Saturday, November 26, 2005
You know you should get out more, when...
...you get very excited at being given an Executive Room by mistake at a librarians conference.
Return of the killer librarian
I know, I know. I'm just not blogging as much as I used to. I've decided that this is because I no longer work in the thick of it in central London. And by "in the thick of it" I mean "amongst the freaks". Seriously. You work in central London and everyday your commute involves at least three incidents that no normal person would put up with/hang around long enought to watch. But because you work in central London, you are in your London Frame Of Mind, and so anything goes.
I mention this becuase on Tuesday I was off to a conference in Oxford (woo-hoo!) and so had to go in to London to get a train. There I was, still in my Suburby Frame Of Mind, taking everything in, looking in shop windows, walking at a normal pace, having a little daydream, and do you know what? I almost got killed! Shoved out of the way by sharpened elbows, scowled at by all and run over by peoples STUPID wheely cases. One woman who ran her case into my leg and then over my foot, turned round to me and said "Don't put your foot there!". What? Here where I've been standing for the last 15 minutes with the rest of Paddington Station managing to avoid my quite frankly tiny feet? I'm sorry how inconsiderate of me, you OLD BAG.
I decided that I had better switch up a gear, and by the time I got on my train 20 minutes later I had shoved, tutted, walked everywhere purposefully and at speed and kiCked a few wheely suitcases out of the way. Mwa ha haaa!
Ah, it's good to be back!
I mention this becuase on Tuesday I was off to a conference in Oxford (woo-hoo!) and so had to go in to London to get a train. There I was, still in my Suburby Frame Of Mind, taking everything in, looking in shop windows, walking at a normal pace, having a little daydream, and do you know what? I almost got killed! Shoved out of the way by sharpened elbows, scowled at by all and run over by peoples STUPID wheely cases. One woman who ran her case into my leg and then over my foot, turned round to me and said "Don't put your foot there!". What? Here where I've been standing for the last 15 minutes with the rest of Paddington Station managing to avoid my quite frankly tiny feet? I'm sorry how inconsiderate of me, you OLD BAG.
I decided that I had better switch up a gear, and by the time I got on my train 20 minutes later I had shoved, tutted, walked everywhere purposefully and at speed and kiCked a few wheely suitcases out of the way. Mwa ha haaa!
Ah, it's good to be back!
Monday, November 07, 2005
Dear Mrs Ritchie,
or can I call you Madonna? I love your new single, it's the best thing that you've done in a long while, it rocks. I suspect this is largely down to the excellent 'Gimme Gimme Gimme' sample, however I'll let this pass, 'cus it makes me want to dance like a crazy lady. And 10/10 for the Saturday Night Fever meets Agadoo arm movement at the the end of the vid. Inspired.
I have a comment to make about this song however. Would it have hurt you to have gotten a leotard that wasn't so high cut in the leg area for the video? Really, you are the same age as Mr L.'s mother. Put it away dear.
Yours, learning to dance in new killer heels,
Lady Librarian.
P.S. Really, put it away.
I have a comment to make about this song however. Would it have hurt you to have gotten a leotard that wasn't so high cut in the leg area for the video? Really, you are the same age as Mr L.'s mother. Put it away dear.
Yours, learning to dance in new killer heels,
Lady Librarian.
P.S. Really, put it away.
What I did on my holidays...
Day One: Woo-hoo! Look at me all not scared of flying! Hypnotherapy rocks! The weather? Sunny and warm.The accomodation? Why, it's the skanky Hospedaria Verde Esperança. On several websites it says that this Guest House was renovated in November 2004. Hmm, usually when you "renovate" you do things like, oh I don't know...put locks on the doors, fill in cracks in the wall, remove newspapers with a date of July 2004 from the wardrobe, make sure the kitchen you provide has a working fridge, and hey! call me crazy, but a cooker as well. What they mean is, this place had new windows in November 2004.
Day Two: Ah, a relaxing start to the day with a lie-in before climbing literally hundreds of hills whilst out and about in Lisbon. I now have the not very attractive calf muscles of a mountain goat.
Day Three: Zoo! You gotta love the Zoo. A day that includes wobbly cable cars and a kiss each from a sealion. What more do you need from a holiday?
Day Four: Turns out the bites we have aren't from mosquitos, but bed bugs. Mr L wakes in the middle of the night to find the blighters fat and full of his blood. Gross. When we ask to change rooms we are roundly ignored by the "Hotel" owner, who even turns down the chambermaids request to change the bloody sheets (I'm not swearing, I mean the red stuff).
Day Five: Ooh, itchy itchy ITCHY. Also, rainy rainy RAINY. We go to the biggest aquarium in The Universe (or Europe, one of the two). We see lots of fish, cute sea otters and get shoved out of the way several times by an incredibly rude French family. (Rude, or stupid. One of the two. Probably both.)
Day Six: I.T.C.H.Y. That's itchy will a capital everything. Today we say a fond "F*ck You" to the Skanky Hospedaria Verde Esperança and head to the coast and a new hotel. Mmm, 4 star hotels, gotta love 'em. Cascais, lovely town, shame about the rain.
Day Seven: Buffet breakfast, rain, 4 star hotel.
Day Eight: Ditto. I don't think God knows we're on holiday. Or he hates us big time.
Day Nine: Train to Porto. In England to get on a long distance train with a ticket costing less than £1,000,000 you have to buy it 67 weeks in advance on the internet and travel in the middle of the night, standing on one leg, wearing stripey socks with a companion called Fred. In Portugal you ask for tickets an hour before the train leaves, and it costs 17.00 Euros. I have no idea how much 17 Euros really is, but it just sounds cheap, doesn't it?
Day Ten: Portuguese bank holiday. Everything shut. Even stuff that says it will be open. It's still raining by the way.
Day Eleven: Across the river to the Port warehouses. Free port at every turn and super steep hills. And yet we returned home with nothing broken. A miracle. It's still raining.
Day Twelve: Continuing this years series of Comedy Related Injuries (TM) I slip in the shower. I do what any normal person would do and grab hold of the shower curtain to steady myself. The shower curtain rail is in no way fixed to the wall, it is just ledged against the tiles. Really. Two seconds later I land flat bang on my bum with the shower curtain and rail over my head for good measure. Ouch. Although it did make me laugh and cry at the same time, which is always impressive.
Day Thirteen: On the way to the airport, the sun comes back out. Oh, ha ha HA.
Day Two: Ah, a relaxing start to the day with a lie-in before climbing literally hundreds of hills whilst out and about in Lisbon. I now have the not very attractive calf muscles of a mountain goat.
Day Three: Zoo! You gotta love the Zoo. A day that includes wobbly cable cars and a kiss each from a sealion. What more do you need from a holiday?
Day Four: Turns out the bites we have aren't from mosquitos, but bed bugs. Mr L wakes in the middle of the night to find the blighters fat and full of his blood. Gross. When we ask to change rooms we are roundly ignored by the "Hotel" owner, who even turns down the chambermaids request to change the bloody sheets (I'm not swearing, I mean the red stuff).
Day Five: Ooh, itchy itchy ITCHY. Also, rainy rainy RAINY. We go to the biggest aquarium in The Universe (or Europe, one of the two). We see lots of fish, cute sea otters and get shoved out of the way several times by an incredibly rude French family. (Rude, or stupid. One of the two. Probably both.)
Day Six: I.T.C.H.Y. That's itchy will a capital everything. Today we say a fond "F*ck You" to the Skanky Hospedaria Verde Esperança and head to the coast and a new hotel. Mmm, 4 star hotels, gotta love 'em. Cascais, lovely town, shame about the rain.
Day Seven: Buffet breakfast, rain, 4 star hotel.
Day Eight: Ditto. I don't think God knows we're on holiday. Or he hates us big time.
Day Nine: Train to Porto. In England to get on a long distance train with a ticket costing less than £1,000,000 you have to buy it 67 weeks in advance on the internet and travel in the middle of the night, standing on one leg, wearing stripey socks with a companion called Fred. In Portugal you ask for tickets an hour before the train leaves, and it costs 17.00 Euros. I have no idea how much 17 Euros really is, but it just sounds cheap, doesn't it?
Day Ten: Portuguese bank holiday. Everything shut. Even stuff that says it will be open. It's still raining by the way.
Day Eleven: Across the river to the Port warehouses. Free port at every turn and super steep hills. And yet we returned home with nothing broken. A miracle. It's still raining.
Day Twelve: Continuing this years series of Comedy Related Injuries (TM) I slip in the shower. I do what any normal person would do and grab hold of the shower curtain to steady myself. The shower curtain rail is in no way fixed to the wall, it is just ledged against the tiles. Really. Two seconds later I land flat bang on my bum with the shower curtain and rail over my head for good measure. Ouch. Although it did make me laugh and cry at the same time, which is always impressive.
Day Thirteen: On the way to the airport, the sun comes back out. Oh, ha ha HA.
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