chaletian: (p+p mr collins shelves)
OH MY GOD, WHY AM I ALWAYS SO STUPID? WHY? I need to be in bed and asleep now because of getting up at some godawful hour tomorrow to go to Sheffield pour visiter la grandmère, except there's an awful lot of faffing going on, and we watched Bones and Supernatural when Katie got back from Brownies. Firstly, can someone please to be explaining to me a spoilery thing )? I do not understand. Also, I want to write fic RIGHT NOW with Jo finding Dean/Jo porn online, not to mention the Merlin fic I got three-quarters of the way through today, and the Dean/Jo fic I've been messing around with for the last month or so. CAN'T SLEEP, FIC WILL EAT ME. Actually, it's more CAN'T SLEEP, WILL NOT GET UP IN TIME.

I LOVE TV. I LOVE FIC. I LOVE THE INTERNET. I LOVE THAT RPATTZ DOES NOT BOTHER TO WASH BEFORE PIMPING THE NEW TWILIGHT FILM AND THE GFY GIRLS SEEM TO HAVE GIVEN UP ON HIM. I LOVE JIM PARSONS ON CONAN O'BRIAN. I LOVE THE STUPID CHEESY OPENING CREDITS FROM LAST WEEK'S SUPERNATURAL. I LOVE THAT A ONE SECOND SNIPPET FROM A MERLIN TRAILER MADE THE CAMELOT_LOVE COMM EXPLODE. I LOVE THAT BOOTH COULDN'T SHOOT STRAIGHT (HEH). OMG, HOW IS THE WORLD SO AWESOME?!
chaletian: (blackadder news)
I overheard two Australian girls talking on the tube this morning. One of them said she thought the summer was probably over. The other agreed, and said she just hoped they had another nice day for something they were doing. The first one said, yes, and wasn't it something when you had to hope for one nice day in the summer. I laughed a little inside. Welcome to England, my darlings...

In other news, I made a courgette/marrow, tomato and goats cheese quiche (with parmesan and chilli pastry), so that's in the oven at the moment. And, excitingly, I made chicken korma! Properly, from scratch! I've never made a curry or anything before, so it was vee exciting. Tasted OK, though I need to tinker with the spice ratio, and also make sure I use the whole can of coconut milk next time. Still yay and also yum.

In yet more news... well, no way to beat about the bush, poppets. I've been a little bit stupid again. Sit back, and pray allow me to lay the scene.

Many years ago, when the world was bright and young and was but a nubile eighteen year old, I started to dye my hair. I continued this trend faithfully until I was about 25. Come rain or fall, I would be there with my trusty home dye kit. I varied my colours from time to time, but never did I depart the well-beloved spectrum of blonde-auburn-ginger. Time passed, and I came to realise that my hair constantly kept fading to its natural colour in about three minutes without me noticing, and dying it was a bit of a waste of time. And so, I stopped. That were four year ago come Michaelmas-tide.* But darlings, I've been wavering recently. I've missed having the ginger hair of my youth. It grieves me to have a hair colour that cannot be named (so, in fact, I'm blaming all this on [livejournal.com profile] klo_the_hobbit for rubbing it in). And so...

I... I...

No. I can't. I--

IboughthairdyethatwastootootootooredanduseditandnowIlooklikeafuckingpillarboxandIhatemylifeandmyhairandtheworldandI'mneverleavingthehouseeveragain.

Pray for me.**




* Insert Cold Comfort Farm-esque accent here, please.
** Standard disclaimer: not actually.
chaletian: (bard r&j fuck it)
Jesus Christ on a laminating machine ("I just think the Commandments would look better all shiny and plastic-covered, Dad. Stop riding me!"), today is dull. We are all so bored we might resort to cannibalism just for the rush. In fact, I am so bored, I am going to reveal part one of my epic new undertaking, viz sharing my teenage diary with you. Don't worry. I'm going to cut most of it.

I used to sporadically write a diary. It was my Winnie-the-Pooh journal, which my parents gave me. I was 12 when I got it, and the bulk of the entries are from when I was 12/13. I came across it when I was getting some writing paper for today's letters. And I'd like to say this: OMG READING THE CRAP YOU WROTE AS A TEENAGER IS JUST EMBARRASSING. It's not even emo and fun, it's just boring. But I'm going to share, anyway. PLEASE NOTE I WAS ANNOYING AND IMMATURE AND APPARENTLY QUITE MIS. DO NOT JUDGE ME.

Read more... )

[1] Chris (who is 2 years younger than me) had been doing Latin since he was 7. Prep schools, eh?
[2] Oh, the tragic irony.
[3] I'm really unclear on why he was "wonder boy ii" and not just "wonder boy" - this epithet will now remain a mystery forever.
[4] I hope this modest dream has now come to pass.
[5] I know. Shocking. It sends little thrills of horror down my spine. I don't think I done anything weird style-wise; I suspect the mockery was due to its ginger hue.
[6] Really? Was she really? I was the most boring 12 year old in existence, there wasn't much anyone could say about me.
[7] As it happens, I passed.
[8] WRONG, TINY PAST SELF!
[9] I assume this was one of those hilariously ridiculous lines ("Goodbye, Vikings") that stays with you but makes absolutely no sense out of context.
[10] Ah, the Star Trek novelisation. I went through a lot of these in my youth. Yesterday's Son was a particular favourite, as it heavily featured Spock.
[11] Enemy Mine was the first Mills & Boon I ever read. I loved it. I still love it. I recently bought a reissued version from Amazon. Still it was the beginning of my literary end.
[12] So. Yeah. Odd, you may be thinking. This doesn't read like her, you may be thinking. Who is this David Crapper?, you may be thinking. Is this an epic romance the likes of which we have never seen, whose twists and turns will lead us on a breathless journey of love and sacrifice?, you may be thinking. The answer is no, this is not an epic romance the likes of which you have never seen. David Crapper lived down the road. He was at Birkdale in the year below Chris. And, in collusion, I suspect, with my dear young brother, he wrote that entry himself (in bright purple ink).
chaletian: (life dani)
Bad news, poppets. The train tickets remain distinctly non est. Or non sunt. Whatevs - they do not appear to be anywhere in my possesh. Fuck you, you tiny, malevolent ticket-stealing pixies! You'll get yours...

So, [livejournal.com profile] katherinea, could you possibly email me the ticket confirmation and I will attempt to rectify this hijous situation.

Boo, world. Boo. Also: I nearly scalded myself TO DEATH whilst making kedgeree. THE WORLD IS NOT MY FRIEND.

ETA: And the kedgeree is not even that good. IS THERE TO BE NO SURCEASE?
chaletian: (bard much ado getting a divorce)
Hello, my darlings! It’s that time again! What time is that? you ask, clustering around, faces bright with innocent interest. I smile indulgently, and beckon you closer so I may relate a tale. A tale of intrigue, glamour and romance.

It all began some months ago, when some of my chums and I decided to go on holiday. This was all fine. We (and by “we” I mean “Katherine”) booked a cottage. Still fine. Then we (again, “Katherine”) bought the train tickets to Bristol. Still fine. Now, follow me closely. At this point, we have reached the end of May. The time of my famous “Staycation 2009”. You may recall from the video of “Day 4” that I had visited the Natural History Museum, seen many dinosaurs and nuns, bought a notebook, popped into the V&A, and finally met Katie, Katherine and Helen for drinks and dinner. At this pleasant social event, I construe, given subsequent events, that the following conversation took place:

Katherine: I have tickets to Bristol for us all. Also, Helen’s ridiculously complicated tickets for the Lake District.
Me & Helen: Woo! \o/
Katie: I am not coming on holiday. I am sad.
Me: Hush, now. You have many holidays.
Katie: True. I am no longer sad.
Katherine: Back to me.* Tickets. Let’s have a look.
Everyone: [has a look]
Katherine: [divvies up tickets]
Katherine: These are mine. These ridiculous ones are Helen’s. These must, by a process of elimination, be for Liss and Pim.
Me: That’s OK, I’ll take the ones for me and Pim.
Me: [takes tickets for self and Pim]
(No commentary needed. I don’t know why anyone thought this was a good idea, either.)

Do you see? Do you? Of course you do. Fast-forward to today, and the following e-mail conversation:

Pim: Liss, do you have my tickets?
Me: [looks like a rabbit in headlights]
Me: Tickets? What are these tickets of which you speak?
Everyone: [sighs]

Through a process of careful investigation and brilliant deduction, I have concluded that, for some reason lost to the proverbial mists of time, I did not put the tickets into my giant wallet, as would have been eminently sensible. Am hoping they are in my Yorick bag. Pray for me, darlings. Well. Not actually.

I shall keep you updated in my ticket search. Latest bulletin from the front is scheduled for this evening…



* It is highly unlikely that Katherine actually said this. I may be projecting.
chaletian: (charlie brown tv)
Oh, darlings, why oh why am I always so stupid? Bad enough I stay up late watching a random film (Blood Diamond - vee good if not exactly subtle in its message), but now I have (a) decided to eschew the rest of season 4 of BSG and go straight to the end and (b) am waiting for the finale to finish and then watch it, even though that will mean having no sleep and being dead tomorrow. I amaze myself with my poor decision making, sometimes.
chaletian: (dexter didn't do it)
An hour ago, Katie leapt into the living room and said, "Let's have pizza for tea!"

"Yay!" said I. "That is a sterling plan!"

"Very well," said Katie. "I shall go and wash up for four hours, and then go the shops."

And I went back to watching Enterprise. After a while, I felt a bit peckish and went into the kitchen, where I happened to notice that we had run out of bread.

"Alas," I thought, "we have run out of bread. I know, for once I will be passably useful, and make a fresh loaf." So that's what I did. It's been going about ten minutes now. The cycle is three and a half hours.

"Katie," I said, just now, "I did a stupid thing."

"What now?" she said, wearing her well-known fucking-hell-what's-the-fool-done-now expression.

"I set some bread going."

"You idiot. Now we can't have pizza till ten. That's no good."

"No, not ten..." I stopped, realising the truth of what she said.

"I'M SORRY I'M SO STUPID."

"Yes. Yes, you are. Remove yourself from my sight and LJ your shame."

So I have done. The end.
chaletian: (narnia lucy raining)
So, yeah. Remember all those times I posted about how stupid I was? Remember how I have a tag just for how stupid I am? Well, chéries, I have done it again.

As I may previously have mentioned, we have been getting Abel & Cole deliveries. Very nice, very nice indeed, all part of a cunning plan IN MY MIND. So far, so good. Naturally, I opted not to get anything delivered over Christmas because we weren't here much. But we got back on 28th December, and I remember thinking, "Hmm, it's a shame I didn't arrange to get anything delivered this Thursday," which is when our deliveries fall (though looking back, it was New Year's Day, so it's not altogether surprising). But we coped for the week, and I was looking forward to today, when we would get a delivery. Fresh veg and eggs - excellent.

I pottered home in my usual fashion, and rescued my box of groceries from the flower bed where it was tucked away far, far from prying eyes. I carted my box of groceries up the two flights of stairs that are as the drawbridge and portcullis to Fangirl Towers.

This, my poppets, is where my tale takes a sinister, nay, impenetrable turn (we just watched Jonathan Creek; imagine some melodramatic organ music at this point).

There, outside our front door, placid and innocent, sat a box of vegetables. And two boxes of half a dozen eggs. "What sorcery is this?!" quoth I, much taken aback. "How has such a dastardly deed been accomplished? And why, why would our delivery man (and there is but the one, for that is the way A&C operate) deliver twice? Was he perhaps the victim of an unfortunate accident, depriving him of his memory and leading to him duplicating his day's work?" In an attempt to ferret out the truth behind these disturbing events, I closely inspected the two delivery notes. "Perhaps," thought I, "a more sensible solution would be that one was misdelivered or, rather embarrassingly, the one outside was not for us!" But both delivery notes had my name and address on. I do not hesitate to say that I could not fathom this one out.

And then I noticed something.

The beautifully structured and perfectly clean box outside our front door had a delivery note that said 8 January 2009. The rather damp and dilapidated box from the flower bed had a delivery note that said... well, I'm sure you can guess. As well it's been so cold, really.

Anyway, still not entirely sure how it happened (other than, obviously, my own stupidity and useless memory - may I, at this point, direct you towards my previous lament on the subject), and actually quite surprised that they delivered anything on New Year's Day (all the more so, as I think about it, because I'm sure I didn't leave FT all day, but whatever), but it just goes to show that me being stupid is something by way of being a permanent fixture. Tragically for me. And all those who sail with me.

- In freakier news, I'm using a Nivea spray deodorant at the moment, and it seems to be sticking my hair together each time I use it. Weird. [ETA: I mean, my actual hair, where it hangs down my back. It's not like I've got a forest growing under there or anything...]

- The whole thing in the Middle East is a bit unsettling. Not that the Middle East isn't ever settling, but whatever.

- Friday tomorrow - woo!!
chaletian: (Default)
Due to my tragic inability to wake up in time to go to Katherine's for dinner, I find myself contracted to write several pomes to assuage my guilt.




A Pome On Stupidity

My social engagements aren't many
In fact I so rarely have any
You'd think that today
I'd get carried away
And not fall asleep and forget to go out to dinner like a complete fool


A Pome on My Apology to Katherine


Oh, Katherine! Mea culpa!
Forgive me, please, my dear!
I failed to come to your party
I have damaged our friendship, I fear

Oh, Katherine! Mea culpa!
I have no good excuse
I can't blame you for pointing a finger
And murmuring so sadly, "J'accuse"

Oh, Katherine! Mea culpa!
I promise I'll improve
You won't miss me the next time, I swear it
Cuz I'll come and we'll get in the groove


A Pome on Barack Obama


Obama, Barack
Will pull out of Iraq
And here in the UK we'll clap

Obama, Barack
Will get things on track
And raise all that corporate tax

Obama, Barack
The man's not on crack
But you are if you vote for his ageing, inconsistent, right-wing, pro-life, misogynistic opponent


A Pome (or Song) on Sarah Palin

In Wasilla's famed Main Street
Where the girls are so upbeat
I first set my eyes on sweet Sarah Palin
With her lack of credentials
(She's not presidential)
Singing "Russia's right out there, so vote for me now!"

"So vote for me no-ow
Oh vote for me no-ow"
Singing "Russia's right out there
So vote for me now"

She was a fearmonger
And sure 'twas no wonder
She thinks that all women should be stripped of choice
Cuz God loves all babies
Even more than the ladies
She says "Barack is a killer, so vote for me now!"

"So vote for me no-ow
So vote for me no-ow"
She says "Barack is a killer
So vote for me now"

She's full of defiance
And doesn't trust science
So the mad right-wing crowd give her a ten
And though McCain's near to drowning
You won't see her frowning
Winking "Oh-12 will be great, guys, so vote for me then!"

"So vote for me then
Oh, vote for me then
Winking, "Oh-12 will be great, guys
So vote for me then"
chaletian: (eddie techno fear)
Oh dear, sweet Lord on a pogo stick. I’m sure you’re all now well-acquainted with the fact that for someone who is, objectively speaking, really very clever, I am amazingly, inconceivably stupid most of the time. It is the tiny tragedy of my otherwise joyous life. I do stupid things all the time. It’s like there’s a tiny bomb of stupidity located approximately 6mm north-north-west of my right eardrum which explodes on a regular basis, causing disruptions throughout every electrical circuit in my brain and leading to idiotic decisions and half-witted speeches.

“Shut up!” I hear you cry. “Or at least give us some details of your latest idiocy so that we may mock from afar.” Very well. I shall oblige. My story begins thus: I awoke this morning, as I do most mornings. I climbed out of my tiny bed and went and wandered round the flat, had some toast and cereal, got dressed and so on. At quarter past eight (five minutes early, pray you note) I left to go to work. So far, so good. This is an excellent morning for me. Anyway, moving on. Caught my train. It was on time. I had a seat. Life was smiling upon me and frankly, at this stage, I should have suspicioned that something was going to go horribly, dreadfully awry.

Got to Waterloo (on time). I stepped out of the train and reached into my bag (I’m currently using my black Yorick bag, just so you know: nothing says responsible adult like a stylised Shakespearean skull) to get out my wallet.

This, my chickadees, is where the ghastly horror begins. Forget the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Discard the Amityville Horror. Cast the Exorcist from your mind. This is the good stuff right here.

No wallet. No fucking wallet anywhere, therefore no oyster card and no money. I remember that my wallet is currently at home, in the hall, coyly nestling inside a canvas bag. I curse quite a lot. I curse a bit more. I telephone Emma to let her know the sitch. She laughs at me. Quite a lot. I surreptitiously sneak off the platform, wander through the halls of Waterloo, and finally head towards St Thomas’ Hospital, where there is a bank. Get to the bank. It’s closed. Of course it’s fucking closed. I loiter in WHSmiths, looking, I fear, slightly suspicious. Bank opens. I ask for money. “Do you have any ID?” asks the bank lady. “No, I bloody don’t,” say I. “I LEFT MY WALLET AT HOME BECAUSE I AM STUPID! Ooh, Amazon receipt! Will that do?” “No.” Bugger. (I feel a disclaimer is due. This conversation was the product of my fevered mind. The conversation actually went thus: “I would like to withdraw some money, please.” “Do you have any ID?” “I’m afraid not, no; I left my wallet at home. Amazon receipt?” “No – do you have a driver’s licence, or passport?” “No. I have my cheque book?” “OK, you can write a cheque.” However, that is less intrinsically amusing, so I LIED.)

Anyway, blah blah, got money, got tube, got to work. Wrote a tiny poignant lament about how stupid I am, which I present forthwith:

A Tiny Poignant Lament on My (Literally Lamentable) Stupidity
~set to the enthralling music by Andrew Lloyd Bach, “Think of me, think of me fondly…” etc~

Weep with me
Weep so damn sadly
Promise me you’ll cry

Wail with me
Wail like a banshee
Emote and flail and sigh

For I am sad
So really very sad
So sad my heart is bleeding tears

Because I am fucking stupid
Weep and wail with me
chaletian: (p+p emo darcy)
♥ Let the record state that I am possibly one of the single most stupid people alive. I shall not go into it further. You alone shall stand witness to my shame, Englebert.

♥ Weep with me, friends, for there will be no viewing of Supernatural until Monday. Ours is a heavy burden to bear, but we struggle onwards, and in our struggle, hope for redemption. Or something. I feel I should point out that I will be talking utter crap today. Also struggling not to spell point as piont.

♥ Still loving The West Wing. CJ is so brilliant. My crush on Josh continues apace.

♥ I haven’t much else to say. Am having some small difficulties in constructing coherent sentences. Couldn’t put my jumper on properly this morning – vee sad. Katie had to sort out arms. Tragic commentary on my life etc. Am 27. Supposed to be better at it now.

♥ This morning I was very dead, had a very heavy bag, and left slightly earlier than usual. Due to first two factors, decided to get bus to station as one was coming past as I was near the bus stop. Bastard bus took TWICE as long as it would take me to walk (me, people, *me*) and I missed my train, which I wouldn’t have missed had I walked. I hate the bus. I hate the world. Going up to Sheffield this evening. Not looking forward to the journey. Woe.
chaletian: (dexter didn't do it)
♥ I have had two hours’ sleep. This is because I am STUPID. Or possibly INSANE. It could go either way. I may do a poll on the subject, just to sound out public opinion.

♥ I had loads of things to LJ, but as usual they have disappeared into the cotton wool of my mind. I hate my mind.

[livejournal.com profile] sequitur_fic has posted a commentary on her fic, Ten Nonlinear Moves (spoilers for the beginning of season 4). There is the possibility of sequelage. This pleases me.

♥ So, as I am sure you have been waiting for, my round up of recent TV (‘ware spoilers, as ever):

NCIS 5x02 )

Bionic Woman 1x02 )

Pushing Daisies 1x01 )

Dexter 2x02 )

Gossip Girl 1x03 )

So, I’ve been watching it pretty much non-stop (taking occasional breaks due to density and the overwhelming loveliness of Josh, on whom I have a proper, proper, crush. Spoilers for 2x18 )And I just wanted to comment that the way it was set up – Toby bouncing the ball against the wall in his office, intercut with various scenes of things coming to his mind, with those cards – Two Days Later, Two Days After That, The Next Morning etc – was just brilliant. Like, full on brilliant.

TV like this, and Pushing Daisies, and Dexter is what makes me so happy, because it’s like both literature and art onscreen, and sort of fills me up, if I may say that without saying like a total and complete prat.
chaletian: (pgw stiffy byng)
1. There was a genius picture on the front of the newspaper today of Roger Federer winning the US Open. Sadly for Roger, it looked less like man-winning-US-Open and more like throw-organic-beans-at-him. What can I say, it amused me.

2. I am so cross with myself for getting this broke. I am usually so much more careful than this - even when I go broke, it's usually *much* later on in the month, and I've seen it coming, and it doesn't really matter a great deal because I've paid everything that needs paying. This was just careless extravagance, and I should know better.

3. I am still, years after the fact, pissed off with my parents for throwing away their taped-off-TV videos of In The Red. I *loved* it, and it's not on DVD or video, and OK, they may have got rid of their video player, but they knew I hadn't, and they knew I loved it. Rah.
chaletian: (wicked western sky)
♥ Gosh, tis only twenty past ten and have already been busy like yonder bee. Ee, this working life: it’ll be the death of us all. Stockholm is now all sorted, thank the sweet Lord and all his pigeons.

♥ Reason #57 why I am irredeemably stupid: I was watching NCIS until two o’clock this morning, even though I hadn’t slept well the previous night. I am a FULE. Possibly the MOTLIEST. In history. Ever.

♥ La la la I have new jeans. I seem to have bought quite a lot of new clothes recently, after going through a fairly long non-garment-buying stretch – three new blouses (though two with birthday vouchers so don’t count), my swishy skirt and silk top a few weeks ago, two new jumpers, two stripey polo shirts from M&S (you heard all about the yellow one; I spared you the tale of the red one), the not-netball skirt, two new t-shirts (both green)… actually, over the course of two months, that’s a ridiculous amount of new clothes. I will try and restrain myself, I think. I do have far too many clothes. There’s a pile next to my bed that I earmarked for the charity shop months ago and I still haven’t done anything with them. Maybe after we get back from France…

♥ I also omitted to inform you all that I bought a new hat recently (in the sale, obvs). Is it a sane, sensible hat? you ask. Is it a hat that a woman nearing 30 would be happy seen wearing in public? Is it a hat of maturity and dignity and wisdom? Come, come, my friends. Of course it is not. It is a giant, floppy hat which doubtless looks ridiculous. But that is how I like my hats.

♥ I have no idea what to make for dinner ce soir. Poo. I have having to make decisions sometimes. Obviously we had spag bol last night (it was quite nice, though I didn’t finish mine as was unaccountably not hungry… actually, that’s a giant lie, obviously, it’s not unaccountable it all, it was the peanut M&Ms what done it, guv’nor…), so I don’t want to repeat some kind of mince meal. Chicken is frozen and thus unusable this evening. I have used up leeks, mushrooms and spinach, so usual veg meals currently out of question. We have two sausages, some yogurt, a lot of coco-pops and some tuna. Ooh, tuna. Mayhap some species of tuna pasta bake. What say you, Englebert?
chaletian: (what a swizz)
Pah. I have just realised that had I bought my travelcard tomorrow, it would have expired on 31 March (viz, payday). Instead, I bought it today, and it will expire on 27 March, 4 days *before* I get paid. I am a fool.

Because saying "I have just realised" is a big, fat lie. I realised on the train that this would be the case, but I thought sod it I wish to have a travelcard NOW. I am quite possibly the world's biggest idiot. It's not surprising that Katie had to FASTEN MY SHOE on Saturday. I should be put in a box somewhere and made to think sensible things before I am let out.

Am rewarding own stupidity by ordering new Meg Cabot book (the sequel to Size 12 Is Not Fat) from Amazon. Once again succumbing to a desire for instant gratification, btw, because it is the American edition, which will not match my English edition of the first book, because I cannot wait for the English edition to come out in June or whenever it is.

Oh, and pah once again, because I spent AN HOUR on the Jubilee line this morning instead of the customary 15 minutes, due to signal fucking failure at Baker Street. I hate public transport. Hate with a burning, single-minded passion.

And finally, on a slightly more upbeat note, Happy Birthday, Nicola! I hope you have a nice day. Well, a nice afternoon/evening...

June 2016

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