J'adore Titus (and his cranky little friend - grin). I mean everyone in the show is great: Ciarán, James, Kevin, Tobias, etc. But Ray steals the show, even away from James' Marky Mark, which takes some doing, I must say. Oh, I just loved every minute of it.
And weirdly, I was wearing my 13th t-shirt yesterday without even realising it. It was just cold, I needed something under the work shirt and it was first to hand in my feeble crack of pre-dawn rummaging in the wardrobe. Ah, 13th! 13th! 13th!. J'adore Titus. Squee.
So that was good. Also, what I had to do on the pc managed to get itself done quickly and without fuss (amazing). I managed to pick up a new Wodehouse to read on the bus (I'm still afer D&Ps abd Cadfael's but there are none to be had in those wretched bookshops, not even for money) and I bought some apology krispy kremes for the peanut gallery (you'll be surprised how well a sugar rush will turn that frown upside down). Of course it's hard for me to belly up, as it were, to the KK counter without harsh judgement (one almost feels like a person of the wrong caste walking into the wrong shop) but I had to do it, to aplogise for the late hours I've had to put in lately - not by choice, it's just that everyone dumps on me in the PM and I gotta do what I'm legally required to do, bugger having a life of my own (the lecture on being unable to manage my workload and priorities when I have no control over these flighty execs was particularly galling but never mind, I'm promised a few days free of that, please, please, let it be so).
I'm also wearing my new best skirt, the expensive one I bought the other day. The probate skirt, as my friend likes to call it. To me, it's like the skirt Debbie used to have, that I so much admired/insanely covetted. It's sort of after Vivienne Westwood after the Athabascans, in other words, very, very 80s, but Kings of the Wild Frontier 80s, not Go West 80s (there is a difference, children). I like it very much. But I realise I should stick to k-mart so long as my daily commute involves catching a rotten old bus full of rubbish, grafitti, broken seats, drunks, druggies and criminals from a smashed up bus stop. In other words, a drunk threw up on my best skirt today. Sigh. Back into the frumpy k-mart couture tomorrow. Sigh.
Damn, but this skirt looks good, though. Even on me.
I think the itchy feet are back again, and I don't just mean the tinea. I was looking at pitures of snow and I remember the mighty snow falls at Flagstaff, the massive icicles, and the kindness of the train conductor who let me lean out, just a bit, to watch the sun come up over the mountains - our secret magical moment.
I miss moments like that, those fun times where I'm either enjoying myself or some complete stranger decides to be nice and share a bit of the world with me, just because. Some folks are very hospitable towards a lone but enthusiastic traveller (not that I ever do hardcore solo treks up K2 or the Amazon, but I like to think I muddle about like an eccentric old duffer of limited means should).
Moments like that make it worth it. Even yesterday, which had me very down at times. Work is awful, but if I can put aside bits of my pay and have a magic moment every now and then, the sacrifice will be worth it.
I have discovered a niche market that's wide open for exploitation. I was looking for water tanks (or butts as they're called in the UK), and all we have here are boring, boring ugly things but not in the UK. Oh no, there you can get your tanks in the shape of roman columns, or, well, a butt. Oh, UK, don't ever change.
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I'm non-sticking with you!
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Free Tibet? Hell, free America!
Nice ship, shame about the rivets
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RARE BOER WAR PHOTOS
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Scotland special: the Battle of Culloden