No Time For Clocks...

So, yesterday.

Yesterday morning including much making with the lazing around. I believe I KOTORed a little, and also did other less constructive things, such as continually try to get the cable modem to boot up and gain a connection. This is something that it is persisting in making hard work of, and as I write this I am in the uncomfortable position of being offline. No doubt it will do its usual trick of coming back just as I head to bed (or head out, or whatever).

Then we made our trek into deepest darkest West Midlands territory with a view to meeting Anne. Regular readers of her diary will have noticed that she has not updated for some time. This is due to a bout of fucked-upedness that has occurred with her computer, and since her sister is no longer sleeping (or whatever) with a computer repair guy, getting it fixed is something of an issue. This lead to a fair proportion of our initial conversations being me bringing her up to date on all the diary gossip. Certain readers may be worried at this point, and well you should be ;-)

I'm once again going through the process of coming to terms with having signed up for NaNoWriMo. Part of me keeps thinking "Do you have no common sense?" and another part is going "Let's do it again, c'mon, or aren't you man enough". Not that the "man"ness has anything to do with it, but that part of my head doesn't normally fuss around with the likes of logic or fact.

Anne and I loitered in our usual haunt, talking about Stuff(TM). Then, slowly but surely, we felt the inexorable pull of Waterstones, naturally diving straight into the sci-fi section, where, as has been established before, it is safest to have the majority of personal conversations. However, the sci-fi section is right next to the children's section, and the children's section was awash with, well, children. While the children may not have noticed such conversations, I'm sure the parental appendages would've done, and would've objected to the general subject matter that normally crops up at that point.

Given how much I've spent over the past week in the course of wandering into Waterstones, etc, it was a miracle that I didn't buy anything. Anne didn't either, although I did wave Ella Minnow Pea at her. Later on when we hooked up with Alison again we took great pleasure in mocking the Romance section in Smiths. Not the chick-lit, but all the old style romance. "One girl's heartrending struggle to" whatever, or "Another heartwarming Merseyside tale".

Obviously, as is the done thing on these meet-ups, we did the usual mocking of other shoppers, particularly the way they dressed. I even went so far as to make a sweeping generalisation about a teenager's sexuality based on what she was wearing, which given conversations I've had with Anne in the past about the whole gaydar thing was a brave thing to do. It was all in the name of humour though, and humour at other shoppers' expense is what Anne and I do best. And it was very much a babydyke outfit.

Also once hooked up with Alison, we went into M&S, and Alison and I got the big clock we've been wanting for the kitchen. It's marvellous. Up to a point, you can't go wrong with an eighteen inch clock (something you have to be very careful about typing, not something I'd want to write about while under the influence of strong painkillers). On the kitchen wall it looks amazing, dominating the entire wall - which is what we expected, and what we had decided we wanted. There is only one insy-winsy problem with it. It doesn't fucking well work! It's a clock that uses a radio signal to set itself, with the theory that you then don't have to worry about when the clocks change to or from daylight saving and all that rubbish. This was a principle that we found most appealing. Then, as I was fixing it to the wall today, Alison read the instructions. It gives this long list of things that can adversely affect the signal it receives, which leave you with the impression that it'll only ever set itself if you stick it on top of a telegraph pole within half a mile of the signal's origin. Well, maybe the list doesn't leave you with that impression, but our experiences today of trying to get the sodding thing to set itself certainly have. I will be taking it back (to a nearer and more convenient branch) tomorrow, and will probably get another. If that still has problems, I would think we'll be heading for the refund option. Which is a shame, because it is a fantastic looking clock.

The three of us ate at Pizza Hut last night. There are amusing tales there I'm sure, and I can remember some of them, but they're either not worth the effort of typing up or not worth the physical harm I will come to for telling them from either Anne or her sister (who one of the stories at least was about).

After the meal Anne toodled off home, while Alison and I went off to our evening's entertainment, which happened to be in the same neck of the woods and was thus the reason we had chosen that afternoon to meet up with Anne rather than any other. It was the 70th birthday party for a guy who used to be in one of the bands Alison plays in. There was exceptionally good live jazz there to enjoy. The only weird thing about it was that it was at a Masonic Lodge. Alison kept asking me afterwards what the big deal is with Freemasons and what they were all about. It took a number of goes to convince her that I didn't know, and that the thing about secret societies is that they're... wait for it... secret.

Today other than get annoyed with our shiny new clock we've also been swimming and watched Attack Of the Clones for the nth time. In addition, I've finally gotten round to insulating the cold water tank in the loft (which shoulda been done last year) and making a proper(ish) loft pole for opening the loft door.

And now, before the cable modem connection (which has come back during the course of writing this entry) drops out again, I'm going to bed. Nighty night, folks.