I've not been here for a couple of days, a combination of factors, including remorse at a home-made lentil curry, professional pressures, a bit of bloggers' block, and an awareness that I could easily bore the pants of everyone by continuing to rant about the bunch of tossers (that word again W!) 'running' the country. Suffice to say that those of you who live here and pay your tax here are probably feeling similarly bemused/enraged/lynch-mob-esque as me, whatever your default political persuasion, and those of you who don't live here and pay your tax here are a) blissfully unaware of what's been happening this week, or b) just blissful that you aren't living here and paying here. Unless you live in one of the places we're busy shitting up at the moment.
Right, on the more positive side of thing, I've spent the weekend with my sister and brother-in-law and niece, who is just gorgeous. Although her appeal wore off a little when she spewed milk-sick onto my feet this morning. But that's what babies do. But she's so cute....no, I must stop, because as we all know, other people's babies is boring.
Whilst work has been a serious chore this week (when is it not?), there have been some moments of light relief. Breast quotient has been high, so whilst 'thinking' and 'problem solving', which entail a lot of staring into the middle distance with a bemused expression on my face, I've been able to do a fair bit of quiet aesthetic appreciating, reinforced by the iPol's decision to fully fall into line. The Cliff Richard line has obviously done the trick, as amongst the many pleasures to turn up was some Tijuana Bible and some Ian Dury - whose praises I don't need to sing, as most of what might be said has been. (It's gone midnight, I'm watching the snooker, not because I enjoy it, but because I'm waiting for 'The Wild Bunch' 'cause I've never seen it, and some twat is outside tooting his horn.)
I've also had the question foisted upon me; how can one miss? "Uh?", you say. Well, I walked into our woefully poor lavatories at work, where because of the insistence of the 'Environment Manager' we have cisterns that are too small and so 'not up to the job' as it were, small craps only please, and what should I find but...a segment of turd on the floor. I'm just going to let you consider that a moment. So, how does one miss? I just don't know, I don't understand. It's surely impossible, it's a point blank shot.
K rang this evening, she has started to ask some pretty direct questions, much to my amusement.
I have next to me here the most beautiful jug of tulips, some white, some red and yellow. The stems are upright, the flowers still fairly closed, and the leaves that beautiful squeaky waxy way that is so much fun. I bought some for me, and some for each of my sisters. I love tulips. I love flowers, actually. Does that make me sound gay?
I wish this fucking snooker would finish and I could turn on the video and go to bed. Mind you, knowing my luck they'll cancel the film and show bloody 'Match of the Day' instead. Or worse. Is there worse than MOTD? I suppose it could be show-jumping.