The age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists and calculators has succeeded.

Friday, June 24, 2005


Good grief, it's hot today. I wish I didn't have to visit all my jobs.... I wish I hadn't had to get up at six this morning....

blah, blah. Of course, it could be much worse.
For example, I've already had a nice cold footbath with rose petals and essential oil. Can't complain there.
My tutor read my cobbled-together chapter and liked it. She wants to read more of my stuff, and has given me another month to show her more. Equally good. (as a footbath? What?)

And, best of all, tomorrow is my best friend's birthday party on Brighton Beach. I'm really looking forward to spending some quality time with her- what with her going back to Rome, and me up and down the country like a yo-yo, I haven't seen her that much, and when I do, it always reminds me of how much I like her. Same with all my friends, I suppose. It's nice to get to a stage in one's development where you no longer feel obligated to mooch around with people you don't especially click with, simply because they are part of your extended social circle. It makes for much more stimulating evenings. Speaking of which, Spak (Wide's sister) and AAAh! (her bezza) are coming also. Fantastic. The next day we shall repair to Lewes to partake of a cream tea. I have offered to bake scones. Bwahaha... Little do they know what they have let themselves in for! (Actually, baking in 35F+ temperatures probably won't be all that much fun, but, c'est la vie...)

incidentally, poor old Lard is not coping too well at Glastonbury. Never eat the 'skank-burgers' my dear. It's just not worth the risk..... I do hope she gets back in one piece. Maybe she'll have dreads? I did, once......

Aw, look at moi chaap down thaar...
Don't ee' just look 'appy in front of 'ee big 'ouse?

Apologies for the vernacular. It's a hangover from speaking to someone last night at my job (the peon of evil one). the conversation went something along these lines:

Me: Hello, can I speak to Mr Bloggs?
Bloke: No, ee's bailin'.
Me: Bailin?
Bloke: Yur, bailin ay, with ee nuncle.
Me: Does he have a mobile number I could try?
Bloke: Well, ee did 'ave, but ee draawped et in ay trough.
Me: A trough?
Bloke: Yur, et were full o waar-er an shoite.
Me: Oh dear.
Bloke: They don't wurk too well underwater, loike....
Me: Right. Sorry... I'll try back later...

I suppose that's a valid excuse, my dad dropped his phone off a roof once. Still works, though....
For the rest of the evening I felt all D.H Lawrence-y.

Back to the grindstone....


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