Schadenfreude

I know, I know, some people are just born to be unlucky. And I’m sure I’ve observed on this some where in the past – but I can’t be bothered to look through the archives to check.

However, regardless of whether someone’s unlucky in life or not, it has to be said that it is still utterly hilarious to see someone who’s not paying attention, and watch them walk slap bang into a glass wall. I can’t help it – it’s just funny. The one today was even better – walking slap-bang into the glass pane of a motorised revolving door. Maybe she’d got her timing wrong, maybe she was just unlucky. She wasn’t hurt, just surprised and embarassed at looking like a prat. But it brightened my whole morning.

Bah, Humbug

Now there’s a date to miss. Manchester’s christmas lights will be turned on at 6pm on November 16th. By Brian Conley. Would it be unreasonable for me to start praying for a thunderstorm on that day? And ideally for Conley’s fashion adviser to recommend tinfoil hats as this season’s alternative to the umbrella?

Thankfully I’ll miss it – I’ll be travelling back from Reading on that day. But all the same, November the bloody 16th for Christmas lights. My festering season™ cup runneth over.

Blair in medical shocker

I suspect that, like me, more people were shocked to discover that doctors reckon President Blair actually has a heart than that he’d been admitted to hospital with an irregular heartbeat.

What are the chances?

According to the BBC, Princess Diana ‘feared a plot involving a car crash’. Fucking hell, if she was that prescient, you’d think she’d never have got into a car with a pissed driver and belted through Paris roads tunnels at high speed without thinking “Oooh, I’ve suddenly remembered this premonition I had where I might die in a car”.

I don’t use the word often, but Paul Burrell is a complete charlatan, and items like this “that he’s kept secret for ten years” just make me think of the Hitler diaries.

Absolute bollocks.

Groggy

Well, yesterday was definitely a Day of Sleep™. Unfortunately, the main side-effect of that much sleep is that today I feel absolutely abysmal. Curling up and dying has rarely seemed as attractive an option as it does today. Alternatively, I hear that a certain transparent bed is now available, so I might consider using that.

Other than that, the DNS service through BT Broadband has been giving me shite all weekend, so if it’s still up the creek when I get home, then – what a shocker – BT are going to get another snotty call. Of course, their ‘technical help’ pages amount to being as useful as a one-legged man in an arse-kicking contest, and won’t even tell the happy user which servers are up, down, or just plain fucked. I wonder if I can wangle it to just cancel the BT contract and go back to Zen.

Day of Sleep

This weekend has been driven by the need for sleep. Over the last few weeks, I haven’t been sleeping well, and coupled with a heavy dose of cold, it’s left me pretty drained. Thankfully this weekend was a quiet one anyway – my last free weekend ’til 2004, disturbingly enough. And so the body has taken over, and insisted on sleep. I feel groggy as hell, really not at all with it, but also a whole lot better for having regained some sleep.

Now all I need to do is work on the stuff I was planning to do this weekend, and catch up a bit. Joy. Oh, and remember to turn the alarms back on for tomorrow morning…

Good news

One of the best pieces of news so far this year concerning the Festering Season™ is that MPs are now saying that shops should stay closed on December 25th. Good – halle-fucking-lujah, in fact – there should be at least one day a year where the materialistic bastards are closed.