Well firstly, I had a weekend away seeing Her Majesty and all the happy residents of London on Thames. Actually, I only spent one day in London, followed by one in Brighton, followed by a travelling home in torrential rain day. But here are some photos:
When I got back from my jaunt darn sarf, I had to prepare for a job interview. I wasn't successful, which is a shitter, but I wasn't successful because they were looking for somebody "more dynamic and exciting". I didn't realise they were interviewing for a children's party entertainer, or I'd have worn my red nose (no need for the curly wig). I just can't win: I act friendly and well-humoured and I'm not serious enough; I tone myself down and act professionally and I'm not dynamic or exciting. Bastards. I'll give them exciting when I take pot shots at them with an AK47 from the top of a clock tower! Before ending the telephone rejection conversation, the woman said to me "I'm sure our paths will cross again". Yeah, just watch it's not down a dark alley.
So it's back to the drawing board. I need a new job, I'm desperate. I can't think of what I can do.
I knew I should've done the "girl power" v-sign thing at the end of my interview!
Ground control to Major Bomb
Perhaps I should invest in a red nose and do the children's party thing afterall. All being well, and with all things crossed, the Bombino will be with us on the 15th of March. It will be undocking from mothership Bomb via caesarian because it's being an awkward little sod and not turning over. This is despite manipulation at the hands of medics and also some weird Buddhist witchcraft at the hands of Connie.
Initially, Bomb's obstetrician wanted to do the section on the 14th, but she refused to have her baby born on that date because it's a Wednesday - Wednesday's child is full of woe and all that; and she should know, the miserable bastard. Let's face it, there isn't room - or soundproofing - for Bomb and Spawn of Bomb as it is, let alone having both of them being born on the most miserable day of the week.
It's so nice to know that the child's life will be tarnished by the superstitions of her eco-warrior earth mother. She was showing me how to do a nappy the other day; she wants to go for the terry ones that you wash. If I'm looking after it, I'll be using Pampers disposables, thankyouverymuch.
I'm actually looking forward to being an auntie, although I'm holding back on my excitement until I know that they're both safe and well. And when I know the Bombino is safe and well, I will spend as much time as possible corrupting it in the ways of Sniffy (and Trump of course).
9 comments:
Yay! First!
A dirty dyke in Brighton? Now there's something you don't see every 0.001 seconds!
I bet you felt ever so weird being surrounded by minge.
The pic with your tongue out - is that fur I can see?
As for the pic in Soho - That woman on the edge of the pic looks like she's about to knife you.
Brighton was full of them, some of them had even bred! And it was difficult to find anywhere to get a full English because it's full of vegans and places selling crystals and shit.
The woman in Soho should've been more careful and stayed out of my shot. Stupid bitch.
My tongue is vile. True.
I prefer Hastings to Brighton. Fewer trendy twats with stupid haircuts.
Did you get some rock?
That looks a bit like Brett Anderson (him who used to be in Suede) in the Soho pic.
Didn't get any rock, but I had some doughnuts on the pier. I've only ever driven through Hastings, so I wouldn't really know what it was like.
I don't think I saw anybody famous in London, it was rubbish (for seeing famous people). It was quite cold and wet there so they were probably hiding in their bunkers.
I just became another Great Uncle SID at the weekend.
Yay for crying,puking, earthangels in other peoples houses!
Was the Canadian in the House?
The slacker.
The guys who were looking for some one more dynamic will be punished by employing someone dynamic. Ie a twat with more style than talent.
What the fuck is Connie doing to Bomb's toe? Is this a tradition of some sort?
I'll be a great-aunt for the 8th time in May. I can't wait for this one - the baby jones is on me again, and I need a fix!
What Connie is doing to Bomb's toe has something to do with a crank at the Manchester Buddhist Centre. You set light to that cigar-looking thing - it burns like a cigar - and the combination of aromatherapy (burnt tyres) and reflexology (burnt toes) is supposed to persuade a breeched baby to flip over. It didn't work on the baby, but I had a terrible night's sleep and woke up upside down in my bed the next morning. Otto was a complete mess.
Instead of being born with a bit of woe on a Wednesday she chose to be born on the Ides of March.... Hmmmm, what's worse? A bit of woe or a knife in the back?
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