Once more with feeling

2007-11-19, 10:24 p.m.
So. Damn, blast and buggeration. A pox on Southern Electric and their inability to maintain a constant supply to the backwoods of Chigley and a plague of�of�.of something* on Bill Gates for not letting my PC keep even a sketchy version of the entry I typed last night. Not an autosave to be seen, the cucking funt.

Seeing as I have to start all over again and there�s nothing quite as unfunny as a joke told over and over**, I�ll just have to forget all that sparkling repartee wot I wrote and do a whole load of new stuff.

Firstly, here�s a pic of me and the BF in celebratory finery:

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As you can see, we are utterly fabulous. BFs jacket had so many mothholes in it that it was practically broderie anglaise but, no matter, he was still the most handsomest middle aged guitarist in the room. I have yet to scan in the photo of my much younger and more divine self wearing the self same dress as it is under about 20 tons of building stuff and may take more determination than I can currently muster up in order to move the crates of DVDs, potted plants, musical instruments etc etc and climb over the back of the telly to reach. You can see it some other time.

Im now heartily sick to bloody death of having no kitchen. Here�s the no kitchen that I have:

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We�re into our third week of takeaways and Chicken Ding*** and trying to conjure up cordon blue delicacies in what amounts to a bloody Field Kitchen

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Im starting to dream about roast potatoes��.oh, no, hang on, it wasn�t a roast potato, it was Tom Selleck. On a plate. With a side order of gravy.

*sigh*

Meanwhile in the studio, its all hands to the decks to try and get everything finished in time, which means I had to don some seriously unfashionable clothing items on Saturday and get mixing drywall adhesive

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My arse looks enormous as I am wearing 426 layers of clothing in an effort to stop my blood from freezing solid in my veins. BFs old thermal ski long johns are not a sexy garment for someone as babelicious as me to be wearing. Although, I suspect there are specialist websites for that sort of thing somewhere. The longjohns had a convenient �extra� pouchy bit in the front, which I suppose would be useful for storing�.ummmm�a small child perhaps, or the contents of the fruitbowl or a couple of extra bags of drywall adhesive or possibly an enormous penis. The unpleasant trouser garments I am wearing over the top once belonged to BFs ex-wife, which would explain why they are dowdy, unattractive, shapeless and cheaplooking.

Me and Trev got a kind of system going with the drywall. Mostly, this involved me bossing Trev about and questioning his ability to even sit the right way round on the toilet

You can see who has the upper hand here

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Chris has been in today and has fitted loads of kitchen units. Unfortunately, he had to take the sink out to do it, which means not only are my cooking capabilities severely curtailed, but I cant wash up afterwards either. I also cant do any laundry as a the washing machine is leaned against the radiator in the hallway, trailing dripping hoses like some low budget Dr Who alien. We went to the pub for dinner. Its quite a skill to make linguine look AND TASTE like grey slimy worms.

The search for Slavey�s maternity cover replacement moves on apace. We�ve sent the nice-but-dim boy back to the call centre whence he came and have kept the sarcastic, yet amusing one for a bit more trialling. I think he MAY just fit in, as today, during a conversation about Gillian McKeith and the sort of toilets they have in Norway which allow you to poo on a sort of shelf to examine before flushing, he waved his hands camply in the air and said �Who needs a toilet like that? If I really wanted to poo on a dish, Id be squatting over the Portmeirion squeezing one out with a bit of style at least!�

I think he may fit in quite well. Especially as he has the same name as my dear Slavey and so I wont have to learn a new name or anything � which is making me (secretly) feel like one of those landed gentry in upstairs/downstairs dramas who keeps the same name for the parlourmaid/footman/whatever, despite who may be doing the job at the time. I didn�t explain that very well. I hope you know what I mean.

Later
S
X

*Office survey. Would you rather � if you had to have one of these FOREVER � have a permanently runny nose, or a perpetually itchy bumhole? Pretty much without exception, the women plumped for the runny nose and the men for the itchy bumhole. Strange, isn�t it! The men reasoned that they would soon work out an ingenious device for relieving the itching � one suggested some kind of sandpapery underpants. The girls went for the runny nose as being more socially acceptable to �deal with� in public, say in the queue at the bank of standing at the altar waiting to say �I do�. Any preferences? Id particularly like to hear from any men who�d take the runny nose or any girls who�d prefer the itchy bum.

**Apart from �What�s black and sails the seven seas? Binbag the sailor� as that just gets better every time I hear it.

***Plastic box full of little frozen bits of crap and foul chemicals. And MSG. And diglycerides of fatty acids.You put it in the microwave. It goes ding when its ready � hence, Chicken Ding. It also comes in Beef flavour, I imagine! I miss proper food.




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