Refresh my memory – if you’re paranoid, does that mean they are out to get you or otherwise?
I had the sort of shitty morning that’s just crying out to be made into a comedy blog post so here goes – I jumped on the train that gets me to work just in time without buying me a ticket or I would have missed it, but when the conductor came round I realised I had left my purse on the kitchen counter. I had to get off the train at Paisley to go back home for it, and by the time I made it back to the station there had been a points failure at Central and all the trains were either cancelled or massively delayed. I didn’t get into work until 10:30am, and even then had to practically be cajoled into the office by a sympathetic bezzer at the other end of the phone. It didn’t help that I completely messed up my eye makeup as well this morning, and managed to cry it all off after I finally got it on properly.
And it’s so cold.
I had to cancel my lunch date with Roberta and intended to work through lunch to try and curry favour with my colleagues again (sustenance was set to be merely a packet of crisps left over from yesterday and a bottle of Irn Bru) but I had to dart out of the office for a sister emergency, so there goes that plan (which isn’t to say I wouldn’t abandon my work if you phoned me up crying Rob, far from it). I sometimes think being a big sister is the only thing I’m any good at.
Five hours til Bob Dylan. Squ-to-the-ee.
So who else watched the comedy that was the Take That documentary last night? I was never really a fan – although I did have a teensy crush on Mark Owen, merited entirely by a poster of him feeding a lamb with a bottle of milk that appeared in Live & Kicking magazine – which meant I could watch the shamefully awful early videos involving gelatin-based products and blonde models with a sense of detatched irony that completely precluded any cringing rememberance. Of course I missed the ending, and obligatory reunion which I’m sure Robbie Williams skipped since he actually still has a career, in order to serenade Roberta with my own take of Ryan Adams & the Cardinals’ cover of “Always On My Mind”. I think she was impressed.
My own boy band were, of course, Ant & Dec in their “Let’s Get Ready to Rhumble” heyday, in case you think I’ve gotten too cool to recall my past in these pages.
I love that the lawyer I have a massive crush on is still the kind of person to use emoticons in emails, no matter how much money he earns.