You wouldn’t necessarily know it from reading this blog, but I’m a decent writer. I’m capable of structuring arguments, thoughts, speeches, presentations and so on fairly well — I’m not claiming to be Martin Amis, but, y’know, not one of the manatees writing Family Guy (which, for the record, I am a fan of, but do criticise for being excruciatingly lazy with its writing from time to time. Blue Harvest, anyone?).
Anyway: once again, rather than taking that as a random diversion let’s call it an exemplar of what happens when you don’t plan a piece of writing. And that’s the temptation with blogs, just to hit “write new post” and spout random rubbish that’s occured to you that day. Well, no more! Or, at least, a little less. I plan to… plan more.
I should perhaps rename this blog the blog of unresolved resolutions. But I’m not sure that scans well.
Love my new neighbourhood, generally. Today, however, whilst getting some much needed building work done, instead of someone having a word with us discretely to let us know that the chaps sawing up wood were making maybe a little much noise and could we maybe keep it down, they sicked the council on us. Fair enough, turns out we were working out of regulation hours, but a quiet word rather than the council watchdog would have been ample. We’re not out to annoy anyone.
Grrr. Sometimes English reticence is just downright annoying.
Is not fun. Everything good costs a fortune and people seem surprisingly willing to sell crap for significant sums of money. The folks at Sofa Workshop ended up being best suited for us but really weren’t cheap. That said, the service was good, the follow up excellent, the access check impressive, and the number of customisable options very satisfactory.
I can’t wait till the house is sorted so I can get back to *only* shopping online.
Since Amanda moved in I’ve discovered a new evening ritual… Eastenders. I’ve always taken a principled objection to soaps — on the basis that I had enough of the mundaneness of everyday life in my life to need anything further from a street in Australia, or the East End of London.
I have to say, whilst not a convert, I’m beginning to see the value. Eastenders, at least, seems to have replaced the Victorian melodrama with people rotating in the part of villain, hero, comic foil etc. Although Max, Ian and Phil Mitchell, as characters go, seem to have few redeeming characteristics.
I don’t know how realistic the scenarios are — I’ve never lived in a neighbourhood where everyone knows everyone else and think I’d probably quite like that at some stage. I don’t know how easy it is for a kid to get a gun in East London (but given that its a core plot element of Arvind’s first film, Sugarhouse, OUT NOW ON DVD, maybe I should…).
Still, I enjoy watching it most weeknights with Amanda, and I’m not (too) ashamed to say it was the first season pass I set on my new PVR. I am, however, much more excited about the imminent launch of the new season of Torchwood… bring it, BBC Wales.
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