So much to write about and mainly I can't be bothered getting down to the nitty-gritty of actually writing about it properly.
Here's some:
Givvies! Lots of them, including one right at the top of my own street! Why had I never noticed it before? I must have walked past it a thousand times!
Existentialism! I seem to be spending a lot of my time banging my head against infinity and eternity right now. Not comfortable thoughts. I fear I may go insane as I get older. Seriously.
Patterns of behaviour on discussion boards! Just had a typical experience while arguing my case. I'm a toady apparently. Because I pointed something out in someone elses defense. I was called this by someone who jumped in on behalf of another person.
Oh the irony... They succeeded in stopping the person I'd asked from having to bother thinking though, so we can all go on as if nothing matters.
Driving instruction! Liz is a poo! And so is Emma! And Kev!
Really, You don't want to know. Or maybe you do.
Clocks! From Thailand no less! I want a clock with Thai numerals. I have a mate over there who is looking for one for me.
Here are the Thai numerals from 0 to 9...
๐ ๑ ๒ ๓ ๔ ๕ ๖ ๗ ๘ ๙
1 comment:
I have a vested interest in spreading this linguistic meme, since it was me that invented it. As a child, not knowing the words for things, I would coin my own term. Street vents? Sewer vents? Yup. Functional name for a utilitarian bit of street furniture, even if, dating from victorian times, they possess ornamentation that we just wouldn't bother with these days. To me, the givvies are specifically the fluted cast iron columns you get where I live. I haven't seen them elsewhere so much, although they, or some kind of equivalent must exist. Still, the word isn't really being used for anything else, so if it does become a generic term for all sewer ventilation shafts, that's fine by me. A fine legacy!
Which brings me neatly on to existentialism...
I do want to do a big blog post about it at some point maybe. But as ever, I'm uncertain of how to proceed. My big idea on this right now is that it takes seconds, minutes, hours or I suppose sometimes days to die. That's a tiny price to pay for three score years and ten, living, breathing and wandering around a virtual planet. The thousands of billions of years to come when I'm gone don't matter any more than the billions of years that happened before I was born. That's the theory anyway. Emotionally it's not quite so easy. I guess it's something we all have to find a way of dealing with. Or not. It's going to happen anyway, whether I can accept it or no.
Happy to trip-trap over the discussion bridge without comment or incident too :)
We have a scouse clock in our house.
It goes tich... toch... tich... toch...
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