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Jul. 29th, 2009 | 11:09 pm 
 


Condition [mood icon] tired
Analgesic Mock the Week - "Don't you just love it when they grunt?"
Back from London. Yaaay.

Came home to a good deal of post. Volume 2 of Preacher, my birthday present from Lorn - Ikigami volume 1, which is really good - and a couple of...other things. Woop woop. =D

I also bought a shitload of books at Foyles, and found - Glory! Joy! Excitement! - a replacement pair of trainers. In fact, they're identical to my old trainers, which I've worn every day for two years. I thought they'd discontinued the line, but we found a pair in my size in a little shop in London, so that is Quite Excellent Indeed.

The problem with Blyk going out of business - well, one of the many problems - is that I now have to find another network. I've been going through the major networks and I'm probably going to end up on 3, I think. They've got a good unlimited texts with topup offer that I like, and frankly the coverage here in North of fucking Nowhere is going to be shite no matter who I go with. I'm never going to get 3G coverage at home. :c

Also there's a massive cathedral in the way. That doesn't help.

I slammed my ankle into my bedframe while jumping onto my bed earlier. My ankle is now very hurty. :c

Also we had a fucking adventure for lunch today. Actually, it felt less like an adventure and more like a miserable board meeting. We went to a restaurant that we've been to before (apparently. I don't remember this) which used to be owned by some big TV cook, and was supposedly quite good, back in the day. Him having left, however, it is now...not good. To be fair, being with my parents - or, at least, my father - made it significantly worse. It took them - well, him - five minutes to settle on a table, because one wasn't clean enough, one was under an air con vent, one was under a speaker...and so on and so on until he'd ruled out most of the tables in the place, by the process of sitting down, getting settled, then deciding he didn't like it and getting up again. We order drinks; they fuck up my mother's, but dad's not bothered about that nearly as much as the fact as his beer was at lager temperature, which is maybe 5°C lower than beer temperature. It's hardly the end of the world but that doesn't stop him spending ten minutes bitching about it just loud enough for the serving staff (who didn't even pull the fecking pint) to hear but quiet enough for it to be reasonably assumed that he's not directly talking to them.

So, in any case, we order the food. And we wait.

And we wait.

And we wait.

Three-quarters of an hour later, we tentatively ask (I say tentatively - "patronisingly" is more accurate, in the case of my father) where our food might be. "We'll check."

Five minutes later, the poor waitress - whose hands were shaking the whole time we were there, which was a little disconcerting - comes back and says that the kitchen has lost our ticket.

Lost. Our. Ticket.

There were maybe four people in the entire restaurant other than us. It was not exactly hectic.

The collective response amongst the three of us - and it's pretty rare that we have one - was "Fuck this shit," so we finished (and paid for, to be fair,) left, and went to the Little Chef down the road. It felt a little bit like a service station after a nuclear holocaust, but the food was prompt and actually extant, so we were happy.

Aaaand then we came home to find out that car insurance firms are cunts, we can't use our no claims discount on the new car, and so we owe Direct Line an extra £900 on the insurance.

Oh dear. 		 
 
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