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Want Some Fat With Yer Grease?

Another thing about London (well, this small pocket of London I’m in right now): fish and chips. Like, where?

I don’t have fish and chips often. A handful of times a year. But occasionally one does get the urge. And this is especially true if you can’t have said meal. In the approximately local vicinity, there are loads of eateries. Millions of them. Bazillions. But no fish and chip shop. What’s that all about?

By far the most common kind of eatery, around here, and perhaps London generally (I mean the cheaper bits of it, to be honest), is the fried chicken bar. You know, the one that offers stuff ‘just like’ KFC only half the price. Which is quite neat, because for half the price you get twice the calories, twice the cholesterol and twice the artery-hardening grease and fat!
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Milk!

One thing you London types don’t understand at all, and for completely different reasons us Brummie Provincials find hard to grasp, is the milk thing.

I really miss milk in glass bottles. Back in the stix, even if you didn’t have it delivered, you could stroll to your local corner shop, et voila, bottles of milk! Glass bottles. Loads of them.

London’s too ‘trendy’ and ‘high-speed’ for that. I have the most corner-shoppish corner shop you ever saw in your life down the road, but… no milk in glass bottles. It comes in plastic bottles. Very small ones, medium ones, huge ones. All plastic.
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The Kids Are In Charge

Ho-hum. Opening of Parliament today, I see from the spectacle on TV. Isn’t this a summation of everything that’s wrong with politics? A grotesquely opulent, debauched waste of taxpayers’ money just to mark the mundane event of our overpaid politicians’ expensve holidays being officially over, and the reading of a speech by our outdated, superfluous, pointless, costly ‘monarch’ that she didn’t even bloody well write herself.

In a word: disgusting. I say this every year.

And worse than disgusting, fucking childish. Here we have a fellow given the nom de plume of Black Rod. Dressed as Widow Twanky, he goes up to the doors of the house, which, of course, ‘symbolically’ slams the door in his face (as he represents the monarchy) to declare their independence.
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The Internet is Fucked Up

Major annoyance of recent weeks: spammers using this domain as their return address, meaning I get all their bounces. It’s happening to quite a few people lately, apparently. I had it once before about a year ago, but on a much smaller scale (i.e. fewer bounces, for whatever reason).

I don’t know what the point of spam is. No one I know gives it the time of day. It’s a festering, parasitic nuisance and, I tend to think, a singularly ineffective method of advertising. More than anything else, you have to figure the people doing this are the saddest bastards on the planet—so much effort for shit that no one ever reads.
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Phew

Just back from London again. I know, I know, it all seemed sorted out last time I wrote, but the truth is, I put a holding deposit on the Streatham Common place out of something like desperation. On reflection, it became clear to me that I simply don’t like Streatham very much (it’s far too bloody similar to round here, if you want the truth) and the place itself was a wee bit minging. Not terrible, but not to my liking. The open-plan downstairs was a negative, for me, and we won’t mention the state of the mattress in one of the bedrooms… (No, really, don’t ask.)

Today, Paul and I looked at another place just round the corner from this one. It was actually a bit better, and slightly cheaper, but the advantages were negated by it being right on top of a primary school as well as having severe fencing problems in the back garden… and the bathroom was a fucking disgrace. *sigh*
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Life in the Fast Lane, Lemme Tell Ya!

I’ve neglected the blog a bit again lately, but as I’m not getting much feedback off it and things have been fairly busy anyway, frankly, I couldn’t be arsed.

As mentioned last time, Andy came down on the 30th and left on the 4th. It was a good time on the whole. On the Sunday night, you’ll be shocked to hear, we didn’t get an Indian… we went for pizza instead—tuna and jalapenos. Maybe not everyone’s taste!

Bacchus July 30 2006
Ugly, blurry pic took in Bacchus, July 30th.
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Filling In

Andy Luke of Something-or-Other Fame is due here sometime around 6pm. I’m meeting him in Brum. He has housing problems and I don’t mind the company. He’ll be down till Friday, so I’ll have to curtail my animal sacrificing and cannibalism activities for a while…
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And The Lost Plot…

Hmmm. Just watched Lost. Did see all of series one and found it reasonably entertaining, but only about four episodes so far of series two. (I missed the Doctor Who finale too! Not watching nearly as much TV lately. Maybe not a bad thing.)

Anyway, Lost is worrying me. Some of this episode was getting a bit preachy. I think it’s an aspect that’s always been kinda there, but not annoyingly so. What I’m starting to think, though, is that if this slow-moving show ever reaches some point of conclusion, the obvious potential outcome—they’re all really dead and stuck in some limbo; they finally get free and head off for Heaven/Hell—will be the one they go for.
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The Lost Weekend

During my absence I had a long weekend, June 30th-July 3rd, with Andy Luke of Livejournal Fame (or is that Andy Luke of YouTube fame?).

Andy was due here Friday afternoon. At noon that day, the guy next door very kindly took mom’s clothes in his car for me, to donate to a local charity shop. Four bags, plus a bag of clothes hangers. Sorting that out really did my head in. It’s like another door closing, you know? I was depressed and went back to bed for a while. Andy arrived around 4.15pm; I finally woke up (again!) at 4.30, called him and explained the situation, and all was well.
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