![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
W-e-e-e-l-l - there was a kerchunk of the unexpected when things were going better than they have any right to be, and the cynic in me says that if things are better than they ought to be then... clearly you've misjudged the situation. All I will say that if you've spent some time dealing with someone, and saying how much you want to meet up and that meeting doesn't happen, it's rather odd to ignore texts and phonecalls, to delete an entire email account and to look at the website of the person, all within a couple of hours of not meeting up.
Draw a veil.
I am insanely pleased with my I Pod Touch and the ability to post from the Carbuncle (curiously the Secret Campus does not support them, so Eduroam will allow me to go online at the campus on the hill but not my employer). I am also pleased with my new Macbook, and Scrivener, although the wireless keeps falling over.
Marlowe clearly would like to come to the pub with me - and some evenings I am half way down Oxford Street before I shake her off. In such cases I hear a crying when I get back to Lime Kiln Road and she appears, having presumably waited all along. Failing that the chances are she'll be at the end of the ten foot, or appear over the fence of Guildford Road. She's getting good at walking to heel. Oddly she has stopped going upstairs - with the exception of today - and how Tilda has made this her territory is not clear. I thought Marlowe had stopped yuvving me, but today she was all over me and weally weally yuvs me (and is clearly jealous of the laptop).
Tilda has stopped bringing me presents, but (and she's just appeared there now) has fallen in love with Dave's old bed and has been there more or less constantly for the last fortnight. I will have to vacuum the duvet and put a sheet over it. My sleep is thus uninterrupted by cats - just my thoughts and bladder - but it is disconcerting to wake up and see a cat staring at you via a mirror.
I skipped out on seeing a couple of the Edinburgh warm-ups at the Carbuncle - I wish I'd seen Pappy's Fun Club, but they'll be back - although I saw Adam Hills and Brendan Burns tonight. I can see why Hills is used as a compere, and I can't believe that Burns's miming of singing "The Rainbow Song" via the slit of his penis wasn't offensive. In glorious and hilarious bad taste, in a way that Julian Clary's show wasn't (that was the first night of the tour, pre-Edinburgh, but using the word ring and playing with butt plugs isn't enough to be funny).
Meanwhile I saw the Festival brochure, and little stands out as unmissable - although I note Reginald D. Hunter, Sarah Millican and Stewart Lee. Tickets bought for them. I can't be bothered with Alistair McGowan.
My autumn:
23 Sep: Sammy J. in The Forest of Dreams
17 Oct: Reginald D. Hunter
21 Oct: Sarah Millican
24 Oct: Stewart Lee
6 Nov: Milton Jones
7 Nov: Jim Jeffries
12 Nov: Daniel Kitson
21 Nov: Sean Hughes
27 Nov: Mitch Benn and the Distractions
8 Dec: Lee Mack
I'm going to be a social bunny - sitting on my own in the dark.
Did I mention I might be an extra on the next Ross Noble DVD?
I need to get reading and viewing for the seventies book - it's slow work.
Having sat on two Sofacinema dvds for a month I'm determined to get my money's worth this month, but I'm also trying to watch the second series of Ashes to Ashes which I recorded (then Skins, The Inbetweeners, a fistful of Clint Eastwood movies, and various other films). Today I watched the first half of Blackpool, in which I think Tennant wins against Morrisey in the battle of the Davids and I ponder which things I've seen have had Sarah Parrish rather than Sarah Lancashire. Amusing to spot the Doctor Who exhibition in one shot, but I'm less convinced by the lip syncing - it feels too derivative of Dennis Potter. The author went on to do Desperate Romantics - which I've yet to see, but appears to be about a generation later than even the Next Generation (most of whom died before the originals: cf the dates of the Six Blokes of Romanticism, Blake, Coleridge and Wordsworth vs Byron, Keats and Shelley).
I feel the urge to go somewhere this Saturday - maybe to Eastbourne or (again) Bexhill - but I ought to be good and work. I probably ought to do St Leonard's before those bookshops close too.
Draw a veil.
I am insanely pleased with my I Pod Touch and the ability to post from the Carbuncle (curiously the Secret Campus does not support them, so Eduroam will allow me to go online at the campus on the hill but not my employer). I am also pleased with my new Macbook, and Scrivener, although the wireless keeps falling over.
Marlowe clearly would like to come to the pub with me - and some evenings I am half way down Oxford Street before I shake her off. In such cases I hear a crying when I get back to Lime Kiln Road and she appears, having presumably waited all along. Failing that the chances are she'll be at the end of the ten foot, or appear over the fence of Guildford Road. She's getting good at walking to heel. Oddly she has stopped going upstairs - with the exception of today - and how Tilda has made this her territory is not clear. I thought Marlowe had stopped yuvving me, but today she was all over me and weally weally yuvs me (and is clearly jealous of the laptop).
Tilda has stopped bringing me presents, but (and she's just appeared there now) has fallen in love with Dave's old bed and has been there more or less constantly for the last fortnight. I will have to vacuum the duvet and put a sheet over it. My sleep is thus uninterrupted by cats - just my thoughts and bladder - but it is disconcerting to wake up and see a cat staring at you via a mirror.
I skipped out on seeing a couple of the Edinburgh warm-ups at the Carbuncle - I wish I'd seen Pappy's Fun Club, but they'll be back - although I saw Adam Hills and Brendan Burns tonight. I can see why Hills is used as a compere, and I can't believe that Burns's miming of singing "The Rainbow Song" via the slit of his penis wasn't offensive. In glorious and hilarious bad taste, in a way that Julian Clary's show wasn't (that was the first night of the tour, pre-Edinburgh, but using the word ring and playing with butt plugs isn't enough to be funny).
Meanwhile I saw the Festival brochure, and little stands out as unmissable - although I note Reginald D. Hunter, Sarah Millican and Stewart Lee. Tickets bought for them. I can't be bothered with Alistair McGowan.
My autumn:
23 Sep: Sammy J. in The Forest of Dreams
17 Oct: Reginald D. Hunter
21 Oct: Sarah Millican
24 Oct: Stewart Lee
6 Nov: Milton Jones
7 Nov: Jim Jeffries
12 Nov: Daniel Kitson
21 Nov: Sean Hughes
27 Nov: Mitch Benn and the Distractions
8 Dec: Lee Mack
I'm going to be a social bunny - sitting on my own in the dark.
Did I mention I might be an extra on the next Ross Noble DVD?
I need to get reading and viewing for the seventies book - it's slow work.
Having sat on two Sofacinema dvds for a month I'm determined to get my money's worth this month, but I'm also trying to watch the second series of Ashes to Ashes which I recorded (then Skins, The Inbetweeners, a fistful of Clint Eastwood movies, and various other films). Today I watched the first half of Blackpool, in which I think Tennant wins against Morrisey in the battle of the Davids and I ponder which things I've seen have had Sarah Parrish rather than Sarah Lancashire. Amusing to spot the Doctor Who exhibition in one shot, but I'm less convinced by the lip syncing - it feels too derivative of Dennis Potter. The author went on to do Desperate Romantics - which I've yet to see, but appears to be about a generation later than even the Next Generation (most of whom died before the originals: cf the dates of the Six Blokes of Romanticism, Blake, Coleridge and Wordsworth vs Byron, Keats and Shelley).
I feel the urge to go somewhere this Saturday - maybe to Eastbourne or (again) Bexhill - but I ought to be good and work. I probably ought to do St Leonard's before those bookshops close too.
Tags: