Back to drudgery

I have to check the tickets. The ones I bought before I left. Someone won £11m. "It could be you" as the lottery ad says. I hope to fuck it is. Work doesn't seem very attractive to me right now. Spain seems too warm at this time of year but with £11m I reckon I could find somewhere suitable. Fingers crossed.

off

It's that time of year. The time when I pack up my suitcase and worry twice as much about work as I do when I'm actually supposed to be working. This year's photo scrapbook will be of Marbella. When I return it may be to resign. Something for me to think about.

Help yourself

Anyone want to join me for a drink? Help yourself to the contents of the drinks cupboard and fridge.

And bring me that bottle of whine.

Learning to walk?

Some things leave me cold.
Some things leave me angry.
Some things make me want to hurt somebody.

So hungry I could kill

Hotels. Hate them. Or at least the last one I stayed in. Two nights in a row they couldn't take me for dinner when I needed fed and the head waitress seemed to smirk gleefully when telling me. I'll have her, down one of the back corridors. Quick twist of the neck from behind. Two crunches and she's a floppy doll. She'll never see it coming. And then on the second night when I did eventually get seated I was on my main course and still no sign of the wine so they gave me a full bottle. I had death in my eyes and they chose wisely. Gave me a bottle of Chilean red. House of the Devil was the literal translation of the label. I'd agree. Bloody dinner had obviously not been made fresh but had been reheated in an oven or microwave. More neck cricking to be done in that establishment I fear.

Got to keep moving. Very busy trying to get some work done before my hols. Plenty of stuff needed on the personal front too. Must make a list. Must get stuff on the list. Arrange holiday parking. Arrange airport transfers. Must start to pack.

just click

Not related to my previous entry but I saw this and had to stick it up here.

Click me

Bursting my balloon

That's what I need to do. Here or elsewhere. Stay tuned.

Druids R us

Ever had a day that went on an on? A sloooow day? Today's the day. Summer solstice. From here on in the days get shorter, S.A.D. increases, the barbeque gets aired even on rainy days and children are forced to play outside in the rain because "summer will soon to over". In case you were wondering this isn't a meeting of the Klan. It's just some druids doing what comes naturally (if you're a pagan). If you look closely you'll be able to spot the one they're about to sacrifice.

8 from 3

**

For reasons that are completely beyond my control (like greed and discipline) my healthy eating splurge never got beyond a fortnight and lip service (and I don't mean the Asian "happy ending" lip service either). This means that as of Sunday I still had 11 pounds to lose. Due to buying an MP3 player (which, after 3 days, is already on it's way back to the supplier, but that's another story) I did, for the first time in years, manage to go for a short run in Parliament grounds near my house which had the astonishing effect (coupled with reasonably sensible eating) of raising my metabolism for sufficiently long to lop another 3 pounds off. Three weeks left. Hence 8 from 3. Is it feasible to lose 8+ pounds in the remaining 3 weeks or should I just accept man-breasts and faux pregnancy for yet another holiday album?


** This may or may not be an accurate representation of how I currently look.

Sick bitch

What sort of poisonous, sick bitch does this?

Drag the bitch behind a car for 5 miles. Roll in salt, oil and chilli powder. Crisp with a blowtorch.

Find me

I'm hardly elusive. But if you did want to find me here's a few tips.

• I'm the man in the checkout queue behind the old biddy who has waited for three customers to pay before opening her purse and then start counting the exact amount in coppers.
• I'm the man who excitedly opens up his latest purchase when he gets home only to find something's falling off, it's broken, stained or damaged. Always.
• I'm the man who phoned you but you couldn't hear me (see above).
• I'm the man who's just arrived late (everywhere).
• I'm the man who's just waited 20 minutes at the bar being ignored by the bar staff as walk-ins walk away arms full of drinks and.....
• when I did eventually get served got half a pint of Guinness spilled on my crotch.
• I'm the man swearing at the computer.
  
• I'm the man who's drunk.
  

Proof

Proof, if any were needed, that women are different.

Noctilucent Clouds

Call me a nerd. Geek. Freak. I don't care (you won't be the last).

I've been trying to catch these for about 2 weeks, finally caught them tonight around midnight out the back window of my office. They're a natural phenomena whose cause is still unknown. They're clouds on the edge of space, where clouds shouldn't exist (90 miles up) much, much higher than ordinary clouds which are normally up to 5 miles up. They luminesce neon colours and are only visible in darkness (I used a manual shutter of about 6 seconds). More on them here.

A night at the opera

If I'd been brought up with a silver spoon in my mouth it would have been different. I wouldn't have to walk through life carefully balancing the chips that sit comfortably either side of my fat working-class neck. And therein lies the cause of Friday night's problem, a work related black tie dinner sandwiched between 2 parts of an opera. Not just any opera but an exclusive performance set in an old stone built barn (about 300 years old, set in the grounds of an old country estate) which could only hold 200 patrons, performed by an amateur company complete with an amateur orchestra (bar the conductor). Several things struck me during the night.

• The performers are unbelievably dedicated to rehearse for so many hours to make the performance as polished as it was (and some of them were extremely talented), though why they'd do that so that they could perform only once to a half drunk, overdressed bunch of snobs who are only there to say they'd supported the opera and been to ....on Friday and "wasn't it simply fabulous...." is beyond me. Too much in for too little out. The books just don't balance in my head.

• Drinking Bordeaux and Champers from 5pm on one the hottest days of the year is akin to doing the 4 man bob-sleigh at the winter Olympics without brakes or crash helmet and with your eyes closed. There's only going to be one outcome.

• Opera is a play ruined by singing.

• Why are there times when 3 or 4 characters are facing the audience all singing different tunes and lyrics. What the fuck is that about?

• Drink, me and cigarettes are the Holy Trinity.

I'd rather spend an evening naked, clubbing seal cubs to death with a blunt rusty ice pick dipped in chilli sauce than sit through one of those again, though I did have an out loud laugh at a lady in the chorus who overemphasised so much that I thought she'd just rolled in from a gurning contest after taking 10 E s.

Scorchio!

5 straight days of fantastic weather (24 degrees, that's about the hottest it ever gets here). In the same decade. In the same year. In the same week.





Nah!