All entries for February 2005

February 28, 2005

The first day of the rest of your…


Monday. In all its glory – for a full 24 hours no less. Not one of those silly measurements of time like February. Only 28 days? what about the other 3? Even just 2 would be better than nothing. On maybe it's just the fact that an extra 3 days would be pretty handy right now for putting off those two essay deadlines. I guess the saying is true;

"it's not size that matters, it's what you do with it that counts."

and with that theme in mind this blog is tiny, but look at it – a verbal nugget of semi-precious junk i think you'll agree. It has everything, suspense (woooo...), Rant (ooooh), fear (waargh!), one of life's eternal truths (aaahh) and, if you look very closely, i also managed to fit in a cup of tea and a chocolate hobnob. Genius.

Keeping with this theme (there is one I assure you) I present my week in small but perfectly formed doodles.

Monday – awwww bless…

M xxx

February 24, 2005

Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him

As with most traumatic events in life, in hindsight one is able to find humour in the situation tho it was painful at the time…

(clicky for big soupy goodness)

Even when lunch is stolen cruelly from you.
Yes, i see the humour in it now.
There it is in the corner.

* wipes away a tear *

Oh heartless Fate! Why do you mock me so?!

M xxx

I guess this is the cartoon for this week unless i can be bothered to do another, so enjoy!

February 23, 2005

You know those perfect days?...

…The ones where you wake in the morning as if from some 100-year fairytale slumber refreshed and renewed even though you can't have got to bed ‘til 3. And you look in the mirror at the unexpected reflection of a peaches and cream complexion, smoky 'come-to-bed' eyes and artistically tousled hair; instead of the ogre-panda-medusa chimera that normally awaits you. Your favourite top is in its drawer and you’d swear on oath that those trousers fit you better than they did yesterday. So, with barely a brush of makeup you have a quick breakfast and are on your way to lectures (on time for a change), feeling like a shining pillar of perfection, radiating joy and benevolence on the rest of humanity as you pass.

Yeah, I don’t have many of those mornings either, where by ‘many’ I guess I mean ‘any’ (and not before 2pm either). Today was another classic example of not ‘one-of-those-days’.

Open eyes. Sun is shining behind curtains. Mmmmm lovely.

Wait. Sun s-h-i-n-i-n-g – as in bright. As in wtf is the time?! Cue leaping from the bed as if away from a rabid were-leper, much mad thrusting of limbs into clothing, then almost fainting from the head-rush. Pause to curse/recover. Look at clock. Alarm is due to go off in 5 minutes; congratulations you’re up earlier than necessary on barely 5 hours sleep.

That’s ok though, the extra time will allow you to deal with the she-bear lovechild of Bigfoot and Grendel that has appeared on the far side of your room. As you duck behind a chair and contemplate calling in a special branch of MI5 the visage disappears from your mirror. Oh joy. Better change that to a special branch of Bourjois.

“L’Oreal [smiles] because you’re wor- OH MY GOD! GET IT AWAY FROM ME! Aaaaaargh! Please HELP ME! Somebody shoot it, oh God it’s hideous..." (and my photo session had been going so well…)

Water? Gel? Mousse? Nothing short of quick-setting cement is going to sort your hair out so forget it. Onto the face. With michaelangelo-esque brushwork those eyes will pass for human as soon as you pull the mascara brush out of one of them. Find watch. Pause while your brain screams and attempts to find the 10 minutes that appear to have been misplaced. 5 minutes is ample time for breakfast isn’t it? Yes, as long as you like tepid undercooked porridge. Make mental note to go to Tescos.

Horror-movie hair and face to match, crying from one eye and with wet trousers from where the tap decided to a) explode, b) spit out its washer c) proceed to shoot water at an angle of 90 degrees into your leg, you stumble outside hoping that your bag has the right lecture notes in it.


Mia is not all that sure if she likes snow.

Slip down the path.

Correction: snow is cold and wet and Mia does indeed hate it.

Thankfully only the knees and below are soaked and frozen solid by the time the lecture theatre is reached, and the 3 hours of unintelligible powerpoint presentations let your feet recover from the numbness enough to enjoy the wet socks. Nice. And the afternoon has only just begun.

And to think some places are suffering drought while here snowflakes continue to ram their way into your ears and eyes. What a cruel, twisted world. Still, at least you’re not carrying two bowling balls in your satchel like your crazy friend (yeah, you nutter, you know who you are). Anyway, Gibbet Hill trek over, it’s time to get money for Tescos. Oh wait, but what’s this? The cash machine decides you’re not allowed any – what a novel idea, and in no way voiding its entire raison d’etre as a goddamn cash machine. Maybe the card is broken? Maybe you should have put a feng shui crystal in your money corner this morning? Maybe it has decided your wealth aura is the wrong intensity today? Or maybe your lips are just the wrong shade of blue at the moment.

Insert card. Insert PIN. Select service. Cash. £30. "No, because I don’t feel like it – Have a nice day." – It seemed to say. Beeps menacingly(honest) and spits out card.


Hit head against wall


Have nice bank person explain the new card was sent out January 15th and money can be obtained with a cheque, from a chequebook currently 30 minutes walk away. Growl loudly. Mime biting card to shreds then stomping it to itty-bitty pieces on the floor of HSBC. Say goodbye and thankyou to cashier. Say bye to friends as you all go your separate ways and get home in a snowily uneventful manner. Phone parents.

“No, no letters have arrived for you, none. I’m looking right now. The 15th you say? I can’t remember. Don’t worry – do you have enough to last you the week? OK, let me just look over here. Sorry no, I’ll ask your mother when she gets home. Oh! Wait a second…”

I don’t claim to have the best organisational skills in the world but I feel that filing important documents behind the television in the kitchen is a new method even to me. The card is there at least, I can only assume that the PIN number has been carefully placed in the toaster or rolled up in a bottle outside with “Only 2 pints today please” neatly on the other side.

Ah well, it’s not like I need food nor will I mind missing Soul Nation again while the offending piece of plastic is returned. Still it's lunch time, and as I have a dress I have to get into on Saturday for the Law Ball, hearty homemade vegetable soup is on the menu. I must confess I never knew soup making was my hidden talent, I’d rather be able to make awesome paper planes, but damn-good-sexy-soup-powers are pretty handy on a cold day. Microwave soup. Eat it. Feel better. Work, rest and play.

That’s how it should have gone, but I think my way is much more fun. Feel free to attempt under adult supervision.

Instead microwave soup. Attempt to stir. Drop container on edge of counter and make several attempts to catch and rescue said hot soup. Fail in aforementioned task. Survey the chaos; at this point please bear in mind the soup is red. Consequently the microwave looks like it has been used in the vicious murder of several small mammals. There is red dripping down a nearby wall and off the counter onto the floor. All over the floor. Keep looking down – do you see it? Right there. The bits of you not soaked from snow are now soaked in soup. And guess what! You have no lunch! Double fun!

Scream. Swear. Loudly. Get mug of tea, get changed, sit huddled on bed in duvet. Now if I don’t touch anything nothing can go wrong… right?

M xxx

Rant – yes. Long – yes. Cathartic – also.
Maybe pictures wil follow.

EDIT: indeed they did clicky

February 19, 2005

And it begins…

…albeit hesitantly, on rather shaky feet and generally unsure as to the direction it intends to travel in. Much like the stumble home from Top B.

Those among you expecting inspiring insights, witty prose and enlightenment on life, the universe and everything should have really stopped before you even clicked on the name. I mean honestly, what did you expect? Exits are located here —>, here -->, here --> and here.

So, apart from the blogging, which is not beginning in earnest today due to hunger/lack of brainpower/total lack of content/all of the above, feel free to check out the artwork. hopefully a new one each week, if not more – Ooooh the excitement! And other bounteous, piratey treasure type goods should follow, links and such etc…

Todays picture:

Woo and Yay! an alien. Evil, big teeth, hell-bent on world domination, acid for blood, yet crap at rubix cubes. You just gotta love them.

M xxx

Oh, and kudos to the designers for making blogging simple for webtards like myself but how the hell do i stop my name appearing here at the bottom? Ah well, I'm sure tea has the answer.

EDIT: Ah, so the authors name only appears in the preview window. Yet another problem solved through sheer lethargy. Huzzah for tea and procrastination!

February 2005

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