On the M4, no-one can hear you scream

So I left the office at 16:30 last night, aiming to get ahead of the traffic. Sadly, it wasn't to be. I arrived at 01:30. Nine hours! Thanks to 'lil sis' for clearing the drive (twice) and helping me shove the car onto it.

I passed abandoned cars on the M4, A3290M and all across Reading, cast aside like in some apocalyptic aftermath, amidst sheets of ice, with police rescuing people in my neighbourhood. I have concluded that I will work from home today, perhaps forever. But at the very least, today.

I'm glad my car proved its worth trundling up/down icy hills.

Don't touch me, it hurts.

Turning point?

So Grand Ayatollah Montazeri has passed away. Will his passing be like that of Hu Yaobang (similarly sidelined), whose death lead to the Tiananmen Square demonstrations in 1989?

Well...

My brace of Lamy's returned from Heidelberg. Never again will I dismantle a pen in a meeting with my CEO due to boredom, or bend the nib due to frustration and disbelief when Lord Alan Sugar is in the midst of a cakehole emission.

But while choo-choo trundling to Paddington last night, I started to write some flash fiction. It turns out that Harry T has also written some (although he calls it flash friction). Who will get published first?

This will only be available until 9pm tonight, but well worth listening to. R4 Archive Hour - the My Lai tapes. I only wish I posted this link after listening to it last weekend.

Saab RIP

Winding down such a distinctive, loved brand, is a really dumb thing to do. Perhaps GM doesn't want the IP to enable a competitor to Opel in Europe?

Prostituting myself

I never thought it would work, but I couldn't resist it. I just had to submit another ad.


'Summarily ejected from the NLP course entitled ‘How to Build a Better
Girlfriend’, thanks to turning up with the Ikea catalogue, allen keys,
amyl nitrate, a blowtorch, a blow-up doll, a picture of the Queen Mummy
and a gallon of vodka, I find myself standing here with singed eyebrows
and my face covered with bits of latex, the fact I am unable to sit
perhaps connected with the disappearance of those damn allen keys. Or
maybe the blowtorch. Will you be my girlfriend? Drunk, drugged and
deluded M, 38, covered in fragments of burnt latex with allen keys stuck
up his arse. Or perhaps its a blowtorch.'


The funny thing is, there is an NLP course with that title. Thanks to Mister PC for passing me the DVD - one to sob to over Xmas.

Links

The NY Times Magazine's 9th annual year in ideas. Also...starlings on acid.