It’s going to end up getting me fired!

It's more addictive than crack, booze, gambling and flashing your undercrackers at passing strangers. Not all of which I'm addicted to, I should point out. It is, of course, Facebook. It's riveting. It's pictures of people you went to school with and haven't seen in ten years, it's the snooty bitch who thought she was it in 5th year now sporting 3 chins and a husband who looks like the missing link. It's the most amazingly easy way to nosy into the lives of people you'd forgotten existed and to catch up on old times and old photos, laughing at the clothes you used to wear and the fact that you used to sport a quiff that was so firmly hairsprayed into place that if you'd been run over the car would have come off worse.


But Facebook has a dark and sinister side. It's also people you slept with at university and wondering why on earth no one told you that he was butt ugly and clearly a complete loser. It's your ex boyfriend that you lived with for two years and worse than this, it's his wife. It's snooping on people that you really ought to leave well alone because you've survived without them (and them without you) for long enough for you to know better. It's wasting entire afternoons looking up people when you should be sorting the mammoth and boring pile of paper that is tipping over the sides of your intray.


And if I don't get a grip it's going to get me fired!

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I wish there was someone this entertaining in my office.

Yesterday afternoon's entertainment came courtesy of a security officer who works in the same office as my best friend Cass. This security officer had handwritten, photocopied and distributed an advertising sheet for a children's book he had written. Do bear in mind that this book is actually available on Amazon (look up 'Venisian Seed' or Venusian Seed', I can't remember which it was under) and the guy is being deadly serious. I'd like to point out that all spellings and punctuations are the author's own and have absolutely nothing to do with me. This is, word for word, the sheet that Cass faxed over to me yesterday:


Venisian Seed

I am a published author, showing through my book. How Venisian's, from Venus, came onto this earth. In the bible, chapter six, genesis. The son's of god's came down from the sky's. looked upon earthly woman, and found them attractive. So they took them for their mate's.We as earthling's have been interbred into, by a hogher intelligence. The good with in us, is the development, of the Venisian seed in all of us. The bad in us, is ower earthly part of ower animal nature. Earth in inbetween, Venus and Mar's, Mar's as never had any form of life on it. It is still developing toward's life. Before the planet Venu'sbecame a burner, Venus was inhabited, when the planet became a burner, they moved to the earth. As Venisian's came to earth, so we will go to Mar's, when this planet gets too hot to live on. Mar's will have evolved to the stage of early human's. As earthling had done, when Venisian's came onto ower planet. Any form of life, needs water. Mar's as water, frozen at it's north and south pole's. So there is a long time to go, before Mar's will be ready for life. You can follow the Venisian seed, through the bible to jesus. From jesus to spiritulism, from spiritulism to the future. Which is heaven on earth. There is no death, life goe's on for ever moe. Before you were born you was spirit, as a physical body you are spirit. Clothed in the physical body for the purpose of learning. The pysycal will decay. The spirit will then go back to the spirit world, where is origenly came from. The spirit of you, is the true you, and can never die. If you wish to buy a copy, at £5.99p write to the Athena Press.


Blimey. Leaving aside the fact that the actual content is as mad as a box of angry frogs and sounds like the sort of thing my university flatmates would come up with after an evening smoking Ruairi's home grown 'herbal cigarettes', I am baffled as to how someone got right the way through the British schooling system believing that an apostrophe must come before every 's' and that 'our' is spelled 'ower'. Apparently this guy's sister lent him five thousand pounds to get this book published, thereby proving that there really is one born every minute.


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Cheeky Sods

Sometimes I wonder at the sheer brass neck of some institutions. My old school rang me last night to ask me if I would consider paying them £175 towards their new sixth form centre. Would I? Would I buggery. I'd remove £175 from my account and use it for loo roll before I'd donate it to that collection of self interested, hatchet-faced harridans. Happy times I had at school included:

  • A weeks detention for informing the deputy head on Founder's Day that my skirt was not rolled up, it was naturally that short because I had long legs and had bought a small size. I was telling the truth but that is apparently not a good enough reason for not getting detention.
  • Threatened suspension for being caught smoking cigs behind some garages which weren't on school property in my lunchbreak. Not helped I suspect by the fact that when the school wrote to my parents to ask what they intended to do about this my dad wrote back to inform them that he would be doing nothing because I was 18 and old enough to emigrate, vote, join the army, buy a house and legally buy the cigs then if I wanted to smoke behind some garages it was my own stupid decision, not his.
  • 2 weeks detention and a letter of apology from me and Nic Smith to the mother of a lad we met on a school skiing trip because we sent him a condom through the post for a laugh. The woman claimed she could see the letter contained a condom through the envelope. X-ray vision is a rare thing indeed, she should be proud.
  • Threatened suspension for setting off on the Metrolink to go to an A-level history lecture day then deciding half way there that I hated school, A-levels, all my teachers and life so staying on the train to Piccadilly station then getting on another train to go visit my then boyfriend at Lancaster uni for the weekend. I got in less trouble with my folks than I thought I would though, because they thought I was having some sort of mental breakdown.
  • My form tutor for A-levels, a revolting little weasel of a creature called Miss Davenport (she had breath that could stop a charging elephant at a hundred paces) telling me I was too thick to ever get to university and if I did manage to scrape or screw my way in I was too thick to complete the course.


Give money to the school's building fund? I'd donate to the Osama Fund for International Jihad before I'd give it to them.

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I have weevils. Actually that is a bit misleading, I personally am not infested with weevils, the kitchen cupboard is. Little crawly brown insecty things, WEEVILS. What the bollocks is that about? I thought weevils were one of those strange medieval critters that died out about the same time as the navy stopped using wooden sailing ships and pressganging drunks in Southampton into service but apparently not because they are alive and thriving in my kitchen. I bloody well knew that getting a breadmaker and posing as some sort of domestic goddess was a mistake, they came in in a bag of flour. You don't get this kind of crap with a Warburton's presliced white do you? Not only that but when Micah discovered we were (for want of a nicer word) 'infested' he got all hygenic on me and went a bit mental with the disinfectant. Which would have been fine if we'd had any normal disinfectant in the house but we didn't, we only had Dettol so now my entire house smells like a 1920s surgical ward. He also washed all the crockery that had been in the cupboard with Dettol but didn't tell me so this morning's wake-up coffee tasted like a cross between coffee and a hospital corridor. Nice.


In other news:

  • I've just seen a drunk with a bottle of cider walk past my office window and it's not even 10am. How is it that tramps can drink 2 litres of cider and not be found upside down in a gutter? I once drank 4 pints of cider. I was removed from the pub at 10pm by a concerned friend and taken home, I've have no recollection of anything past 8pm and had a 3 day hangover. So how can a tramp drink 2 litres and merely slur and point? It's a medical mystery.
  • My hunt for more interesting employment than my current job continues. No jot so far although I have only sent off 2 application forms so possibly assuming I'd already be doing something thrilling might have been a little overambitious.
  • We are dogsitting this evening for my mum and dad which means we have to take our dog round tot heir house. This means we can look forward to a fun packed evening of my mum and dad's dog chasing my dog round the house and trying to bugger him. What joy.



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Thinner than normal

I have gastroenteritus. It is not the most fun you can have in a week but it has plus and minus points:

Minus points

  • I am miserable.
  • I am so bloody hungry I could eat a low flying duck. Everytime I blink I see a picture of a bacon and sausage sandwich behind my eyelids. Unfortunately I'm only allowed to eat toast. Crap.
  • It hurts.
  • My family are flapping around me like I'm in the throws of a major heart attack when all I want is for everyone to bog off and leave me to miserable on my own.


Plus points

  • It has shifted the awkward to move fat bit round my midriff that I was too idle to exercise off.
  • Thanks to the amount of quality time I spent in there this week I now know exactly how many tiles I'm going to need to buy when I finally get enough money together to retile the bathroom.
  • I got three days off work.


Ooh, just blinked, there's the sandwich vision again.


In other news:

My bizarre friends and neighbours Ann and Tony have made another of their bizarre decisions. They went to Ireland for a 2 week holiday and a wedding. They apparently aren't coming back so Tony informed us yesterday, the kids are enrolled in Irish school and they are putting the house on the market. This is bizarre not only because it's rather a swift decision but also because they moved from Ireland 3 years ago on the grounds that they hated it. As Tony was leaving yesterday he asked me if I'd keep an eye on the rabbit till they return to pack up their stuff and to see if I could find it a home. Sure I said, wondering how much trouble a rabbit could actually be. So yesterday evening I toddle off into their back garden to feed the rabbit. Am quite suprised by the fact that the garden looks like the front line at the Somme with a shed in the middle, it's full of holes and trenches where Tony has started to do something with it then got pissed off and left it. It has sparse patches of grass here and there and a large hole at the side of the shed which baffled me slightly. Or it did until Geoffrey (my dog) started barking and jumping up and down. This startled the rabbit which shot into the hole by the shed. When I looked, the tunnel it's dug must be several feet long. Sodding wonderful, I have been left in sole charge of someone else's pet which has taken up residence in a burrow two feet under the shed and which moves at the speed of light. I thought perhaps I could entice the damn creature into the hutch with a bowl of food so off I go to the hutch. No chance. It's so bloody filthy that even hypnotherapy wouldn't have persuaded the creature in, given a choice I too would rather live under the shed than sleep on 2 inches of my own shit. Added to which if I actually put an animal into a cage that filthy I would probably be liable to prosecution under animal welfare laws (and if I wasn't I bloody well should be). So I'm not entirely sure what the best course of action is now. Why is it always me that ends up in this situation? I am indeed a hopeless eejit.

So if anyone knows anyone who would like a white angora rabbit please let me know because I don't fancy having to take the thing to the animal sanctuary and get the "You bought a pet, can't cope with it and are now dumping it on us" look.  

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