Though I’ve dropped my posting routine from daily to just-about-monthly, all is not lost. Why, Kav? I hear you, my sole remaining reader, ask. Because I got a new phone! I reply, tossing you a blanket to keep you warm in here. It’s gotten cold here, I know. It makes me sad.
It takes pictures, this phone. They have a special name for it. They call it a camera-phone. It plays music too. I like to carry mine on my shoulder, the way the cool kids in the 80’s used to carry their boomboxes. Boppin and a rollin. You can see it, me walking to work in my suit with my little 3G boombox tinnying out Queens of the Stone Age, can’t you?
That last phone I had, with the orange screen, was out of date even when I first bought it for £20 back in ‘ought-two. It lasted well though. It finally died when a mains water pipe suddenly burst all over me while I was standing in front of it, soaking me and Mr Phone (we were never close, never got to a first-name basis) right to the core of our tiny CPUs. Did I mention the pipe burst because I’d been hitting it with a hammer? Ah, thought not.
Yes, the good news: I now document my life with pictures, since the words have all but dried up. This is not a choice I made willingly, but invention is the daughter of necessity, or something.
Linzi and I are going for dinner this Friday night. It was her birthday on Tuesday. Go and read what I did last year for her thirtieth. You will be jealous and want me for your own. Even you, Sneezy, you damn dirty ape.
Where was I? Oh yeah, pictures.
My work has me travelling a fair bit these days – some of you might remember me saying that I wouldn’t take this job if it meant a lot of travelling and blah blah slip slap slope here we are today – and here I am in Birmingham a couple of weeks ago:
Middle of nowhere, but nice scenic walks. Nothing else to do, in other words.
Remember a couple of months ago, those shit terrorists tried to blow up Glasgow Airport, and all that stopped them getting right into the terminal were some bollards at the doors? It was great to see their improved security measures in effect last week as I exited the building:
I may be wrong, but it does seem like next time around, it will be a tad easier to DRIVE A FUCKING BUS through that doorway*.
This is the sunrise on my way to work:
This is Erin and Jack:
I really like that picture, even though they aren’t smiling or anything. It looks to me like one of those “this-is-posing-but-let’s-try-to-act-like-we’re-not-posing” photos that you see on the sleeve of an album cover by some alternative musician. In fact, I’m sure I’ve got an album somewhere with two guys in the sleeve doing just such a pose – ten points for the first person to remind me who my children are unwittingly mimicking.
This is some Skum – sweets made from polystyrene that a colleague brought back from Gothenburg the other day:
Not into Skum? How about a bit of Plopp?
Even though Plopp looked and sounded like poo, it didn’t taste like poo at all. Not nutty enough.
Here is a pube I found in the urinals at work:
I have a greater motive than causing you to throw up a little bit of sick into your mouth after viewing that picture. My motive is to demonstrate how bizarre the world really is, for, you see, that pube was up on the wall at a height of approximately six feet – the red arrow shows you where I spotted it while I relieved myself:
Can you imagine how tall the guy who dropped that crotchwire must have been? Fucking twilight zone stuff, I’m telling you.
And this last, holy shit, this last one, I took not five minutes ago while I was writing this drivel:
That, my friends, is the biggest, scariest motherfucking spider I have ever seen outside of films and Australia. This is Scotland, for feck’s sake! Can you see the ruler I held up to him? Four centimetres wide, the little fucker was. You should’ve heard the crunch his body made when I mashed him against the wall with some balled-up tissue. It’s the same crunch you’re going to hear over and over as you chew your cereal tomorrow morning.
Go on, try to keep that memory out of your head.
Linzi’s going to kill me too. The paste that comprises the remains of the spider’s internal organs has left a mark on the wall.
Hope you enjoyed my monthly round-up. Much has happened that I haven’t mentioned, but these days, if I can’t capture incidents in visual format, they pass undocumented. Later chaps and chapettes.
*okay, in the interest of objectivity (I am, after all, a reporter, giving the minutiae of my life to you LIVE, TWENTY FOUR HOURS A DAY) I must concede that the road outside is actually blocked off to all traffic, but still…when not just stick a bollard or two there, for peace of mind?