Having teeth and eyes is expensive.
Got up at 7.30. Went to the gym with Lindsay and proceeded to have a fight on the way back about how often he thought I should be going to the gym vs how often I thought I should be going to the gym, which ended in an RJDr solution - IE, I agreed with him ("if you're so in control, Derek, show it by practicing a little moderation") and will now proceed to ignore completely what he said because he ain't around to stop me and also I'm thirty-four years old and I will decide when I have had enough.
Following this I dragged myself up to the dentist, ready to FIGHT about name changes; there was no fight, I changed all my details including gender on a handy iPad form, I went and had my teeth looked at. "No cavities YET but you're right the enamel is becoming spongy", blah blah blah blah blah blah I have to go back in two weeks and fork out £100 for a "not-exactly-filling" to stop it from turning into a cavity. On top of the fifty-odd quid I paid today. And this ON the NHS. Brr. I should get all my teeth replaced with diamonds. Anyway, apparently my brushing is fine and I just need to floss and all the usual things dentists literally always say, but no angry Italian shouting this time.
Being On A Roll (and as Susanne was afflicted of headache and asked for a brief postponement) I hefted myself to the optician and got myself some new, Distinctly Starving Weimar Poet spectacles for another bloody £75 (and a conversation/competition with the optical technician over which of us was the bigger loser, her for joining Social Netball or me for taking a dance class. Spoilers: It's me, because I said so).
THEN put myself on a train to see Susanne, giving me ample time to noodle a bit more of Liza's silly fic and also indulge a lot more in the Jake Arnott book - and I know I shouldn't, but I *am* rather pleased that I managed to guess his sexuality correctly on the basis of reading 2.2 of his books (I'm rather further into the book now); a swift Google revealed that y'man Jake is indeed "identifying as bisexual" (it's only bisexuals who Identify As, btw, and asexuals. Us gays of either sort, and of course The Straights, do not have that hokey "identifying as" shoved in front). I remain sympathetic - indeed even more sympathetic - to Fighting Mac. Aleister remains a pretentious twat of the first water. Good stuff.
[I'm sort of intermittently reading The Mint on my phone as well, Walter's rather grating sexual excesses being on hold until I can face dealing with his relentless if pleasantly honest heterosexuality; Loz is A Mess of a man]
At Susanne's we ... primarily talked about cats and the end of the world. Oh, and watched a video of Daveed Diggs singing the Rubber Duckie song, which was very nice (he is terribly good-looking). Uh. What else. Oh, I lay down by their gas fire for approximately a million years.
Following this I dragged myself up to the dentist, ready to FIGHT about name changes; there was no fight, I changed all my details including gender on a handy iPad form, I went and had my teeth looked at. "No cavities YET but you're right the enamel is becoming spongy", blah blah blah blah blah blah I have to go back in two weeks and fork out £100 for a "not-exactly-filling" to stop it from turning into a cavity. On top of the fifty-odd quid I paid today. And this ON the NHS. Brr. I should get all my teeth replaced with diamonds. Anyway, apparently my brushing is fine and I just need to floss and all the usual things dentists literally always say, but no angry Italian shouting this time.
Being On A Roll (and as Susanne was afflicted of headache and asked for a brief postponement) I hefted myself to the optician and got myself some new, Distinctly Starving Weimar Poet spectacles for another bloody £75 (and a conversation/competition with the optical technician over which of us was the bigger loser, her for joining Social Netball or me for taking a dance class. Spoilers: It's me, because I said so).
THEN put myself on a train to see Susanne, giving me ample time to noodle a bit more of Liza's silly fic and also indulge a lot more in the Jake Arnott book - and I know I shouldn't, but I *am* rather pleased that I managed to guess his sexuality correctly on the basis of reading 2.2 of his books (I'm rather further into the book now); a swift Google revealed that y'man Jake is indeed "identifying as bisexual" (it's only bisexuals who Identify As, btw, and asexuals. Us gays of either sort, and of course The Straights, do not have that hokey "identifying as" shoved in front). I remain sympathetic - indeed even more sympathetic - to Fighting Mac. Aleister remains a pretentious twat of the first water. Good stuff.
[I'm sort of intermittently reading The Mint on my phone as well, Walter's rather grating sexual excesses being on hold until I can face dealing with his relentless if pleasantly honest heterosexuality; Loz is A Mess of a man]
At Susanne's we ... primarily talked about cats and the end of the world. Oh, and watched a video of Daveed Diggs singing the Rubber Duckie song, which was very nice (he is terribly good-looking). Uh. What else. Oh, I lay down by their gas fire for approximately a million years.