Sunday, April 23, 2006

Meep-Meep; Smile E. Koyote Is In Pursuit

Gosh, what a long day! I was out of the door at 6.10 this morning, and up at the tube station at 6.30, just as they were opening the shutters. Why? Because I was making the effort to get me fat lardy arse over to the Cutty Sark, where I was meeting family and friends in order to cheer on my sister and my brother-in-law's brother as they ran the London Marathon. I was there before the rest of the gang, having enjoyed most of the journey. As the crowd gathered I thought I might start to suffer some of the twinges of my 'social-phobia', which usually manifests itself as an intolerance of the more common stupidities of people when massed. But I found I was managing alright. Anyway, we were down at Cutty Sark for about 2 and a half hours, and I really enjoyed myself, the only test of patience being one of those dreadful 'fun' people who are actually a bit of a pain in the arse. You know the type. In this case she was 5'2", rotund, bespectacled, the kind of inane grin that announces her being orthodontically challenged, probably a bit pushy, and had got the idea that repeatedly shouting 'Oggy Oggy Oggy' in my ear'ole was funny. Not for my ear'ole. So I was relieved when we departed, having seen both sister A and friend A running past in excellent nick and cheered them on, and indeed, cheered on lots of other people too.

Next stop was opposite Mudchute (easy, boys!) station, where we met with some more friends, including my good friend the Minister For Special Duties. He and me discussed the meaning of life, which currently eludes us both; have I done the best I could today, yes, but what am I doing it for, have I made a difference to the sum of humanity, probably not, so what am I doing my best for? We also cheered on the runners, and again, our two favoured competitors, who, despite having now been running for 17 miles, looked in great condition.

The last stop was Westminster, and a stand in the rain by the clock tower. A long wait, but my sister came past eventually, looking fresh as a daisy and with a big smile on her chops. So a 'big up' to her, I'm very proud of her, and I understand she's raised a fistful of dollars for a charity which seeks to help rehabilitate and care for people with brain injuries, which is a very worthy cause.

And I had managed a long day in the company of huge amounts of proles and plebs and not gone completely bonkers at anyone all day, and had to admit that I'd enjoyed myself.

I used the time on the tube first thing to finish the Classic American Novel; has anybody guessed what it is? Well, it was 'The Great Gatsby', and I've enjoyed it. I have to say, I'm not sure why, and if you've anything to say, folks, then do, but there we are. I enjoyed it, which probably says a lot for the writing. I've now started the self-help book, and first findings are that it is written in a style not a million miles from Carlos Castenada, which makes it very difficult to take it seriously. But I don't think it will advocate peyote, somehow.

There was a request sometime ago for a remedy for the iPol situation. I will share. Yesterday I realised that the naughty little it (An aside; will someone who is current with a language that asigns gender e.g. French, let me know if 'it' should be masculine or feminine, mes cheris.) was suddenly behaving in a slightly naughty, but not disappointing manner. It kept playing back to backers, so two songs from its beloved Small Faces, two HW (blessed be), two Ramones, two LZ, two whatever, you get the drift. And I quite enjoyed it. But it is how we have achieved this state of it understanding that its role is to entertain me, that it is the tool and I am the Master, that is what interests you, isn't it?

Well, it is very simple. I took it aside and had a quiet word with it. I suggested that when I ask for random play, I mean random play, and if it has a problem with that, then I would invest in some second hand Cliff Richard records, fill it with said shit and leave it to play in the dark for a long time, on its own. I suspect Phil Collins or Michael Bolton would achieve similar results.

We no longer have any misunderstanding.

Folks, I started to write this last night, but I was so knackered after the long day in the fresh air and elements; my face looks like I've spent a long day on the beach at Sellafield; that I went to bed early and slept like a log...I awoke looking slightly flushed, hey hey, watch out Tarbie. Which explains why time looks to have been bent a bit if you pay attention to the date on these things.

3 comments:

Wendy said...

What's an "Oggy"?

Also, I hate to be The Ugly American, but I swear that the "Minister For Special Duties" was a Monty Python bit.

krusty the baker said...

Wendy; you will never be The Ugly American (swoon, swoon), isn't that what you have Dick 'n' Don for?

What's an "Oggy"? see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oggy_Oggy_Oggy and all will be revealed, and you will understand my annoyance at fat jolly woman. It wears a bit thin, honest.

I don't know about Monty Python. Isn't that Ministry of Silly Walks? Even if it was Special Duties, they didn't mean it like me - see next post for clarification. And folks, let's not have a discussion of Monty Python here, or I will start deleting comments, which I'm loath to do. It was 'of its time', end of story.

Liz said...

Perfect. When I talk to the copier at work at work it behaves, so there's no reason to suspect that the iPod wouldn't as well.