Ally

 She looked directly into my eyes. Normally I have trouble making eye contact, let alone maintaining it, but this time I felt trapped, transfixed by her gaze, unable to even glance away. I took advantage of the opportunity to memorise the colour of her eyes: pale blue-grey. They went well with her ash-blonde, wavy hair.

I will love you forever.

Her face took on a concerned expression.

Shit, had I just blurted that part out loud? That would be really, really inappropriate right now. I replayed the last few words of conversation in my head. Nope, she'd just asked for my opinion on something-or-other and I was taking wayyy too long to formulate a coherent reply.

"Sounds like a plan," I fudged, crossing  my fingers behind my back. After all, we were in a planning meeting.

Everyone around the table relaxed, and she moved on to the next point on the agenda. I returned to drinking in the pleasing lilt of her voice, the shape of her face, the curves of her body. Idly, I wondered what I had just agreed to. I hoped it involved being near her.

______________________

At first, she had just been a friendly voice on the other end of a phone line, helping out with technical questions about networks and that. Then she had announced that London was too fucking expensive and she was coming up to live near the Scottish capital. Which was nice, because that's where I live.

A few weeks later, I got an call on the internal network from her. "I'm just getting settled in, up on the top floor. Want to come visit?"

So I nipped upstairs (ok, three floors up, of course I took the lift) to finally put a face to the voice. She smiled up at me. "Well, hi there! You must be Farty."

She was attractive, but not in a  plastered-in-makeup kind of way. Dirty-blonde hair cascaded down over her shoulders as her eyes twinkled back at me. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. I grinned back.

______________________

"Ugh!" She sat down hard in the empty chair beside me and rested her forehead on the darkened monitor in front of her. I could smell the liquid lunch on her breath and wondered if I should mention it. I thought better of it and instead asked what was wrong.

"Fucking dicks," she replied. "I can't get a minute's peace to think with that bunch," waving vaguely in the direction of her co-workers on the opposite side of the office and three floors up, "always interrupting me when I'm trying to work."

Straightening up in the chair, she slowly raised her eyes to the screen, then gave me a conspiratorial wink. "Hey, is anyone using this?"

"Be my guest," I beamed.
______________________

One morning she turned up to work with a dark bruise around one eye.

"Oh no, what happened?" I asked solicitously, while gently brushing her hair aside to inspect the contusion [and maybe smell her hair].

"Stupid swimming pool was a metre shorter than I remembered. And before you ask, no, it definitely wasn't my boyfriend."

"The thought hadn't crossed my mind," I assured her. In fact, that thought had been the very first to cross my mind. "Do you want me to beat him up for you?"

"No, that's ok," she laughed. I'd met her boyfriend and he was easily twice my size.

______________________

I had been invited out for a meal with some co-workers, which, in the normal course of events, I would have avoided like the plague, but she told me she was definitely going so what choice did I have? In the event it was very nice indeed, with scintillating conversation, good Indian food and that tiny lady with the dirty laugh and four kids. The kids were with their dad: this meal was for co-workers only.

We were sat side by side, so I asked her what she recommended for the main course.

"Jalfrezi, deffo."

I asked her what she was drinking and she said it was something called a slippery nipple. There were blue flames licking evocatively around the rim.

"Hey! Get your camera out!" she exclaimed, then quickly dipped a digit into the glass before holding it aloft, flames now running up her finger.

I dutifully obliged (I took my camera everywhere in those days), then quickly checked the result. That's when I realised that
1. I had left the flash on so the flame was invisible and
2. It was her middle finger.

"Oh, har de har."

The following morning, I exacted my revenge. We were standing together in the large, open-plan operations centre. She was wearing a white, open-necked shirt and jeans. People were milling about, doing computery things when my gut decided to, er, complete its job of processing the previous night's jalfrezi. Silent, but deadly.

I have never seen a room that large empty that quickly.

She giggled. "So that's why they call you Farty!"

______________________

My email pinged. Or whatever noise email made back then, I forget, it was a long time ago.

"Did I tell you the good news?"

"You're pregnant?"

"No." I could feel her giving me a funny look, which was impressive over email. "I've been accepted to go work in Montpellier. I've handed in my resignation and I'm leaving in three weeks."

"Fuck. Me. Sideways."

"I guess I should have given you a heads-up."

"I guess."

______________________

The next time I saw her in person, she told me she'd had three exit interviews and every one had consisted of her interviewer begging her to stay.

I bit my lip, then remembered and dug in my pocket. "Since you're determined to leave, I guess you could use some travelling luggage." I pushed the hastily-wrapped gift across the desk and waited expectantly for her reaction as she unwrapped it.

"Oh, how delightful!" On the desktop in front of her sat a tiny packing trunk with hundreds of even tinier little legs. A red velvet tongue lolled from under the lid.

"It's bigger on the inside," I helpfully explained. She'd clearly never heard of Discworld. Oh, well, never mind.

______________________

"So I thought I should introduce you to my replacement," she said.

No-one could ever replace you, I replied inside my head. Out loud I said, "Hi, Dennis."

"Hi, Farty, long time no see." Dennis and I went way back. We shook hands warmly.

"Oh," she said. "Well, that was easy."

______________________

As I was heading back from lunch, she was coming the other way, slightly unsteady in her unaccustomed high heels but flanked by a pair of her girlfriends, ready to lend a supporting hand. She wore a long, aquamarine dress that went with her eyes. Sort of.

"It's my last day!" she proclaimed. "I'll be spending the rest of the afternoon getting blitzed in the beer garden. Say you'll come!"

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away."

She quickly kissed me right where I eat, then tottered up the hill to the pub, girlfriends in tow.

______________________

The rest of the workday went by in a blur. Finally it was time to knock off and head for our secret rendezvous. Just me, her, and a couple of dozen friends and colleagues. But no sign of her boyfriend?

The sun beat down on the beer garden. There she was, holding a glass of white wine in one hand and a banana in the other. No, I don't know why, either. She chatted about how much she was looking forward to her new job, and how much she was going to miss us all, then headed inside to order the next round.

Her friend, Jan, turned to me. "Whatever will you do when she's gone?"

I plan to cry a lot.

Out loud, I said something brave about struggling on. Meanwhile, I toyed with the idea of emigrating to France just to be near her again.

All too soon, it was time for us to part. She staggered over and planted a big, sloppy kiss somewhere in the general vicinity of my mouth.

And then she was gone.

I headed home and unwrapped my copy of Sinéad O'Connor's album "I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got", totally missing the irony. I moved the needle to "Nothing Compares 2 U" and started to cry, letting huge sobs wrack my body.

______________________

Two weeks later.

We were still in the beer garden. The sun was still beating down. She was still wearing that nice dress. But now we were alone, just the two of us.

I self-consciously took off my new glasses, polished them, and laid them on the trestle table between us. Then I couldn't see very well, so I put them back on. Rinse and repeat.

She was talking earnestly about her new job and how it would expand her horizons and that, then out of nowhere she stopped talking, took hold of my hands on the table, leaned over and kissed me.

Not a clumsy peck like before but a proper kiss. Lips, tongues, the lot. She smelled warm and sweet and I wanted this moment to go on forever. So, idiot that I was, I paused to draw breath and told her, "I love you, Sally McCalli."

And promptly woke up. My heart was racing but I was alone in bed, in Dunbar for the weekend. I quickly got dressed and went for a walk down towards the shore.

The Tall Ships race was here that year and I could see one of them making its way to the harbour, crew battling to keep control of the sails in the buffeting wind. Then it started to rain, which helped hide the tears streaking down my face.

______________________

Six months later.

"You'll never guess who I just saw in the beer garden," said Ian.

"Correct. Please enlighten me."

"She said she had to collect her fridge from her ex-boyfriend's place, so she dropped in to say hello."

"Oh, right." That, oddly enough, made everything clear.

I headed out the door and up the hill and...froze. I just could not. Take. One more step. I felt rooted to the spot with...fear? Uncertainty? What if she didn't want to see me? How would I ever be able to deal with that?

The beer garden was only a hundred yards away at the other end of the street, but it might as well be a hundred miles. Or a thousand.

For fuck's sake, legs, come on!

My legs, somewhat obstinately, remained exactly where they were. Traitors.

After what felt like an eternity but could only have been a couple of minutes, tops, I turned around and quite easily now (Oh, so now you can walk? Fuck you, legs!) headed back the way I'd come. Then I snuck into the toilets and cried. Again.

______________________

Two years later.

The phone rang. I didn't recognize the number. "Hello, IT Support, have you tried switching -"

"Farty, it's me."

My heart stopped.

"Oh, er, hi. How's France?"

"Fine, I guess. I'm in England right now, at my folks' place. But I'm coming up for the Fringe in a couple of days and I was wondering if you'd like to meet up?"

"I guess I could be persuaded. The usual place?"

"Sure. Laters!"

______________________

It was raining, so we met inside for a change. A few co-workers were hanging out at the bar, so she had a quick catch-up with them while I grabbed us a table by the window. I noticed that she was wearing sensible flat shoes today.

"You broke my heart, you know."

"I never meant for you to fall in love with me."

"Fair. That's on me then. So, what happened with the ex?"

"He was too clingy. That was half the reason why I left; that and seeking out a better job. I needed some space to myself for a bit but wouldn't you know it, the daft bugger followed me all the way to Montpellier. So I had to ditch him."

"Haha, what a loser!" There, but for the grace of God...

I don't recall what else we talked about, except as she was leaving I finally remembered to ask her, "What the fuck is in a slippery nipple?"

"Baileys and sambuca, poured in two separate layers. With a cherry."

"Cheers!"

Twiiter Down The Shitter

So it looks like Twitter is going through its final death throes. I haven't decided yet whether to come back here permanently or move on to Mammothdon or Tickey-Tok. Watch this space.

Brexit Schmexit

Despite the name of this blog, I haven't yet made up my mind.
So convince me.

Anniversary

I saw you today.
For one brief moment
I thought she really was you.
She looked like you
With the sun framing your hair
In a golden halo.
Obviously she wasn't you.
Couldn't be you.
You hadn't aged a day.
Has it really been twenty years?
Still, you took my breath away
And you stopped my heart
Even after all this time.
Who would have thought
I could be so badly smitten
By the ghost of your memory?
You only kissed me once
Or twice.

The Return

The Earth shivered.

Long had this day been foretold by the prophets. And long had the people made fun of them, saying, "Mock us not with your children's stories. This shall never come to pass."

The shivering slowly grew to a rumbling.

Spake the prophets: "They roamed the Earth long before our time and yea! They shall come again!"

The rumbling became a steady, full-throated roar.

"But times have changed", countered the people. "And their time is long gone. Let the dead past bury its dead."

A glint of silver appeared on the horizon. A few moments later, it was joined by another, then a third. Soon they would be here. Children hugged their mothers' skirts, whimpering with fear.

Glistening in the dawn light, the giant, sightless beasts came snaking across the plains, unerringly following the scent of humans into the city.

Gathering their strength, they leapt together across the fire trench and pounced upon the citizens like cats upon mice, ripping flesh from bones in a blood-soaked frenzy of long-abated hunger.

The trams were back.

She's A Juanita

Let’s Pretend This Never Happened

Those of you with very long memories may remember my second-shortest post ever.

Well, guess what? Despite constant interruptions from Hailey, Victor and her menagerie of pets, not to mention her adoring readers, Jenny finally finished writing her book.



Let’s Pretend This Never Happened is available for pre-order from all good bookstores. And Amazon.

It. Is. Awesome.

Probably.

I've ordered mine. How about you?

I Learned Something Today

I've been catching up with reruns of The Big Bang Theory and after hearing the theme song half a dozen times in a row I looked up autotroph and it turns out they are the organisms at the bottom of the food chain pyramid which live off of inorganic matter and convert it into organic molecules using photosynthesis and that.

Which totally screws up my post on Inorganic Food.

Bugger.

Also, I had been led to believe that energy and matter are different forms of each other, in the same way that space and time are inextricably linked, and that all of these are basic building blocks in the universe; that they can neither be created nor destroyed, merely changed from one form to another.

So imagine my astonishment when the lady on another telly show said that some DIY enthusiasts had managed to create both space and light simply by knocking through a wall in an old house.

Wonders will never cease.

Farty's Ecksmas Quiz 2011

Let's have an Ecksmas Quiz!

1. Easy one to start with. Name that choon.


2. Pick the odd one out.
a) The Great Scottish Haggis Hunt.
b) Loch Ness Monster sightings.
c) The Edinburgh Trams.
d) UFOs over Bonnybridge.

Sorry, I got distracted by shiny. Continuing...

3. What famous quote from Independence Day was appropriated by Disney's Tangled? (Clue: You won't find it in IMDB, I just checked.)

4. At what age is it appropriate to ask someone if they still believe in Jesus?

5. What nationality is Andy Murray...
(a) When he wins?
(b) When he loses?

6. What is wrong with this picture? (click to embiggen)
Proving Atheists Wrong With Science #1

7. Better question: What's right with it?

To be continued. Maybe.

Bear With Me

This seems to be International Bear Week or something. First, poor Sir David Attenborough gets slated for using zoo pictures of baby polar bears in his Frozen Planet series. Shocking stuff. Did Professor Brian Cox film his Wonders of the Solar System while in orbit around Jupiter? No? Now I feel cheated.

Then Jenny the Bloggess posts a link to a French film producer who looks a bit on the hairy side.

And now there are rumours that Edinburgh's very own Panda Bears may not be all they're cracked up to be. Where will it all end?

Doctor Who Pass Notes (contains spoilers)

Name: The Doctor

Age: Circa 1100 years, although he existed at the birth of the Earth and the end of time.

Appearance: Old/young/middle-aged/young again/truly ancient/young white male. Long/short dark/white/fair hair. Prefers to wear long coats, hats and scarves.

Background: Born on Gallifrey, fairly normal upbringing, then got a bit rebellious and stole borrowed rescued a decommissioned type 40 TARDIS from a scrapyard to explore the universe. Currently has arrest warrants out on ~5000 planets for interfering with causality.

TARDIS? Time And Relative Dimension In Space. A time machine, if you will. Also spaceship. Looks like a 1960s London police call box.

Is he a real doctor? He is a qualified medical practitioner, but has also carried out extensive studies in philosophy, language, physics, mathematics, chemistry, intergalactic law, robotics, vulcanology and cricket. Likes to consider himself a good all-rounder, but still has trouble with basic navigation. Rarely lands the TARDIS on target.

Any friends? Usually has one or more companions, generally human or humanoid but has also been known to carry a tin dog on board. Most companions end up dead or lost in a parallel universe.

Tin dog? K9. A talking mechanical dog, carrying basic armaments and possessing limited intelligence. Almost as lovable as Jar-Jar Binks.

And enemies? Cybermen, Shansheeth, Slitheen, Silence, Gelth, Nestene, Daleks -

Daleks? Giant pepper-pots with a single eye on a stalk. Lacking any depth perception, they tend to bump into things a lot. Perpetually cross as a result.

How does the Doctor deal with his enemies? The Doctor always attempts to talk his way out of trouble by way of peaceful negotiations. When that fails, he usually resorts to genocide. He has utterly destroyed the Daleks on at least four separate occasions, one of which destroyed his own homeworld. Worst. Pest controller. Ever.

What weapons does the Doctor carry? None, although he does own a sonic screwdriver. This is quite handy for turning sonic screws and not much else.

So the Doctor is the last of his kind? The Doctor's home planet was sealed off from the rest of the universe in the Time War with the Daleks. Although his own race, the Time Lords, are essentially extinct, he has a daughter, at least one wife and has dealt with other time-travellers.

He appears human. Only on the outside. On the inside, Time Lords have two hearts. Also, on the frequent occasions on which he gets killed, he is reincarnated or "regenerated" on the spot. Technically, this makes the Doctor a zombie.

Why does the TARDIS resemble a police box? The TARDIS has a chameleon circuit to allow it to blend in with its environment. When we first saw it, it was in 1960s London, so this camouflage worked perfectly. Then the chameleon circuit broke.

Isn't it a bit poky? Like the wardrobe in Narnia and the travelling luggage in Discworld, the TARDIS is bigger on the inside. Be sure to check out the swimming pool, the library, the spiral staircase, the alternate control room and the laundry room.

How does the Doctor communicate with aliens? He just speaks normally. The TARDIS is telepathic and performs automatic translation between all known languages and most unknown ones.

Not to be confused with: Harry Potter.

Do say: "Dock-torrrr!"

Don't say: "Pleased to meet you, Doctor Who!"

If You Liked It Then You Should Have Put A Ring (Or Five) On It

Aw, bless! Seb Coe wants to promote the London 2012 Olympics by hammering a set of giant Olympic rings to the front of that auld monstrosity, Edinburgh Castle.

If the organisers get their way, the 26ft high x 60ft wide brightly-coloured rings, rendered in tasteful aluminium, will, for nine months, almost totally obscure the massive eyesore that has blighted the city skyline for the past several centuries.

A spokesperson for London Organising Committee of the Olympic Games said Edinburgh Castle had been identified as the “right place” to erect the Olympic emblem. "If that doesn't drive the tourists away from Scotland and down to London in their droves, I don't know what will."

If nothing else, at least they'll deflect attention away from the continued non-appearance of any trams down in Princes Street.

Robot, Fix Thyself!

According to JotZoom, material scientists at AkzoNobel have developed a self-mending plastic. This wondrous substance can repair damage to itself without the aid of glue, tape or any other stickum.

Supra B (catchy name, huh?) can be used in toys, spectacles, automobiles, computers or other devices. So if you sit on your specs, no need to buy a new pair, just hold the broken parts together and hey, presto! They're as good as new.

The boffins reckon Supra B would be ideal for putting scratch-proof coatings on laptops and that, but I can't help wondering if it couldn't be incorporated into a self-repairing robot. I bet nobody's ever thought of that before. Oh.

Well, what could possibly go wrong?

When Aliens Attack

According to that bastion for accurate reporting, Fox News, top NASA scientists have predicted an imminent alien attack on mankind. These aliens, who inhabit the planet Algoria, have decided that humans have done enough damage to our own planet via Anthropic Global Warming (AGW) and should be stopped before we melt all the comets in the Oort Cloud or something [sub - please check].



The only way to prevent such an onslaught is for engineers to construct a Humungous Orbital Geostationary Wide Autonomous Shield for Humanity (HOGWASH) to make the Earth appear invisible to outside observers, say these boffins. They estimate that if Congress approves an immediate grant for one billion dollars, that should be enough to fund a proposal to investigate a feasibility study into whether such a shield could be built in time to fend off the attack which could happen ANY DAY NOW!!!

When pressed for details, team leader Professor Huge Grant licked his finger, stuck in the air and announced that it would cost on the order of one trillion dollars per year to keep the shield operational, but on the plus side it would appear completely transparent from Earth. It would also need a constant supply of hookers and blow, for reasons which the team are still working out the details. Oh, yes it will.

Harry Potter was unavailable for comment.

Thoughts of Mary Jane

This was going to be a post about Amy Winehouse and her struggle with drug addiction, but I'd rather write about me. Soz, Amy.

I was first introduced to Mary Jane way back in the summer of, let me think, a while ago. I was still trying to come to terms with my on/off relationship with the girl who broke my heart and if anyone could help me in that respect, Mary Jane was the ideal candidate.

A friend of mine, let's call him Alex since this is still incriminating, had recently quit his job before they could fire him for throwing a fire extinguisher at the boss. To be fair, the boss was quite a wind-up merchant but some things you just don't do even in Embra.

I decided to pay Alex a visit and see how he was getting on. He asked me in, showed me around his poky little flat and asked if I'd like a cup of hash tea. As you do.

I lifted the lid of the teapot and gazed inside. An oily substance swirled invitingly on the surface, coyly tempting me to taste its herbal goodness.

"Yeah, why not?"

Why not indeed? Drug education in those days was only slightly more vague and misinformed than, "Drugs are bad, m'kay?" I'm pretty sure we'd only been told that much because one of my classmates at school had been expelled for admitting to a newspaper reporter that he smoked the occasional reefer.

So we sat and drank some of his funny tea and chatted and drank some more and to be honest? I don't remember whether it had any effect whatsoever. It certainly didn't taste like any tea I'd had before but since that had basically been either Typhoo at home or some abysmal infusion I'd been served while being held virtual prisoner on a school cruise ship, I never had much to compare it with.

Anyway, that was the beginning of my long descent into a drug-addled nightmare of actually quite a lot of fun most of the time.

Shortly after that, Alex moved into his girlfriend's flat across town and I was invited to his moving-in party. There was his half-brother Frank, who I soon discovered had an amazing party trick of throwing up neatly into a pint jug every time he smoked a joint. An empty jug was always kept on hand for these events, which were to become a regular feature of Alex's parties.

Frank was gay, as it turned out, although nobody really gave a toss as long as he didn't try to pick up someone else's boyfriend. Like Andy, for instance. Andy was gay too, but he had a fiancée. Yes, female: it's complicated. I was later to become firm friends with Andy, as regular readers may recall. (Screen turns swirly, fades to The World's End pub etc.)

And then there was Dwarf. I always picture Dwarf striding along in some sort of Ranger outfit from the Lord of the Rings, with an axe slung over his shoulder and an evil smile playing on his lips. Dwarf was six foot four and not to be messed with.

There were others, but these were the main players. One girl I only met at that first party; I forget her name but let's call her Coliary. Once everyone had been introduced and given something to drink, our host called for contributions and those who had any to give, opened up secret pockets and purses and produced what I learned were called Red Leb, Rocky and Afghani Black but could be collectively referred to as Mary Jane. At this point Coliary, who had only a few moments earlier been amiably discussing the latest fashion trends with her companion, leapt up, declared, "I'm not spending one more minute in this Opium Den!" and stormed out.

Sheepishly snuck back in, picked up her coat, drained her glass and flounced out again. Classy.

I, on the other hand, stayed and learned how to roll a joint, how to inhale oh, so slowly, how to hold my breath and then let it out in a miasmic cloud of wonder. Or to put it another way, I choked and coughed particles of burning hash all over the floor. But I got the hang of it eventually.

Over the coming days, weeks and months, I got to grips with the pin: attached by Blu-Tack to a Pink Floyd album cover and covered with an empty tumbler until the morsel of resin within had been consumed in a slow-burning ember, then slide the tumbler to the edge and inhale; the creek-glass chillum; the neat-pipe, hash cookies and of course, the bong.

Ah, the bong. Even though there was and, as far as I know, still is a Head Quarters just behind the National Museum of Scotland, stocked with all sorts of weird paraphernalia, it was much more fun to grow, or in this case, build your own. We made one out of three empty Coke bottles, with a chillum inserted in the neck of the first one and connected with plastic tubing leading the smoke through the second and then bubbling through spring water in the third to arrive, cool and refreshing, on our hungry lips.

And then, suitably smashed out of our skulls, we'd trundle barefoot into central Embra for a climb up the Scott Monument, or nip into Mr Boni's (does that place still exist?) for a Belly-Banger: 30 scoops of ice cream, every one a different flavour. I couldn't taste a thing for three days after that. Or, you know, hunt out the best place to serve Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters. (The World's End - you have been taking notes, right?)

And then there was the time I spent the night alone with Gay Andy. Sorry to disappoint, but all we did was smoke joints, play some Prog Rock - Yes, Genesis, Jon Anderson, um, I don't know, I was stoned - drink some rather nice red wine and talk about these new-fangled things called micro-chips. In the morning, we climbed up into the Pentland Hills behind Andy's house for a spontaneous photo-shoot, with him in the rôle of Highlander years before Mel Gibson. Yeah, Mel probably copied his style from our pictures. Wonder where they are now?

Yep, drugs are very, very bad. Just say no.

Fuck. I could do with a drag right now.

Threipmuir Walk

Threipmuir Walk, a set on Flickr.

So we went on the charidee walk and it was awesome. If you follow me on Twitter, you'll have seen some of these as I posted them from the hilltops. The rest I took with my "proper" camera.

The route we took was from somewhere called Threipmuir in the Pentland Hills, across the Alps and the Himalyas, ending near Flotterstone Inn. But we weren't allowed the luxury of stopping for a pint, as we then had to walk three miles over the Andes to get back to the cars.

Totally worth it.

Charidee Walk

So I've been coerced volunteered into doing a sponsored walk. For charidee. Next weekend. Up a mountain. In Scotchland. I suppose most of you are wondering, "Why do a charity walk up a mountain?" I'm just thinking, "Why me?"

Apparently this particular stretch of inhospitable wilderness pleasant country walking route has a door policy: t-shirts, jeans and trainers are "inappropriate attire" and the bouncers marshalls won't let you in unless you're bedecked with reasonably-priced walking boots, wooly socks, sou'westers, canvas trousers, ice-picks, crampons (or was that tampons?), tents, Primus stoves, and six months' supplies of Kendal mint cake. Can't be too careful, I suppose.

I can't help wondering if it wouldn't have been easier for me to donate the supplies budget to charidee and spend the day loafing on the couch watching Dr Who reruns.

A Little Princess

Princess Farty may be a Little Monster, but baby, she was Born This Way.

Pentland Walk

I went for a walk up the Pentlands last week, near Torphin golf course. The next day it went on fire. Wasn't me.

If this thing works, you should see a slideshow of my walk. If not, try this link.

Twitter: Watching William & Kate The Wedding So You Don't Have To

So today the UK's Channel 5 screened William & Kate: The Movie. Sadly, I missed it, but thankfully Twitter came to the rescue and filled me in on all the pertinent details. Which I shall now share with you and, indeed, posterity.

FacePimp
Obligatory Diana reference #solemn

AdeMitchell
This is like a porn film with no porn.

andyb2910
They should show this to the prisoners of Guantanamo Bay - more effective than waterboarding.

millsymoomoomoo
Ooh a london bus on the wrong side of the road

FacePimp
Obligatory Diana reference 2 #insulting

MissWendabella
wow...typical student accomodation...just like mine when I was at college...ha

TallulahMiggins
Could they not have got an English English-speaking person to check the damned script?

BrenUK
He's groping her arse! Nice one Wills. That's what I call Royal protocol.

MrsStephenFry
Stephen and I are watching Will and Kate: the Movie. It's like a fairytale - without a fairy. Or a tale.

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Obligatory Diana reference 3 #comparisons

jonanamary
Kate, a tip: keep your knees together when getting out of a sports car.

castiels_angel
I love how an hour & a half after the film started my auntie just piped up "Is that meant to be Kate?". The power of acting.

Ross_Lawson
THEY WERE ON A BREAK!!!!

bilbobaggins2k
She's never cut a cucumber in her life!

emmylouscutt
I keep waiting for Ben Cross to shout 'I was in Chariots of Fire you know!'

DirtyMackem
Is this our generation's Mr Darcy moment?

rahulmansi
'Assuming, Miss Middleton, that you wear undergarments.'

matton79
"I can assure you I wear undergarments."

hooflethroid
I don't wear 'undergarments' #justsaying

keithy73
I love American made shows set in Britain like #williamandkate. Has anyone shouted "wanker" yet?

Yeloop
When is Wikipedia going to be updated with all the new facts we have learned today?

hooflethroid
I've just realised the nice couple in this story have the same names as Prince William and Kate Middleton. How odd.

FacePimp
Obligatory Diana reference/flashback #tragic

Disco_Jesus
I know whenever i go camping in africa, i always take my chaise lounge and silverware with me

gaby_w
Best Green Screen EVER

Yeloop
WHEN DO THEY SING ACUNA MATATA?

Ross_Lawson
I can't believe Kate went back to her home planet.

rastansaga360
and i hear the sequel is being shown next Friday

I can't wait.