We just had the two minutes silence.

I feel so bloody wretched. All that life. Wasted. For what?

Seriously. For what??

And another thing that bugs me....

What the hell is it with young kids using foul language, loudly, in a library??

Seriously, shut up! If I had tried to pull any of that crap not only would my mother have killed me, but the librarians would have killed me as well. After torturing me. Slowly.

What the hell has happened over the past twenty-odd years, where this kind of thing is now acceptable? What did I miss?

Remembrance day.

So it’s remembrance day again. Another day when people take a puny two minutes out of their oh so busy lives and (hopefully) think about those who fought for liberty and freedom and even if they weren’t killed experienced unimaginable horrors, and were told at the time (and since) that it was worth it. Thing is, I don’t think it was. I don’t think it was worth it. All the loss. All the suffering. But at least in world war 1 and 2, we fought for a REASON. Now we are fighting again, and not one person in power, not one, has been able to tell the public why, bar parroting feebly that it is a “war against terrorism”.
War against terrorism. Great. Fabulous. So how are we helping? Our lads and gals being threatened and injured and blown up in Iraq and Iran right now; how are they helping the fight against terrorism? How are they helping, even, the common man/woman in the countries they have been sent to? What are they actually DOING out there, that helps anyone at all? What, exactly, are they dying for?? Nobody will tell us. Because I don’t believe anybody can. Nobody knows. Nobody knows, either, why they should stay there, but stay there they are being forced to do, by people who don’t have to face what they do, and possibly have never had to at all.
It makes me sick.

We’ve lost the battle, guys, if there even is one, and by continuing to put our troops at needless risk to try and save face we’re quickly losing the war. Just bring our chaps home. Now.

Oh, and one more thing. If you ARE going to leave them out there to rot; at least give them, and that’s ALL of them, the full range (of fully working) equipment they need. How many more need to be killed because they weren’t properly kitted out?? Huh??

I'm melllltiiiing, I'm melllltiiiing....

...But I suppose I shouldn't complain of that, after being informed by a friend in Texas that their own temperatures are soaring (as they tend to, in Texas, apparently) twice, at times three times as high as anything I'm experiencing here. But I do feel altogether too hot. I don't deal well with summer, and it shows. Doing anything more strenuous than turning a page of a book (and even then that's sometimes too much) brings me out in a sweat and deep red flush, and believe me, it doesn't look pretty. I much prefer Autumn, or even Winter; in spite of the ice underfoot. But as it is neither of those seasons and instead is summer I am praying for rain. Summer rain is grand; thick and heavy, it cools things down and leaves everything feeling fresh and renewed. Or a good thunderstorm, that would do just as well; break things up a bit and clear the air. I know, I'm a spoilsport. Everybody else seems to be having a fabulous time, my friend Emma included, who adores this kind of weather. It does seem wrong for me to be praying secretly for rain, but I do it anyhow, because I just can't cope with this.

Still, here I be, and things are looking up, despite the weather. I'm in contact, all be it infrequently, with all three of my close English friends (including Louise. She's the one in Texas, but I still class her as one of my English buddies, as English she shall forever be), my family are all basically well (apart from Granddad's back, and Nan's gall stones), the dog has forgiven me for dragging him home again after a glorious week in North Wales by the sea, and I'm getting to know a man I used to work with at Sainsbury's better. Richard he is called, and lovely he is too. Both of us are nursing broken hearts, so no romance is on the cards (pity. He's gorgeous. All dark haired and puppy-eyed and plump and lovely), but our friendship is growing and we are finding things in common. Saturday 27th June we are heading to Worcester on the train for a visit of Worcester Cathedral and a picnic: grand, eh?

I haven't much else to add, so to stop me from waffling, I shall bid you goodbye, fair Interweb, until we meet again!

Even busier....

Bloody HELL! I've hardly had a moment to think this week: what with an extra shift every day at work, cleaning nan's flat (Disgusting and exhausting. Don't ask), meeting with friends, fielding phonecalls from telesales executives wanting to recruit me (t'isn't called "hard selling" anymore, by the way, did I tell you? T'is now called "overcoming objectives"....), checking up on my grandpapa, struggling to breathe (hayfever triggered asthma. Yay), practicing driving in nan's car, getting clothes gradually washed and packed, keeping up with housework (...ish).....not a second spare, believe me.

And now with hours to go before I head off to Wales, I am finally getting a sit down.

....For an hour. Then I'm going shopping, taking the cat to the vets for his booster, dealing with the rabbit, walking the dog....

*sigh*

But, BUT, dear Interweb, tomorrow, I shall be In Wales, and everything will be peaceful.

Yay!

Busy, busy!

Bloody hell! Things have been hectic around here. Lots and lots to do and only so much time to get it all done in. Add that to PMT (early! The bloody thing is over a week early!), Grandfather's bad back, vet visits (long story) and trying to fit in various other errands that keep cropping up, and the week has been flying past faster than I can keep up with.

In fact, that is all I have time to type, because I have a ton of newspaper to cut up (another long story) and then am off out to walk the dog before wolfing down an early tea ready to go out again and take grandfather and his bad back to the doctors.

Toodles!

Sex appeal.

*laughs*



I had intended for this post to be about pigeons, and indeed it is, but as I typed in the title, a sudden image of me wearing the shorts I had bravely purchased for my fast approaching holiday. They were purchased with one thing in mind: the activity of paddling in the sea (which I engage in whole heartedly every chance I get when by the coast) without the added irritation of repeatedly pulling one's rolled up trousers up to keep them from getting drenched, and I am proud to say that not only were they on sale at 2 for £10, but they are also a lot less awful looking than they might have been. They come to just an inch and a half or so above the knee, thus covering the worst of my, shall we say 'full' hips, and they have the full approval of my mother, who faithfully promised to tell me truthfully whether they looked 'ok' (there was no way in hell, after all, that they wete going to look 'good'. Not the best, most flattering of garments, are they, shorts, for the 'fuller figure'?) or whether I would, upon stepping out towards the beach, be arrested for bringing the human form into disrepute. They looked, she said, 'ok'. Not great, but not awful either. So there you go. Aren't I brave?



Anyway, onto the damn pigeons....

T'is mating/child rearing season for many animals. Has been for some time, since early spring, and birds in particular are busy with activity. Ducklings and goslings(sp?) abound, swallows and housemartins are hawking for insects to feed their growing young in spectacular group displays of aerodynamics and acrobatic skill, blackbirds pounce of worms and beetles and ferry them off back to their nests... but it is the humble pigeon - indeed; one pigeon in particular - that has my interest at the moment. This pigeon is one I see every day. A male. A nice looking male, in fact. And by gum, doesn't he know it! Every morning when I arrive for work at 8:30 and wait for the bankers to arrive and let me in (they are nearly always at least 10 minutes late, but that's a moan for another post), he is there, a few feet away from me. Every morning. Every morning I watch him, strutting his feathered stuff, his loud pigeon croons filling the air, his little pigeon chest and neck puffed out, his colours bright and appealing, calling, dear interweb, calling for any females passing by, to fly down and join him. And God help the girl pigeon that does. WHAM, he's on her: crooning louder than ever, bobbing and dancing around her in the hopes of enticing her to fly up with him to his private ledge - yes, he has a private ledge, all of his very own - so that they can make sweet, passionate love and carry on his genetic line, because after all; what female wouldn't want his DNA in her babies? Look how strong and verile and brilliant he was! See? He was the best man for the job!

And there's more.
Later on when I reach the canteen dusting part of my cleaning duties, I can see out of the large window, which has a ledge (can you see where this is going?), overlooking the street, and there he is again. Yes, the ledge beneath the canteen window is his ledge, and there he sits, on the edge of it, crooning his little heart out, begging fate to take pity on him and deliver a female who is interested (the ones on the ground never seem that impressed, I can tell you) and willing, and sometimes, lo and behold, one comes! It is then that I discretely take my leave and let them get on with it in peace and, more importantly, in privacy. I wouldn't want the sun to catch me and direct my shadow over the pair, scaring away the skittish female away and thus spoiling his chances, would I?
But every day when I see him, this pigeon who is hell bent on being the biggest and the best and impregnanting, it seems, as many females as he can, I smile.

After all, who can resist such blatant sex appeal as that? If I were a girl pigeon I doubt that I could. And that is exactly what my ever-hopeful male has. Pure, raw sex appeal.

And good, bloody luck to him.

T.G.I.F, and other such news.

Well, it's Friday again, and I feel rather ashamed of my self-pitying winges earlier in the week. After all, as I've mentioned here before; I have a large and loving family, enough money to live on (for now, at least) and good friends (and the possibility of a new one. Watch this space). I am also (relatively) healthy, and the proud owner of a rabbit with a hate complex and a beautiful and gorgeous natured dog (even though he does have sometimes uncontrollable sexual urges towards dogs of all types and both male and female. After all; nobody is perfect).

The week, in any case, is ending far better than it started. Granddad is feeling much better since being perscribed the right medication to allow him to move around and ease the swelling of his nerve (the one beginning with 'S').

My hayfever is calming down, as well, which is great, and although I do still feel like I have a bad cold I know it will pass.
]
My mother has had supply work every day this week (apart from today, but we knew that wasn't likely).

After a few (fairly major) blips I am back on track eating wise, and after catching sight of myself in a mirrow today and seeing how far I have progressed already, and how close I am to target (less than two stone to go! Whoot!) I am more determined than ever. May has been hard, as I knew it would be, and I haven't coped as well as I wanted to, but hey: I'm still here, and a couple of pound gain isn't the end of the world.

And I keep seeing ducklings!

See? Things are looking up...

Update on yesterday.

Haven't got much to add, except that t'is still raining, inside and out, my grandfather is stricken with a back problem beginning with 's' that I can neither pronounce nor spell (something to do with a nerve), but I do feel slightly more upbeat.

I am, after all, an extremely lucky girl in many, many ways.

I do wish it would quit tipping it down, though. I really do....