So there I am, drooling discretely over my keyboard, when I suddenly felt the old Victorian machinery shudder and judder and start to slowly turn downstairs. I don't know if you've ever been to one of those industrial museums like in Manchester or the Powerhouse and they start up one of the old steam monsters and it screams and thuds as it turns. Well, that's what my wotsits are like.
And they've started (thanks, Dave). And I'm stuck at work. It's going to be a very long day because it's the day befor ANZAC DAY (a good day to bury bad news, in other words) and I'm on courses/meetings all next week (not my fault, as none were voluntary) so I have to stay back until it's all done, and me without my hot water bottle. I forgot I didn't have one here. Oh dear. Right under the air con vent and no hottie. So not gonna be fun.
Ah, have achieved hottie. It's green this time. Almost azure. Yes, I have a collection, I'm always being caught short, as it were. Or rather, I forgot that I'd not kitted out the new desk with all the necessaries. Nice to know that old chemist is still there, right where I left it. Folks just wouldn't believe I'd worked here before, at least not until I showed them the sekrit back passage (ahem) to Woolies and the sekrit underground food hall of exotic delights - the one everyone in the know goes to (still there from my uni days - bless).
Anyway, I always find old, shabby looking chemists the best place to look for a hottie. These new shiny places just sell perfume and prozac, of no use to me. Give me a grey haired old duffer who knows the value of a good hottie any day. Mind you, the Armstrong & Miller sketch last night about the chemists having a Narnia type world out the back did give us a giggle. It explains so much.
PM update: Have found the magic mersyndol (too early!) and have had to give up coding. So I was clearing my inbox. I do wish people would stop sending me emails entitled "great gifts for Mum" because it'll be the first M-day without the auld bitch and it's gonna be bad (bad enough I'm awash with hormones and it's Dad's B-day tomorrow). Okay, clearly I'm still registering in a demographic that should have parents still extant, and it's not their fault, as spammers are unlikely to consider the feelings of others so it's no use expecting them too, but still. It hurts.
And I've been miserable all week, thinking upon how she got me one in her last letter, insisting my brother do the paperwork because I was useless (thanks, awfully), or how I hardly get any exercise now running back and forth to the local shops. She used to make me fetch the shopping item by item, you know, I'd run down for milk, then she'd have forgotten the bread, and I'd ask if there was anything else and she'd say no, but by the time I got back it'd be down again for the spinach and so on. Of course she was as mad as a meat axe but I used to feel deeply that she was taking the piss. I deeply regret the "there are your sausages!" moments, but ya gotta remember, it was day in and day out with no relief (and my Dad felt he'd rather sling a rope round his neck that put up with it, so it was pretty dire) and I hate her and I feel awful and I still miss my Mum. and I hate myself for that, too.
All this because bastards keep spamming me. Sigh.
Oh, I should mention Rome - a timely reminded as there was an interview with Ray in The Age and a pic of Kev in the Herald. Loved it last night. SEcond episode, and just loved it. It seems really short, but that's because I'm not watching it in huge sessions, just one episode per week - unheard of! It's weird, too, because even though this is billed as the 'uncut' version, I've seen scenes in other hugley cut versions that aren't in this one, like the Channel Nine six episodes into one version that had Titus hiding out in a water trough after he got smacked on the head, and there was something else in the Beeb one but I can't remember it right now, but I know it was something. Somebody needs to put out a director's cut - grin. Please?
But never mind that, Titus was his usual lovely force of nature self, Lucy scowled a lot, Tony shagged anything that moved and Big Julie smirked and plotted. And I loved every minute of it.
Oh, it's bucketing down again. Wettest April in 77 years, so I'm told. Ah well, wet weekend, hot water bottle, tea and tv. It's not all bad. (well, I'm not getting up any ladders this weekend, am I?)
Tuesday: I just got a thank you. I think I might have to go and have a lie down. This never happens. Still, it won't be long before I'm verbally slapped around again, often for doing exactly what I'm told. Sigh.
It's also still raining. It's been raing for nearly a fortnight now. It hasn't rained like since 1990 or therabouts and I'm entirely unused to it. And our gutters, shall we say, are shot. More expensive repairs. Sigh.
At least the cakes went down well last night. I did some cleaning up yesterday (one can never just throw stuff in a garbage bag these days, one must sort one's refuse, which takes the bulk of the time alloted, I find, oh for the glory days when being an upright citizen merely meant getting the bloody stuff in the bin).
I just don't have enough time. I've given up scanning, writing, websites, reading, watching dvds, listening to music, going out and now I've had to give up reading the flist and downloading stuff. The flist had to go because, unable to keep up with telly, I can't read anything to do with Torchwood, Ashes to Ashes, Doctor Who, etc, and that cuts out most of the flist, as you might imagine.
Though points for the Jon Stewart clips, I enjoyed those. We do get the show out here, but a cut down version, like Top Gear and SNL (which has long ago lost is relevance, though we don't even have Studio 60 out here yet), which never has the bits I wanted to see (Top Gear deleted the whole Phil Glenister in the reasonably priced car bit). It's very annoying. But it seems I must wait for local, decades late, horribly edited versions, or dvds with no extras. How cruel. How unkind. How miserable.
I don't even get my magazines. I haven't had any mail from the UK since February. Not even my subscriptions or newsletters. They must be landfill by now. I'm still fuming about the Top of the Pops annuals the Royal Mail lost last year (and the Louvre catalogues, to lesser extent). Worse, it was the last proper conversation I had with my mother, discussing how utterly distressed I was they'd not arrived (they were a gift for the Peanut Gallery). I hate the person who stole them. A pox on them and all their descendants.
Btw, my Jane Austen newsletter, which arrives via electronic epistle these days, was blocked by the new regime for obscene content. Obscene content? Jane???!!!
You see what I have to work with, here.
So yeah, bit hormonal, bit tired, poor, damp, and miserable. And bored. Did I mention bored? I'm only looking after seven sites now and I'm bored. Sure, I got home earlier yesterday but there's not a lot to be done when it's dark and wet, except throw out old magazines, which I did, a bit (not so much that you'd even notice, what's one pile among many?). Sigh.
Anyway, what started this whine was reading this review of Dr Who here. I just wanted to see it. Sigh. And I haven't even mentioned how my software no longer works and my PC reckons it doesn't have a dvd any more. I thought about copying said file onto a flash drive, but that's hardly the thing. I just wanted to curl up under blankies and watch Dr Who on a proper telly (because the pc still overheats something chronic, even if I'm turning blue from hypothermia because I've got all the windows and doors open to try and cool down the bloody thing).
So I will, only it'll be Hartnell, Troughton or Pertwee. and I'll probably enjoy it lots. Yeah, what does it matter? I have plenty of dvds to be going on with in those rare moments when it's too late or dark for housework (less rare now it's winter and all the col telly is gone). So what if everyone else is raving over the latest Who and I'm happily viewing 1962 Avengers. Back to my own little corner of the universe, with no one else to talk to - as it should be, I suppose. Doesn't matter, I rather like those old black and white Avengers (and Doctor Who and Adam Adamant). A cup of tea and a biscuit, and I'll be all right. Until another waterfall plunges through the crumbling roof, of course.
The housewife explorers who climbed the Himalayas
Brothers in arms (Stevenson)
FOR YOUR EYES ONLY: IAN FLEMING AND JAMES BOND
Lucas fears Indiana Jones backlash
Ford, Lucas, Spielberg on risky quest for treasure
Indy, superheroes aiming to rule silver screen
Exploring 'Young Indiana Jones'
D.B. Cooper case has become an open book for the FBI
Spring already in nature's step
Heroes star soaking up limelight
They're never gonna give you up, Rick
Some say he's Top Gear's true star. We only know he's The Stig
Redback plague closes hospital
Trapped 41 hours in elevator
How to sing like a planet
Actors make the most of their parts
We're Living in the 70s
Can seashells save the world?
The dangers of not enough iron
Justice & Police Museum (b/w photos)
The Battersea Shield
Kew opens botanical art gallery
Heroes back to save the day
Study uncovers smell link in traumatised veterans
Ex-detective among six arrests over axe murder of private eye
Australia becomes a whole lot bigger after UN ruling
Women in Art
7,000 years older than Stonehenge: the site that stunned archaeologists
An ideal picture of British character
LINDA MCCARTNEY PHOTOGRAPHS
Antiphonal : Common of the Saints / Neri da Rimini
Selected pages from Les Roses / Pierre-Joseph Redoute
The Zoology of the voyage of H.M.S. Beagle
Britain's busted flush
Drawings by William Bligh, commander of H.M.S. Providence, 1791-93
Heritage Gallery - maps
Botanical drawings of mainly Australian plants, ca. 1852-1896 / by Helena Forde
15th Century Archive
Historia animalium. Liber 1-4 (selected pages)
Stultifera Navis … Ship of Fooles, wherein is shewed the folly of all states, with divers other workes. Translated out of Latin into Englishe by Alexander Barclay, priest. 1570
Poissons, ecrevisses et crabes, de diverses couleurs et figures extraordinaires, que l'on trouve autour des isles Moluques et sur les côtes des terres australes by Louis Renard
Drawings of birds chiefly from Australia, 1791-1792
Bluestockings: Keeping brilliant women in the frame
Album of 31 original watercolours of Australian fauna c. 1790
Musei Leveriani explicatio, anglica et latina / opera et studio Georgii Shaw = Museum Leverianum : containing select specimens from the museum of the late Sir Ashton Lever, Kt. / with descriptions in Latin and English by George Shaw
Illustrations of spiders and insects from Ash Island, 1852-1864 / by Helena Scott and Harriet Scott
The botany of the Antarctic voyage of H.M. discovery ships Erebus and Terror in the years 1839-1843 : under the command of Captain Sir James Clark Ross / by Joseph Dalton Hooker
Thomas Laycock, wearing the uniform of the 98th Regiment, c. 1811
Portrait of an unidentified man, on board ship, 1842 / watercolour by Edmund Edgar
Robert Louis Stevenson and family
Sketches of Murray and Darling Rivers Taken in Camp, 1865-66 / H. Forde
Is your postcode killing you?
Spelling skillz optional 4 Lolcat job
Windows, panes and the hole damn thing
Those out-of-pocket experiences
You don't need kids to cry like a baby
Toying with the idea of manliness