Mr Grumpy, or:

Another Bloody Early Night or The State of Things

On the way to work there is a patch of roadworks - if you can call it that when it's on the pavement - next to the tattoo parlour. The pavement is wide there, but with the hole faced off there's only room to go in single file or risk tripping over a step. So I held back, and let eight people - count them that's eight (8) or viii or VIII if you are a Roman - pass.

Not a single one of them said thanks or even acknowledged I was there. Some of them looked like respectable citizens.

 

 

 

 

 

 
On the wall an overheard conversation in a tone of pride: "You know my mate Samantha? She was on Jeremy Kyle today."

I know more about someone's DNA paternity test than I care to.

In the words of the late great, great Linda Smith: "ASBOs? Don't knock 'em. It's the only qualification some of these kids have."


Enough already.

Small Murphies XVII

Being grateful.

Practicing vs Practising

For some reason I've always been convinced that practice works like advice - I advise you, but I give you advice. You go to football practice - but you are practising football. (Are you or have you ever been a practising accountant or a practicing accountant? May be you'll get better. I'd write with an s. You'll be in a practice.)

The phrase in question is "practicing media theory" in the sense of undertaking, using a particular theory - but it just tastes wrong to me. (It's complicating by the need for it to have a second sense of the theory of how to do practice.)


Any thoughts?

Edit: This would be UK usage, in case there's a difference. Google gives Practising over Practicing by only few thousand.

In search of lubrication

Even in the depths of winter my room is an oven because a hot water pipe runs through it. I always have the windows open, a fan on and, unless privacy is required, the door open.

Opposite is a classroom door. It squeaks. It is currently used by language students who have a similar attitude to doors as do cats - but having evolved opposable thumbs are able to open and close the door repeatedly as they try to decide which side of it they want to be on. The doors creaks. Loudly. Nails on blackboard. Fingers on a balloon. Me left alone with any object that can make a noise.

Yes, bloody annoying.

I can shut out conversation, but not this.

I've borrowed a can of WD-40 from the technicians and used it, liberally.

Bliss.

Edit: And now there are three magpies outside the window on the roof, two trying to kill or have sex with the other, nosily. My heads hurt, as the man said. Three for a girl, I recall. Time to go home.

Robert Jordan

The Guardian finally did an obit - http://www.guardian.co.uk/obituaries/story/0,,2192521,00.html - given his illness was known about, it should not have taken a month.