No Really, It's Offal...
Haha, I just typed in 'liverjournal' in the address bar and was baffled momentarily when nothing appeared! My spelling is infernally bad at present, as is much of my communication.
Yesterday, I awoke with the Mother of all Hangovers, which combined with the depressive dizziness damn near kept me on my back all day. There was a deaf man called Richard who looked rather like 'Sealboy' Mat Fraser here, measuring things and attaching and reattaching an assortment of accessability aids for the post-op fallout.
My quasi-autistic tendencies are in overdrive at the new 'cripple seat' we've had fitted in the bathroom (see below); one can no longer close the lid whilst one is flushing. See http://serendip.brynmawr.edu/biology/b103/f02/web2/stan.html for the reasons why. I know, it's very anal. I'm fearful of overdosing on cooties.
It also makes one's bum rather cold. And don't even get me started on the problems I had shaving the bits! I ended up in the bath, squatting over a mirror, flaying big-ass chunks of delicate flesh off owing to the poor lighting conditions. Not attractive.
Saturday was cool. BM decided we were going to Town to Tussauds - can you believe he's never been? - and for a general hoon, looking for willing victims for our tomfoolery. Needless to say, they were everywhere. We giggled our way around London for a bit, took in various 'sites' (read, Places of Interest To Geeks'), then hobbled on home, unable to walk any further. Fun! There will be photos on Flickr soon.
Sunday I got wankered, as is the usual order of the day here. Last time we're gonna be able to do it with The Mother for a few weeks now, too, so I made the most of it, and filled myself up with champagne and Jim Beam til 2am-ish. Iggy hung out til stupid-late. He's such a bad influence on me...and I'm so easily led.
I need to invest some time in getting decent pics of the self produced for the next phase of my 'plan'. BM will have to help, and will have to learn to keep a poker face, as the idea is really not to laugh for this kind of caper. Then we go on a huuuuge bill-sticking/'net posting campaign. Watch out, people; the tits are a-comin'!
A young lady on the TV this morning was describing her depression as, 'like wading through treacle'. I can't think of a more perfect way to word it. Exactly how I've felt for these past 2 weeks. They seem to have passed in a rather indistinct blur of sleepiness and daytime TV.
Just a shame I don't like treacle, really, isn't it?!
Yesterday, I awoke with the Mother of all Hangovers, which combined with the depressive dizziness damn near kept me on my back all day. There was a deaf man called Richard who looked rather like 'Sealboy' Mat Fraser here, measuring things and attaching and reattaching an assortment of accessability aids for the post-op fallout.
My quasi-autistic tendencies are in overdrive at the new 'cripple seat' we've had fitted in the bathroom (see below); one can no longer close the lid whilst one is flushing. See http://serendip.brynmawr.edu/biology/b103/f02/web2/stan.html for the reasons why. I know, it's very anal. I'm fearful of overdosing on cooties.
It also makes one's bum rather cold. And don't even get me started on the problems I had shaving the bits! I ended up in the bath, squatting over a mirror, flaying big-ass chunks of delicate flesh off owing to the poor lighting conditions. Not attractive.
Saturday was cool. BM decided we were going to Town to Tussauds - can you believe he's never been? - and for a general hoon, looking for willing victims for our tomfoolery. Needless to say, they were everywhere. We giggled our way around London for a bit, took in various 'sites' (read, Places of Interest To Geeks'), then hobbled on home, unable to walk any further. Fun! There will be photos on Flickr soon.
Sunday I got wankered, as is the usual order of the day here. Last time we're gonna be able to do it with The Mother for a few weeks now, too, so I made the most of it, and filled myself up with champagne and Jim Beam til 2am-ish. Iggy hung out til stupid-late. He's such a bad influence on me...and I'm so easily led.
I need to invest some time in getting decent pics of the self produced for the next phase of my 'plan'. BM will have to help, and will have to learn to keep a poker face, as the idea is really not to laugh for this kind of caper. Then we go on a huuuuge bill-sticking/'net posting campaign. Watch out, people; the tits are a-comin'!
A young lady on the TV this morning was describing her depression as, 'like wading through treacle'. I can't think of a more perfect way to word it. Exactly how I've felt for these past 2 weeks. They seem to have passed in a rather indistinct blur of sleepiness and daytime TV.
Just a shame I don't like treacle, really, isn't it?!