December 6th, 2006



Nightmare-inspired adrenaline highs can take hours to wear off, this I know. Even so, I find myself rhetorically asking why was I a(n ex-)member of a cult, being chased through semi-detached suburbia by said members in a Mini Cooper that kept getting smaller? And why did the cult dress in rough cloth and travel in bathtubs full of ink on the top deck of a number 68 (I think) First Bus to Linlithgow Cross? It tells me that I need to go to bed less worried about things that I cannot change.

Open Mic Challenge: Answer those two questions.

Apologies to people at the quiz. I got there, sat down, and promptly went 'aaargh' at the volume of people/lack of space. Way too many people for such a small table. Hence my buggering off shortly after getting there.

the Thing and the Spon

I'd forgotten how much it hurts when you stand up into an open cupboard door. Those motherfuckers hurt.

Been thinking, quite possibly too much. Thinking about writing and about stories and the nature of stories and all that sort of thing. So give me titles. Monday through Friday, I'll write a story in my lunch break that matches a title.

Reading One Fine Day in the Middle of the Night, and I'm struck by nostalgia. A side effect of both being tired and getting old.

In other, other news (a phrase I need to use less) we saw Casino Royale at the weekend. It's damn good, though I'm not sure it counts as a Bond Film (with the capitals). The parkour is stunning, and the whole thing works. Certainly worth a watch. In filmatological things, has anyone got a review of Happy Feet beyond "Caution: Contains Penguins!"