Suzie Shooter

Today I have:
- Done two lots of washing to hang out in the lovely weather. Having just hung up the second load, the washing line snapped, meaning I have probably scandalised the old lady in her garden next door by crying "fuck!". Anyway, I tied the end round a tree and it seems to be fine...

- Planted some seeds. I ordered them from a website called Secret Seeds, which amused me for all manner of childish reasons. Anyway, basil, chives, parsely, borage, poppies and mallow. Assuming the cat doesn't scat them all off the windowsills, should be a good crop.

- Cut my hair up round my ears. Well, yes, all of it, not *just* the hair round my ears - you get the picture.

- Had boiled eggs with toast soldiers, then duck pate and cucumber on a toasted bagel, and then a glass of wine in the sun, sitting on a lawn threaded with violets. There are advantages to not getting round to mowing the thing.

- Cleaned the bathroom, done the washing up, and done an arse-load of ironing.

- Got the River Cottage soundtrack CD in the post. Discovered its existence having googled Mad & Distracted who do the theme music and so on. Decided it was too pricy on Play, looked on eBay and found a copy for £2 on a listing that was ending in 60 seconds time. It also contains one of the maddest songs I've heard for a while...

Lame injury of the week: I just twatted myself in the head by walking into the festive bells stuck to the door of our department.

Fail, Suzie, fail.

Just dropped a sausage back in the pan and splashed boiling oil all over my hand. Ow ow ow ow ow ow fuck.

...just managed to slice my finger open trying to cut a carrot in half. I always knew vegetables were bad for you.

Wouldn't have been so bad, except five minutes later I also gouged myself open on the kitchen cleaner bottle. The same finger. *fails*


I should possibly point out the title of this post is a quote from Giles Coren, not Biggles. Sadly.

Got home this evening, and opened the front door to discover the hall and kitchen was awash in a sea of black feathers. Further investigation revealed the sweetpea plants on the kitchen windowsill were now in the sink, apparent victims of feline pursuit. Also, the kitchen was covered in bird crap. Nice.

A search failed to turn up a corpse, so assuming they'd disposed of the remains I went into the living room (sans feathers) and turned on the light. A few seconds later, there was a scuttley rattley noise, and I looked up to discover a rather bedraggled blackbird dancing about on top of the light fitting (essentially going "ow-ow-ow-ow" as it heated up, I presume).

Eventually, it twigged that I'd opened the window, and made its escape. The cats are now looking at me irritatedly, wondering where I've hidden it...

So, I've just broken my tooth. On a biscuit, for fuck's sake. A bloody great chunk just fell out the side of one of the back ones. It doesn't hurt, but it's left a horribly sharp edge. Bugger.

So being still a bit migrainey last night, when I got home from work at 6pm I thought - I'll just have a little lie down...got up again at 7am this morning, LOL.

I think I may have needed that.

Zzzzzzzzzzz.....

So there I am, happily sitting drinking coffee in my fluffy purple dressing gown, when a van zooms down the drive and two young men ring the doorbell. Gas boiler service. Not that - y'know, the Landlord had bothered to tell me. If I hadn't taken a random day off, there'd have been no-one here at all. Or on Monday, when, apparently, they are coming to measure up for a new gas fire. So we'll have to find someone to sit in all morning.

Anyway, it was hideously embarrassing, quite apart from the fact I wasn't dressed, because the place is a tip - washing up in the sink and all round the kitchen, loads of crap under the boiler and in the way of the meter, knickers drying on the radiators, cat tray needing 'freshening'. Argh. *hides in mortification*

Oh, and his parting shot was that everything was fine, only if they install a new gas fire they'll have to do it all again "so this was a bit pointless really". *headdesk*

"It's really hard, and very slippery, you just roll around on it."

Said I, referring to the passenger seat of a colleague's Merc. And then wondered why the person I was talking to was pissing herself with laughter.

*headdesk*

...you put milk and teabag into your mug, walk back into your office, stare at mug, walk back to kitchen, add hot water...