Tuesday, 27 April 2010

Wow, that was a bit of a blast from the past. Just did the drying up as my dad washed the dishes. God I used to hate doing it as a kid... everything about it. Heh, it all came flooding back... how funny. The most amusing part was that I think I was getting just as worked up inside as I used to. I think it's the system he works by... there's just no logic to it. I mean, when I wash up, I use quite a methodical approach. There aren't any written laws or anything like that, but I just follow a set of codes & they seem to make sense. I guess that the only downside is that I take fucking ages & some people might confuse what I'm doing with 'faffing'. Hmm... even so... maybe the world would be a better place if everybody adopted my way of doing things. Or, if not mine, then something very similar. Preferably something that I would get the credit for.

I can't stand an abundance of bubbles on the dish, cup or whatever as it leaves the sink and is placed on the draining board. In fact I can't stand any bubbles. They make me feel ill. I think it's because soapy bubbles take up a lot of physical space, yet because they're made of, like, 99.7126% air, they have virtually no physical presence to them. They're pointless. They have no substance. I detest it. They promise so much but deliver so little in terms of a sensory experience. Suckers! Heh, and when I think back to all those years spent drying up after dinner, that's pretty much all I remember; the vague promise of a draining board lurking somewhere underneath a useless, heaving & popping sea of white foam. Urgh. And that horrible crackling noise they make as they slowly burst to death. Bubbles. They were always going to be the first against the wall when I had my way.

So, when I'm washing stuff I'll give it a good old going over with the sponge - a hearty rub, checking and checking again for any sign of remaining dirt - then I'll lift the item above the water before bringing the sponge up above it so that the excess water in the sponge leaks out and washes all the bubbles back into the murky depths below. The trick here is to not find yourself getting carried away in the moment and squeezing the sponge, as this will inevitably lead to problems. Notably a catastrophic explosion of smaller (& generally far more more repugnant) bubbles which you will then have to deal with.

Hmm... the short of the matter is that, when you wash up, the cutlery should be washed first and placed together in a designated part of the drying rack. Then you move on to mugs, cups, glasses and small plates. Then after that you're on to your bigger plates & saucepans... maybe a cutting board. Everything washed well and free of excess bubbles. Obviously if you've got greasy stuff, stuff with melted cheese stuck all over it, or some pretty fucked up saucepans, they've got to go last. I tend to do the same with things that have come into contact with raw egg too.

No idea why I've written all this.

Monday, 26 April 2010

That was a good weekend
Actually it was a fucking great one
Amongst other things I rediscovered pâté
From now on I will only eat pâté
& I will only bathe in pâté
I will sleep on a bed of pâté
No longer will I fill my car with petrol
I will fill it with pâté
You get me, bruv?


Wednesday, 14 April 2010

Best Sunday ever?

Hmmm... I think so.

Monday, 5 April 2010

Haven't done this in ages. I'm sitting at the dining table, pouring out my soul on the laptop. Dad's on eBay again. He's not listening... he's making all the right noises but I can see he's not taking it in. It's traumatic. There's going to be an argument... hmm, it's probably not the best time and place to be trying to write. In fact I can feel myself drifting into a silent rage already. This could get interesting... I mean, I think I had a rough idea of what I was going to talk about, but anything can happen now. Heh. He's talking about a 40 litre camping fridge. He likes to give a running commentary. If there's one thing I wish he'd never found, it's bloody eBay. You wouldn't believe the amount of stress it has caused round these here parts. He's recently discovered youtube too. Fun times. (Ha!)

Actually I've forgotten what I was going to write about. Maybe there was never any rough idea to begin with anyway... I don't know anymore. No, that's it, I remember now. The doorstop. The bloody doorstop saga... there's been a development in the doorstop saga! Yep, I took the replacement one that appeared in Reprographics shortly after I stole the first. Heh. Wallop. Those bastards won't know what's hit 'em. I now have two stashed in the bottom drawer of my desk, along with the hand of a mannequin, my favourite staple gun (Rapesco Z-13 P, if you're asking...) and The Tyrant.

The Tyrant is a massive bastard of a hammer - a sculptor's hammer - that I found in the storeroom. It's made by a company called Tiranti and, by anybody's reckoning, it is a scary lump of metal. It's the kind of hammer that has one mode and one mode only: Bludgeon. Sure, you can use varying degrees of force, but the end result is always gonna be the same; a big old bludgeoning... just like momma used to make. Heh, always wanted to say that.

Back to eBay... This is horrible. He's almost in tears now. Head has been in hands. Still choosing a category. I can't take it.

Two weeks off now!

Oh yeah, and how could I forget... I've also recently turned 25. How bloody depressing. I'm running out of time now.