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.

smileosaur

I was just looking back down the blog... and doesn't that mini-dinosaur look pleased with himself/herself? I suspect there's actually another dinosaur hovering (not literally unless it's a mini-pterodactyl) somewhere in the background having a drag of a post-coital cigarette.

spam, ham, and other assorted cold meats

I'm trying desperately to recall the balmy day a month or so ago when I signed up to hear news of Tesco's latest flower offerings. I'm sure it must have happened, but I just can't remember when it was or what was going on at the time to urge me to do it. It must have happened. Why else would I get emails from them - unperturbed by any spam filter - suggesting I buy cheap flowers (should that be "buy flowers cheap"?) online?

Of course, it could simply be that I have a secret admirer who signed me up to the Tesco Floral Weekly newsletter but I somehow doubt that.

And if I didn't - and, trust me, I definitely didn't - sign up for this "service", why are Tesco sending me emails? And, more importantly, why are they sending me emails about flowers? And, almost as importantly, why isn't the Google mail filter catching it and flagging it as luncheon meat? Hmmm? Perhaps Tesco and Google have a deal or something...

On a similar subject, I had seven emails this morning offering me a quick and easy way to increase the size of my genitalia. I deleted them but, thinking back to Rich's apparent urinary difficulties, he may benefit from some help in that area. Yes, next time I get mail of that nature, I'll forward it to him. Aren't I a kind and thoughtful friend?

mini-blogs

What is it with this phenomenon on MSN of people using their online status as some sort of news ticker or bulletin service? It's odd.

Now, I wouldn't normally be on MSN during the working day (it was rightly banned in my previous job - I think I told you the story about that before) but it was actually requested that I use it during my current assignment as it makes collaboration easier... or something like that.

However, seeing as I am using it, it's come to my attention that people partake in the aforementioned practice - telling their life story to everyone on their contact list. 'Tis odd, is it not?

I mentioned this yesterday to Rich - he of Tenerife infamy - and he said he'd also noticed it and referred to them as "mini-blogs". With that, he set his status to "Must shite forthwith..." And, quite literally as I wrote that, he signed in and promptly changed his status to "Must perform a urination ceremony..."

Rich, I didn't realise being able to pee was a cause for celebration. Or is it that you have to do some sort of ritual sacrifice in order to coax the liquid from your bladder? The death of a chicken by choking? *ahem*

otterus arcticus

I'm sitting here in the London Bridge office (the one with the Tory signs) and, for a reason that continues to escape me, the air conditioning has been set to "North Pole". It's absurd!

I've been wearing a jacket to work of late. Not because it's been remotely cold outside - quite the opposite - but because I have to put the damn thing on when I'm sitting at the desk. Brrr!

Frankly, you should be highly impressed that I'm able to type at all under such extreme atmospheric conditions. No wonder London's had blackouts in recent weeks - they're using all the electricity here to keep us refrigerated. Perhaps they think we'll last beyond our sell by date like that...

the enigma of time

Why is it that time seems to move so slowly when all you want is for it to hurry up so things can be over and done with? Why do we check the clock every half hour, only to find barely a minute has actually passed?

I thought this morning that the week had seemed to drag on and that we should surely already be at Saturday... but this evening has been worse. Much worse.

I've had so many thoughts rushing through my mind - so fleeting I'm barely aware what I'm thinking before it's gone and something else has taken its place; so brief I struggle to distinguish it from a thought I've had before and a new one just off the boat.

Not for the first time, I find myself telling you about a sleepless night that awaits me. I wrote a little something earlier when the flood of thoughts was at its worst but, given my predisposition for being dramatic, I saved it as a draft and went to bed instead. To no avail, of course. I'm up again - no more rested than I was before; no less tired.

It sits there still, as a draft. I haven't read it back since I wrote it - nor did I check its grammar at the time - but my suspicion is that I'll never actually publish it, lest I put the fear of God into you all.

I keep looking at my mobile. No texts. No missed calls. It's definitely working. I think. I'd call it from the landline to check but confirming its unbroken state would probably only cause me to look at it even more - and I'm afraid that might lead to an irreversible squint.

Hurry, the first rays of the new dawn. Hurry, the hour I can concentrate on, God forbid, work. Hurry, the moment the questions keeping me awake are answered. Though I also hope that moment never comes, for I fear what those answers might be.

There's nothing for it but a return to bed in the forlorn hope my alarm will be needed. Good night, all. Pleasant dreams.

hunger

Is it a bad thing, do you think, that the people in Eat are now giving me oversize bags for my lunch? Yesterday, I had a baguette and a sandwich to go with the usual fruit salad, Polyfilla yoghurt, and crisps. Today, I have a baguette, soup, and the usual.

What looks more odd, though, I think, is that I'm the only one with this size of bag and yet I look like I could do with a good meal down me. Hmmm...

confessions

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I've had Polyfilla yoghurts for the last two days. And I enjoyed them."

"I'm sorry, my child, but that is simply unforgivable. But make a donation of a few thousand pounds to the church's wine fund and I'll put in a good word for you with the man upstairs. Oh, and you might as well say a few Hail Marys too."

That, I'm thinking, is what would happen if I went to confess my yoghurty sins to a priest this evening.

The church where yesterday evening's Future Stars of The Premiership were having a kickabout might be a better bet, actually - they seem to tolerate a lot less acceptable behaviour.

Incidentally, it's been decided that the Pope (or, at least, the last one) is (was) a knob. A poll of several thousand people (read "split personalities") was taken and 87% of them agreed that His Holiness talks (used to talk) through his holiness.