There's Something About Mary Poppins

I see someone's met the real Mary Poppins, without her entourage of PRs, publicists, lawyers and general hanger-ons twisting the truth into something less evil more friendly. I wonder if he lived?



I never did like that Poppins. She gave the rest of us a bad name.

Stolen Scirocco

This Volkswagon Scirocco 2.0 litre GT was stolen on Thursday 2nd July.

Between six and seven in the morning, someone broke into Tim's parents' house specifically to find the keys to his Big Bro's car. It looks like it was a professional job - that they'd scoped the house out and took every precaution against leaving any identifiable evidence. And when they found the keys, they took it.
There aren't many of them around in this colour - with the DSG semi-automatic gearbox and a full black cloth interior, registration number LM58 NNC. It's been his pride and joy for the last three months, and on 2nd July it was stolen.

If you see this car, please report it to the police immediately.

Please click the link at the top to go to Tim's original post about this theft, or click here.

With any luck, the now cursed (and hopefully pox-ridden) scum who stole this car will be caught, and the car reunited with it's rightful owner.

Keep your eyes peeled! And, thank you.

Update

One of the things I've been up to is spending, spending, spending! Not on clothes, socialising*, food or Car (even though it needs it), but at that institute of Smug Marriedness: The Garden Centre.
Not a weekend (nor even a weekday in some weeks) has gone by without a purchase or twelve at these hallowed hubs of horticultural heaven.
Accordingly, my bank balance has gone from a healthily glowing black - somewhat like the eyes of a feeding vampire - to nearing the deranged red hate of those of a freshly castrated demon.

Immolation DeVize's scarily accurate Counselor Troi eyeing up Picard's jugular
(boobs and hairpiece not his own)

I think it'll be worth it though. Just look at these before and after photos:

Before (from 02/05/09)





After (from 29/06/09)

I'll put some more up at the end of summer once everything's become established and filled out.

Anyway, there was a little something to be going along with. I'll try and post again soon. I may even have time for a quick skip around the blogs. See you out there!


* skips off *

* CRASH! tinkle *

Bugger.

* resolves never to skip wearing SP's flip flops again and hobbles off nursing a scraped knee *




* This doesn't happen often anyway. SP and I both loathe going out, much preferring an evening in with wine, crap TV** and Moom.
** SP likes the crap TV, such as Police Chase 9, Britain's Got Talent and Ground Force. I prefer more highbrow fare such as Being Human, Ugly Betty and Grey's Anatomy.

Spoken too soon

No, there's nothing wrong with all the technological gubbins that enabled me to come back to Blogland. Instead, the "imminent crossing over of a very close relative of SP's" as I mentioned in the last post, has happened. So, needless to say, I've been occupied with things other than blogging. However, we have had an unexpected trip over The Cusp and a couple of paranormal close encounters, so I shall be recounting those 'adventures' in due course.

In the meantime, I hope you are all well and firing on all thrusters. See you soon!

They're here!

Yes, we're back! All four of us - Thankfully, we managed to lose that interfering old baggage, Audrey, somewhere in the ether.
While we're pleased to return the realm of Blogland - via the wonders of a wireless router (that was surprisingly easy to set up once we got hold of an ethernet cable that actually worked) - it seems someone is even more pleased, eh Tim?



Ha!

Anyway, back to the point: This means, of course, that I won't have to surreptitiously blog from work - Although, never say never. Instead, I can blog from the uncomfort of my - sorry SP - our home. I say "uncomfort" because, as you can see in the picture, the study is bereft of comforts such as a desk, chair, houseboy etc...

Suffice it to say, I won't be online for long each time I log on due to the general physical aches caused by the distinct lack of ergonomics. Plus, due to the imminent crossing over of a very close relative of SP's, I won't be about every day as I'm trying to be as supportive as I can. All be it in my emotionless, robotic, cold-fish way.
So, before this gets too long-winded, I'm thrilled to be amongst you once again, and I'm looking forward to catching up on all that you've been up to.
I'm sure you've all been good...?

669

* Brrrriiing brrrriing - Brrrriiing brrrriing - Brrrriiing brrrri- *

“Hello?” a frail old voice answered. Momentarily nonplussed, I didn’t respond. “Is there anyone there?” she asked.
“Ummm…” Oh, great start. I rolled my eyes with some assistance from The Host’s SubC. “Ummm… I don’t suppose Lucifer’s home, is he?
“Who, dear?”
“Lucifer. Um.”
“Lucy? Eh?” There was some rustling before the voice muttered “Let me turn my hearing aid up...”
“Look” I said getting a little impatient, “Is he in? Are you his mum?”
“Oh, no, dear. I don’t have any children” she said.
Bugger, I seethed to myselves. I must’ve dialled the wrong number. Before I could say anything else, the old woman resumed talking.
“Ooh, there was that nice young man who lived here before me? I can’t remember his name. He had a lovely tan, though. If a bit on the red side. And a bit pointy, as I recall. Especially his hair. Looked like horns, it did!” She paused, but only for a second. “D’you know, it’s three years to the day since he moved out and I moved in. Fancy that! The old memory isn’t as bad as I thought.”
Weary from her diatribe, I tried to cut her off. “Excuse me. Do you have a forwa-“
“Oh!” She suddenly exclaimed. “And he had ever such a long-”
I shuddered and slammed the phone down before my imagination could run riot with whatever embarrassing horror the old bat was about declare.

Technical difficulties

We are experiencing technical difficulties - Normal service (i.e. last year's levels of posting and commenting) will be resumed shortly.

I hope.

Setting up a wireless router shouldn't be so complicated. Although it may have something to do with the lack of internet access through an ethernet cable. I'm on the verge of screaming and giving up, but as I'm at work right now, I don't think I'd better. I just hope that SP has sorted out the technical jiggery-pokery by the time I get home today. After all, you may have some recollection of my technological retardation.

You may ask why I don't just plug the Demon Box into the internet via the ethernet cable. Well, I can't because it's right next to the TV and I'm not blogging while SP lounges in front of the telly with the volume up full blast. Besides, if I'm within earshot, he'll keep talking to me or asking me to do things (like "What's for dinner?", or "Can you walk and feed Moom?", or "Let's have sex.").
So, until such time as I can blog upstairs out of the way, I won't be blogging at all, except from work, like today.

Wish me luck!

Almost Haunted

"Pass me that Woman's Weekly, would you?"
"What?"
"The magazine. Pass it to me."
"This one?"
"No. The one with Nanette Newman on the cover holding a washing up liquid bottle and a knitted uterus."
"Here you are-"

* c r r e e e e e e e a k *

Three seconds into the fallen silence, someone whispered: "What was that?" We all looked around wildly, searching for the source of the chilling creak. Suddenly, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle sat up straight and tutted.
"Oh, crap" he said as the door at the far end of the room opened fully.
"Wha-" Sir Isaac Newton began before this happened:



"Shit. It's Yvette Fielding and the Most Haunted crew." Marie Curie rolled her eyes. "We'll never get any peace now. Go on" she said, glaring at me. "It's your turn to frighten them off."
"But... But, I'm not even properly dead!" I hissed.
"Close enough."
"But-" I tried again but was cut off.
"Look. You've been hanging around with us ghouls for long enough to pull your weight when it's needed. And it's needed now. We're bored of scaring off that wailing, shrieking harridan.
"I-" I began.
"No excuses. Just get rid of her" Marie paused, a look of diabolical evil lit up her ghostly face brighter than the radiation that lingered from her life, "or we'll revoke your haunting license."
"Yes" Rod Hull interrupted. "We know you've 'amended' it from haunting to stalking. That poor boy..."
"Oh, OK, then" I sighed in blackmailed resignation.
"Be careful of her monstrous hair" John Inman warned. "Beryl got trapped in it last year and we haven't seen hide nor hair of her since."
"And she had a lot of hide, the fat cow" Sir Arthur sniggered.
"Hey! You shouldn't speak ill of the dead" Rod exclaimed, horrified.
"I don't see why not - She hated me, and I'm just as dead as she is. P'raps even deader."
"Shut up, you two" Marie scolded. "C'mon, let's go to the cinema while IDV gets rid of Yvette."
"What's on?"
"Star Trek."
"Star Trek? Really? I thought that had died a death years ago?"

- - -

And that's how come I haven't seen Star Trek yet. Maybe next week?

Beak Wars: Attack of the Clones

It appears that I am a Beaky magnet: I’ve only been living in Smug Towers New Castle DeVice for two months, yet I’m already being stalked, plagued even, by a new Beaky. 

And his wife. 

I’m of the opinion that this is either one of Beaky’s clones, or his offspring, sent to keep an eye on me.  

So far, he hasn’t made any attempts on my life (or SP’s or Moom’s) but I’m not taking any chances: I’m putting out sultanas in an effort to bribe placate him. Luckily, my eardrums have been saved from copious bleeding as the new Mrs Beaky isn’t as shrill as the original, but that could change. 

I do, however, have a horrible feeling of cold, clammy dread that the two of them are incubating a monstrous brood. I just hope that they haven’t been tasked with raising an army! 

Watch this space.

One voluminous Bone

I have read a book this year.

Finally.

I mean, Christ! Where does time go? I’ve been living with SP since the beginning of March, but still haven’t had a chance to set up the Demon Box, never mind read at the rate I used to as a Singleton. There just seems to be so much housework and maintenance and gardening and shopping and meal-making and Moom-walking* and curtain-twitching to do. I’m practically a Desperate Housewife!
Now, I know I may have mentioned before that my career aspirations reach as far as that of a glamorous, well dressed, housewife, but now that I am one (OK, forget the glamorous and well dressed bits), I’m more than a little disappointed with the amount of gruelling work that’s involved. To make things worse, I haven’t even been able to give up the day job! What’s the point of a boyfriend who isn’t going to work all the hours the gods send to keep their better half in crimplene A-line dresses and immovable hair-dos?

Anyway: Moan over. The book I have finished reading was Making Money, by Terry Pratchett. Here it is:

I’m not going to review it because I haven’t got enough time (this is yet another post written while I’m at work), but if you want to know what it’s about, click the link up there which will take you to the Wiki entry. It can’t be that bad because SP read the blurb on the back cover and was immediately intrigued. So much so that he now wants to read it.

Now that I’ve finished Making Money, I can move onto a rather weighty tome given to me for my birthday by a close friend. Actually, this friend isn’t as close as I’d like, both geographically and physically. Still, Shepperton isn’t too far by broom when I feel the need for stalking visiting him…

The book in question is Bone, by Jeff Smith. I’ve only just started it, but my not-close-enough-friend raved about it, so it must be good as he’s a very discerning and well read editor. I think I’m going to like it, not least because some of the background art reminds me of Bill Watterson’s Calvin & Hobbes strips, and there appear to be numerous bizarre and imaginative creatures in it**.







* Moom is our dog. Well, she’s like a person in the house, but definitely a dog when we’re out, what with chasing things and bum sniffing, and the like.
** Perhaps not quite as bizarre as the diaphanous slime creatures of Ahnooie 4.

Concerning flight

I watched Superman Returns last night. Well, SP wanted to see it because James Marsden’s in it. I don’t think he could give two figs about the film – He just wanted to gaze upon James’ beauty and razor sharp cheek bones. I must admit, I never turn away in horror when he graces the screen, so I didn’t mind too much that SP was being more than a little blatant. One comment did give me pause, though. He was talking about preferring James as Cyclops wearing that leather costume in X-Men when he hesitated with a big grin on his face. “Cwoooarr!” he said. “I wouldn’t mind his massive cyclops coming at me.”
And this was while I was in the room. Sitting right next to him! The cheek.

Anyway, the point I was going to make is related to both last night’s televisual viewing and something Tim said recently about having flight as a super power. It was while I was piloting Broom to work this morning, wrapped up tightly, that I marvelled about the amount of scantily clad flying superheroes (and supervillains) who don’t seem to be affected by windchill. Superman I can understand due to his resistance of the cold (he lives in an Arctic ice castle, for starters). The Human Torch keeps warm because he’s on fire. Phoenix is all powerful and probably shields herself from the deleterious effects of flight. But what about the rest of them? How do they keep warm and/or stop their eyes streaming? How? Do any of you lot have superpowered alter-egos and have to adapt to the effects of your powers?

Oh, and Tim, if you’re fed up with being so attractive, you’ll just have to try and switch off your Timtational sexy pheromone secretions!


- - -

Just to be tangential: There aren’t enough people called Cynthia. I don’t know any Cynthias except for Cynthia Nixon and Cynthia from some old British comic (I believe she burnt some cakes during her gang/class’s re-enactment of historical events?). And even then, I only know of them. Does anyone else know any Cynthias?

To beanie, or not to beanie...

Now, I'm not a huge fan of beanies. I'm not even a fan of huge beanies. Even though some people do still manage to look cute (and a little bit dangerous) in them.

However, something I saw on Monday is making me have second thoughts. I was walking to work at the extra early time of 07:05 (the earliest since moving out of the original Castle DeVice and in to the new Castle DeVice, aka Smug Towers, with SP) when I saw Seat Leon Man drive by, my heart skipping a beat. I hadn't seen him in months thanks to my move and later start times at work. Something made me look twice, though. He was wearing a beanie!

Awww... He looked soooo cute, but still retained his masculine allure (even if he might not have legs). A bit like Tim, really (although, I know that Tim has legs - And nice ones at that).

Perhaps beanies are the way forward? I mean, even the mini-Tim* who lives next door to us wears one, and despite being only 17, manages to look fanciable (as long as one manages to imagine him being 10 years older).




P.S. I still haven't got Demon Box set up in Smug Towers (I'm posting this in my lunch break at work), so any blogging and commenting will be sparing (especially those NSFW blogs - Sorry MJ) until I sort out DB's new home. I'm hoping for the small spare bedroom as a study - I've just got to convince SP.


* OMG! He really does look like Tim, only younger. He even has the face-fuzz! I haven't seen if he has any chest-fuzz yet, but, quite frankly, I don't think I want to. He's 17, for gods sakes!