Monday, November 21, 2005
And on the seventh day...
Hot damn, I gotta join the queue for the Evangeline Lilly fan club. In fact, hell, despite the fact that I'm "off" brunettes for now, I'm pushing to the front.
But, in a "Lost" stylee, let's have a flashback shall we? (Before I hunt down and kill Jamie Oliver whose fat-tongued mug is hocking individual prawn cocktails for Sainsburys at the moment).
Today is officially a day of rest. This is what I'm sure I've heard many times before. So:
Got up, tidied my flat, went to church, came back. Made lunch for Mother (possibly made a mistake by telling her about blog), went to see Grandma (and handed over cash for the privelege (it's haircut day tomorrow and she needs a sub)), went to see my cool chum Harry (and his mum and Dad) where I played "Star Wars" with, like, real Star Wars figures, and ate some fantastic choccy biscuits (Co-Op Orange Chocolate Cookies, 92p a pack). Went back to church for a brilliant service organised by the young people in the church. Then to the pub for a couple of pintas of the now legendary Greene King IPA.
Obviously not as busy as it could have been (and I managed to con Mother into ironing my work shirts) but quite full, but quite the most excellent day.
So Harry is gorgeous. He's 4 (and a bit) and every bit his mum and dad's son. Especially his dad's son. Harry's dad is a big ol' comics/super heroes/sci-fi nut. And Harry, obviously, worships him, and knows more about such things than I'll ever be able to comprehend. Anyway, it was an honour to be invited round for a play session (even though I ain't nowhere near as good as his dad at being a baddie from Batman or Star Wars or Justice League. Or the Fantastic Four. Or anything.)
Work tomorrow (hurrah! I love my new job), and damn if I have completely failed to put any bloody petrol in the car. Hell, up early tomorrow otherwise I'll be stuck in the horrific morning traffic. Amused? Nah. No doubt there will be black ice on the roads and everyone will drive like idiots. They do it every other day, so I don't see why a bit of friction-free road surface should change their minds.
And so (as they used to say), to bed...
But, in a "Lost" stylee, let's have a flashback shall we? (Before I hunt down and kill Jamie Oliver whose fat-tongued mug is hocking individual prawn cocktails for Sainsburys at the moment).
Today is officially a day of rest. This is what I'm sure I've heard many times before. So:
Got up, tidied my flat, went to church, came back. Made lunch for Mother (possibly made a mistake by telling her about blog), went to see Grandma (and handed over cash for the privelege (it's haircut day tomorrow and she needs a sub)), went to see my cool chum Harry (and his mum and Dad) where I played "Star Wars" with, like, real Star Wars figures, and ate some fantastic choccy biscuits (Co-Op Orange Chocolate Cookies, 92p a pack). Went back to church for a brilliant service organised by the young people in the church. Then to the pub for a couple of pintas of the now legendary Greene King IPA.
Obviously not as busy as it could have been (and I managed to con Mother into ironing my work shirts) but quite full, but quite the most excellent day.
So Harry is gorgeous. He's 4 (and a bit) and every bit his mum and dad's son. Especially his dad's son. Harry's dad is a big ol' comics/super heroes/sci-fi nut. And Harry, obviously, worships him, and knows more about such things than I'll ever be able to comprehend. Anyway, it was an honour to be invited round for a play session (even though I ain't nowhere near as good as his dad at being a baddie from Batman or Star Wars or Justice League. Or the Fantastic Four. Or anything.)
Work tomorrow (hurrah! I love my new job), and damn if I have completely failed to put any bloody petrol in the car. Hell, up early tomorrow otherwise I'll be stuck in the horrific morning traffic. Amused? Nah. No doubt there will be black ice on the roads and everyone will drive like idiots. They do it every other day, so I don't see why a bit of friction-free road surface should change their minds.
And so (as they used to say), to bed...
