I couldn't agree with you more on Iain Banks, Arti. I thought it was very thoughtful of him to use the two names.
I can't stand written science fiction (every time a friend has given me a book, praising it as one of the best ever, it has been ghastly). But I will confess a little Stargate addiction (nothing to do with Sam Carter, honest), and I don't mind the occasional movie.
One thing that drives me crazy is hearing a snippet of music on an ad on TV, and having to spend the next hour remembering what it is.
The Chemical Brothers, "The Private Psychadelic Reel", if you were curious. I'll be able to sleep tonight.
I've met a few of the people at work - my plans of sneaking in under cover of night and locking myself in the stationary cupboard all day didn't quite work.
But there's one important difference. I didn't know you, Will, Kit, or Kat before I joined SH. I'm very glad that I do now.
Red hair and glasses, and I'm helpless.
I only think I know this other person. I'm probably wrong. It has happened before (once, seventeen years three months and eight days ago. I'm still recovering from the embarrassment).
No, not you (I won't say "not you, silly!" - I'm not feeling at all suicidal tonight). I already know that I know you from somewhere else. It took a while, but I did work it out in the end.
(I didn't mention the real reason I'm massaging Kit's feet - I can see right up her skirt from here)
How's the massage, Kit? Enjoying it? I'll keep going then.
This might sound silly, but... Sinead Mangan.
Who? She does the resources and mining reports on the radio in Australia. The voice. Oh, the voice! Mining company share prices can be surprisingly sexy. And she has a face to go with it.
How do I eat mine? Well, I don't have one. But if you'd care to let me demonstrate with yours...
Worth a try, isn't it?
It's 15 minutes of fame, KitKat. The fun lasts a lot longer.
mmm... I could do with unwrapping a tasty Kit right now. I find Kat manages to unwrap himself without any of my help.
We have to do something about this. Poor Sarge.
Hey you! Bilko! Yes, you in the glasses. Put that duster down now! There are some newbies in need of a good frisking.
What are you doing bringing Pop Idol into the conversation? We were talking about music.
Calm down, Moist. An emergency supply of Cocteau Twins, Godspeed You Black Emperor, Penguin Cafe Orchestra, and Flaming Lips is on its way. Just try to hold on until it arrives.
Or? What's this "or"? Both, Moist! Both!
Ask anyone about an anorak's art. Watch wondering while wise word-wrights weave wit. Trust them to tie tantalising tidings together.
Sorry, couldn't resist. (and if I'd been a bit quicker about it, it might have been more obvious that it's in response to the end of tallnhairy's post)
I got one of those little cards from a parcel delivery company saying "We tried to deliver something, but you weren't at home". They hadn't ticked the "we'll try again tomorrow" box, so the next day I got a taxi out to the godforsaken industrial estate to pick it up. The parcel was on the truck, failing to be delivered again. One 20 pound taxi fare wasted.
A friend in the US is having a bit of a financial crisis, so I thought I'd send some money to help out. I've got dollar bank drafts before - the bank sorts it all out while I wait. But not any more. This time I had to go to Thomas Cook (who have a little branch in the bank). They have to order it, and it's supposed to arrive by registered mail, guaranteed by noon the next day. Of course it didn't. (on the positive side, the woman did offer to drop it off at work when it did arrive)
And then there was tonight. There was an announcement this morning that the Metro would stop running at 7pm due to industrial action. I made sure I left work at 6pm. They're stopped at 5:30. I walked home.
I am not a happy bunny.
Thirty something? Yes. Chronic singleness? Yes. Happy with life? Very. Fed up with people trying to give me kids and holidays in Spain? No. Even my parents have given up on me (I think they're secretly happy that they'll never have grandchildren). I love being able to vanish for a weekend (or a week) and not tell anyone. I love being completely irresponsible with my money, and not have to come home to glares and waving credit card bills. I like being single.
Quicky changing subject: Why do men chase and then run away? I don't know what his reasons are (I was worried you were talking about me for a moment), but I have a tiny bit of insight into the male mind. Flirting is fun. Chasing is fun. It's more fun if you know that you'll never catch them - you get to say all the things you'd never dare say if there was a chance your bluff would be called.
I enjoy it too, but I try not to make promises that I'm not prepared to keep. That's why there's a rabbit costume in my bedroom.
Unfortunately, shagging (however earth-shaking it might feel) doesn't leave much of a record. You have to wait for some kind of literary tradition to appear.
The Egyptians had some pretty saucy creation myths, didn't they?
My own entirely unprovable theory is that anything that you can think of was done as far back as people were capable of doing it.
An unexpected choice there from Fred. I wonder who Jags will pick.
That's not such a bad idea. Rescuing everyone sounds much better than trying to squeeze five in a boat. I felt terrible about all the people I left behind.
I get the feeling that after you've towled down all the men, I'll have to towel you down as well. I hope you don't mind.
We were all new once. When you're new, it looks like everyone already knows each other, and it feels like you're intruding.
Forget that. Take a deep breath, plunge in, and enjoy it. In no time you'll be a regular too, and you'll be welcoming the next busload of newcomers.
Hey, Moist! How can you be in my lifeboat and on your helicopter at the same time? Are you cheating?