Strange people
I think you should all know about this.
Moosh and Fwapper are currently in some public house in London, making arses of themselves. Easily done, trust me, I’ve seen these things happen.
They’ve sent me a series of over-excited texts about one Steve Punt. Precisely, Moosh was sat opposite him; Fwapper has “seen” him.
Moosh has flapped and probably made the poor Steve Punt wish he hadn’t actually chosen that pub to wander into for a wished-for quiet pint.
It’s probably for the best that he doesn’t know that Fwapper is nursing a semi thanks to him. I’m sure Fwapper will be making full use of his erection and his memory of the “fwap hot” Mr Punt just as soon as he can. Fwapper not previously known for comedian love, will now never be able to live this down. (I shall make sure of that!!!)
These people are to be avoided for your own safety. I’ve taken all inoculations and vaccinations against them, so I will be safe in their presence.
Flock me
I am trying out something new. Actually, it’s not new and I’m not new to it but that’s not the point. I’m blogging for the sake of blogging with this, just to try something out. As you do when you have nothing better to do and Facebook takes an age to load or do anything, like approve the changing my name to what my name actually is instead of the pseudoname I usually use on and about the internet.
This week there will be no work for me. Work that requires proper preparation for and interaction with other humans whom I am not related to anyway. Otherwise, I am working for and dashing about for someone, and from tomorrow, mostly all on my own. But I won’t break into song about it.
Bea
I shouldn’t be doing this
Nope. This is wrong. Anyone with any sense knows it is folly to be engaging in this sort of behaviour at this time. One should step away, well away. But I’m not. Idiot that I am.
Thankfully I haven’t been near eBay or Amazon in a serious sense, just looking, and longing. Other potential points of horror have been avoided too, due to not been in the mood for chat so Skyper’s/MSNer’s/IRCer’s have escaped the badly typed ramblings of a slightly drunken twonk. That be me.
Currently the only other possible embarrassment factor available to me is this internet thing; which is probably for the best. Having someone witness shite singing/dancing/shagging doesn’t bear thinking about.
What I had planned to do was thrown out the window due to equipment failures. But never mind, as if it had gone to plan then I would have stayed up until a ridiculous time and then cursed myself silly due to having to be up and all responsible at a slighty-more-than-sensible-time-than-I-would-like.
I have spent more time at this wonderful newish laptop than I have at any other time today. Mostly doing stuff of no consequence, but I massively suspect that’s what most peeps do anyway, or play games. I lack computer games, something I’m gonna change, due to bugger all else to do. On the whole I’ve faffed around with which set of desktop gadgetry suits me best: Google or Vista. Vista almost won out, til I got annoyed and Googled triumphed. That could be viewed as a general view of the world of the internets all over!
Over and out.
For now. Tomorrow, when recovered from hang over/coughing / lack of sleep / poop wiping(not my own!!!); I will send your way the second part of Random Bollockness From Pubs! Duck now.
It’s Me!!
Never got into Second Life, my pc wouldn't be able to cope, but this reminds me of There, which I have been in. Although it was a long time ago, and frankly I don't think they would let me back in there, in There. Ahem.
In other news: Moosh has a sticky e. Make of that what you will.
Bea Whale
Tags: Second+Life, There
Desperation, of the highest order
Who's there?
Who *are* you?
Say something please; we're very desperate to hear from you. Just leave a little something in the comment box, go on. It won't bite. Neither will Moosh or I.
with big hugs and kisses – Whale, Bea
PONDERISMS
I used to eat a lot of natural foods until I learned that most people die of natural causes.
Gardening Rule: When weeding, the best way to make sure you are removing a weed and not a valuable plant is to pull on it. If it comes out of the ground easily, it is a valuable plant.
The easiest way to find something lost around the house is to buy a replacement.
Never take life seriously. Nobody gets out alive anyway.
There are two kinds of pedestrians: the quick and the dead.
Life is sexually transmitted.
Some people are like Slinkies. Not really good for anything, but you still can’t help but smile when you see ’em tumble down the stairs.
Health nuts are going to feel stupid someday, lying in hospitals dying of nothing.
Whenever I feel blue, I start breathing again.
In the 60’s, people took acid to make the world weird. Now the world is weird and people take Prozac to make it normal.
How is it one careless match can start a forest fire, but it takes a whole box to start a campfire?
Who was the first person to look at a cow and say, “I think I’ll squeeze these dangly things here, and drink whatever comes out?”
Who was the first person to say, “See that chicken there? I’m gonna eat the next thing that comes outta its butt.”
Why do people point to their wrist when asking for the time, but don’t point to their crotch when they ask where the bathroom is?
Why does your OB-GYN leave the room when you get undressed if they are going to look up there anyway?
If quizzes are quizzical, what are tests? (testing?)
If electricity comes from electrons, does morality come from morons?
Do illiterate people get the full effect of Alphabet Soup?
Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog’s face, he doesn’t like it, but when you take him on a car ride, he sticks his head out the window?
Very Late News Flash
As of 10 o’clock last night, I AM AN AUNTY!
Mildly thrilling for me.
A boy, weighing all of 6lbs 11oz. I have no other info about this new human being, except he’s an Essex boy by default. The poor wee mite will have to live with that shame due to his parents living and working in that particular county at the time of his birth. But it could have been worse I suppose. I ended being born in Gloucester through similar circumstances and I turned out alright, despite this city’s best efforts.
I had to share this news with Moosh as soon as I knew, at about ten to one this morning. She’s away, on holiday, with the gentleman in her life. Her reply informed she that the airline has lost her luggage and that she was sat “in some pants” as she wrote back to me. So, that should please “Gareth”.
I lost my lid
I like my tea, so much so that I recently gave into a tea leaf whimsy and bought a packet of reasonably expensive Tesco’s Finest Assam. Yesterday was the first experience of tea leaves in a loose and free form way since ooooh, years back. Strange I should even want to do this as I hate the little bits that get swished out of tea bags in my cuppa, so removing the perforated teabag from the equation is risking my sanity.
Made the tea with no problems, it’s the second cup I went for the proved too much for my little under-used brain. 1. Pour skimmed milk in to the bottom of my very tall, and favourite, mug. 2. Place tea strainer on top of mug. 3. Lift bright lime green teapot and pour out tea. Except it looked more like dark brown diarrhoea which isn’t so nice to drink. 4. Realise that no more tea is going to gained from this pot, lift lid to see plenty of the dreaded bits. 5. Put lid down walk over to bin to tap away tea remains from the little sieve and the pot. 6. Walk to sink to swill out the pot ready for next time. 7. Walk back to kettle to retrieve lid…. no lid in sight. I check the sink, the draining board, the counter top, behind, in front and beside the kettle, no lid. So I look around me in case I put it down some place else whilst I wasn’t thinking about it: I check the kitchen island, the fridge, the cutlery draw, the microwave, the bin – several times, a tad unpleasant job, the sink again, in the kettle, around the kettle again, in various boxes of teabags (I said I like my tea), in cupboards, in the sugar pot. I start to think I’m going mad and that it’s actually right in front of me but for some unfathomable reason my brain isn’t registering it. I seek the assistance of my father, who’s loitering around the house at present. He can’t see a little bright lime green teapot lid either, and proceeds to check all the places I just have and a few more that I haven’t, just in case. The conclusion is that the resident evil mouse has had away with it. It’s decided that it liked the look of it and is now wearing it as a sombrero. It’s a tough little thing, it’s chewed its way through too much of my bedroom carpet, the wee bastard.
I resolve to solve the riddle by retracing my steps, because the idea that a tiny mouse with rather sharp teeth could have somehow dashed in and out to fetch my teapot lid is ridiculous. I actively walked out all that I did before I realised that the thing had disappeared from my vision as opposed to just thinking about my actions. Still no sign of it, and I realise I don’t actually have any memory of where I put it down, just that it was in my hand one moment and not the next. It’s as though my brain has completely wiped that nanosecond from the memory banks. I have a memory of the lid, but not the item itself and no memory of what I did with it. The thieving mouse option looks a little more possible.
I give up, and reckon it’ll appear when I stop thinking about it, as often happens. But… the sudden thought occurs to me that perhaps, perhaps it dropped off the counter and landed on the floor. But as I can’t see it down there it must have gone under one the units. On to the hands and knees and there it is, almost glowing in the gloom, my little lid. The joy of being reunited with it was close upon real happiness. Christ, I’m sad.
Asking the Unanswerable, or Dirty Men Part 2
A few more recent SETs, or Search Engine Terms:
- how many times do whale poo a day – who would want to know that?!
- what’s a tit wank – you need to ask?!?
- places to wank in maidstone – why????
- walked in on him wanking my tit – wtf? I mean, how exactly does that work?? Umm, on second thoughts, I don’t want to know
- dream interpretation poo – dreaming about shit, or seeking similar views about the dream interpretation business?
- i just wanted a shot of my wee game – o-k
- tit wank cardiff – well, why not?
- how to report someone who just wants an – I’m intrigued now, what is it?
- how much are my shares worth for telewes – not a clue.
- ask moosh – what do you want to ask her?
- What can we do in Bruges – Well…….
- can i park at dunkerque ferry port overn – I wouldn’t even bother, if I were you
- formaldehyde very destructive of mucous – if you say so, not that I want to know that
- something to spray on bed “bird mites” – clearly, I’m no the only one to have suffered the near madness of these fuckers!
But still STWing, and slight variations of, is coming (excuse the pun) out tops, 557 views so far, for something that is mentioned in passing and with no graphic description or pictures. Actually, I’m reliably informed, by Moosh, that there are no pictures of said STWing to be found on t’internet. None she’s discovered anyway. So, we may have to rectify that, if enough peeps put in a request for an image of a Soapy Tit Wank, of course. 😀
Nasty
On the ghost hunting nonsense t’other day, (of which I will tell all, soon-ish) several times various peeps were convinced they could periodically smell a floral scent in a few rooms, nothing specific apart from one person who smelt lily of the valley. I may have been quiet throughout the night, but I was busy keeping my eyes open and having a good look around me, even in the dark. I noticed many of these plug air fresheners, I’m guessing no one else did, and that perhaps the owner, who nodding and agreed with every “paranormal” sensation experience, had also forgotten what was in her own house.
What is with these horrible things? Why does everyone have to make their homes smell like something else? Ok, so wet dog or eau du fag end aren’t appalling aromas to hit you as you walk into your own or someone else’s home, but is pumping nasty chemicals of artificial scent really the best way of dealing with the situation? What about throwing away one’s hard earned, or not so hard earned, cash on fresh flowers? They look really nice and smell wonderful too, if you pick the right sort*. Far more cheering and environmentally friendly than electricity-sapping plug-ins, whether they puff or not, or sprays.
Air fresheners work in one of, or in a combination of, the following four ways:
1) by killing your ability to smell by way of a nerve-deadening chemical
2) by coating your nasal passages with an undetectable oily film
3) by covering up one smell with another
4) (rarely) by breaking down the offensive odor.
Ewww, this is just nasty:
Benzyl Alcohol — “…upper respiratory tract irritation, headaches, nausea and vomiting, a depressed central nervous system and a drop in blood pressure.”
Camphor— “On EPA’s Hazardous Waste List… readily absorbed through the body tissues…irritation of eyes, skin, nose, and throat…dizziness, confusion, nausea, twitching muscles and convulsions…avoid inhalation of vapors.”
Dichlorobenzene— “extremely toxic, a central nervous system depressant, kidney and liver poison. One of the chlorinated hydrocarbons that is long-lasting in the environment and is stored in body fat. Vapor irritating to skin, eyes and throat. Banned in California.”
Ethanol— “… derived from petroleum and is carcinogenic… toxic to the skin, respiratory, cardiovascular, developmental, endocrine, neurological, and gastrointestinal systems.”
Formaldehyde– “…toxic if inhaled, poisonous if swallowed, skin and eye irritant, carcinogenic…”
Limonene—“ …Carcinogenic, prevent its’ contact with skin or eyes because it is an irritant and sensitizer …always wash thoroughly after using this material and before eating or drinking…do not inhale limonene vapor”.
Naphthalene— “… a carcinogen that accumulates in our waters and marine life. It can be irritating to the skin, alter kidney function, cause cataracts, and is toxic (cardiovascular and developmental), especially to children. It can be poisonous if inhaled, swallowed, or absorbed through the skin.
Phenol— “…can cause skin to swell, burn, peel, and break out in hives … cold sweats, convulsions, circulatory collapse, coma and even death.
Pinene— “…Flammable. Incompatible with strong oxidizing agents. Eye, skin, & respiratory irritant. May be absorbed through skin…very destructive of mucous membranes.
both extracts from: http://www.mcs-global.org/Documents/PDFs/AirFreshenersAndPlug-Ins.pdf
*Course they’re not so great if they’ve travelled many, many miles to get to you, nor so if they’ve been produced in a way that is detrimental to the local environment, workers, etc, as is the case with the vast majority of cut flowers in this country.
But then there are problems with the “better” alternative, as the above linked article goes on to explain. Clearly the best way is to grow your own flowers for cutting and enjoying inside your own home. Right, that’s just another ideal I’ve set for myself, another that will be procrastinated about. And now I’ve got another excuse to add to my list as to why I won’t buy flowers for those “special occasions” that are merely a marketing scam, i.e. Valentine’s/Mothers/Fathers/Grandparents/My Best Friend Day.
Day tripping, Part One
Right, so, we did indeed go to Belgium. For those who have been on tenterhooks waiting to hear about our adventures I’m sorry this has been a while in coming. Not that anyone has been loitering around just to read this, but hey.
My alarm was set for the stupid time of four-thirty am and I woke up at four am. Which nice but also not. I didn’t panic about what I did and didn’t have to stuff into a bag as I’d already done all that the night before – I was brought up to panic the night before, and to pack an entire spare set of clothes, just in case. It turned out Moosh had done much the same thing, in terms of alarm setting and waking and bag organisation. And off we went…..to greet zombie’s along the way. Because they are the only people about on the roads at five am; no normal person would ever consider getting into a car to drive some place at that time of day. We made swift progress to Dover, with two stops, one at Reading t’other at Maidstone. On leaving the Maidstone services building entrance, Moosh was about to walk back to the car where she’d parked it in Reading, which would have meant a long wait beside the real car for me, and I would have never got to see lovely Bruges!
There were no problems with getting on the ferry and no problems whilst on the ferry. Unless you count sharing a hour and fifteen-ish Channel crossing with about four coach loads of first year/year seven, day-tripping school kids as troublesome, which I now do. Somehow, we’d managed to be one of the first vehicle’s off the ferry on the other side, which we got a little excited about, sad cows that we are. We positively zoomed off the ferry, once Moosh had restarted the car after stalling it and said goodbye to the surly French ferry personnel, and sped along that road, whatever it was called, out of Calais and onto Dunkerque. Kinda wished we hadn’t bothered now. The driving around Dunkerque to find the town centre, then to find somewhere to park took a lot longer then is good for a day trip, especially when you haven’t reached your intended destination yet.
For some reason Moosh followed an ambulance for a while, which took us, unsurprising, to the hospital, but not the city centre. But we got there eventually, I think. It’s hard to tell these days where a city centre is, everywhere is redeveloping the space they have to look like every other city centre. After some bizarre choices of turns and lane use we zipped into a multi story car park somewhere near the dock area. I say dock area cos that’s what it looked like, all redeveloped for the new holy gods of tourism and leisure. We soon discovered that our choice of free parking space was attached to a shopping complex. The reason we’d stopped in Dunkerque was to experience a proper French lunch. After a little tootling about in the sunshine and not being entirely sure of ourselves we plonked for a little café called erm, ah, I’ve no idea. Moosh might know though.
It was, now get this, very French. Oh yes! Now you weren’t expecting that. I had flashbacks to first year French – not understanding a sodding thing going on around me so instead I sit and say nothing and try and hide behind my book/desk. Which is pretty much what I did in this café but without the desk and only a very tiny table to perch at and a rather tiny but loud “Look At Me, I’m A Tourist!” book. I found no comfort contained within it, other than hiding form the obvious glares we were getting. Honestly, walking into to the place I could sense each and every one of the people sat outside were marking us as foreigners with no business doing there. I was, to say the least, out of my comfort zone. And cursing my lacking and mostly lost French knowledge.
The menu was a simple affair of mostly chips and/or ham. Once we’d (I lie and say we, cos it was Moosh who did all the ordering) negotiated two small beers, s’il vous plaît, we discussed the little menu. Moosh is a vegetarian, so she was trying to avoid the ham option. She tried to order the ham omelette without ham via not using the French word for without, instead it was a kinda of “Can I have the omelette but not with the ham” sorta thing. It didn’t work and she received a ham-smothered runny omelette. And I had ham and chips, with lots of mayo. French it was, impressive it wasn’t. Afterwards we tottered around in the baking sun briefly looking for a cash machine. Loaded with Euros we made a dash back to the car and out of this less than arresting place. No, we never got to see the beach or anything of historical importance, we had places to go.
We sped a little faster then the law would allow along that road some more. (I’ve no idea what the road is, but it’s dead easy to find on a map, so if you’re really curious or trying to avoid working, go seek.) After some time, we became aware that we might be getting nearer Bruges, the signs were saying so and the amount of traffic had increased significantly. But all around us was still very green; lots of trees as though you’re in a forest with a major road running through it. We kept following the signs for Bruges but somehow lost them and Bruges itself and found ourselves driving away from Bruges onto some other place that we didn’t want to go to. A few quick about turns and we discovered ourselves in the St. Peters area of the city. This was ok, we kinda knew where we were, we would’ve had an even better idea if we had a proper map not merely a really large all-of-Europe one and a teeny tourist-book version of Bruges. Before we knew it, we were being jiggled by cobbled roads and surrounded by old buildings, it seems we’d just stumbled upon it. Which is pretty much how the next parking space came to be, stumbled upon. If you drove too fast past the driveway for these very nice and discreet car parks you wouldn’t know you’ve just passed your opportunity to dump the car. But we had. So we did.
Cameras at the ready, we went and explored the rather lovely little place called Bruges. It’s so chilled out and relativity peaceful that when I pressed her, Moosh said that if she had to she’d definitely like to live there. So would I. We found ourselves at the entrance to St Salvatore’s Cathedral and after standing in the gardening sniffing the beautifully scented air and pondering what on earth that lovely smell was, we went in and had a mooch about. I for one am glad we did. It’s lot smaller then Gloucester Cathedral but it packs a punch in other areas. There are some traces of the original decoration on the stone work and the on walls hang large canvases of biblical scenes. Then I turned around and saw the largest organ I’ve seen in quite sometime. It was black, with gilted twiddly bits, and making a rather delicious sound. I do like a good bit of organ music. I did take some pictures but they’ve all came out rather crap – blurred and too dark. I’m disappointed and am gonna have to learn how to take decent pictures. The silver they had on display was quite tasty too, although none of my snaps do them any justice.
We meandered around, stopping in chocolate tourist traps, feeling cooled by the gentle breeze and soaking in the all round relaxed atmosphere. It definitely needs then a few hours to do it properly. I think camping something in Belgium and then spending an entire day there, riding around on a hired bike would do wonders for the soul, my soul anyway. All too soon it was time to leave, if we where to do some beer/wine warehouse shopping we had to get our skates on. But that’s a whole other story, one that Moosh may or may not tell.
She did. Here
I won.
Woooo. I won. I won!
I never win anything, not that I enter into anything to win. I don’t buy up masses of a certain type of women’s magazine and enter the all the competitions going. Maybe I should, just as an experiment, but considering this is my second-only time of triumph maybe I should hold onto my money.
No money was wasted in the taking part of the Da Vinci Code Google Quest, for that is what I’ve gotten rather excited about. I never set out to win any of the prizes that were on offer as a result of completing the quest, I was simply enjoying wasting many hours of time in doing it. I did cheat however, so it’s probably just as well that I didn’t win one of the big prizes and the fact that there were 1000s of prizes does take the shine off of my winner’s status somewhat.
Books, I like books, I’m not sure about Mr D. Brown’s books however, but now I am the proud-ish owner of four of them and all for free. I’m not sure yet if this a greater prize than my first winning moment, aged 7 or 8 – two tickets to some circus or other that was dropping by the local park. Which for a family of five was a bit wank. A family friend gave us a few more tickets and we all went together. There are photo’s of it all somewhere in the house, with my brother’s blond head in most of them. He took to standing right at the front. As to what happened at the circus I remember nothing.
I drew the successful picture of a circus scene, actually I didn’t. It was a scene that had mostly to be coloured in, and my effort of drawing in lots of faces in the otherwise empty crowd space paid off. I do remember a teacher or someone commentating about these faces and the little tufts of grass I’d included as the thing that made mine the stand-out choice. I was very pleased with myself, but I didn’t let it go to my head. I don’t think I actually consciously put any effort into winning, I wanted to make my picture look decent. And because the whole task of picture drawing/colouring in took up an afternoon of not having to maths or something.
Dirty, Diiiirrrrtttyyy men
If the bollocks of the title wasn’t asterisked what sort of readership would be clicking thru to here?!
Search Engine Terms
These are terms people used to find your blog.
Today
| Search | Views |
|---|---|
| tit wank | 7 |
| tit wanks | 3 |
| meaning of dreams whale | 1 |
| soapy tits | 1 |
| bird mites in bedroom | 1 |
Yesterday
| Search | Views |
|---|---|
| tit wank | 16 |
| tit wanks | 5 |
| soapy tit wank | 2 |
| tit wanks photos | 1 |
| tit-wank | 1 |
| soapy tits | 1 |
| soapy tit wanks | 1 |
| soapy wank | 1 |
| tit wank | 1 |
| old tit wank | 1 |
It’s not my fault
I had perfectly good intentions to write more especially today, as I got up early. OK, so eight o’clock isn’t early in a real world sense, but it’s early enough for me.
WordPress seems to having a funny turn over the last few days – strange, I left Blogger because of it’s temperamental ways; seems I’ve brought those ways to WordPress – the rich text thingy has walked off, probably in a huff because no one paid it any compliments. I can cope without the bold, italic and such buttons, I can just about manage to put in the correct HTML for that, but I’m a little lost without the excellent spellchecker. I know, it’s a lazy way to rely on accurate spelling, but that says a lot about me. So, if there are glaring errors, I’m sorry.
With my giant mug of tea, I was all set for some proper typing, which I did indeed do, just not for the blog. I may have only been an active Skyper for a mere few days but I’m a little hooked. I haven’t participated in many vocal conversations; it’s mostly been through typed chat, which means I’m using it in exactly the same way as MSN Messenger or Yahoo’s IM. Why am I bothering with Skype when I don’t much care for those others? Is it simply because it’s a bit new? Maybe. The one time I did put the effort into plugging in my headphone/mic set, I was mightily impressed with the clarity of the line. I made a point saying so to the other person, and spent vital seconds of brain power in trying to think about how much clearer it sounded than something else of a similar service. I couldn’t think of another VoIP I’d used, so that train of thought wandered of into the deep, dark woods of my head. (Those woods are scary places!) Only when I was alone in my bed, trying against all hope to fall asleep that the thought returned and waved the answer at me – the telephone. The line was clearer then the good old phone. I wonder if the quality is the same when connected from pc to landline though.
So, sat in front of the pc, chatting to various strangers, slightly panicking over the number of windows popping up, I’ve managed to lose most of the morning. When I switched to just online instead of Skype Me! I decided to do a bit of proper typing. Except I couldn’t. In being downstairs and on this machine, my brother had been forced upstairs, which makes a change, it’s usually the other way round. But he then turned on his Xbox 360, and drank up virtually all the internet connection. Everything was working lovely over the home network, until he did that. I couldn’t load any page, nevermind WordPress’s dashboard. I could have written something up in Word, but instead I swapped the Skype status again. The whole router/modem setup still is bollocksed, and probably will be all afternoon now. More unplugging, rebooting and resetting looks to be how the next few hours will be spent. I’m not sure if this post will even get posted right now.
*Depressed at the general crapness of wifi.*
100th!
I know! There's not exactly a lot in the way of new material here. It is, of course, all new if you've never seen a blog that I've written. And if you are familiar with my blogs, you'll know that they are far from regularly updated, nor indeed, any good. I have been engaged with background details, such as how to arrange the side bar and categorising nearly a hundred mostly humdrum, old posts. There was also the completely separate challenge to drink my weight in alcohol during the weekend evenings, and the throughout the daylight non-sleeping hours, to do the same with tea. This almost-quest was set by myself, and frankly was a silly thing to attempt.
There are proper posts in production, both on real paper and in digital form and a good few more still swirling around the massive empty parts of my brain, as usual. My usual procrastination levels are somewhat higher than normal, but there will be some posts about something soon. I may even get to write up about events that happened ages ago, like that wedding at the end of August. Here's hoping the memory hasn't gone off on holiday.
I do know that I'm a lot more productive without audio distractions. Thus, I have banned myself from listening to and occasionally singing along to any music. It doesn't stop the neighbours from do so, at which point launching Winamp is essential. I've got no chance of releasing the confused thoughts in the grey matter with gangsta rap playing louder then is decent. As if there is a decent volume for rubbish like that! My mum's recently rediscovered hobby of listening to audiobooks in the kitchen also has an effect. Often I get drawn into the story to the point where I have to actively listen in; this is ok when peeling potatoes, but less than delightful when trying to remember virtually forgotten details. And to think I managed to complete homework with the tv blaring away in the corner as a teenager. Where has that skill of blocking out the self-created white noise gone? I fear this is another result of the rather-too-rapid aging process.
Nothing (much) To Report 