Ho hum.

I'm not in the mood to elaborate at length at the moment, mainly because any moment now some freaks with a video camera are going to turn up and film our office for the new students' welcome video. So may have to hide under desk mid sentence.

So in a nutshell - or winecase - Row lives in Manc, Row has a room, I'm moving to Manc, I need a room, I'm moving to Row's room. Well, not HER room. Her spare room (sorry Nick). Probably in about a month.

Just got to get a job now. The landbaron will demand I PAY for the room, no doubt

(*squeals in excitement*)

(*can't WAIT to tell Super Hans he's moving to Manchester *)

I should probably make this friends only, but screw that.

So as some may know, I applied for a residential position at one of the Halls of Residence, back at the start of June. The point of wanting this post was to enable me to do an MA in September - the rent was cheaper, in reward for nannying first years.

Anyway, I have been waiting WEEKS to hear about anything. It doesn't help that it is my normal job to administer all of the applications, contracts etc for this role, so I knew how many had applied, because it was me forwarding the applications on. So really, the delay was messing me about both ways - I had paperwork to do AND had to find somewhere to live if I didn't get it.

Yesterday I finally got an email asking if I would like to go for an interview at 7.20pm that night. Er...well...talk about short notice and incredible inconvenience. So I ask if can be at the end of the day, or maybe tomorrow. No, I am told. But she could do next week if that's any good?

*snap*

No, actually, it's not. RAM IT.

As I've had to wait so long to hear anything at all, I've already committed myself to an extra month of rent and bills - which, as I'm now living on my own, is three times the amount I have been paying previously. Waiting any longer, I'd then be committing myself to ANOTHER month of rent, as I wouldn't be able to give a month's notice until I knew either way. That would mean I would essentially wipe out most of the chunk of money I'd saved to pay the first instalment of my MA - which, if you recall, was the only reason I wanted to be at the halls in the first place. The MA was the only reason I was staying in Hull.

So screw that. I just handed my notice in.

I'm moving out when I get back from Ireland. I'm going home for however long it takes me to find a job in Manchester. Then I'm going there.

Hurrah for unemployment.

No, really! Hurrah! I'm so happy!

Beebay? Click click.

(OH ho ho ho! See that title? See the link? See the joke?! I crack myself up. BA (Hons) English - worth every penny.)

And lo, in three words, my Sunday is summarised.

1) Sleep - I did this solidly until approximately 11.59am, with the exception of 2 wees, 2 texts, and 1 brief phone call.

2) Batman - is bloody brilliant. It's very, very dark. I was surprised it was a 12A and not a 15. I know it has been hyped but Heath Ledger IS fantastic in it, very disturbing and clever performance that I won't forget for a while. I want to go and see it again, actually. Now! I don't know who plays Harvey Dent, but I thought at first I wouldn't like that character very much, but he was very good too. Christian Bale...meh. I just got the impression he wasn't really into it.

3) I completely forgot that when I went to Nanna's last Sunday, she handed me a very large quantity of fruit cake. This has been in a tupperware box in my bedroom ever since. However, I can conclude that sitting for a week has not impaired the flavour of any slices sampled so far.

This evening's plans: Top Gear, perhaps cleaning out some beasts...but mainly vodka and tonic(s). Not having any ice - or an ice cube tray - I have all ingredients, including the glass, in the freezer already.

I vant to know who has stolen ALL ZE AIR FROM ZE VORLD.

I vant to know vhy it must BE SO VARM.

I vant to know vhy I am speaking like zis.

I haff no idea.

Perhaps ze heat.

Perhaps ze vodka.

Bah. I bake.

4PM Let's All Brush Up on Our Speakerphone Etiquette
IT guy on phone: Be ready when I get home.
(clicks it to speakerphone)
IT guy's wife: Well, that is fine but I did not put the butt plug in the freezer yet.
IT guy: (clicks speaker phone off) Hey! Sorry, I know you hate the speakerphone...

Naval Base
Pensacola, Florida
via Overheard in the Office, Jul 22, 2008

I get to yell that a lot now. When it suits me. Like now, as I'm faced with the following choices for my evening:

Wash ALL clothing owned by self, currently all over floor, all filthy.
Wash half the plates usually contained within kitchen cupboard, currently also all over floor, also all filthy. (Done! Shattered now.)
Wash hamster cages. Filthy.
Wash self. Pretty filthy.

I do not want to do any of these things. In fact, I might just choose to forget they need doing. Symptom!

Had a bit of a lie in this morning, as I was having some tests at 10am, and truly didn't see the point of spending an hour doing something at work (well, 40 minutes of surfing the internet, at best) before disappearing for a few more hours.

(I'm officially special, by the way. And I don't have to be PC about terminology, because I'M special.)

Anyway. At 8.30am, Mary from Molescroft rang! Mary from Molescroft being the lovely old lady that took George and Albert off my hands back in April because they were fighting.

Well, they are now apparently very good friends, because she flung them in with lots of older guinea pigs, and they didn't really have a choice but to unite together against them all - a bit like when I used to switch the hoover on and they would cuddle, until George remembered he hated Albert, and bit his ears, while Albert tried to hump him.

They have also been rehomed with a hospital consultant and his lovely family, and are spoiled rotten. She was sad to see them go because they were so lovely

So I'm happy about that.

Pet pigs are NOT for eating. Hmph.

Mine was quite nice really.

Yesterday Mum decided she wanted to go to Alford in deepest darkest Lincolnshire to see the donkeys we adopted her for Christmas - namely, Annie and Noddy. So, we did. There were many, many donkeys. They were bloody brilliant.

Unfortunately for you all, I can't find my camera cable, so you will be spared the photographic details...for now. I'm sure it must be on my floor somewhere...

Then we drove even deeper into the flat wilderness and had nice ice cream. I shunned my normal rum and raisin and had Turkish delight, and it was also bloody brilliant.

Then we went home, had fajitas, and watched The Great Escape.

And then I came back to Hull - that part sucked.

I can't believe it though...I was at work for 9am. BEFORE 9am! Like, five to nine! Incredible. I feel vaguely productive, but I'm being very careful not to act on this urge. It must be a dangerous symptom of the impending man-flu *cough wheeze*.

I think it's very important I go get a sausage sandwich.

...in case someone sees what I'm listening to and takes the piss. Even silently.

I am at home-home.

The goldfish have been released into a massive pond, full of lovely algae, which they have to themselves, for now. I hope they'll be ok.

I spent about an hour with B this afternoon, we got rained on, we did nothing but take the piss out of each other, and it was lovely.

Dad's just got back with a Chinese.

I have a vodka and tonic with a LOT of lime (and vodka).

Were it not for the knowledge that we'll all be arguing over the TV in about 20 minutes time, I might cry with contentment

Morning world.

I woke up at 9.15 today. I either didn't hear my alarm - buzzing and vibrating under the pillow under my head - or I didn't set the bloody thing at all. I'm inclined to go with the former, given that I didn't get to sleep til 3.30am. Sigh. Shtuff.

So I only got to work at 10am. Lame.

It is the 18th of July. JULY. Someone tell me, please, why I had to walk to work with my brolly up because of the deluge of sleety drizzle that decided to start the moment I left the flat.

I have wet feet and wet jeans.

And a head that feels like it is made of stone.

I can't wait to go to mum and dad's tomorrow, even if it's only for one night.

Still. Friday. Woop woop. I'm gonna have a Crunchie.

Office worker on speakerphone: Hello.
Creepy customer: I was just sitting here eating some creamed corn and thinking about you so I thought that I would give you a call.
Office worker: Please hold and I will transfer you to my supervisor.

Go here

1 -

Yesterday afternoon the toilets flooded. I made a sexy sign, and also rang maintenance, and turned the lights off in there for good measure. Why that helped I don't know, but looked more official.

This morning, pre-10am meeting, sign was still up.

This lunchtime, the sign was gone. And there were many giggles. And flushing toilets. And hand dryers blasting out for minutes on end - which is weird, when you think about it. Minutes? Something was going on.

I go in. There is glaring on both sides. The toilets don't appear to be leaking anymore...but nor is something quite right.

Two options - either these plucky little girls have removed the sign (and probably flushed it), or university maintenance have assessed the situation, requested a plumber, and plumber has been, fixed and gone, all within 24 hours. I think I know which is more likely.

2 -

"Scuse me. Scuse me. Excuse me."

*nothing from youth sat on stairs*

So I whack their shoulder. "MOVE, please!"

*youth glares, and shuffle a fraction of an inch to the right*

"Thank you!"

3 -

I am craving chilli and chips. This never happens. I need some, I really really do.

I approach counter in cafe downstairs.

"Oh. Do you not have any chilli left?"

"No love, sorry, just what you can see"

I glance at my watch. It's only 12.50pm. I glance at the trays of the rest of the queue, including FOUR, yes FOUR youths with chilli. I glare. They snigger.

I hate them. I hate them with every bite of this sandwich.

My retribution will be swift.

If ANY of these creatures get in my way tomorrow I am going to hit them square on the nose with a full bottle of Ribena.

...to turn your nose up at (ho ho!). And from Japan? Surely not!

B's coming to V.

Yay

How bright and sunny you are!

Not.

How clear and unfuddled my head this morn!

Not.

So here is a joke my chav Geordie cousin sent me this morning, and I am ashamed to say I snorted rather loud:

Why do men snore when they're laying on their back?
Cos their balls drop over their arsehole and block the airway to their brain!

Dire, isn't it? Love it.

I think I want to keep busy today. I'm sure this feeling won't last.

Laters.

I woke up quite late for work today. 9.05am, to be precise.

I had cake for breakfast. Quite a lot of cake, actually, it was very nice.

I gave some tiny cake crumbs to the gerbils and I have never seen them so excited or thankful for anything, not since the blessed days of the Jaffa Cake tube anyway.

I got to work for 11.12am. I live 15 minutes away.

For lunch, I had leek and ham pasta. It was rather nice. The sauce was uncannily similar to the potato and leek soup I had for lunch yesterday. Recycling food? Surely not. Broon would be pleased though, I'm sure. The Myton Servery - single-handedly reversing the economic concerns of the nation. W00t.

I've decided I don't want anything else with leeks in for a while.

I'm looking online at cats to adopt, even though I can't at the moment. I can look though, innit.

I have a crick in my neck, and I might be getting man flu again. Trauma!

I've decided that, for now at least, I'm not going to pay the invoice for the water cooler hire, because I'm curious as to what will happen if I don't. Will they take it away? Will they put sealant in the spout? Will we have to use the kitchen tap? Who knows. Let's find out.

The female toilets are leaking again. I thought it was water. I walked in it to look down the toilets and ascertain cause. It wasn't water. I genuinely don't know what it was. I have made a very sexy Out of Order sign and walked away from it.

There are 15 and 16 year old children everywhere for some Summer School scheme. They have taken to eating their lunch and listening to tinny mobile phone music in the lobby at the bottom of the staircase leading to our office. Four of them were sat on the bottom step, and I had to ask them to move three times before they deigned to acknowledge me and my unfavourable presence in their lives. "Cretins", I barked, stalking past them. "Whaddid she say?", one asked. "Is she foreign?".

Another thrilling day.

...I'm choosing to tidy my room.

I may even hang some things up!

*giddy with new found enthusiasm for tidying*

*is aware it will wane*

EDIT: Enthusiasm waned. Can see floor now. A solid half an hour though - go me.

I'm going to go home this weekend, because I haven't for ages, and I miss home at the moment.

I'm taking my adult goldfish with me. They are going in a biiiiig pond full of 30-40 other goldfish, koi and carp. Big goldfish, koi and carp.

This makes me worried they are going to get eaten, or starve to death from never getting to the food in time.

However, koi are difficult to keep in anything less than totally perfect conditions, so the pond must be healthy and shtuff, so bugger it, they're going in it. I am very excited for them. I hope they get big.

I also hope I can shove many of my baby goldfish in there next summer. They're not big enough yet and no doubt it will start getting too cold soon anyway. Gawd knows what I'll do with them in the mean time...I want to keep at least one of them, anyway. Preferably one of the ones named after bloggers

V's gerbil James died on Saturday so I think I'm going to give her my two before she moves back to Runcorn in a couple of weeks (la la la denial la la la don't want her to go la la la), because I know her mum loves them and lets them run around the hall, which I can't do at the moment, and certainly can't do at my parent's house ("MICE! SHRIEK!").

The minnows are a bit of a waste of space at the moment - I may even put them in the pond with the goldfish. They'd be able to live in there very easily...for about 30 seconds *gulp gulp nom*. Dyson is over 2 years old now so he can't have long left. Sheldon looks worried a lot of the time. I think he has a lot on his mind.

I don't class the bastard snails as pets. They are a ready supply of live fish food, though.

This leaves Super Hans, who is officially elderly now, although he could potentially last another year or so, and Lucinda, who is officially a sulky teenager, and is probably planning to move out and live in a crack-den just to annoy me.

Anyone would think I was trying to thin down the number of pets I have.

Well, they'd be wrong, because I'm planning on getting a cat.

Ok, Bottomley didn't say that. But she did blend in awfully well.

"And what do you do?"
"I -"
"And what do you think the biggest problem facing the students you have contact with on a day to day basis is, exactly?"
"Well...a lot of them are single parents, training to be nurses, social workers, working long hours and placements and trying to raise their children at the same time."
"Yes. Yes. Yes it must be awful trying to find childcare, especially at a weekend. My daughter's a doctor, so at least she can palm the kids off to me. We need fewer working grandmothers. HAH HAH! I neglected my children, and now they're neglecting their's, HAH HAH!"
"...Yeah."

"And what do you do?"
"I'm the Mature Students' Adviser"
"Oh right! Gosh. Are there a lot of those? How mature?"
"Well yes about a third of our intake are mature students, ranging from mid twenties to their seventies actually"
"HAH HAH yes that reminds me, another Baroness, Baroness *Whatever It Was* is doing her MA here! HERE! Through something called 'Distance Learning'. And she is almost 70! HAH HAH!"
"Oh, really? That's -"

"And what do you do?"
"I'm -"
"Oh I've met you already haven't I" *retracts handshake and moves on*

I wish we had a better Chancellor. Can someone explain how this woman represents Hull in any way? Please? I'm racking my brains here and I've got NOTHING!

Thank goshness she's gone and we can eat the biscuits she didn't touch.

Big Brother, tonight at 10pm, after The Qur'an, on Channel 4.

What goes up, must come down.

My mood this time.

It's meh.

I don't want to be here right now. Not sure precisely where in the world I would prefer to be, but not here.

Tiredness has caught up with me and I can't keep my eyes open.

My head's all over the place.

I've got snails in the minnow tank fucking hermaphroditic little llwnts.

(Incidentally, if you google llwnts, every link on the first page ends in blog.co.uk or blog.ca...)

I think I'm going to put my pyjamas on. It's definitely time for pyjamas.

Have become whale.

Has been a weekend of Glutton Doom.

Burrito. Curry. Curry. Chocolates. Chocolates. Pastry. Maltesers. Crisps. Roast pork and stuffing rolls. Chilli. Curry. Chilli. Curry. Crisps. Maltesers. Bangers and mash and gravy. Crisps. Dairy milk. Popcorn. Crisps.

Oh - and vats of the red stuff. And some of the white stuff. Not milk. Groan.

GROAN.

So somebody tell me why I'm currently eating more maltesers?

Can you get colonics on the NHS?

Row and I are currently still in pyjamas and doing nothing at all. Stop press - Row has just moved. A fag has been lit.

We do, however, have directions to the hotel we are staying in tonight. Row does not intend to follow those directions though. Her own idea is better.

We are going via a wine shop.

A black and white film is on.

Zzzzzzz.

...It's still raining!

And the room smells of curry. It's good.

My arse hurts.

Wiiiiine.

GORDON RAMSEY.

All is right with the world.

*hic*

...Where's Birmingham? Who is Brad's dad? Find out tomorrow.

You won't believe this, but it's raining in Manchester.

This has not halted the nomming of burritos, and the purchase of five pairs of chav-gold earrings. Oh no.

Given the sweltering heat, obviously the only course of action is to curl up with chamomile and honey tea and eat offerings from Thornton's. There is no Gu. Sacrifices must be made, sometimes.

But there will be curry. And vin. Oh yes. There will be vin.

It is a given that I hate packing. You know it, I know it. Of course my biggest problem is the fact that I put it off. I put everything off. It is symptomatic of my Chronicus Lazinus, amongst other things.

So when I get home, I will nap for an hour clean out the goldfish. Then, I will eat bread whilst deciding what to have for tea prepare a pizza very light, quick meal that can be eaten whilst writing a long, elaborate, down to the very last sock short, yet concise list of what I will need to have ready for the morning in order to be in a taxi be on the bus to get train on time without wet or indeed unwashed with straightened or magnificently curled hair. I will then put everything into one rucksack and maybe a large carrier bag  - including vin, which I shall cleverly purchase on the way home from work today, along with taking out cash assuming I remember.

Then I shall be ready to relax and recline with a vodka and cloudy lemonade. Ha.

Piece of piss, innit.

As a fellow blogger has just reminded me (again, thanks for that), my wonderful marvellous weekend begins tomorrow, and because of that, when I get home...

...I need to pack.

Hurrah. Tomorrow is Thurzdai. (Den is Fridai. Squeal.)

I had minimal sleep again last night. Really must nap when I get in from work today. One needs one's beauty sleep. HA! Not really, I just get cranky.

I had a letter yesterday from an education council trust charity thing saying I've been awarded £200 towards the fees for my MA. My bleating letter obviously worked. Doesn't sound much, but the maximum was only £500 for really exceptional cases. It's good because it brings the overall cost down to what it cost the year I originally wanted to do it, so I feel slightly better. It's an extra chunk of rent for the year, innit?

So this morning. I will be writing out an agenda for a meeting no one is going to want to go to because it is at 12.30 - 1.30 today (lunch, people?!) and because it covers such thrilling topics as "I know we discussed the stationery cupboard last week, but what was decided?". But what the hey, at least I'll feel like I've done something, even if it isn't on my 3-sides-of-A4 To Do Before The End Of July List. Ha.

And oof, my stomach hurts again.

Blah blah blah.

I just did some work. At home.

Voluntarily.

*rocks in small ball* I'm losing my mind... *wibble*

Soon I am going to weep. I am going to weep from Tired. I am also laughing every few seconds. I am weeping and laughing. I can't stop. HAHAHA! I can't stop laughing

I'm going to go into the stationery cupboard now. It is cool and dark. I may make a nest from shredded paper. See you next spring.

From: Soy's phone
To: A blogger of this parish
Time: 2:ish am

I have set 4 alarms. 4! I bet I'll still be late. I love drink. And you. Nightynight x

From: Soy's phone
To: A blogger of this parish
Time: 8:01am

No. No no no. Is cruel trick on mind. Is actually still 2am.

From: Soy's phone
To: A blogger of this parish
Time: 8:09am

My face. It is stuck to pillow. The clock ticks. I cry.

From: Soy's phone
To: A blogger of this parish
Time: 8:40am

I am ready for work. I have my shoes and bag on. I have make up. Hair, done. But I can't get off my bed. I can't. It's holding me.

(Not drunk last night. Not up til 3.30am. Not dying a bit.)

Most of a tuna and chilli pizza followed by two three delicious chocolate Things straight from the oven are not conducive to a settled digestive system.

Therefore best I consume red vin. Antioxithings, dontcha know.

I forgot that I bought Sheldon a coupla weeks ago and just shat myself wondering what Dyson was chasing

...is Matchbox Twenty.

Better or worse than Coldplay?

Swings and roundabouts really, innit?

Off work today. Not feeling...good. Bad stomach and head is a mess. But I'm ok.

I have slept for most of the morning, which is nice.

This afternoon I will clean out the surviving babba-fish, then their daddy and two mummies (oh, such modern parenting).

Must also clean out Wee Fiend, aka Lucy. Good grief, she's a filthy girl. I can only conclude Super Hans is into watersports and she does it to taunt him from her position on the desk across from him. I do wish she wouldn't.

Maybe I'll put ONE load of washing on...maybe. There's something so time-consuming and boring about picking up a pile of clothes off the floor and putting them in a machine, adding washing stuff, turning a dial, and WAITING for a whole HOUR for it to stop. Oh, and the wet clothes...*shudder*. Eugh.

I think the only way to improve what I think you'll agree is a shitter of a day is to eat my way through an entire fruit loaf. Toasted, of course. Oh nom nom nom...

I currently own my seventh and eighth hamster. You would think, therefore, it would have occured to me by now to NOT clean them out on my bed. I would really like to have a bed that isn't full of sawdust, sometimes. It's like sleeping in a bloody haystack.

The alternative is the floor. That's worse. It means hoovering. I don't like hoovering.

It's also not a good idea to do it with a large glass of wine in you because you tend to momentarily LOSE the hamster every few minutes, and find him washing his balls in your pillowcase.

Unlike the women's final - which was possibly one of the most boring matches I've ever watched - the men's final is bloody brilliant.

I want Federer to win, because he is better looking. Also, Nadal looks like a lesbian. I also find it weird that he is Majorcan. I stuggle with the concept of Majorca having natives, not just tourists.

This in-depth report into the merits of the two of the best tennis players in the world was brought to you by a couch potato that knows everything there is to know about sport.

(Midsomer Murders at 8pm! Yay!)

It's been raining pretty much all day. Really hard rain. I don't want it to stop. I can't stop watching it. I wish the windows were lower so that I could lean out a bit.

I keep seeing things out the corner of my eye. I keep thinking the door is opening, or my phone is lighting up, or there's a cat, or a person, or a...whatever.

No, I'm not drunk. This happens all the time.

Meh. Not hearing things. Yet.

I has one.

Not funny ha ha.

Funny...I don't know.

Panicky and tight headed.

(Un)Fortunately, I also has vodka.

Should I get up?

I can't.

I hate feeling like I should be domestic and productive just because I'm not at work. I don't want to be. It's really, really boring. I want to watch DVDs in my pyjamas, not load up the washing machine and take all the glasses out of my room. I still feel like I'm living at home sometimes. Speaking of home, I shoud really ring mum and tell her the cause of my mouldy foot. Later maybe.

I'm feeling really drained this morning, in many ways.

Goldfish, I really want you to stop kissing. It's so distracting. Slurp smack smack slurp.

SHH!

Eeeee, chin chin.

I'm really liking Viva la Vida.

I'm sorry.

It's not as good as X&Y...

A couple of weeks ago I noticed the rash on my foot was swiftly becoming rashes on my feet and legs. The original rash had also spread at an alarming rate. Thus, one visited ones local GP. (Who is a lovely man, by the way. Kind. I still won't let him stick a needle in my arm though. I digress.)

My mystery rash - smooth, non-itchy, non-flaky, and brown rash - is a freaky type of dermatitis caused by iodine leaking out of my veins and staining my skin from the inside, upwards towards the surface.

That's nice, isn't it?

It's not exactly common, but nothing serious. Needless to say, I have been given some kind of steriod cream. It won't stop it happening, but it will fade it.

Bleugh! Mould be gone!

BBW nom. I wants it. I cans not has it.

Our new office is 3 floors above the beer garden of the main SU pub bar thing. They have a BBQ Shack. It is lit every day at 12pm. The smoke wafts in to our windows.

Obviously, most people complain about this.

Me...I think it smells bloody lovely.

Wail!

On Monday I found a blog from a lovely young girl, who, alas, couldn't speak.

Now I've just found another.

And now I have a migraine.

Less stabby today, although I do feel rather sick due to chip-overload yesterday. Mmm. Churny churn.

Anyhoo, one has booked one a mini-break to Galway in August. One wonders where she will be staying....?

One needs a holiday. One is excited! Have not been on plane for about 10 years.

Ooh, at V the weekend before too. In fact I might just take the week in between off, too.

Bollocks to August's heavy workload.

This is the last picture I took with my phone a few days ago.

Random.

What's yours?

I've had chips twice today. Once at work, and then again due to an unscheduled pit stop at the chippy on the walk home. Had them with a big greasy battered sausage and curry sauce. I couldn't give a shit. I wish I'd had lots of bread, too.

Now I'm steadily working my way through a very large bag of Butterkist popcorn.

I couldn't be bothered to get up and get my headphones out of my bag. Instead, I leant over to a drawer and - lucky for the drawer - there were two pairs right on top. Tangled. Tangled BADLY. One being white, and one being black, disentanglement should've been easy. It wasn't. So I grabbed my nail scissors and cut the white pair into lots of little pieces. Much better.

I've just snarled at my minnows to stop shitting because I can't be arsed to clean them out. Then laughed.

It's no use. I'm going to have to spend some money.

Following my recent desk-moving whim of last week, I feel I have settled into my corner well enough to assess the benefits of this to my daily working practices.

Pros:

I am as far away from the rest of the office as I can be, without being in the IT Storeroom. This means there aren't any people walking past me to get to the photocopier, which in turn means they are less likely to ask me how it works. This means I can get more work done. Truly.

I have my back to the wall, so nobody can walk behind me, freaking me out, making me Ctrl+Tab frantically (usually opening an even worse window in the process. I don't even know what a blog IS guv'nor, honest!)

I can see my boss in his office, so I can actually see whether he is on the phone, or, indeed, in there at all. This stops me sounding useless to the other dazzling efficient secretaries that call. (I bet they all wear a suit to work, too. *tries not to glance down at curry stained cardigan and faded black linen trousers with interesting white mark on the leg )

Cons:

I am as far away from the rest of the office as I can be, without being in the IT Storeroom. This means there aren't any people walking past me to get to the photocopier, which in turn means they are less likely to ask me how it works. This means I don't have to even look like I'm doing any work that somebody might be interrupting. They won't be.

I have my back to the wall, so nobody can walk behind me, freaking me out. Occasionally people walk past, but, as they are now walking towards me, I can see them coming, and Ctrl+Tab myself calmly to an invoice of some kind, perhaps accompanied by "Ohh, VAT!", or "I know you need to be paid, I'm trying to pay you!". Oscar, please.

I can see my boss in his office, so I can actually see whether he is on the phone, or, indeed, in there at all. He does, however, have his back to me, and I can see him stand up to leave in the window without even turning my head.

Hmmm...Pro or Con?

Facebook is becoming the medium of choice for communication with all absent colleagues. Muhaha.

I can sit and eat a lot of biscuits without anyone noticing. And M&Ms. And Maltesers.

I'm not getting much done at all.

5.30pm - arrive at cinema for 5.40pm showing of Indiana Jones (yes, again. Love it!).

5.32pm - purchase ticket, Ben & Jerry's, Maltesers, and then, £10 lighter...

5.40pm - ...take seats for film, advertised to start at 5.40pm.

5.45pm - adverts start.

5.55pm - adverts are still on.

6.00pm - approximately 12 nonesensical adverts later, adverts finish...

6.00pm - ...and the trailers for films start.

6.10pm - trailers are still on.

6.15pm - hurrah! Film starts!

EXPLAIN to me, PLEASE, why it a film advertised for 5.40pm actually starts at 6.15pm.

I'm sure there never used to be so many adverts, and there were definitely more trailers - and I swear to God, if I see that Radio 1 New Music advert one more time I'm going to Westwood someone's ass in rage.

After those thirty five minutes, kids in the cinema were getting restless, I'd finished my ice cream, my Maltesers were starting to melt in my hand while I tried to avoid eating them all at once, and I was starting to need another wee. Plus my arsebone really, REALLY hurts in cinema seats - I fidget constantly. I have to sit right up and lean forward, or be almost horizontal. That half an hour makes all the bloody difference in me getting out my seat at the end of the film without the aid of the chair in front, sometimes.

Not everyone wants to sit through a million adverts. I love trailers though.

Is it too much to ask for a simple:

6.15pm - Indiana Jones and Whatever the Rest of the Title Is (seats can be taken from 5.40pm)

Or something to that effect, anyway.

I know it isn't the end of the world but I LOVE going to the cinema and this is really starting to annoy me.

Rant endeth. In half an hour or so, anyway.

I feel a twat.

I feel a complete, and utter, TWAT.

There's really nothing else to say.

Edit: ARGH. Still feel a twat. But slightly less of one in some respects. And yet more in others. ARGH.