tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233736292011-04-22T01:50:08.535+01:00Warning! Contains daft post-modern conceits liable to collapse in on themselves without warning. Site visitors are advised to wear hardhats at all times.Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.comBlogger181100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-1150929183714432632007-12-31T20:50:00.000Z2006-12-04T01:11:23.679Z

Hmm. Due to the whole posting-in-the-future thing that my stupid whims have lumbered me with, this blog has become rather difficult to navigate. After careless consideration it seems to me that the only solution is to post a list of my blog posts here at the beginning. Or is it at the end... well, it's "here", anyway. This post. The first bit you feast your tired, bloodshot, text-addled,

Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-1141420183424017972007-12-31T20:48:00.000Z2006-03-04T15:01:53.716Z

a quest to be thorough I am now also wasting virtual space. Woo hoo! As quests go, a quest to be thorough is quite a dull one. Also quite difficult. I shall therefore end it now. Next paragraph, please. ......... Oh, go on. Please. Since the last paragraph asked so nicely, I shall oblige. I'm not happy about it, though. Let me make that perfectly clear: I'm not happy about it. That gap was, of

Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.com102tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-1141427116390404302007-12-30T22:31:00.000Z2006-03-04T02:17:16.196Z

As I understand it, I'm expected to talk about my life in this blog thing. So here goes:Got upWent to workGot homeAte somethingTurned on computerThere. I hope you're happy. No? Well, neither am I. But Albert the Lonely Blog Post now has company, so he's feeling a little more chipper. Which is nice.This blog post is called Lucy. Do you like her font? I shall leave her and Albert to hang around

Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-1141433015401873312007-12-28T18:29:00.000Z2006-03-05T19:48:57.863Z

No, not me. Albert and Lucy have been on a date. (Even my blog posts have more of a social life than I do. How depressing). It seems there was an instant attraction. Of course, this meant that they were rather shy and awkward around eachother for the first couple of days. You know how it is. You get all tongue-tied. You don't want to show your true feelings in case they're not reciprocated. And,

Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.com62tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-1141695373040070582007-12-27T00:23:00.000Z2006-03-07T13:40:31.973Z

Brrr. It's cold!Right, that's my small concession to reality out of the way. On to other matters.It seems I may have been wrong about that dark cloud on the horizon. Black and fluffy though she may have been, up close Miranda turned out to be, in fact (or whatever passes for fact in here), a cat. Yes, a cat. Not some pretty young thing who might catch Albert's i, or Lucy's for that matter, but a

Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-1141862204222539682007-12-26T23:35:00.000Z2006-03-30T09:30:31.193+01:00

The productive thing I was supposed to be doing still isn't done, so without further ado, today's guest blogger [big drumroll]:Miranda!Mew... Mew, mew... Mrrrrroooooowwwrrrr.[purrs at length]Meow.Hmm, I'd never looked at it quite like that before [spends some while in stunned contemplation].Well... [still somewhat stunned] I can only hope everyone found that as illuminating as I did.N.B. I wasn't

Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.com108tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-1143593988459072142007-12-25T13:31:00.000Z2006-03-30T12:57:33.346+01:00

... Merry Christmas! Everybody's having fun.Well, no, they're really not. It's no fun at all in here today. In fact, everyone's quite, quite miserable. It's that time thing, you see.Look to the future now...How bitterly ironic that line now seems. For here we are in the future and, good God, isn't it dispiriting? As Dave so rightly pointed out, by 12:01am tomorrow everyone's presents will have

Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.com238tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-1144188157590388472007-12-24T23:59:00.000Z2006-04-06T14:29:34.770+01:00

This post takes place in the freezer compartment of my fridge. Picture a sub-Alaskan wilderness of snow and ice, Birdseye garden peas roaming free across an Arctic tundra. This is bleak territory, hypothetical reader, bleak territory indeed. Neither man nor beast has dared breach the interior of this barren land in going on two, maybe three years, though what beast might have any business doing

Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-1144789740882842942007-12-23T20:18:00.000Z2006-04-12T22:47:20.080+01:00

Me: About this free will thing.God: [in the booming voice of Brian Blessed] Yes.Me: I'm not sure I really like it. It's confusing. What am I supposed to do with it?God: What are you supposed to do with it?! [patiently] You haven't really understood this, have you?Me: [pause] No.God: Essentially, you can do whatever you like.Me: That seems rather wide-ranging.God: [stunned pause] It's supposed to

Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.com80tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-1145581651863027592007-12-22T12:40:00.000Z2006-04-21T12:36:27.600+01:00

As a kid I spent more time in a sweater than I care to remember. So I will not be writing about that. Instead I’d like to tell you about the memories I stored under the floorboards of my childhood bedroom. I crammed my entire childhood under that floor. It was quite a large floor. But I forgot to take them when I left home. You always forget something, don’t you? So, I shall just have to make

Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.com93tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-1146515175430100752007-12-20T21:19:00.000Z2006-05-02T10:07:27.390+01:00

It would appear that I've spent most of the last few days asleep. Or at least I'm assuming that's why it's no longer the other day. Anyway, I had been planning to write a new blog post or two during that time, but alas that doesn't seem to have happened. Instead, I'll have to introduce to you an unfortunate chap called Umberclout Digsby. You will no doubt see more of him here over the coming

Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.com65tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-1147738772265125482007-12-17T13:18:00.000Z2006-05-16T19:09:52.630+01:00

I was bored at work one day (and every other day). This is what happened. I don't usually write poetry. Mainly because I have no sense of rhythm, so it always goes a bit wrong after a verse or so. And this is no exception. Well, actually... I don't know. If you fiddle with the pacing a bit towards the end, it kind of scans.Sloppy Jalopy There’s something sloppy about a jalopy,the way that it

Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.com51tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-1148848483339882062007-12-12T20:23:00.000Z2006-05-29T01:21:25.890+01:00

Not the kind of pub that exists in real life. More the kind that might exist in my head. And should anybody be wondering whether such a pub does actually exist, i.e. in my head, well, I'm not going to tell you. Not for fear that you might think me mad, just that it's nice and quiet. The kind of place where I can just wander in, put my favourite tracks on the jukebox, and sit back with a pint and

Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-1154546627498779002007-12-01T20:22:00.000Z2006-08-03T09:44:40.026+01:00

Yep, I'm back. I wanted to come back with a bang after all that time away, but I have a headache, so you'll have to make do with a dull pop. Kind of like when you're popping bubblewrap and you squeeze a dud. Or, to put it more onomatopoeically, Pfffff. In other words, here's more stuff I wrote ages ago and have just now spent a few minutes knocking into some kind of marginally less rough shape.

Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.com103tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-1156967585371180862007-11-29T21:45:00.000Z2006-08-31T00:38:05.986+01:00

I feel the need to blog. However, I am also feeling uninspired. In fact, I was almost tempted to blog about something real. There we were, within a mere few feet of eachother, reality and I, when I recalled that actually the bastard still hasn't apologised for that whole dull business that is my life. Needless to say I turned my head and, in what I hoped was a nonchalant, yet pointed fashion,

Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.com70tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-25608490492723062502007-11-09T23:24:00.000Z2006-12-04T04:42:19.680Z

Don't all faint at once. I'd prefer it if you did it in quick succession, like toppling dominoes; there's something innately pleasing about toppling dominoes. Maybe if you could dress as dominoes, too - that would be even better. Hmm... toppling human dominoes. Ok, I'm just going to wander off somewhere and imagine I have an army of toppling human dominoes - ooh, the power, the pretty patterns!

Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.com55tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-77924291488252096292007-11-08T00:55:00.000Z2006-12-04T01:58:27.436Z

As promised, here's more Umberclout Digsby. As for the whole imagining Celine Dion's brutal demise thing; well, everyone harbours the odd irrational hatred, don't they? At least my one's rational.It was with great regret that Umberclout Digsby, on his 18th birthday, gave up on his childhood dream of being liked. He had passed into adulthood and not one person had professed to like him. Neither

Occasional Poster of Commentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07780858079455768452noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23373629.post-1149008131050877462006-05-30T17:16:00.000+01:002006-05-30T17:55:31.360+01:00

Well, I might not be able to buy you a Green Tea Frappucino with Melon Syrup on your birthday, but here's a carved watermelon for you.

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