Funereal Friday

I'm off to a funeral tomorrow. I never really know what to wear at funerals. I know this may seem daft, but what can you wear with black trousers so you don't end up looking like a waitress in a Brewer's Fayre pub restaurant? When I die, I'm going to make it known that I want people to wear what they want. So long as they look fabulous, I don't care what outfits they have on.

I think I'd like a photographer there too, so my remaining loved ones could look back and see how many people turned up to show their respects because I was so popular and fantastic.

As if.

But photos would be interesting. Or a video to capture people making spiteful comments about each other... or me. The cunts.

But tomorrow's do will be a dignified affair that will reflect the dignified life of Marie Wilson, a woman who touched many people's lives just by being normal and good and decent and fair. Even as she lived with a terminal illness, she just got on with things without complaint, and adapted as she became less able to get about on her own. She was great.

She was also a Catholic once and this means a Catholic funeral mass. Oh blimey. Me in a Catholic church without my camera! And I have to drive really slowly behind the funeral cars. This wouldn't normally be a problem, but my sticky accelerator cable/throttle means that the car will be kangarooing in the middle of the cortège. People will think it's a hip-hop or rap star's funeral as they see my car bouncing along in tribute.



Keeel them!
I got to Base 2a this morning to find that my phone had been replaced by mad Cynthia's. Whereas I look after my phone, ensuring that the cable never gets mangled and twisted, Cynth clearly ain't that bothered about hers. I was horrified and really fucked off within 2 seconds of getting into my office. This, only a week after I'd chastised the very same Cynthia for spilling toast crumbs all over my desk and leaving coffee rings on my mouse mat (there are three coasters on my desk and plenty of plates in the kitchen). I swapped over the handsets and calmed down with a cup of coffee and a fair old amount of toxic trumping.

Cynthia came into work at 9am: "Oooooh, you've taken yours back!"

"Yes"

"Well, you see I had to swap them because I had to transfer a call for [big boss] and mine conked out at 4pm yesterday. I was going to replace it, but I forgot."

"There's a spare phone in the other office."

"Oh, IS THERE??"

"Yes"

"Blah blah, lots of shouty stuff that I'd already turned off from, blah, blah"

If her phone had died (it probably gave up after a few months of her constant shouting and banging down of the receiver), why did she go to the trouble of plugging it in in my office if it didn't work? What's the point of replacing a working phone with a broken one?

NO

COMMON

SENSE!


Popups
People who visit here are plagued by popups. I get them too. They piss me off as much as they do everyone else. They're nothing to do with me and there's nothing I can do to stop them other than starting a new blog and changing my url.

I'd like to thank Easy Hit Counters for my popup problem. When I first started my blog, I installed their counter. For some reason they have targetted my blog address so that every time you click here, you get a pop up.

They are cunts.

They can sometimes be stopped with firewall settings, but they generally come back and the best thing to do is just try and ignore them.



Television sex

Is it just me, or is having the TV on while you're trying to have sex really distracting? How are you supposed to get jiggy with it when you have Tony Blair for company? I might get some ear plugs.