It’s been something of a chocolatey week. As themes for the week go, there are definitely worse and – of late – few better, so I thought we should just take a moment to appreciate this chocolatey week in all its glory.
This chocolatey week started, as all weeks should, on Sunday, with an Eater Egg hunt into which we’ll not go in that much detail as it’s already been covered elsewhere by Dan. Now, if you’d asked me last week, I would very possibly have sided with the work colleagues who suggested that I’m probably a little old for an Easter Egg hunt, but I’m happy to say that I’ve now changed my mind completely, which is nice. Continue reading
The main problem I face when compiling these journal entries is the worry that most of the happenings lining up to be documented herein are, if we’re honest, rather on the dull side. The words, for their part, come easily enough, but have a nasty habit, once I get going, of heaping themselves together in such a way that even my mother would struggle to feign an interest.
That’s hardly a phenomenon restricted to the medium of print, of course: my spoken words also have a nasty habit of drifting off into the realms of, shall we say, niche interest (chroma dots, anyone?). Continue reading
It’s altogether rather shocking an occurrence, but for once, the large delay in providing a few more words for this journal is not, as one would expect, due to a dearth of activity. Indeed, at several points betwixt and between the last entry and this, a fair few Things have Happened. Some of them probably even warranted a paragraph or two on these hallowed pages (if only, it should be said, by virtue of the remarkably-low “interest” threshold established herein). An absolutely disgraceful state of affairs, I’m sure you’ll agree.
So, let’s see if we can’t redress the balance a bit, hmm? As we shall see, this exercise may be hindered by, in particular, one incident and its aftermath, but we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.
So, stand by for either a barrage of increasingly-tedious journal entries, or the traditional prolonged period of silence as I either follow up on my promise/threat to fill you in on what you’ve missed or bore myself to death in the attempt and go to the beach instead. Place your bets now, please.
BBC Breakfast is currently reporting on fears that the British bumble bee could be extinct within the next ten years. A little odd, I couldn’t help thinking, that they consider this to be important news for today given that the corporation’s own website reported on the same in February.
Everywhere you look these days, it seems to be all about the bees. Particularly, indeed,the latest series of Doctor Who, which in its own subtle way has crowbarred in a few references to the bees disappearing this year. So either the BBC suddenly realised it hadn’t covered the bee story enough on tv back in February and has decided to rectify this, or else it’s a sly piece of subliminal publicity.
Personally, that sounds a bit clever so we’ll put it down to a coincidence.
Shocking, isn’t it, to think that future generations may not be able to fully appreciate this shocking tale.
If I could be bothered to go back and check up on the exact statistics then I could be a little more precise in this matter, but I can’t so we’ll just have to settle for the more general statement that follows instantly: this journal seems, to date, to have been a relatively cuss-lite zone. Something of a surprise to many people to whom I’ve spoken in person, perhaps – particularly those who’ve heard me at work – but for the most part I’ve managed to lift my mouth out of the gutter before putting finger to keyboard. This is a much-desirable state of affairs, if you ask me (although you don’t have to, seeing as how it’s my journal and I’ll tell you what I want regardless of any quizzing or lack thereof on your part) and one that will doubtless continue after the one brief hiccup that follows herein.
You see, dear reader, I fear that today’s subject is going to involve and indeed require a fair-to-middling amount of swearing, as befits my current mood. As we shall see, such language will be pointed in a very specific direction and will not be used without consideration and justification.
For those of you who started to drift off during the above, here it comes again in greatly-abbreviated form: the following post may contain naughty swear words, so if you’re easily offended by foul language, I suggest you stop reading and perhaps crochet yourself a new hat or something. I don’t really want to listen to anyone whinge about my swearing, so if you don’t want to read such profanities I suggest you do yourself a favour and don’t give yourself an opportunity to be a cunt about it.
So, now the cheap shots are out of the way, on we go. What in the world could drive me to feelings so vitriolic that I seem unable to express them using non-sweary words? Well, in a way I’ve only myself to blame, but I’m very much afraid that I’ve been watching the ITV. Continue reading