Bugger *this* for a game of soldiers in a two man tent!
Hey there flist!
- point the first - I am battling with pupillage applications, which makes me mumpy grumpy bitch Ruth. I had to ring the helpline this morning to ask them why my 148 word answer wouldn't fit in the 150 word box. The answer? 150 words was a guess. It's actually done on number of characters. I must use long words. Can they tell me the number of characters? No, they can't remember. It's 20 mother fucking 10 - how is a profession that uses an online application process so technologically retarded?
- point the second - my Welsh accent is out to play at the moment. I am clearly stressed. It was the big electoral debate last night, and it's hustings tonight. Politics! All I have to say is, go Nick Clegg, you go!
- point the third - yesterday was a day of bizarre kind of crapness for me, and someone very important to me. I was maudlin for approaching 24 hours (approximately 23 hours and 59 minutes longer than I deemed acceptable). If she's reading this, then, well, we're good. Better than good. So don't worry.
YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS:
TIME TO HIT THE MOTHERFUCKING GLEE BUTTON!
Everyone has one. It's that thing that you do, when you're in a slump and don't know how to unslump yourself. For my part, I prefer tea, chocolate buttons, and dancing. To that end, I provide this little gem; the Futureheads version of Kate Bush's Hounds of Love. Dance, be uplifted, and someone come kick my lazy ass back into my applications!
- point the first - I am battling with pupillage applications, which makes me mumpy grumpy bitch Ruth. I had to ring the helpline this morning to ask them why my 148 word answer wouldn't fit in the 150 word box. The answer? 150 words was a guess. It's actually done on number of characters. I must use long words. Can they tell me the number of characters? No, they can't remember. It's 20 mother fucking 10 - how is a profession that uses an online application process so technologically retarded?
- point the second - my Welsh accent is out to play at the moment. I am clearly stressed. It was the big electoral debate last night, and it's hustings tonight. Politics! All I have to say is, go Nick Clegg, you go!
- point the third - yesterday was a day of bizarre kind of crapness for me, and someone very important to me. I was maudlin for approaching 24 hours (approximately 23 hours and 59 minutes longer than I deemed acceptable). If she's reading this, then, well, we're good. Better than good. So don't worry.
YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS:
TIME TO HIT THE MOTHERFUCKING GLEE BUTTON!
Everyone has one. It's that thing that you do, when you're in a slump and don't know how to unslump yourself. For my part, I prefer tea, chocolate buttons, and dancing. To that end, I provide this little gem; the Futureheads version of Kate Bush's Hounds of Love. Dance, be uplifted, and someone come kick my lazy ass back into my applications!
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