Things I've done this weekend:
Gotten really bloody upset that Kinja isn't working at the moment.
Made a MoBlog
Spent thirteen hours on motorways, and still only advanced my CNPS score by one (22!)
Wound people up deliberately by being obstructively Tory at inopportune moments; I don't really and truly think that the poor could send their children to private school if they'd only re-prioritise. Sorry.
Done my level best not to chat with relatives.
Inherited twelve photographs of me and my sister in party clothing in the nineteen seventies.
Paddled in the beach at Formby. Until I saw the sheer billions of evil stinging jellyfish polka dotting the incoming tides.
Begun to be amused by Vernon God Little, after hating the first 53 pages.
Listened to a Kurt Weill / George Gershwin / Cole Porter cabaret set at the Purcell Rooms.
Eaten indonesian food with jatb, with whom I don't rant pointlessly about politics, and I feel extremely empowered about that...
Noticed that an entire family striding out of a funeral home in full black gear with white shirts looks bizarrely boy bandish.
Or like Reservoir Dogs. Except I had silver trainers on, which makes me Mr Brown.
Forgot to get in the Daimler to get to the graveside because I was (a) having fun singing in a high pitched voice, (b) desperate for a pee.
Snuck out of a wake to get a lift to a Cheshire Starbucks, then been accused of sneaking in beer on my return. Wish I'd thought of it first, you know.
Broken my mobile phone. The microphone doesn't work. Don't ring me. I'll only get irritated and cut you off without explanation or by your leave.
Taken about a gazillion photographs, and deleted about 300 in the realisation that obsessive attention to trivia is an unattractive thing in a humanoid.
Nearly committed murder against the hordes of Spanish exchange students who broke every single train exit barrier at London Bridge, eight hot, stickily sweat drenched, pulse thumpingly annoying hours into my journey home.
Hitched home in order to leave earlier. Which meant I had to stay awake. Mucho cola, as they Do Not Do Real Caffeine Up North.
Gotten jealous over the guest blogger's posts.
Sat this afternoon in the sun, staring at the customers and visualising their bloodied heads exploding over the windows behind. Not good. Not good at all.
Rejected another demand for money from Tybalt. I'm not being mean, I don't have any. She can join the queue of creditors.
Wondered whether to blog the unjustice of a date where I decide I'm not that interested, then end up all twisted up inside because, dammit, she also didn't phone me. Darntwattit, I was disinterested first, you bastard!
Prevented myself from blogging a devastatingly blow by blow account of bedroom events on said date as revenge, on the grounds that nobody will like me any more if they realise I'm capable of that sort of thing.
Secretly decided to do it months later, when nobody will notice. Hah.