@ Monday, Jun. 09, 2008 – 09:42:29 pm
June 9, 2008
Kids, eh?
You get distracted for a bit and when you turn around they've put on weight, completely changed their hair colour, learned to smile, started to gurgle, and developed an alarming propensity to make you go a bit, well, gooey.
Harrison, in his eighth month:
@ Monday, Jun. 09, 2008 – 03:03:25 pm
June 9, 2008
Nothing like a swift G-Talk exchange to remind you what an absolute arse you can be whilst greedily sampling the demon grape, is there?
Allegedly - because can you really trust of the words of a wily woman of suspect repute? (I'm prepared to be killed for that later) - I was pontificating on the magnificence of this here website yesterday afternoon, robustly declaring that I receive a regular independent hit rate of about 700,000* a day.
And then, after uttering this garbage, I apparently half-choked on my Pinot Blush and spat it all over the floor.
Classy bastard, me.
* That figure is somewhere in the region of 699,500 times too high, incidentally. And frequently much less.
@ Monday, Jun. 09, 2008 – 11:29:32 am
June 9, 2008
Apodysophilia, noun
Feverish desire to undress
"So, a little al fresco, hey?" probed Nipper, drumming his feathered tips on the table.
"What? You were watching?" gasped Zeds.
"Oh, come on. Outside... on the sun terrace de jour... on the very Sabbath..."
"Er, we were deliberately where no-one could see."
"Obviously that is incorrect, as I could indeed see."
"You must have flown up and perched on the roof?"
"Indeed I did my friend, indeed I did - and let me tell you, it's hard keeping balance whilst simultaneously-"
"Enough already."
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