Category Archives: Weather

World Lazy Day

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Apparently, it’s World Lazy Day today. As if I need an excuse on a rainy Sunday.

I have housework to do. The bathroom awaits. I resent the grouting that separates the tiles. Surely there must be something better that can be used for this purpose, something that doesn’t act as a perfect habitat for the growth of mold, something that doesn’t suffer discolouration with time.

The discoloured grout gives me an excuse, as if needed, to do the bathroom in shifts: the grout is currently soaking in bleach foam. This gives me twenty or so minutes to lounge around in bed a while longer and muse about the relative merits of Cif versus Flash spray for achieving a streak-free finish and lemon freshness. Flash is easier to rinse, but it’s in the kitchen cupboard, so Cif wins out today. When I can be arsed to do it.

Pffft.

Women
Of course, having sold out on my “no telly in the bedroom” principles, I am able to watch episodes of Frasier from YouTube, which I can stream to the telly using my little Chromecast device.  With eleven series of twenty-odd episodes, most of which are available in full online, I could spend many happy days tucked up under my duvet enjoying the fast-paced dialogue and story lines that take themselves from classic British farce.

I love Roz Doyle in this show. I think that I want to marry Roz, or somebody like her, or Nigella of course. Somebody smart, funny, feminine, vivacious, irreverent, sexy.

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I don’t think women like Roz really exist, not in my world at least. When lesbians try to be smart, funny, vivacious and irreverent, we get this:

Sue Perkins

Sandi Toksvig

Ellen Degeneres

And are these women sexy?  No, not to me.  More to the point, they’re fucking annoying as fuck. I don’t know what it is about them, but it’s as if they try too hard to be something, to act a particular way… a bit cheeky maybe.  Like an over enthusiastic puppy that yaps innuendo. I guess they’re just being themselves and they’re probably very nice women; I just despair at the lack of lesbian role models who don’t conform to this stereotype.

There’s always Jodie I suppose, but I suppose normal women who happen to be gay are just that, normal.

 

Profligacy

Despite it being World Lazy Day, I nipped to the supermarket this afternoon.  I only went for some bits and ended up spending £60.  How does this happen? I even had a list in my head.  I suppose that list didn’t include a new clock for my kitchen, five packets of Pepsi Max and enough shower gel to last me three months.  Sixty pounds.  That’s a hell of a lot of money for a booze and fag-free shop.

Still, come the apocalypse, at least I’ll have a freezer full of sausages and a cupboard full of pasta to keep me going.  That’s as long as we still have gas supplies and fresh running water, so you know, not like a real apocalypse, just one where I don’t leave the house for a couple of weeks.  Watching Frasier.

 

Tippety-tap

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Rocky has developed an irritating new habit: tapping at closed doors.

It started the other week, I’d go to bed at night, shut the bedroom door, then within about ten minutes of getting into bed, I’d hear the pitter-patter of furry feet coming up the stairs followed by a gentle tap on the door. I’d ignore him, he’d tap again. I’d ignore him, I’d hear him huff at the door and lie down. I’d ignore him, then he’d stand up, tap again, huff again, then give up and do back downstairs.

A couple of hours after falling asleep, I’d be woken by more tapping, huffing, tapping, followed by him returning to his bed downstairs.

Now he’s started tapping on all the closed doors in the house. Why? What is wrong with my little mutt?

It’s best to ignore him and not respond in any way; he’ll soon stop, but it’s quite annoying and I hope he gets over himself sooner rather than later.

Oh dear, he’s eating Jo’s slipper again. No Rocky, don’t do that. See, I did try to stop him.

Diplomatic relations
A new colleague started with our team yesterday, she’s come over from China. I’ve been spending time helping her acclimatise to being in the UK: the most important thing is making sure she can cross the road without being run over. It’s second nature to us lot over here, but you know these foreign types who drive on the wrong side of the road.

She had to register her presence in the UK with the Police. We tried the local police station in Moss Side, it was shut. There were people inside, but they didn’t fancy letting anybody in. “Fighting crime (the people), protecting people (ourselves), hiding from inner city scumbags.” The second station was open, but we were told that we could only register at the big police station in the city centre. So off we pootled into Manchester, where the registration office was closed for lunch. The coppers were strutting about as if they were it: “Ooh, look at me in me stab proof vest, with me handcuffs hanging off me belt. Do you like my cocky swagger? You fancy me, dontcha? You’d better, or I’ll taser you in the fucking face!”.

Cunts.

Could it be the weather?
It’s fucking freezing still. I can’t get warm. My toes are icy all the time.

Jo came home after a couple of days with Pigsnout. She noticed that the thermostat was set to 22, mentioned that our gas bill will be bad (I don’t disagree with her) and then said that I can’t get warm because I’m wearing too many layers and I’m not allowing my body to acclimatise. No, I can’t get warm because it’s not been above zero for the past two weeks and it’s fucking freezing cold in this godforsaken hell hole of a country.

Why can’t my dog be normal? You see other dogs, they have their food put out for them and it’s gone in thirty seconds; they growl if you go anywhere near them while they’re eating. I put Rocky’s food out and he ignores it for two hours, then eats it in shifts, taking a mouthful at a time, constantly returning to the living room to check that I’m still here. Or I have to stand in the kitchen with him while he eats. He won’t leave me alone while I’m in the house, yet as soon as he goes outdoors, it’s as if I don’t exist. And now he’s rubbing his face on his blanket and turning his bed upside down and dragging around the living room.

Oh dear, no Rocky, don’t chew Mummy Jo’s slipper again, that’s so naughty of you.