Friday, June 26, 2009

Profoundly Cheesed


I feel like having a rant, but sadly, I may only be able to muster the energy for a tepid moan. So if you’ve dropped by today looking for laughs, or at very least the odd swear word, heaven help you. Disappointment beckons like a tired old cat treated to a stuffed toy mouse it can’t be arsed to sniff, let alone play with.


From eight o clock this morning up until half an hour ago, my nose has been buried in a pile of documents of an irritatingly bland nature. I’m not the most avid reader, and when I choose to roll my eyeballs over a roller coaster of text, typically, it’ll be bloggy, booky or newsy — and not some mountainous wodge of crap from the opened bowels of Planet Fucking Tiresome that even a cerebrally-enhanced chimp let loose on a whole new world of possibilities couldn’t fail to interpret as anything other than a stimulus to blow out its miraculous new brains with a bazooka. OK, so this is a rant, after all. I’m feeling a little better now. Grrrrr.

To make matters worse, it’s been one of those oppressively muggy days that makes you feel like you’re squished up inside a souffle just as it goes in the oven. My morning’s perspiration alone could have provided a drought-blighted Ethiopian village with enough drinking water for a fortnight. Even the dry skin around my ankles looked like it had been licked by a relay team of friendly terriers. Worse still, the inevitable parting of the heavens I’d been praying for all morning as I pored/poured over a seeming infinity of drivel has coincided with my planned afternoon constitutional and it’s now chucking it down so ferociously I’ve lost sight of the cars being swept down the street.

So here I am in the clammy June gloom of my study choosing to bare my teeth in a display of sullen-yet-damp ire, rather than my legs in a dinky pair of shorts. Oh, to strut to Tesco for a celebratory can of Ye Olde Wobblethwappe’s Completely Undrinkable, and wander back through the park in the sun.
Looks like it’s curtains for the bottle of wine I’ve been saving for when Thatcher goes...

20 comments:

Kiersten said...

Send your rain this way. We've spent all of June overcast with nary a drop to reward enduring the gloom.

Whirlochre said...

I'll have a word with the bloke who lives round the corner. He's an arch-druid.

fairyhedgehog said...

What a grim day.

We've got sunny intervals and my Beloved is at Lord's.

You probably didn't want to know that.

Robin S. said...

Even the dry skin around my ankles looked like it had been licked by a relay team of friendly terriers.

God, this is gorgeous stuff.

What in hell are you reading? you sure as hell can't be editing yourself - your prose is killer good.

McKoala said...

We've just come out of weeks and weeks of solid rain, so no sympathy here.

The good news is that we finally discovered what was causing it to rain in our laundry as well as outside, and fixed it. Just as we're about to sell. I suppose that's good, but it's kind of disappointing that I don't get to enjoy a dry laundry for long.

Whirlochre said...

Fairy

Quite.

Robin

Pseudo-legislative regulatory drivel.

McKoala

So what was the cause? Weak-bladdered wallaby? Slack-sphinctered platypus?

Mr London Street said...

I hope there are street parties when Thatcher goes.

Whirlochre said...

I suspect there will be an outpouring of emotion of all kinds — to rival Diana, Jackson and possibly even Oliver Postgate...

Chairman Bill said...

You mean Thatcher is about to resign as PM?

Whirlochre said...

Hi, Chairman Bill. Thanks for dropping by.

I can't think Thatcher will give up the ghost even when she's dead. Likely, she'll haunt us forever with the phantom bouffant hairdo of monetarism and an old pair of Tebbit's false teeth...

Chris Eldin said...

Oh my.
Here's a hug {hug}

But the most eloquent whine of all time. I will copy and paste this somewhere...
:-)

Hope your day gets better!

Whirlochre said...

Thanks for the {u} — my, you have a strong grip.

If it's any consolation, it's even worse today and we've been promised the muggy 30s (that's high 80s in old money) for the whole of next week.

But at least I'll be reading something I've written myself.

And I'm having a haircut.

And it's Oliver!

And I'm going to a barbecue.

Wahey — things are looking up.

Scarlet-Blue said...

Oh God.... What shall I play when Thatcher dies? *Runs off to consider playlist*
Sx

Whirlochre said...

It's either Elvis Costello or Stephane Grapelli, isn't it?

storyqueen said...

"I’m not the most avid reader, and when I choose to roll my eyeballs over a roller coaster of text, typically, it’ll be bloggy, booky or newsy — and not some mountainous wodge of crap from the opened bowels of Planet Fucking Tiresome that even a cerebrally-enhanced chimp let loose on a whole new world of possibilities couldn’t fail to interpret as anything other than a stimulus to blow out its miraculous new brains with a bazooka"

This is the best sentence in the bloggy-verse this month!

Shelley

P.S. I rather like the stuff about One-armed Barry as well.....

Whirlochre said...

Feel free to return, Storyqueen.

It gets like this quite often around here...

ril said...

So, other than that, feeling pretty good, then?

Robin S. said...

Oh, I saw ril down here at the tail end and thought....riff, perhaps?

Bummer. I wanted a ril-whirl riff-duo. They're the best.

Mary said...

You whiney old wino... ;)

Whirlochre said...

I know, I know — that whine and cheese combo doth a gallic shrug hoist airward...