"He’s probably just slept in. It doesn’t smell as if anyone’s snuffed it in the night."

Well. I've had a shower. That's one thing I can tick of my OMG Epic Saturday To Do List. As for the rest, I have to go to Paddington to (hopefully) get the train tickets, pop in to work because I forgot Richard was having his Bupa meeting next week, and he only had a hard copy of the stats I did, and has probably lost them by now, so I mun email them to Emma. Then I have to, um, pack. And clear out the kitchen. And put more laundry on if I want any clothes on holiday. And buy some toothpaste. And transfer desirable TV to the tiny tiny shiny laptop. And charge every electrical device I own. And probably loads of other things I will forget until the last minute. Goddamn holidays.

But for now, I'm sitting here in my towel, eating a healthy breakfast of Oreos, and contemplating my outsider POV fic I've been not-writing for the past month. Heigh ho.

My mind is a blank with regard to subject lines...

Why oh why is our office some sort of hospital Fort Knox? No-one seemed to have access to it on their swipe cards, and mine expired a little while ago (note to self: get this renewed). Eventually a porter got his card reprogrammed and let me in. Woo. Then I only had to wait about an hour for my stupid computer to turn on... Anyway, got done what I needed, so yay.

Also: WE HAVE TICKETS!!!! OMG IT'S LIKE A TINY, BEAUTIFUL MIRACLE!!

Later on, I have a wonderful picture of the Barrowman on the front of this week's Radio Times to share. High-larious.

Anyway, having done my duty, I will now depart and head home. And pack. Boo. I hate packing. It is intrinsically unfair that it is a prerequisite for God's honest holiday. Still. Life could be worse. I could be a midget wrestler murdered by a fake hooker, so at least there's that.

XOXO, Suburban Squeen

"Pardon me, but this Palestine affair is so depressing..."

I have started packing. Woo. Am mostly waiting for clothes to dry (not taking long in this weather) and things to charge. Have mostly made my book selections. Am now watching the Inspector Alleyn Mysteries, which are comforting for the presence of steam trains, Post Office ladies, clipped accents and flashbacks WHICH DO NOT LIE. (Oh, CSI, that first fake flashback was a bitter betrayal, not yet forgiven.)

In other news, a couple of entertaining pictures:


Oh, Barrowman, you tiny poser...


This estate agents is in Camden. I don't know which came first, but either way it's hilarious.


ETA: Apparently Douglas Adams named the character after the estate agents, which is almost disappointing.