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hirezHm. I've been a bit quiet on the LJ front because, ugh, brain, by and large.
However, as seems usual at these points, there's a thing which is irksome which I will write down so you know that the stuff in my veins and arteries which passes for blood is in fact of purest tweed and I probably am Paul Dacre. Albeit a Paul Dacre too horrified to cope with its essential Dacreness and therefore given to hiding in an entirely hand-constructed universe which is in theory a nicer place, but the unconscious Dacreisms leak in anyway which leads to unfortunateness and maundering.
Actually I've been following the #stokescroft malarkey on the Twiddles which has been one massive WTF from the start. See also the filth raiding all the squats they could find in Ver Smoke, which has forced yon squatters elsewhere with predictable result - I wonder how out-of-date my copy of Ideal Home/Squatter's Handbook might be now - and also the internet filth (nice safe corporatist acceptable dissent click here to do fuck-all but feel better about yourself but really feeling good about yourself is more important than anything else isn't it where's the like button what do you mean I have to form complete sentences god you're such a fascist you're totally off my friends list) turfing out the unacceptable face of dissent ditto.
Although exactly how daft do you have to be to think that putting up a FaceAche page about an issue and having people 'like' same makes a sod of difference?
Perhaps it does make a sod of difference. Who can say?
So, right? When did we as a nation lurch back collectively in our emotional development far enough that wobbling about the place while sucking away on a Tommee-Tippee-substitute filled with ersatz alleged-coffee was actually seen as acceptable behaviour? I mean, I understand the need for a lid firmly snapped on the thing containing your cheering-brown-liquid-of-choice while you are transporting it from vendor's establishment to wherever you plan to consume same (not my bloody car or the seat behind me at the films, thank you very much. Does it say 'cafe' on the hoarding next to the list of Hollywood bollockery? I don't bloody think so. Sit down and shut up you hateful mob of bastards) so as to minimise spillage when some gormless tosspot barges into you because they're far too busy making themselves the mayor of whatever square of pavement you've had the gross bad taste to occupy instead of them. However, when otherwise sensible people goggle at me like I'm some kind of dangerous ontological threat because I've prised the sippy-lid off my tea and am now consuming it like a person, rather than slurping at it like a Brookeresque bell-end, something is severely buggered with the nature of reality.
It's not even coffee most of the time.
When it were all fields and black & white telly, coffee was some filthy sludge that boiled in a pyrex pot on top of the Aga. Fast forward a bit, past the age of Mellow Birds, and I discover that coffee is actually quite pleasant when served as cappucchino after a vast pizza and a bottle of Belgian ale from the particularly large beer menu at Papa Del's in Highgate. A few years further on, I discover that actually coffee is jolly nice, you just have to go to France to buy the stuff. About six months ago, I discover that real coffee comes from Colonna & Smalls in Bath and everything else is boiled mud sold to you by mad people.
(Seriously. All other things-that-deluded-people-insist-are-coffee need a good spoon of sugar in order to become palatable. The miracle wakey-fluid from C&N I can consume without. It's really quite something.)
And as for those hateful sludge-buckets of mashed lard that come with a viewing dome; fuck you.
Yesterday I went for a jolly good walk and now my legs hurt. Excellent.
Dear lord but River Song is all sorts of hot.
However, as seems usual at these points, there's a thing which is irksome which I will write down so you know that the stuff in my veins and arteries which passes for blood is in fact of purest tweed and I probably am Paul Dacre. Albeit a Paul Dacre too horrified to cope with its essential Dacreness and therefore given to hiding in an entirely hand-constructed universe which is in theory a nicer place, but the unconscious Dacreisms leak in anyway which leads to unfortunateness and maundering.
Actually I've been following the #stokescroft malarkey on the Twiddles which has been one massive WTF from the start. See also the filth raiding all the squats they could find in Ver Smoke, which has forced yon squatters elsewhere with predictable result - I wonder how out-of-date my copy of Ideal Home/Squatter's Handbook might be now - and also the internet filth (nice safe corporatist acceptable dissent click here to do fuck-all but feel better about yourself but really feeling good about yourself is more important than anything else isn't it where's the like button what do you mean I have to form complete sentences god you're such a fascist you're totally off my friends list) turfing out the unacceptable face of dissent ditto.
Although exactly how daft do you have to be to think that putting up a FaceAche page about an issue and having people 'like' same makes a sod of difference?
Perhaps it does make a sod of difference. Who can say?
So, right? When did we as a nation lurch back collectively in our emotional development far enough that wobbling about the place while sucking away on a Tommee-Tippee-substitute filled with ersatz alleged-coffee was actually seen as acceptable behaviour? I mean, I understand the need for a lid firmly snapped on the thing containing your cheering-brown-liquid-of-choice while you are transporting it from vendor's establishment to wherever you plan to consume same (not my bloody car or the seat behind me at the films, thank you very much. Does it say 'cafe' on the hoarding next to the list of Hollywood bollockery? I don't bloody think so. Sit down and shut up you hateful mob of bastards) so as to minimise spillage when some gormless tosspot barges into you because they're far too busy making themselves the mayor of whatever square of pavement you've had the gross bad taste to occupy instead of them. However, when otherwise sensible people goggle at me like I'm some kind of dangerous ontological threat because I've prised the sippy-lid off my tea and am now consuming it like a person, rather than slurping at it like a Brookeresque bell-end, something is severely buggered with the nature of reality.
It's not even coffee most of the time.
When it were all fields and black & white telly, coffee was some filthy sludge that boiled in a pyrex pot on top of the Aga. Fast forward a bit, past the age of Mellow Birds, and I discover that coffee is actually quite pleasant when served as cappucchino after a vast pizza and a bottle of Belgian ale from the particularly large beer menu at Papa Del's in Highgate. A few years further on, I discover that actually coffee is jolly nice, you just have to go to France to buy the stuff. About six months ago, I discover that real coffee comes from Colonna & Smalls in Bath and everything else is boiled mud sold to you by mad people.
(Seriously. All other things-that-deluded-people-insist-are-coffee need a good spoon of sugar in order to become palatable. The miracle wakey-fluid from C&N I can consume without. It's really quite something.)
And as for those hateful sludge-buckets of mashed lard that come with a viewing dome; fuck you.
Yesterday I went for a jolly good walk and now my legs hurt. Excellent.
Dear lord but River Song is all sorts of hot.
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no subject
Date: 2011-05-01 10:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-01 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-01 10:44 pm (UTC)I do maintain that a Starbucket choca-mocha-frappucino is dessert, not a beverage.
no subject
Date: 2011-05-02 10:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-01 11:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-02 03:34 pm (UTC)Mmmm Gramoxone
Date: 2011-05-02 03:13 pm (UTC)River is a traditional scifi name meaning "Form an orderly queue please"
no subject
Date: 2011-05-02 05:08 pm (UTC)I need to take you to Bottega Milanese. Proper cawfee.
And yes, this. And yes.
no subject
Date: 2011-05-02 06:18 pm (UTC)Invitation accepted. By the same token, should you (or others reading this) find yourselves in Bath of a weekday and in need of a refreshing brown liquid, ping me and I shall be pleased to guide you to C&S. They also do quite amazing tea.
(I asked for an 'extra bastard tea' when quite stressed several months ago. Now all tea from those lovely types destined for the JHR comes labelled 'EBT')
no subject
Date: 2011-05-02 06:08 pm (UTC)As I don't drink coffee of any kind I have no idea if this is true. You should presumably enquire amongst cappuccino-drinkers.
no subject
Date: 2011-05-02 06:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-02 10:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-03 01:17 am (UTC)Though I'm shocked and appalled that you disapprove of coffee in the cinema - unless it's because you know it to be an inferior choicse as many allow you to purchase beer for consumption therein?
no subject
Date: 2011-05-03 06:59 am (UTC)The Cube, on the other hand, will sell you Bath Ales and/or Fairtrade brown liquid.
no subject
Date: 2011-05-04 03:54 pm (UTC)Colombian, especially. 4 quid seventy a kilo, outstanding stuff.