I'm increasingly convinced that the MP3 player is possessed. This morning we had undue amounts of Small Faces. Now they wouldn't be there if I didn't like 'em, but if I've set it to shuffle then I don't really expect two out of every three tracks to be Small Faces. And yes, we did get plenty of Byrds too - it really loves 'John Riley'.
Late last week saw a little jadedness in my time at work, as there was a dearth of viewing. Most of my favoured were out, and I sorely noticed the absence of one or two in particular - delighted yesterday at the return of the Wild-Haired One, ooh, the way she dresses and moves... On the other hand, there has been the opportunity to spend quite a lot of time in 'meetings' with one of our suppliers, and specifically their account manager, who has terrific sparkly blue eyes, is a bright and chatty woman, and extremely professional and competent individual, and is amply endowed with what can only be described as bosom. Not breasts (much as I like that word), and certainly not knockers or tits or boobs or jugs or all the rest of it, the base language of the stag night. This is a bosom. Thoroughly enchanting. As is her posterior.
Just caught the last five minutes of 'Eastenders', which I haven't seen for a very long time, and five minutes is enough to remind me of why I haven't seen it for a very long time. Folks, I ask you to vote: Phil Mitchell - tosser or wanker?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment