

Big Hairy didn’t stop to think this time, so he said the first thing that popped into his big hairy head.

“Glen Boddy,” he said with a grin, then he saw the look on Big Maggie’s face and he stopped grinning.

“Oh no, we are not going on a holiday to Glen Boddy. For one thing, the weather will be just as breek as it is here, and for another thing, you would run around wi yer daft cousin Gobha and make feckless eejits of yourselves.” Big Maggie was not happy with the idea of a holiday in Glen Boddy.

“Oh,” said Big Hairy.

“Oh indeed,” said Big Maggie. “You just better think on.”

Big Hairy did think, he thought all that day. He thought about places when he went to the burn to drink. He thought about places when he walked to the top of the fell to look at the Glen. He thought about places when he met the other Haggi at the howf.

When Big Hairy came back to the den in the evening he had a big smile on his big hairy face.

“Now there is a haggis looking happy with himself,” said Big Maggie.

“Aye, I am happy with myself,” said Big Hairy. “Because I have been thinking all day, and I have thought of a place we shall go for a holiday.”

Big Hairy smiled a bit more, in fact his grin was now so big it looked like his mouth was trying to eat his face.

“Spit it out then,” said Big Maggie, because she was now quite excited herself.

“Lanzarote,” said Big Hairy, and he sat back on his big hairy bottom and looked very pleased with himself.

“Lanzarote,” said Big Maggie, and because Big Hairy was so pleased with himself, he didn’t hear the change of tone in Maggie’s voice. “Lanzarote,” said Big Maggie again. “And how shall we get to Lanzarote.”

Big Hairy kept grinning, the truth was that once he had come up with the idea of going to Lanzarote, he had not thought any further and did not know how they were going to get there.

“Er,” he said, and his smile grew a bit smaller. “Er, well, er.”

“I am waiting,” said Big Maggie, and she began to tap her foot. Hairy didn’t like it when Maggie tapped her foot, it usually meant he was in trouble. Big Maggie tapped her foot a bit louder.

“We could go by aeroplane,” said Big Hairy all in a rush, and he sat back again on his big hairy bottom. He was not quite so happy this time though.

“An aeroplane,” said Big Maggie slowly. “An aeroplane, and whoever heard of two Haggi travelling on an aeroplane ?”

Big Hairy McTavish wasn’t smiling now, he didn’t want to be wrong, he knew that Haggi did not travel on aeroplanes, but he wanted to make Big Maggie happy.

“I don’t know” he said. “I might have to think a bit more.”

“Well you just do that, and tonight you can have cold porridge for supper, it might make you think a bit harder.”

So Big Maggie gave Big Hairy cold porridge for supper, and big Hairy could tell that she really was in a bad mood because she had put sugar on his porridge, and everyone knows that real Haggi like salt, and not sugar, on their supper.


The next morning (which was breek again, for those like to know the state of the weather), Big Hairy went to the howf to talk to the other Haggi of the clan.

“Och,” he said. “I have promised to take Big Maggie on holiday, to Lanzarote of all places, but I dinnae ken (this means that he did not know) how to get there.”

The other Haggi were quiet for a time, then Old Clavish shook himself and poked a finger into his ear.

“If yer ganna fly on an airyplane, yer ganna need some clink,” he said.

Clink was the word that Haggi used for money. Haggi didn’t really have any money, they didn’t really need it. They lived in their glens, they drank water from the burns, they worked in the porridge mines and they grew tartan thistles, bu as a rule, they did not have any clink.

“Where will I get enough clink to get on an airyplane ?” asked Big Hairy.

“Och that’s easy,” said Old Clavish. “We will go and look for some, there are always big folk wandering around the Glen, and they drop things all the time, we will just go hunting for clink.”

All the Haggi perked up at this, there was nothing Haggi liked more than a good hunt.

“A hunt, aye, we shall have a hunt for clink,” said Big Hairy.

The Haggi all rushed out of the howf, they were in so much of a rush that Old Clavish and Wee Cameron got stuck in the door and could not get out until Brae Morag came by with a jar of pig fat.

All day the Haggi hunted, they peered under rocks, they climbed trees (but only small ones as Haggi are short and fat and really not very good at tree climbing), they dived in the burn and swam in the pools and took big candles into the porridge mine and searched every nook and cranny.

When they had all finished searching they brought their clink back to the Howf where Old Clavish could count it. He divided the clink into the various types he knew, those being large coins and small coins. Wee Cameron pointed out that quite a few of the smaller coins were actually buttons, but Old Clavish rustled his eyebrows until Wee Cameron shut up.

“How much is there ?” asked Big Hairy.

Old Clavish rustled his eyebrows a bit more, then he made a sort of harrumphing noise.

“How would I know, Haggi don’t use money.”

(Work in progress)

Monday, December 24, 2007


The undecaphants first recognised its coming, with their finely tuned senses they picked up on the micro lumen flux taking place above them, they swung their faceted heads in broad sweeps and uttered low moans of fear.

The undecaphants lived in the valley bottom but the sound of their frightened lowing carried up the green slopes and the picawrens that bustled and rushed in the treetops stopped their chitter chatter, they paused their constant flight and noise, and, heads cocked all to one side, they listened.

It began as a low sussuration emanating from the rapidly brightening lumen flux. The sussuration grew to an uluating, roaring wave of Doppler projected noise and now a black speck could be seen in the midst of the brightness.

The undecaphants were panicked, they ran in circles, in strait lines, took random angled turns and all the time they raised their trunks and trumpeted their fear and distress, adding their own racket to the tumult coming from above. Some tried to climb the valley walls, tearing huge chunks of avogadro moss and soil with their feet, some few plunged into the river which was now foaming and rushing in its channel, pulling loose the reeds and the nests of the webergeese they held.

The black speck grew to the shape of a bird, a large fowl, a vast creature with sharp angled slowly flapping wings.

So bright was the lumen flux that the remaining undecaphants were blinded. Pascalmoles pushed to the surface as the chaos of the bird's approach fatally altered the geometry of their sub surface homes. The picawrens dropped out of the air as a huge mag wave slammed down the valley, disorientated and lost they huddled on the ground and awaited their fate.

The bird with its sphere of light passed down the valley and in its wake it brought chaos and change. The river boiled and leapt, then froze into pinnacles, sheets and spears. The leviathan undecaphants regressed, legs shearing away, bodies narrowing and lengthening, a million years reversed in a second, and it took many seconds for the bird to fly over. The new triaphants flapped uselessly at the ground, their vast bodies already suffering without water to support them.

With dull thumps, the pasclmoles imploded, the soil pocked downwards where those that had not yet made the surface died in their lairs, the bird opened its beak and snapped at the glowing clouds of joules they left behind. It passed down the valley and the roar of its flight deepened and shook the trees.

In its wake everything had altered. The soft green meadows were now harsh plateaus of angular basalt, where the forest had breathed now stood spires of twisted geometry painful to the eye and mind. The picawrens remained, but they half turned, and half turned again and did not stand where they began and their chittering talk was now a discomforting shriek.

All in the valley had changed, the picawrens began to feast on the still living flesh of the triaphants who writhed in a duality of agony on the newly grown coulomb grass, the realms of the pascalmoles continued to collapse creating fractured sinkholes with violent primed edges.

All in the valley had changed and it would never return to the old ways, for such was the terrible passing of the isosceles triangle bird of doom.

Friday, December 21, 2007

The Best MySpazz / Fizzbook Chain Letter

This is Amazing!!!

Forward this message to 5 people

AND within 3 minutes FUCK ALL will happen!!!

I tried it TWICE and it worked both times !!!

Absolutely FUCK ALL happened !

Pass this on, it really works !!!
Wht Was Cinderella Such A Poor Football Player ?

...because she kept running away from the ball !

Sounds like (add Bradford City - Sheffield Wednesday etc here ) !
What Do You Call A Man That Claps At Christmas ?


I love cracker jokes.
Santa Is So Jolly....

....because he knows where all the bad girls live.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

That's So Gay

Why Is Sidebottom Batting ?

Because we're 33-6 already, that's really crap, I'm turning the tv off again.
The Old, The Ill, And The Absent Minded

I seem to be suffering from a surfeit of older and elderly relatives in various states of ill health and temper, so I have decided that before they all drive me bloody mad I'm going to have a garage sell and get rid of them all.

The lots on offer will be.....

1) One legged hospitalised father with a tendency to fall out of bed and make innapropriate comments about the nurses. Bids to start at £5.

2) Very elderly Grandfather, can set fire to the kitchen, offend minorities of all sorts and can remember everything, and I mean everything, in exacting minute tiny detail from his whole exceedingly long life except what I told him not five minutes ago. Bids to start at 3 Groats.

3) A job lot of elderly aunts, hobbies include massive gin consumption and the tendency to switch the tv from Match Of The Day to The Antiques Roadshow just as Man U concede a penalty. Bids to start at £2.50

4) One niece, when being cute you can't afford her, when being a madam couldn't be given away.

5) One husband / son / brother / uncle etc (delete as appropriate), overworked, grumpy and suffering from bad back and relatives. Offers to start at - a nice comfy bed somewhere quiet.
Christmas Joke

Q: What’s orange and fizzy and comes down the chimney on Christmas Eve?

A: Fanta Claus.

Right folks, next time you switch Facebook on, leave your brain turned on at the same time, really, did nobody amongst the several dozen serial chain mailers that have forwarded the 'progesterex date rape' post think to check its veracity ? Obviously not.

Wiki on Progesterex

It does not exist. OK ?

Now you can just go back to worrying about sex offenders dropping roofies in your WKD.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Are You Troo ?

There comes a time in every man's life when he must turn inward and look deep inside himself and ask the most searching of questions to reveal the ultimate truth of what he is as man, you must ask yourself, are you a troo varrior of metuhl ?

So here is my current TAO (Top Artists Overall) from Scrobbler, what does it reveal, am I a troo varrior of metuhl, or do I fall somewhat short of true Nordic, facepainted, long haired, leather wearing manliness ?

1 The Beatles 678
2 Muse 642
3 The Wildhearts 638
4 Marillion 634
5 Coheed and Cambria 601
6 New Model Army 588
6 Pink Floyd 588
8 Simon & Garfunkel 545
9 The Clash 530
10 Gogol Bordello 468
11 The Beach Boys 463
12 Metallica 450
13 Siouxsie and the Banshees 422
14 Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds 421
14 Led Zeppelin 421
16 Madness 402
17 The Damned 389
18 Adam and the Ants 378
19 Sepultura 377
20 Magnum 372
21 Queensrÿche 368
22 Status Quo 359
23 Paradise Lost 357
24 Aerosmith 355
25 Megadeth 352
26 Rush 349
27 The Proclaimers 335
28 Placebo 328
29 Lindisfarne 327
30 The Decemberists 316
30 Georg Friedrich Händel 316
32 Rage Against the Machine 311
33 Iron Maiden 309
34 Little Angels 308
35 Marilyn Manson 306
36 Tiken Jah Fakoly 305
37 Richard Wagner 284
38 Johnny Cash 279
39 Bob Marley & The Wailers 277
39 Devo 277
41 Desmond Dekker 276
42 Lucky Dube 273
43 Toots and The Maytals 268
44 Ramones 265
45 HammerFall 262
46 The Specials 259
47 System of a Down 253
47 The Fighting Cocks 253
47 Ginger 253
50 Biffy Clyro 252

Oh dear, it would appear that my TAO is only about 28% metal, and that's if I shoehorn bands like Rush and Biffy Clyro in to make up the numbers. It does include Hammerfall though, and they're so metuhl that they should count twice.

A rocker perhaps, although the lines with metal can be blurry, but with the likes of Aerosmith, Quo, The Beatles and Placebo making up this broad church, 18%.

Am I perhaps a solid crusty punk then ? Nope, the list is about 18% punk, including The Fighting Cocks as otherwise they would be stuck in a bizarre little category all of their own.

Prog then, I must be a pantalooned, beardy (well, yes) worshipper of eighteen minute harpsichord solos ? 6% only, but in terms of listening time, 38% and a cod on a bicycle.

Folk music of all things, I'm 10% real ale drinking, cardigan wearing, beardy (again!) mandolin appreciating head nodding bloke in the far corner of the tap room.

Country, 2% and that's Johnny Cash, apart from The Man, country can drop the o.

12% reggae and ska, 4% classical, 2% pop (The Beach Boys).

28% Metuhl!!!
18% Rock
18% Punk
12% Reggae / Ska
10% Folk
6% Prog
4% Classical
2% Country
2% Pop

Eclectic then, that'll have to do, and I'm not a fanboy. How wide is your listening spectrum ?

Monday, December 17, 2007


I have decided to take on a new member of staff, I don't mind the cooking, the cleaning, the prep, the table setting and room organising, it's the bookwork that I hate so I have decided to employ a secretary.

Usually when I interview staff I like to know their qualifications, experience, a little about their family background, personality, trustworthiness and the like.

Well it turns out that Lisa has no qualifications, zero experience, she comes from along line of professional shoplifters, dole scroungers and work dodgers, at the interview she had all the personality and charm of a beermat and she listed her hobbies as watching Jeremy Kyle and snorting cocaine. Somtimes though, you just get a feeling about someone, and do you know, I think young Lisa is going to fit right in, especially if we fold her up really small.

Yorkshiresoul's Childminding Service

Staff, and Family

This is cousin Hollie, she's intelligent and good looking, studying art and photography, thus the arty weirdness pictures.

And she does some fashion modelling as well, although I must admit I'm hard pressed to think just how this shot would sell clothes. I am fashion allergic though.
I Like It Just So

Foibles, tics, quirks and downright strangenesses, we all have them, it's part of what we are, for example, I find fizzy drinks to be just too fizzy, the bubbles get up my nose and annoy me, so if I have a bottle of pop, or more likely, tonic water to accompany my Bombay Sapphire gin, I like to open it up a few times and give it a bit of a shake to let some of the bubbles out. I don't like fizzy drinks flat, I just like them less bubbly than the manufacturers do.

Coffee, I like it black and without sugar, but as far as temperature goes I don't like to drink it when it's really hot, and if I have a mug lying around in the kitchen because work has distracted me from drinking it, then I'll drink it no matter how cold it has got.

I'm a bit particular about timing, especially when I'm cooking dinner, but I can't bear to be late when we're expected somewhere, if an invitation says 7pm, then I really want to be there for 7pm, I think it's rude not to, after all if they wanted us there for 7.30 it would have said that on the invite. I don't accept the concept of 'fashionably late', that's just rude. I realise that in this I have become my father, he used to be sat outside the house, in the car revving the engine as he waited impatiently for my mother to get ready, and now I find myself doing exactly the same thing.

What are your foibles ? Do you wear lucky underpants when your team are playing ? Do you seperate your dinner into colour groups ? Come on, expose yourself, figuratively speaking that is.

Friday, December 14, 2007


Ever wondered what your staff do when they're not at work ?

Apparently mine pretend to be 'Ghetto', I think that's the word that these young people use ? That's Gangster Lucy on the right.

"Here is something you can't understand,
How I could just kill a man."
Sunset Crater National Monument

National Monument = National Park.

Eagle food.

You can't walk around just anywhere in this area, as the flora and fauna is very delicate and easily damaged, trails marked out by thousands of walkers in the early part of the last century are still clearly visible on the volcano. You are allowed up this loose and shifting cinder trail which allows great views of these mountains, the names of which I seem to have forgotten.

And slightly spoiling the view, a portly Tyke. I was a bit winded after hauling myself up this hill, a couple from New England whom I got chatting to pointed out that we were at an altitude of about 8,000 feet, which is quite enough to cause moments of light headedness.

Looking up at Sunser Crater.

Coconino National Forest, it might not be a forest as we Europeans might understand it, but you couldn't go too far into that without a compass, with its ground level bushes, everything would look the same in any direction.

Suddenly you come around a corner in the forest and the scenery changes to this, the Painted Desert. The photo really doesn't do justice to the palette of natural colours splashed across the landscape here.

An Indian dwelling built from and on a red stone outcrop.
Spock's Squirrel ?

Live long and eating acorns.
Why You Should Visit Kingman

Well, I'm buggered if I can think of a reason. The guidebook says that Kingman has a population similar to that of Ilkley, around 11,000, but they all appear to live in semi-permanent mobile homes, after driving around for a while it would appear that the only 'proper' buildings are the endless row of fast food joints that crowd the main road, it's a hole. Later on in our journey we learn that residents of other Arizona towns refer to Kingman as the 'Armpit of Arizona'.

So last night we stayed in the awesome MGM Grand in Las Vegas, tonight we're holed in the small and smelly AAA Motel, it is cheap though, and that is the only good thing you can say about it.

In the evening we eat at a diner in the 'old town' (I have underpants older than most of white America) where our cheap and filling 3 course meal gets served all at once, bizarre. I also make the mistake of trying a local beverage, root beer, Oh good grief no ! You know when you wash your mouth out at the dentist ? That's what root beer tastes like.

Kingman really was poor, we didn't like the room and felt none too secure in it, so in the small hours of the next morning as we lay awake in the dark chatting, we decided to move on. We had a quick coffee at the truck stop opposite, and then drive off into the Arizona dawn. There are warning signs constantly along the roads pointing out the dangers of deer and elk, we saw a few deer off in the distance in the dawn light, but no sign of the imposing elk.
Grand Canyon West Rim & Skybridge

This was out view for most of the 20 or miles of rough road leading to the West Rim of the Grand Canyon. Mrs YS thought it was hilarious, she threw our 4WD around corners at speeds that had me grabbing for the handholds and muttering/whimpering "I am about to die". Every vehicle raised huge clouds of dust which hung in the air for ages, despite being almost blinded by this, Mrs YS did at no point find it important to slow down, indeed she spent most of the journey laughing like a raving maniac.

This is the skybridge, it projects out over a vertical face of the Grand Canyon, beneath my feet is a clear glass floor so you can see the sphincter tightening 4,000ft drop.

After a few minutes I feel slightly happier, but I'm still holding on. The guides on the bridge are busy telling you that it could hold a number of fully laden 747's, but I'll still grip the handrail if it's all the same with you.

The Grand Canyon is stunning, it almost defies description, and photos just can't capture the immense, overwhelming grandeur of the place.

This is the charmingly named Guano Point, if you can see the pylon down there in the Canyon, that's where miners used to go down on a cable to mine guano from the bat caves on the other side. Life and limb risked to mine bat crap, which was made into explosives and mascara.

A Hualapia Indian performs a traditional dance in costume, I like that outfit.

Meg, a huge Joshua Tree, and our enormous Dodge Durango which took us for hundreds upon hundreds of miles around Arizona And Nevada.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

I Am Alive

Hello folks, thanks for all the messages of support and 'where the bloody hell have you gone' comments, my web hosts ate my website.

But I'm back now, after a bitter and frustrating afternoon of trying and failing to get Wordpress, Cute FTP and Leech to work (all failing due to my hosts 'password corruption error'), I did the only reasonable thing under the circumstances, I retreated to a hot bath with a glass of red wine and a good book.

Hey ho though, I'm back now, let the gibberish continue.

Thursday, December 06, 2007

If anyone can read this, would they be so kind as to send an e-mail, it's driving me bloody mad at the moment.

Saturday, December 01, 2007

I'm not sure what is happening with the blog / Blogger at the moment.

I'm trying to publish via a custom domain rather than via file transfer protocol because it would appear, by talking to people on the blogger help groups, that my current "530 verification" problem might not be cured anytime soon. There are people who hae been locked out of their own domains for months.

At the moment I can't see my own posts, the blogger help pages say this should right itself within 48 hours as web servers catch up to the redirection of the site.

Pictures that I have posted previously to Yorkshiresoul might not work, I havn't set up a lost pictures redirection file because I would like to get back to publishing straight to my site, probably without Blogger's help, in the future. Does anyone know what decent, really simple to use, ftp / blog publishing systems there are ? Bearing in mind that I'm really not very net / tech savvy at all.

Bugger Blogger pt.746

Of course, there was a time, pre Google, when Blogger was a small service, and some of us were subscribers, this gave us access to a decent service, especially when problems are encountered, such as the sudden refusal to transfer pictures that I have encountered halfway through Thursday morning.

So I fill in a form, outline my problem and send it off to superhyperglobalGoogleBlogger, and what do I get back in these days of uber net geek company ownership ? Bugger all, not even the usual crappy automated reply to say "Hi Whatsyername, we have received your complaint, but frankly we have more money that we know what to do with so we can't be arsed even to read to the bottom of your letter as we're busy making paper planes from hundred dollar bills."