Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend...

“Ingratitude is treason to mankind.” James Thomson

Thursday 1 July 2010

In which very little is achieved.

Well, that Harridan is a wily minx, as hopped-up on the Twitter as she is, and now I'm up to my eyeballs too, twatting away - or whatever you call it - ten to the dozen. 'When is there time to do anything else?' I ask myself. Then I have a little nap.

Today the lovely man had an appointment to see a specialist, which we thought meant that a thing, like a sort of procedure, might take place, but hallelujah and hurrah, it was yet another consultation. You wouldn't want anything therapeutic to take place at a breakneck speed, providing all the relief and wellness and getting-it-all-over-with which one might desire. "I didn't get where I am today by providing timely relief from minor but uncomfortable conditions which I am suitably qualified to treat," the consultant might say in a CJ-like manner.

So that was a bit of a shame, but now we have all the looking forward to it to do for the next indeterminate period of time (ie now until kingdom come aka who knows), which is nice.

I used the remainder of the day* to tidy the house, run errands and generally try to prevent my head from exploding due to the heat, humidity and stupidity of others. First I nipped into Chiswick to get the dry cleaning. 'Nipping' is an English thing, I think? Like 'popping.' In this case I 'nipped' into Chiswick in dense traffic moving at glacial speed, slower than if I had ridden a burro, running the gauntlet of various be-motored psychopaths in thousand-degree heat. Then I 'popped' back again to collect the mothercracking credit card I had left there, tossing pound coins about me like rose petals, buying various odd denominations of parking time (80p for 30 minutes/£1.80 per hour, minimum 90p/blood from the crown of my firstborn) all over west London.

There was a problem with the cleaners' card reader, so they had taken the card reader from me and managed to coax some action from it, but they forgot to hand me back my card. Instead, they wrapped my loyalty card in receipts, which, if anyone from The Real Hustle is reading, is an adequate disguise. By the time they rang me, I was in Brook Green to pick up some expensive and pretentious Ye Olde Heritage Paint at the fancy fixtures and fittings shop. The Shoppe was out of stock, so after attempting to buy food at the world's lamest Tesco, and realising I had no cash to buy a chicken from the butcher, I took my dwindling fistsful of change back to the cleaner, collected my card and came home, three hours after I had left. I've been reclining on the chaise with the vapours ever since.

And my best news is that I may have an eBay stalker, whose aggressive attempts to make me sell stuff to her for arbitrary small amounts of money are beginning to disturb. You know how they have that "make an offer" option? She has taken that ball and run with it. My auction had no such option, but she made me an offer, then berated me for not accepting it and argued that she could buy my item in the sales (for more money) and anyway "we should end this correspondence** because we both know I'm not going to pay you what you want for your item." Forgive my paraphrasing, but I instantly deleted her scary emails and blocked her because she scared me. Yes, she even scared me through the computer.

We may not have chicken, but we have beer.

*I now am thinking continually in CJisms, as in "I didn't get where I am today by not using the remainder of the day." I accept that that may only be funny in my head.

**Uh, yes? Please?


  1. So pleased my tutorial was as magnificent as it was intended to be. Sooo should have been a teacher in 'Wasting Time On Social Networking & Ignoring Your Preschoolers' 101. If it is any consolation, my undereye rollerball clinique thing which is supposed to make me look young and awake is defective and i have to go back to High St Ken with all my fecking kids strapped to me in some form or another and get a new one with rollerball attached. Big. Fat. SIGH Of Sadness.

  2. hm, so you're twatting now, are you? i guess i shall be the very last hold out. le sigh...problem is, i cannot text to save my life. i just pound my large doughy fingers randomly into the phone's keypad and it is goddamn exhausting.

    this CJ - who dat? it's hilarious and i know nothing about it. tell me more!

  3. Harridan, you paint quite a picture. I'm reminded of you describing yourself as (paraphrasing) covered in children like a dog with fleas. Don't you think it's time to start demanding compensation for rubbish that doesn't work once you get it home? (Wo)man the barricades!

    Oh, Polish Chick - if you enjoyed that, you are about to embark on a journey of dark hilarity. Synopsis (with spoilers) here:

    Start here with the fabulous opening credits:

    Then get a little taste here:

    And be warned that any internet search is bound to also turn up the remake with Martin Clunes, which I haven't seen, but we all know how those usually turn out. I would advise against going down that path.

    And I have been - I can't bring myself to use the word tweeting - but I have been using the Twitter from my laptop and have yet to embark on the texting option. I am still sitting on the fence a little with Twitter. I'm at the fact-finding stage.

  4. see? i didn't even know one could tweet from one's computer. i thought it was all texting. still, i waste enough time with facebook and blogging, that any other social networking would severely cut into my precious spider solitaire time.

    and thanks for the links!