The Eugene love continues.
Kinga: people laugh at you for saying thank you all the time Eugene. I'm just being honest.
Eugene: well that's fine. I'd rather be known for saying thank you thank for saying fuck off.
I'm loving Big Brother. Eugene is totally geeking out about CB radio and Kinga looks like she wants to kill him. Eugene is lovely and should win Big Brother just for enthusiastically trying to communicate the wonderfulness of CB radio.
I am bored. My knees hurt, and I should go to bed.
That is all.
I will give any of you good people a million pounds if you come and clean my kitchen floor just now. I've been cleaning all afternoon (I even unscrewed things to clean behind them) and I can't look at the bottle of Mr Proper any more. Also, I have no mop. This will tell you something about the state of the floor: it hasn't actually been cleaned since we moved in.
I am a manky, manky bastard.
just arrived back from 3 days in the mountains and there was a special edition of Blick with "London 9/11" on it. Awful glad to hear you guys in London are OK.
Last night I got all nostalgic for Glasto as I loaded the dirty clothes into the washing machine (*finally*, after everyone else in my building washed everything they own this week) and they all smelt of mud and wood smoke and hash. There's still some of the Glasto smell hanging around though as I still need to wash my super-windproof magic fleece that needs to be washed at 30 degrees in non-bio powder by virgins by the light of a full moon or something.
We got the piccies off of the digital camera too. We bought a digital camera and it is BRILL, the best camera I've ever had. You couldn't take a bad photo with it. The pictures are SO GOOD it looks like you've got a wee window into Glasto. A wee tilted window. We both need to be getting used to not looking through a viewfinder.
I kept on the Glasto nostalgia by listening to the Radio 1 Friday show that was supposed to be Jo Wiley but ended up being Chris Moyles because the Radio 1 portakabin was floating away. It sounds like they really thought of cancelling the festival for a while. We were oblivious, having tea and cake in the Green Fields and then sitting in the cabaret tent listening to Atilla the Stockbroker for the millionth (and definitely last) time and drinking cider. I love those moments at Glasto when you've been soaked and frozen and roasted and frozen again and you get sorted with the simple things in life - somewhere dry to sit and a nice cold cider - and you experience this delirious happiness. I think I spend half my time at Glasto loving it, about a quarter wishing I was at home in bed or in the shower, and a quarter wandering about just not thinking very much at all. I like thinking not very much, sometimes.
OK OK I'm going to wash out the vials now. Really. I do it now.
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(oh and it is cool again. Aaah. It so lovely. I even biked it to work today.)
There is more thunder and lightning.
I know. I'm getting boring. I'm not used to this much thunder.
Two of my German colleagues have just been very German at me. The first one came in 5 minutes after one of the undergrads he's supervising, who was making one of my compounds. The wee student washed out the flask containing the product by mistake. He came in to apologise and see if I had any of it left that he could characterise to finish his experiment so he doesn't have to do it all again. I did, and I'm anyway not fussed as I am LEAVING ON FRIDAY and will not be doing anything with it other than sticking it in a bottle for the next
poor fool intrepid postdoc. Then his supervisor, my colleague, came in and seemed really disappointed that a) I don't need the stuff now, b) the somewhat expensive materials were probably going in the bin anyway when I leave on Friday and c) I had some gear for the boy to characterise. Yeah, fancy. Someone fucked up and it's OK. It doesn't matter. Chill.
The other colleague asked me to proofread his poster for the English and then spent the whole time guessing the mistakes to show that he's not ignorant and knows good English from bad. I hate proofreading for these guys. They ask you to look for mistakes and then appear to take it as a personal insult when you find some.
It's raining now but you know what? Still fucking roasting.
I have a provisional date for moving: 15th July. Aargh that's soon. There is an absolute TON of things to be done before then. Splitting the CD and book collections. Aargh. And we need to go to Ikea to buy extra pots and a bed and probably a million other things. And we need to go to P's parents and pick up his books and stuff as they are leaving the country in about 9 months. And I need to deregister and cancel my health insurance and blah blah blah...
*goes off muttering to self*