"I must scream of my pain in the loo!"
Aug. 9th, 2009 10:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chaletianAh, the weekend, that oasis of awesomeness in the desert of officedom... Yesterday, Katie and I GOT UP EARLY (yes, ON A SATURDAY) in order to go to Kingston (there is nothing I don't love about Kingston) for a bit of shopping. You will all, I know, be ecstatic to hear that, after three and a half years, we have finally bought a new little scrubbing brush on a stick for the kitchen. *high five* 17p well-spent, I think we'll find.
After the shopping and the smoothie drinking, we went to Ealing to have lunch with Katherine, in honour of her birthday (which is today - HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KATHERINE!!!). We sadly were only three, since Helen was still on her plaguey sick bed, however we called her and through the power of the speaker phone, we all got a little chat and she was allowed to share vicariously in the experience of Katherine opening her birthday presents. (HA HA HA WINE COOLER OMG WE'RE SO HILARIOUS!!) After lunch (delish), we plotted Frolickiness for a while (Frolick, people, come and Frolick...), and then Katie and I headed home via the Hammersmith Sainsbury's, have had the spiffing idea of brunch and tea for today. (Mmm, brunch. Mmm, tea.)
Today, I arose at half past ten, and read two more LJ Smith books (I don't even have words, at this point), and then watched The Last Legion (Colin Firth as a Roman soldier...) and Push (Chris Evans as anything and I am there), both of which I enjoyed to a surprising extent. I put half my books on eBay. I made brunch. Katie sorted tea. I made a bastard version of my tomato soup that basically turned into tomato and lentil bol, but whatevs, it's probably nutritious, and that's three days' lunch right there.
Also, I want to check everyone's up to speed with regard to The Great Hair Catastrophe of 2009. I've washed it a few times, and it doesn't seem that much lighter to me, though Katie assures me it is. Head and Shoulders will, I'm sure, do its sacred work - on the second scrubbing, I can feel the chemical tingle in my scalp which is simultaneously comforting (yes! work your magic! strip my stupid, ill-advised hair dye!) and concerning (can Head and Shoulders give you cancer?). Anyway, Katie took a photo. Normally I would not trumpet my shame in this manner... oh, OK, fine, yes I would.
So, yes, no words there, really. However, tragically, I must tell you that my piteous existence does not stop there. Many of you will know of my troubled relationship with milk. I cannot deny we have our ups and downs. (For those of you who are new to the world of Me & Milk, the rules are simple. Milk must come from an approved source, namely the major supermarkets of Sainsbury's, Waitrose or Tesco. It cannot have been left unrefrigerated for more than 15 minutes. It cannot be past its sell-by date*. It cannot taste in any way unlike standard homogenised milk. If milk meets these strict criteria, it is my faithful friend, and I will drink it by the gallon. If not, I will scrawl curse upon malediction upon its treacherous plastic body, fling its milk blood down the drain, and throw the remains to the wolves**.) We had new milk recently. Properly delivered, properly containered milk from Sainsbury's. I supervised its arrival myself. It has not broken any rules. And yet, yet, fair reader, I just drank a glassful AND IT TASTED OFF.
I AM SO TRAUMATISED.
*sighs* Nobody understands my pain. Except Helen. We are tiny tragic soulmates.
* Yes, these are a giant con and normally I will eat/drink anything that seems OK regardless of label, but see above re total and irrational milk neurosis.
** Or leave it for Katie and/or the making of cheese sauce/pancakes etc.
After the shopping and the smoothie drinking, we went to Ealing to have lunch with Katherine, in honour of her birthday (which is today - HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KATHERINE!!!). We sadly were only three, since Helen was still on her plaguey sick bed, however we called her and through the power of the speaker phone, we all got a little chat and she was allowed to share vicariously in the experience of Katherine opening her birthday presents. (HA HA HA WINE COOLER OMG WE'RE SO HILARIOUS!!) After lunch (delish), we plotted Frolickiness for a while (Frolick, people, come and Frolick...), and then Katie and I headed home via the Hammersmith Sainsbury's, have had the spiffing idea of brunch and tea for today. (Mmm, brunch. Mmm, tea.)
Today, I arose at half past ten, and read two more LJ Smith books (I don't even have words, at this point), and then watched The Last Legion (Colin Firth as a Roman soldier...) and Push (Chris Evans as anything and I am there), both of which I enjoyed to a surprising extent. I put half my books on eBay. I made brunch. Katie sorted tea. I made a bastard version of my tomato soup that basically turned into tomato and lentil bol, but whatevs, it's probably nutritious, and that's three days' lunch right there.
Also, I want to check everyone's up to speed with regard to The Great Hair Catastrophe of 2009. I've washed it a few times, and it doesn't seem that much lighter to me, though Katie assures me it is. Head and Shoulders will, I'm sure, do its sacred work - on the second scrubbing, I can feel the chemical tingle in my scalp which is simultaneously comforting (yes! work your magic! strip my stupid, ill-advised hair dye!) and concerning (can Head and Shoulders give you cancer?). Anyway, Katie took a photo. Normally I would not trumpet my shame in this manner... oh, OK, fine, yes I would.
So, yes, no words there, really. However, tragically, I must tell you that my piteous existence does not stop there. Many of you will know of my troubled relationship with milk. I cannot deny we have our ups and downs. (For those of you who are new to the world of Me & Milk, the rules are simple. Milk must come from an approved source, namely the major supermarkets of Sainsbury's, Waitrose or Tesco. It cannot have been left unrefrigerated for more than 15 minutes. It cannot be past its sell-by date*. It cannot taste in any way unlike standard homogenised milk. If milk meets these strict criteria, it is my faithful friend, and I will drink it by the gallon. If not, I will scrawl curse upon malediction upon its treacherous plastic body, fling its milk blood down the drain, and throw the remains to the wolves**.) We had new milk recently. Properly delivered, properly containered milk from Sainsbury's. I supervised its arrival myself. It has not broken any rules. And yet, yet, fair reader, I just drank a glassful AND IT TASTED OFF.
I AM SO TRAUMATISED.
*sighs* Nobody understands my pain. Except Helen. We are tiny tragic soulmates.
* Yes, these are a giant con and normally I will eat/drink anything that seems OK regardless of label, but see above re total and irrational milk neurosis.
** Or leave it for Katie and/or the making of cheese sauce/pancakes etc.
