22.02.08
Egads! This made me snot tea out of my nose!
Go to Dinosaur Casserole and read this!
21.02.08
Squeamish? Look away now …
As odd dreams go, this was one of the oddest. I was, in the most matter-of-fact way, eating R’s left eyeball. Right out of the socket (although I don’t quite know how, given that eyeballs are - quite rightly - protected from such attacks by the bony bits). Then I was sucking what I can only describe as juice - an oddly cold liquid - from his eye socket. This continued for, ooooh, six or seven eyeballs (it kept growing back, you see). I recall thinking I needed a more varied diet.
It’s testament to R’s calmness in a difficult situation that when I related this dream to him, he didn’t (a) scream (b) back away slowly (c) call for the men with straitjackets (d) change his name and go and live in Darkest Peru.
He simply started an etymological discussion about what such a practice would be called (”Oculophagy?”).
Bless him. I wouldn’t really eat his eyeballs.
Not without garlic, anyway.
19.02.08
An excellent weekend!
On Saturday, after a day spent lazing around with the newspapers, we took ourselves off to Cairndow Village Hall to see an amazing flamenco guitarist, Eduardo Niebla. I saw him over 20 years ago playing with Antonio Forcione at the Band on the Wall in Manchester, and it was a treat to be able to see him again - the village hall was packed to capacity (I think it seats about 50 people!), but he gave us a performance that would have blown away an audience ten times the size. Glorious hot music for a chilly February night! And in order to keep the warmth going, we spent Sunday afternoon at the local baths, ambling between steam room, sauna and jacuzzi.
I tell you, it’s a tough life!
12.02.08
A Small Rant
Sold my Saab on Friday (oooo, but I’ll miss Ukrika-kar-kar-kar), and yesterday it occurred to me that I’d better pay the proceeds into the bank before I spent ‘em. I’m with a bank that doesn’t have a branch in Dunoon, but I thought, hey, it’s cash. No problem.
Hmmm.
The first two banks wouldn’t touch me or my money with a bargepole.
And Lloyds TSB? They wanted a fiver for the privilege of relieving me of my cash. And - you’re gonna love this - the hatchet-faced woman behind the counter also blithely informed me that it would take Five Days To Clear.
Clear??
It’s CASH, you dozy mare, I growled.
“Tough”, said she. “Every bank in Dunoon will tell you the same thing. You’ll have to go to Glasgow to pay it in.”
So I went to The Royal Bank of Scotland, where I paid it in without so much as a blink. And went back to Lloyds TSB waving my receipt, and was virtually accused of fibbing when I said I’d paid it in at RBS free of charge and it would be in my account that day.
Why do people with small brains and arsey attitudes seem to gravitate towards jobs for which they are plainly unsuited? You know, jobs which involve dealing with people and being reasonably intelligent and all that kinda thing?
Sorry. Rant over.
Anyway, apart from that we’ve had a very enjoyable week, in that R’s sister, Ruth, came over from Dubai to give me the once-over, and I passed the test (i.e., I can drink her under the table!).
And the sun is out, somewhere behind all this fog, and it’s been positively springlike for the last few days. Amazing how a rare spell of nice weather can lift one’s spirits!
05.02.08
A vicious circle
You know that feeling, when you’re lying in bed in the wee small hours and you’re very tired. So tired, in fact, that you’re yawning like the Grand Canyon and making bizarre noises that involve all the expensive letters in the Scrabble bag, and you feel as if your jaw is likely to split right open … and all this elaborate yawning is Keeping You Awake.
Grrrrr.
25.01.08
It’s windy out there.
Very windy. Think of the windiest day you ever experienced, then double it. And treble it. And then add a bit extra. That’s how windy it is.
I swear I just saw a seagull flying backwards.
So tonight seems like a good night to stay in with haggis (which will be suitably addressed by R), neeps and tatties and some very nice single malt. Hurrah for Burns Night!
22.01.08
I’m baaaack!
Don’t know what it is about January, but I go into mental hibernation - if months were days, January would be a Tuesday, and I never got the hang of Tuesdays.
Anyway, R. and I had an enjoyable few days down in warmer climes (Manchester/Congleton/Stoke-on-Trent/Kidsgrove), collecting the rest of my assorted belongings from Manchester, meeting up with some of R.’s friends, saying hello to a small, bouncy and hairy Jack Russell and several very nice cats, visiting Jodrell Bank (that big radio telescope is - well - BIG!) and inadvertently entering a lasagne-judging competition (everyone we visited fed us lasagne - how R. and I kept a straight face I do not know!).
And tonight we’re off to see The Golden Compass, so I must be coming out of January hibernation at last …!
31.12.07
Update on the Benign Ginger Dictator
Got a lovely card from Brenda, the lady who has taken him on board. He’s doing fine, attacking Christmas wrapping paper, sleeping on the bed and generally being spoiled rotten.
Oh, and he’s been named …
… wait for it …
Mr Bowjangles.
Eeek.
It’s a good thing he’s a cat with no natural dignity whatsoever, ’cause the neighbourhood cats are so gonna to take the piss out of him!
27.12.07
Look, I’ve had a hard day doing my tax return, okay?
Which is why, when R. read out the news item about the man in Iowa who had a really bad Christmas Eve …
http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5g9gStRKQJjMUnXZKjiCA-7kOPqWAD8TP8OQ00
… my reaction was to shout: “But what the hell was he doing dropping clogs down a septic tank? Was he clog-dancing?”
“I think in this case,” intoned R wearily,” the word clog referred to a blockage.”
I’m from Lancashire. Clogs are clogs where I grew up …
24.12.07
And here’s some photies!
http://flickr.com/photos/12246153@N08/
including Oban, the QE2, a graveyard and some piccies of the moggy!