Or how afflicted with OCD's

This morning, I saw one of the "Suits" that work here standing in the kitchen filling a kettle.

He was filling said kettle from a hot water dispenser, that provides water at scalding temperatures. Hot enough to make very hot drinks with.

But this was either not hot enough for him, or the kettle was too slow.

WHY?

Executive stress?

OCD about scalding hot water not being clean enough and needing just one more good boil to make it safe?

Who knows.

Or even cares.

I was asked last night.

I was having a quick Google talk chat thing with a blogger and they commented on my avatar, which is a picture of a panda with “Pandas” written at the top and “Fuck ‘em” written at the bottom. I was asked to explain my apparent dislike of said cute fluffy creatures.

Well come on, any animal that is just too lazy to shag when housed in a nice comfy zoo is just not worth saving. Lazy fuckers. They probably taste great as well.

Said fiend being of the female persuasion and therefore prone to going “awww” over things furry and big eyed said “How can you say that! They are cute” like that is a good reason to save something, and went on to say “Cockroaches, now they deserve to die!”

“At least they have had the good grace to have done something useful, like evolve the ability to survive after a nuclear disaster! All pandas would do is burst into flames and be put off shagging even more!”

I mean Pandas…What’s the bloody point?

Ah yes, the working day.

Well at least it is the end of a short week and we get paid tomorrow. And, wonder of wonders – we get a bonus this month.

And I WILL NOT squander it on that very nice pointy black guitar I saw – I will use some of it to buy some new clothes and the rest will be put aside for spending money for the holiday (ie buying loads of cheap cigarettes). Fuck it! I hate being “sensible”.

Lurking somewhere in my morning, like a woodlouse in a salad, is a conference call. Hmmm, there are a couple of ways to approach this. As I have not yet got the email with the call in number and code yet, I could do the old “I forgot” bit, claiming that as there was no email I thought there was no meeting. And as my line manager has the day off I have no one here to remind me. But some git will probably phone me up and ask me why I am not on the call, and I will say, “Because I am talking to you obviously”

The other way is to do what I did last time – ring in, sit and listen, say nothing, put the phone down. At least that way I will know what is being planned for our brave new leap into whatever.

At some point I also have to send an email to someone explaining the bleeding obvious, that is – how to do their job. All part of the services I offer.

Then lunch.

Then the afternoon. I can’t wait.

What a fun packed Friday.

Meh.

But then I get to go!

Yayyyness.

All this rain is interfering with my cigarette smoking!

(Please, no comments about giving up or looking after my health - they will all be treated with contempt)

Oh well, the regualar Thursday ritual of watching House while taping Heroes and them watching the tape is about to commence.

I live such a wild and hectic life no?

Bet you wish you were me eh?

Ahem.

Well on that note I think I will pour a glass of single malt and go make a nest on the sofa.

It's all Rock and roll round here ya know.........

I don’t know why, but I have a severe case of the itches!

I feel like ants are crawling all over me. Very not nice.

Of course there are no ants on my person in reality but that does not stop me itching like mad.

Maybe it’s the weather.

Maybe I have fleas.

Maybe I picked the wrong day to quit heroine. Not that I actually have ever done it, but I have read Trainspotting.

In other news, I need to have another quick scratch.

The mange! That’s what it is.

Meh.

Now some of you females on my friends list have been going all misty eyed over that there “Sex and the City” film and saying how great it is. My response is generally to say that I would rather stick pins in my own eyes than go see such a film.

But, I do actually watch and enjoy “romantic” films. Just not the sort you girlies go for – and before you panic, for once I am not making vague references to porn!

For example the last Dracula film – the one with Gary Oldman in it – is a very romantic film and I enjoyed watching it. OK, the whole point of the film was the “tragic romance” theme rather than the horror but it was a good film. Hmm, liking a film about a tragic doomed romance, what are the chances eh?

Ahem.

Anyway, another film that I consider to be a romance normally causes general eyebrow arching when I mention it, but it is a romantic story of a doomed relationship.

The Terminator.

Yep, that one. With Arnie and guns and explosions and stuff.

How much more romantic can you get? A man falls in love with a woman in a photograph, takes a one-way trip back in time to save her, she falls in love with him, they have one night of passion and then an almost unstoppable android kills him.

See, I can do romantic film watching. They just have to have loads of guns and monsters and sex in them as well.

I believe I just heard the phrase -

"One things for sure, Neal can produce a hell of a lot of spunk"

coming from the front room where Moff and S&F are sitting.

Ah right, they must be watching "Peepshow"

Thank God for that, thought I was missing out on some good gossip.

You know, the one down there. (points to New media from your friends area at the bottom of the page)

Nice as it is for people to share things with you, it makes it a bit difficult to look at your blog at work when there is a piccie of a battery powerd "love wand" at the bottom of it.

But due to the photographic efforts of you wonderful bloggers, the naughty item has dropped off the page, and I am no longer in danger of shocking my fellow workers.

Yes, pointless as this post is - it is keeping me from falling asleep.

My stomach has an anticipation my dear 0.5 of a hungry reader. It is not enough that it has been treated to a brace of fine bacon and egg sandwiches this morning, oh no. I have just booked a table at Navarro's Spanish Tappas restaurant in Charlotte Street for the Moff, S&F and me for this Saturday.

Top quality Spanish nomming ahoy!

If you wanna lookee, point your browser at

www.navarros.co.uk

But due to me feeling a little duntish and in need of hangover prevention food, coupled with the fact that one of the major tube lines in London decided to go “breasts uppermost” just as I was about to get on it (the circumnavigation of the tube network to get here put an hour on my journey) and I got hear feeling ravenous, I have just eaten two wonderfully delicious Fried egg and Bacon sandwiches.

The bacon was tangy and salty, the eggs were white and gold and beautifully soft and tasty in the centre, the bread too was white and soft and buttered.

Absolutely heavenly nomming material.

I now have a very happy stomach.

People often say to me at this time of night -

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY GARDEN! DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS? AND PUT SOME CLOTHES ON! right I'm calling the police"

But other than that, can I just say that laptops make your legs sweaty.

Which officer, is why I was out there nekkid.

I had hot thighs.

Can someone send bail?

Erm, I have run out of things to say...............

I remember when all this was fields ya know....

ahem.

I am...

In mollys this lunchtime, Wayne the "light on his feet" barman was talking to the other two customers in the pub - I was sat at the bar.

For some reason or other he was talking to them about ages, and how he was often taken for younger than his 37 years. Now to be fair to him, he does look about 30 to 32, but when he said

"A fella was in the other week and said I looked a lot younger than 37"

without looking up from my magazine I said

"Did you pat his guide dog?"

"OOoooooooh I was bloody waiting for that from you ya cow!" he said and flounced off to the other end of the bar while the customers chuckled.

It would have been more dramatic of course if the bar in Mollys was not only seven or eight foot long of course...........

The Scotch pie, consumed by me.

The "Non more pink or atificial looking" dougnut comsumed by Sarah for that morning sugar rush of energy neede to climb the cliffs

A package contianing all good "healthy" things a scot needs to start his day.

And of course, the evening CURRY! Erm, which was one of the photographys S&F's pc decided not to upload, so just imagine a table in a curry house straining to support enough food for five people, the side dishes of vegetably stuff, and beer.

And Sarah did get to try a deep fried Crunchy (she went off the idea of a Mars bar) so as you can see, I am a father who has his childs health ever in mind. Well she enjoyed the experience at least.

Ho well.

We seem to have had much better weather up in Scotland than was had down south. Not a site of any rain, clear blue skies for the most part and bright sunshine. OK it was windy and a little cold at times but at least we could get out and take Sarah places without getting soaked.

But fear not, we got our fair share of rain when we got back to London.

Hope you all had a good weekend.

The point of traveling to far off places is experiencing a little of their culture and ways.

so yesterday just after we arrived here in Edingburgh I had a "Scotch Pie" from Greggs. A picture of this wonderouos pie will appear when I return, just to make jacobite homesick.

Sarah is getting into it as well. She has asked that, if she is a good girl today, she could try a deep fried mars bar.

I am justly proud of her adventurous spirit!

I am bored.

So in a few minutes I am effing off to get my hair cut, then going off on my merry way to Rancho Collapso to play my guitar and await the arrival of Mrs f, shipscook and eventually Sarah.

I may pop back on here later for a squint about, providing I can pry Ships off the pc where he will be attempting to book us flights to here there and everywhere.

Although tomorrow we are taking the train to Edinburgh because frankly flying up there with all this "take your shoes off please sir" bollocks is a pain in the arse.

laters people.

(To the tune of “Can I play with Madness?” by I.Ron. Maiden)

“I CAN HAS FISH SAMMICH!”

nomnomnomnomnom.

There is an urban myth about T-shirts that I would like to dispel.

Certain people claim that t-shirts need to be ironed after washing.

This is complete rubbish. They need to be hung up on a clotheshorse and left to their own devices till dry, then folded and placed in a draw till they are ready to wear.

Or plucked direct from said clotheshorse and worn. No ironing required.

The only people who push this myth as hard truth are normally the people you are living with – wife, husband, lover whatever.

This is because if you have the ironing board out and are doing some ironing, you will somehow end up doing their stuff too.

Sneaky bastids.

Is to wander the wild expanses of this building and try to locate a toilet that is

a - not closed for cleaning

b - not closed awaiting repair

c - in a condition somewhere near usable

Wish me luck.

I, my dear 0.5 five of an avid, feverish reader - am going for a ciggie in the garden and then to my bed in the "orange room"

No row, paddy and brads - it has nothing to do with that fruit and it's beneficial applications, it refers to its prevailing colour.

Hope you out there (points in the general direction of the virtual world and stubs long boney finger on monitor screen, says "ouch" and waits for sympathy, gets not a sausage) have had a good day and will have a good Friday (not in the religious sense obviously because it is not "good Friday" Oh fuck it! you know what I mean! do I have to explain EVERYTHING!) and remember, we have the joys of a lovely wet bank holiday weekend to look forward to.

YE, and possibly at a stretch - HAH!

And now bed.

"Ah mister nothing at all to say, wiv thees post - you are spoiling uz"

Yeah. Nothing if not generous me.

Have a look at this little fella.

http://epicjourney.blog.co.uk/2008/05/22/title-4207827

yeah?, no?

Personally I am immune from cuteness as you all know.

But I thought you might enjoy this, erm...furry.....animal....erm...thing.

It’s all rubbish really innit?

Life, the universe, toast, cranes, wallpaper, Geese on stilts, Reality TV, sun dried tomatoes, political stuff, Health and safety, cheese in a can.

All mental.

As you can tell I am a touch with the nothings that I want to do mode.

So I am sat sitting here wide awake and typing whatever comes into my brain.

At one point today I was going to blog a post about the two alcoholic brothers I used to be in a band with, I was going to tell you that I had seen Professor Robert “I film young children but not in a bad way” Winston walking past our office in a white Linen suite and straw fedora, but fuck him – he never mentions me in his blog.

This ability to touch type can be a curse you know. Well obviously you do now because I am sitting here typing away any bit of drivel that pops into my head and laying it before your highly disinterested eyes.

Mind you, it makes me look busy (except that every one knows I can’t be doing any work because I am not swearing) and keeps my bendy fingers in tip top supple trim.

Oh cobblers to this, I think I need a FISH SAMMICH!

(look, soy has her bikkits, I have my fish sammiches )

I may also go and make a cup of instant coffee with four teaspoons of said go powder in it and see if my brain runs out through my nose.

Thank you, that is all.

Please go about the rest of your afternoon.

I am amazed at how often it appears I am going to have to get my hair cut. Every three to four weeks seems to be the way it's going to go.

so what you may say, but remember - before having it all cut off I had not had a proper haircut for about 20 years.

So all this head trimming lark is a bit of a shock.

I have become one of those people I used to snear at who think "Oh, I'm going away next week - better get my hair cut"

God I've changed! I used to be me!

Now I am someone else.

Or something.

Yes, Irelands entry for Eurovision - Dustin the Turkey - failed to make it through the semi finals and will not be going to, erm....where ever the hell they are holding it this year.

So we will have to hope some of the other countries have entered some preposterous rubbish for us to laugh and point at on Saturday night.

But I doubt that I will get to see it as I will be up in Edinburgh with Sarah and S&F, visiting Moff.

AND there is the Monaco Grand Prix on Sunday.......bumholes! will probably miss that as well.

Still, I will be busy having a good time all being well.

Weather up there is not looking promising though. Ho hum.

People keep asking me to do things!

Work type things!

Don't they know anything!

Bugger.

That would be me then.

Had to do a big report thingey and sort out all the info. To do this I had to use a system that is a bit new to me and therefore requires me to pour over the step by step “idiots guide” provided for me by the last person to get lumbered perform this task.

I got to stage two before having to go back and start again because I was lost.

It took me three goes to get past stage two and get all the info I needed.

So, I obviously need the Uber idiots guide.

I can’t brain today. I has the dumb.

At last I can break free of this cage of wage slave drudgery and spread my wings on the bright thermals of fee time!

The shackles fall from my limbs and I ascend into the bright light of pure………stuff,

And wossname.

Innit.

What, me?

Pretentious?

Fuck off.

Bored yes, and desperate to be elsewhere, but never pretentious.

Ahem.

In fact it is high time I was elsewhere and so saying I will be so doing.

Or something.

I'm bored.

And so I has been trotting round this here blogity thingey reading blogs that are new to me. It's a good way of wasting time as I lay awake at work.

You gotta do something with your day after all. I don't just stand outside with a ciggie waiting for the next celeb to go by.

Well OK, mainly I do that thing - but as some of you bods on my friends list have gone a bit quiet due to various personal reasons I have to go looking around for distraction.

I haz an resslessness of blog, I HAZ IT!

I still also have a weird habit of slipping into "lolcat" speak.

Obviously.

Meh.