Sunday, February 05, 2006

So I’m sitting in bed, laptop in lap, still coughing up more shit than is comfortable. It hasn’t been a bad day though – well I’ve been asleep for most of it, so that’s probably why.

Listening to Groove Salad, rereading some comics from the 90s that I’d almost forgotten and thinking about making a cup of tea and lying down for the night.

Before I do, though a few things...

I just heard that Al Lewis, Grandpa from The Munsters, passed away today. Here’s how we remember him:
And here’s a great picture of him I found after I heard the news...

In today’s Guardian Charlie Brooker has one of those days that I’ve have been having a lot of lately...
There's nothing like a tight deadline to sharpen your focus. When you reach the point at which procrastination finally becomes impossible, the critical point at which YOU MUST ACT NOW, it's often surprising what the mind pulls out of the bag. Unless, that is, you're me, today, and you've just started writing an article about nothing whatsoever because time's run out, yet you still can't think of anything to sound off about.

And, finally, before tea and bed – a link to the lyrics of a song that a lot of people seem to have heard. I know this because they try to sing it to me when they find out where I live. Or at least they try to recall the words.

All yours.
We didn't have no where to live,
We didn't have nowhere to go
'Til someone said
"I know this place off Burditt Road."
It was on the fifteenth floor,
It had a board across the door.
It took an hour to pry it off and get inside.
It smelt as if someone had died;

The living-room was full of flies,
The kitchen sink was blocked,
The bathroom sink not there at all.
Ooh, it's a mess alright,
Yes it's Mile End.

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