STARVING

I saw this a while ago, but have just found it again and laughed just as much, if not more, this time around. Sheer brilliance.

Literacy

I’m jobhunting at the moment. Idly perusing Monster, I saw an ad asking for a copywriter, which sounded interesting. I think I’m overqualified, however, judging on how badly the ad is written. I’m now wondering whether writing to them, correcting the myriad mistakes in their copy, would get me the job or permanent blacklisting …

Winter Wonderland

So I’ve been away for a week, skiing. ‘Twas marvellous. Day one – total whiteout. Days two through six – loads of new snow and glorious sunshine. I couldn’t really be much smugger, quite frankly.

I am also officially a daredevil thrillseeker, having done the Olympic bobsled run at Sansicario. Yes, the ACTUAL run, built for the 2006 Torino Winter Olympics. Our time was just over a minute and I am absolutely dying to do it again sometime. Immediately post-run, there was talk of going to do the Cresta Run and learning how to do it properly, rather than starting in the bob and being pushed. Wheee!

This was right at the end of the run, when we had slowed right down – and we’re still going quite fast, as you can see by the blurring. We had been told beforehand that by about halfway down we would be longing for it all to be over, but I was just dying to go up to the top and do it all again, as was my chap. Not sure our third team member was so convinced, but to be fair his girlfriend had signed him up for it without his knowledge …

Our driver was ace – he’s the one that looks like Russell Crowe. The only instructions he gave us were not to worry if our heads bashed against the side of the bob on the way down, and for me to try not to headbutt him while he was driving, as I was sitting directly behind him. Yes, it goes really quite fast, even without the running start.

Cats for sale

Not really. It’s bloody close to the wire, though, I can tell you.

I came home 2 days ago to find the flat reeking of cat pee. Not being able to find the source of it, I started by washing all the rugs and soft furnishings. Approximately 100 loads* of washing later, the smell still lingered. This morning, therefore, I have spent a good few hours mopping the floors, washing the cat bowls and the bin, wiping down the woodwork etc etc etc.

Has the smell gone? Has it fuck. Anyone want a pair of bolshy bastard cats?

*Maths never has been my strong point. Exaggeration, on the other hand …

No Country for Old Men

… is fantastic.  Go see.  Seriously.

How to be dead

In contrast to Ms P’s post on Vox today, I tried to be a good Samaritan this morning and nearly got myself beaten up for my pains. As I walked down the street outside Brixton tube I saw two people bump into each other, and a phone dropped to the ground. It looked to me like it had fallen out of the girl’s bag, and so I picked up the phone and ran after her to give it back. Before I reached her, however, I was grabbed around the back of my neck and shaken by a guy yelling, ‘where are you going with my phone?’ All I could do was stammer an apology and hand it back, but it scared the hell out of me. My hard London exterior is not feeling very tough today.

Omens

Woken up far too early when my young man was called out on a job (the perils and pitfalls of going out with a freelancer), I decided to be proactive and do housey stuff, along with applying for some exciting jobs which are currently casting. A little shiver went down my spine as I put one particular letter into the envelope, as iTunes (which was playing on random) picked a song from the very musical that I was applying for.

I’m deciding to ignore the fact that the song is called “I’m Not That Girl”.

Ahem.

What I did at the weekend, by Katja, aged 31 1/4

On Friday I snoozed my way through most of the work day, waking up at 16.59 and zooming out of the door at 17.00, straight into the pub, where I waved goodbye to a colleague who was leaving to go to another job by downing three pints in an ill-advisedly short space of time, before wobbling my merry way home to change and go out for the actual evening’s entertainment.

This week, it was the aftershow party for Masque of the Red Death at BAC, at which my friend Tim was DJing. Oh. My. Goodness. What a brilliant evening. There were masks. There were men in faun outfits. There was a lot of dancing. There was a tequila bar. There was Katie Melua playing live (I’m not a fan, but she’s a big name to be playing at BAC). I danced with many, many people and have a singularly bruised foot to show for it, but had an amazing evening. The show’s run has just been extended, having previously been completely sold out; if you can’t get to see the show, however, the aftershows on Fridays and Saturdays are definitely worth going to, I’d say.

Saturday was spent lazing around in bed for most of the day, then braving Oxford Street and Selfridges in the afternoon. I think we must still have been drunk. Still, a most successful shopping trip. Ridiculously overpriced and frivolous garments were bought and yea and verily the shoppers were pleased. Even if the boy’s bank manager wasn’t. He he he.

On Sunday I dragged myself out of bed at lunchtime in order to go to the Golden Age of Couture exhibition at the V&A. Quite frankly, I was disappointed. Not by the exhibition, which was fabulous, but by the way the V&A had packed so many people in. This particular exhibition is run on a timed ticket arrangement. Ours were for 2.00 and we were told that if we arrived after 2.15 we wouldn’t be allowed in. Fair enough. However, the V&A had sold such stupidly high numbers of tickets that one couldn’t get anywhere near most of the exhibits. Certainly not close enough to read any of the information about the various dresses, if you could even see the dress in the first place, past the throngs of people. Sort it out, V&A – I expect better of you. There are limits to the number of people you can sensibly fit into one exhibition, and you had certainly doubled, if not trebled that number.

To cheer ourselves up, therefore, my fashion-loving friend and I went for tea and cake. This did the job admirably.

When I then got home to find my chap cooking roast beef, with friends on their way round to discuss skiing holiday plans (now booked – woo!), the evening just kept on getting better. Wine was drunk, Guitar Hero was played and far too much food was eaten. Hurrah for weekends, say I.

Muhahahahahaaa!

Ever wondered how many five year olds you could take in a fight?  Well, muse no more …

(Apparently I could take 27 …)

Currently loving …

… this ad.

http://www.tellyads.com/show_movie.php?filename=TA5582