Friday, February 27, 2004
Linda Barker has invaded my living room
Rant of the Day:-
1) Linda Barker. Why should a talentless no-one become a 'D' list celebrity over-night merely because she nearly gets 'bowled a googlie' by an ex-cricketer who is also trying to restart his career in front of 10 million viewers. She now gets paid an exorbetant amount of money by currys and dfs or whoever to sit on a sofa and say things like 'sometimes I just like to have more space' she already has the whole television network how much more does she need?
And shes got an irritating voice.
It could have been me!
2)People who phone in to Radio 5 phone-ins. I mean to say, I maybe an opinionated, cider obsessed overweight baffoon, but at least I have the decency to admit that I could be and usually am wrong in my opinions. I don't see how watching four soaps a day, and reading the comments page in the sun qualifies people to have opinions. We should limit who gets the vote again I say. Strike off anyone who watches Kilroy, and anyone who has applied to be a contestant on Big Brother for starters and then move on to real imbeciles - like chat show hosts and TV chefs.
Sorry.
Song Lyric of the Day:-
I hope I make more money than this in the next world
I hope there's a lot more riches there for me
I want my trousers pressed and my shoes shined up by a rich girl
whose only care in the world is me
(The Wonder Stuff)
Diary.
Spent all last weekend fairly comprehensively whammed. Paranoia and guilt are slowly fading waiting for their weekend re-fill.
I'm off on a jolly boys to scotland with my brothers this afternoon. Going to sit in the highlands and drink cider chilled (or lightly frozen) in mountain streams for the weekend. The playstation is also venturing north, so no sleep is also on the cards.
Feeling quite up-beat today actually, a half day at work may be turning up the corners of my mouth. 'None of that tired and weary my shift done, never having seen the sun' lark for me today POOP POOP WEYHEY.
Don't know if I told you about the job I'm doing this week, its a park in Kent where the last aristo owner of the estate died in 1903. His family had been there since about 1400 and he was the last of his line. He had a row with the vicar of the parish church who said he couldn't be buried with his dog, so left instructions in his will that he was to be buried on an island in a lake on the estate, wrapped in the skin of his favourate horse and alongside his dog. Fantastic. Proper mentalist. He took six months of the year off to go to the Arctic and shoot penguins and polar bears. He brought one of the latter back to the estate stuffed and stuck it in a ground floor window to scare would-be burglars. Oh, and apparently he had a Miss Haversham-esque room in the house after he got jilted at the altar poor chap. You don't get characters like that these days eh? (mainly cos we have laws and stuff I suppose).
This weeks alchohol unit counter is currently standing at nearly twice the recommended weekly ration, and its only just friday. I'll be a good boy next week.
When are we off to Jockland to sample the highlands together kids?
Better go and do a few minutes more work avoidance tactics. Good weekends one and all. Fetch Jerome a slap for me.
Rant of the Day:-
1) Linda Barker. Why should a talentless no-one become a 'D' list celebrity over-night merely because she nearly gets 'bowled a googlie' by an ex-cricketer who is also trying to restart his career in front of 10 million viewers. She now gets paid an exorbetant amount of money by currys and dfs or whoever to sit on a sofa and say things like 'sometimes I just like to have more space' she already has the whole television network how much more does she need?
And shes got an irritating voice.
It could have been me!
2)People who phone in to Radio 5 phone-ins. I mean to say, I maybe an opinionated, cider obsessed overweight baffoon, but at least I have the decency to admit that I could be and usually am wrong in my opinions. I don't see how watching four soaps a day, and reading the comments page in the sun qualifies people to have opinions. We should limit who gets the vote again I say. Strike off anyone who watches Kilroy, and anyone who has applied to be a contestant on Big Brother for starters and then move on to real imbeciles - like chat show hosts and TV chefs.
Sorry.
Song Lyric of the Day:-
I hope I make more money than this in the next world
I hope there's a lot more riches there for me
I want my trousers pressed and my shoes shined up by a rich girl
whose only care in the world is me
(The Wonder Stuff)
Diary.
Spent all last weekend fairly comprehensively whammed. Paranoia and guilt are slowly fading waiting for their weekend re-fill.
I'm off on a jolly boys to scotland with my brothers this afternoon. Going to sit in the highlands and drink cider chilled (or lightly frozen) in mountain streams for the weekend. The playstation is also venturing north, so no sleep is also on the cards.
Feeling quite up-beat today actually, a half day at work may be turning up the corners of my mouth. 'None of that tired and weary my shift done, never having seen the sun' lark for me today POOP POOP WEYHEY.
Don't know if I told you about the job I'm doing this week, its a park in Kent where the last aristo owner of the estate died in 1903. His family had been there since about 1400 and he was the last of his line. He had a row with the vicar of the parish church who said he couldn't be buried with his dog, so left instructions in his will that he was to be buried on an island in a lake on the estate, wrapped in the skin of his favourate horse and alongside his dog. Fantastic. Proper mentalist. He took six months of the year off to go to the Arctic and shoot penguins and polar bears. He brought one of the latter back to the estate stuffed and stuck it in a ground floor window to scare would-be burglars. Oh, and apparently he had a Miss Haversham-esque room in the house after he got jilted at the altar poor chap. You don't get characters like that these days eh? (mainly cos we have laws and stuff I suppose).
This weeks alchohol unit counter is currently standing at nearly twice the recommended weekly ration, and its only just friday. I'll be a good boy next week.
When are we off to Jockland to sample the highlands together kids?
Better go and do a few minutes more work avoidance tactics. Good weekends one and all. Fetch Jerome a slap for me.
Thursday, February 12, 2004
Thursday, February 12th 2004. 1:04 PM
Unusual time to start my diary but I haven't started my New Year Resoloutions yet either.
Rant of the Day:
The bloke in the Co-op warehouse next to my office window who whistles Celine Dion all day out of tune (actually an improvement). Although this does close the option of opening my window, to breathe in the fetid air of stale milk from the crate he dropped off his fork-lift yesterday. Shagwit.
Song Lyric of the Day:
The older I get, the deeper in debt
And Dusk gets nearer than dawn
(TMTCH)
Gibber of the day:
Bored, busy and battered last night, and not up to the job today. Having one of those living my life in the third person moments as my system attempts to restore itself to acceptable levels.
Spent the evening in the pub last night, shamelessly pouring Stowford Press Cider down my throat despite a self-imposed weekday cider embargo. Made a bit of an arse of myself, nothing out of the ordinary there, just the usual brain shuts down, mouth keeps going extravaganza.
Jerome drove us over there, obviously - there are ladies there, apparently he had to fit an aerial lead to one of the girl's TV's. The most bizarre euphamism I've ever heard, but fair play to the old boy. I think I may have tried to have a bit of a flirt, always a bad idea, and perhaps even tried to squeeze a little misguided humour into the conversation. Oh dear, where oh where will I find that beautiful titled heiress who likes fat alchoholic men (probably not in the kind of places we usually frequent I admit).
Archaeology. It seemed like such a good idea in the bygone days of my misguided youth, now the thin miasma of romantacism has blown over to trap some other deluded fool. I see now that its basically standing in wet mud hitting other wet mud with a pick-axe - or worse still sitting in the office trying to make mound sound exciting. To be fair I suppose it could be, but only with the addition of a couple of Amazons.
Think I'm having a bad day. Liver aches and I smell of booze.
Cheers Marv, happy thoughts tomorrow mate.
Unusual time to start my diary but I haven't started my New Year Resoloutions yet either.
Rant of the Day:
The bloke in the Co-op warehouse next to my office window who whistles Celine Dion all day out of tune (actually an improvement). Although this does close the option of opening my window, to breathe in the fetid air of stale milk from the crate he dropped off his fork-lift yesterday. Shagwit.
Song Lyric of the Day:
The older I get, the deeper in debt
And Dusk gets nearer than dawn
(TMTCH)
Gibber of the day:
Bored, busy and battered last night, and not up to the job today. Having one of those living my life in the third person moments as my system attempts to restore itself to acceptable levels.
Spent the evening in the pub last night, shamelessly pouring Stowford Press Cider down my throat despite a self-imposed weekday cider embargo. Made a bit of an arse of myself, nothing out of the ordinary there, just the usual brain shuts down, mouth keeps going extravaganza.
Jerome drove us over there, obviously - there are ladies there, apparently he had to fit an aerial lead to one of the girl's TV's. The most bizarre euphamism I've ever heard, but fair play to the old boy. I think I may have tried to have a bit of a flirt, always a bad idea, and perhaps even tried to squeeze a little misguided humour into the conversation. Oh dear, where oh where will I find that beautiful titled heiress who likes fat alchoholic men (probably not in the kind of places we usually frequent I admit).
Archaeology. It seemed like such a good idea in the bygone days of my misguided youth, now the thin miasma of romantacism has blown over to trap some other deluded fool. I see now that its basically standing in wet mud hitting other wet mud with a pick-axe - or worse still sitting in the office trying to make mound sound exciting. To be fair I suppose it could be, but only with the addition of a couple of Amazons.
Think I'm having a bad day. Liver aches and I smell of booze.
Cheers Marv, happy thoughts tomorrow mate.
Sunday, February 01, 2004
This is the blog of Daniel Bashford, archaeologist, rugby player, and cider drinker.
