Thirty Thousand Streets

Friday, April 14, 2006

Good Friday


So just what is it that makes good friday so different, so damn good?

No work for starters, all tickety boo thus far then.

But what exactly do people do with their Bank Holidays? Anyone not involved in traditional bank holiday pursuits such as going to B&Q or the pub might like to do what I've been doing. "And what's that?" I hear you scream with such intensity that your spittle temporarily blinds me.

Well. Woke up this morning and read a bit of The Incal 2, by Moebius, then ate breakfast with Marvyn watching some Second World War comedy film thing called Ensign Pulver. It's a kind of shades of Sgt Bilko type affair set on a ship, and not actually that good. Most of what I saw involved the hapless Ensign Pulver ogling a bevvy of nurses stationed on the island they're anchored off – and comic hi-jinks ensue etc.

Then went and bought a scanner in town on Tottenham Court Road. Going to test drive it in a minute. I also got the latest All Star Superman by the team of Grant Morrison and my fave 'drawerer' Frank Quitely. He' really is almost too good. There's so much detail in each of his panels that each issue demands a reread just to drink up the little touches dotted around. We3 that they also collaborated on is also rather splendid. cyborg pets in exo-skeletal armour – what's not to like?

And now, I'm writing this, obviously. But just before then, I was staring at assorted bits of paper relating to banking, and trying in my own limited way to make some sense of them. The ongoing saga of me setting up as a limited company gets more tortuous each passing week. At the minute I've got a load of tax stuff from the Inland Revenue, who've managed to mis-spell the name of my company – a company I've as yet to invoice anyone for any money with, I might add. I really want to get this moving, but at the minute I'm just waiting for the final documents and information relating to it all to arrive. The woman I've dealt with at HSBC said she'd leave the relevant papers at the Baker Street branch yesterday, which I duly hiked to from Tottenham Court Road on my lunch break only to find she hadn't. I duly wheeled 180 degrees and trudged back – and that was my lunch break. Anyway. Also emailed Amnesty International to bitch at them about one of their shifty tabard wearing street people.

And later? who knows. Probably involves food at some point, but what I'm not sure exactly. I think the oven's broken now. but nothing in this fucking flat works anyway. Not even me today! Hah.

Just bought a Kinder Egg, which contained a 'haunted tree' which was something I never thought I'd need, but there you are.

Alright chaps, have a good un.

2 comments:

vynram said...

i didnt break the oven! honest, it just stopped working!!

The Eyechild said...

C'mon mr Vyn. Come clean. You've hated that oven since the minute you set eyes on it.