Ramblings and Musings and Wibblings

Here's a few little hints you might want to rethink driving that car:

- You have two walking sticks on the passenger seat.

- Pedestrians flatten themselves against the nearest wall or fling themselves behind the nearest tree as you hurtle past at approximately light speed, leaving clouds of noxious fumes.

- You are using your teeth to grip the steering wheel as you shift gear.

- You're not using your original teeth to grip the steering wheel, or

- You're not using any teeth to grip the steering wheel but are merely gumming it.

- You can't see without those inch thick glasses.

- You can't see a hell of a lot more with those inch thick glasses.

- You are wearing a cap that is wider than your ears and longer than your nose.

In short:

- If bloody Methuselah himself would fucking call you gramps and offer you his seat on the bloody train, you're damned well not supposed to be fucking driving, you maniac.

No love,

Me

*twitch*

I just had another visit from the homesickness fairy. She's been zooming past occasionally, but all she did was flutter her wings at me before sodding off again. I was not really bothered by this. She apparently was not amused, because this morning she came back and brought heavy equipment. Fortunately I managed to step aside, and all she got was a glancing blow and all was made well again by applications of tea and hugs.

Tonight she waited until I was distracted and the sources of hugs had buggered off to bed so she could try again. Guess what? She was successful.

That part of me that is rooted in Groningen wants to go home now, please. It doesn't want to try this and thinks it's a stupid idea to have come here. It wants to hear Dutch again, and to see familiar things and be able to see for miles and miles without all those silly hills getting in the way. Why the hell did we ever leave? We were doing just fine over there. Whose bloody stupid idea was this anyway? No-one asked me. We just upped and went because someone thought we might be happy somewhere else. Well, not if I can bloody well help it. I shall sulk now and make the rest of us utterly miserable. Idiot

To which the rest of me goes: "Hmm? Sorry, we were distracted by shiny things. Oh look, naked Hugo Weaving. *dribble*"

Which leaves that part of me that loves it here and it really, really makes to want a go of all this and is pretty certain I can be happy here if someone would just give it a bloody chance, are you listening to me? I mean, go forbid one of us has hopes and dreams and wants to act on them. We're all supposed to be in this together, remember? I didn't here any complaints when this was first suggested, so it's a bit late to start now. So if someone doesn't stop bitching and moaning I'm damn well turning this bloody car around and we just won't go to Disneyland! Am I being clear? Thank you.(1)

My brain is a weird place.

I shall go back to dancing. At least that's something all my bits agree upon. Dancing fun. (Yes, I know, so's that. But we're not going to. No, we're not doing that either. Okay, no. No, we're most certainly not going to do that. No. Nor that. Nor tha...erm...let me get back to you on that. Put it away for now.)

(1) Oh dear Christ, I'm turning into to my mum. Though she never took us to Disneyland.

Went to do some shopping for dinner tonight and saw one of these in a shop window.

Yes, gentle reader, AEG has developed a vacuum cleaner called 'Vampyr'. Now, I don't like vacuuming at all. I think it sucks like a convict at the crack of the gas chamber door. I also think I'm not the only one with a healthy dislike of this particular household appliance, so I can see why they'd want to glamorise said appliance. But 'Vampyr'? 'Vampyr'? Is AEG hiring dyslexic goth marketing directors now?

I wonder what went on in the wonderful minds in the marketing department. Something like this, perhaps?

'People, tests show that people loathe vacuuming. We need to make it more fun! Let's re-vamp the humble vacuum cleaner! Anyone have any ideas?'

*someone in the back of the room going 'ohohohoh! Pick me! Pick me!'*

'Yes, you in the back?'

'Well sir, we know vacuum cleaners suck, don't we? So I'm thinking: wouldn't it be cool to call it 'Vampire'? They suck too...'

*silence*

'I like it! But it needs something else. Something...different. Something edgy. Yes, Johnson?'

'How about we spell it differently? Maybe with a 'y'? And drop the 'e' as well?'

*more silence*

'That's it! Well done! This will revolutionise the vacuum cleaner business!'

'Vampyr'...Really, what's next?

It all started when I looked out my first story window, and saw sheep in my neighbour's back garden. I wasn't really paying attention, so I just thought 'Sheep. Lambs too.' and got back to writing. It wasn't until my brain started poking me that I realised there was something amiss. So I look again, and yes, those are sheep. Lambs too. In my neighbour's back garden. Where he grows vegetables.

So I wander outside, because dude! Sheep! In my neighbour's vegetable garden! Not something you see everyday (sheep, yes, but not sheep in my neighbour's back garden. Lambs too.)

After a few minutes, my neighbour returns with the sheep's owner. Turns out some eejit cut open his fence, and now all the ewes and lambs are roaming free (about 80 in total). I offer to help round them up, because with 80 sheep loose, you need all the help you can get.

I team up with two guys. They'll herd the ewes (lambs are sure to follow), and I'll pick up any stray lambs and deposit them in the field. Sounds simple, no? It's not. Oh, it was fairly easy rounding up the majority, but you always have some sheep who will wander off into narrow passages and shrubbery and stay there until kingdom come. And getting all those rounded up took over an hour.

You try to be as gentle as possible, and not freak the animals out, but after stalking a very stubborn and protective ewe for 20 minutes and not her getting any closer to the field, you'll forgive me for grabbing the lamb when it wandered in my reach. I figured that as soon as I had the lamb, mum would follow me to the field. Which she did...in a way...after a short delay.

Oh, just as an aside: let me tell you, if I ever meet the guy who came up with 'Like lambs to the slaughter' I will punch him in the face. Lambs are not docile creatures. Especially not when mum is at the other side of the shrubbery baaing her silly head off. Holding a lamb while it's desperately trying to get to where mum is, is an exercise in frustration and ducking. Also, it's an excellent way to get sheep shit smeared in interesting places.

And another thing, lambs are not soft and fluffy. They're animated sacks of bones covered in wire wool with a kick that would put a mule to shame.

Anyway. I grab the lamb, and eventually, after much bleating, the ewe decides to get out the shrubbery and starts following me. At a run. So here I am, with a squirming lamb in my arms, and a pissed off ewe chasing me. I'm not running though, because of the aforementioned squirming bundle of bones and wool bleating in my left ear. I'm also not dropping it. So I settle for being headbutted in the knees every 20 seconds while I slowly walk to the field. Fortunately the owner saw me coming and rescued me from enraged mum.

All the sheep are now rounded up, the fence has been fixed, the hunt for the eejit is on, and everyone bragged about how difficult their assigned sheep were while enjoying a cold beer. And now I'm sitting at home after having taken two showers already, and still smelling of sheep.

I bring you Flexi Felix (also available in blue and black)

We've established it looks like something IKEA would have in their toy section, and plans to try and sell it to them are underway.

Scary dress

Now, I want that dress. I crave it, actually. It makes me want to spork my eyes out, but I just want it. I'd never ever wear it, of course. I'd just put it in a closet and take it out every once in a while so I can go 'Holy amazing shit, that's a scary dress' and put it back again. For some reason, I find this thought incredibly satisfying and funny.

Proof, therefore, that I should not, after only three hours of sleep, drink two bottles of ginger ale and idly scull the internet. It makes my imagination go to scary places.

*falls over*

I just saw a picture of a Fell-Beast model. It was made of pink plasticine, and was stuck on a black background.

It looked disturbingly like a penis with teeth.

I sure hope himself won't mind not having sex until I am free of that particular image.

The Lesson for today?

Do not watch the Appendices of The Two Towers when under the influence of prescribed painkillers.

*floats off to find a world not inhabited by phallic Fell-Beasts*

Just idly sculling along the internet, googling for the meaning of my name, and I run across this.

Yes...well...er...Look! Shiny! *hides*

Edit:

In case you're wondering, the true meaning of my name is, apparently, 'pure'. For some reason, that scares me even more. ;)