Sunday, July 22, 2007

Hooray for C and P

And you thought I might have forgotten? Na-uh. When I picked up my copy at about 4pm yesterday, they reckoned they would be able to donate between £500-£600 to the local primary school for books. Now that is not bad, eh?

Now ssshhhh. Reading.

Sunday, July 15, 2007

"What we have here is a 70 year old woman singing about rushing on ecstasy."



Having already talkied about this on this blog some time ago... I can't really do any better than the mighty Popjustice on the matter*.

"She does a very good job of looking as if she's having the time of her life but if you catch her just right there's a glint in her eyes which clearly says 'someone will hang for this'."

Well. Quite. But we loved the diamente studded wellies we saw in the papers when she was at Glasto. Rock on, gel.

I've just got back from my own Gran's, where I spent the weekend. She is over eighty and still rocking quite hard, in her own 'unique' way. I felt like a goose being force fed stuff to turn its liver into foix gras, only with fresh fruit and veg. I mean really.

* Yes. That's right. I'm still not really writing my own blog posts.

Friday, July 13, 2007

"...there’s a national shortage of wooden panels."

Okay this is getting really silly, as I'm just nicking blog posts off other people now - isn't that the intellectual democracy that is THE INTERNETS?

But... my darlings... nail down the loose fittings... Caroline Phillips is back, back, BACK!!

The woman is LEGEND.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Five billion years... AND COUNTING!

Well. Here’s a jolly 'to-do'.

Having just watched the latest Die Hard film (Explosions? Tick. Silly superbad guys? Tick. John MacLane musings on being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Tick. But disturbingly, long conversations during car journeys that take several hours? Also a tick. Hmm.) it’s quite interesting to think about what might happen when this all goes ‘tits up’ and mankind exits the planet stage left. Pursued by a bear.

James and his blue cat have pointed out this really cool timeline of what will happen if all the human bods vanish from New York city.

As per the Doctor Who season three finale – I love a good countdown, me. Half the battle in any drama I suppose – get a clock ticking. I love a nice big clock.*

Can’t help thinking they have missd a few crucial milestones though.

How long will the Statue of Liberty take to rust?
How long before the state is technically in another state?
How long until someone stumbles out of a underground gay club off their tits wondering if its just club ears making everything so quiet?
And when do the Daleks come to claim the earth?



*I have been using this lame joke for at least five years now and it must stop. Right here. Right now.

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

Thread Revolution

Dress down Friday is dead. Long live dress down Friday!

The Management have declared that we can wear what we like to the office, so long as we have emergency kit to go to meetings etc. easily to hand. (They have good reason to be trying to engender a bit of positive atmosphere at the moment bless their dear littl hearts.)

This is good news for many reasons, one of which is that I was beginning to push it slightly with my clothes, largely along the lines of 'well if the ladies can get away the somethinng like this then why can’t I...'* Of course they’ll still have it easier for Big Serious Grown-Up meetings; I don’t care what you say but....

So what to wear?! I was thinking this:


Or this:


Although I’d quite like to go all-out and rock up in this just to see what would happen:


Whhhhheeeeeeeeee. You're a wonder, Wonder Woma-aaaan!

Hmmm. I would imagine the rules would be tightened up again pretty damn toot suite, 'Koim'. But being able to relax a bit at work is ace. It has improved the quality of my life considerably now that I don;t have to iron a shirt first thing on a Monday morning - always an arduous chore. Because after all. Feeling happier in the office makes us...


* I do mean like, you know, casual trousers. Not fishnets.

Sunday, July 01, 2007

Mini One

She slowed the car to a halt at the traffic lights. They seemed an age at red, yet the green roads were empty at this unforesaken Sunday hour. Nothing was happening.

The only sound was her fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel.

He broke the spoken silence. "You know, if this were a film we'd just have a montage of our journey. To keep them momentum up."

In her head, something went 'Ping!' like a microwave timer set to explosion.

"Will you stop underlining the filmic limitations of reality and concentrate on the bloody map you irritating arsehole of a husband! Contrary to all your expectations this is not a piece of cinematography. This is us going to my parents. With hangovers!"