Nifty-fifty lens,
new plaything for camera;
clarity is mine.

Wa-TOOSH: sneeze surprise!
Look confused for a second,
then hear the mist fall.

Went to bed at ten,
now midnight swift approaches;
blame Facebook, haiku.

Ow.

If there isn’t anything that works when you shout “enough of your lies!”, does anyone know of something that maybe responds to “Get thee gone, Beelzebub! You and your hellish minions!”. If anyone has any suggestions, it would be much appreciated. Oh, and existing solutions should be compatible with Mac and Windows.

And if not, I can feel a patent application coming on. Let’s say it’s non-obvious for the moment.

Alternatively, it will just sit in the list of brilliant yet un-acted upon ideas, and I will file it next to the napkin I found in my back pocket today on which is scrawled, in black biro in a rectangle of triumphant emphasis, “plankton restaurant”.

1. Stand on Walton Street at the crossroads with Cranham Street, outside the Jericho Cafe.
2. Turn to face down Walton Street towards the Phoenix Picturehouse, and stare at it for a moment. While you’re doing this, think to yourself “films, cinema, films, cinema”.
3. Then quickly look to your right, at the side of the Jericho Health Centre, in particular at the sign saying “chlamydia screening”.
4. Be afraid and confused.

So far I have avoided the problem a friend of mine was telling me about where he said he could remember everything that had happened one evening, except whether a girl he asked out said yes or no. As it turns out she said no, inevitably. This brings to mind an incident I remember from my first year at uni; after getting slapped the second time I’d asked a girl her name I realized that the first time she’d actually said “Emma”. Whereas initially I thought she had said “um, er” and then changed the subject. As well as my memory, my hearing is not very good either. And I obviously tend to assume people are a bit peculiar/as easily distracted as I am.

But I digress. The other day I received several reminders I had set in my phone the night before. These included “Write about man having the world’s maddest piss” and “Put light blue trousers in the wash”. After a brief panic in which my head was filled with various terrifying scenarios that may have played out and inspired such messages the night before, I believe the two were unrelated.

The trouser incident was from a fairly minor beer spillage. Although it was a bit glass-breaky. Oops. The man having the “world’s maddest piss” was not me, nor inspired by my actions. But he was at the urinal next to me, urinating in a way I can only describe as bonkers, as I nervously monitored his activities in my peripheral vision and edged away as much as I could without having my own insane urinary mishap. If he’d been me, he’d have received an electronic reminder the next day which said “Make sure you wash your jeans, and you may want to consider binning your shoes. Try not to remember why.” Possibly also “take out advert in local paper apologising to nervous-looking man in light blue trousers”.

Bearing this in mind, I’m very surprised that I have only mentioned cake once before on FTB.

Now twice, obviously.

Coincidentally, that was around the time of my BIRTHDAY last year; don’t forget it’s only my ruddy birthday again this Thursday (cake, I like cake, cake, cake, cake).

It’s a particularly exciting birthday, because my age will go from being a prime number, to a power of two. Can you imagine!? The next time that happens, I’ll be 128. And after that, 8192. Which, I suspect, is a bit too elderly to be practical, but I’ll give it a go.

I wrote these words while enjoying something of a hangover, combined with sleep deprivation and caffeine, on Sunday morning. I think it nicely captures the mood. I continued:
Looking on the bright side, there was splendid food and company, hoorah for all involved. Well done.

And I probably won’t hear the words “when are you going to drink that Old Speckled Hen?” again. Unfortunately, it now feels like it’s trying to peck out my liver. I hope this doesn’t become a regular occurrence.

Hangover. Recovery = medication + Yello. Alka Seltzer XS, plus “You Gotta Say Yes To Another Excess”, which I purchased on my mobile telephone while still in bed. And have only just appreciated the connection in the names. I wish I had been clever enough to do so deliberately. Very long time since I heard that album, and have finally replaced elderly cassette copy that is lost somewhere at the parents’ house. Very good decision, produced a silly grin on hearing first notes of I Love You. Slight (hopefully silent) fit of hysterics listening to Great Mission. This is definitely my new favourite hangover recovery album, replacing The Prodigy Experience (played loud, in a kill or cure way). So I listened to that, and drank caffeinated medication, and had vitamins, and extract of milk thistle. Prometheus swears by it.

Then I spent several minutes photographing myself pretending to be asleep next to a giraffe hand puppet. The photos turned out, inevitably, to be horrible, in a “stills of a dozing extra from Planet of the Apes” way. Awesome t-shirt is from threadless.com
Now I’m having a little rest after running around in as big a circle as our house can accommodate and not in be any more OBVIOUSLY HAHAHAA and and and and I think I need a nap. But I’ve enjoyed more caffeine than I can really handle these days, and have had to post a warning note on the fridge so that no-one else is frightened!!!!

Now I’ve been filled with toast and eggs and beans I’m a little bit calmer, and starting to feel sleepy.

So. I am not going anywhere this weekend now. I really hate weather that is in any way rmarkable or worthy opf mention. I crave bland wather.

As a treat last night I made an enormo-vat of pasta and watched a series of Yes Ministe on DVDr, and enjoyed a carbs/Ronnie Hazlehurst nap. The theme to Yes Minister really is gloriously soporific. Maybe because it’s the sort of thing that was on at bedtime when I was small(? And then to rouse myself from my torpor, I watched Jackie Chan’s First Strike, which was ait  ( (I have just been interrupted to check whether “drub” is a word, so this may go wrong here. I was definitely talking about Jackie Chan’s First Strike. I had not watched it for some time, and it was very exciting - possible over-exciting - on our new giant television. And again, but I can’t really say in polite company what the topic of the interruption was. If I just say “****ed by you know who” most people reading this will know.

At this point I am giving up on the not looking thing - and I did make one correction, so that a sentence makes sense!! And obviously I’m going to go back and put some links in.

Attempt three: did I mention I watched JC’s First Strike last night? I’d completely forgotten that was the film with the exciting stilts-based action. I need some stilts, then I can smite my enemies who are on first-floor balconies when I am stilting along on the pavement outside with some deft, stilty head-kicking. But maybe once the snow and slush has gone - I nearly fell over about five times on my way home from work last night and it’s only a four minute walk. Did I say I’m not enjoying the weather?

Addendum: 2:07pm - I have now managed to fall over in the snow. Luckily, neither I nor any of the shopping were harmed.

RIGHT.

In the shower yesterday morning my inner monologue was treating me to a slightly haphazard medley of its own devising, consisting of various hits by The Jacksons. Unfortunately, my mind only knows two hits by The Jacksons, and not many of the words. Only really the two tracks on the rather awesome Motown 50 compilation celebrating 50 years of the label. (Want 60 top Motown hits? Buy Motown 50 MP3s/CDs from amazon.co.uk!!!) Ahem. Er. Yes. These tracks being ABC and I Want You Back. Mysteriousy at work in the afternoon my iPhone mobile telephone twice unpaused itself and started playing ABC - when all the tracks are arranged alphabetically, ABC is the first track in it, innit.

Still, at least I didn’t wake up to find a hairbrush in my shoe.