Walsingham

I was about to post a gratuitous picture of some tasteful babeage, but I can't make my mind up about which one.

I made an arse of myself yesterday (after beers) in the pub. One of my mates is single, and I found a PERFECT potential girl for him. About his attractiveness level, but slightly higher, smart, funny, single and even a vegetarian light drinker. But best of all is the fact that I overheard her chatting to a friend about how she really wants to start going out after a long dull period of staying home. All the silly bastard has to do is walk in and ask her out. She's been living in teh Stataes for a while, judging from her accent, and I know from past experience that American girls find it quite normal to be asked out with no preamble. Anyway, he's been prevaricating about this for a bloody week, having made one sole attempt to go to the place she works. I became quite animated when I discovered this, since I have a couple of single friends and I passed the info to him because he's been single longest. But he's just taking the **** now. As I say, I started angrily accusing him of being an anaemic root vegetable, and speculating that a vegetarian diet causes a lack of manly gusto. Or, to put it another way, I was very obnoxious.

Well, as the Pope of state meddling in finance maybe he's qualified to render commentary?

Because they're annoying gits? Because, thankfully, not everyone marches and wheels in unison beneath political banners like 'conservative'?

I must agree with my learned colleague there. Which raises the question: What QUALITIES must a setting have? Rather than shouting for a particular setting. That way, maybe we can suggest one that makes us all happy.

Oh, actually, I can't be bothered.

I once had shoulder length hair. I freaked out one summer and shaved my head. Bloody good idea. Long hair is a waste of time and effort. If I thought I could do it professionally I'd have shaved hair still.

Not such a great day for work, as I've been distracted. I spoke to my mom this morning and she was in a complete state. Suffering a lot from the chemo. I had to work the old commissar skills and rally her spirits. A few jokes, some historical analogies, then a plan of action. She really perked up, according to my stepfather. It was good to be so effective, but it hurts to not be able to be more emotional when she's like that. But unless I help her to be tough then no-one else will. The snow kept falling all day, and has now progressed to those fat heavy drifting flakes. Like the dandruff of a lazy God. I've basically given up on the work for the next hour, and am going to lift some weights and afterwards get a shower and have some liqueur coffee. Probably amaretto, with cinnamon.

Worst pun ever. I actually thought it was quite punny. Warning! Pun generator malfunction! I concede. You have bested me, sir.

Much as I relish the thought of girl on girl catfights I think I'll pass that. However I take your point, and theslug. What is needed is something public, interesting, unexpected, and not at all romantic. And I don't mean breakfast at HM Prison Pentonville. There must be something... I have it! Brunch near the Imperial War Museum, where I shall be 'having to do research'. That way I can guillotine things before they go on too long, and if she wants to follow with me she'll get bored or scared and clear off. PLUS I may actually get to go to the museum, which is awesome. If things go moderately well, and she looks sane, we cam meet for lunch the next day somewhere else in London. Anywhere that overlooks parliament is usually sufficiently dingy and sombre. We can have a good chat, but there's little danger of my ending up pantsless like theslug warns. In extremis... yes. I will have my friend come to extricate me at around 1500. Which keeps us in situ. I'm listening to Va, pensiero, sull'alli dorate as the snow flurries down, and thinking about coffee.

Worst pun ever.

It's not disturbing at all. Journalists are lazy by profession. The guy wears makeup and is a psycho. It's a straight simple angle that won't confuse anyone. Write it up, and go home early.

Completely failed to sort out my living room. It is currently almost ankle deep in old 2000AD comics, which are an integral part of my zombie survival plan. Did some shopping, and mulled over work. Admired the handsome whisky decanter I've recently been given. It is second or third hand, but has this really cool pewter coaster/basket which it sits in. Slightly more alarmingly I was told by an old flame that she is coming to this country in May and wants to meet up. She has made no secret of wanting to get together again, while I have made no secret of the fact that I am going out with a very lovely and lethally dangerous woman. I'm tempted to be a total bastard and refuse to meet at all. Then again maybe it's more bastardly to meet at all. Then again, it's been a long time, and if she actually sees how much less pretty I am now, then she may desist of her own accord. The weather forecast is for snow all tomorrow. I love snow. It's like being zapped into another universe.

An oubliette doesn't have a key. typically it would just be a long drop, concealed under a trapdoor in a castle. I've never seen one, but my godfather did. You just push someone in. Or let them walk over it. They fall a long way and either die instantly or over a long period of time. Bloody silly idea if you ask me. Think of the smell.

Sweet. I hate the moral ambiguity of killing liberal zombies.

Pliers. You can do anything with big enough pliers.

And are there zombies? they would have to appear just when I'm suffering a terrible hangover.

I understand the second order dynamics involved, so what I'm interested in is actual studies showing the nature of the relationship. Tax money versus spending. It really can't be that hard to measure. I've been listening to the Old Crow Medicine Show and making business plans. As th emore astute may have deduced, I have also been drinking 7% beer and laughing a lot.

You forgot the monkey punching.

I'm the same. I just can't support the death penalty due to corruption and error. There is no difference between the possibly guilty and the definitely guilty, and if the verdict is wrong, there needs to be a way to correct it. I've been thinking about that. One could argue that - in the US and elsewhere - a spell in jail longer than a year is a life-sentence of sorts.

What do you do? Analyst of some sort? Something like that. All I will say is: no women, no kids. That's the rules.

I don't hold with all this nonsense about being yourself. What if you're a total jackass?

*nods thoughtfully* But I would argue that while this is not a normal case, if mental health was better served then we would catch these extreme cases along with the norm. I sincerely doubt this dingbat was never statemented or detained before. I accept that is different from the retrospective, but we desparately need to understand what tips the balance. Is it solar flares? A drop in air pressure? A news feature? Hormones? Not being able to get a tune out of your head?

I just bought by download the Decembrist's Picaresque on your recommendation. It's now in my 'weird taste' section.