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Friday, December 09, 2005

Ill Communication

As some of you might know, my mam's been poorly of late. Appendicitis no less. I'd make a rubbish doctor, I thought it was constipation or indigestion brought on by too many Tunnocks Teacakes. I've been visiting the hospital all week, which is pretty horrible really, especially when the only jokes I can make are at the unfortunate expense of others. Still, she's home now and making good recovery, sore stomach aside. I am now the only one in our house with an intact appendix. Unless cats have them. I think they do actually, so it's just me and Stumpy Jo in the appendix club then.

This drama did mean me and Merk had to look after ourselves for a few days (which at 26 and 24 respectively - you'd think we'd manage dim prob). We ate either out of a can or from a delivery lad. We forgot the cat existed for a few hours aswell.

I've been thinking of a blog post I'm going to write for about four months now. Since I realised I've enjoyed this year's music more than any other year since 1995 probably. I'm going to pick ten singles of the year in an award show style and put them up for download if you've not heard them (for sample purposes only and to be taken down immediately upon request - blogofstavros legal team). The hardest thing is limiting to ten from a shortlist of about sixty. I've got it down to fourteen so far.

Before the mini-episode of Holby City, I had attended one of the most boring and longest two hours of my life at a company conference in Penkridge. A conference suggests it involved interaction between speaker and audience. This wasn't a conference. It was a dictatorial speech by the company fromage grand. He even came out to his projected powerpoint presentation to Queen's One Vision. I actually laughed. Many businessy types from our Stoke and two Telford offices looked at me. It was quite loud laughter. I hate businessy types. Laughing at all his lame fucking jokes. It was so cringe-worthy, it could have been David Brent up there. Whatever the point to the hot air, it didn't inspire me to stay at work once my old dear went to hospital. Arses to that, there's more important things than work. Like getting up at 12 and going to the pub for a steak and mushy baguette and a couple of pints of Kronenberg before visiting hours start at 2pm. Tops.

Laters,

Stav.