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Archive for June, 2008

Dury Juty

I recently got summoned for Jury Duty. It was a total waste of time. I was so looking forward to putting some evil scum down, and nothing happened. Spent the first day sitting around, reading, for 4 hours then we all got sent home. Likewise day 2. Then for the remaining days we were all asked to phone in first to check if we were needed – we weren’t. Not once. Bah.

And that’s my luck in a nutshell – a once in a lifetime opportunity that few people experience and sod all happened. I could have won the lottery, but no, and that’s my one bit of random luck used up for this lifetime.

Woosh! What was that? That was your life, mate. Oh… er, do I get another? Nope, that’s yer lot.

Back to the world of dreams.

(Thanks to J Cleese and C Booth for that little gem)

 

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Dream On

I love sleep, me. And I’m damn good at it. I have taught myself that once I’m in bed, anything I might have to worry about is pointless, there’s fuck all I can do about it lying down in the dark and most of the thoughts that pass through my addled brain will be utterly forgotten when I eventually drop off, so why worry? I can lie down, switch off the mind and be under in minutes.

Sadly, I manage my life so badly that I rarely get enough of it. And anything under 8 hours sleep leaves me fractious, anxious and rubbish at everything. Last week I tried 8-9 hours every night and even my colleagues at work remarked that I seemed unusually cheerful and chilled out. Trouble is, all that sleeping eats into valuable evening time which could be devoted to imbibing intoxicating substances while listening to music and chatting, either at home or out and about. So this week I’m drinking more and sleeping less. And I’m behaving like an overtired child.

It’s crap being human sometimes, all that intelligence and potential wasted because we’d rather be out of our faces most of the time. Pass that glass, will you?

 

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…where the bloody hell ARE YOU?

Being a resident of ‘Great’ Britain, I have now all but forgotten what a sunny summer looks like. I have vague unspecific childhood memories of being very very hot, of pavements burning the feet, tarmac melting, a brown garden instead of a green one. Of course, being a child, it was brilliant! It didn’t bother me that people all over the country were boiling to death, I was having a great time. Now, with that selfish streak still very much in evidence, I sit here, staring dolefully out of a window streaming with rain, wondering when I will next get the opportunity to grab 10 minutes of gardening between the showers.

By the time I do get into the garden, job permitting, everything’s about 12 foot high and I need an industrial flamethrower just to get the lawn back to a reasonable height.

Ah well, that’ll teach me to be born in a temperate zone on a planet which is two thirds water I suppose. (Administers hefty exagerrated Basil Fawlty type smack to own arse)

In other news – my journey home from work tonight was slowed almost to a standstill because somebody was hit by a road sign. Presumably this large, flourescent sign leaped out in front of their car. Heaven forbid that I suggest they were, perhaps, DRIVING LIKE AN ARSEHOLE IN POURING RAIN……  I do hope that, whoever they are, they’re not hurt. Actually, no, I don’t, I think it’s about time people were consistently punished for being dim. I certainly have been all my life, so why not other people? I have been punished so often, in fact, that I now actually learn from OTHER PEOPLE’S MISTAKES! I know, revolutionary eh? I’ve personally never had a car crash in bad weather because I see it happen all the time, so I slow down, put lights on, make sure I’m fully aware of the road ahead and behind and stay alert. No, really, it can be done. Presumably it’s not done very often because it’s not ‘cool’ to be safe, it’s very very boring. Well, fine, carry on killing each other, the gene pool’s better off without you. Bastards.

I’m going now because I can feel the red haze coming. Again.

 

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Pinch, Punch…

I was rudely alerted to the date this morning by ‘the other half’ gleefully attacking me in a most horrific physical manner while shrieking ‘Pinch, punch, first of the month and no returns!’ I feel I should stress here that neither of us are minors – so why do adults feel they have to behave like hyperactive crazed children sometimes?

It’s bad enough that the dog gets treated like some kind of retarded halfwit (‘Did ‘oo like din-dins? Is it yummy in your tummy?’ I’m sure he’d have a few ripe responses ready if he could actually speak) but now it’s my turn. I had to remind her that we are both adults above the age of consent and that if she didn’t take steps to curb her violent tendencies I may have to consider the option of reporting the incident to the authorities as an example of spousal abuse.

But she threatened to bend the gun on my remote control Dalek if I didn’t shut up, so I went to my room and sulked. So there.

 

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