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April 25 You are what you eat. I, for example, am a pie.Today for work, I bought a packet of “Tropical Sunshine Mix”, an apple, and a tin of carrot and butterbean soup. This, in addition to my packet of selected seeds, which sits on my desk. They make lovely decorations. I’m off for a buffet tonight at the annual Sacred Heart Church Quiz, so it’s all for nothing, really, but at least it makes me feel a bit better about things. Like, for example the buffet. I can see the sausage rolls creeping towards me in my peripheral vision at intervals throughout the day. The quiche calls to me; the mince and potato slice is breathing in my ear. God, I’ll eat the cress! I’ll eat the curly sandwiches! I LOVE BUFFETS!!! HOORAY!!!!!!! *pant* I’m really hungry. I thought I should also mention that I bought The Sims last week, and am therefore able to commit suicide on a regular basis within a virtual setting. I have found this to be of no small use when experiencing the regular ire I am faced with over the course of an average night – it is both cathartic and distracting. I have also manufactured small versions of those around me who most commonly deserve to die, and can have an entire village wiped out before teatime if I’m feeling particularly radge. Then, I simply reset my game to before my last save point, and off we go again. I had always vowed never to buy The Sims, as it would be yet something else to obsess about, and I suppose I have been proved correct in that. But really, there’s nothing like depriving yourself of all basic needs for ten days at super high speed to ensure you can sit through yet another Fallout Boy track without instantly planning ways to marry Patrick Stump and not have to change your maiden name, and how you can get over the fact that he’s short, getting fatter and balding, and – let’s be honest here – in a really shit band. No, I did not just say all that. Back to work, I think. Laters. x _________________________________________________________________ MSN Hotmail is evolving - check out the new Windows Live Hotmail http://get.live.com/betas/mail_betas April 24 I had to sit down - they made me.What's the craic, children? Just a quick post as soon as I realised that I haven't updated for like, ever, and that that's not cool. ("That's not cool" is my newest catchphrase. I don't know where it came from or why I feel the need to say it so much, but I suppose it's here to stay.) The news from this wek is that I kept my job after a sick-leave disciplinary, but that I will be sacked if any further absence is clocked up before October this year. Great. You know me. I'm going to get sacked, aren't I? Still, that was made a little easier to swallow due to the fact that I was off to see James at the Academy (which I hate more deeply than ever now) last night. I had been going to see Gruff Rhys, my Lord and master, but didn't realise they were on the same night, and because I'd been going to Gruff with Joe and some other people, and just with Laura to James, I decided to accompany the Lovely Laura and see a band that I like for possibly the last time. I really don't know if they'll tour again, and if they do, I'm thinking that they're at the end of their tenure as an "active" group: still writing songs and not just trotting out the hits to please the ticket buyers. So we got a lot of newer stuff, which usually annoys me a bit, but it was really great, grand stuff that made you feel as though you knew the word already, and then the obvious "Sit Down" and "Laid" encore. Now I hate Sit Down deeply, but seeing it live, with the crowd kicking off? It was amazing. And I was only drinking water, but could feel my dancing feet coming on, even in my horrible little seat. (Carling Staff: NO DANCING! SIT! NO SMOKING! YOU VILL OBEY!!!!!" Me: Can I please have two pints of tapwater, because we didn't pay for seating and yet here we are, being shouted at?") So good stuff all round. Even if I did cry when Joe text me to say that they were in a church being given X-ray specs at the Gruff gig. I just forgot about that and concentrated on being where I was. All that, and I've been moved onto a good section at work. Good stuff. I have to go: I'm emailling from work, which means three things: it's not funny; it's rushed; and there will be spelling errors. I need to re-discipline myself with the old blog. I miss it. Hope everyone is well. Laters. xx _________________________________________________________________ MSN Hotmail is evolving - check out the new Windows Live Hotmail http://get.live.com/betas/mail_betas April 14 Giiiiiddy Up.Saturday morning! Officially my second favourite part of the week after 6pm Friday, and generally the time span “most likely to see me dancing”. Hooray for Saturday morning all round. I have also absolutely abandoned my principles in lieu of financial gain, having entered the annual works Grand National Sweepstake. Formerly a tradition to be met with scorn and much lecturing on the subject of horse rights, this long-observed ritual has seen me this year picking three “winners” in the vain hope of glory, a shiny sense of well-being and let’s face it, a tenner. And so, in no particular order; my geegees:
1) The Outlier. Running in pink, with a purple “X”, this horse commands exciting odds of 66-1, and suggests a dark, enigmatic personality. A renegade since cantering excitedly through the fields of West Sussex as a rebellious foal, The Outlier enjoys other people’s misfortune and the works of Hieronymus Bosch.
2) Hedgehunter. A fine filly in green and yellow stripes, Hedgehunter is the favourite with odds of 14-1. Often sidelined in the world of professional running, she has risen through the ranks and proved the critics wrong for their scathing assessment of her alternative lifestyle. Hedgehunter can often be found “on the scene” during her days off, and is a big fan of Annie Di Franco.
3) Simon. In purple with blue spots and with odds of 16-1, Simon lives in Guildford with his wife Marie. He refused to comment for this blog.
So there we have it~: my winning team all set for first, second and third. COME ON! I’m off to the pub with Joe to watch the proceedings, and he wants to study the form before it starts. Personally, I stuck my hand in a bag and picked three bits of paper, which I’m sure is as good a system as any. Especially considering that anything I’ve ever won on a bet (like when I won at poker in Portsmouth – do you remember, Sprags? You remember that? Do you? Remember? Remember me winning? Hmm?) has been down to me randomly going “err” and going along with it. It even works when I play spider solitaire. As soon as I even think about applying some logic to it, everything falls apart and I’m left with a slip of paper and a lack of shiny money.
Anyway, here am me trying to summon up more news, when there is none. Doctor Who’s back on; that’s good. And the weather is nice, which makes all the difference, doesn’t it? And I’m reading a book about zombies, and I accidentally dyed my hair purple/black so that I now look like an emo. Or, as Paul at work (who is leaving and I will miss cos he’s silly) said, like “Emu”. Thanks Paul; perhaps I won’t miss you all that much.
Right, I have an over-powering urge to scrumple up my face and bite people. Must resist. Gillian’s son Andrew is playing with Baby Dave and a piece of string. It looks like fun, so I shall join in.
Hope Saturday is going well for everyone. And if you’re backing a horse today, good luck. I’m just praying none of mine get shot. I couldn’t deal with the guilt.
Laters. xx
PS: Here's my new hat, and a picture of Dunlop, who through an excellent trick of perspective and a couple of pebbles that sit on top of the TV, has a fine pair of comedy googly eyes. Heh. x April 08 Portsmouth, and the quest for ineffible truth.Well after the fun of finding out that my ex-bedroom window was involved in a murder enquiry (no charges remain - the girl "just fell"), I thought I should update because I've been tres shite recently and it should be rectified.
Last week was all about Portsmouth, when me and La Sprags decided to take a road trip down to see our old school chum ("Chum"? I seem to have come over all Bunty... Please don't read that wrong. I would be rude.) Sarah who teaches down there in one of the most deprived schools in Britain. In hindsight, driving the length of England in a Clio with a six foot girl prone to soporific episodes may not have been Claire's idea of fun; especially for the grand total of one full day, but she did really well not to show any sign of murderous intent.
Anyway, we had a lovely time, and it was fantastic to see Sarah again, cos she's ace. And has the sweetest cat south of Gateshead. Pics on the right. We went out on Tuesday (a long time since I have) and discovered that Portsmouth isn't any fun on a Tuesday night (where is?) and that Flares is bad enough anywhere else, but REALLY SHIT down South. We gave up around 11, went back to Sarah's flat, baked a fruit cake pissed and played poker fuelled by Raspberry vodka. I won! Well, I won a load of chips and then said I was "tired". And then stayed up till 4am arguing about religion with one of Sarah's bloke's mates when everyone else had gone to bed. Yay!
On Wednesday, our only full day, we were no good to anyone, but we spent a deliciousy lazy day eating chips, watching Family Guy and snoozing on the window seat with the cat. It was fantastic. But not as fantastic as seeing HMS Victory and buying a fantastic sailor's hat the next day. I'm easy pleased, me. Oh, and helping Sarah with her packing for a Pirate weekender which basically involved fucking about in her spare room with the vast and glorious dressie-up stuff she owns.
Journey back was ok: bank holiday, M25 etc etc, but we got home which is the important part.
Haven't done too much else to be honest, although I today became addicted to the bbc religion forums. I'm still reading through and goggling at the sheer intolerance on display from both the devut and the faithless alike. Some of the arguments actually get reduced to personal insults, which I find abhorrent in this day and age, although it has to be said there are a few easy targets WHO RITE IN CAPITLS AND WHAT MAKE MISTAKES ALOT. Personally, I cannot contain my desire to red-pen the sorry lot of them. There's nothing worse than an inarticulate nutjob Christian, except an intolerant smart-arse athiest. I might not practise, I might not even believe, but I know my fucking Bible and I will defend anyone's right to believe what they like so long as it harms no other. But when that spills over into intolerance of any kind, it really boils my piss. On the one hand we have Creationists stating that all Evolutionists are bigots, and on the other, some bastards hijacking threads wishing people Happy Easter as a platform for how "amusing" they can be. When will people realise that tolerance is the rarest of all virtues in our world, and the one thing that could make life actually bearable? I once got severely depressed about the state of the world. It seemed stupid in hindsight, but I can now understand it again. And the BBC has done this to me without even mentioning my Licence? Holy crap.
Still, after everything is considered, I might become a nihilist or worse, a contextualist and just give up to live in a barrel (how exactly does one spell "barrell"? Barell? Barel? Barrrelll? Fuck it...) which would make a Classical Stoic, dontcha-know. Only without the whole "eating my own shit" thing. Because that's not nice.
Well, whatever. The Earth will continue to turn, I'll still have to go to work, and I'll still be unable to tie a Turk's Head (don't ask). The world may end in a massive fiery death-ball because someone referred to Winterval as Christmas, or a Jew tripped and fell into Palestine, or because I accidentally poked an Emo carrying The Osbourne Book of Wicca in the eye, but I'm sure we'll all sit in the abyss and have a good laugh about it later with our non-corporeal, scientifically improbable mouths, and talk about the good old days when men were men and women were women and anthropomorphic manifestations of man's desire to explain the universe were real anthropomorphic manifestations of man's desire to explain the universe.
Personally, as an agnostic, I shall enjoy my liberal theological study and continue to straddle the fence like an ancient Greco-Roman pornstar and her golden calf. Or something.
And shout at my laptop and the morons contained within, obviously.
Hugs to all ma de-vout bretheren. You honestly have my respect.
Unless you are a SHOUTY ILITERATE BIGOTT.
Laters,
xx
PS: Apropos to my own inevitable spelling errors, tough. I'm lazy, you knew what I meant, and I'm not an illiterate. Holler.
April 06 A Close ShaveI'm alive! Just been away, with full details to follow.
In the mean time, here's a lovely story from The Evening Chronicle in Newcastle featuring the old flat. The "bin shed" is incidentally the one that my bedroom window was approximately five foot above. To illustrate:
 I particularly enjoyed the interviews with the typical Teams Scum, ie: "I'm a heavy drinker..." For fuck's sake!
Nice.
Anyway, don't have nightmares.
Laters.
xx |
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