chaletian: (merlin arthur keep calm)
I am pissed off with la vie. I've been meaning to come and LJ recently about all the topping things I've been doing and how life is lovely tra la la, because it's felt like things are going OK and my life is quite sorted and I'm where I want to be. La. But I should have known this was all an illusion, only too swift to crumble. Alas. Anyway, stand back. I'm going to have a little moan (subject, natch, to all the usual disclaimers that, yes, my life is ok compared to lots of poor randoms).

- I disassembled my old bed on Friday (because my parents have bought me a new one for my 30th/Christmas - that was a yay thing). My new bed frame had been delivered, and Katie (and I, but largely in a spectator role) constructed it on Sunday, prior to the delivery of my new mattress on Monday. Except Bensons fucking Beds are fucking fuckers, and they just lied to me about the date. It's supposed to be delivered Thursday morning. I'm not holding my breath. Anyway, this means I've been sleeping on the sofa bed, which is quite cosy to begin with but has speedily been morphing into Not Cosy At All. Killing my back. Can't sleep. If they don't deliver on Thursday, I will probably cry.

- Decorated bedroom. For some reason, three of the five digits on my right hand are unfeasibly sore. Making life far more difficult than it need be.

- Mole on the back of my neck has gone and strangled itself with my hair or something. Painful. Booked to see the GP on Monday about it, but then cancelled when the bed people's treachery was revealed. Need to book again for Thursday.

- Wrists are also completely fucked.

- The prospective cup of not being so pitiably poor all the time in a few months has been dashed from my lips. New financial catastrophe. Will be piss poor for the rest of my life. At the very least, 2011 will be the year of the Hermit Squeen. Christmas presents will be made of discarded Metros. This is incredibly depressing, all the more so for, of course, being my own fault.

- My laptop keyboard is incredibly annoying. There some's random key somewhere that I presumbly keep hitting by accident that sends the cursor all over the place. SO FUCKING IRRITATING.


So, yeah. Life is mis. At some point I will LJ about all the exciting happy things, but presently I fear I could not do them justice. (Except everyone should go and see Matilda because it is amazingly beautifully awesome.)
chaletian: (cs kill bill)
Adding to my woe (already considerable), my left bra strap has been twisted for most of the day, which was very uncomfortable. It's tipping it down and I have no umbrella or, indeed, any coat. I didn't have time to blow dry my hair this morning so it looks shit. I didn't put on any make up, so I look shit. I am completely unironed and look like I slept in a laundry basket. The phone has NOT STOPPED RINGING, like people somehow think I might be interested in talking to them. I am SURROUNDED BY STUPID, as usual. The Fellow who's supposed to deal with patients has fucked off for the weekend without (i) telling anyone or (ii) doing any of the work I gave him this morning, some of it specifically to do with patients who are coming in VERY SOON INDEED.

Back in happier days, Katie and I went to see Inglourious Basterds on Wednesday (oh, Orange Wednesday, never leave), which I was a bit sceptical about seeing but OMG I LOVED IT LIEK WOAH. Absolutely brilliant. I would recommend it whole-heartedly.

ETA: Oh, Charlie Brooker, he's a card...
chaletian: (Default)
THIS IS THE MOST TRAGIC NIGHT OF MY LIFE, A NIGHT I MAY WELL NOT SURVIVE. A NIGHT OF WOE AND WAILING AND WEEPING (AND PROBABLY THE GNASHING OF TEETH ETC). I (A) CLEARLY NEED SOME SORT OF HAIR CHUM (THOUGH KATIE HAS BEEN DOING HER TINY BEST) AND ALSO (B) NEED TO FIND NEW FRIENDS WHO DO NOT LAUGH AT MY TRAUMATICALLY TRAGIC AND TRAGICALLY TRAUMATIC LIFE AND DEMAND PAINFUL PICTURES OF ME LOOKING A FOOL. I HATE YOU ALL.

I LOOK LIKE A PILLAR BOX. AND OUR SOFA. AND JANICE RAND'S UNIFORM.

FFS, Life!

Jun. 12th, 2009 04:14 pm
chaletian: (Default)
Oh my God, I might as well prostitute myself and be done with it. I HATE BEING POOR! HATE IT!

In other news, have applied for a job in Hammersmith. Probably won't get it, probably won't get an interview, probably am going to have to live in a bedsit in Neasden, where the pixies will eat me. Trag. Everything is trag. O. O. O.
chaletian: (wicked western sky)
1. I have lost my Austria hoodie somewhere on the way to work. *immense sad face*

2. The LJ homepage is being weird on the work computer for some reason.

3. Work email seems to be down.

4. MY LIFE IS INTRINSICALLY TRAGIC.
chaletian: (p+p emo darcy)
1. I did not sleep last night. I read some McShep and watched a lot of Lewis. I am now VERY TIRED INDEED. And also STUPID.

2. I did not make myself any lunch this morning, even though I had lots of time. I have thus had a yellow party ring for my lunch.

3. I wrote a story (SGA) of which I am UNFEASIBLY PROUD and which is probably THE BEST THING I HAVE EVER WRITTEN (excepting possibly my tiny, tiny mandroid crossover), and practically nobody has commented. I am DISPROPORTIONATELY SAD about this.

4. I put on beautiful red nail varnish on this morning, and it has already started to chip a bit. Boo. AND WOE.


...not that I'm a total drama queen or anything...
chaletian: (p+p lizzy murder)
♥ Life sucks. I hate the world. In the immortal words of Frankie Boyle [ed. no, apparently that was Fred Macauley], fucking booooo.

♥ Am off to Oxford this weekend, to see my young chum, Cath. The day has arrived when the train to Oxford is actually cheaper than the Tube. Huh.

♥ Pre-emptive birthday wishes to [livejournal.com profile] mchobson! Hope you have fun this evening, and tomorrow!

♥ I wrote an article for thelondonpaper's column thing. As shit as my life is at the moment, it is very likely to be rejected, so I present it forthwith. )

Read this. It's a beautiful, beautiful thing, and makes me heart science and stuff SO MUCH.

0.o

May. 16th, 2008 03:32 pm
chaletian: (firefly wash evil laugh)
OMG! Tragedy! Emma is trying to BREAK UP ME AND KATIE!!! Have you ever heard anything so heinous? Mind you, this is the woman who keeps trying to run me over with her pathetic child’s blue-plastic-chair-on-wheels and otherwise make my life a living hell…
chaletian: (p+p lydia)
♥ There was a cat on our threshold this morning. It was very disturbing, chiefly because I am afeared of cats (yes, foolish, I know, but that’s me for you – I blame it all on an unfortunate incident when I was little), but also because the cat itself seemed very woeful. If it’s still there when we get home, we plan to let it in.

♥ We went to see Sweeney Todd on Wednesday, which I really enjoyed, though got quite sad about, because it’s one of those hideous dramatic irony things which I remain woeful about for weeks afterward. Dead good, though, and Alan Rickman! Alan Rickman’s voice singing! *dies* Cloverfield next week. I have absolutely no idea what it’s about, which is actually quite exhilarating.

♥ SPN tonight! So very, very excited. I got extremely high-pitched about it last night, as is my wont.

♥ I bought some bright red lipstick yesterday, and am wearing it today. Feel very daring and also quite self-conscious. It looked a bit weirdy this morning, but it seems OK now. Hmm. Will reserve judgement a little longer.

♥ Got some new Nivea lotion at lunch time, as old one has sadly run out, and gracious! The calumny! They’ve only gone and changed the way it smells. Boo, I say to that. Boo with knobs on.

[livejournal.com profile] rosie_rah: Yes, of course I’ll make a badge for you, chérie.

♥ Still struggling with the internets. None at home. E-mail buggered at work, and Facebook won’t function properly. Such is my woe.

♥ Had my haircut. Lovely. Very shiny and swishy. If anyone needs a nice haircut in the Clapham area, I have cards for 50% off – let me know and I’ll send you one.

♥ I also bought a few Oxfam books. (a) The Corset Diaries – genius looking romantic trash about a woman doing one of those TV shows where they dress up all Regency; (b) Mrs Woolf and the Servants – been after it for ages, very pleased; (c) random Persephone book; (d) Eve Was Framed – book about women and the justice system by Helena Kennedy. I love books. Speaking of, next Monday you’ll get my January book list, for the first time ever. Exciting news. I’m sure you’ll all be on the edge of your seats…

♥ Is it just me, or does Ashes to Ashes start soon?
chaletian: (p+p lizzy murder)
So, today has been the day of utter and unrelentingly crap and me being very, very stressed and wanting to throw things, and having to breathe very, very deeply and regret the fact that I cannot kill people over the telephone, as that could clearly come in quite handy, particularly when dealing with the many, many employees of Sainsbury's with whom I had dealings today. And my constant reactions to dealing with stress are (a) shopping and (b) eating. Due to Sainsbury's and their ridiculous inefficiency, I am going to get charged for being over my limit on my Mastercard. My Mastercard, however, has not realised this yet, and thinks I still have money on the balance, leading me to decide that I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. Or, rather more to the point, if I'm going to be charged £12 for being over my limit by about £3, I might as well go all out, and really go over the limit. (Yes, this is stupid. Yes, I am financially irresponsible.) Today, on leaving the office, instead of wending my way southwards on the Jubilee line, I went north. Towards Ikea. Where there are pink sheets and pretty things and... well, yes. Anyhow. Yay me #1: I realised this was a resoundingly stupid idea, and decided to go home. Got off at Finchley Road and remembered the existence of the O2 centre. Went to the O2 centre. Made a purchase which I will take back and therefore doesn't count. Went to Sainsbury's (I know, it stuck in my craw) and kept putting ridiculously self-indulgent things in my basket and then (yay me #2) took them out again and merely bought milk, bread, soup, eggs, grapes and a bit of chocolate cake stuff (which was only 79p and quite necessary given my mood). I know this is all stupidly obvious and straightforward and duh, but I really struggle with being practical and financially sensible when I'm having a bit of emotional turmoil (well, always, really, but particularly in times of strife), and being even vaguely sensible this evening has made me feel all smirky and good.
chaletian: (englebert)
Was browsing usual clothes shops online in idle search for suspender belt (how is it even possible that M&S no longer stock a single one, despite selling stockings still?) as I am shortly going to be forced into tights-wearing behaviour, and I prefer stockings but cannot find my suspender belt, when I found a really, really nice evening dress. A dress, moreover, that is a snip at £60, not to mention 20% off today.

1. I would look shit in it, because I always look shit in dresses, because I am, much as I like to ignore the fact as much as possible, really very fat.

2. I cannot afford it. Any convoluted way I cooked up in my head to pay for it would only end in Financial Disaster.

3. I am afraid I might end up getting it anyway.

4. Am hoping posting about it will stop me doing anything stupid.

5. Woez.
chaletian: (buffy british summer)
♥ Katie reminded me last night that I have not updated you as to my fringe-cutting escapade. Now, you know my fringe-cutting escapades. You know them well. I have not spared you the smallest of gory details. Waiting until Katie was out for the evening to cut my fringe is probably the first indication of the madness that seems to envelop me every time I reach for a pair of scissors and pull my fringe over my eyes to see just how far down my nose it reaches (answer: almost to the end, this time; I’ve been having a very, very swoopy fringe). I started out with the green kitchen scissors but they’re useless. I meant to change to the blue kitchen scissors because they’re very efficient and can cut off an entire fringe with a single snip. Sadly (or perhaps not, in retrospect) I could not find them (don’t worry: I did subsequently – they were under my duvet. Obviously). Thus, I was left to cut my fringe with my nail scissors (only ever so slightly rusted). Now, this may sound like a recipe for disaster but actually, because my nail scissors can only cut about three strands of hair at a time, it went OK. I was very sensible (mainly because I was not, for once, under the influence of the demon alcohol), and now I have a sensibly short, fairly straight fringe. Which is, I feel I ought to point out, more than my mother ever managed.

♥ WTF? Where did the sunshine go? La la la nice weather, bit of sun, nice weather, sunny sunny, FUCKING DELUGE. I mean, quoi? Pah, say I.

♥ It is a truth universally acknowledged that finding out someone has been bitching away about you, even when logic has always dictated that this be the case, is a little distressing. Not least because there has probably been bitching away to complete strangers who now think I am indeed an utter queen of evil. Which, OK, I’m not exactly Little Miss Lovely, but still. Oh, let me flail my hands with woe, collapse onto a cushy surface, and proclaim my tragic victimhood to the world…

♥ I love Megan. She’s such a star. Yesterday, she was a snail and I was a ladybird. Good times. I shall remind her of this when she is fourteen, and she will die with shame. We also played hide and seek, but I’m so bad, because I just leave her hidden for ages and do other stuff. Yesterday, I was upstairs with Kathye and Hannah, and Megan sent Katie as an emissary to see when I was coming to find her. Shame, shame on me. Also, much cuddling with Hannah, which is always joyful, because she is, obviously, the most darling baby in the history of the world, ever.

♥ Hmm, my laundry has stopped smelling quite so much of the washing powder. This is a good thing. Also, on the domestic front, I have cleared away the crap from outside my bedroom door. I can now leave my bedroom without performing a series of daring acrobatic acts. It’s almost too much to cope with. Also changed bedlinen for the first time in about three years. Joy.

♥ TV. I love TV. Love it so much I am unable to articulate the depth of that love. Fortunately for the ongoing domestic bliss of the love nest, Katie loves TV too. Our fall schedule (if I may borrow the American phrase, as under the circs that seems more appropriate) is packed and we are joyous. It has started tentatively this week. Prison Break and Gossip Girl on download, with the ends of NCIS and Dexter on FX. Prison Break is obviously a familiar friend, but Gossip Girl was new, and a later addition to our televisual timetable. We weren’t blown away by the beginning, and were contemplating not even finishing the episode. This was something of a relief, as we have a lot of TV to get through every week, even bearing in mind that some shows are being left for hiatus. But no, we foolishly continued, our English passion for fairness working against us. It’s teen crap of the best and brightest kind, and we now eagerly await episode 2. Dammit. Also, we saw the end of NCIS. A lot of questions about Tony and Jeanne and La Grenouille and that CIA bloke and who knew what, but I think it’s clear now. And 0.o at the end of the series. Fortunately, of course, season 5 starts imminently, so resolution will be swift. Dexter. Ooh, Dexter. I can say nothing, because Katie has not yet seen the last episode (we taped it last night and I, queen of instant gratification, stayed up to watch it, while Katie sensibly went to bed). But we had not realised it was a mid-season replacement and thus only 12 episodes, and so the season is now over. So we may have to watch that one on download as well. Curses.

♥ Guides tomorrow. It feels about three years since the last meeting.
chaletian: (gq broke ship)
♥ So, [livejournal.com profile] katie__pillar, [livejournal.com profile] helenmia and I had the wonder of Chadstock over the weekend, and wondrous it was indeed. House of Wax = so much better than we had imagined. As in, actually enjoyable, in a good-crap kind of way (sort of like the equally fabulous Wrong Turn). One Tree Hill is just brilliant, though I find I cannot watch – what was it, 18? 19? episodes all in one go because it makes my brain explode. It has Moira Kelly in! And Dan is So Evil I want to bash his head in. And Nathan/Hayley ftw. Chad, obviously, is magnificent, espesh his brooding!Lucas face, combining nicely with the crazy scarecrow hair.

♥ Shit. Have just checked my bank account and I am massively broke. Actually no-money at all. Shitty McShit. How did that happen?* I actually do not understand. Oh, bollocks.

*OK, yes, so will have involved spending lots of money, which, um, true this month, but I was sure I wasn’t spending any more than I actually had, and I checked my account on Friday, and it was fine. This will have involved my online banking/debit card LYING to me. Fuck. And I still have to pay (i) extortionate price of ticket from Barnes to Luton; (ii) weekly travelcard after we get back from France; and (iii) groceries after we get back.

♥ I’m now cross, so have forgotten everything I was going to LJ. Oh, I hate le monde.

♥ However, even the woe of no money pales next to the wonder of TV. Dexter last night was brill, as was the rest of NCIS series 3. I love NCIS. I love Tiva. I love Ziva having angst about Gibbs. I love Tony acting like Gibbs because that’s the only way he knows to lead the team. I love McGee being scared of the bomb room and Tony making him go and do another job so he didn’t have to go in. I love Abby sitting in the lift because she’s worked out that statistically it’s the safest place for her to be. I love Gibbs’ affection for his team. I hate Director Jen, but you can’t have everything…

♥ I have lots to do before I leave today, so I had better get cracking…
chaletian: (bard r&j fuck it)
I had a letter today from my bank. Well, not today, obviously. It's Sunday. It came on Thursday, I think, but I didn't get around to opening it till today. I get quite a lot of unexpected post from my bank, which always worries me, because I think I've got into banking trouble (even when I know perfectly well that there's nothing wrong with my account).

But anyway, my post today was offering me a £12,500 loan. This loan is, apparently, "ready and waiting just for [me]", because I am "a loyal customer who handles their account particularly well". The bank has "arranged everything": "all it takes is one phone call". They have been at particular pains to point out how easy it would be for me to get this £12,500 loan. How straightforward it would be.

I think this is absolutely appalling. How cavalier are they, to offer this sort of thing to any passing customer? I am *dreadful* with money. I mean, I'm not too bad these days. I have a regular income, which helps, and I budget regularly, and I tend to know exactly how much money I have in my bank account. But I still sometimes make stupid financial decisions, and in the past I have been absolutely unreliable, and frankly it's a miracle I managed to escape my late teens/early twenties without a CCJ. Offers like this make me feel quite threatened, really, because (after the annoyance of more junk mail) my first reaction is, ooh, lovely money, before the voice of reason takes over, but that reaction scares me a lot, because I don't want to be as crap with money as I used to be. Wah. I hate money.
chaletian: (lom grumpy emo)
I got paid YESTERDAY. I am already FLAT BROKE. How is this even *possible*?

I will have no money all month. The world hates me. *And* I've run out of badge things.
chaletian: (summer frolick)
Dear, sweet Lord. The Frolick, it is almost upon us. Despite frantic and detailed planning back in February, am not remotely prepared. Will doubtless be a disaster. Everyone will hate me. Am going to put on fake beard and run away to Uzbekistan.

Anyone on my flist who is coming/was going to come and can’t, please can you bop off to the SF2007 thread on the board and confirm or unconfirm yourselves? Merci… (There seem to be far more people coming than I had thought, which is only adding to unbearable pressure, oh God, why did I ever think this was a good idea? I don’t organise things. I *never* organise things! I *can’t* organise things. I’m too crap. *collapses in small puddle of weeping*)

*in a small, completely non-bragging voice* I have been [livejournal.com profile] crack_impala’d again, this time for Dean and Sam being small boys in the back of the car. Am feeling very validated and glowy. Which is good, given the above woe. And, in an attempt to distract myself from said woe, am wasting time by writing Five Times Dean Winchester Was A Girl. Like I don’t have better things to do. Like write questions for Chalet School Challenge.

Oh, fuck, basically.

Ah, well. Hopefully people will enjoy themselves anyway. And I do know how to provide a good spread…
chaletian: (uncle meh)
Meh. Hear the sound of a thousand pathetic squeens, bleating their communal woe. Oh but wait… surely not? It is but the one? This cannot be so!

It is so. I am filled with confusion and woe. As, indeed, I have been the fifty million times I spammed your respective flists today.

I am supposed to be going out tonight with Katie and Helen. I have been looking forward to this, my girlish heart skipping with glee every time I thought on’t.

But I feel quite poo-like. And I am very, very tired. The thought of having to come home, faff, go out again, career around London like some socialite of the 20s, eventually get home very, very late indeed, get up for work the next morning, work the entire day, come home and tidy up for my parents, is a thought that fills me with dread. But I want to go. But I don’t want to go.

I am the very picture of dejection and confusion.

Woe.
chaletian: (wicked western sky)
Come closer, my chickadees, and I shall relate a tale. A tale of glamour, intrigue and romance. Okay, actually, there’s no romance. And it is, objectively speaking, a little light on intrigue. And the glamour is unmistakably missing. But other than that, it is a tale exactly as advertised.

It is a tale that begins last Saturday afternoon, at about five o’clock. I had slept off my early morning Harry Potter read, and was in Richmond, shopping. I had bopped around M&S’s sale, as one does, and decided to buy the previously-mentioned yellow-striped polo shirt. And then, fair readers, my eye fell upon a skirt. A navy, knee-length skirt, with a bow thing at the front and a few pleats. It was sort of like a netball skirt, except longer and less routinely pleated, and without the… actually, no. It was not at all like a netball skirt. Expunge that comparison from your minds. Anyway, I quite liked it. And being a creature of impulse, I bought it along with the yellow-striped polo shirt.

And now I’m having a quandary. I tried it on with the yellow-striped polo shirt, and decided it didn’t suit me (it is a trifle boxy, and as I am myself a trifle boxy, not to mention deplorably short on the old leg front, it was not a happy union of clothing and figure), and I would return it. But this morning, for some reason, I tried it on again with a red v-neck top suitable for the purposes of working like a trojan (don’t say a word), and my red shoes, and I decided it didn’t look too bad. I consulted Katie on the matter, and she agreed that all in all I could have looked more hideous. I am now at work, wearing my navy knee-length sort-of-pleated skirt. And I’m still not convinced. Obviously it’s too late to take it back now, but – oh, fiddle! What to do? What, as the constant cry goes, did Baby Jee do in the fit of a clothing crisis? When he stood in front of his little cupboard, deciding whether to wear the brown robes or the slightly shorter brown robes with the little twiddly red bit? What then, fair readers?

Having put aside this trauma for a moment, I shall embark upon another, not dissimilar tale. I braved the Monsoon sale last week on having a spare ten minutes at Waterloo, and purchased with my dwindling pennies a skirt and an evening top. The skirt has met with unqualified approval in the sartorial centre of my brain. The top failed at the first hurdle and I decided I would perforce have to take it back. Monsoon sale items must be returned within a week. I made my purchasal a week ago. I have forgotten to bring the top with me today. Katie, was the plan to take the Silverlink up to Camden this evening? Because if Monsoon is still open later in the evenings, I thought I might just train it into Waterloo, take the wretched thing back, and tube it up to Camden instead. But I shall see how late Monsoon is open.

Moving away from my clothing-related woe, last night saw the Guide trip to see Wicked, which more or less went off without a hitch, from my point of view. The Guides were all on time. N and H had their forms (N rather mysteriously so, given that her mother had denied all knowledge, but there you go), and R had left hers behind, but filled in a new one and her grandmother signed it. H realised whilst we were waiting for the train that she had left her glasses at home, but she rang up and her father brought them to the station in time, so we caught the planned train. Got to Victoria at about quarter to seven, and I let them roam free in WH Smiths for a while whilst we waited for Xanthe. Pobbled over to the theatre, where they all wanted to go to the loo, though unfortunately the theatre three-minutes was called, and I eventually had to go and hustle them a bit so we didn’t get stranded (not that it was going to happen and usually, of course, one ignores the theatre three-minutes as it is a giant lie, but on this occasion I was playing it safe). Wicked is, of course, made of win, and the girls seemed to enjoy it lots, and were reasonably well-behaved (though N and O could have won prizes for rustling at one stage, and R kept having to explain the plot to H). We got home without any bother, and at the stated time – huzzah! They all piled out at the end, and I wish I had told them beforehand that they needed to come and tell me who they were going home with, because none of them actually bothered, and we were peering around trying to see who was with whom.

So, I hope all the grown-ups enjoyed themselves! Tis a fabulous show, n’est-ce pas? Merci to Pimly for coming to Mortlake with me, and holding all my bits and not minding my bad temper, and merci to Katie for being the Other Grown-Up on the way home. In an evaluatey kind of way, did it work smoothly for those who went? If there was anything you thought I should have done, or shouldn’t have done, please could you let me know so I can fix it next time!

Steve tonight!!! Very excited, very excited indeed...
chaletian: (hp luna)
♥ Am once again late to work (over-slept, rather), so will be late home. Mushroom pasta for tea, Katie? Also, forgot there is a match on at Lord’s – never a good day to be late.

♥ Anyway, main news of the day is that we went to see Harry Potter at the talkies yesterday. It was so good! Amazingly so, given that I wasn’t that keen on the book. I really, really enjoyed. The atmosphere, the insidious scariness of Umbridge (and Jizzy Chrizzy, how freakish were those kitten plates?), the DA – twas all excellent. Also very pleased that they included Fred and George rebelling, as that’s my favourite bit of the book. Loved Luna and Kreacher, and HBC was ace, obviously (aw, Neville! Go and shag Draco, poppet, it’ll make you feel better…), and Sirius wasn’t quite as twattish as he was in the book, but I still didn’t really care when he died. It was all jolly good, and I am now far more excited about book 7 (Friday night, here we come!). It was a jolly evening altogether, actually. By a strange coincidence (coincidence? Or planned by the fates who control us?) Katie and I ended up on the same District line tube, in the same carriage (not that that’s particularly any more of a coincidence as I presume Katie, like I did, got into the front carriage so as to be ready to get off at Richmond), bopped off to buy the cinema tickets, and then went to have dinner at the Giraffe.

♥ Then, calamity struck! While Katie went off to Tesco for to buy us something to drink, I sauntered up to the Haagen-Dazs ice-cream parlour attached to the Hill St Odeon, and what did my shattered eyes see? No Haagen-Dazs!!! And more than that, Ben & Jerry’s in its place! The horror cannot be overstated, for I love Haagen-Dazs with every fibre of my being, and have never been particularly fond of Ben & Jerry’s, not least because they have stupid names for their ice-creams, and I can’t cope with that. So I ran away, and waited for Katie so she could soothe my fevered brow and advise me as to the best way forward. We went in to have another look, but I was bowled over by Change and Badness, and had to run away again. Then the urge for ice-cream won, and I crept timidly back in, deciphered the meaning of their foolish ice-cream names, and attempted to choose one. But it was hard. A challenge I was not sure I could overcome. Was it to be some species of berry sorbet? Or the coffee ice-cream with chocolate chunks? How could I decide? What should I do? What would Baby Jee have done in the ice-cream parlours of Galilee? The ice-cream man kindly gave me a spoonful of each, and I tested them carefully, but was still unable to come to a conclusive answer. My trauma was compounded by the lack of clear signage as to their scoop policy. In the end, I had a medium-sized cup with half sorbet and half ice-cream, and it wasn’t too bad, though I think B&J’s is a bit too sweet for my tastes. Oh Haagen-Dazs. I may write you a lament at some stage.

♥ I have another SPN fic plotting away in my head. It’s a five-things. I have always wanted to write a five-things fic. I had it plotted out on my hand, but then foolishly washed it. But I’d been to the loo, and it seemed the best course of action.

Poo

Jul. 2nd, 2007 01:14 pm
chaletian: (bard ophelia willow aslant)
I appear to have lost my watch. I am sad. That is, hopefully it's not lost, just in the flat somewhere, but I usually only take it off in the bathroom and the kitchen, and it's not there. Wah. I love my watch.

In brighter news, I'm just about to bop off to meet [livejournal.com profile] xanantha to wander around the Cabinet War Rooms; the cable man has fixed the cable (we needed to reboot the modem each time we switched between computers, Katie, though I tried that and it still didn't work with mine); and I have set up the wireless network for FT. It's called Marjorie (Katie, I connected your laptop to it too). Huzzah. Anyway, I had best leap off now. Time, it confuses me when I have no watch.

June 2016

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