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Blog posts
Making a dress, Des Anges fashion.
Today's activities:
* Kicked the rear bumper of a sports car driven by two polo-shirted cocks through a pelican crossing through a red light (directly after a fucking lorry which had also driven through a red light); they stopped because LAWL TURNS OUT THERE'S TRAFFIC IN FRONT OF YOU, YOU DICKS. Then turned round when I kicked them so I shouted "YOU'RE NOT THAT FUCKING IMPORTANT" and stormed on into the pub. Putney/Fulham/SW-London in general has repeatedly been full of people who think their cars are more important than human beings and one day I am going to disabuse them of this notion with a blowtorch.
* Offered to car bomb Susanne's manager/housemate-wanker, quite loudly.
* Managed to be charming and vaguely flirtatious with bar staff in the face of their card machine developing a bad case of being made by Vodafone.
* Ate a lot of subpar food.
* Bawled SHUT UP RETARDS while passing a table full of oiks regurgitating the Daily Mail on the subject of the NHS because fuck it, I am spoiling for a fight.
* Came home again.
Things I continue to not like about the Kindle:
* If you leave it asleep for more than a few seconds it apparently has to be rebooted before you can read anything. This takes forever and means you get less reading done, and also that you look like a twat, and lose your place in the index of books. I have nearly 500 separate items on there.
* If you don't leave it asleep while you're, say, in the pub, the battery runs down almost immediately.
* Sometimes, like just now for instance, it just arbitrarily freezes while you are reading it, refuses to go onto the next page, back a page, or indeed do anything, so you have to do a hard reboot again.
* If you complain about any of these things in the company of other people who own the infernal device, they just look haughty and say "well mine doesn't do that".
I should point out that books do none of these things. As such the only books I have on the blasted contraption (I am TRYING not to be a late-adopting luddite technophobe as is my nature but this machine is making it VERY HARD. NB: Still do not have or want a smartphone, just a phone that will actually let me type out texts a little faster than carving them into granite with a lead spoon) are free, or journal articles, or fanfic (ie. things I was unlikely to be reading in paper format anyway).
Possibly related to unrelating bad dreams and hormones, I am also filled with a swill of bad doom feelings insisting that everything I do is wrong and everyone hates me; curiously not holding up my assaults on the wankers of Putney as evidence of this, even though that would be the most obvious example. No, it's far more esoteric. My writing makes me a wanker, or my ... desire to talk to people, or something? Very strange, brain. Very strange.
Making a dress, Des Anges fashion.
Today's activities:
* Kicked the rear bumper of a sports car driven by two polo-shirted cocks through a pelican crossing through a red light (directly after a fucking lorry which had also driven through a red light); they stopped because LAWL TURNS OUT THERE'S TRAFFIC IN FRONT OF YOU, YOU DICKS. Then turned round when I kicked them so I shouted "YOU'RE NOT THAT FUCKING IMPORTANT" and stormed on into the pub. Putney/Fulham/SW-London in general has repeatedly been full of people who think their cars are more important than human beings and one day I am going to disabuse them of this notion with a blowtorch.
* Offered to car bomb Susanne's manager/housemate-wanker, quite loudly.
* Managed to be charming and vaguely flirtatious with bar staff in the face of their card machine developing a bad case of being made by Vodafone.
* Ate a lot of subpar food.
* Bawled SHUT UP RETARDS while passing a table full of oiks regurgitating the Daily Mail on the subject of the NHS because fuck it, I am spoiling for a fight.
* Came home again.
Things I continue to not like about the Kindle:
* If you leave it asleep for more than a few seconds it apparently has to be rebooted before you can read anything. This takes forever and means you get less reading done, and also that you look like a twat, and lose your place in the index of books. I have nearly 500 separate items on there.
* If you don't leave it asleep while you're, say, in the pub, the battery runs down almost immediately.
* Sometimes, like just now for instance, it just arbitrarily freezes while you are reading it, refuses to go onto the next page, back a page, or indeed do anything, so you have to do a hard reboot again.
* If you complain about any of these things in the company of other people who own the infernal device, they just look haughty and say "well mine doesn't do that".
I should point out that books do none of these things. As such the only books I have on the blasted contraption (I am TRYING not to be a late-adopting luddite technophobe as is my nature but this machine is making it VERY HARD. NB: Still do not have or want a smartphone, just a phone that will actually let me type out texts a little faster than carving them into granite with a lead spoon) are free, or journal articles, or fanfic (ie. things I was unlikely to be reading in paper format anyway).
Possibly related to unrelating bad dreams and hormones, I am also filled with a swill of bad doom feelings insisting that everything I do is wrong and everyone hates me; curiously not holding up my assaults on the wankers of Putney as evidence of this, even though that would be the most obvious example. No, it's far more esoteric. My writing makes me a wanker, or my ... desire to talk to people, or something? Very strange, brain. Very strange.