It's almost 7am. I've been up for just over an hour, and am currently sitting on the train heading for London.
So far, so ordinary.
What has made today a little bit different is light. When I left the house at 6.30, I could not only see my car, but I could also see the hills over in the distance. There was a pale band of sky which allowed me to see the shape of the hills, the few trees on the skyline, and the lowest clouds.
Spring is definitely springing.
Added to that, once I arrived at the station with a couple of minutes to spare, I could stand in Platform 1* and listen to the dawn chorus.
For the last few months, the only birdsong I have heard at that time of day has come from the owls who live in the woods around the station.
We have many purple crocuses in flower in the garden, snowdrops all over the back garden, and the pink heather in the tub under the rose arch is in flower.
I feel as though I ought to don a white robe and leaf garland, and skip round the village giving libations to everyone. Perhaps living in Wiltshire has got to me.
*The only platform. They could name it anything if they wanted to.
Showing posts with label Spring is springing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Spring is springing. Show all posts
Thursday, 17 February 2011
Thursday, 8 April 2010
Spring fever continues
Continuing the hippy dippy Spring theme, here are some more pictures of flowers. God, I'm such a big girl. I know.
I KNOW.
I KNOW.
These are some hyacinths I planted a while back, from a pack of about 100 bulbs from Homebase or some such non-specialist shop. They smell wonderful.
Next to them are some cute white crocuses, from the same mega-pack of bulbs.
They don't have a strong fragrance but they are very pretty. Plus I got to use the funky techno MACRO setting on my camera. So it's a technically more interesting photo. Honest.
This is a rather nice shot of the planter with all the bulbs in it, lit up in the sunshine.
We've had some unexpected snakes head fritilleries (Is that the correct spelling? I have no idea, any botanists in the audience please advise) make an appearance. I planted bulbs a few years ago, we had a few grow that spring, then nothing more till now.
They don't look quite real somehow. Maybe that's the macro setting.
We've also got a few primroses in the lawn. Mr WithaY is planning to get the Mower of Doom out this weekend, and will have to take care not to mince them to bits. And not to mince any more of his fingers, of course. Last year involved more than enough panic-stricken dashes to hospitals, so no more of those thanks.
Other news: I was genuinely delighted that Dhruv won the Masterchef final. His food sounded appealing, it was beautiful to look at, and if he opens a restaurant I think I'd like to go and eat there. There was a spontaneous round of applause in the WithaY sitting room when the winner was announced, such was the level of excitement here.
Lordy I'm old.
Ooh, almost forgot. Have lost another 2.5 lbs, making a grand total of 11.5 over the last 8 weeks. Yay me.
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
Animal magic (again)
Spring has sprung, new life is abounding. I have proof.
Look:
Look:
Puppies! How cute are they, eh? It wasn't exactly a planned pregnancy but they are very much loved.
I love the one on its back, little pink paws in the air, fast asleep. They are tiny. More like hamsters than dogs at the moment.
That's the proud mum on the right. She's not much bigger than a hamster herself. Well, a cat maybe. Oh alright. A small Jack Russell.
Ok, that's enough cute puppy pictures for now. But they are very endearing.
Other spring-like evidence:
Violets, growing in my lovely Mum's garden. They have self-seeded all over the place, even making a break across the wall and onto the grass verge. Marvellous. They are the most beautiful blue colour. Violet, I suppose you'd call it.
Each flower is perfect. And they smell lovely, but you have to scooch right down to them as they are very subtle.
Also, I took some pictures of the fish, in case you were wondering how they were getting on. We've not had any more tragic floaters, and Mr WithaY has bought three more shrimp. These shrimp, though, are HUGE, rather than teeny and shrimpy, as the last ones were. They'd make a decent starter in a posh restaurant. We wanted them to be able to defend themselves from marauding carnivores, and we though that if they were too big to fit into any other fish's mouth that might help. So far so good.
This is a rather nice picture of three of the leopard cory all chilling out atop their rock. They are waiting for feeding time, when things really kick off.
A shot of the leopard cory from behind (the glamour element) with some of the tetras and a pentazonal barb in the foreground.
I just like saying "pentazonal barb".
Other news: A sad farwell to Elvis the cat, a member of Youngest Sis' family for many years. He's the one that caught fire one Christmas. I told you about it here.
He was much loved and will be missed.
Sunday, 26 April 2009
Lighthouse family
The glorious weather continues, which is disconcerting. It's been so long since we had any prolonged spells of sunshine - about 2 years, I think - that more than an afternoon of warm, blue-skied sunnyness makes me feel slightly awkward.
It's a bit like being at someone's house when they're out. You don't quite know what to do with yourself, so end up sitting somewhere quietly waiting for them to get back and make tea or something. Or is that just me?
Except at Bestest Mate's house, obviously, where I make my own tea and read all his magazines, whilst listening to loud music. Heh.
So. The Olympics are coming. Specifically, some of the maritime stuff is heading for Weymouth (look on a map, American readers), where a huge new road is being constructed on the way into the town. We drove past it yesterday and it was like a four-year-old's best day out ever. Enormous construction vehicles all over the place, scraping gravel into flat road shapes, diggers shifting stuff from one huge heap to another, cranes and rollers galore.
I'd have stopped to gawp properly but we were On A Mission.
Mr WithaY's drysuit had sprung a leak, so we had to take it to the shop and get it booked in for repair. Is there anything quite as boring as a dive kit shop, when you are a non-diver?
I ask you.
There are no clothes to try on, except huge complicated techno-suits which look like they take hours to struggle in to, and comedy rubber bootees which frankly I can try on at home when Mr WithaY is out*. There are no books to read, apart from dull technical dive books. There isn't even a place to sit and get a drink, unless you count the salt-encrusted sea-dog-frequented coffee machine in the corner. Ugh.
So, I amused myself by reading all the labels on the various lube bottles, and devising ways to silence the incredibly irritating Northern woman who was showing off loudly in the middle of the shop in a voice which put me in mind of Victoria Wood doing her "Gormless Teenager" character.
After we'd finished at the Shop of No Interest (Unless You're A Diver)TM we went on to look at Portland Bill.
Not a friend, a place.
It was lunchtime, so we went to the Lobster Pot right on the edge of the coast and had crab sandwiches. Mmmmmm crustaceolicious. Being fat greedy bastards we also had a cream tea.
Excellent.
There are some lighthouses and things on the Bill. And fog horns, apparently.
The lighthouse is mighty impressive, and there is also a funky monolith nearby.
I liked the monolith very much, although it did make me want to bash things with bones.
Mr WithaY had planned to go sea fishing today, but it was cancelled due to the weather. Check out the wild white water out at sea here...that's where he was supposed to be fishing.
It was lovely onshore though, a bit breezy, but otherwise you might have been in the Mediterranean. Look at the colour of the water!
And back to London tomorrow, where it will probably piss down with rain.
*They look divine. I might take a picture some day if you're good.
It's a bit like being at someone's house when they're out. You don't quite know what to do with yourself, so end up sitting somewhere quietly waiting for them to get back and make tea or something. Or is that just me?
Except at Bestest Mate's house, obviously, where I make my own tea and read all his magazines, whilst listening to loud music. Heh.
So. The Olympics are coming. Specifically, some of the maritime stuff is heading for Weymouth (look on a map, American readers), where a huge new road is being constructed on the way into the town. We drove past it yesterday and it was like a four-year-old's best day out ever. Enormous construction vehicles all over the place, scraping gravel into flat road shapes, diggers shifting stuff from one huge heap to another, cranes and rollers galore.
I'd have stopped to gawp properly but we were On A Mission.
Mr WithaY's drysuit had sprung a leak, so we had to take it to the shop and get it booked in for repair. Is there anything quite as boring as a dive kit shop, when you are a non-diver?
I ask you.
There are no clothes to try on, except huge complicated techno-suits which look like they take hours to struggle in to, and comedy rubber bootees which frankly I can try on at home when Mr WithaY is out*. There are no books to read, apart from dull technical dive books. There isn't even a place to sit and get a drink, unless you count the salt-encrusted sea-dog-frequented coffee machine in the corner. Ugh.
So, I amused myself by reading all the labels on the various lube bottles, and devising ways to silence the incredibly irritating Northern woman who was showing off loudly in the middle of the shop in a voice which put me in mind of Victoria Wood doing her "Gormless Teenager" character.
After we'd finished at the Shop of No Interest (Unless You're A Diver)TM we went on to look at Portland Bill.
Not a friend, a place.
It was lunchtime, so we went to the Lobster Pot right on the edge of the coast and had crab sandwiches. Mmmmmm crustaceolicious. Being fat greedy bastards we also had a cream tea.
Excellent.
There are some lighthouses and things on the Bill. And fog horns, apparently.
The lighthouse is mighty impressive, and there is also a funky monolith nearby.
I liked the monolith very much, although it did make me want to bash things with bones.
Mr WithaY had planned to go sea fishing today, but it was cancelled due to the weather. Check out the wild white water out at sea here...that's where he was supposed to be fishing.
It was lovely onshore though, a bit breezy, but otherwise you might have been in the Mediterranean. Look at the colour of the water!
And back to London tomorrow, where it will probably piss down with rain.
*They look divine. I might take a picture some day if you're good.
Friday, 24 April 2009
Raising the goblet
I have been at the National School of Government this week. It's like the School of Rock. But with less rock. And more government.
They have very severe views on car parking.
But on the plus side they have excellent blossom trees in between the classrooms, which made walking around the site in glorious sunshine an absolute pleasure.
I was so impressed I took a close-up.
Lovely.
We had an exam yesterday afternoon, marring an otherwise relaxing couple of days. The tutor had been telling us all how straightforward it would be if we just used our common sense, and how we'd all worked so hard that we'd be fine.
Lies.
LIES!
It was really hard and we all staggered out afterwards like the survivors of some hideous disaster where people had had to eat each other to survive. Many of us were ashen.
I actually finished early, and was able to flee the exam room, stepping outside with a sigh of relief. This quickly turned to dismay when I realised I had left all my course notes in there, and would have to wait outside till everyone else finished.
Arse.
So, I waited till the others came out and then we all did that stupid "I put this for question 3, what did you put?" thing that you do, as if it ever helps.
No idea when we get the results, hopefully it's not too long to wait. The pass mark is about 60 percent, and if I can't get that then I am a complete dolt. But it has been known for me to demonstrate primo doltage before now.
The drive home, which I expected to be a complete nightmare as it was slap bang on 5pm when I left, was fast, tranquil and beautiful. The junction from the M3 onto the A303 is completely covered in primroses. Go and see it. Really - the whole cutting is bright acid yellow with them, and it's lovely.
Other news: While I was down at my lovely Mum's the other week the local news programme was running a story about a windmill. Said windmill used to belong to famous writer Hilaire Bollock, according the the presenter.
They have very severe views on car parking.
But on the plus side they have excellent blossom trees in between the classrooms, which made walking around the site in glorious sunshine an absolute pleasure.
I was so impressed I took a close-up.
Lovely.
We had an exam yesterday afternoon, marring an otherwise relaxing couple of days. The tutor had been telling us all how straightforward it would be if we just used our common sense, and how we'd all worked so hard that we'd be fine.
Lies.
LIES!
It was really hard and we all staggered out afterwards like the survivors of some hideous disaster where people had had to eat each other to survive. Many of us were ashen.
I actually finished early, and was able to flee the exam room, stepping outside with a sigh of relief. This quickly turned to dismay when I realised I had left all my course notes in there, and would have to wait outside till everyone else finished.
Arse.
So, I waited till the others came out and then we all did that stupid "I put this for question 3, what did you put?" thing that you do, as if it ever helps.
No idea when we get the results, hopefully it's not too long to wait. The pass mark is about 60 percent, and if I can't get that then I am a complete dolt. But it has been known for me to demonstrate primo doltage before now.
The drive home, which I expected to be a complete nightmare as it was slap bang on 5pm when I left, was fast, tranquil and beautiful. The junction from the M3 onto the A303 is completely covered in primroses. Go and see it. Really - the whole cutting is bright acid yellow with them, and it's lovely.
Other news: While I was down at my lovely Mum's the other week the local news programme was running a story about a windmill. Said windmill used to belong to famous writer Hilaire Bollock, according the the presenter.
Saturday, 4 April 2009
Flower power
In my last post I meant to talk about my big night out, but got sidetracked by the whole phone idiocy thing.
So.
What with the lighter evenings, my newfound confidence in finding my way when walking around London, and a bit less stress and anxiety in general, a mid-week social life seemed to be a good idea.
Monday nights are now officially "stay in Chelsea" nights, with my lovely mate, but things aren't ending there. No, indeed.
I had a call from a former colleague who was in London for a couple of days, suggesting we meet for a chat and a catch-up after work. So we did. And it was lovely. We met, went to a pub, had a drink, caught up on all the stuff that is going on in our work lives respectively, then I dashed off to catch my train and he headed off to a late meeting. How civilised.
When we were arranging where to meet he said "I'll wear a red carnation." Sure enough, when I arrived, he had a flower in his lapel, albeit a rose, not a carnation. Anyway, he gave it to me, once the joke was over.
I walked back to Waterloo Station admiring the lovely riverside views, and smelling my flower, which has kept the scent right up till now. I think it's the same variety as one we have in the garden, which lasts for ages and smells wonderful.
The old chap sat next to me on the train noticed it, so I let him have a sniff*.
When he showed his ticket to the conductor there was a lot of banter. He had used an automatic ticket machine, and pressed the Young Person button instead of the Senior button. The conductor asked him for evidence that he was under 25. It was all very good-natured, and made people smile.
But oh lordy, that conductor liked the sound of his own voice. He made announcements over the intercom system roughly every five minutes, detailing what the next station stop was, where you could go from there, what the chief local attractions were, who he knew that used to live there. It went on for bloody ever.
The train divides at Salisbury. The front half half continues trundling on to Exeter, the rest of the train gets detached and stays in Salisbury. It's not complicated.
We had every single possible permutation of that information that you can imagine over the 90 minutes between Waterloo and Salisbury. At least ten times.
Other news: Mr WithaY and one of our neighbours were moving a shed** around this afternoon, which was awkward, so they apparently ended up "turning it into a sedan chair." Now they think they have the basis for a sound business venture - sedan chairs to take you home from the pub.
I'll let you know if they make a million on the back of that.
*That's not something you get to say every day.
**"It's liftable by two people, but not by one" was how it was described over the phone. I am guessing that appies to most sheds, surely? If one person can lift it, it's a playhouse. A small one.
So.
What with the lighter evenings, my newfound confidence in finding my way when walking around London, and a bit less stress and anxiety in general, a mid-week social life seemed to be a good idea.
Monday nights are now officially "stay in Chelsea" nights, with my lovely mate, but things aren't ending there. No, indeed.
I had a call from a former colleague who was in London for a couple of days, suggesting we meet for a chat and a catch-up after work. So we did. And it was lovely. We met, went to a pub, had a drink, caught up on all the stuff that is going on in our work lives respectively, then I dashed off to catch my train and he headed off to a late meeting. How civilised.
When we were arranging where to meet he said "I'll wear a red carnation." Sure enough, when I arrived, he had a flower in his lapel, albeit a rose, not a carnation. Anyway, he gave it to me, once the joke was over.
I walked back to Waterloo Station admiring the lovely riverside views, and smelling my flower, which has kept the scent right up till now. I think it's the same variety as one we have in the garden, which lasts for ages and smells wonderful.
The old chap sat next to me on the train noticed it, so I let him have a sniff*.
When he showed his ticket to the conductor there was a lot of banter. He had used an automatic ticket machine, and pressed the Young Person button instead of the Senior button. The conductor asked him for evidence that he was under 25. It was all very good-natured, and made people smile.
But oh lordy, that conductor liked the sound of his own voice. He made announcements over the intercom system roughly every five minutes, detailing what the next station stop was, where you could go from there, what the chief local attractions were, who he knew that used to live there. It went on for bloody ever.
The train divides at Salisbury. The front half half continues trundling on to Exeter, the rest of the train gets detached and stays in Salisbury. It's not complicated.
We had every single possible permutation of that information that you can imagine over the 90 minutes between Waterloo and Salisbury. At least ten times.
Other news: Mr WithaY and one of our neighbours were moving a shed** around this afternoon, which was awkward, so they apparently ended up "turning it into a sedan chair." Now they think they have the basis for a sound business venture - sedan chairs to take you home from the pub.
I'll let you know if they make a million on the back of that.
*That's not something you get to say every day.
**"It's liftable by two people, but not by one" was how it was described over the phone. I am guessing that appies to most sheds, surely? If one person can lift it, it's a playhouse. A small one.
Wednesday, 25 March 2009
Ramble on
What a slacker, eh? No new posts since Sunday. Anyone would think I'd been really busy with my non-virtual life or something.
So. Sunday was nice. We went to a christening in the village church, where once again I knew NONE of the hymns. Honestly. I love singing, and everyone likes to get a good old hymn belted out, but these were all modern and weedy and I didn't know them. So bah.
Apart from that, it was a pleasant service, and the wee baby yelled lustily as he was christened, which is supposed to be a good thing.
Afterwards we all repaired to the village hall and stood around in the sunshine outside drinking sherry and eating fab sausages on sticks. Mmmmmm sausages.
Mr WithaY and I then wandered home through the brilliant spring weather, admiring catkins and pussy willow on the way. How rural.
Went over to a mate's house for supper with some of our lovely neighbours (hello Sarah! Hello Lynn!) which was an excellent end to the weekend, or an excellent start to the week, depending on how you look at it. Either way, it was most enjoyable.
Monday was another glorious day. Was in London, and walked from Waterloo to Victoria, did a fine (if very long) day's work, then met a girlie mate in the evening outside Buckingham Palace (what a namedropper!). We walked bloody miles through the posh end of town till we got to the King's Road, where we went and had a splendid Italian meal, then back to her amazing little flat in Chelsea where I slept on a sofabed that was actually comfy. What a result.
Apart from the FUCKING car alarms, it was remarkably quiet. After almost an hour of wailing siren/car alarm tiresomeness I put my earplugs in and slept the sleep of the just. Mind you, in a street with three new Bentleys parked in it, I suppose alarms and excursions are to be expected.
Tuesday morning, however, was a different story. I left my mate's posh flat at about 8:15, with a view to walking up to my 9:15 meeting nice and slowly, taking time to look in all the shop windows on the way. Walked all the way up the King's Road to Sloane Square, then took the wrong exit and ended up walking all the way up to Harrod's, wandering through about eight different squares as I did so, getting thoroughly turned around and lost.
By the time I arrived at Harrod's, consulted my almost-useless tourist map, and saw that I was about a mile from my meeting with less than ten minutes to go, hailing a black cab seemed like the only sensible thing to do.
Anyway, the journey in the cab was delightful, around St James' Park where all the blossom trees were in full bloom, and past the front of Buckingham Palace. London felt like a foreign city and it was all very glamorous and exciting. And I wasn't late for my meeting.
We were in an underground bunker under Whitehall, so it was a bit sad after seeing all the blossom trees to then descend into the bowels of the earth all morning, but at least it was an interesting event.
I reckon I walked about 3 miles at least. I walked steadily for an hour, before admitting defeat and taking a taxi. After that, the walk back to the office after lunch was a doddle.
So. Sunday was nice. We went to a christening in the village church, where once again I knew NONE of the hymns. Honestly. I love singing, and everyone likes to get a good old hymn belted out, but these were all modern and weedy and I didn't know them. So bah.
Apart from that, it was a pleasant service, and the wee baby yelled lustily as he was christened, which is supposed to be a good thing.
Afterwards we all repaired to the village hall and stood around in the sunshine outside drinking sherry and eating fab sausages on sticks. Mmmmmm sausages.
Mr WithaY and I then wandered home through the brilliant spring weather, admiring catkins and pussy willow on the way. How rural.
Went over to a mate's house for supper with some of our lovely neighbours (hello Sarah! Hello Lynn!) which was an excellent end to the weekend, or an excellent start to the week, depending on how you look at it. Either way, it was most enjoyable.
Monday was another glorious day. Was in London, and walked from Waterloo to Victoria, did a fine (if very long) day's work, then met a girlie mate in the evening outside Buckingham Palace (what a namedropper!). We walked bloody miles through the posh end of town till we got to the King's Road, where we went and had a splendid Italian meal, then back to her amazing little flat in Chelsea where I slept on a sofabed that was actually comfy. What a result.
Apart from the FUCKING car alarms, it was remarkably quiet. After almost an hour of wailing siren/car alarm tiresomeness I put my earplugs in and slept the sleep of the just. Mind you, in a street with three new Bentleys parked in it, I suppose alarms and excursions are to be expected.
Tuesday morning, however, was a different story. I left my mate's posh flat at about 8:15, with a view to walking up to my 9:15 meeting nice and slowly, taking time to look in all the shop windows on the way. Walked all the way up the King's Road to Sloane Square, then took the wrong exit and ended up walking all the way up to Harrod's, wandering through about eight different squares as I did so, getting thoroughly turned around and lost.
By the time I arrived at Harrod's, consulted my almost-useless tourist map, and saw that I was about a mile from my meeting with less than ten minutes to go, hailing a black cab seemed like the only sensible thing to do.
Anyway, the journey in the cab was delightful, around St James' Park where all the blossom trees were in full bloom, and past the front of Buckingham Palace. London felt like a foreign city and it was all very glamorous and exciting. And I wasn't late for my meeting.
We were in an underground bunker under Whitehall, so it was a bit sad after seeing all the blossom trees to then descend into the bowels of the earth all morning, but at least it was an interesting event.
I reckon I walked about 3 miles at least. I walked steadily for an hour, before admitting defeat and taking a taxi. After that, the walk back to the office after lunch was a doddle.
Monday, 16 March 2009
Harbingers
Spring is springing. Hurrah.
Today, on my absurdly early drive to the railway station, I saw:
A barn owl, landing dramatically on a fence post
Three hares, running around a field chasing each other
Several roe deer, standing about like the idle sods they are
Numerous pheasants
Numerous quail (I think), but possibly partridge
Primroses
Daffodils
A few scraggly snowdrops
About time too. Winter's been going on for so long that it feels like we live in Narnia.
The walk from Waterloo to Victoria was glorious, all the buildings around Parliament Square glowing in the sunshine.
There were many dazed Japanese tourists almost getting flattened by taxis as they tried to negotiare the complicated pedestrian crossings. They were all dragging those big suitcases on wheels, which made them walk as if they were leading a pack of surly dogs, the cases tipping onto one wheel and then the other as they lurched along the pavements.
In case we managed to avoid that particular hazard, they took turns stopping dead in the middle of the street to take photos of each other pointing at Big Ben.
There is a crossing on Westminster Bridge where you can dart across, against the lights, to the refuge in the middle of the road if you're quick. I did this. A couple of other commuter types did the same. The group of Japanese tourists followed suit, their cases spilling off the refuge and into the road , causing taxi drivers to swerve and shout threats. It was mildly entertaining.
Is there some central casting depot in Japan where they train these people? Adverts in the press: "Come to England and behave like every stereotypical tourist ever lampooned in a poor attempt at comedy"? If so, they are doing a fantastic job.
Other news: There is the beginning of a promising long-term feud brewing at work. I always put two spaces after a full-stop when I write, so-called "English punctuation" according to Wiki*. I was taught that was correct, and have been doing so for many many years. The rest of the office only put one space, so-called "French punctuation".
Annoyingly, the house style guide backs up the rest of the team, and not me. We are therefore all amending each others' drafts to reflect our own personal preference with every iteration. I have already conceded the removal of a semi-colon at the end of a bullet point, but I am prepared to take the full-stop spacing issue all the way to the bitter end. Unless I am overwhelmingly proved wrong by the internet**, which I trust implicitly.
This will run and run.
*which is never wrong, as any fule kno.
**see above
Today, on my absurdly early drive to the railway station, I saw:
A barn owl, landing dramatically on a fence post
Three hares, running around a field chasing each other
Several roe deer, standing about like the idle sods they are
Numerous pheasants
Numerous quail (I think), but possibly partridge
Primroses
Daffodils
A few scraggly snowdrops
About time too. Winter's been going on for so long that it feels like we live in Narnia.
The walk from Waterloo to Victoria was glorious, all the buildings around Parliament Square glowing in the sunshine.
There were many dazed Japanese tourists almost getting flattened by taxis as they tried to negotiare the complicated pedestrian crossings. They were all dragging those big suitcases on wheels, which made them walk as if they were leading a pack of surly dogs, the cases tipping onto one wheel and then the other as they lurched along the pavements.
In case we managed to avoid that particular hazard, they took turns stopping dead in the middle of the street to take photos of each other pointing at Big Ben.
There is a crossing on Westminster Bridge where you can dart across, against the lights, to the refuge in the middle of the road if you're quick. I did this. A couple of other commuter types did the same. The group of Japanese tourists followed suit, their cases spilling off the refuge and into the road , causing taxi drivers to swerve and shout threats. It was mildly entertaining.
Is there some central casting depot in Japan where they train these people? Adverts in the press: "Come to England and behave like every stereotypical tourist ever lampooned in a poor attempt at comedy"? If so, they are doing a fantastic job.
Other news: There is the beginning of a promising long-term feud brewing at work. I always put two spaces after a full-stop when I write, so-called "English punctuation" according to Wiki*. I was taught that was correct, and have been doing so for many many years. The rest of the office only put one space, so-called "French punctuation".
Annoyingly, the house style guide backs up the rest of the team, and not me. We are therefore all amending each others' drafts to reflect our own personal preference with every iteration. I have already conceded the removal of a semi-colon at the end of a bullet point, but I am prepared to take the full-stop spacing issue all the way to the bitter end. Unless I am overwhelmingly proved wrong by the internet**, which I trust implicitly.
This will run and run.
*which is never wrong, as any fule kno.
**see above
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)