28 August, 2009
27 August, 2009
I JUST CANNAE DO IT CAPTAIN
Well, apparently I can't even do a Scottish accent in text. Never mind. I only lived there for four years.
I know I don't blog very often, and if I thought I had any level of readership then maybe I would apologise for my digital neglect - but I have no such delusions, so I really don't think an apology is necessary. I have been busy, and/or lazy, so I didn't post anything, and that is just how it goes.
Incidentally, that attitude (busy and/or lazy) is how I frequently get myself into the following situation: it is Thursday night, and I like to have the flat nice and tidy for Chris when he gets home from a week away, but I come home from whatever I was doing... and there it is: the washing up. It has hit critical mass, again. There is nothing left that does not need washing up. For three days, I have been drinking hard-water orange squash out of a ceramic noodle cup, and eating toast because it doesn't require a plate. And now the time has come, and it has to be done. I get close to the sink, and move a few plates. The smell begins to rise. Opening the window seems like a great idea until I am reminded, by the sight of a naked elderly man, that my kitchen window faces directly onto the bathroom window of the flat facing mine.
Is there a worse way to commence your least favourite household chore? I doubt it, somehow.
But I got it done! (I should note here that now, every time I say or hear any phrase relating to something getting done, I have to resist the urge to say "Git'r done!" because I watch far too much South Park.) And now my hands feel like sandpaper and my kitchen smells like crap. Having the window open does not make much difference; I will have to put some laundry on before I leave for work tomorrow. I love the smell of fresh laundry. How domestic of me! Never fear, though, I have not quite reached Housewife City just yet: I still occasionally get so drunk that I throw up, and then continue drinking. I am still in touch with my inner seventeen year old. What can I say - I don't think anybody's stomach reacts well to a combination of red wine, vodka, kahlua, amaretto and milk, when they have only eaten a bag of cheesy Doritos all day.
I can't believe I am blogging about doing the washing up and puking like an underage delinquent. I know it's 1am and I have been so sleep-deprived this week that my right eye has developed a sort of manic murderer twitch, but this blog entry is really taking the piss.
I am going to sign off before I start talking about my boobs.
Over and out.
I know I don't blog very often, and if I thought I had any level of readership then maybe I would apologise for my digital neglect - but I have no such delusions, so I really don't think an apology is necessary. I have been busy, and/or lazy, so I didn't post anything, and that is just how it goes.
Incidentally, that attitude (busy and/or lazy) is how I frequently get myself into the following situation: it is Thursday night, and I like to have the flat nice and tidy for Chris when he gets home from a week away, but I come home from whatever I was doing... and there it is: the washing up. It has hit critical mass, again. There is nothing left that does not need washing up. For three days, I have been drinking hard-water orange squash out of a ceramic noodle cup, and eating toast because it doesn't require a plate. And now the time has come, and it has to be done. I get close to the sink, and move a few plates. The smell begins to rise. Opening the window seems like a great idea until I am reminded, by the sight of a naked elderly man, that my kitchen window faces directly onto the bathroom window of the flat facing mine.
Is there a worse way to commence your least favourite household chore? I doubt it, somehow.
But I got it done! (I should note here that now, every time I say or hear any phrase relating to something getting done, I have to resist the urge to say "Git'r done!" because I watch far too much South Park.) And now my hands feel like sandpaper and my kitchen smells like crap. Having the window open does not make much difference; I will have to put some laundry on before I leave for work tomorrow. I love the smell of fresh laundry. How domestic of me! Never fear, though, I have not quite reached Housewife City just yet: I still occasionally get so drunk that I throw up, and then continue drinking. I am still in touch with my inner seventeen year old. What can I say - I don't think anybody's stomach reacts well to a combination of red wine, vodka, kahlua, amaretto and milk, when they have only eaten a bag of cheesy Doritos all day.
I can't believe I am blogging about doing the washing up and puking like an underage delinquent. I know it's 1am and I have been so sleep-deprived this week that my right eye has developed a sort of manic murderer twitch, but this blog entry is really taking the piss.
I am going to sign off before I start talking about my boobs.
Over and out.
19 February, 2009
January 20, 2009
In a hotel room in Egypt as night fell outside, I sat on the edge of the bed next to the man I will marry. We were quiet, watching the screen.
The scenes unfolding before us may have no real impact on the way we live our lives; but they will have an impact on the world we live them in, and for this reason I felt compelled to watch. Although we had no say in the election of this man, thousands and thousands of others did - and replacing a feeling of animosity and scorn for a whole nation, there comes a feeling of pride.
It is sometimes hard to believe that people can still make the right choice when called upon to do so.
Now all that remains is to hope that this man can live up to his promises, and the expectations of the world.
The scenes unfolding before us may have no real impact on the way we live our lives; but they will have an impact on the world we live them in, and for this reason I felt compelled to watch. Although we had no say in the election of this man, thousands and thousands of others did - and replacing a feeling of animosity and scorn for a whole nation, there comes a feeling of pride.
It is sometimes hard to believe that people can still make the right choice when called upon to do so.
Now all that remains is to hope that this man can live up to his promises, and the expectations of the world.
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