| Oppression |
[Feb. 21st, 2003|07:41 am] |
| [ | Feeling |
| | awake | ] |
| [ | Reading |
| | Smackdown reports on PWTorch.com | ] |
Yay! I won ![[info]](http://www.deadjournal.com:8080/userinfo.gif) gerriparker in the charity T21 slave auction. Seemed a bit odd participating in it having just left the site, but it was still kinda fun. Until the end, anyway, when venerable's desperate (but, so far as I can tell, entirely phony) wriggling to get out of being bought by Spike was misinterpreted as being genuine by a staff member and the thread was shut down with a stern warning about being adult and not nasty.  . Pathetic - and more confirmation that I was right to get the hell out of there.
Now all I need to sort out is some instructions for what Gerri will have to do during the hour she's "mine"... *evil laugh*
(Health update - feeling fine this morning. Go figure.)
Edit: Now how the hell can the icon for 'awake' be the same as the one for 'ecstatic'? I'll tell you for nothing, I don't ever get ecstatic at the prospect of being awake.
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| Spring's sprung |
[Feb. 21st, 2003|03:37 pm] |
| [ | Feeling |
| | calm | ] |
| [ | Reading |
| | Gone for Good, Harlan Coben. | ] |
There's a real feel of Spring in the air at last today.
The air smelled cleaner as I walked out to get some lunch and explore a few nearby streets that I haven't been in before. Must be five days with fewer car fumes thanks to half term / congestion charging. The exception was down Worship Street where frankly it smelled of piss.
But there's no denying it's a fair bit warmer: people were sitting on the benches by the bowling green in Finsbury Square to have their lunch and although they wore warm coats they had them undone, and they carried their scarves in their hands as they walked back to their offices afterwards.
When I left the flat this morning I saw bulbs breaking through the grass by the pavement and near work the spring bedding is blooming, a sea of purple and yellow flowers. The contrast couldn't be more stark with the brown, dead heads of the bouquets taped to a lamp-post when Mary Hansen died* and which still remain, whithered and forlorn and now almost unnoticed by passers-by.
* See journal entries on December 9th, 11th, 12th, and 13th 2002 for more. |
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