Good evening. You didn’t disappoint! In celebration of the continuation of the reign of Supreme Overlord Obama, and since you’ve all been so well behaved, I’ve prepared a treat.
The treat is a picture of me.
It is not really a treat.
It is also not technically a picture of me.
Basically, despite winning ‘best costume’, I have decided, in my infinite wisdom, that my Hallowe’en costume this year is deserving of international praise.
Here is what the kids call a ‘Gross Portrait of Yourself’, which is appropriate because I went as the Creature From the Black Lagoon, who is indeed gross.
In response to the inevitable questions; yes I did make it myself out of towels and fuzzy foam, and yes, I did say ‘And I would have gotten away with it as well if it weren’t for you meddling kids.’ when I took it off.
I’ve just realised that instead of calling these quickies ‘Quickies’ I could have called them ‘Crumbs’, which would have been a humorous allusion to the ‘Biscuit’ part of my over-considered pun-based blog title, as well as an accurate metaphor for these minimal joke doses and a cheeky nod to the heritage of my particular brand of Brit wit.
I have also realised that by voicing this thought I can’t out it into practice, because then I would have a post called ‘Crumbs #7 – Crumbs!’ and that would make me look like a blithering imbecile.
Later today the London 2012 Olympics will begin, and we will welcome the world into our home, provided they’ve wiped their feet on the doormat.
There has been wide speculation as to what the opening ceremony will be. I devoutly hope that we don’t try to out-do the Chinese. We just can’t do it, and we aren’t that extravagant as a nation. Four years ago, we accepted the flame with a loveable fool waving a flag, a man who kicks footballs kicking a football and a disposable popstar with a bus for a dress.
We need something that celebrates the best of our nation, yet shows that for all our pomp and ceremony we don’t take ourselves too seriously: dignified and intelligent and pleasantly subdued, yet with an underlying sense of knowing humour about ourselves.
Let’s just have Stephen Fry lighting the flame with a sparkler.
Well, I’ve been doing this blogging business for three months now, and it would appear that’s already too long. Last night I had an anxiety dream about WordPress.
Anxiety dreams are often depressingly transparent, like a smashed window, and this one was no exception. I dreamt I had quoted somebody and not credited them properly, and a commenter had noticed this and ripped me to pieces for it, and all my new bloggy friends deserted me.
My subconscious commenter also pointed out that ‘he finishes all his sentences with full stops, the prick.’ As well as being quite mean, this is also not actually a problem, unless a question or exclamation mark is required, and as such was monstrously unfair.
It would seem that even releasing my worries into the blogosphere is itself too stressful. Anus.
On a related note, I once dreamt I was a loaf of bread, and I had to escape the boulangerie before the baker caught me and sliced me up. I hid on a shelf until I woke up. I had toast for breakfast.
Sometimes when I eat a biscuit with my tea I worry whether or not it wants to be eaten. Part of me thinks that it is happy to be eaten because that is it’s job, and everything in life wants to fulfil it’s purpose, but another part of me thinks that the biscuit wants to be alive, in the packet, with his friends. Maybe he has a sweetheart biscuit. I will have to eat her too.
This upsets me a great deal, and I have to dunk the biscuit entirely in the tea, until the small bubbles stop. Then I can eat it, because this seems like a last kindness.