(no subject)
MY INTERNETS.
I haven't been entirely without them. I've just been without them at work, and otherwise cat-sitting and without much time or inclination to play with them particularly.
But now they are HERE. And I have 312 more envelopes to stuff, label, frank and bag up, preferably before the end of the day.
But, the INTERNETS. *cuddles them*
I'm coming across some lovely random names and street names doing this mailout. Also, Timothy West knows I'm a plonker. He knows this because his address label has clearly been peeled off his envelope and stuck back on. He doesn't know that this is because I put the first envelope through the franking machine at a weird angle and it printed all wonky and half not on the paper. But I do. It just would have been that envelope.
Harrison Parrot. Real name. Also Dr Harmer. And someone else lives at number 44, The Squirrels.
Potterdammerung! I remain unspoiled so far. At least I shall definitely get my hands on a copy on Saturday. But what's the betting that some insensitive newspaper runs the outcome as a headline somewhere? Anyway, I am partly just looking forward to the inevitable fandom implosion as yet more people have their favourite ships blown out of the water... between death, pre-death smooches and unexpected heterosexuality, I'm not sure I believe there'll be a couple left standing.
Only ten days of OSJ left. Sort of vaguely sad except for the things I will totally not miss like the bloody commute, gah.
Only 212 envelopes to go.
192.
I really need to stop pausing to count how many envelopes I've got still to do.
I haven't been entirely without them. I've just been without them at work, and otherwise cat-sitting and without much time or inclination to play with them particularly.
But now they are HERE. And I have 312 more envelopes to stuff, label, frank and bag up, preferably before the end of the day.
But, the INTERNETS. *cuddles them*
I'm coming across some lovely random names and street names doing this mailout. Also, Timothy West knows I'm a plonker. He knows this because his address label has clearly been peeled off his envelope and stuck back on. He doesn't know that this is because I put the first envelope through the franking machine at a weird angle and it printed all wonky and half not on the paper. But I do. It just would have been that envelope.
Harrison Parrot. Real name. Also Dr Harmer. And someone else lives at number 44, The Squirrels.
Potterdammerung! I remain unspoiled so far. At least I shall definitely get my hands on a copy on Saturday. But what's the betting that some insensitive newspaper runs the outcome as a headline somewhere? Anyway, I am partly just looking forward to the inevitable fandom implosion as yet more people have their favourite ships blown out of the water... between death, pre-death smooches and unexpected heterosexuality, I'm not sure I believe there'll be a couple left standing.
Only ten days of OSJ left. Sort of vaguely sad except for the things I will totally not miss like the bloody commute, gah.
Only 212 envelopes to go.
192.
I really need to stop pausing to count how many envelopes I've got still to do.