August 27th, 2011

ckr: fear is negotiable

the day of the eyeballs in the sky

{a reference you might not get, but what the hell?}

Being at the hairdresser's, replacing my boring cut with a shorter boring cut, I got to read the Mirror and it is holiday season for the Perishers. I've had this thought before, but how does Wellington and Boot (of the long-running comic strip) compare with Adam and Dog (of Pratchett-Gaiman masterpiece "Good Omens")? It makes a worrying amount of sense, even given the generic nature of retro-ish childhood experiences. Except, obviously, Pratchett doesn't have crabs.

Not many exciting and interesting things are happening on planet buzzy lately.

Dosk has bought one of those HP pad things. After trauma courtesy of Paperfastener office supply mega-store, in that it kept taking orders long after (12 hours+) after they ran out of stock. And they weren't particularly forthcoming until the courier didn't show up with the tablet they didn't have. And they weren't particularly apologetic once we nabbed them on the phone either -- "you should have got an email" does not cut it. I suggested picketing them (that well-known stationery chain) with brown sauce (also HP and insidious on the same level of Marmite). Alternatively, they could do a Murdoch.

My feelings on swimwear: "screw this, I might as well just wear my vest and PE knickers"

PE Knickers, for the benefit of people too young or too foreign to have ever experienced "music and movement" and/or "indoor shoes", are elasticated granny-pants worn over your real knickers. They are good for hiding tissues in. You can pretend to be a tree in them. You can do PE in them along with your vest/singlet.

And then, afterwards, all thirty of you line up so that Miss can do your tie for you.

It's my birthday next week and I am feeling worryingly old for somebody who still can't get served at the bar.

And now I have traumatised you all for life --- *waves*


And no, I am not explaining the Perishers and how long a down-at-heel cartoon featuring four deprived inner-city kids and an Old English sheepdog has been absconding on a traditional "Wake's Week" seaside holiday every year. And certainly not explaining why Boot (the dog) has become a religious icon among the rock-pool-dwelling crabs. And I'm really really not explaining today's punch-line "it's fortunate that we even have a woof over our head".
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