a note for first-timers

If it's your first time here and you're new to blogs, the first post you'll see is the most recent so that's where you should be ending, rather than starting. Otherwise, carry on...

Please, feel free to comment - you know you want to.

the youth of today

On the way home from the gym this evening (yes, I was at the gym), I walked past a group of young children playing football in a fenced-off area beside a church on a mild summer evening. It's the sort of scene seen countless times in American films (albeit the children would be playing basketball or some such thing) as an idylic backdrop to whatever's actually happening in the movie.

One youngster - a particularly small and scrawny fellow - had hold of the ball and was getting in some much-needed keepy-uppy practice. Another lad - obviously older on account of his rather chubby and much taller stature - called for the first boy to pass him the ball. Our young Ronaldinho, rather than passing his round friend the ball, played it over his head and into the goal behind him, much to the amusement of two of the other boys playing with them.

Now, this incensed Bellé and he began screaming obscenities at the child half his size. Not satisified with merely bullying him verbally, he proceeded to project a blob of saliva at him to show his disgust at not being given the ball he'd damn-well asked for!

Clearly, Bellé has developed his spitting skills to a much greater extent than his footballing skills and, loath as I am to admit it, I had to admire the distance he was able to achieve at such a young age - it must have been a good ten feet before landing just short of his terrified target. Were I to attempt such a feat, I have no doubt - and no shortage of shame in admitting - that it would most likely have ended up all over my own chin or down my front. But then I've not put in the hours of practice Bellé clearly has.

But what a thing to do! One can only imagine either his parents spit around the house - somewhat unlikely, but possible - or he's seen it on TV and is copying one of his "idols". Perhaps he didn't feel it appropriate to do a full Zidane and instead opted for a lesser display of aggression.

Positively disgraceful. What is the world coming to?

yoghurt

Never before have I come across a yoghurt with the consistency of polyfilla - today's the first (and, I suspect, the last) time. It looked fine in the little clear plastic tub, although it obviously needed some mixing with the muesli and berries in there... but the plastic spoon Eat gave me with it had significant trouble holding its shape as I set about stirring them together. Had it been one of those little white ones they give you in most places, it would almost certainly have snapped at the neck.

It makes one wonder whether they use the spoons they do simply because of the huge number of complaints they had about broken spoons in their yoghurts.

Actually, I might have it again - despite its texture, it's quite tasty. It doesn't just taste "healthy".

sleeplessness

Have I used that one before? I don't think so, but, given how often I seem to use the "lessness" suffix, I wouldn't be surprised.

So, I can't sleep. Again. Part of it, I'm sure, is the fact I'm attempting to fall asleep in a sauna, but there's a whole lot going on in my head these days and, well, I find myself really rather restless and unable to clear my mind enough to get twenty - let alone forty! - winks.

This evening I thought I might as well take advantage of the extra hours I knew would be available to me so I started writing. And when I say "writing", I mean with ink and parchment and all that jazz. Well, a biro and a pad of lined A4 paper anyway. And it was going so well too! Until the bloody biro stopped working. I've never understood how those things work - or, more accurately, how they don't work. You look at that bit of plastic that runs down the length of the pen and it looks pretty much full... and yet, try as you might, the damn thing won't do any more than leave an indent - an etching, if you will - in the paper.

So I came on here to type it instead, so disheartened was I with the biro situation. The romance has gone out of it these days, I think. I remember being at school and thinking how exciting it must have been to have lived the life of an author or playwright. They always seemed - in my imagination at least - to wear flouncy clothes and strode (minced, perhaps, considering their clothes) about the place with a quill in one hand and a leather-bound book in the other. Quite where they kept the inkwell is anyone's guess - and I'll thank you not to put forth ideas and suggestions about that in any comments on here. *ahem*

I currently have a couple of pages of, very probably, utter rubbish. No doubt I'll clear the page and start again when I resume. If I resume. No, I will. I've decided that I really should have a crack at this fiction writing lark. When you encounter a book that was a Richard and Judy recommendation and find yourself wondering how anyone could want to read such drivel, you get these thoughts in your head of the "I could do better than that!" variety. And I could. It might not be great either, but surely better than that!

And with that declaration of self-love, I bid you all a good night. If you need me, I'll be awake and thinking about absolutely everything.

taking things a bit too far

"And last action does not equal d."

Good Lord, how many times does one person need to repeat that phrase before the person they're telling gets the message? Someone in this office - potentially either a Tory person or the thief of a Tory person's seat - just said that a good twenty times in succession with merely a smattering of other words thrown in there.

It's just as well he wasn't actually talking to me or I'd have had to stop him after the first two or three out of principle. Madness!

reservations

There's a sign right beside where I'm working today that reads:

RESERVED FOR THE CONSERVATIVE PARTY


(FREE FOR OTHER USE IF NOT TAKEN BY 9AM)

I'd like to be able to tell you I'm working in the Houses of Parliament and that various members of the public and Liberal Democrats have nabbed the seats beside which there was a sign like that. I'd like to, but I can't. Because I'm not in the Palace of Westminster at all - I'm fairly close to London Bridge.

Still, it amused me nonetheless and I'd like to think it's something the Tories have brought with them from Conservative HQ; something they usually use to reserve their seats for Prime Minister's Questions.