First it’s Neil’s snoring (his reason for NOT using the snoring remedy last night? “Let’s see if it actually helps me stop snoring.” IT DOES, THAT’S WHY I BOUGHT IT), now it’s zombie cockroaches being revived, and BY (HUMAN, NOT COCKROACH) SCIENTISTS. Cockroaches are bad enough, I hate those fuckers — why the fuck would a scientist try to un-paralyse them after they’ve been stung by a wasp? It’s like a young researcher saying, Let’s see what happens if we release this virus called smallpox.
*shudder*
Great conversation at lunch, by the way. Mice sneaking into flats so they can use the Internet.
I was three, in kindergarten (Foochow Methodist Church in Serangoon, for those who care, and yes, I started kindy at three — I was bored staying at home). I’m sure I’ve written about this before. The swings were highly coveted there — it was a race very single day to get to the swings during recess and actually get a go on them. By the way, I think this is why I was on the athletics team when I was in primary school — I’m small and do not have long legs, but the desire for those swings made me run fast.
The swings were the ‘bottom half of a tyre with iron chain fasted on either end’ type — very comfy, and excellent for going super, super high. Being a bundle of nervous energy and not much else was rather good for getting very, very high up (or ‘high, high in the skyyyy…’, as we used to sing).
(What I’ve described so far is a general memory of those times.)
To be completely honest, I do not remember anything about actually getting on the swings, or what we learned in school that day. What I remember with crystal clarity is tumbling backwards — a thump rumble rumble thump in blackness. I don’t remember falling off the swing, I don’t remember when and what stopped me from rolling backwards (probably a wall?). But telling you all I remember is tumbling just doesn’t help create the atmosphere so you can understand the context of this pivotal moment in my life, i.e. the first clear-cut evidence of my total klutziness.
Apparently the principal had to run and ring my mum and gran, and I got stitches!
That was the most exciting memory. Others include doing pull-ups on the crossbar of those same swings although I have no idea why, I think it was meant to be some kind of intimidation tactic, although it should have been clear then that I am a squirt (still three years of age), throwing a tantrum because I didn’t want to wear makeup on the day of my kindy ‘graduation’ concert (you can see my tear-streaked face in the photos, even from that distance, I was 5, I think), falling off yet another swing but it was a different style of swing, and I ended up with my knee twisted up under it and had to take time off school because I couldn’t walk (I was six), sitting on the beach in Hawaii and letting waves crash over us (I was seven).
I reckon I’m meant to tag others to do the meme, but I can’t be bothered.
I’m pretty sure there are those who feel homicidal when in the presence of others who are trying to quit smoking… haha. Feeling like crap initially tends to be the general mood for smokers who quit, right? Drug to stop smoking questioned:
A pill to help people stop smoking is under the spotlight amid reports that it can generate suicidal feelings.
I’m glad I didn’t get that way when I quit. I just got through my Economists way quicker!
I feel like a really need to write a book.
It’s got nothing to do with my working at a publisher.
I would never want it to be published. I wouldn’t even try.
I just have so much to say about a certain topic and I need to vent. In private.
It would be a good exercise to turn something negative into something creative.
watched Jonathon Woss on the telly
went to a housewarming party
watched Law & Order: SVU on the telly
wandered around Glasgow (I would give up on buying new clothes when all my decade-plus clothing, the bulk of which I’ve been wearing this past year, starts to fall apart)
did the weekly shop at Morrisons (their diesel is slightly cheaper in the current oil price madness)
watched Cranford (another humorous moment starring an animal — will this be the hook?)
Scotland has one of the highest rates of obesity, second only to the US on some league tables.
Not exactly suprising. But this:
Dr Colin Waine, chair of the National Obesity Forum, said: “A very important chronic disease is being subject to a postcode lottery. We have got to see that obesity is not a cosmetic issue. It is probably the biggest health problem that we are facing at this present time.”
For the most part, obesity is not unavoidable — they’ve made a choice to eat lots of food and sit on their arses all day and night. Those with children are setting a bad example. By treating obesity as a disease, they are (once again) relieving the fat fuckers of any responsibility. That doesn’t help anyone.
By all means, institute a policy of designing pedestrian- and bicycle-friendly towns, and making facilities available for people to work out. But for fuck’s sake, make people take responsiblity for problems they brought on themselves. And let Darwin take care of the rest.
Bacon. I want it.
Not ham, not sausage. Bacon. Hot, freshly fried bacon in a roll with an egg.
What’ve I got? A caesar salad.
It is not bacon.
I have no freakin’ idea what Nader is saying, and I’ve told him he’s a weirdo, but here he is, doing his best impression of the mad Britney Spears fan:
Watch out for the tears!
As that Watchdog programme said the other night, it’s not as though we have a choice not to hand over our details to HMRC — in order to stay on the side of legal, we need to tell them everything about ourselves.
I’m not sure if the programme had been moved to Monday to prepare us for the staggering news yesterday that HMRC had lost CDs containing the details of 25 million people in the UK. Since Neil and I do not have any dependents, I do not expect to have an issue with my own details being used for nefarious purposes, but given the stories from Watchdog, where two people were given the same NI number (hence completely jumbling their details), I wouldn’t put it past them to have recorded several infants emerging from my womb in the last year.
drank wine and watched teevee (Children in Need and QI — a brainless night in)
did a bunch of crocheting, but not as much as I’d like (while Neil went up to the loft to move things around, more on that later)
went to the Hilton to watch the Italy-Scotland qualifying match (it was indeed a shame, but Scotland did do a good job — it’s not gonna make me want to watch any more football, though)
had dinner at Ashoka (not the Shak, but it’s the same company)
went back to Brian and Carene’s for a drink
slept in
did the weekly shop at Asda (and Neil picked his Christmas presents — not romantic or surprising, but he gets what he wants)
computered
made dinner (beef stir-fry)
watched Cranford while Neil pottered around upstairs, replacing the old, ineffective insulation with brand new stuff (BTW, Cranford is brilliant! It’s like Pride and Prejudice but maybe a bit… grittier? Also, I like how Neil’s mother went on about how wonderful BBC dramas are but chose to watch I’m a Celebrity… instead)
I had these thoughts while watching the Remembrance Day commemoration at Whitehall (on the telly):
If people / humankind have had to fight so hard and lose so many lives over this concept of freedom, is it possible that the freedom we’re talking about may not be the state we’re naturally meant to experience? What is the right equilibrium? Or is the fact that we’re sentient and have the ability to communicate enough to justify wars fought on the basis of liberation or freedom?
“Weight loss may improve the success of treatment, and women should be made aware of that, but to deny treatment outright is discriminatory,” he said.
Why can’t they bloody discriminate? Resources aren’t unlimited, for fuck’s sake! We’ll be transplanting livers into unrepentant alcoholics next… oh wait, it’s already been done (although Neil tells me he went private).
I mean, come on, equality for everything is a nice goal to aspire to, but if people refuse to help themselves, why should anyone else?
As Neil likes to say, Mel Gibson directs good movies. Unlike Kevin Costner, he doesn’t try to make himself the hero of an epic tale of love / disaster / triumphing over insurmountable odds. Neil wanted to watch this in the cinema, and I agreed it would probably be a great big-screen outing, but time got away from us and we never got round to it. So when we saw it on sale at Asda, Neil snapped it up.
So, basically, Apocalypto is a movie about a Mayan villager, Jaguar Paw, who sees his village destroyed by ‘big city’ Mayans. They take him (and loads of others) prisoner. They march them — tied — to their city, to face a horrible fate. Jaguar Paw manages to survive and escape (more on this later), driven only by the desire to save his pregnant wife and child.
(This is all on the back of the DVD cover, so none of what I’ve said is a spoiler. But spoilers are below the fold.)
watched the news, Dear Green Place (don’t like it), and Jonathon Ross (and had a can of Magners — ooh, drinking at home…)
met my cousin’s family for lunch at Ichiban
bought a new pair of boots at Dolcis (it’s got a heel on it — they feel okay, though)
had lunch at Costa (Christmas turkey panini and a hot chocolate, oh, and a Rocky Road)
walked around Glasgow Fort (in amazement at the crowds; checked out the new Hobby Craft store — frankly, it wasn’t anything special, but judging by the number of people in it, you’d think no one in Glasgow buys anything finished)
did the weekly shop at (wait for it) Morrisons!
watched the bonus features on Apocalypto (review might come later)
watched The Crow (and the special features)
It is slightly amusing that some people I met in Xiamen (who are still in Xiamen) cannot help but tell me about the new restaurants, cafes, bars, barbecue stalls, etc. opening in Xiamen. Either they’ve never had much to say to me and this was the only thing we had in common (since I’m so quiet, the latest interpretation I’ve heard is quiet = ignorant + stuck-up), or it’s something that’s become a reflex.
Heh.
(All are welcome to go wild with mathematical interpretations of what ‘quiet’ means in the comments, by the way.)