With nothing less than absolute astonishment* I realised yesterday that I have been writing this blog for a year.
Now I know entries have not exactly been daily, and whoever's in charge of quality control should, frankly, be given their P45, but I am rather chuffed by this. Apparently most blogs don't last more than three months. But by golly here at further adventures we can carry on self-proselitising for far longer than that.
So! What to do to mark this momentous ocassion? This first anniversary? What can I do to thank the 833 possibly-not-unique site visits I have had?
Well. There's a thing.
I'm stumped. So here's a couple of telly ads that have genuinely made me laugh out loud lately instead.
The first, I have Mr Coates to thank for finding, and is the new advert annoucning the FilmFour is to be free to air from 23 July. It's here.
The second is for More4's news programme (a theme here, methinks) and can be found here - though the quality isn't great. I'm amazed some eager and enterprising** young spod in the C4 building hasn't bunged this onto YouTube, but hey ho. If I find a better link I'll post it up.
In other, more traumatic news, it is my sad duty to annouce that Geoffrey Casherelle is no longer of this earth. Yes friends. Geoffrey the Avacado plant has, in fact, died. He is an ex-plant. He is now a twig, in a pot, by the sink in the kitchen.
I am genuinely gutted. I think I may have over-watered him. I'm sorry Geoffrey. I'll miss you. Thanks for trying.
Was also a bit devastated this week by the season finale of Doctor Who (oooEEEEoooooooOOOOOooOOOOOOO!). I won't spoil anything here, but is was brilliant. I may have shed a tear or two. Fact. And then something really fucking bonkers happens at the end, isallI'mgonnasay. Hee hee.
Mini-adventure on Friday. As part of a sort-of-second-date with someone (lips are sealed for the time being) went to see Rebecca at the NFT - which was brilliant. Both deliberately and unintentionally funny, but still utterly absorbing. Mrs Danvers will always be compelling, I think.
"Look, you can see my hand right through it...".
Hurrah for deranged, semi-psychotic lesbian housekeepers. Where does one find them?
Then pootled along to Soho House. Which was sort of fun. But full of some seriously awful people.
So. A year. Stay tuned, dear redaer, and let's see what adventures happen next, hey?
*really must stop compulsively alliterating
** really really