It's been another one of those 'Oh Jesus Steve Christ I wish I could tell you what happened but I'd like to keep my job for a while longer' moments happened and while nothing has been said outright, I think this site might have been found, if you catch my drift. So, I shall file it under 'This is so big you just won't forget it in a hurry' and store it in the appropriate brain department.
Feeling better has also been aided by my awareness that there is still daylight in the sky at 5pm now and over the next 6 or 7 weeks the nights are going to draw out so fast I won't give a shit about how cold it is. I have grown so convinced that a good summer is now about as likely as my affair with Karen Gillan that I derive my seasonal pleasure from the amount of natural light there is and how long it lasts. If I had the money I'd just follow the sun; have 6 luxury homes in six places on the planet where I will have optimum daylight and warm weather and spend two months when those things are the most likely and move onto the next place. As long as I could have some home comforts, a decent spoon and a clean toilet I'd be happy (the wife on the other hand...).
Speaking of hands; if you looked at mine you'd see that on both of them near that webby bit between your/my thumb and forefinger, down to where a watch would be, I have a mass of inch long scars that look like lino cuts (if you know what I mean by this old fashioned form of stencilling). If it wasn't for the way scars on my hands fade, it would probably be more scar than hand. These all have appeared in the last 5 years; they are the result of dew claws being dragged over my hands by Marley (or as she has been thought of recently - Mali - in light of all the headlines) when I arrive home and she's desperate to be closest to me first. I went back to work on Thursday bleeding profusely from the hand and was almost totally unaware of it - it happens so often, you see.
Two things are happening outside that confirm my suspicion that all is returning to normal. Fuckwit is having his car valeted again and the Sexually-Explicit family are steadfastly refusing to open the door to the man knocking on it. All credit to him; he sees their cars, he's sticking to his guns.
Effercio et Ineptias
- Up to S, which was good timing as the new Ulrich Schnauss album just arrived. However, horror of horrors, my ghetto blaster is dying! I had to pick it up and shake it, like they did in the olden days, to get it to work again, but I think it'll probably bite the big one sooner rather than later.
- I can't remember ever going through windscreen wipers so fast; something else that obviously isn't made to the old high standard any more.
- We currently have the following record at the Lamplighter pub quiz: Played 9: Won 6; Runner-up 2; 4th 1; and we've probably won getting on for over £200. The girls are now worried we're going to scare people off. On the evidence of the £52 jackpot we won on Tuesday that isn't going to happen.
- Bartlett's, the umbrella company responsible for Purple Majestic, Roosters and all those fucking Vivaldi spuds you see in Sainsbury's, have just unleashed their Russet's on Northampton. I haven't seen them before and as they claim to be 'ideal for chips' I took a gamble and bought two bags. Guess what? They are ideal for chips. In fact, they're possibly the best chip potatoes I have found since Golden Wonder and that's a little like suggesting Greene King can brew good beer. So, now you know.
- I am considering upgrading my mobile phone device...