I am married to a man who has a compulsion with text. He cannot pass a piece of paper with words on it of any kind, without reading. He cannot pass computer screens, book covers, crisp packets, signposts or advertisements without stopping to absorb. As a result it can be quite difficult to ever get a blog entry completed. He is sitting beside me “watching” an episode of House (where that idiot savant Dave Matthews is busy resisting treatment for his crazies), and checking over my shoulder every 5-10 seconds to see what I have typed. Very irritating, Kevin. As such, you can send all complaints about the lack of blog entries to him, as my only opportunities to write in this ridiculously hectic life of mine seem to arise while sitting next to him.
In other news, the bank holiday weekend in the Clairebo/Zoomtard household has kicked off to an awesome start, only hindered by the erroneous purchase of Frijj (two for one in Tesco). We were lured by the Simpsons!
What promised so much delivered so little. Frijj is a foul tasting muck reminiscent of butt-fudge. Don’t buy it, no matter what Chief Wiggum says to you.
Good things that have happened since I left work yesterday:
- Work became over in the best sense;
- The train took me homeward;
- Whence I met my husband, who took me out on a date;
- That involved seeing Burn After Reading;
- And eating nice food;
- And going to bed.
- The morning brought a lie-in;
- Followed by a great worship practise with three great friends;
- Followed by a comforting wintry lunch and several episodes of Roseanne.
- As if this weren’t enough fun for one day, we set off to see Ghost Town;
- And then spent the latter part of the evening at home trying to rid ourselves of Frijj, while watching House;
- Whilst BASKING in the glory that is NATIONAL CLOCK MADNESS which gives us a present of an extra hour in bed tonight for NO GOOD REASON!
Good times, my friends, good times indeed.
Strawberry Frijj is nicer. Not a whole lot nicer, but a bit nicer. So next time you two (sensible, mature adults) are lured by The Simpsons, go for the Strawberry. Or the Raspberry.
I’ll have to take your word for it because I’ll dance the can-can on Broadway before I ever buy that again.