"Curse my weak and feeble willpower!"

It's obvious to one and all, surely. And I didn't even have to cheat.


You are the Sixth Doctor: Quite unstable and
aggressive from time to time, most certainly
stubborn and conceited all the time. You have a
bit of the First Doctor's piss and vinegar,
though you'd hate to hear what he would have to
say about your clothes. Despite your
shortcomings, you are a cunning, forceful, and
resolute do-gooder, constantly upstaging
adversaries that are openly disdainful of your
taste and abilities. The poor fools.


Which Incarnation of the Doctor Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

"Curse my weak and feeble willpower!"

It's obvious to one and all, surely. And I didn't even have to cheat.


You are the Sixth Doctor: Quite unstable and
aggressive from time to time, most certainly
stubborn and conceited all the time. You have a
bit of the First Doctor's piss and vinegar,
though you'd hate to hear what he would have to
say about your clothes. Despite your
shortcomings, you are a cunning, forceful, and
resolute do-gooder, constantly upstaging
adversaries that are openly disdainful of your
taste and abilities. The poor fools.


Which Incarnation of the Doctor Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

(no subject)

Hello, caliredhead21.

I know ye not, but welcome anyway.

(no subject)

Hello, caliredhead21.

I know ye not, but welcome anyway.

Shiver me timbers

You wouldn't think it would take a genius, would you?

But apparently it does.

The temperature the past couple of days has been down to traditional British summer levels - you know, upper 60s and stuff (I have no idea what that is in fangled French Revolutionary measurements we seem to be teaching the kids today, what, 18c or something?). Coolish and comfortable, rather than blisteringly hot and unbearable. Pace, ashenkat who is of the opinion that these temperatures are somehow WRONG for late August.

Anyway, what with the fall in temperature, and the persistent warnings on the weather forecasts concerning the increased likelihood of rain in the parched South East, which came true with a vengeance yester-eve, and which are continuing agusto this morning, you would think people would be prepared.

But no.

I exit Victoria Station this morning as the latest deluge hits (altogether now, I'm dancing in the rain...) to see rank upon rank of bewildered people staring blankly around with the expression of rabbits caught in the headlights.

Clearly, waking up feeling chilly and seeing grey, moody skies with a soupçon more than the merest whiff of damp in the air is not a big enough clue for my average fellow countryman after he has had his pate blasted by Saharan sun for three months.

The upshot, people in shorts and tee-shirts (and in some cases, less), soaked to the skin, shivering, and sporting goose-pimples I could hang a hat on.

So. Empirical first hand evidence.

It does take a genius.

Shiver me timbers

You wouldn't think it would take a genius, would you?

But apparently it does.

The temperature the past couple of days has been down to traditional British summer levels - you know, upper 60s and stuff (I have no idea what that is in fangled French Revolutionary measurements we seem to be teaching the kids today, what, 18c or something?). Coolish and comfortable, rather than blisteringly hot and unbearable. Pace, ashenkat who is of the opinion that these temperatures are somehow WRONG for late August.

Anyway, what with the fall in temperature, and the persistent warnings on the weather forecasts concerning the increased likelihood of rain in the parched South East, which came true with a vengeance yester-eve, and which are continuing agusto this morning, you would think people would be prepared.

But no.

I exit Victoria Station this morning as the latest deluge hits (altogether now, I'm dancing in the rain...) to see rank upon rank of bewildered people staring blankly around with the expression of rabbits caught in the headlights.

Clearly, waking up feeling chilly and seeing grey, moody skies with a soupçon more than the merest whiff of damp in the air is not a big enough clue for my average fellow countryman after he has had his pate blasted by Saharan sun for three months.

The upshot, people in shorts and tee-shirts (and in some cases, less), soaked to the skin, shivering, and sporting goose-pimples I could hang a hat on.

So. Empirical first hand evidence.

It does take a genius.

Mission Accomplished

It is a trying time when you return to your desk and find that your coffee cup has disappeared.

Especially when you are pretty sure that it was supposed to be full.

Now, being an absent-minded type, I knew that it was entirely possible that I'd only intended to fill the mug, but not actually done so. But the fact it was missing entirely suggested that it might have got as far as the tea-point. Of course, since I had no recollection of talking to anyone there, and I'm not quite that forgetful, and a quick check revealed that the mug was indeed not there something else must have happened.

A quick look round my usual haunts in the office drew further blanks.

At this point, and I kid you not. I receive an e-mail in morse code. So. Suspicion raises its ugly head. Consulting my colleagues I enquire, "Has >name deleted< been to my desk while I was away?"

Blank stares and shaken heads by way of reply.

Still, I am nothing if not subtle, and I look again at the morse code message and quickly ascertain the correct course of action.

The effect of an implied threat of astounding and mind-boggling physical abuse, the like of which would cause Amnesty International to twitch in horror, really does produce quite remarkable results.

I have my coffee mug back and en-coffee'd.

My suspicion was correct and my colleagues are either in league with the justly chastised villain or even less observant than me.

In an act of charity brought on by the caffeine rush, I shall give them the benefit of the doubt.

Mission Accomplished

It is a trying time when you return to your desk and find that your coffee cup has disappeared.

Especially when you are pretty sure that it was supposed to be full.

Now, being an absent-minded type, I knew that it was entirely possible that I'd only intended to fill the mug, but not actually done so. But the fact it was missing entirely suggested that it might have got as far as the tea-point. Of course, since I had no recollection of talking to anyone there, and I'm not quite that forgetful, and a quick check revealed that the mug was indeed not there something else must have happened.

A quick look round my usual haunts in the office drew further blanks.

At this point, and I kid you not. I receive an e-mail in morse code. So. Suspicion raises its ugly head. Consulting my colleagues I enquire, "Has >name deleted< been to my desk while I was away?"

Blank stares and shaken heads by way of reply.

Still, I am nothing if not subtle, and I look again at the morse code message and quickly ascertain the correct course of action.

The effect of an implied threat of astounding and mind-boggling physical abuse, the like of which would cause Amnesty International to twitch in horror, really does produce quite remarkable results.

I have my coffee mug back and en-coffee'd.

My suspicion was correct and my colleagues are either in league with the justly chastised villain or even less observant than me.

In an act of charity brought on by the caffeine rush, I shall give them the benefit of the doubt.