I have breasts, Kirstin Dunst does not

The following post is aimed toward the female readers of the blog. Male readers, well, you’re going to enjoy the subject matter I suppose, just keep the sniggering down at the back, ok?

I have an ambivalent attitude toward my breasts. I am happy that I have them and I’d rather have them than the alternative, but there is no getting around the fact that, at times, I wish they were just… different. I am pretty much sure that most women feel the same way toward their breasts – bigger, smaller, different conformation, you name it – none of us are happy with what we’ve got.

For my own, I wish there were just that bit smaller. I’m not approaching Jordan, sorry Katie Price, in proportions, but I am certainly larger in that department than is average. It’s lucky I’ve got a naturally stocky build, or I would be in danger of looking all out of proportion. Most times this does not, shall we say, put me at a disadvantage? But then there come the days when I have to go clothes shopping.

That’s when the wheels fall off the wagon.

I can’t remember where I read the stats, but the ‘average’ woman is a size 12 or 14, and a size 36 B or C, so I’m nudging the upper range of normal. Clothes, on the other hand, are designed for Kirstin Dunst who probably approximates a size 6 and is a 32 A or something. For many years this was fine with me. You shop in the 18 plus and you get inured, if not contented, with voluminous clothes that most definitely weren’t designed with Kirstin Dunst in mind. But I’ve been working hard this past year or so on taming my recalcitrant body, and I’ve finally got to the point where I can wear (and look halfway decent) in clothes designed for normal people. Oh, the pleasure of taking a size 14 into the changing room and knowing that, even if it looks ugly, it won’t be the fit that is to blame! So I am finally able to wear trousers again after about five years of clown-pants and long skirts, and… now I can’t find tops that fit me.

Maybe my proportions are all wrong, but clothes just don’t seem designed for people with breasts. Any breasts, not just slightly-larger-than-average breasts. I tried on one of those looks-great-on-the-models silky camisole thingumies in H&M today. You know that moment when you’ve got the top over your shoulders, but it won’t go over your breasts, and you start to panic thinking “Oh my god, they’re going to have to cut me out of this, and it was the cute male assistant on duty today…“? Well, I had that moment and then some today. Fortunately I remembered some breathing exercises I picked up when playing the oboe that had the side effect of minimizing the bust. Managed to wriggle out of the top, with my dignity (and hairstyle) ruffled but more or less intact. Just hope they’ve not taken to putting cameras in the H&M changing rooms…

Even when I do find tops that fit, which is no easy matter, short of wearing a polo-neck I always end up exposing more cleavage than a nice girl should. I can wear vests underneath tops (fortunately the layered look is in right now), but I still catch more than a few men looking at my breasts instead of my face. As for when I want to wear that nice strapless or backless dress, well, something things are just never going to happen no matter how much we might want them to. I’m never going to be a world-class athlete. Nor, do I think, is au naturelle an option darlings.

Which kind of brings me to part two of my breast-related rant. Bra’s. I could swear that the sizings have got smaller in the last year or so. *eyes narrow* M&S must have some conspiracy going on with small-breasted women to make them feel better, because there is no way that at the same time as LOOSING lots of weight, my breasts have gone UP a cup-size.

Also, do they have to be so fricking expensive? You’re looking at the sharp end of £20 for a nice bra, then £5 or more if you want matching knickers. That’s my weekly grocery budget. Two sets and you practically have a new copy of Mac OSX. You can be sure that if there was a piece of clothing the majority of men had to wear it would cost a lot LOT less. Or be available free from the government or something. There’s a thought – bras on the NHS. Then again as a child who was inflicted with NHS glasses, perhaps not.

We won’t go into the fact that popcorn (anything I eat in the cinema) seems to have a fascination with my cleavage giving me the option of going searching (and incurring some very scandalised looks from the little old lady at the end of the row), or having popcorn where no popcorn was designed to go for the entirety of the film. But, as I said, we won’t be going into that today. That’s more to do with my clutziness than my breasts.

Yes, I love my breasts, and one or two other people have expressed a favorable opinion of them as well, but there are days when they do bug the crap out of me. Like today. No, I am not expecting anything constructive to come of this post, I just wanted to share.

Endnotes:
*1*In case you are wondering, todays title is not a quote from any film/book/song or anything I know of. It came out in a conversation about the upcoming film Elizabethtown, a film in which Ms. Dunst looks flatchested, even for her.

have you seen him? with the eyes, and the chest, and the… immortality?

There just aren’t the words to describe how much I laughed when Aoife emailed me these pictures this morning. Definately made my day.

Go here for a Flickr set of photos from our night out the other week. The night out in question was previously described here.

I know Dixons have announced that they are no longer going to stock 35mm cameras, and this makes me sad because digital cameras just aren’t as good, but the invention of digital cameras has certainly made it easier to record nights-out and how silly everyone looks whilst drunk.

There have been some memorable moments from this year, but this has to rank at (or near) the top. Going to miss these guys come October when we scatter to the four winds 🙁

One of my favourites: (end of the night. From left to right the Nordic Ninja, Cas (yes I really am that short), Jeff, and the Cute Canadian)
NN_Cas_Jeff_CC

don’t play hard to get, it’s a free, free world…

A slightly spammy post this morning (with respect what I am talking about).

Firstly, I am so overwhelmingly proud that I got my first ever “I am going to leave X amount of dollars to you, if you will just send me your bank account details…” email. What made this one so wondefully special to me is that woman is dying of cancer, and, get this, she will leave me one and a half million dollars if I use the money to spread the word of god. Now, this amused me, considering how wide of the mark these people got when they hit me.

Firstly, I have been on the net since… well, a long time, and have a high level of sceptisim to start with. There really is no such thing as a free lunch, let alone lunches that are to the tune of $1.5 million. But even if I was stupid enough to believe what ‘she’ was saying, there are a few other things they missed…

Nothing is guaranteed to make me turn off faster than trying to gull me with mention of cancer. If you really are suffering from or affected in any way by cancer you have my total sympathy. I think my record stands for itself on that score – for proper charities, I raise money, buy pins, run 5 kilometres on a blazing hot July sunday morning, the works. But to use the cancer card is just plain low (even for spammers).

Thirdly, I lied on two. If there is one thing going to make me turn off faster than using the cancer-card, it is telling me it is the will of god. Hello, not Christian here folks! If you would be happy for me to spread the word about Buddhism, then perhaps we can talk. Well, ok, perhaps not, because evangelising isn’t my bag baby, but you get the idea.

All of the above does suggest that these spam attacks are organised, which of course they aren’t, but even some basic market research might have pointed out that I’m not who you should be targeting. At least not like that.

I am liking gmail’s spam filter – works measurably better than that of hotmail, or freeserve wanadoo. Even flags up when emails are coming from laundry sites *1* in an attempt to disguse their origin. Hence, note to spammers out there – phishing attacks pretending to be my bank won’t work either, so 😛

There is one way of getting spam to me, if you don’t care that I can’t understand a word you are saying. Send it in some unidentified asian language, possibly Japanese. Putting pictures of scantily clad ladies in the body of the email was also a nice touch. If I disable gmail’s automatic ‘block images’ function, I get a facefull of what, well, doesn’t turn me on. On the plus side, when I happen to open my emails on the LARGE dual-screen monitors in the lab, my male friends also get to see them, and I don’t hear Jeff, Spooky McDougal, or the Cute Canadian complaining, but it is mildly embarrassing.

So, my dilemma – how do I unsubscribe from this site, wherever it is, when I can’t read a fricking thing that it says? We’ll leave aside for now the fact I have NO idea how this email got on a list for an Asian language site. Whilst Gmail is being effective blocking it, I would rather I didn’t get it at all, and as I’m getting three or four A DAY it’s starting to get mildly irritating. Help?

And talking of Gmail, if anyone wants an account, I have more than enough invites to go around.

Now, seeing as how I am staring another boring day in the lab in the face, expect more posts as the day goes on. For now, sayonara.

Endnotes:
*1*Oh, just read Neal Stephenson’s “Cryptonomicon” already!Back

scrawling my existence on random sheets of parchment

Today was a slow day, evidenced by the fact that I started yet another blog – Blackcurrant Cheesecake. This one is being given over to the few pieces of fiction I wrote a couple of years back that seemed, on the whole, not stomach-churningly bad. All I can say is go and read, and (perhaps most importantly) tell me what you really think. Good, bad, ugly, how could I make it better, etc etc ad nauseam.

A few last things before I sign off of for the evening:

I am detecting a certain peripherals theme lately in my posts. This isn’t by itself a bad thing, but could be giving people the wrong idea about me. To them, in the fond memories of a random internet bloke I once dated, I say “Meh”.

More grist for the peripheral lovers mill –

I can think of some of my mates doing research into VR are going to get all excited about this: Toshiba develops flatbed 3D display. Not totally convinced myself. Can see some exciting sci-fi futures though 🙂

Ok, sexy, totally uncessesary, exciting… the Optimus Keyboard

And those observant ones among you might have noticed a new little link in the “Keep in Touch” section. In keeping with my own narcissistic desires to get more readership, I submitted by blog to Blogwise about a month ago, and finally got approved in the middle of the week. Did a search for fellow ‘archaeology’ bloggers, and got directed to good old Michael Shanks. Even though Traumwerk was down the last couple of times I tried to look, got to owe the man a plug. He is partly to blame responsible for my current predicament with regards wikis and my thesis. That voodoo doll on my desk is nothing to do with him. Honestly. Yep. Nothing to do with him. Nothing at all…

Now that really is me done for the evening. I think. Probably. Depends how bored I get later on.

*edit* Seems I made a bit of a boo-boo a couple of posts back with my title – In About as convincing a disguse… it should read as a Polar bears only GOLF club, not goth club. It wasn’t an intentional re-write, though a remarkably appropriate one. I genuinely thought that that was the line, though thinking about it golf does make more sense for WW1-era Blackadder. Thanks to Moose for pointing it out to me 🙂

the camera makes everyone a tourist in other people’s reality

Right, out of sympathy for y’all having to read a 2,500 word post *1* I have held off blogging for the last couple of days. Also, I had nothing to say. The afore mentioned rant kinda sapped my desire to write for a while. Which sucks when you think of the thesis I should be writing.

But it is now Sunday, I don’t want to read about wikis any more, so here are a few of the things that have been accumulating in my ‘random’ bookmarks folder.

I enjoy am obsessed by cups of tea. I am not joking when I say that without them I would not be able to function. It is a well documented phenomenon. A good portion of the month we were in Malaysia was spent trying to find me a decent cup of tea*2*. So when I stumbled across the H2G2 entry for tea written by (among others, Douglas Adams himself) in the course of my research, I was rather chuffed. The animation is rather groovy, if annoyingly looped to infinity. NB – I do not share DNA’s belief that Earl Grey is the best tea that money can buy. The man was wrong. But he is sadly dead now, and wrote some truly wonderful radio shows, books, articles, and films, so I won’t hold it against him. Much. George Orwell also had some strong views on tea. If you are interested, I subscribe to the milk-first school. Just tastes better as far as I am concerned.

Sleep is good. Sleep is my friend. I have been known to sleep through all manner of things that would wake most mere mortals. My father’s snoring for one! The reverberations that can be set up when inside a 50ft long, 6ft 6inch wide metal hulled boat by a 58 y ear old man have to be experienced to be believed. I have also broken a fair few alarm clocks in my time in an effort to shut them up and get more sleep, so the idea of an alarm clock that runs away from you is just supreme! And furry to boot.

No idea why you would need the ultimate guide to shooting rubber bands, but it kept me amused for a while. This is one classroom skill I never quite got the hang off, and I have to admit that I never thought so much went into it! Perhaps that is where I have been going wrong all these years. Now I have longer hair again, be warned – I am going to be supplied with hairbands within easy reach – AMMO!!!!!

Free science fiction is always good, but is normally in the form of slightly dog-earred books you’ve got from the library. I am a fan of libraries. Libraries are great. But they always seem to only ever have the middle two books in a series. Or books one, two, three, but not four where everything goes down. Very annoying. Which is why the Baen Free Library is such a good idea. Liking it, liking it alot. I would always recommend buying the physical copy of a book, but this is a good service if you want to see if you like a series, can’t get hold of book one any other way, or just live somewhere where you don’t have access to a library with a large SF section.

Dan Brown is getting everywhere these days, like a nasty persistent rash that nothing your GP does can cure. He even looks slimy. And his evil influence has even affected Kathy Reichs in her new book! Oh, the humanity!

You might remember that the other week I threatened my SLR with the repair-man and it started to work, so I finally managed to finish the film that was in it and go get it developed. Well, I got the pictures back, and it turns out that most of them were of the trip the Crazy Canalman and myself took into Little Venice a couple of years ago in order to see “We Will Rock You” (amazing show!) It was an odd trip. Have a look at some of the better pictures (I spent £7 getting the bloody things developed, so I’m going to share!) Flickr Photo Set of Little Venice Trip

And ending on a sad note, Robin Cook dies. Whilst not supporting all of his political and personal decisions, I feel on balance he was one of the good ones.

*edit*
Added some reviews over at Dark Meadow

Endnotes:
*1*Which I hadn’t realised quite how long it was till Moose admitted that she hasn’t got through it yet, and if Moose has given up, it must be a little excessive. This is the girl who chooses to read documents detailing the decision to bomb Hiroshima and Nagasaki, after all!Back
*2*The best of which was actually found in a tiny village somewhere on the edge of the South China Sea, at the far NE tip of Sabah, called Kudat. Population about 50, taste of tea, divineBack

it’s quicker, easier, and involves less licking

The following is a post that, whilst I hope you enjoy reading, is kind of a conversation with myself whilst I try to work some ideas out for my thesis. I hope you enjoy/find insightful. If you don’t, well, normal service should resume shortly.

Blogs: The good, the bad, and the downright stomach churning.

There is a weird synchronisity happening in the cyber domain at the moment. A bizarre kind of mind-meld between disparate individuals from each of the main continents who, though they have never met, consider themselves to be partaking in a new form of relationship. With differing incidents of regularity, people from all walks of life come online and share their public and private hopes, trials, tribulations, dreams, nightmares, the minutiae of their existence, all in the hope that complete strangers will stumble across their musings and find them interesting and new.

I talk, of course, of blogging. There cannot be many more annoyingly and lazily named phenomenon’s than those we have been inflicted with lately. It is a sad day from the English language when the options open to the naming of new technologies are limited to the concatenation of mundane words (LiveJournal, WebLog), or prefixing with a lowercase vowel (iPod, eBook). What happened to the days when new things were given names that made your mind soar with the possibilities? Then again, this is not the post where I am going to talk in depth about the hideous terminology gifted to recent cyber-phenomena. Rather I want to take a moment and think on the trend itself.

I am not the first person to ask, nor, I am certain about this, will I be the last: why do we blog in the first place? *1*

I think it serves us to remember what a blog essentially is – a diary. The urge to keep a diary, or a log, of events happening to the author is one which has a long and respectable history. Among the more notable that spring to mind include The Diary of Anne Frank, the collected works of Samuel Pepys, and back to the Venerable Bede in the Middle Ages, Pliny (both elder and younger), Julius Caesar, and Herrodotus. As long as we have had the written word, people of all backgrounds have recorded the world as they saw it, and preserved their thoughts in a form that would be accessible to other readers. Part of this urge to keep a journal is no doubt partly for ego – the desire for someone else to come along in the future and agree with what we said, even the possibility they might think we were mighty intelligent for thinking such things – but I think also partly it serves as a release valve for our sanity. In any civilization there are external pressures on people to preserve the status quo. In many contexts it is just not appropriate to turn round to your boss and tell them that you think they are a complete arse. In a diary, at least one ostensibly private, you are safe to say what you want, so reducing the desire to take an Uzi to work with you one Monday morning. *2*

Western civilization is currently in the grips of a Cult of Celebrity. Witness the insane amount of interest in the love lives of actors and other people who contribute very little outside of the realm of entertainment. We are also addicted to celebrating the Mundane. The more ordinary something is, the better. Note the current rash of autobiographies and biographies written by and about people with as much claim to fame as the mug sitting on my desk half full of tea. Or the spate of reality television.*3* With the advent of modern hypermedia, the opinions of Mr Woodhouse of 10 Wisteria Drive are suddenly as important and noteworthy as those of Professor Nottingham, Nobel laureate.*4* Perhaps even more so. The common man on the street has to have his two cents worth, regardless of whether he can string two coherent words together. Everyone knows the episode of The Simpsons where Homer designs the car of his dreams that everyone is middle America is supposed to want, totally ignoring the advice of the trained professionals. He bankrupts the company, ruins his brother in the process, but still comes out the hero because he is Joe Public. They can do no wrong.

Marry these different phenomena together, add to the mix the prevalence of faster-than-ever internet connections with an increasingly web-enabled world, and you come to what, for me, is the main reason behind the average blog: they are the space where an average person can find momentary celebrity and be hailed by his/her peers for the one thing they are good at – being normal. To have a web-presence at all indicates a certain personality that, (maybe not consciously) is seeking affirmation, and that has a certain exhibitionist streak. Certainly, from a personal point of view, when I first joined a web-community way back in the mists of time, I found myself saying things that I would have been too shy to say without the mediation of a computer. Even now the (frequently illusory) anonymity of the web means I can say things I would hesitate to do in the real world. But it is not just enough to have a diary any more. We are no longer willing to wait for the day when (note I say when, not if, back to *3* again) we are famous, and someone wants to publish our memoirs. Push-button publishing and free hosting means that our most random thoughts can be posted on the web without the intervention of time to think, editorial process, or even checks for typos. I am guilty of it myself sometimes – think of something to say, quickly type it up, and hit ‘publish’, without a thought to what it might actually say about us. Instant gratification and pseudo-awe at our ‘spontaneity’ and bravery at saying whatever comes off the top of our head becomes more valued than reasoned arguments with time taken to check the facts (and grammar or sentence structure).

Gone also, in this bid for self-promotion is the desire to share and contribute to an idea or to engage in a discourse. Commenting and communication has remained fixed in the one-to-many model. Two way communication is normally limited to a comments field, where visitors are expected, even encouraged, to say a few lines and then link back to their own site, instead of saying anything useful. Part of the problem, or maybe just a symptom, is the prevalence on the web of systems that rate different blogs due to the number of other blogs that link to them (this is how Technorati works). If you want to get a higher ranking (seem more popular) then you have to get people to link to your site. One way of at least getting them there in the first place is to comment on their site and quite prominently display a link back to your own site. Once you’ve got them to your site, well, keeping them there is another matter all together. Bad design (of which examples are legion and I won’t dignify with links, but include auto-play music, pop-up greetings, overly flash/image laden sites, und so weiter) is one sure fire way of turning people off and can be remedied. Bad writing on the other hand is always going to be bad, unless you take the time to exert some editorial control over your words. And, if you’re following the traditional quick-publishing model, there is no hope. This desire to be read, appreciated, and worshipped is exemplified in Fishball’s blog, which is rapidly reaching cult status in certain ghettos on the web. This short lived blog documents Fishball’s downward spiral as he tried ever more bizarre ways of increasing his readership. Now all that is left is a comments page filled with readers asking Fishball to come back. Like a great artist, it seems he just wasn’t appreciated in his own time.

So why do I blog? I have always found the written word easier than the spoken, and have been writing journals and stories in an attempt to understand my life for as long as I care to remember. I find that by putting something down on the page, I gain objective distance, and frequently understand my motives and where to go next better than I would if I had just thought it through in my head.
That’s one part of it: blog = diary = place to work through ideas and what has been bugging me lately. The steam valve.
Also, I am bad at communicating with people. I just assume that if someone wants to know what is going on in my life, they will ask, but frequently people don’t ask.
Hence blog = mass email to people who care about me.
I always have, and I expect always will, found it hard to make friends with me people or to converse face to face. When I discovered the internet and message-board communities, it helped me to overcome some of my fears of talking to new people. I rapidly learnt that most people were just as scared of me as I was of them. I was at college with someone for two years, and it was only when we had both left and started to talk via email and MSN that we realised how similar we really were. Four years later she is still my best friend.
Blog = interface with people = a way people can get to know the ‘real’ me by bypassing the cripplingly-shy me most people meet when they see me face to face.
I also suffer from that oh-so-common malady of wanting to believe that my opinions matter and that I have some special talent that the world just hasn’t recognized yet. When a complete stranger stumbled across my blog, liked what he saw, and decided to stick around and write himself into my digital-life, it was a great feeling. Affirmation and confirmation of all I was doing.
Blog = self promotion = ego boost.

Pulling apart and analyzing the individual facets does not do justice to what a blog means to me. Most importantly, in my mind, a blog should serve to foster a sense of community between people. It should be a platform from which discussions can take place, ideas be generated, and friends made. Sadly, few blogs conform to this ideal. The majority are self serving and a waste of space. But consider the silver lining to the cloud of blogs – you will stumble across a blog you like (and I assure you there are some out there well worth the time and effort it took to find them), and, after a period of lurking, you might make a comment (please make it something worthwhile!). The other person might strike up a conversation, and then who knows? I have a soft spot for random internet acquaintances. It can go oh so horribly wrong, but once in a while it goes oh so wonderfully right.

So, how do I end this (even for me) long post? Simply by asking that you do a few simple things:
1) Think about what you blog. Take the time (if possible) to re-read your ideas. If you think you might be embarrassed by what you said when you read it back in the morning/next week/month/year, then it is a good indication that you shouldn’t be saying it in the first place. An exception to this is of course the posts you make whilst you are drunk. These are funny to us readers of your blog, and you are doing us a service by occasionally letting us have one.
2) Think about the design of your blog. If I have to turn something off or on, download something, highlight text, adjust my browser in anyway, or find you’ve altered my cursor, then the chances are I am not going to stay long on your blog. It’s a fast paced world out there. You have about 30 seconds maximum to make me want to stay. I am fickle. Pretty pictures make me happy, but overpowering backgrounds and logos just annoy me.
3) Let me know who you are. I take it I am on your blog to learn something about you. In that case, a few pointers like sex, rough age, what interests you, are always helpful. I’m going to be very annoyed if I take the time to read your blog only to find out three posts in that you are a neo-Nazi who finds burning kittens amusing. For example.
4) Give me some way to tell you that I like what you are doing and to engage you in conversation. Email is good. So are comments fields. MSN not so much, but if you insist.
5) Let me know who you’ve found out there that you like reading/communicating with. Chances are, if you like them, I’ll like them, and we’ll all have a happy time. It’s lonely sitting at my computer staring at the screen and there are only so many hours in the day in which I can find new people to play with.

Think that’s it. Any one got anything they’d like to say back to me?

Endnotes:
*1*Before I go any further, some caveats. There are some wonderful blogs out there, written by witty and insightful people. I am not talking about these. I am talking about the 90% of complete dross that clutters the internet. I am also not saying that my blog is any better, or worse, than the 90%. I would like to think that I have a certain gift with words and that my blog is more of a joy to read than the average, but then I’m biased. I would also like you to bear in mind the slightly dubious anthropological ground I find myself standing on. There are two schools of thought when it comes to anthropological fieldwork: the impartial observers; and the submerged participants. The former would find the idea of a blogger reporting on the phenomenon of blogging abhorrent. The latter would say that it is only by doing something yourself that you understand it. Do remember that I am not impartial here. I blog. I enjoy blogging.Back
*2*And here is where the trouble tends to start for bloggers. The internet is still new and the ethical rules are still being written. Certain conventions (capitalization equates to yelling, L33T equates to annoying, surrounding words in ** indicates action) have solidified to a state approaching universal acceptance. Other conventions are still working out the kinks, such as the conveyancing of humour (especially sarcasm/irony), leading to considerable confusion, even offense, when the mores of one place don’t translate to those of another. The issue of what it is and isn’t appropriate to say is one of the major bones of contention in the world of blogging. Rule of thumb I try to stick to? If you think someone might be offended by what you have to say, don’t say it. Keep it for the nice leather bound journal you got given for Christmas by your godparents.Back
*3*Another rant I won’t get into now – the fact that the ‘American Dream’ we ascribe to makes everyone feel they are entitled to that 15 minutes of fame, regardless of true worth.Back
*4*I also won’t go into a long diatribe about gender discourse, or about the validity of ascribing authority to authors depending on their institutional background, or the million other problems inherent with over simplifying my arguments. Know that I am aware of what is being said on the subject, and that I am generalizing so this post doesn’t approach the length of a dissertation.Back

once more with feeling

An open letter to all drivers of public transport:

Dear sirs and madams,

If you see someone hobbling down the road, approximating the ground speed of an arthritic sloth (2_toed_sloth), about 100 meters away from the bus stop, please do not pull away just as that person is within hailing distance.

It is cruel.

And mean.

Just plain nasty.

Totally unworthy of someone of your noble calling.

Next time, please wait those few extra moments. You will make up the time somewhere else on the route, and will have earned the eternal gratitude of a member of the public – someone’s whose support might make all the difference next time you want to strike to get a pay rise.

Yours, pleadingly,
Hop-A-Long of Southampton

Thanks to this nameless driver of the 1547 U2 down the Avenue, my walk home was 20 minutes of pain, as opposed to 10 minutes. I vented my fury with some very unlady-like swearing during the walk (correction, hobble) home, hence the resigned rather than furious tone of this post.

Still, Cas is all :'( now