Blood.

When a person's holding something, and accidentally drops it, natural human reaction is to try and catch it before it hits the ground. We do this instinctively, and this is generally useful, as the time taken to think "Should I catch this?" greatly reduces the chances of catching it before it hits the ground.

It's not quite so useful when the item dropped is a double-edged razor blade.

XI

Works night out last night. One of the techs was retiring and having a get-together at the Centre One club, so our team decided that it'd be a good idea to show en masse and use the event as an excuse for a team night out. Cheap drink, so I can't really complain.

Anyay, showed up, drank, left about 12 or so and headed off into EK town centre. Where I went to *shudder* Centre Point, one of the many venues in East Kilbride that calls itself a nightclub. And I drank more, and had a very interesting conversation, which revealed that I have once again failed to notice something right in front of me. The night was fun, though.

Made it home about half three, and was sensible enough to knock back a litre of water, so I'm decidedly lacking in hangover. Which is nice.

Tiger Woods

Meant to mention this earlier. Tiger Woods won the US Open golf this past weekend, and was wincing in pain after almost every shot, because he wasn't long back from knee surgery. The media, upon finding out that that he also had a stress fracture in his leg, hailed his almost superhuman ability to play through the pain barrier.

Sorry, but no. He's a fucking retard. Playing this weekend has exacerbated the injury, and he now needs more surgery on his cruciate ligaments, ruling him out for the entire rest of the season (and probably a chunk of next season too). All this to show how much intestinal fortitude he has, to demonstrate just how much winning means to him.

It's not even like he was on for the grand slam or anything (which would have been an understandable reason for playing on), it was just a bog-standard major championship. He's risking future disability for a shot at glory now, which makes him a belming mongoloid.

So what have we learned from this? A few things:
1) Injuries need time to heal.
2) Playing sport full-pelt is not generally conducive to the healing process.
3) If the media have decided you're great, then no matter how stupid your actions, they'll put a positive spin on it.

Tired, hot, sore, alone, and filled with hate. A traditional Sunday, then.

Okay, it seems like an age since I've written anything here, and there's a good reason for this - it has been an age (especially if your age is 13 days). So those of you who have RSS feeds will see this, and those without will no doubt have long since given up expecting any updates and be off doing your own thing. Ho hum.

Anyhow, I've been off work since Wednesday, as I'd booked the leave to go to Donington. However, the lineup turned out to be shit, so I didn't go. This left me with 5 working days where I don't have to go to work, and as I've got plenty of leave to use up, there was no chance in hell that I'd be giving it back.

The time off hasn't been spent hugely productively, mostly just enjoying the fact that I can get up as late as I want to. Which I did on Thursday, having been to (and lost - pesky final round) the pub quiz in EK with Kat and Charlie.

Later on Thursday, I headed off into town to see Children of Bodom at the Academy, and it was decidedly average. Not mince, but nowhere near as good as it could have been. We headed back into town afterwards, and what was going to be just one pint in the Solid soon became 3 pints, 2 Jagermeister, and a Tuaca. So I headed up to Bamboo, and promptly got catastrophically drunk on their £1 promos. Got home about noon on Friday, and I'm a drunken shambles. The rest of the weekend was spent not drinking.

Friday was Tam of Zippy fame's leaving night, so I went there for a few hours before heading home due to lots of tiredness, and I spent most of Saturday in Kelvingrove Park being a proper jakey (albeit minus the alcohol)

I had planned a long lie this morning, but Vonnie texted me at about half 8 asking if I was going to church, which my brain processed with puzzlement, as she knows I'm an atheist and don't go and...FUCK! the christening. I'd completely forgotten. Sprang up out of bed, shaved, threw on the least offensive t-shirt that was clean (Cowbell Hero, fact-fans), and bolted off to Pollokshields. Made it in plenty of time, and our godless throng gathered outside and made all manner of jokes about deities made of biscuits and other such nonsense. It was funny if you were there.

Inside, I was actually surprised by how welcoming the place was (aside from one cobwebbed old cunt shooting us daggers all service), and thought about how the church I was dragged along to as a kid would never have tolerated the behaviour of the kids at the service (which wasn't bad in any way, just a lot less formal than some traditionalists would like). That's probably part of the problem as to why church attendances are falling nationwide, as the "This is God's house and I'll look down on you if you haven't put on a suit to come here" brigade still dominate many churches. And they can go die in a fire for all I care (tolerant, eh?). Also, the big brass eagle lectern looked like it had been looted from Nazi Germany. I half expected the ark of the covenant to be opened at some point to melt all of our faces.

Anyway, that done we headed back to EK, sat, talked, ate (and the lasagne was to die for), and then I came home as the dog had been stuck on her own for 8 hours or so. I've also managed to burn my scalp something rotten, so shall be slapping a lot of moisturiser on that.

Today I learned...

...that when some screeching harpy on the phone asks "Could YOU feed yourself and a child on £5 a week?", answering "Well, yes" does not go down well.