Monday, November 28, 2005

cool blogs

check out maths and the meaning of life at how scary can a ten-year-old girl be at

As promised... why worry?

War was on the horizon. Two soldiers were discussing the situation."I hope I'm not called," said one. "I'm not the type for war. I have the courage of the spirit, but nevertheless I shrink from it.""But what is there to be frightened about?" asked the other. "Let's analyze it. After all, there are two possibilities: either war will break out, or it won't. If it doesn't, there's no cause for alarm. If it does, there are two possibilities: either they take you or they don't take you. If they don't, alarm is needless. And even if they do, there are two possibilities: either you're given combat duty, or non-combatant duty. If non-combatant, what is there to be worried about? And if combat duty, there are two possibilities: you'll be wounded, or you won't be wounded. Now, if you're not wounded, you can forget your fears. But even if you're wounded, there are two possibilities: either you're wounded gravely, or you're wounded slightly. If you're wounded slightly, your fear is nonsensical, and if you're wounded gravely, there are still two possibilities: either you succumb, and die, or you don't succumb, and live. If you don't die, things are fine, and there is no cause for alarm; and even if you do die... what is there to worry about??? . . . but why be afraid? There may not be any war at all!"

Friday, November 25, 2005

hmmmm... I'm an optimist of sorts and I like to think the human race is basically alright. That most people are actually quite nice, try to be good, have a logical and ethical moral code to which they adhere. But I work 'on the front line' (as my department phrases it) with The public, and they are the most unpleasant, bad-breathed, stinking, wandering-eyed, dirty, rude, drunken, incoherent, rambling, ranting, ugly, pushy bunch imaginable. So how come individual people are nice, people in general are nice, but The Public are horrible? I blame society.

Things that have the same name as you

I've decided to make the best of things today. (Yesterday I had an eventful evening after getting home at nine-thirty. Love-bird did not return home from his French lesson and I spent the evening phoning him, all his friends etc. I decided he had obviously been mugged, and upon his resistance the mugger had stabbed him. He was clearly lying in a gutter choking on his own blood somewhere. Before I could call the police he moped in, head hanging. I don't understand how he can know he'll be in the dog-house, know I'll be upset, know he'll get a bollocking and still not call me to let me know he's going to the pub. Really, it is a complete mystery to me.) But anyway, today I keep remembering that WW1 poem about worry. I'll look it up*, but the main idea was; some shit you can do something about, so don't worry, just do it. Some shit there's nothing you can do: so don't worry. *When I've finished looking up things that have the same name as me...

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Other things that happened today (and the Curse of the Blog)

We all lost our pay dispute and were given a highly unpleasant slap on the wrist by someone who has nothing to do with us at all. Who is in fact a vampire sucking 30% off every hour I work. And to continue asking for a raise will make him an enemy. Only bad things have happened to me since I started this blog.

currently reading

Dancing in my Nuddy-pants by Louise Rennison (at work) The Eustace Diamonds by Anthony Trollope (on the train) Full Tilt by Dervla Murphy (in my lunch break) Learning Teaching by Jim Scrivener (in bed) and I would recommend all of these... depending if you are a teenage girl, a trainee teacher, a wannabe round-the-world cyclist or a high society Victorian. (Go on, see if you can match the title to it's reader. Or guess which one(s) I am. Just remembered I forgot to get those chips.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Going home

I'm going to buy chips. Not a very interesting blogger so far, am I?

If you google my dad

It's always wednesdays, isn't it?

And so today I came to work late, resigned, threw my intray in the bin, burst into tears, told my boss I hated him, had a fag, was asked if I had been joking, had another cry, had a cup of tea, took my intray back out of the bin and had another fag. Not necessarily all in that order. It's always wednesdays, isn't it?