sheldrake

I'm a bit grouchy today because I stayed up really late last night obsessively reading the blog of an evangelical Christian right-wing anti-abortionist with mysogynist tendencies and homophobic and Islamophobic leanings. Yeah, I don't know why either. I obviously just like mentally poisoning myself. I won't go into how I ended up in this position, but it started with mediocre Radio 4 comedy. Sigh... Jokes based on lazy stereotyping are boring and make Alan Turing cry. Oh, and there's that thing where they help to perpetuate attitudes which are harmful to real people. But there, it's only comedy isn't it? (The odd thing was that the blogger in question seemed to occasionally have thoughtful things to say about comedy and censorship, stereotyping and responsibility. But then he'd go off on one about how we'd be better off without the NHS and the promotion of homosexuality in schools. And despite his apparent view that one shouldn't make mean-spirited jokes about members of opressed minority groups... it doesn't seem to have stopped him writing a bunch of hilarious homo jokes for our teatime entertainment.)

Ah, anyway. I want some scripted comedy what is actually funny back in the 6.30 cooking-time slot! Personally, I like Fags, Mags and Bags, because it is both amazing and great, and has a Wall of Crisps. And a Shopumentary. (You should probably watch the Shopumentary first).

"I want to go back to being weird. I like weird. Weird is all I've got -- that and my sweet style."

(((Moss)))

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We did a Gordon Ramsay cookalong -- not live, a downloaded one, which was lucky as it took about two hours longer than it's meant to. It was brilliant, there was a lot of running around shouting, "Lemon! Lemon! Get the fucking lemon, damn you!" The result was delicious, in an exhausting kind of way.

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I am having my hair cut tomorrow. And then I will do laboriously typing comments and stuff, on my tiny tiny keyboard which keeps going mad. New lappy should arrive next week. :)

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The weather is utterly filthy.

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Er, and stuff.

I'm really tired this evening. Can't be bothered sentences.

Anyway. Reason recent reticence. Tired of own ranting and angry talking sad things. Gone to ground. Buried head in sand. Pulled wool over own eyes. Went back under bedclothes.

Try for positive! Unexplained recent positive:

Radio: John le Carré, Attenboroughs.
Books. Brave Roman boys on noble quest.
Tickets for Russells.
Singing.
Battlestar G.
Beer festival. Mmm, chocolate orange beer. Friendly folky beardy men.
Friend's beautiful wedding, idyllic sunshine, butterflies etc. Friendly folky beardy men.
Chilli on plate.
Chilli on plant.
Sharing lolcat love.
Knitting Seaman's Cap.
Tomorrow: Keyboard buying for musical playing.

I still heart Ray Kowalski.

After a consistently fluffy and cheerful few weeks, I suddenly find myself attacked by a black floating misery and an absolute bone-deep, all-encompassing, sick-and-tiredness of every damn thing in this appalling, godforsaken universe. This is:

a) inconvenient, just when it's the weekend, and
b) conveniently occurring at the weekend

I mean, the most awful things are happening to me. My plant fell off the fire escape! I forgot to buy chopped tomatoes! I have a slight stomach ache! All photos of me are a bit crap! OH MY GOD, WILL THIS TERRIBLE MISERY NEVER END???

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In stupider news, I only just worked out that the character of Marjorie Dawes in Little Britain was a pun on the nursery rhyme that goes 'See Saw, Marjorie Daw'. So... there you go.

So, I did the LJ strike, did you notice? It was partly just to see how staying away from LJ for 24 hours would affect my astounding lack of productivity. Turns out... not so much. I just hung out on the rest of the internets instead.

Then I tried to buy tickets to see Simon Amstell, but it's already sold out, which is sad. :(

I have done some knitting, though.

Dont you wish I'd stayed away longer?

ETA: Also listened to Tariq Ali on Desert Island Discs. Also watched the Paul O'Grady Show!? Life without LJ... it's weird.

If you have access to BBC3 and didn't catch it first time round, I do recommend Being Human, a one-off drama about a vampire, a werewolf and a ghost who end up sharing a flat. It's smart, funny, well-written, well-acted television, and it's repeated tonight on that channel at 10pm. It's also on BBC iPlayer, if you're in the UK. I really hope it gets made into a series. I think I might watch it again.

(ETA: jamaillith has reminded me that there's a petition to sign, if you'd like to see it made into a series.)

Last week I went to see Russell Howard live. I thought he'd be quite funny, having seen him on telly a few times. He's fantastic! So full of energy, enthusiasm and joy, you just feel like you're being carried along on the force of it. I particularly loved the dinosaur catwalk show and the anthropomorphised newspapers. The anecdotal bits about his brother's epilepsy and trying to talk a suicidal guy down off a roof managed to be both funny and genuinely moving. I was really impressed -- if you like comedy at all and you get the chance, go and see him.

Earlier today I ate almost a whole huge bar of Sainsbury's Taste the Difference plain chocolate with swirls of Belgian milk chocolate and honeycomb pieces. Admittedly, it did make me feel a tiny bit wobbly afterwards, but it was totally worth it. So I recommend doing this, but not after a full meal. In fact, I hadn't had any breakfast or lunch when I tried it, and I think it was just what I needed.

Hrrm, that's all for now.

I am watching the Big Fat Anniversary Quiz thing, and I would like to say that Richard Ayoade and David Mitchell are the new Goth Detectives, at least until the old Goth Detectives return after Christmas, and that Richard Ayoade is my new favourite and I see from Wikipedia that he 'studied', although who knows what that means, in Ipswich, which is where I live! Also that he went to St Catharine's College, Cambridge, which coincidentally was my grandfather's college, and I AM IN NO WAY AVOIDING DOING MY WRITING RIGHT NOW I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW!

I've had some lovely wine.

Oh dear, now I've started shouting out the answers.

Overheard at work yesterday:

Editor, figuring out how to rearrange stories and pics in one of the papers: "So, if we move the Merton piece to page five, and bump this one up, and then we can bump Jim Davidson... off..."

Well, it cheered us up, anyway.

ETA: Aha, person who commented, I saw ya, you cannot escape! I pounce on any and all comments like a starved bear on salmon. Jim Davidson, by the way, is one of our less pleasant comedians, and you can waste a good five minutes of your life reading about him here.

Just a Minute is one of my favourite things. This documentary about the programme, however, is proving virtually unwatchable. I mean, it's got some great bits of stuff in it, like footage of the late lamented Linda Smith (albeit much of that being of her asleep on a train), and Clement Freud damning poor Nicholas Parsons with faint praise, but really, if I have to watch one more bloody melting clock, speeded-up train or clip from some old film version of The Canterbury Tales, I will... well, post about it on LiveJournal, I expect. I think there was roughly half an hour's worth of material there, but it's been stretched out into an hour with the aid of POINTLESS NONSENSE. I mean, look. I switched on because I was interested in the Radio 4 comedy panel game Just a Minute. I do not need, at this point, a neurologist telling me why it sometimes seems as though time is standing still, handily illustrated by YET ANOTHER SODDING TICKING CLOCK. When I want to know that I'll look it up on Wikipedia. At the moment I'd rather hear more about Kenneth Williams waving his leg in Clement Freud's face, and why, after Kenneth's death, it appeared that none of his fellow players had really known him at all. But no. Instead we have to watch some random person holding their breath underwater for a minute. In real time. Documentary makers -- for the love of God, why must you always stomp all over the subjects of your films in your bloody great size 9 boots in this crude and pretentious fashion? Oh good, it's stopped.

Anyway. That was just a little rant.

Do tell me when you want me to talk about stuff that actually means something to you, won't you, my dears?

Well. Toilet Tank of Death is, touch wood, fixed, for the moment at least. Landlord has been spoken to about all the things that landlords need speaking to about.

Work is tiring. I'm afraid I got rather used to being the person in the job who knew everything there was to know about everything, so knowing nothing about anything has come as rather a shock. I think I'm better at training people than at being trained. I'm trying to be good though, I'm just existing in a sort of permanent state of semi-panic.

I'm off in a bit to see the I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue stage show. A good round of Mornington Crescent should sort me right out.

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One day I will write proper stuff again.