I know I should have done it a few days ago
But I got rid of the panorama. You can see it on the "blog pics" part of the year two photo album. Yeah, yeah, I'm slow but eventually I'll get the job done.

PS- Elisabeth will some something. Eventually. Soon. Some day. Maybe. Perhaps.

PPS- Good job news may be coming soon. Or maybe not. We'll see.

Bl(og)ah, bl(og)ah, bl(og)ah
Another typical Tuesday night over here. I'm listening to Hawkwind and Elisabeth's wondering about the origin of moles - If anyone can help us out, do alibno's have moles? What makes them? Are they a fall back to our original skin colour? All these questions have been asked by my darling bride who also beat me at monopoly, but no suprises there.

Damn, I also forgot what I was originally going to post. Something about playing ultimate frisbee in Greenwich park on Saturday, getting bruised up and watching Back to the Future. I think.

Boy, it's going to take alot of blog entries to get rid of that panorama. Alot of rambling, blah, blah, blah. ... Boy, aren't Walkers Cheese & onion good!!!

W.T.F.??
E and I went to see Farenheit 9/11 at Woking's fabulous cinema the other day only to discover that it was reserved seating. Our seats were H10 & H11. File this under one of the stupidest things in the world. When everyone came in late because they wanted to avoid the 20 minutes of commercials (Which preceded the 10 minutes of previews) they had to look for there seats. Even though the theatre was 20% full, people still asked others to move. In the dark. Milling around, trying to read the little numbers on the seats. I mean, I don't want to rant but what's stupider? Reserved seating for a cinema ("If we let them sit wherever they wanted, it would be madness! Tall people stabbing tall people for the aisle seat! Kids gunning each other down for the front row! It would be anarchy! What would Prince Edward think??") or people actually obeying the reserved seating? ("Oh, Prince Edward! Sooo sorry, I appear to be sitting in your favoured seat.") My God, if it was in a book, people wouldn't beleive it.

"Life is the crummiest book I ever read
There isn't a hook.
Just alot of cheap shots,
some pictures to shock
and characters the worst author would never dream up."
-Bad Religion

Stephen "trying desperatly to bump down the panorama picture" out.

Bookkeeping
I've added a new gallery of the various blog pictures I've put up, mainly for posterity's sake as well as my anal-retentive sense of keeping things in order. Check it out by clicking HERE or through the usual avenues.
Meanwile over here, things get tense with the lasagne...
(Cue ominous music)

Crap
Crap.
That panorama's really big and made things very wide. Oh well, it's motivation to blog alot so that it'll get bumped to elsewhere and get the blog to lose some weight.
Apologies for making the blog temporarily annoying.
-Sir Stephen blogalot

Greenwich photo ops
The first photo is a fine panorama of London from the observatory in Greenwich Park. (Note the Millenium Dome on the right [Does Millenium Dome require capitalization??])
The second is the laser beam (Faintly seen; it's on the left shooting diagonally into outer space) that marks the exact spot where, uh, Greenwich mean-time is. What does mean-time mean? well one side is 1 hour ahead of the other. Except that it isn't really but might be one of the reasons Back to the Future (Seen on the movie screen) started an hour late and we only got to see the first half.
-Stephen Hello!?? Mcfly??

GONE: One WAYYYYYYYY To big panorame picture. go to the "Blog pics" section of our year two photo album to see the bastard!

This is how lazy I am
Sittin' here Sunday afternoon, helping Elisabeth cook a lasagne by reading out the recipe instructions while she does all the grunt work and hoping she'll get around to updating our blog because we did alot of stuff yesterday that I don't feel like wring about.
-Stepzzzzzzzz.......

Concentrating on things I need to concentrate on
I'm trying to concentrate on things I need to concentrate on. As Elisabeth keeps reminding me. To busy reading left-wing blogs and looking at cute pictures of ferrets and cuddling cats. Oh my God, we need to get a pet but Elisabeth isn't into fish. now she's gone to bed. I think I'm addicted to the news but, oh, never mind. Must sleep, I guess.
Addicted to the news Stephen, over and out, Ron!

Oh, and just a reminder
that this web site is motivated by hedonistic exhibitionism. So if you're visiting it and not posting comments and/or signing the guestbook (As it's come to my attention that some of you are. Or aren't to be more precise.), then the motivation that E & I have to regularily update it may wain.

Cyberspace; consider yourself suitably warned!

-Stephen, blogging for the sake of blogging, out.

Only in England (part 324 in a series)
To set the scene: I was leaving the Doctor's office this morning, leaving the waiting area to the main reception area, when I noticed an elderly lady approaching the door between the two rooms (From my side I had to push it to open it.)

Now under most circumstances, I would open the door for the old woman but she was doing the thing that most British drivers do when they see pedestrians waiting to cross the street: nominally slow down so that they can say they made the effort to let the person cross but not acually slow down enough to enable the pedestrian crossing a safe passage so basically, what was the point of slowing down in the first place other that trying not to look like the jerk you already are?

But I digress...

Anyway, the old woman had slowed down on her way to the door but didn't actually stop so that by the time I reached it, if I had gone through to hold it open for her on the other side, I'd have either hit her with the door or had to have barged through awkwardly, pushing between her and the door.

So I decided to avoid an akward situation and stepped aside so that she could just go through the door by herself (She didn't have a cane or appear to have any physical disabilities) and as she went through the door, she looked at me and announced so that all could hear:

"You, sir, are not a gentleman."

-Rude, crude, Stephen the pikey yobbo out!