It was all going so well today. I'd done stuff, taken the disillusioned team for lunch, and now...
I'm reading crap on the internet.
Time to start driving biros into my forearms in recompense again, then.
Friday, August 29, 2003
Wednesday, August 20, 2003
Sand-ringham
I feel a bit sorry for the queen. Her beach hut has burnt down.
Much as I know that dear old Lizzie Dripping and her family are not the most sound idea, politically, I can't help but feel slight affection towards them. How wonderful, that the Queen has a beach hut. I always knew that her natty line in headscarves was for a purpose - you can see her, sitting on a deckchair bravely facing the wind on a Norfolk beach, watching the corgis frolic in the surf. She might even have some kind of thermos of tea. Possibly monogrammed.
I imagine HMtheQ, and HMtheQM or PCthePOW out there at really intemperate times of year. It's the last vestige of the blitz spirit ingrained into the english psyche - the strange masochism of enjoying a bracing walk on the beach even if it's 10 below, and the sand is blowing hard enough to stip your ankles to the bone.
I suppose those lovely green quilted waistcoats the landed gentry are so fond of must have some special central heating. Other than the hip flask of vintage brandy, of course.
It's a charming image. Do you think they eat 99 flakes?
Much as I know that dear old Lizzie Dripping and her family are not the most sound idea, politically, I can't help but feel slight affection towards them. How wonderful, that the Queen has a beach hut. I always knew that her natty line in headscarves was for a purpose - you can see her, sitting on a deckchair bravely facing the wind on a Norfolk beach, watching the corgis frolic in the surf. She might even have some kind of thermos of tea. Possibly monogrammed.
I imagine HMtheQ, and HMtheQM or PCthePOW out there at really intemperate times of year. It's the last vestige of the blitz spirit ingrained into the english psyche - the strange masochism of enjoying a bracing walk on the beach even if it's 10 below, and the sand is blowing hard enough to stip your ankles to the bone.
I suppose those lovely green quilted waistcoats the landed gentry are so fond of must have some special central heating. Other than the hip flask of vintage brandy, of course.
It's a charming image. Do you think they eat 99 flakes?
Tuesday, August 19, 2003
Fearing for humanity pt 3
The Landmark Foundation - I'll never forgive them for disturbing me over dinner with a friend.
They're like a hive mind with bad manners.
They're like a hive mind with bad manners.
Grrr
Why I despise Reality TV.
It really brings out the worst in viewers and contestants alike.
"Ms Mogg told Monday's Daily Express the sisters were teetotal, and had not drunk the liquor but were gargling with it to improve their voices."
Since when has 'liquor' been a UK English phrase too?
Pah.
It really brings out the worst in viewers and contestants alike.
"Ms Mogg told Monday's Daily Express the sisters were teetotal, and had not drunk the liquor but were gargling with it to improve their voices."
Since when has 'liquor' been a UK English phrase too?
Pah.
Thursday, August 14, 2003
Mark's Got An Ipod
...and a girlfriend, within a week of each other.
Jammy git.
So I made him this.
I might send it to b3ta...
Jammy git.
So I made him this.
I might send it to b3ta...
Wednesday, August 13, 2003
SlipstreamNews - Ask Lee Binding Your Questions
Oh... My Lord. Quick, quick, go and ask my housemate completely spurious questions on this Andromeda Fansite!
Caption Change Ahoy
Loving this picture. But would suggest that the caption is wrong.
It should read:
'Just Like a Lesbian. But Less of a Challenge!'
Thanks, Lee.
It should read:
'Just Like a Lesbian. But Less of a Challenge!'
Thanks, Lee.
Long Lost Email...
Have been looking for old email in my sent items box - trying to work out how many complaints we've had on the site about undelivered prizes (answer - too many, but I like to be specific about quantities when I'm beating underlings over the head).
And I found this - a quite spectacular outpouring of bile from March this year. I wish I could remember why i was hungover, though...
- - - - - - -
My weekend...
Well, at about 6.30am on Saturday I was awoken gently by Sarah. At which I realised that I had the WORST hangover imaginable. I complained a lot, drank a pint of water, went mrrmrmrpphhrrrrlllmmmrrmmrmrmmr quite a lot and proceded to sleep until 2pm.
I then tidied S's flat in a halfhearted 'Christ, where's the bloody nurofen' kind of a way. then I staggered to Peckham - an unpleasant journey as there's still no bloody public transport on any given route that I decide to take in London. In fact, I think there's some kind of small elite force that has me under surveillance, and deliberately breaks busses, tubes and trains when they see me coming.
Having got back to Peckham, I drank about 3 pints of tea and played Sim City 4 until 2.30 am. I am quite pleased with myself, as I have discovered how to make a quick profit, whilst ensuring that I have mostly upper and middle class people in my cities. This makes me happy, as I can afford to buy them schools and parks and nice non-polluting industries. If I have poor people in slums, I go bankrupt. I find that I am not at all worried by this. This means I have gone through the point at which I can be reasonably expected to vote Tory at the next election. (What's more, the rich peoples houses have nicer gardens.)
Alas, still hungover at 2.30 am, I went to bed, read an Unauthoried Autobiography of Lemony Snickett (which was strange, but I think it would have been strange even without hangover and insomnia...)
I woke up, inexplicably, at 7am on Sunday. Still hungover. I am beginning to violently dislike the fact that I have turned into a morningy person who can wake up. Luckily, I still have the ability to go back to sleep again, although the hymns and religion on Radio 4 made this a bit of an odd experience.
Another tussle with public transport, and I met my old flatmate for lunch in Soho. It was at about 1pm on Sunday that I finally became vaguely aware that the weather was really nice (it had stopped really hurting my eyes, by this stage. I was still feeling quite queasy though.)
I had some kind of Halloumi toasted sandwich. Halloumi is very salty. I would not reccomend it as an ideal ingredient for a toasted sandwich, particularly if you then smother it with dried mint. The ideal toastie cheese, is, of course, cheap cheddar. Not, as some would have you beleive, Kraft squares. They're a little on the saltygreasy side, and don't melt in quite the correct way. Incidentally, the ex-flatmate (French Jo) was a bit confused when she first came to england, as she presumed that 'Cheddar' was Le Anglais pour 'Fromage', and not 'Cheese' as she had erroneously been taught at school.
Then, another public transpot hassle (After a trip to Covent Garden Tescos, which is unique among supermarkets. This is because it has a weird bank style 'Cashier Number FIVE please' thing read by a woman who sounds like she's auditioning for a revival of Bullseye.)
Having returned to Peckham, played another couple of hours of SimCity (I got a university. Woo. Yay.). I also watched incoming reports on the war. I watch them like some strange kind of reality show, and provide a running sarcasm commentary on CNN, News24 and Sky (who are laughable at news. They haven't topped the point on 9/11 when the reader finished a phone in report with the words 'That's my boyfirend, and thank goodness he's OK'. Choice. Professional) . I am thinking that I have finally become unhinged by the media. And I have decided that the Iraquis are the best, because they all wear cute little Notting Hill utility stylee parkas. I also love the fact that they have a town called Umm Qasr. Can you imagine that? 'Where do you live?' 'Ummmmm.... Qasr?'
Other observations: The British forces are kind of hiding in Kuwait, going, 'well, you big Americans, umm... yes, we'll back you up. Go on... we'll be along in just a bit.' This might be because the Americans seem to shoot more brits than iraqis. The patriot missile system - so called cos it shoots 'owt that 'aint American.
I'm also a bit disgusted at the fact that an 8 year old American girl has been coming home crying from her very nice school in Fulham. Because the teachers have made her understand that America is to blame. And wants to take over the world, and will give up on Britain when they've finished with dicking about with the rest of the world. Her family made the decision to return home in a fortnight. They're sick of having people be vitriolic to them.
Then went over to Putney again (yet another hour on public transport) and finished cleaning, and made tea.
It is now Monday. I am still hungover. It's not bloody fair. It was only four pints on friday night. And I missed the best weekend of the year due to alcohol poisoning.
And I found this - a quite spectacular outpouring of bile from March this year. I wish I could remember why i was hungover, though...
- - - - - - -
My weekend...
Well, at about 6.30am on Saturday I was awoken gently by Sarah. At which I realised that I had the WORST hangover imaginable. I complained a lot, drank a pint of water, went mrrmrmrpphhrrrrlllmmmrrmmrmrmmr quite a lot and proceded to sleep until 2pm.
I then tidied S's flat in a halfhearted 'Christ, where's the bloody nurofen' kind of a way. then I staggered to Peckham - an unpleasant journey as there's still no bloody public transport on any given route that I decide to take in London. In fact, I think there's some kind of small elite force that has me under surveillance, and deliberately breaks busses, tubes and trains when they see me coming.
Having got back to Peckham, I drank about 3 pints of tea and played Sim City 4 until 2.30 am. I am quite pleased with myself, as I have discovered how to make a quick profit, whilst ensuring that I have mostly upper and middle class people in my cities. This makes me happy, as I can afford to buy them schools and parks and nice non-polluting industries. If I have poor people in slums, I go bankrupt. I find that I am not at all worried by this. This means I have gone through the point at which I can be reasonably expected to vote Tory at the next election. (What's more, the rich peoples houses have nicer gardens.)
Alas, still hungover at 2.30 am, I went to bed, read an Unauthoried Autobiography of Lemony Snickett (which was strange, but I think it would have been strange even without hangover and insomnia...)
I woke up, inexplicably, at 7am on Sunday. Still hungover. I am beginning to violently dislike the fact that I have turned into a morningy person who can wake up. Luckily, I still have the ability to go back to sleep again, although the hymns and religion on Radio 4 made this a bit of an odd experience.
Another tussle with public transport, and I met my old flatmate for lunch in Soho. It was at about 1pm on Sunday that I finally became vaguely aware that the weather was really nice (it had stopped really hurting my eyes, by this stage. I was still feeling quite queasy though.)
I had some kind of Halloumi toasted sandwich. Halloumi is very salty. I would not reccomend it as an ideal ingredient for a toasted sandwich, particularly if you then smother it with dried mint. The ideal toastie cheese, is, of course, cheap cheddar. Not, as some would have you beleive, Kraft squares. They're a little on the saltygreasy side, and don't melt in quite the correct way. Incidentally, the ex-flatmate (French Jo) was a bit confused when she first came to england, as she presumed that 'Cheddar' was Le Anglais pour 'Fromage', and not 'Cheese' as she had erroneously been taught at school.
Then, another public transpot hassle (After a trip to Covent Garden Tescos, which is unique among supermarkets. This is because it has a weird bank style 'Cashier Number FIVE please' thing read by a woman who sounds like she's auditioning for a revival of Bullseye.)
Having returned to Peckham, played another couple of hours of SimCity (I got a university. Woo. Yay.). I also watched incoming reports on the war. I watch them like some strange kind of reality show, and provide a running sarcasm commentary on CNN, News24 and Sky (who are laughable at news. They haven't topped the point on 9/11 when the reader finished a phone in report with the words 'That's my boyfirend, and thank goodness he's OK'. Choice. Professional) . I am thinking that I have finally become unhinged by the media. And I have decided that the Iraquis are the best, because they all wear cute little Notting Hill utility stylee parkas. I also love the fact that they have a town called Umm Qasr. Can you imagine that? 'Where do you live?' 'Ummmmm.... Qasr?'
Other observations: The British forces are kind of hiding in Kuwait, going, 'well, you big Americans, umm... yes, we'll back you up. Go on... we'll be along in just a bit.' This might be because the Americans seem to shoot more brits than iraqis. The patriot missile system - so called cos it shoots 'owt that 'aint American.
I'm also a bit disgusted at the fact that an 8 year old American girl has been coming home crying from her very nice school in Fulham. Because the teachers have made her understand that America is to blame. And wants to take over the world, and will give up on Britain when they've finished with dicking about with the rest of the world. Her family made the decision to return home in a fortnight. They're sick of having people be vitriolic to them.
Then went over to Putney again (yet another hour on public transport) and finished cleaning, and made tea.
It is now Monday. I am still hungover. It's not bloody fair. It was only four pints on friday night. And I missed the best weekend of the year due to alcohol poisoning.
More on Wallflowers
I want this book - Slashdot | The Introvert Advantage.
Particularly as I'm in trouble again for trying to rearrange a social engagement made by my better half. It's not deliberate - I just fail to notice. I'm such an only child...
Particularly as I'm in trouble again for trying to rearrange a social engagement made by my better half. It's not deliberate - I just fail to notice. I'm such an only child...
Monday, August 11, 2003
Moral Dilemma
Have just had the interesting 'Do I tell my workmates I have a blog' thing. It's thorny, especially as it's obvious that I'm posting in office hours. Which is setting a very bad example. I could always change the timezone to Honolulu?
The thing is, it's lovely Tim. And I've read his blog, and it nearly broke me.
It's hard to hear what is going through the heads of those whose lives you're pissing up.
EDIT: I've just realised that with no context, this is an odd post. So - Tim says in his blog that he only makes bold moves when he's desperate. He's talented, and I think he feels frustrated to be using his considerable brain in a very confining medium. So now we've got him shackled in a big old continuing contract.
I hope he doesn't let this place suck him dry.
And now I'm wondering about the implications of publishing a blog to employment law tribunals.
The thing is, it's lovely Tim. And I've read his blog, and it nearly broke me.
It's hard to hear what is going through the heads of those whose lives you're pissing up.
EDIT: I've just realised that with no context, this is an odd post. So - Tim says in his blog that he only makes bold moves when he's desperate. He's talented, and I think he feels frustrated to be using his considerable brain in a very confining medium. So now we've got him shackled in a big old continuing contract.
I hope he doesn't let this place suck him dry.
And now I'm wondering about the implications of publishing a blog to employment law tribunals.
Caring for My Introvert
I worry, slightly, sometimes - just a little - that my girlfriend's paralysing shyness might put a strain on our relationship.
I don't mind it in the slightest - she's just, well, quiet. But I can see exactly why others may take it as being arrogant, or standoffish.
I've just read a lovely article - Caring for Your Introvert. It kind of explains why sometimes people get her wrong.
"'I'm an introvert. You are a wonderful person and I like you. But now please shush.'"
I don't mind it in the slightest - she's just, well, quiet. But I can see exactly why others may take it as being arrogant, or standoffish.
I've just read a lovely article - Caring for Your Introvert. It kind of explains why sometimes people get her wrong.
"'I'm an introvert. You are a wonderful person and I like you. But now please shush.'"
Holy Crap
Bette Davis is turned loose on Broadway.
I think the pavement probably came off worse.
And whilst you're at it, don't miss the yodelling chickens.
I think the pavement probably came off worse.
And whilst you're at it, don't miss the yodelling chickens.
Monday is the cruelest month.
So, back to work again. And despite my usual sunday night promises to myself that 'this week I'm really going to get down to it and sort out everything', I'm already faffing about.
I think I may devote my life to collecting really really odd music. I've found another priceless site (thanks Mark). Clickeywoo to April Winchell: Multimedia.
I reccomend Mary Schneider murdering the classics. It's like... a demented cowgirl let loose at Carnegie Hall.
I have a horrible feeling that I'm going to become even more irritating at parties, by insisting on playing a huge ammount of novelty records. Maybe there'a a call for barmy DJs somewhere?
Oh, I know, gay bars.
I think I may devote my life to collecting really really odd music. I've found another priceless site (thanks Mark). Clickeywoo to April Winchell: Multimedia.
I reccomend Mary Schneider murdering the classics. It's like... a demented cowgirl let loose at Carnegie Hall.
I have a horrible feeling that I'm going to become even more irritating at parties, by insisting on playing a huge ammount of novelty records. Maybe there'a a call for barmy DJs somewhere?
Oh, I know, gay bars.
Friday, August 08, 2003
Chill Out, Man
Tom, over at Blatant Optimism, is a very, very clever man. Besides his imminent daddyness, he's also had the most brilliant idea I've ever seen for coping with these hot, hot nights.
I won't spoil the surprise - check it out for yourselves.
I won't spoil the surprise - check it out for yourselves.
Amazon.com: About Henry Raddick: Reviews
Henry Raddick: THe sarkiest reviewer on Amazon. He'l be all over b3ta later on today.
I'm currently wondering if I should fess up to having read 'A hand in the Bush' on the b3ta boards, just to see what happens...
I'm currently wondering if I should fess up to having read 'A hand in the Bush' on the b3ta boards, just to see what happens...
die puny humans
Oh, I'm SO regretting not going to last night's flash mob now. I coulda been there from the start... Particularly as Warren Ellis, comic god extraoridinaire, was there and wrote about it on his site: die puny humans
Dilletante
Well, predictably, I've already slacked off on my posting.
It's one of those things about me. I enjoy doing stuff and having hobbies and going places, but mostly I just can't be arsed.
Admittedly, I've actually been applying myself in the office this week, and have been updating the edinburgh blog - albeit with someone elses words - so not quite as much time to posty-post as I'd like. And when you spend your entire working day in front of a computer, firing up the laptop when you get home isn't attractive...
But all of this is excuses. I'm fickle and lazy and never follow through with anything. Deal with it, and I promise I'll work on my guilt issues.
(The other thing was that I nearly started writing about Charddonnay, and then realised that I was turning into an antifeminst chicklit caricature, which Just Won't Do.)
It's one of those things about me. I enjoy doing stuff and having hobbies and going places, but mostly I just can't be arsed.
Admittedly, I've actually been applying myself in the office this week, and have been updating the edinburgh blog - albeit with someone elses words - so not quite as much time to posty-post as I'd like. And when you spend your entire working day in front of a computer, firing up the laptop when you get home isn't attractive...
But all of this is excuses. I'm fickle and lazy and never follow through with anything. Deal with it, and I promise I'll work on my guilt issues.
(The other thing was that I nearly started writing about Charddonnay, and then realised that I was turning into an antifeminst chicklit caricature, which Just Won't Do.)
Monday, August 04, 2003
Normal Transmission Resumes
Sigh.
Monday morning. Up at 6am just so I can spend 20 extra minutes with the wife at Victoria Station. Damn, the sheer bloody romance of sitting in Costas being deafened by station announcements and jostled by Germans with large bags.
And so the countdown to next weekend begins.
It all feels particularly harsh this morning - had the most perfect Sunday imaginable. It really was one of those rare days when you fall in love all over again; cuddling, dozing and drinking tea in bed is enough to swell your heart fit to burst. Even the sunday night ritual of 24 and a foot rub seemed particularly special.
Sigh. Look, I'm too drippy even to be entertaining today.
Well, back to clearing my desk, then.
Monday morning. Up at 6am just so I can spend 20 extra minutes with the wife at Victoria Station. Damn, the sheer bloody romance of sitting in Costas being deafened by station announcements and jostled by Germans with large bags.
And so the countdown to next weekend begins.
It all feels particularly harsh this morning - had the most perfect Sunday imaginable. It really was one of those rare days when you fall in love all over again; cuddling, dozing and drinking tea in bed is enough to swell your heart fit to burst. Even the sunday night ritual of 24 and a foot rub seemed particularly special.
Sigh. Look, I'm too drippy even to be entertaining today.
Well, back to clearing my desk, then.
Friday, August 01, 2003
...Fly away home
Some ladybirds, to be going along with. They're on b3ta.com.
I'm off to eat sushi. And count matchsticks in an eyeblink for fun.
I'm off to eat sushi. And count matchsticks in an eyeblink for fun.
Boy from the neck up, Girl from the neck down.
Holy Aspergers, I have a male brain.
A friend sent me a link to this terribly unscientific psychology test. It's a simple idea - plot your empathy against your systematising drive, and find out what kind of brain you have - men tend to be more systematising than women.
Well, on the male-female scale, I come out at Freak.
My scores? 27 on the EQ - the average for a woman is 47. I'm in the bottom quartile - the realm of Aspergers and Rain Man. On SQ, I got 47 - the average score for a gel being 24. Noticing something a bit... arse around tip there?
Time to start the argument about genetic markers for lesbianism with my housemate again. And time to stop sorting my CDs with an elaborate system of my own devising. And liking maths.
I feel I ought to appologise to all my long suffering mates who've been humouring an emotional retard for the last 29 years.
Sorry, chaps.
A friend sent me a link to this terribly unscientific psychology test. It's a simple idea - plot your empathy against your systematising drive, and find out what kind of brain you have - men tend to be more systematising than women.
Well, on the male-female scale, I come out at Freak.
My scores? 27 on the EQ - the average for a woman is 47. I'm in the bottom quartile - the realm of Aspergers and Rain Man. On SQ, I got 47 - the average score for a gel being 24. Noticing something a bit... arse around tip there?
Time to start the argument about genetic markers for lesbianism with my housemate again. And time to stop sorting my CDs with an elaborate system of my own devising. And liking maths.
I feel I ought to appologise to all my long suffering mates who've been humouring an emotional retard for the last 29 years.
Sorry, chaps.
Visible signs of ageing
Oh, my god, they've found 2000 year old Nivea.
A bit like the pot of Ponds Vanishing Cream that sat on my mum's dressing table for the whole of my childhood. You can't buy it now days... unless, it seems, you live in Hong Kong or Bangladesh. It's a shame - it was one of those smells that made me feel five.
A bit like the pot of Ponds Vanishing Cream that sat on my mum's dressing table for the whole of my childhood. You can't buy it now days... unless, it seems, you live in Hong Kong or Bangladesh. It's a shame - it was one of those smells that made me feel five.
Your house is on fire and your children are gone...
The fantastic Jake Ingman has published another beautiful shot on his photolog.
PHOTO : frozen lady
I'm eagerly awaiting a couple of prints from him - everything on the site is for sale, and I fell for his power station photos. And what a nice man he is too - he emailed me at 3.30am stateside time to let me know he hadn't forgotten me.
Ladybirds seem to be cropping up a lot at the moment. First they took over the back garden (lots of yummy aphids in our unkempt jungle!) - then the Today programme ran a feature on how they all have the clap.
There's something delicious about such a beautiful little creature (and a kid's rhyme favourite) being riddled with sexually transmitted fungus.
Filthy little sluts.
PHOTO : frozen lady
I'm eagerly awaiting a couple of prints from him - everything on the site is for sale, and I fell for his power station photos. And what a nice man he is too - he emailed me at 3.30am stateside time to let me know he hadn't forgotten me.
Ladybirds seem to be cropping up a lot at the moment. First they took over the back garden (lots of yummy aphids in our unkempt jungle!) - then the Today programme ran a feature on how they all have the clap.
There's something delicious about such a beautiful little creature (and a kid's rhyme favourite) being riddled with sexually transmitted fungus.
Filthy little sluts.
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