Kelsey's Stratford -- where i go for a couple of pints of the foaming ale after work, once or twice a week -- has just hired a new bartender. Her name is Julia. The other bartenders there are Jennifer, Jill, and Jocelyn.
I know, I know – I’ve been very remiss in keeping up this blog. Blame a lack of time (chronic 21st century disease) and a slow computer (common 21st century ailment).
But what, I hear you ask, have I been doing?
Apart from working, that is.
Not that the way I make my livelihood is “work” at all, of course: it’s not work, it’s just what I do. I am the job. I just make a transition, six days a week, from doing what I do at home, to doing what I do at the shop. But I am not going to write about my workplace. (I might tell the truth and get fired or at least excoriated by my colleagues, endomorphs and troglodytes the lot of them.) (Ooops.)
So, I’ve been watching DVDs. Well over a year ago I bought the complete “On The Buses” (11 discs) and have just finished disc #9.
Otherwise, I have watched these, this week.
I also watched the very first James Bond film, "Dr No." Why don't i have a picture?
Ok, here's what Watson J. Pussycat and i have watched this week.
"Thunderball" is brilliant, "Blade Runner" is one of my all-time favourites (although i'd never seen this edition before), and "Body Of Lies" -- another Ridley Scott film, gorblimey! -- is two brilliant characters (Russell Crowe & Leonardo Di Caprio) in search of a plot.
I know, I’ve been very remiss in keeping this blog going. Number one I’ve been busy, number two I’ve been experiencing some major computer probs -- a massive slowdown which was making me crazy, as I spend so much of my life on the damn’ thing. But I think I’ve solved the problem(s) and here’s a new (to me) Rory video in atonement.
Rory Gallagher, “Off The Handle”
I came home from work tonight, turned on the PC and, as I waited for it to boot, went into the kitchen to feed dear Watson (that's Watson above). All of a sudden, I heard a screeching, grinding noise. Oh, no! sez I, that’s the sound of a hard drive in its death throes. (Considering my recent difficulties with the stupid machine, it was an easy conclusion to jump to.)
Wrong again. It was some idiot with his remote-controlled mini-SUV, racing the thing up and down in front of my front window. Grrr. (Anyway he has gone away now, leaving me to listen to the reassuring hum of a healthy hard drive and a Rod Stewart & The Faces bootleg (Detroit 1974).