Je crois, it’s been a few days since the last blog entry. Simply haven’t made the time to update although the History Month Magazine on the last post seems to have generated a fair amount of interest (I’d have hyperlinked it but I so can’t be bothered – not at work using the abysmal IE7). Sunday, Monday and Tuesday have been busy enough though once again, the phantom menace of procrastination loomed like Scottish Highland Fog over everything.

So, from day to day, Sunday wasn’t quite the proverbial day of rest as half-way through the day, I needed to pop out and buy the Eurostar tickets from St Pancras. Having the vouchers limited where I could get the tickets from. As I was out, I took the opportunity to also go to Forbidden Planet to pick up this month’s comic books, check out new novel releases and silently lose my temper at tourists who stand in the entrance gawping at the porcelain figurines. Following FP, I swung by Tesco on Dean Street and to my joy, they were putting out the yellow stickered stuff which was not only cheap but super-cheap. My receipt says I bought £40 of groceries for £12; most of which I can’t eat but other people can now it’s all stuffed in the fridge or freezer.

At St Pancras, I was disappointed to learn that all the super-cheap tickets on Tuesday 20th March had sold out. I suspected a fallacy being a hyper-paranoid, suspicious Piscean but double checking at home alas confirmed this. So Lee and I have to spend an extra £14 each for the first train out which is still £20 less than any other service. It was tempting to quickly sneak upstairs for a champagne cocktail but thought better of it considering how much I’ve spent.

Had to pop out a second time on Sunday evening for icing sugar and butter – the Doctor got it into his head to make cakes after I jokingly said he was in charge of dessert. And he made cakes – very not bad as it happens though with the amount of time he spent in the kitchen, no skimp job. Not bad for the boy who had never licked the lid of a yoghurt pot five years ago.

Sunday night/Monday morning was just abysmal. Woke up around 4am with a searing pain in my shoulders and no matter what position I adopted in bed, the pain quickly followed. Pills couldn’t quell the pain so then I got the idea that the mattress perhaps was to blame as I hadn’t flipped it for a couple of months and it is around 12 years old. Remained awake until 5.30 when I went downstairs to sleep on the couch but put on a DVD (Golden Girls s4) in order to try and pass out to.

When the house sprang back to life for another week around the 7am mark, I slunk off back to bed and even fell asleep for about 30 minutes before my alarm informed me that fate indeed is a cruel mistress and Monday was going to be spent semi-conscious in the hallowed corridors of 33 Horseferry Road. Silver lining; normally a lack of sleep means a constant appetite throughout the day. Didn’t happen.

What else happened? Um…had a lunchtime and post-work walk (7½ miles because the lunchtime walk was truncated), played some more Paper Mario, handed out some History Month magazines and of course work. Manager is off this week and I can’t resist the temptation to keep my head down and complete assigned tasks. But gossiping is the life-blood of the civil service. Though I prefer “information brokering” as a more fanciful term. Oh, and as I really need to do a proper grocery shop, dinner was 1½ tins of chopped plum tomatoes on a bed of onion bhaji’s. I drowned the damn thing in garlic and pepper to give it a bit of flavour. At least it was calorie-light which is the main thing.

Tuesday was just ugh. Because we’re in the last month (well, just about) of the financial year and the audit year, there are reports coming up that require contributions, discussions and completion. The requests for paragraphs are coming in thick and fast and it’s difficult to remain ahead of the game. Lunch was also a sorry affair – some pile of crap I dug out the bottom of the fridge and ate at my desk. I think it was the Tesco vegetarian chilli pot, bland-o-rama. 325 calories which was helpful as after lunch, I went down to the Tesco in Kennington, not intending to buy anything mind and saw a series of birthday cakes on sale. So I bought the lot and took them to the Griffin, repeating what I did last year; pub-cake for all. Two huge white chocolate affairs and a Forever Friends number which was a Madeira sponge.

Speaking of the quiz, the pre-quiz part was a bit of a disaster as only Ceajay turned up and he was only intending a drink rather than the quiz itself. Alex was swimming, Joey broke down on the M23, David was just being old and Rob decided to take the 15% and not come (don’t ask). Mercifully, Ceajay asked Carl to come and fill a slot so we had four for the bulk of the quiz – Joey arrived at question 38. We tied for first place with Team Science but I lost the tie breaker as I misjudged when the Maquis de Sade was executed. Curse and blast and double curse and blast again – I miss Elisabeth Estenten’s T-Bag. Cake went down well with everyone though looking for the cloud, I have to question how Tesco think you can get 20 slices out of a cake which patently serves 16.

I arrived home just after midnight in a funny mood, caused by seeing all the lights on at home. Because I’d been at work and then at the quiz, I kinda hoped for 20 minutes to myself at home in peace and quiet but it was not to be. After being rude and grunting greetings, I went straight to bed and read some more of the Godfather (note to Apple, get Mario Puzo’s catalogue on iBooks please) before going to sleep.

So that’s your guide to the Daily Halcyon – there isn’t much else to impart, no burning thoughts at the back of my head although the jingoistic streak I possess seethes every time I see something in the news about the frickin’ Falklands. Perhaps we should issue a counter-claim and say that Buenos Aries belongs to Britain as we funded most of its construction or something. With that, the whole Korea issue, India/Pakistan sabre-rattling and dodgy states in the Middle East ready to go nuclear, I wouldn’t be putting bets on any of us living to a ripe old age. I am reminded of a passage in the Godfather when Clemenza talks of the need for a gang war every ten years or so to get rid of the bad blood. It almost feels like that. Of course if you believe in Nostradamus and various prophecies of the Angolmois [sp?], we’re on the look out for a man in blue who has all the solutions to the world’s problems. Or whatever.

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