AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH! After several days of failed attempts to psyche myself up to ask Mystery Sandwich Girl out for a drink, I decided that today was going to be the day, dammit. A real “GO BACK IN THERE, ARTHUR PEWTEY” moment.
The open button
I know what this is for. Admittedly, it’s not quite what everybody thinks it’s for. However I refuse to believe that the situation is shrouded in so much mystery that people can misinterpret what is going on. Yes, it’s a
Trainwreck journalism
My Google Reader account has 360 newsfeeds in it. As such, I’ve totally stopped reading the freesheet newspapers that are provided around the London Underground – the Metro, the London Lite, and The London Paper. Y’know… reading them hardly seems
Bring on the vitamin D
Incredible: 10 minutes of sunshine on a Friday and this is what you get. It’s impossible to tell whether there’s been a fire drill, or if people have just bunked off early for a pint. Good job I’m still beavering
Guess the government here is recruiting lerts now too. Bring on the fridge magnets!
Leaving aside momentarily the whole issue of me being a mavericky fugitive type for taking a photograph in the Underground*: the other day whilst waiting for the usual 3 or 4 minutes until the next train (I love this town!)
Three men of assorted nationalities walked into a public establishment
I suspect I need to be careful how I go about phrasing this, so as a preamble – if you could endeavour to interpret this post mainly as bewildered head scratching and attempting to come to grips with something I’m
Oh, I hated the Colonel… with his wee beady eyes…
This evening I went against my better judgement and, after alighting from the bus from Oxford in a state of extreme peckishness (at 10:30 on a Sunday night), thought I’d pop in to KFC for a bit of quick grub.
Is there no depths to which this blog will not stoop for content?
An ongoing war of wills has been going on between me and our front door knocker for about the last 7 or 8 months, and I’m embarrassed but not surprised to admit that the doorknocker is presently winning. In fact,
I recognise that distinctive flapping sound…
‘Tis the gently beating wings of my old guardian, The Fuckup Fairy. I ought to have learned by now it’s pointlss to try to get to airports. Today, however, she’s pulled off a rare confluence of subtle cockups, and it
But as long as you love me so, let it adverse-weather-condition, let it adverse-weather-condition, let it adverse-weather-condition!
No surprises there then. London, a city which has had a few days of snow pretty much every year I’ve been here, gets a bit of snow and grinds to almost a complete standstill. As if to celebrate, Transport for