Sunday, March 27, 2005

Doctor What?

Ah, I see that, as ever, when an apocalypse approaches, small piles of fire appear, scattered randomly about the streets. I'll certainly know what to look out for when the end of the world edges nearer. Or maybe, in fact, it's the small piles of fire that are trying to take over the planet, and are merely piggy backing onto another alien lifeform's attempt at seizing control. They certainly help to add to the general look and feel of an apocalypse - and, after all, it's important to get the aesthetics right or no one will take you seriously.

On another note, my father, on the verge of carking it for the past 15 years or so, has been through a fair few doctors in his time (I'm talking GPs not Timelords). Of that vast throng, one was called Doctor Watson; another Doctor Pepper (honestly). Now he just needs to seek out a Doctor Who for the full complement of famous doctors. Let's hope he lives long enough to find one. Speaking of which, my mother's buggered off on holiday without him again. Along with the other sisters, I've been asked to ring him regularly to check he's not dead. Poor old dad. We do tease him so. But when you've been banging on about how ill you are and how you don't think you've got long left. For 15 bloody years. You can't expect to get away without a bit of sarky comment from your exasperated daughters.

More on that blogging conference

No, I'm not about to add my wise words of wisdom to those from Tom, Robert, Suw or Sabrina, mainly because they're doing just dandy without me, but also because I'm entirely too lazy to run one of those sorts of instructive, thoughtful weblogs filled with links, musing and comment.

I just wanted to moan about the journey up.

Aside from it being one of those days filled with strange coincidences (friend got on the same carriage as us, bumped into sister 4 at Kensington tube etc), it was also a day filled with BO. Just what in god's great name is wrong with the men on this planet? There's a teeny tiny bit of sunshine and suddenly every man on the carriage has armits that smell like rotting laundry (which reminds me, I really must empty the washing machine before I have to run the wash for a 3rd time. Who's idea was it to make life so tedious). It's entirely unforgivable. Men! Wash your armits, use deodrant and change your clothes every once in a while. That goes especially to you fat ones.

Having said that, there was a teenager of the female persuasion wandering round the garden centre ponking to high heaven yesterday. It's presumably an act of rebellion at being made to walk round a garden centre when she's trying to be aloof and misunderstood.

Friday, March 25, 2005

Blogging Convention thing

Funny old day yesterday. I met up with a blogger, then went to a blogging , convention thing somewhere in the depths of Kensington. Tom Coates gave a very witty speech that caused me to develop a crush. After all the speeches were over (about 4 glute-paralysing hours later) I was all set to rush up and gush at him like an idiot. Only he made a beeline for the food tray and wine and then vanished without a trace. I can't say I'm not a little sad about that, but it obviously just wasn't meant to be. Still, I met all sorts of other interesting people and I'm sure, with time, I'll get over the devastating disappointment.

Whilst at the blogging thing, I learned something very important: bloggers never stop talking (especially if it's about blogging). Maybe it's too many hours spent alone in their rooms typing messages to the ether, but for an event that was supposed to be 5 minutes of chit chat from each blogger followed by a couple of Q&As and then on to the free booze, the fact that I was still sat listening to speeches what felt like 5 days later speaks volumes about the volumes bloggers speak.

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

I'm not dead

I've been away a lot over the past couple of weeks - at other people's expense I'm delighted to add. Will be back with more hilarious and entertaining bird updates and smoking whinges just as soon as I catch up with all the stuff I omitted to do while I was away.

While I was off gallivanting, the lovely Vanesita went and got herself hitched, ditching her feminist values and opting to take Tito's surname, which no one in the UK will be able to pronounce properly. But before we eject her from the sisterhood forever, it's worth bearing in mind that she's having all kinds of fun with the authorities over there and taking his name has got to make life a bit easier for her. Plus, I don't think she was too enamoured of her father's surname anyway. No one knew how to pronounce that one either.

I wish I'd been there to see her tie the knot. She's been out with some crazy people in her time but none of them have been crazy enough to want to marry her until now. I'm now getting beside myself with excitement at her imminent return, planning all the crap I'm going to offload onto her as soon as she walks through my door. It's time for a spring clean and Mrs V is soon going to have a whole new load of material possessions to replace all the stuff that got nicked. I bet she can hardly wait...

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Soldiering on

I've got RSI. And my aren't I feeling sorry for myself about it. Therefore, I'm going to make this a self-indulgent post and you all have to humour me. All 10 of you. Yes, I am boring. I freely admit it.

So. The birds spotted by my twitching eyes so far (in my garden) are:

Greater Spotted Woodpecker (at least 2 - one young one old).
2 Nuthatches
2 Greenfinches
Goldcrests (finally got a glimpse of these today!)
Wrens (ditto!)
Long Tailed Tits

Plus the usual parade of
Blue Tits
Great Tits
Robins (2)
Jays (2)
Starlings (started out at two, now bloody millions of the things. Let's face it, these are pikey birds).
Blackbirds (2) - hurray for their summery singing
I'm fairly sure I can hear a Song Thrush as well.
Plus other things I'm sure I'll remember later.

But NO sparrows. How can this be? Even the RSPB doesn't know where they've all gone to. Maybe SE London does't appeal to Cockneys. I'll shut up now.

But at least I'm not blogging about my cat again.

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

No Sense

Bah, I'm such a div. I sat through the whole of Sxth Sense without twigging and was truly shocked when the truth was revealed. On returning to my student flat I encountered our resident gormless thicko. She LOVED Jim Davison and when she had the chance to fulfill a lifelong ambition of going on the Generation Game, used her short appearance to crow "oh Jimmy, Jimmy! in a stupid voice whilst clapping her hands repeatedly like a retarded seal. I couldn't have been more embarrassed on her behalf.

Anyway, I mentioned that I'd been to see the film and she said "oh, I thought it was crap - I guessed the twist straight away and couldn't enjoy it after that." The shame of being more witless than that simpering dumbo is almost more than I can bear all these years later.