I’ve been over the edge for yonks.

I feel like I’m going even more mad lately. So many things that make my brain itch. From great film makers being flown off planes for being too large despite their having paid for two seats and fitting in one, a doctor and his pregnant wife being thrown off another plane after asking for a drink of water while the palne was on the ground… you may well say “only in America” but here…. Gordon Brown having a bit of a sob on a television show – seriously, what was he doing on a show where the presenter (a notorious shite and someone who should be shot for his actions as editor of the mirror not allowed to continue basking in his own sense of inflated self-importance, that’s right Piers Morgan you SHIT) is renowned for making people cry because somehow, somehow, this is what makes good tv (?!?! after all, forget plot, acting or anything resembling substance why not wheel on anybody even slightly famous and remind them of the time their loved ones, neighbours, hamster or neighbour’s hamster died)- he’s supposed to the PM, not Hilary Clinton talking in Starbucks and hoping for the women’s sympathy vote. Not that the bloody Tories are any better – taking ideas for their proposed education reform from that well known and respected educational authority Goldie Hawn.Yeah, that Goldie Hawn.I really pray neither of em get the bloody vote.

Then again, I can’t even remember the last time I heard anything about the Lib Dems….. nope, nothing. But then what do you expect when the media is more concerned with what the American president’s wife is wearing, what cheating footballer is still managing to crawl their way into their wife’s delicates or the on-going charade that is Afghanistan.

Slightly connected to this – can we please stop with all the bloody ‘talent’ shows? Every bloody channel has something now. Singing, dancing, dancing on ice, dancing in a wheel chair, singing dancing in a wheelchair on ice…. seriously?! ENOUGH I really couldn’t give a flying feck about what once-upon-a-long-long-long-time ago ex-soapstar can twirl around the dance floor like a muppet on ecstasy the best. I’m a liscence payer and I want a refund.

AAARRRRGHGHGHGARGH, blimey that was a rant. Don’t worry, I plan on giving up my potty mouth for Lent which means a lot of blog posts involving the word “fudge.”

Roll on the weekend, and it’s only Tuesday. But then the approaching weekend promises to be good as it’s an away one.

It amuses me that I now take delight in removing the entire peel from my lunchtime orange in one. If I can remove that bad boy from its skin with only one bit of peel to go in the bin I’m chuffed. It’s not just because, until recently, I used to claw at the things ineffectually and leave lumps of orange everywhere. It’s more the fact that having fruit with my lunch is now a regular thing. Thank you Miss French-Romania.

Speaking of French, this guy is a genius:

Linda first showed me this a while ago and it seared itself into my memory and I downloaded his album Prose Combat as a resutl but still can’t listen to anythign but this. That being said, we did listen and enjoy (on my side that is) one of his albums on the road on Friday evening. My lack of comprehension hindered full enjoyment but I am spendng my lunchtimes huddled up in the Xantia with the Assimil on the iPod and getting better.

It’s nice to be driving the Xantia again, feeling her power there when it’s needed. Though until I find the radio code I may go insane quicker as I spend the commute singing to myself. Not singing anything specific by way of actual songs, just a lot of bumholes really. Probably just as well I don’t car share.

See it’s not all doom and gloom :p