Yesterday afternoon I noticed that 3 buttons on my phone – important buttons too – have given up providing the service known as ‘working’. It’s awkward, cos I can only finish a call by the other person hanging up, which is a problem when you get put through to voicemail …
So, en route for the lesson I was teaching, I thought, "What a good idea it would be if I popped into the Orange shop while I’m in town!" So that’s what I did. (I was talking with Maria on the phone as I approached the shop, and had the same button-not-working problem).
I walked in. I waited to be ‘seen’. I was seen. I told the chap, "I’m having trouble with my handset," got it out, and found everything working PERFECTLY. Somehow, I avoided telling him this; making some other enquiry instead. And then I left the shop.
By the time 50 metres had passed beneath my feet, the self-same buttons had ceased ‘working’ once more.
Do you think if I walk past the Orange shop tomorrow it’ll fix it?
This blog would not be a fair representation of my life if it did not carry some reference to Flight Of The Conchords. Maybe I did get into them a bit late (should have watched more telly when in NZ), but better late than never. And now it’s your turn …
Only one more week to wait!
And then it’ll be time for Six Nations rugby 🙂 [highlight to read]
This is the kind of thought that keeps me going on cold Edinburgh mornings, standing on the side of a windswept street being ignored by people (ignored because they don’t want a newspaper, not because I’m a bad person or something). It’s surprising how much time can pass when you’re imagining the different potential combinations in the England backline, or what it might be like to have Lesley Vainikolo running at Shane Williams.
But I digress. It’s one week ago I was going to talk about.
Last weekend, Maria & I were ‘down south’ (Scots don’t like saying things like ‘in England’), thoroughly enjoying the wedding of our friend Joy to a nice Lancashire lad called Ben. The service was genuinely fab – gospel choir, original vows, Tom giving away his sister etc. – and the reception even better.
In our invitations it mentioned that Joy & Ben would love people to contribute ‘something’ (eg. a song, poem etc.) to proceedings, so we volunteered. After the first few turns (inc. an operatic soprano, a limerick, and a comic father-of-the-bride poem) it was seeming like rather a rash decision, especially with Maria feeling ill. But we went ahead: we sang Natural Woman (me on guitar & vocals, her on piano), and then halfway through Maria left the stage to dance. She was BEAUTIFUL.
And then, just to cap a really lovely weekend away, we went for Sunday lunch with Jono & Emily West, of whom we are big fans – they make us feel really good. Love them.
Are you playing?
If not, I’ll let you know that the idea of The Game is to forget that you are playing The Game. There are no other rules. Thereby, you lose The Game every time you remember that you’re playing it, and you never get the satisfaction of winning is cos as soon as you realise that you’ve been winning, you’ve lost …
FOUR FLIPPING YEARS!!!
In my position as an all-action early-morning distribution agent for the Metro newspaper, I am well placed to notice when – as happens occasionally, maybe once or twice a month – there is actually something worth reading inside. On Friday, there was.
Only one paragraph, but a goody. Tom Hanks was being subjected to the usual horrendous interview that he has to deal with, as graciously as possible, about thirty times a day. And then he was asked about the success of his marriage and invited to explain if there was a reason. His reply is a pearler:
Your 20-year wedding anniversary’s coming. What’s your secret?
Never getting divorced! Picking the right person and saying: "You’re the one for me!" That’s pretty much what happened. It’s as simple as that. I have a great friend who also happens to be the woman I like to sleep with every chance I get. It seems to work out.
I just wanted to share something with the world:
For Christmas, my darling girl bought be (amongst other v nice things) a wee barrel of real ale. I’ve just opened it – it’s very pleasant – and am enjoying it whilst sitting with my back against the side of my bed, writing emails to long-lost friends. Hurray!
Text message sent by my mum to me yesterday:
‘I am on my way to exmouth. Dad has run over 2 granmas’
Does anyone else see why this is so funny to me?