I am in a weird internet cafe on Roman Road. There is a sign above the PCs saying,
"This Internet cafe is save and Convenient Place for All customers and we respectfully request that it is prohibited any antisocial behaviour such as following.
1- Using naked and sexual pages
2- Drinking Alcohol
3- Smoking
4- Eating
We also request to respect each other.
We apologise for any inconvenience.
Thank you
Management"
And well they should apologise for inconvenience. I came here for the express purpose of having a vodka, smoking and looking at naked pages, whilst scoffing a kebab and disrespecting the person sat next to me.
The nanny state. That's what this is. One English pound I have spent for two wasted hours of no nakedness. I'm going home.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Friday, September 29, 2006
Comedying
My gig last night had three people in the audience. Living the dream.
It was a nice, gentle easing back into the comedy though. I've not really been focusing on it too much over the last few weeks, what with the holiday and a few things at work keeping my mind away from it. I've got a gig next weekend, and probably ought to book a few more. It ebbs and flows a bit - sometimes I realise I'm a comedy genius. Other times I know I'm rubbish and not getting any better, and decide to give it up.
I'm enjoying it at the moment... the real test is as winter edges on and I wonder if I really want to go and brave the icy air to share my pearls of laughter with three non-appreciative punters.
It was a nice, gentle easing back into the comedy though. I've not really been focusing on it too much over the last few weeks, what with the holiday and a few things at work keeping my mind away from it. I've got a gig next weekend, and probably ought to book a few more. It ebbs and flows a bit - sometimes I realise I'm a comedy genius. Other times I know I'm rubbish and not getting any better, and decide to give it up.
I'm enjoying it at the moment... the real test is as winter edges on and I wonder if I really want to go and brave the icy air to share my pearls of laughter with three non-appreciative punters.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
London's burning
Well, it's been an exciting day in Bethnal Green today. I was working from home, as I've got loads to do after being up in Norwich for most of the week. At about midday I decided to open a window to let some air in. I'm clever like that when it comes to problem solving. Despite what any IQ scores of 95, or the inability to spell "horoscope" or "Sagittarius" would suggest.
As I opened the window, I noticed thick black smoke coming from the flats opposite (about 20 metres from my flat). I watched for a few seconds, wondering if it was a chip-pan fire, but it appeared to be coming from the stairwell and was getting worse.
I called the fire brigade and went downstairs where a group of neighbours had gathered. The fire engines turned up literally two minutes later (I do live pretty close to the fire station) and they started tackling the blaze. There were people upstairs in the flats who couldn't get out, so it was all a bit hairy. Turns out some joyriders had stolen a motorbike, and set fire to it by the flats. They'd left it by a wooden door and the fire had started from there. The damage to the flats is pretty bad - the stairwell looks gutted and all the windows are smashed. There was probably no intent to damage the building, but it's mostly old people who live here (I fit in really well), so it was a horrible thing to happen for them.
Speaking to the neighbours, one of them said, "I saw the lads what did it. They was young lads."
I said, "Well, make sure you tell the police."
"Ooh, no. I'm not saying nothing."
I've never understood this attitude. A group of tossers sets fire to their flats, and could easily have killed someone... and yet "mustn't be a grass". I saw a policeman later that day and asked him if he'd spoken to the ladies who'd seen the boys. I grassed them up. I dropped them in it. I am not a proper Eastender. Still, they'd already spoken to them, so my meddling was unnecessary.
But still, I got to dial 999 and everything. Lucky that with my rubbish IQ of 95 I could remember what the number was.
As I opened the window, I noticed thick black smoke coming from the flats opposite (about 20 metres from my flat). I watched for a few seconds, wondering if it was a chip-pan fire, but it appeared to be coming from the stairwell and was getting worse.
I called the fire brigade and went downstairs where a group of neighbours had gathered. The fire engines turned up literally two minutes later (I do live pretty close to the fire station) and they started tackling the blaze. There were people upstairs in the flats who couldn't get out, so it was all a bit hairy. Turns out some joyriders had stolen a motorbike, and set fire to it by the flats. They'd left it by a wooden door and the fire had started from there. The damage to the flats is pretty bad - the stairwell looks gutted and all the windows are smashed. There was probably no intent to damage the building, but it's mostly old people who live here (I fit in really well), so it was a horrible thing to happen for them.
Speaking to the neighbours, one of them said, "I saw the lads what did it. They was young lads."
I said, "Well, make sure you tell the police."
"Ooh, no. I'm not saying nothing."
I've never understood this attitude. A group of tossers sets fire to their flats, and could easily have killed someone... and yet "mustn't be a grass". I saw a policeman later that day and asked him if he'd spoken to the ladies who'd seen the boys. I grassed them up. I dropped them in it. I am not a proper Eastender. Still, they'd already spoken to them, so my meddling was unnecessary.
But still, I got to dial 999 and everything. Lucky that with my rubbish IQ of 95 I could remember what the number was.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Guarded
"Morning," I said to the security guard.
"I'm just reading my stars," said he. "It says I will meet a beautiful woman. But that's not right because I met you two days ago. I'm a Saggitarius. What are you?"
"Totally uninterested in anything you might have to say, and a little bit creeped out by your entire demeanour," I said. Not really. But I thought it loudly. Instead I replied, "Libra."
He followed me to my training room and read my horroscope to me. Then he said, "Can you sign in when you get the chance?"
"Sure."
Five minutes later I went out to sign in. As I was doing so, he came round to the front of the desk and put his hand on my shoulder. And left it there.
This was 8.12 a.m. Did he really think I was going to say, "You are everything I've ever wanted in a man. Take me now. Here, against the ornamental fish tank. Sod the training course, let's get it on." I've been propositioned in various ways over the years - some successfully, some less so (one memorable instance where a male friend said totally out of the blue, "So, do you fancy a shag then?" I shan't tell you if he was successful or not). Still, no-one's ever tried seducing me by a hand on the shoulder in an office reception before. Novel.
I won't be going back to that office. But - lucky old me - he's on a training course in London on Friday. Thankfully not one of mine.
"I'm just reading my stars," said he. "It says I will meet a beautiful woman. But that's not right because I met you two days ago. I'm a Saggitarius. What are you?"
"Totally uninterested in anything you might have to say, and a little bit creeped out by your entire demeanour," I said. Not really. But I thought it loudly. Instead I replied, "Libra."
He followed me to my training room and read my horroscope to me. Then he said, "Can you sign in when you get the chance?"
"Sure."
Five minutes later I went out to sign in. As I was doing so, he came round to the front of the desk and put his hand on my shoulder. And left it there.
This was 8.12 a.m. Did he really think I was going to say, "You are everything I've ever wanted in a man. Take me now. Here, against the ornamental fish tank. Sod the training course, let's get it on." I've been propositioned in various ways over the years - some successfully, some less so (one memorable instance where a male friend said totally out of the blue, "So, do you fancy a shag then?" I shan't tell you if he was successful or not). Still, no-one's ever tried seducing me by a hand on the shoulder in an office reception before. Novel.
I won't be going back to that office. But - lucky old me - he's on a training course in London on Friday. Thankfully not one of mine.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Security!
"What date is it today?" I asked the security man (well into his 50s) who'd given me a lift back to my hotel last night. I was signing in, as I'm not working in my usual office today.
"26th," he correctly asserted. "Two months until Boxing Day." This is wrong. It is three months until Boxing Day. However, this was 7.30 a.m. and I wasn't fully awake yet.
Suddenly remembering a dream from my not-too-distant slumbers, I said, "Oh! I dreamed it was Christmas last night!"
"I shan't tell you what I dreamed," said the security man. "It involved you, me and Gretna Green."
Two things: firstly, what the fuck? And secondly, what sort of weird pervert dreams of getting married? Any normal person would have said, "I dreamed I took you vigorously over the bonnet of your rather rubbish car."
Norwich folk are odd. Later, he patted me on the head as I was leaving. He patted me. On the head.
What. The. Fuck?
"26th," he correctly asserted. "Two months until Boxing Day." This is wrong. It is three months until Boxing Day. However, this was 7.30 a.m. and I wasn't fully awake yet.
Suddenly remembering a dream from my not-too-distant slumbers, I said, "Oh! I dreamed it was Christmas last night!"
"I shan't tell you what I dreamed," said the security man. "It involved you, me and Gretna Green."
Two things: firstly, what the fuck? And secondly, what sort of weird pervert dreams of getting married? Any normal person would have said, "I dreamed I took you vigorously over the bonnet of your rather rubbish car."
Norwich folk are odd. Later, he patted me on the head as I was leaving. He patted me. On the head.
What. The. Fuck?
Monday, September 25, 2006
Nor-why?
I know I've already written today, but think of it as a bonus. I just had to say this: Norwich city centre - what the fuck?
With little difficulty Jessica got me to my hotel. I checked in and then drove to find the office, which was apparently only five minutes' walk away, but I had loads of heavy stuff. AN HOUR AND A HALF it took me. Part of this, admittedly, was Jessica's evident jealousy over my recent dalliance with Jeremy, but Jesus, the roads here were designed by someone whose parents must have been inbreeding for generations. Just a normal Norwich citizen then, I guess.
Picture a cobbled street, about six metres wide. Now imagine that this is a two way road and everyone is trying to turn right at the top, where there are no traffic lights. I t seriously seems to be the best example of how never to design a town. Fucking morons. I hate Norwich. And I'm back here next week.
I also had the ubiquitous conversation with an East Anglia cleaner. This one didn't want to know a) which room at uni I was having or b) if I could get their daughter a job, but was instead c) an out-of-work forklift truck driver who may or may not have lost his job through picking up cars he wasn't supposed to.
Still, the nice man from the RBS front desk gave me a lift back to my hotel (decided to leave the car firmly where it was).
And happy birthday to Mr Nunn!
With little difficulty Jessica got me to my hotel. I checked in and then drove to find the office, which was apparently only five minutes' walk away, but I had loads of heavy stuff. AN HOUR AND A HALF it took me. Part of this, admittedly, was Jessica's evident jealousy over my recent dalliance with Jeremy, but Jesus, the roads here were designed by someone whose parents must have been inbreeding for generations. Just a normal Norwich citizen then, I guess.
Picture a cobbled street, about six metres wide. Now imagine that this is a two way road and everyone is trying to turn right at the top, where there are no traffic lights. I t seriously seems to be the best example of how never to design a town. Fucking morons. I hate Norwich. And I'm back here next week.
I also had the ubiquitous conversation with an East Anglia cleaner. This one didn't want to know a) which room at uni I was having or b) if I could get their daughter a job, but was instead c) an out-of-work forklift truck driver who may or may not have lost his job through picking up cars he wasn't supposed to.
Still, the nice man from the RBS front desk gave me a lift back to my hotel (decided to leave the car firmly where it was).
And happy birthday to Mr Nunn!
Fog off
I think the MC-ing went OK. To be honest, I was so over-tired that I can't really remember very much of it. This is probably a blessing.
The only flight from Edinburgh to London City on a Saturday left at 7.30 a.m. So I was up at six. On a Saturday. Lovely. My flight - by some miracle - actually departed on time and was on schedule to land early. Of course, it was not to be.
"Ladies and gentlemen, whilst I was talking to you a minute ago, air traffic control have been in touch. There's severe fog at London City and we're not allowed to land by law. We're going to hold for ten minutes and then divert to Birmingham."
Erm, Birmingham? Something wrong with Heathrow, Stansted, Gatwick, Southend and Luton, was there? Apparently so. Fog.
I realised that it was unlikely I'd be home before about 4 p.m. and started to sulk quite effectively. Imagine a six year-old who's just been told that she can't have a My Little Pony, but her little sister is getting a brand new Care Bear. Imagine the fortitude of the sulk. That was me. I felt that the instruments on the plane were probably up to the job and the pilot should just have risked it. Apparently not everyone else on the plane felt the same way. But - by yet another miracle (two in one day - I am blessed), after a 40-minute delay, we were cleared to land at City and I went home and slept. The story has a happy ending.
Nice weekend actually. Lot of tidying and unpacking and repacking (off to Norwich today). Next three weeks are going to be very stressful, so apologies for any grumpiness.
The only flight from Edinburgh to London City on a Saturday left at 7.30 a.m. So I was up at six. On a Saturday. Lovely. My flight - by some miracle - actually departed on time and was on schedule to land early. Of course, it was not to be.
"Ladies and gentlemen, whilst I was talking to you a minute ago, air traffic control have been in touch. There's severe fog at London City and we're not allowed to land by law. We're going to hold for ten minutes and then divert to Birmingham."
Erm, Birmingham? Something wrong with Heathrow, Stansted, Gatwick, Southend and Luton, was there? Apparently so. Fog.
I realised that it was unlikely I'd be home before about 4 p.m. and started to sulk quite effectively. Imagine a six year-old who's just been told that she can't have a My Little Pony, but her little sister is getting a brand new Care Bear. Imagine the fortitude of the sulk. That was me. I felt that the instruments on the plane were probably up to the job and the pilot should just have risked it. Apparently not everyone else on the plane felt the same way. But - by yet another miracle (two in one day - I am blessed), after a 40-minute delay, we were cleared to land at City and I went home and slept. The story has a happy ending.
Nice weekend actually. Lot of tidying and unpacking and repacking (off to Norwich today). Next three weeks are going to be very stressful, so apologies for any grumpiness.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Chariddee
Tonight I'm co-MC-ing a work X-Factor / Stars in their Eyes extravaganza.
I am jetlagged, overworked and snippy. Am guessing it's not going to be a huge amount of fun. For anyone.
I have done no prep. I've had a six-minute conversation with my co-MC, in which we agreed on wardrobe. It will be rubbish.
Don't tell anyone I told you that.
At least it's for charity.
I am jetlagged, overworked and snippy. Am guessing it's not going to be a huge amount of fun. For anyone.
I have done no prep. I've had a six-minute conversation with my co-MC, in which we agreed on wardrobe. It will be rubbish.
Don't tell anyone I told you that.
At least it's for charity.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
The lag of jet
Well, I'm back in the UK. I appear to have missed most of that oft-promised and seldom-delivered thing which is the Indian Summer. Still, the weather is nice today, which always makes coming back home a bit more palatable.
Things which are true:
a) Nine out of ten American adverts (sorry, commercials) are for food.
b) One out of ten American adverts (sorry, commercials) are for drugs you might need for heart disease and blood pressure problems because you've eaten too much.
Am currently beyond ridiculously busy with work (holidays don't actually mean time off, they just mean shifting more work to the start and the end of the time you're not in the office). I also have a lot of travelling with work over the next couple of weeks. I will try my hardest not to be incommunicado, but advance apologies if this is the case. Also apologies to any friends who might be reading this. It is with great regret that I must announce that my social life is cancelled until further notice.
I've been reading Great Expectations. I have a nasty feeling that Charles Dickens' writing style has rubbed off on me. Still, better that than e. e. cummings. Look for the shift key, Mr Cummings. It's really not that hard! Capital letters are your friends!
Book club tonight - The Conjuror's Bird. Sounds like a reference to Paul Daniels' wife. Ha ha. I am so funny. It will be hard to win at book club tonight because I am jetlagged, but still, I will try my hardest to be cleverer than all the others put together. Wish me luck.
PS Connie as Maria? I wanted Abby to win! Still, I think Connie was probably my second choice. I love Sky Plus.
Things which are true:
a) Nine out of ten American adverts (sorry, commercials) are for food.
b) One out of ten American adverts (sorry, commercials) are for drugs you might need for heart disease and blood pressure problems because you've eaten too much.
Am currently beyond ridiculously busy with work (holidays don't actually mean time off, they just mean shifting more work to the start and the end of the time you're not in the office). I also have a lot of travelling with work over the next couple of weeks. I will try my hardest not to be incommunicado, but advance apologies if this is the case. Also apologies to any friends who might be reading this. It is with great regret that I must announce that my social life is cancelled until further notice.
I've been reading Great Expectations. I have a nasty feeling that Charles Dickens' writing style has rubbed off on me. Still, better that than e. e. cummings. Look for the shift key, Mr Cummings. It's really not that hard! Capital letters are your friends!
Book club tonight - The Conjuror's Bird. Sounds like a reference to Paul Daniels' wife. Ha ha. I am so funny. It will be hard to win at book club tonight because I am jetlagged, but still, I will try my hardest to be cleverer than all the others put together. Wish me luck.
PS Connie as Maria? I wanted Abby to win! Still, I think Connie was probably my second choice. I love Sky Plus.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Experienced
Things I've experienced that a week ago I hadn't previously:
- Love bugs. Bugs that literally shag all day. Midair. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lovebug. If you'd like to see a real-life example, check out the windscreen of the car I'm driving. Apart from the inevitable death against a vehicle moving at 70mph, it seems a decent life.
- The fact that our friend Jeb not only licences all manicurists, but also all lifts. Sorry, elevators.
- An event in a Halloween shop (sorry, store) with my mum that is too horrifically embarrassing to describe before I've discussed it with my therapist.
- Six mosquito bites within two square inches of arm.
- Being called y'all for real. Without irony.
- Overhearing someone young and fairly normal looking talking animatedly about their Bible study group that night.
- A TV channel showing a film called, A Perfect Stranger. This looked OK, until the perfect stranger turned out to be Jesus Christ, who then had dinner with the protagonist and helped her see where her life went wrong. If you don't believe me: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0466923/
- A motel room with insects in the fridge. Fridgesects. I could market them. Anyone want to buy a creepy-looking cockroach for their fridge? I might be onto a winner here.
Drove 300 miles back from Georgia to Orlando today, further depleting some more outlet malls of their shoe supplies. Tsk. It is hard being me.
Two more days, then back to sunny England.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Fingers on the pulse
Mrs Nunn marched round the apartment with the pace of someone who's misplaced their winning lottery ticket. Or someone a bit loopy. Except she literally marched around the apartment. Seven or eight times.
"What are you doing, Mum?"
"I'm speed walking."
"Sorry?"
"I'm speed walking. I've done no exercise since I've been here."
"But you're inside. And wearing a floral dress."
"It's hot outside."
"And the dress?"
"Shut up."
Mrs Nunn is a little bit... unusual.
Still shopping till we're dropping here in Florida. I've depleted the sunshine state of most of its footwear, and most of its Clinique supplies, and the plan is to head north to Georgia tomorrow.
I went for a manicure yesterday. Those of you who know me, stop laughing. A) I stopped biting my nails well over two years ago, and B) I'm occasionally allowed to do girly things. Sometimes I even wear pink.
Still, what amused me most was that my manicurist was required by law to display a certificate signed by Jeb Bush - governor of Florida, and, as you'll probably know, no stranger to Dubya. Two things here:
"What are you doing, Mum?"
"I'm speed walking."
"Sorry?"
"I'm speed walking. I've done no exercise since I've been here."
"But you're inside. And wearing a floral dress."
"It's hot outside."
"And the dress?"
"Shut up."
Mrs Nunn is a little bit... unusual.
Still shopping till we're dropping here in Florida. I've depleted the sunshine state of most of its footwear, and most of its Clinique supplies, and the plan is to head north to Georgia tomorrow.
I went for a manicure yesterday. Those of you who know me, stop laughing. A) I stopped biting my nails well over two years ago, and B) I'm occasionally allowed to do girly things. Sometimes I even wear pink.
Still, what amused me most was that my manicurist was required by law to display a certificate signed by Jeb Bush - governor of Florida, and, as you'll probably know, no stranger to Dubya. Two things here:
- Thing one: does Jeb really have nothing better to do than enforce proper legislation of people who colour in fingernails for a living?
- Thing two: do you think his real name is "Jed" but he kept getting the last letter the wrong way round until he decided it was probably easier to change it? My understanding is that smarts don't run in the family.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Frogs on the Plog
Technology is not made with Mrs Nunn in mind. Today when Jeremy the sat nav hadn't realised we'd already turned left (probably a GPS quirk), Mrs Nunn said, "Quickly - indicate left! Then he'll know we've turned."
"How could that possibly work, Mum?"
"Maybe he'll hear the indicator."
"For the nine hundredth time, Mum, it's not actually a real person."
"So why do you call him Jeremy?"
She had me there.
The apartment we're staying in is really plush, and as we're here off-season, pretty cheap too. I went travelling round the world at the start of the year, staying mostly in shared dorms in hostels. When I returned, my little one-bedroom flat looked so bright and spacious, I couldn't believe it was all mine. This time, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms between the two of us, and a living room which rivals my entire flat for floorspace, I have a feeling it might not seem so roomy when I go back to the charter'd streets.
Mrs Nunn wanted me to write my Plog on some of the wildlife we've seen here - there was a tree frog on our door when we got back this evening. Mrs Nunn said, "You could have a frog on your Plog. Laura's Frog Plog." Mrs Nunn is what kind people call eccentric.
"How could that possibly work, Mum?"
"Maybe he'll hear the indicator."
"For the nine hundredth time, Mum, it's not actually a real person."
"So why do you call him Jeremy?"
She had me there.
The apartment we're staying in is really plush, and as we're here off-season, pretty cheap too. I went travelling round the world at the start of the year, staying mostly in shared dorms in hostels. When I returned, my little one-bedroom flat looked so bright and spacious, I couldn't believe it was all mine. This time, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms between the two of us, and a living room which rivals my entire flat for floorspace, I have a feeling it might not seem so roomy when I go back to the charter'd streets.
Mrs Nunn wanted me to write my Plog on some of the wildlife we've seen here - there was a tree frog on our door when we got back this evening. Mrs Nunn said, "You could have a frog on your Plog. Laura's Frog Plog." Mrs Nunn is what kind people call eccentric.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Introducing Jeremy
"The thing is," said Mrs Nunn to the store assistant, "I bought my favourite bra in Florida six years ago. It's really, really good."
She then went on to describe her favourite bra loudly to anyone who happened to be in the tri-state area. And yet apparently I was being embarrassing when I happened to mention that the 33 stone woman really shouldn't be piling her plate with bacon.
We have made it. We are in Florida and I am currently buying most of the USA's shoe stock. All is good.
Jeremy - my US sat nav system - is different to Jessica. Instead of putting in the address, you phone and speak to an advisor, who then downloads the route information to the phone, and you get verbal directions as you drive. When we connected for the first time, Mrs Nunn said, "Is that woman going to stay on the phone and talk to us all the way there?"
Technology is not made with Mrs Nunn in mind.
She then went on to describe her favourite bra loudly to anyone who happened to be in the tri-state area. And yet apparently I was being embarrassing when I happened to mention that the 33 stone woman really shouldn't be piling her plate with bacon.
We have made it. We are in Florida and I am currently buying most of the USA's shoe stock. All is good.
Jeremy - my US sat nav system - is different to Jessica. Instead of putting in the address, you phone and speak to an advisor, who then downloads the route information to the phone, and you get verbal directions as you drive. When we connected for the first time, Mrs Nunn said, "Is that woman going to stay on the phone and talk to us all the way there?"
Technology is not made with Mrs Nunn in mind.
Monday, September 04, 2006
How do you solve a problem like learning difficulties?
Once I'd realised it, it was blindingly obvious. My IQ had clearly dropped at least fifteen points in one evening. What on earth could have caused this?
Saturday night television. More specifically, How do you solve a problem like Maria? For non-UK readers, this is an X-Factor-style show, where girls are undergoing an 8-week audition process to star in Andrew Lloyd Webber's new production of The Sound of Music. They each sing a different song each week, and one or two of them get knocked out of the contest.
I love watching it because Andrew Lloyd Webber is the spitting image of my high school headmistress. Honestly. It's very scary in some ways, because I keep thinking I'm going to get told to pull my socks up. In real life Andrew Lloyd Webber says that to people pretty rarely. Even more rarely through the medium of reality TV shows.
Anyway, whilst watching this programme could easily have decreased my IQ by a good ten points... what about the other five?
Reader, I voted.
(Go Abi, go Abi!)
I did indeed text-vote for Abi. As we all know, reality TV has been proved to send IQ plummeting through the floor, so when I took part in Test the Nation just minutes later, I underperformed.
Perhaps even more worrying, when I told Erica I'd voted for Abi, her response was, "I should have guessed. She's your type." So not only has reality TV made me a moron, it's also turned me gay.
Not a bad weekend's work.
Saturday night television. More specifically, How do you solve a problem like Maria? For non-UK readers, this is an X-Factor-style show, where girls are undergoing an 8-week audition process to star in Andrew Lloyd Webber's new production of The Sound of Music. They each sing a different song each week, and one or two of them get knocked out of the contest.
I love watching it because Andrew Lloyd Webber is the spitting image of my high school headmistress. Honestly. It's very scary in some ways, because I keep thinking I'm going to get told to pull my socks up. In real life Andrew Lloyd Webber says that to people pretty rarely. Even more rarely through the medium of reality TV shows.
Anyway, whilst watching this programme could easily have decreased my IQ by a good ten points... what about the other five?
Reader, I voted.
(Go Abi, go Abi!)
I did indeed text-vote for Abi. As we all know, reality TV has been proved to send IQ plummeting through the floor, so when I took part in Test the Nation just minutes later, I underperformed.
Perhaps even more worrying, when I told Erica I'd voted for Abi, her response was, "I should have guessed. She's your type." So not only has reality TV made me a moron, it's also turned me gay.
Not a bad weekend's work.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Eye queue
So last night I decided to do the Test the Nation thing on the BBC, to test my IQ. I was supposed to be out at a gig but had woken up with a migraine, so had cancelled it.
Now, just to give you a bit of background. When I was at school, my IQ tested at about 120. Shortly after leaving school, a Test the Nation thingy gave me an IQ of 115 - it had dropped, but still I was comfortably above the average. I am very clever. After two years at university, my brain had atrophied to a 111. Worrying decline, maybe. But if Mr Average was only 100, I was still smarter than the average bear.
Last night, my IQ tested at 95. I am subnormal. I am planning on moving to Coalville as soon as possible to be with my own kind.
I had hoped that perhaps there was something wrong with the test, but Erica got 115 and Dean got 105. It is me. I am rubbish. Might sound like sour grapes, but the test seemed to be aimed at all the stuff I know I'm crap at - shapes, spatial awareness and so on. There were practically no word puzzles and not even very much number stuff. Still, apparently the average IQ for London was 111. I am rubbisher than a rubbish tree.
I am like that bloke in Flowers for Algernon. This time next year, you'll have to water me.
Quick note - I'm off on holiday for the next couple of weeks - I'll update here when I can. In the meantime, I wouldn't recommend burgling me as I have a six foot seven housesitter with a bad temper. Called Helga.
Now, just to give you a bit of background. When I was at school, my IQ tested at about 120. Shortly after leaving school, a Test the Nation thingy gave me an IQ of 115 - it had dropped, but still I was comfortably above the average. I am very clever. After two years at university, my brain had atrophied to a 111. Worrying decline, maybe. But if Mr Average was only 100, I was still smarter than the average bear.
Last night, my IQ tested at 95. I am subnormal. I am planning on moving to Coalville as soon as possible to be with my own kind.
I had hoped that perhaps there was something wrong with the test, but Erica got 115 and Dean got 105. It is me. I am rubbish. Might sound like sour grapes, but the test seemed to be aimed at all the stuff I know I'm crap at - shapes, spatial awareness and so on. There were practically no word puzzles and not even very much number stuff. Still, apparently the average IQ for London was 111. I am rubbisher than a rubbish tree.
I am like that bloke in Flowers for Algernon. This time next year, you'll have to water me.
Quick note - I'm off on holiday for the next couple of weeks - I'll update here when I can. In the meantime, I wouldn't recommend burgling me as I have a six foot seven housesitter with a bad temper. Called Helga.
Friday, September 01, 2006
Pun-tastic
Texted my friend last night, "Just got home from Edinburgh. Had tea on the flight - Snacks on a Plane!"
He wasn't impressed. Well, it made me laugh. Sometimes I don't think I need anyone else. Sometimes I just sit in a room chuckling to myself. The doctor says that's fine. So long as I don't have access to anything sharp.
He wasn't impressed. Well, it made me laugh. Sometimes I don't think I need anyone else. Sometimes I just sit in a room chuckling to myself. The doctor says that's fine. So long as I don't have access to anything sharp.
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