So there I was the other day being all blasé about how we were behind, VERY behind, with an issue, and how – *shucks!* – we're just too cool to care, when I get home to find an email saying "final day for printing is monday."
Hmmm, I thought. Monday. Monday... So if it needs to be there monday... we need to have it finished by... hmmm... Oh. Wednesday. Oh. And then, obviously there's a weekend between those days, so we lose a bit more time.
Earlier in the day I'd been pondering whether to spend tuesday night down the gym or out for a run. Well, that all went out the window. To steal a phrase from Spock, the needs of the issue outweigh the needs of the abs, or the biceps.
I set to work. My friends, let me tell you - I was like an editor possessed. Sometimes there's nothing like a super-tight deadline to bring out the best in people. I'm not saying that's what happens to me; no, I'd rather not have any deadlines and spend my days watching The OC, but unfortunately you can't have everything your own way.
Anyway, the issue is now (*cracks knuckles, casually puts hands behind head and leans back in chair*) done. Time to chiiiiiill out.
Wha... what do you mean there's another one to do?
I stole The Killer's album off my brother the other day. They're another one of those bands/artists that I've discovered a bit later than everyone else (the same thing happened with Nirvana - I was about seven years late to that party; anyone know what Kurt's up to these days?). It sort of makes me feel like the special kid at the back of the class who's just mastered 2+2 while everyone else has moved on to trig.
Firstly, although the album is called Hot Fuss, thanks to Dora, I can't help but refer to it as Hot Ticket. And because that reference was only made in this blogger circle, no one else understands what I'm on about, and once again everyone looks at me like I'm that special kid at the back of the class.
I was, I'll have you know, a straight A student.
Secondly, consider these lyrics from Mr Brightside:
Now they're going to bed
And my stomach is sick
And it's all in my head
But she's touching his chest now
He takes off her dress now
Let me go
And I just can't look
It's killing me
And taking control
Question: why on Earth was he wearing her dress?
According to the weather forecast we're going to have a mini-heatwave in the south of Britland tomorrow. Now, look: I do like summer, and I do like heat. But it's September - the latter half of September, in fact - and I demand some autumnal weather. I want cold; I want rain; I want wind (and not the sort you get from an all you can eat buffet at the local curry house). I want leaves falling off the trees, and as a resident of Britland, I want to complain about the weather being too cold. And I can't do that if it's hot.
I burnt myself reaching into my oven tonight. It stung for a while, but on the plus side, I've now got a manly scar.
That said, how would you define a womanly scar?
We've got a new toaster in the office: £9.99 from Woolworths! Now that's either the bargain of the century, or a Claims Direct case waiting to happen.
So far I've managed to under-toast one bagel, and over-toast another. I'm guessing that the optimum setting is probably somewhere in the middle...
More on this exciting development as it happens!