The Most Annoying Man has been stricken down with a tummy bug. He blames this on a curry he ate, but to anyone observing his consumption of reheated garage-bought sausage rolls from the vantage point of a neighbouring desk, the real cause is apparent. These hardy bacteria are obviously resistant to the presence of large quantities of vodka in the gut.
The whole department is currently working on a massive pitch effort under the command of a well known advertising luminary hired in the for occasion. She seems ok apart from a distressing habit of materialising behind you to check on your progress just when you're trying to sneak a look at newsthump.com.
Wednesday 31 August 2011
Monday 29 August 2011
A super day at the office
Sunday 28 August 2011
work avoidance behaviour II
8:36pm. Have done nothing. The horrible prospect of monday morning looms closer.
I think I've got to the root of the problem though: I don't like work. Especially not on a weekend. I will have a cup of Earl Grey and a slice of cake and then I'll definitely devote some thought to this poxy job.
I think I've got to the root of the problem though: I don't like work. Especially not on a weekend. I will have a cup of Earl Grey and a slice of cake and then I'll definitely devote some thought to this poxy job.
work avoidance behaviour
I am working on a nightmare campaign at the moment for which a review has been cruelly scheduled on monday morning. This being the case, doing some work over the weekend would seem to be indicated. But this prospect is distinctly lacking in appeal.
On Saturday I managed to put the job out of my mind quite successfully, and had a lovely day. However, the brooding shadow of work managed to hover on the periphery like a decomposing sardine in the bin. It is now Sunday afternoon, and the menace grows ever more acute. Possibly instead of worrying about it, I should just get stuck in and do it. After one more episode of Cold Case Files on the Crime Channel...
On Saturday I managed to put the job out of my mind quite successfully, and had a lovely day. However, the brooding shadow of work managed to hover on the periphery like a decomposing sardine in the bin. It is now Sunday afternoon, and the menace grows ever more acute. Possibly instead of worrying about it, I should just get stuck in and do it. After one more episode of Cold Case Files on the Crime Channel...
Saturday 27 August 2011
Interesting Pets
When you see a large glass case with bark, leaves and other vegetation inside it prominently displayed on someone's coffee table, you just know that there's some kind of freaky/dangerous pet inside there.
Tonight at a friend of a friend's dwelling, I encountered Fluffy the Tarantula. Being a tropical creature, Fluffy's hairy body was huddled against the side of the glass closest to the radiator. She was only a year old and frankly I've had far bigger monsters leap out from between the plates in my dish rack (see picture).
But Fluffy had a certain bulk to her legs & abdomen that seemed to promise Shelob-type proportions given a few years of growth.
Tonight at a friend of a friend's dwelling, I encountered Fluffy the Tarantula. Being a tropical creature, Fluffy's hairy body was huddled against the side of the glass closest to the radiator. She was only a year old and frankly I've had far bigger monsters leap out from between the plates in my dish rack (see picture).
But Fluffy had a certain bulk to her legs & abdomen that seemed to promise Shelob-type proportions given a few years of growth.
Wednesday 24 August 2011
technocidal
It's time to admit to myself that I am on a remorseless quest to destroy every treasured and expensive piece of technology in my possession. Energetically swinging my coat upon entering the loo today caused my iPhone to fly from the pocket, bounce loudly off the rim of the toilet and smack face down onto the stone floor with an echoing 'WHAP'.
The good thing was that the water supply to our office had been off for several hours, so there wasn't much water in the toilet bowl. The bad thing was that the lack of flushing action had not deterred anybody from using the facilities. Either way, it was a narrow escape for the iPhone. Violent contact with the floor seems to have left it undamaged. (visibly)
The good thing was that the water supply to our office had been off for several hours, so there wasn't much water in the toilet bowl. The bad thing was that the lack of flushing action had not deterred anybody from using the facilities. Either way, it was a narrow escape for the iPhone. Violent contact with the floor seems to have left it undamaged. (visibly)
Monday 22 August 2011
You know you're a brutal dictator when...
Even better if you've got a bunker as well! Then you know you're a top fascist.
Sunday 21 August 2011
It's Alive!
It takes more than a bashed-in corner and a coffee bath to kill FrankenMac. Despite the prognosis of the resident Apple expert at work - "It's Toast", the miracle machine has risen from the dead. After a couple of days' drying time, I tentatively re-assembled it, switched it on, and lo! life returned.
My joy was mitigated only by the stickiness and crunching noises made by the keyboard. But these are mere trifles...
Friday 19 August 2011
Coffee-related tragedy
Yet more laptop trauma! Oh, the despair and self-loathing. By a strange quirk of physics, the average-sized cup of coffee I knocked onto my keyboard this morning somehow contained several cubic gallons of corrosive liquid. The screen flared up brightly for one nano-second in a final searing protest, and then all was sinister darkness as it sat wallowing in its Nescafé lagoon.
I whipped it upside down, shook it about, and then vacuumed as much of satan's coffee as possible from the keyboard. It's been taken apart and covered in rice (soaks up moisture apparently), but the outlook is bleak. I have a feeling all the delicate circuitry has been caramelised.
I whipped it upside down, shook it about, and then vacuumed as much of satan's coffee as possible from the keyboard. It's been taken apart and covered in rice (soaks up moisture apparently), but the outlook is bleak. I have a feeling all the delicate circuitry has been caramelised.
Thursday 18 August 2011
Brothel-watch
They've gone! Like a mob of angry villagers menacing Castle Frankenstein with burning torches, pressure has been brought to bear by the outraged residents and the Ladies of the Night have fled. Leaving behind two months' whopping water & lights bills (scrubbing up between clients?) and a giant oil stain in my parking space from their dodgy furniture removals truck.
They will be sadly missed, especially by 'Dave' who couldn't quite remember their house number and woke me up instead at 1.30am. Given the rather casual vetting procedure that is clearly in place, I wonder who my next neighbours will be?
They will be sadly missed, especially by 'Dave' who couldn't quite remember their house number and woke me up instead at 1.30am. Given the rather casual vetting procedure that is clearly in place, I wonder who my next neighbours will be?
Wednesday 17 August 2011
My worst fear
My hands-down indisputable heavyweight all-time worst fear (and this is plucked from a quite extensive and wide-ranging list of fears), is what happened to that poor man in the Seychelles yesterday.
I have long harboured a morbid fascination with sharks and shark attacks. On the rare occasions that I've ventured into the sea after my negligent father allowed me to watch Jaws at the age of 6, I have always been certain that it would be my fate to be dragged under and savaged by a lurking monster. How I envy those people who view the ocean as a delightful playground. If they even think about it at all, they sensibly realise that shark attacks are incredibly rare. They can relax and frolic in the knowledge that the big blue sea is a friendly place.
Well, how fucking wrong can you be. As far as I'm concerned, swimming in the sea is like voluntarily getting into a very big shark tank. Maybe you can't see the tenants yet, but they are out there and to them you look quite like a seal. Of course humans are not the natural prey items of sharks, and I'm sure they do feel a twinge of guilt once they've ripped away your thigh muscle and then abandoned you in disgust for not being blubbery enough.
In my view, our status as possibly the least well-adapted swimmers in all of evolution points to the fact that we should confine ourselves to the beach.
I have long harboured a morbid fascination with sharks and shark attacks. On the rare occasions that I've ventured into the sea after my negligent father allowed me to watch Jaws at the age of 6, I have always been certain that it would be my fate to be dragged under and savaged by a lurking monster. How I envy those people who view the ocean as a delightful playground. If they even think about it at all, they sensibly realise that shark attacks are incredibly rare. They can relax and frolic in the knowledge that the big blue sea is a friendly place.
Well, how fucking wrong can you be. As far as I'm concerned, swimming in the sea is like voluntarily getting into a very big shark tank. Maybe you can't see the tenants yet, but they are out there and to them you look quite like a seal. Of course humans are not the natural prey items of sharks, and I'm sure they do feel a twinge of guilt once they've ripped away your thigh muscle and then abandoned you in disgust for not being blubbery enough.
In my view, our status as possibly the least well-adapted swimmers in all of evolution points to the fact that we should confine ourselves to the beach.
Tuesday 16 August 2011
The Joy
Today I accompanied my friend into a certain convenience store which I do not usually frequent, a sort of dingy Aladdin's cave of groceries, flowers, vegetables, toiletries and hardware.
She was in the market for some toilet paper and apparently Seven-Eleven shuns the mainstream brands because she emerged with a six-pack of, I kid you not, 'Private Joy'.
The creepiness of this was only superceded when my friend misremembered the name later on and referred to it as her 'Private Pleasure' toilet paper. Eeew.
She was in the market for some toilet paper and apparently Seven-Eleven shuns the mainstream brands because she emerged with a six-pack of, I kid you not, 'Private Joy'.
The creepiness of this was only superceded when my friend misremembered the name later on and referred to it as her 'Private Pleasure' toilet paper. Eeew.
Monday 15 August 2011
Hey slax-haters
It's 3 degrees out there! Take that anybody who made derisive remarks about my thermal underwear.
Sunday 14 August 2011
Listen up peasants
Just remembered to pass on the latest directive from the Red Queen, which is: stop spending your money on dung, and start buying gold.
If you want security against the current global market turmoil, heed this financial advice generously bestowed by Her Majesty and use any spare cash you might find down the back of the sofa to stock up on Krugerrands. They start at R13 000 each. She's already got a sackful, what are you waiting for?
All shopped out
It seems that I am losing the will to shop, which is tantamount to losing the will to live. Since winter is over, I forced myself out to the mall today in pursuit of some much-needed summery clothing. So naturally I came home with nothing but comfy thermal underwear. And it wasn't even on sale.
Everything in the shops seems horrendously expensive and shoddily made. Where once I had the patience to rifle through piles of horrible sale garments in search of a gem, I now just can't be bothered. It used to be that some of my favourite gear had been triumphantly snapped up from a sale rack. Either clothes were generally better then, or else I wasn't very discriminating. Probably the latter. When shopping these days I am easily distracted by hunger, thirst or need for the toilet. I have lost the single-minded drive neccessary for successful clothes shopping. Please let this just be a phase...
Everything in the shops seems horrendously expensive and shoddily made. Where once I had the patience to rifle through piles of horrible sale garments in search of a gem, I now just can't be bothered. It used to be that some of my favourite gear had been triumphantly snapped up from a sale rack. Either clothes were generally better then, or else I wasn't very discriminating. Probably the latter. When shopping these days I am easily distracted by hunger, thirst or need for the toilet. I have lost the single-minded drive neccessary for successful clothes shopping. Please let this just be a phase...
 |
| Slaxliners. All the rage. |
Friday 12 August 2011
The price of ethics
Wandered into Body Shop the other day looking for a new hairbrush. Found one of gorgeous, simple design, fashioned entirely from fast-growing ethically sourced bamboo. It was a bit pricey, but I considered it to be worth the extra investment.
However, it transpires that the stylishly chunky bamboo bristles cannot penetrate hair at all, and the brush simply rebounds off your head. Quite like trying to comb your hair with a plank. The quality ethical hairbrush has now been binned and replaced with an unstylish but functional model, sourced from fast-growing forests of plastic and harvested by child labourers.
However, it transpires that the stylishly chunky bamboo bristles cannot penetrate hair at all, and the brush simply rebounds off your head. Quite like trying to comb your hair with a plank. The quality ethical hairbrush has now been binned and replaced with an unstylish but functional model, sourced from fast-growing forests of plastic and harvested by child labourers.
Thursday 11 August 2011
blood 'n guts
Mayday! This morning the Most Annoying Man obligingly helped me out with a job I was doing. This is disastrous. For obvious reasons I can't be the author of a blog entitled 'Sitting opposite a relatively nice man who smells a bit'. How ANNOYING!
Anyway, while TV coverage of the riots and attendant collapse of civilisation has been enthralling, for a guilty fix of sheer gruesomeness I'm yearning for 'Real A&E' as seen on Sky HD 1. This series follows the work of the emergency care personnel at the University Hospital in Walsgrave. My sister and brother-in-law are addicted and they got me hooked on it too.
For some reason, every episode seems to include a horsey woman who gets thrown, kicked or otherwise molested by her steed. There's nothing like a horse for dealing a bone-crushing, flesh-slicing lash of the hoof or throwing you into a barbed wire fence. And strangely the horsey woman never holds a grudge, raring to leap back into the saddle as soon as possible even though her lower leg is hanging on by a shred of skin, instead of having the bastard melted down for glue. God, I miss that show.
Anyway, while TV coverage of the riots and attendant collapse of civilisation has been enthralling, for a guilty fix of sheer gruesomeness I'm yearning for 'Real A&E' as seen on Sky HD 1. This series follows the work of the emergency care personnel at the University Hospital in Walsgrave. My sister and brother-in-law are addicted and they got me hooked on it too.
For some reason, every episode seems to include a horsey woman who gets thrown, kicked or otherwise molested by her steed. There's nothing like a horse for dealing a bone-crushing, flesh-slicing lash of the hoof or throwing you into a barbed wire fence. And strangely the horsey woman never holds a grudge, raring to leap back into the saddle as soon as possible even though her lower leg is hanging on by a shred of skin, instead of having the bastard melted down for glue. God, I miss that show.
 |
| A horse dunnit. |
Wednesday 10 August 2011
Going up
Is it possible that somewhere in the real world there exists a machine which is the equivalent of the sinister 'Christine', Stephen King's demonically possessed '58 Plymouth Fury?
It's possible all right, and it has taken the form of the lift at our office. In all the years I have worked there, the lift has functioned properly for about 2 and a half days in total. It is a foul malodorous little metal coffin that jerks and shudders its way between the floors, refusing to ever stop on the same level as the floor outside when the doors reluctantly open to release you.
When travelling in it you must adopt the stance of a surfer to ride out the violent heaving motions. Upon emerging, expect to spend a few minutes wobbling around on the sea legs you acquired during the journey to the second floor. It's slow and noisy and people get trapped inside it on a regular basis. On one memorable occasion, the doors had to be pried open to release the victims it had ensnared inside its steel maw. I have even been stuck inside it during a (mercifully brief) power cut.
The funny thing is that in spite of all this, everyone keeps on using the lift. You stagger out after the latest near-death experience vowing never to set foot in it again, but sooner or later it just seems like too much effort to toil back up the stairs after lunch. So you summon Christine. I just wouldn't use her at 6pm on a friday evening when the building is empty. She hasn't killed yet, but it's surely just a matter of time.
It's possible all right, and it has taken the form of the lift at our office. In all the years I have worked there, the lift has functioned properly for about 2 and a half days in total. It is a foul malodorous little metal coffin that jerks and shudders its way between the floors, refusing to ever stop on the same level as the floor outside when the doors reluctantly open to release you.
When travelling in it you must adopt the stance of a surfer to ride out the violent heaving motions. Upon emerging, expect to spend a few minutes wobbling around on the sea legs you acquired during the journey to the second floor. It's slow and noisy and people get trapped inside it on a regular basis. On one memorable occasion, the doors had to be pried open to release the victims it had ensnared inside its steel maw. I have even been stuck inside it during a (mercifully brief) power cut.
The funny thing is that in spite of all this, everyone keeps on using the lift. You stagger out after the latest near-death experience vowing never to set foot in it again, but sooner or later it just seems like too much effort to toil back up the stairs after lunch. So you summon Christine. I just wouldn't use her at 6pm on a friday evening when the building is empty. She hasn't killed yet, but it's surely just a matter of time.
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| Wanna go for a ride? |
Tuesday 9 August 2011
It's the Apocalypse!
Public holiday today, so I was able to spend a solid 8 hours watching doom-merchants Sky news' coverage of the riots.
Here's what my cousin in Leamington had to say about it:
It's a bit hard to decipher, but I think she might be trying to convey outrage.
Here's what my cousin in Leamington had to say about it:
It's a bit hard to decipher, but I think she might be trying to convey outrage.
Monday 8 August 2011
Miscarriage of justice.
It seems there has been some kind of a mix-up. Today I attended a photo shoot for a certain well-known french cosmetics house. After a gruelling morning of getting her hair done and having the miracle product smeared on her face, the model sat for a couple of hours inclining her head a few degrees back and forth and smiling gently as the photographer snapped away.
Tomorrow she flies back to her home in Barbados, and after a week of rest she goes on to another assignment in New York. Thanks to some kind of administrative error, she is clearly living the life intended for me. It seems so obvious now that I should be heading off to my Carribean hideaway instead of spending the evening eating four-day-old ravioli and watching The Day of the Jackal. Can this be put right before it's too late?
Tomorrow she flies back to her home in Barbados, and after a week of rest she goes on to another assignment in New York. Thanks to some kind of administrative error, she is clearly living the life intended for me. It seems so obvious now that I should be heading off to my Carribean hideaway instead of spending the evening eating four-day-old ravioli and watching The Day of the Jackal. Can this be put right before it's too late?
Saturday 6 August 2011
Classic movie moments
Tonight I felt it my duty to go and along and see the final Harry Potter installment. It's got good special effects, okay?
In one of many climactic moments, Neville Chamberpot (or whatever his name is) stands alone on a bridge taunting an army of evil wizards from behind a protective magical forcefield.
Suddenly - gasp - the forcefield vanishes and it dawns on Neville that nothing stands between him and the legion of unattractive baddies. In the breathless silence of this realisation, a male voice somewhere along our aisle demonstrated a keen grasp of the plot by announcing: 'Now you're fucked.'
In one of many climactic moments, Neville Chamberpot (or whatever his name is) stands alone on a bridge taunting an army of evil wizards from behind a protective magical forcefield.
Suddenly - gasp - the forcefield vanishes and it dawns on Neville that nothing stands between him and the legion of unattractive baddies. In the breathless silence of this realisation, a male voice somewhere along our aisle demonstrated a keen grasp of the plot by announcing: 'Now you're fucked.'
Friday 5 August 2011
Back to reality
To combat the inevitable post-holiday depression, I have tried hard to seek out some reasons to be cheerful about my return.
Small consolations:
1. The house remains unburgled.
2. The car started (reluctantly).
3. Only one pot plant died.
4. I missed out on the last really nasty cold snap of winter. Probably.
5. Magically, I look better in the mirrors in my house.
6. The world's most annoying man was not present at the office today.
But on the down side:
1. Have to go back to actually performing work to get the monthly paycheck.
2. The supply of Cadburys chocolate swiss mini-rolls has been cut off.
3. My car has accumulated a layer of dust of a thickness last seen coating the sarcophagus of Ramesses II when his tomb was opened after a thousand years. Also the local cats had a jamboree on it, so the windscreen is obscured by countless scuffed little pawprints.
4. Seeing my house with fresh eyes all of a sudden. How long have the bathroom walls been cultivating that green mould?
Small consolations:
1. The house remains unburgled.
2. The car started (reluctantly).
3. Only one pot plant died.
4. I missed out on the last really nasty cold snap of winter. Probably.
5. Magically, I look better in the mirrors in my house.
6. The world's most annoying man was not present at the office today.
But on the down side:
1. Have to go back to actually performing work to get the monthly paycheck.
2. The supply of Cadburys chocolate swiss mini-rolls has been cut off.
3. My car has accumulated a layer of dust of a thickness last seen coating the sarcophagus of Ramesses II when his tomb was opened after a thousand years. Also the local cats had a jamboree on it, so the windscreen is obscured by countless scuffed little pawprints.
4. Seeing my house with fresh eyes all of a sudden. How long have the bathroom walls been cultivating that green mould?
Wednesday 3 August 2011
Game over
Making the most of the dregs of my holiday, naturally. Took my niece around IKEA and watched her systematically lick everything in the shop. Bought heavy and unnecessary items which could easily be purchased at home.
We are now attempting to entertain my niece by stringing together wooden beads with letters on them to create words. It's quite difficult without the assistance of vowels since my sister swiped them off the table and into the dark cracks between the decking.
Good thing it's the last day, this relentless programme of glamorous activities and non-stop partying has really taken its toll.
We are now attempting to entertain my niece by stringing together wooden beads with letters on them to create words. It's quite difficult without the assistance of vowels since my sister swiped them off the table and into the dark cracks between the decking.
Good thing it's the last day, this relentless programme of glamorous activities and non-stop partying has really taken its toll.
Monday 1 August 2011
The second most annoying man in the world?
He was waiting to catch the same train as us. In the 3 minutes before it arrived, he scrolled through his phone and called seemingly every person he knew, making various arrangements in a loud and penetratingly nasal voice. My question is, how wrong would it really have been to push him into the path of an oncoming train?
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