Christ on a bike!
I'm afraid it's time for a self-centred whinge. Wait, you're reading a blog - that's just what you'll be expected. Heh.
It's stupid. I sit driving in my car after work, my over-tired, frazzled mind sparking up ideas of what I "need" to moan about, and as soon as I open Blogger's text editor it feels like a blockage has been removed from my brain, and I feel utterly fine again. GOT.... TO.... RETURN.... MYSELF..... TO...... MISERY.....
.... "Carol Thatcher"...... There, that should do it.
It's been no wonder I've felt in need of release. Too long without a holiday, too hectic at work just now, too much insecurity in the world.
I guess it could be worse. At least I'm in work. My mate Cazza has just been made redundant from Merck Sharp and Dohme Research Laboratories (Neuroscience Research Centre). What a pisser. Cazza occasionally pops by these pages (she calls it "my blogspot" - ah, bless the non-bloggers out there; however, Starbuck now ponders: "blogspot" - it is admitedly a frucking stupid domain name, let's face it), so may I just shout this out "Hiya Cazza. Don't you worry. Being made redundant was the high-point of one of my jobs. Just think - you can now get a cheap "leisure card" for those trips to your local municipal amenities, and just think about all that Diagnosis Murder you'll be able to watch. Or you could be like me: self-teach yourself basic C++ for no apparent reason. Good for party tricks."
Harumph. Here's me using my time on VSX to contact my RL friends 'cos I can't find the time any other time. Something wrong there. Not enough time. Crikey, I'm still flapping around helplessly in the flurry of self-pity that I launched Friday night.
But it's true what I wrote. I miss the regular doses from my blogroll that enrich my life. I miss you Astolath. Where have you been soaring lately, Birdy? Bob, I want you back. I miss the transport to London from Harriet. Jen, I hope all is well. Max, when I met your blog it was moider! Keep the Bristol Massive flag flying for me, Psychbloke. I need the Workday Timer more than ever right now, Rob"> - thanks for the coding. I miss your chuckles, Ron (you should join the Elliot Brothers!) Saturnyne, I really am running out of these follow-up lines! I miss Susan's sunshine. Tam, Tam, wherefore art thou Tam? Hope you're writing those Matrix prequels, Tom...
Sob. It'd be easier if I blogged in work-time, but time is tight, and Starbuck is conscientious.
Still, life's going well on the whole, aside from one or two minor botherations. No positive news to report on the house as yet. However they do say that no news is good news. Or it would be if it weren't for the odd bit of no-good news that crackles over our newswire. In addition to the possibility of sulphate attack, the latest Environmental Search result: Natural subsidence and land instability, floodplain, Local Authority Pollution Prevention Control sites, abstraction and discharge to the watercourse, action against waste disposal sites, industrial sites with potentially contaminative land use, mineral extraction sites, new pipeline developments, etceterbleedinra. Yikes!
Whatever happens happens. At least we're getting the storage heater fixed next week in our curently-very-cold rented accommodation!
And whilst I'm wittering on in the chipper manner that I hadn't intended, a quick review of Stewart (Don't shout "TMWRNJ") Lee, whose 90s Comedian tour myself and Mrs Powersurge recently witnessed. Flipping marvellous. I've always liked Mr Lee's work, and indeed he feels that this was the "best reviewed show of the 2005 Edinburgh Fringe". And as a frustrated old nonbeliever in holy ghosts and the like, I'm always delighted when comedians guve a kickig to the Big Stern Guy in the Sky, and SL has more reason than most after the unwarranted cries of blasphemy orchestrated by Christian Voice over his production of Jerry Spring The Opera. The setpiece of his show was an epic shaggy dog story charting how the stress brought on by the hate campaign had led him off the rails mentally, and exacerbated by a bad barley wine experience at a pub near his mother's, he had his own vision of being led home by Jesus Christ. Unfortunate then that the story ended up with him pissing the vomit out of the gaping anus of Christ...! He was even sick on his mother's Cat's Feet Towel!
Very fracking funny, and a necessary, well-reasoned response to the antillectual bullies of the Unenlightened. IMHO. TMWRNJ.
However funny it could possibly have been, however, it couldn't ever be even half as funny as this old flyer for a show by Lee's former comedy partner, Richard Herring. Sorry Stew.
Anyway, that's enough words spent by a man at the end of his retinal tether. No time to tell you about my theories regarding how ongoing changes to the nipsy affect one's anal chords when it comes to the farting process (and I've been meaning to return to this since March last year!)
Those 942 words have knackered me out. I think that VSX will probably be turning all photobloggy for a few weeks...
Hmm, yes, the nipsy is the arsehole (I was hoping to cite a reference to Viz's Profanisaurus swearing dictionary, but its not currently in the database of dirt!)
I'm glad I forgot to "follow this through" at the time - I was going to elaborate on some tunes that my anal announcements occasionally sound like (for example summat off Goldie's Timeless - not got it to hand to check, but ?Kemistry? or ?Still Life?, or some old Eighties song I can't recall. Harumph.)
Glad you're shining again, Susan. Me too.
I had to take the day off work today , myself - I had a very bad night after writing this post (gnawing anxiety etc), but had to go to work yesterday to clear a few things up. So I'm glad of a rest!