I can't wait for the next six weeks to be over, then it will be done. Or at least it had better be.
I will ring the fuckwit solicitor tomorrow morning and tell her to get it sorted out. I'm still angry that she can't work out 10 per cent of 118,000 and will have to remember not to be sarcastic.
I have a new reading habit. I read decorating manuals like they are porn. I bought Real Homes this week because it came with a free reader makeouts magazine. Jesus. I used to read The Economist and New Scientist and Q and now I slaver over Homes and Gardens.
It's a weird day today. The second Thursday in August every year the A-level exam results come out. Sad though it is, eleven years ago this day was one of the best of my life because I'd finally *shown* those bastards...
I'd hate to think that that's going to be the peak of my academic achievement for pete's sake, but I fear it is *g*
I am presently sitting in the office, walkman on, listening to Icelandic weirdness so that I can honestly claim that I can't hear the phone. It's not going to be any question I can answer and they should know that the entire backbench team is down the Coach and Horses getting pissed at this time of night.
Life here is slow as molasses at the moment. I'm working seven days in a row, so not much exciting stuff will be done, save for the requisite amount of house nagging. If I want to get in by September 7, I have to start nagging tomorrow.
God, I wasn't going to mention that, was I. I am obsessed, and not in the good way.
I've been reduced to reading short stories because I don't have the patience for novels right now, so I got a collection called '999' which aims to do for horror what Harlan Ellison's collections did for SF.
I've read three or four fantastic stories in there but -- shocking though it is to admit it -- I'm bored by the gotcha endings *g*