Priministerial Ramble

Quick note – still at home as transport is screwed.

However – new Prime Minister! Wow – it's been ten years since we had this situation, and lots has happened in the last decade. 9/11, Iraq, NHS up and down and up and down, the Internet taking over the world (do you remember teletext?), Pisco Sour Hour formed and still going strong. I'm quite excited, not because I'm particularly Browny, but because change is healthy. I'm sure that the cynics will soon start harping on (and there's a value in that – alternative opinions force discussion and debate and new solutions and ideas), and there's a strong case to be made that little will change, but let's pretend for a few moments at least that we'll have a rejuvenated government, with the public re-engaging with the political system... actually, if Gordy wants a sense of the potential of community to bind people, of the strength of people when they come together to change and help and improve the world, he should take a trip to Sheffield. If everyone in the country cared as much for each other and the place in which they live all the time as much as the good people in our city have over the last couple of days... well, who knows what we could all achieve?

Petros 'Bone Ache' Pisco

Chaos! Wetness! And yet more - fuck it! - bucket!!

Okay, we thought the worst was over, like when your Mum bought those four packs of yogurts and you'd eaten the toffee one so you were alright. Hell no - its a four-way variety pack of toffee yogurts, yes toffee, that flavor that sits so well next to strawberry and peach.

It's fucking it down. The spring is back, and rather than last time's 'soak it up with anything fabricy' technique, this time I'm using the 'mop it out, bucket it over the wall'. However, owing to a drunk driver scum fuckit incident outside our house last night (and... eek!... involving Lib's car), I've had four hours sleep. And to make matters seriously worse... Libby is stranded at work. and I'm lonely, and she's surrounded by crazies, like some horror film or something. Aside from the fact that they're all 80+, which would probably make it more like a sedate Ealing comedy, perhaps.

Gah - I'm tired, achy, and probably going to come down with dysentery due to having to stand is horrid water. And I miss my Lib, stranded far far way, over the river that was once known as Penistone Road.

The Tall One