bad-tempered teacher

Things to do on your first day back at school:

1. Find your cup.
2. Colour in all the days off for the next year in your new diary (thanks to Lectrice for that one).
3. Correct the grammar and spellings in all the staff meeting handouts with a red pen.
4. Compile a list of words to describe an irritating member of staff (including 'supercilious' and 'self-aggrandising').
5. Make a list of things to be done, including three things you've done already so that you can cross something off.
6. Bin all of the paper in your pigeon hole.
7. Lose your cup.
8. Lie about what you did in the holidays.
9. Go home with a headache.

Thanks to Colin for his contribution over the last week.

maybe it's maybelline

Locked in the toilet I contemplate the utter unfairness of life, wiping foolish tears from my face and hoping like hell that my mascara won't run.

Locked in the toilet I contemplate the foolishness of life, wiping utter mascara from my face and hoping like hell that my unfairness won't run.

Running to the toilet I contemplate the mascara of life, unfair face locked and hoping like hell that my foolishness won't wipe.

Hoping in the toilet I contemplate the lockedness of life, mascara like hell: unfairly foolish.

Foolish life: unfairly locked in mascara.

you must get a lot of wrong numbers, Mama

This weekend, about two pints into the pub gig, I developed a strange and possibly unnatural urge to learn the ukulele. Here I am three days later, and the urge persists; I have even googled it. I am on the verge of looking up second-hand ukuleles on ebay*. This may well be the result of too many decongestants, but the thing is, the ukulele is such an relentlessly cheerful instrument and it is such a long time since I hatched a bizarre as-if-from-nowhere ambition** that I am almost tempted to indulge my fancy.

It's all a bit worrying.


* Shit, you can get red ones. I am really in trouble now.
** Apart from running away with the circus; but that was over six months ago, so barely counts any more.

good intentions

1. I'll go for a lunchtime walk around the park. God knows I need the exercise and the fresh air is good for me too. Only I have stinking period pain and it was cold and I was on duty this morning so maybe tomorrow. Though it might snow; so maybe next week.

2. I'll eat fruit when I get in from work instead of toast. The toast thing must stop. Then after the fruit I will eat bread and marmite. Oops.

3. I will do at least one drawing a day. Or a week. Or something. Goddammit, I'll draw. Maybe I'll just check my email reply to some comments write some comments have a bath do the washing up cook some dinner write a daft post and there's something on TV I want to watch.

There's always tomorrow.

how to be invisible

I've been tagged. Thank heavens, I finally have something I put in this flipping empty update box. So that's what memes are for - for when you have the blog blanks.

I've never been tagged before. Honest. I'm never tagged. Tagless, that's me. I'm thrilled. Genuinely. I feel as though I've finally joined some sort of elite club. The club of persons popular enough to get tagged. I've made it! I'm a somebody at last! Hurray!

OK. I have to find the nearest book, turn to page 123, and .. Oh God, I've lost the will to go on.

Sorry.

(Maybe it was better when I was feeling quiet.)

depravity, no cake

I am the number one google search for 'victorian bordello bedroom decorating pictures'.

I feel as though I've finally achieved something in life :)

knickers to you: two

I receive a text from Phildar:

'I forgot to put on my knickers today. And it's quite nice.'

I pause briefly to wonder whether she actually meant to send this text to me, how on earth she has managed to forget to put on something which goes on first, and then consider my response:

'Slattern!'

When I see her later at dancing I enquire about the state of her underwear. I am relieved to learn that should she have an unfortunate incident involving public transport, then her family will not be shamed. And then, sort of by accident*, I mention the knicker incident to Dancing Boy; just as they are about to dance together. He is inordinately flustered, and actually blushes. He might have even fluffed his first-move-hatchback-comb-crab-combination**, which is unknown.

The next day I get another text from her:

'My elastic has gone and I have had to tie a knot in my knickers. It's true.'

It is at this point that I remember the first time I went to the pub with her. I am beginning to sense a theme. I reply:

'I left my phone at home today but am enjoying the underwear soap opera'

Today's episode, sadly, is unpublishable.

*I was unable to resist, what can I say?
** I made that move up.