Bit Harsh…

As I was getting off the train this morning, I heard the following recorded message:-

“The next station stop is Stockport. Would passengers please take the time to read the safety procedures and take all their personal belongings with them”

I realise Stockport isn’t everyone’s idea of Shangri-La but providing safety procedures is a bit much, isn’t it?

Up, Up And A Wee

Ever give yourself little treats that aren’t really treats but just a change from what you did yesterday?

In our office building, there’s no gents (toilets, that is, not refined male-folk although there’s a lack of those, too) on the ground floor where I am. We’re officially supposed to used the wheelchair-access one but I always feel guilty about that. I’m sure there was something in the bible about verily not using the water closets of the infirm lest the good lord meets you at the pearly gates and boots you down the hell hatch to the bad fire.

Even though I’ve yet to see anyone in a wheelchair within 100 yards of the building, I’d hate to come out to be confronted by a queue of people literally spinning their wheels and glaring. We work at the top of a hill, too, so if I ran off and they gave chase, they’d have the upper hand.

Just in case, I use the one on the first floor. There IS a staircase but the financial institution company representatives employed on the upper floors clearly want to keep the cloven-hooved scum of the lower circles away from them so they have a lock on the stair-well door and won’t tell us the secret password. We oiks have no fear of technology and rapidly worked out we could use the lift instead, pointedly farting as we leave to show those toffee nosed twerps what’s what.

So, the other day, feeling like the sort of treat I mentioned above, I got in the lift and just DECIDED to go to the ninth floor. Just to see! I didn’t even have any reason to go there! Yeah, I know! I’m a wild man – like Keith Moon if he knew about C++ compilers.

And there’s ANOTHER gents up there!

And more on floors 7 and 5!

I’m saving exploration of floor 3 for a special day before I venture into the untold mysteries of the even numbers. I don’t want to burn out before I’m 40.

Have I Got The Good News For You?

The trouble with waking up to Radio 4 is that just as I’m coming out of sleepy-bo-bo and into “ohgodihavetogetupandshowerandfeedthecatsandgetthebusandgotoworkandisthattheTIME?” state is around the same time as the Today Programme’s “Thought For The Day”, which leads to me mis-hearing, or possibly mis-hearing, deeply religious and heartfelt comment and wondering if I really heard what I thought I heard and if I did hear it, then what the…??

So did I really hear someone this morning say “Jesus wasn’t just a satirist”?

Far be it from me to dis the holy homeboy, but he wasn’t notorious for his comedy, was he? or his pithy skits about the heathen hordes? If anyone heard the whole thing, can you let me know that a/ i wasn’t imagining it and b/ what the flip they were on about?

Secret Squirrel

“It’s not anything to do with the Ku Klux Klan is it?”
“No”
“Kevin Kennedy?”
“No”
“Kirsty’s Kastle?”
“Castle doesn’t start with a K”
“It might”
“No”

I sensed Fiona was now regretting giving me a hint.

“Look, it’s only a little treat. Really”
“I know, I know but I like to guess”
“You don’t say”

All I knew about our voyage of adventure was that Fiona was taking me somewhere as a surprise. The only information I’d been given so far was “Going to KK for C and D” which is fairly cryptic. My geek senses were tingling like crazy. Nothing is better than a puzzle.

“Kerry Katona”
“Oooo, well done. That’s exactly it. We’re going to Iceland.”
“That’s a lie, isn’t it?”

We proceeded in silence. I stared out the window, noting landmarks.

“Kellogs?”
“shush”

As we approached the Trafford Centre, a nagging thought entered my head. “Knitting starts with a K,” I noted, casually. “and you’re a keen knitter.”

Fiona sighed. “Ok, I give in. There’s a Knitting Klub in John Lewis. You can bring your man and they’ll teach him to knit. I thought you might enjoy it.”

I attempted to feign enthusiasm. “So Crochet and Darning lessons? How … how lovely. Not to say unusual. And a little daring.”

“You’re always saying you’d love to know how it works,” she retorted, “so you wouldn’t have minded if it really HAD been that, would you?”
“It definitely, definitely isn’t that though, is it?”
“No”
“In that case, I’d really have been quite excited by the prospect.”
“Stop it”

A peace offering was in order. Scanning the horizon for something suitable, I spotted the very thing.

The VERY thing.

“DOUGHNUTS!!!!!!!! COFFEE and DOUGHNUTS!!!! at KRISPY KREME”

I was now beside myself, bouncing in my seat.

“but DOUGHNUTS!!!! God, you RULE!! A surpise and it’s doughnut related! I didn’t even know we HAD Krispy Kreme in this country. It’s the sort of thing I thought only existed in films like prom nights and the second world war. How fab are you?”

Remaining aloof and serene, a weary smile crossed Dear Heart’s face.

“You’re welcome. I mention, purely in passing you understand, that it’s Valentines Day soon.”
“Duly noted. And may I suggest a wander round The Trafford Centre later for some pointing out and suggesting?”
“You May”

“I.L.Y”

“I.L.Y.T”

Paving Stones On The Road To Hell

Although every year seems to start with a burst of mad enthusiasm, ruthless organising, and a goody two-shoes zeal for healthy living, invariably by the second week, I’m sitting on the sofa watching a surprisingly good Dean Stockwell film about killer cockroaches, wondering if it’s too late in the evening to open a bottle of wine.

Some people manage to do – you know – Stuff all the time. Running businesses, writing music, leaving the house between Friday night and Monday morning. Then again, I bet they couldn’t name anything like as many Hammer films as I can.

I’ve tried setting goals but that doesn’t seem to work. So far, my “three posts per week” blog resolutions is a resolute failure but i’m blaming that on my life swinging from madbusy, to “too knackered to be arsed doing anything” because of being madbusy.

Also because looking up “cockroaches” on the Electric Interweb to see if they really CAN fly feels like a productive thing to me.