(no subject)

Some evil barsteward is drilling a hole in the road outside my bedroom window.

The snooze facility on my alarm is therefore redundant this morning.

Bleh.

(no subject)

Some evil barsteward is drilling a hole in the road outside my bedroom window.

The snooze facility on my alarm is therefore redundant this morning.

Bleh.

(no subject)

Well the leaves are still on the trees and it's still October, so I guess it's still Autumn.

But dragon-breath at 10.15 in the am? Hm. Winter approacheth.

Note to self: start wearing warmer clothes.

(no subject)

Well the leaves are still on the trees and it's still October, so I guess it's still Autumn.

But dragon-breath at 10.15 in the am? Hm. Winter approacheth.

Note to self: start wearing warmer clothes.

Ow bugger. (reprise)

I am taking ten minutes out a hectic afternoon to drink my coffee and whinge.

I am not sure how, what or when I upset the forces that be particularly (note the cunning change in phraseology to protect me from copyright infringement and the ire of the producers of Angel), but I guess either earlier this year or in a previous life, I walked on too many cracks in the pavement, was responsible for an industrial scale salt spillage, shattered a hall of mirrors or punted a black cat under a vary large and baleful ladder. Pick your favourite superstition; I must have transgressed against something. Probably not including trampling on a fairy ring - I haven't been near a stretch of damp Autumnal turf for a couple of years. There's far too much doggie-do on Clapham Common, and too many weirdos for me to venture down there very often anyway. Not to mention the grey-brown stuff poking out of the ground looks more like tufts from Gollum's armpits anyway rather than grass in the more usual sense.

But I digress, as so often happens.

As my sole, but nonetheless attentive reader, you will recall that I have been having some trouble with my left foot until recently. Well, that seems largely to have cleared up; there is the occasional twinge, but by and large that ailment/strain whatever it was can only now properly be referred to in the past tense, which is splendid news.

Of course this wouldn't be whinge if something else hadn't appeared to take its place. So from some point this morning, the big toe on my right foot started throbbing. I don't actually know what I've done to it, but it knows what it's doing to me. Were I a cartoon character or even, perhaps, Stan Laurel, it would be pulsating in my shoe right now and glowing brightly on several wavelengths on the red end of the spectrum.

Anyway, right now the damned thing is the King of Throbbage and it is vexing me mightily.

The positive aspect of all this is that I am limping like a mirror image of myself a fortnight ago. This means that the odd wear patterns on the soles of my shoes will even up and look more normal.

See, there is always a silver lining if you look hard enough.

Ow bugger. (reprise)

I am taking ten minutes out a hectic afternoon to drink my coffee and whinge.

I am not sure how, what or when I upset the forces that be particularly (note the cunning change in phraseology to protect me from copyright infringement and the ire of the producers of Angel), but I guess either earlier this year or in a previous life, I walked on too many cracks in the pavement, was responsible for an industrial scale salt spillage, shattered a hall of mirrors or punted a black cat under a vary large and baleful ladder. Pick your favourite superstition; I must have transgressed against something. Probably not including trampling on a fairy ring - I haven't been near a stretch of damp Autumnal turf for a couple of years. There's far too much doggie-do on Clapham Common, and too many weirdos for me to venture down there very often anyway. Not to mention the grey-brown stuff poking out of the ground looks more like tufts from Gollum's armpits anyway rather than grass in the more usual sense.

But I digress, as so often happens.

As my sole, but nonetheless attentive reader, you will recall that I have been having some trouble with my left foot until recently. Well, that seems largely to have cleared up; there is the occasional twinge, but by and large that ailment/strain whatever it was can only now properly be referred to in the past tense, which is splendid news.

Of course this wouldn't be whinge if something else hadn't appeared to take its place. So from some point this morning, the big toe on my right foot started throbbing. I don't actually know what I've done to it, but it knows what it's doing to me. Were I a cartoon character or even, perhaps, Stan Laurel, it would be pulsating in my shoe right now and glowing brightly on several wavelengths on the red end of the spectrum.

Anyway, right now the damned thing is the King of Throbbage and it is vexing me mightily.

The positive aspect of all this is that I am limping like a mirror image of myself a fortnight ago. This means that the odd wear patterns on the soles of my shoes will even up and look more normal.

See, there is always a silver lining if you look hard enough.