Mishmash of the last week.
Mum and I speculated that perhaps the reason that Buckingham Palace didn't get too badly damaged in the Second World War was because Goering was hoping he was the same dress size as the Queen Mother. I sent Dad a postcard with the Queen and Prince Philip on it because I think it will provide him with an interesting dilemma with which to occupy his time: whether to keep it or whether to scream, tear it into small pieces and set fire to it. He hates Prince Philip. Though judging from his last letter, I worry that he hates everything now except for Kevin Rudd (who, for reasons best known to my subconscious, I have started picturing turning up to shadow cabinet meetings wearing a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt, doing his hair like Robert Smith of The Cure and sitting up moodily at the back with an air of 'I told you so').
Went to do laundry at a place run by woman who looked and sounded exactly like what I have always imagined Baba Yaga to look and sound like. Expected at any moment laundrette to get up on chicken legs and piss of with socks.
Then we went to look at the houses of parliament but were completely distracted by this bit of disembodied turret out on the lawn. Still no idea what it is. I suggested it might be where Tony Blair comes to cry at night, because he realises now that Iraq was a mistake and God is punishing him by giving him a bad heart and no hair.
Went to meet jisms (F.) on Tuesday, who is a peach. Mum loves her (probably more than she loves me at the moment, because I gave her a cold). F. showed us mucher nicer parts of London than we would have found by ourselves, and fed us food that did not make us want to die immediately with horror and disgust. And we're going to her house for dinner on Tues.! After that we escape London for Exeter so I can see mal, because I miss her.
Living on Sainsbury's yoghurt is fun for a while, but think I may go mad an attempt to boil pasta in the kettle tonight.
Hotel full of bloody Australians. No topic of conversation except the election. It's 1996 all over again. J.Ho has very obviously won, and yet do you think you can find one person who will actually admit to voting for him? No. This is because of the demographic he apeals to: deeply hypocritical liars who are secretly disgusted and ashamed with themselves. They don't believe really that they deserve to be happy, and their chosen method of self-flagellation is re-electing John Howard.
Very behind on LJ comments -- Hotmail has had tizzy and won't let me reply. Try to catch up soon. Sorry!
Went to do laundry at a place run by woman who looked and sounded exactly like what I have always imagined Baba Yaga to look and sound like. Expected at any moment laundrette to get up on chicken legs and piss of with socks.
Then we went to look at the houses of parliament but were completely distracted by this bit of disembodied turret out on the lawn. Still no idea what it is. I suggested it might be where Tony Blair comes to cry at night, because he realises now that Iraq was a mistake and God is punishing him by giving him a bad heart and no hair.
Went to meet jisms (F.) on Tuesday, who is a peach. Mum loves her (probably more than she loves me at the moment, because I gave her a cold). F. showed us mucher nicer parts of London than we would have found by ourselves, and fed us food that did not make us want to die immediately with horror and disgust. And we're going to her house for dinner on Tues.! After that we escape London for Exeter so I can see mal, because I miss her.
Living on Sainsbury's yoghurt is fun for a while, but think I may go mad an attempt to boil pasta in the kettle tonight.
Hotel full of bloody Australians. No topic of conversation except the election. It's 1996 all over again. J.Ho has very obviously won, and yet do you think you can find one person who will actually admit to voting for him? No. This is because of the demographic he apeals to: deeply hypocritical liars who are secretly disgusted and ashamed with themselves. They don't believe really that they deserve to be happy, and their chosen method of self-flagellation is re-electing John Howard.
Very behind on LJ comments -- Hotmail has had tizzy and won't let me reply. Try to catch up soon. Sorry!