Sunday 2nd April, 2023

Hosting issues early on Sunday morning – which I really could have done without. Whenever my host fucks up, it always seems to be on a Sunday morning.

I had four sites that were down. The only relief was knowing that it wasn’t a local issue caused by something I had done. Four sites is too much of a coincidence.

I received a meet ‘n’ greet mail on Friday from the company that has taken over my longstanding host. It didn’t take a tech genius to work out that the transition hasn’t exactly been smooth.

I raised a ticket with the new tech dudes. To their credit they responded immediately and fessed up. They confirmed that there was a conflict for users running WordFence. The gatekeeper had become caught in its own trap.

A solution was offered. I managed to isolate the file in the plugin that WF thought was rogue – it wasn’t; and then tell cpanel to ignore this in future and carry on as you were.

I pinged R, knowing that he uses the same host across some of his sites. He didn’t have any issues at first. Later in the day he came back with the exact same error.

The new hosts tried to tell R something completely different with more severe consequences. R worked out for himself that WF was the problem

The modern interweb is ACE, but when it fucks up it can be a right bloody pain in the arse.

I had my sites back online in time before I headed out for a morning run. I felt fighting fit after the 2km test jog on my calf injury yesterday. It was time for something a little more lengthy.

The 8km Clapham Common route was waiting. I felt good up until I reached Clapham North. My calf felt strong; it was my right foot that was causing a little pain. I pressed on, hoping it would sort itself out.

By the time I reached Clapham South I was bouncing around once again. I bloody LOVE running. I hate injuries, mind. This is going to be a tough pay off to try and square in future years when my body continues to fail.

I was one second slower compared to running the same route when the calf injury first came up. I now realise I was a FOOL to complete that run after my calf pinged at the halfway point.

Some more offers were sent out to buyers watching my tat on eBay. I managed to shift a couple of clothing items. I need the cash right now.

Please buy my bloody cactus plant though.

Robert Elms played some Sam Cooke mid-morning:

“If Sam Cooke has been born in Archway the he would have sounded like Rod Stewart.”

That’s quite a claim, Bob.

I carried out a garden tidy up at the front. Snails have colonised the irrigation tubes that we put in place during the drought last summer.

Drought. Ha, bloody ha.

The South Lambeth Road garden is holding up well, but the soil is like the Somme underneath all the green goodness. Six months ago and it was like sand.

To Champion Hill! …early afternoon. The Dulwich women had a home match against AFC Acorns. Women’s football teams have all the best names.

This was a highly skilled and even game. The final score of 3-0 to the pink ‘n’ blue girls was deserved, but the visitors put in a decent performance.

full flickr

M from the club very kindly handed over a big bag of CD’s. Another supporter had left them at the office, asking if the club wanted them. Mel thought of me, which was most kind. I made a small donation.

There’s some great finds in there. Bowie, Public Enemy, erm, The Chieftains.

Having bought a camera lens a few days ago I thought that it was about time I bought the bloody camera. An Olympus PEN F should be finding its way to me next week. I am a little nervous about the South London delivery service.

Someone put the entire Sleaford fucking Mods back catalogue up for sale on eBay. Having spent a small fortune on a camera, as well as walking out of Champion Hill with my big bag of CD’s, I resisted for once.

Sunday evening was spent watching the Flanders highlights.