Sunday, 23 August 2015

Cut and paste (and a photo)

It is holiday time.
Loads of things going on, not all of them uplifting, but we are away nonetheless.
In a place I know well and have loved for many years.
Small mercies during trying times.

And because whilst on leave I am also doing some writing and editing work (yes, really) for which I will be paid (yes, really, again), I am blatantly 'copying with pride' something an old family friend sent me last week, because it made me laugh, and laughter is the best medicine. Always.


WORDS THAT ARE DIFFICULT TO SAY WHEN DRUNK:
  1. Innovative

  2. Preliminary

  3. Proliferation

  4. Cinnamon

  5. Indubitably
 


WORDS THAT ARE VERY DIFFICULT TO SAY WHEN DRUNK:
  1. Specificity

  2. Anti-constitutionalistically

  3. Passive-aggressive disorder

  4. Transubstantiate
 
 


WORDS THAT ARE DOWNRIGHT IMPOSSIBLE TO SAY WHEN DRUNK:
  1. No thanks, I’m married.
  2. Nope, no more booze for me!

  3. Sorry, but you’re not really my type
  4. No thanks, I’m not hungry
  5. I’m not interested in fighting you
  6. Thank you, but I won’t make any attempt to dance. I have no coordination and would hate to look like a real fool!
  7. Oh no, I must be going home now as I have to work in the morning

In case that fails to put a smile on your face, here's a nice photo, which always puts a smile on mine.
Unless I am the one kite-surfing. And face-planting.
In which case I am grinning like a fool.



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Friday, 14 August 2015

Kevin's (lack of) taste

Now the Kevinettes are renown for their love of food and drink. Not for nothing are we called 'the troughers' by our various partners who have put up with Kevin's antics over the many years since the bookclub first started (fifteen and counting, in case you were unaware).

This Monday it was no exception, although we were more excited than children in a sweet shop - or readers in a book shop, for that matter - as we had a NEW VENUE to explore.

Yes, the Botanical Artist and family have moved to greener and more spacious pastures. Nothing to do with the racket we have made over the years at her past abode, upsetting the neighbours and staying way past our welcome, drinking everything on offer because none of us had to drive, cackling and laughing loudly into the summer nights in her small front garden, or indeed anything similar.

Well, that's what she told us in any case and we're sticking with that story.

Anyway. We were all there bar La Diplomat (living it up in the south of France), and even the elusive Wine Writer showed up after retuning from Norfolk early so she would not miss out. True dedication if there ever was some.

So we all topped our glasses to raise a celebratory cheer to the new home and all who follow in our worthy footsteps (we were the first guests, hopefully not the last though given past performances as per the note above).

"To your house!" chimed the Lovely Radiographer.
"To Kevin!" toasted the rest of us.
"Ew!" spluttered Tough Mudda.

We looked at her in alarm.

"Oh, don't mind me," she explained. " I just poured myself a glass of balsamic vinegar..."

And THAT is what happens when you are having such a good time you fail to distinguish between all the bottles on the table. Before you've even eaten. Or discussed books.

Cheers!



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Monday, 10 August 2015

Facebook vs LinkedIn - a common dilemma

This may be a more serious sort of post.

Joke. It most definitely is not. Well, depends on your point of view, I suppose.

Anyway, to my dilemma: I wrote a short post last week about the importance of first impressions.
It was slightly tongue-in-cheek, as is my wont, and aimed at all those 'social pervers' who look at your profile on LinkedIn and then either skive off somewhere unreachable or send you an invitation to 'LinkIn' without so much as a preamble or even a casual "Hello!" as a by-the-by.

You would think people might take the (subtle) hint, right?

Wrong.

Just today I get yet another request from some person whom I have never heard of, never met, never come across in my many years in business.

The best thing? Not even an automated message. Indeed, the brain-dead function that deprives all my wannabe connections from stringing a sentence together of their own concoction had totally eluded this individual.

All he gave me was a phone number and an email for ME to contact HIM.

Yessir. Because that's the *new* way of doing business, you see?
If you really, really, really want it, then you gotta make the effort to contact them and say, "Hey buddy, how'd I ever manage without you? Please can you bestow me the honour of being a valuable connection of yours? I will be forever grateful!"

There was also one other flaw.

His photo.

Bless him. I think he must be all of twenty years' old. The beard does not make him look more experienced and he has just started out in recruitment. He states he is "always keen to hear from industry professionals who may be interested in his services."

Unlikely.

But I do have an excellent book I can recommend him.



And just for the record: no, I did not accept his 'invitation'.
But I did send him a reprimanding email. 
Couldn't help it.

(the Facebook comparison being - I hope - an obvious one: you can choose your friends!)


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Tuesday, 4 August 2015

What the eye sees - the revived version

It is not a secret that I love people watching.

Sit me in a café window or on a bench in an airport or railway station and I will be very content for an hour or two just observing everybody passing by and providing suitable sartorial commentary in my head.

Sometimes even out loud when in company, which scares the bejeezus out of OH (he is still very British in this regard), especially now that the offspring have also cottoned on and provide their own views. Loudly, in many cases.

You know that person who wonders round saying, "Who are these small people and why do they insist on calling me 'mum'?" That is me now. I suppose a case of justice served.

So I posted a comment on Twitter instead, which duly received the appropriate reply:


And of course got me thinking. Why not have others send in photos and allow me to comment (in)appropriately? I will have no insight as to who the individuals are - good grief, they could be pictures of myself even, now there's a novel idea - and it would be off-the-cuff humorous remarks without anyone getting their knickers in a twist.

Alternatively I will have to resort to pinching idiotic photos from the Snail Online and making sarky remarks about 'slebs.

But no one wants that. It would be far too predictable.

So, who's got some 'interesting sartorial snaps to send me?

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