I’ve just been soooooo….

Hi.

Yeah. It’s me. Again.

I’m sorry.

It’s been a while hasn’t it?

So how’ve you been doing?

Trying not to sound like Joey off of Friends there.

Should I explain the ‘off of’ phrase that Soph and I use occasionally?

No?

OK, good then.

It’s Thursday evening – 20.38 to be precise.

I’m sitting in the kitchen in the house in Brixton, waiting for the delivery of the pizza that I ordered an hour ago.

Well I can’t really complain because when I called the order in he said it would be an hour.

An hour?

To make and deliver a pizza and garlic bread and a soft drink but I can’t remember which one?

Yes, an hour.

So I’ve waited.

The reason why I’m waiting for the delivery of a pizza and garlic bread and an unmemorable soft drink is several-fold.

Fold the first: After work this evening I (and several dozen of my colleagues) magically transported ourselves – through the power of feet – to a place where, after the rapid exchange of many banknotes, alcohol was provided.

It was indeed (to quote the prophet) Pimm’s O’Clock.

And many Pimm’s were quaffed.

There was indeed much quaffing of The Pimm’s.

And afterwards I successfully navigated myself back to the house in Brixton to find myself…

Locked out.

It was perhaps an STONE ME!

Sorry, the doorbell just went.

It is my pizza.

There will be a shortish break in the proceedings while pizza and garlic bread and an umemorable soft drink (7-Up) will be consumed.

Back in a moment.

…

Later…

That garlic bread could have been crunchier but on the whole… I’m done.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, to pick up…

It was perhaps an indicator of the quanity of Pimm’s that had been quaffed that I stood on the doorstep pondering the locked door dilemma for what seemed like a long period of time.

And then I cunningly remembered the keys in my pocket.

Do you know – do you know – how much a Pimm’s costs in a certain hostelry that may, from time to time, sell drinks of an alcoholic nature (when said hostelry is within a Corgi’s sneezing distance of one house of Buck)?

This much!

I know!

I said to the barperson that I was ordering a drink, not footing the electricity bill for the entire City of Westminster for the next millennium.

But he’d had the sense of humour bypass that so many people down here seem to have had at birth.

Anyway.

I’m happy to be able to report that the keys in my pocket worked their magic on the locked door.

Random.

Once I’d gained access to the house I made straight for the toilet the internet to order my pizza online.

Except I couldn’t so I called my order in by phone.

Why couldn’t I?

Because there was some glitch or other on the company’s website.

The trouble is that the company’s website gave me a number for a local branch who would deliver – but it was the wrong number.

Thanks Pizza Hut!

So I got the number of my local branch from an online phone book.

And they don’t deliver.

But they knew the right number of a branch who did.

Hey, Pizza Hut! You guys really need to get your information flow right.

When the guy – nice guy – on the phone said it would take an hour to deliver I nearly told him to forget it, and then I remembered the amount of Pimm’s that had been erm, tidied away and how likely I was to cause a major outbreak of fire or blood or a plague of frogs if I tried to cook in my current state.

So I said ‘OK’.

And then spent the next hour googling the internet for things like ‘Anna Krapotnik’s nipples’ and ‘Nice Italian waiters called Sharon’ and ‘Why doesn’t my boomerang come back on Thursday afternoons’ – and many variations on these themes when I found that exact quote searches of these phrases didn’t work, for some inexplicable reason.

Bizarre.

Actually, am I the only person on this planet who thinks the word ‘bizarre’ is bizarre?

Say it to yourself a few times, try it out loud.

Then look at the spelling of the beast.

It is, isn’t it?

Bizarre.

So Pete’s come home so there’s just the three of us in the house at the moment.

Me, Pete and Small Tabby Cat Who Doesn’t Live Here.

I think she believes she actually owns the house and she’s just popping round to do a landlord’s inspection.

That’s how she treats the place.

21.17 now.

Yeah I know, fast typist.

Typist.

That’s another strange word.

Tie. Pissed.

Bizarre.

I’m feeling remarkably good humoured.

I expect that’s because I’ve eaten garlic bread, pizza and about .25l of 7-Up.

So what have I been doing since my last post hereabouts?

Well, not sleeping at night for a start.

And working hard.

Really!

And doing a massive amount of thinking.

Really!

Oh, I’ve just said that twice.

Sorry.

And emailing.

Well, not that much emailing really; a focussed approach rather than my usual scatter-gun strategy.

And planning the next podcast, it’s amazing how much effort goes in to each episode.

I’ll tell you something.

There have been 2,051 uniques to the podcast’s new home but the root mp3 has been accessed 16,313 times since the first episode went up on Saturday.

That’s pretty good!

Anyway it’s now 21.59 and that’s me just about to check out for the night.

I’m suddenly feeling like my head’s going to shut down but bits of my body aren’t in the least interested in going to sleep.

I think I’m going to go to bed though.

Tired now.

Rampant, but very very tired.

Can you remember to put the Corgi out as you go?

Just leave it on the street, I’m sure it’ll find its way home.

G’night.

B.