)8@[ ]=+ (Bulb-Nosed Priest)

Mood: The problem is that on DeviantArt (where these categories originated) you can use emoticons to display your mood. There are a ridiculous array of them on there - so many that even one of my hilarious surreal lists would be too close to the truth.

But I don't think you can do emoticons on this blog. No fancy ones anyway, just the usual punctuation-based faces.

(=o\

According to Urban Dictionary, the one above is a shrug, or sign of apathy. I don't really see it myself. I suppose the bracket represents raised eyebrows. But the backslash is just confusing. Also, my nose doesn't look like that.

I think it should instead represent a clown who's just found out he's being audited by an attractive tax official.

It looks exactly like that.

Listening to: Morrissey - I've Changed My Plea to Guilty



Reading: The riot act. It's surprisingly dull.

Watching: That episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation where Picard goes back home to pastoral France (which is inexplicably untouched by future technology) and fights with his brother in a muddy vineyard. It's just as good as it sounds.

Playing: A hilarious drinking game. Try it at home. The rules are simple:

1) Every time you feel thirsty, take a drink.
2) If you're really thirsty, down your drink.
3) If you have a cup/glass of a drink you like, and you feel like you'd like to, like, drink and stuff, take a drink.
4) If you're taking painkillers in pill, tablet or capsule form, take a drink.
5) If you've eaten something a bit too spicy, take a drink.
6) If you're in a competition where the first person to finish their drink wins a thousand pounds, down your drink
7) If you're in a play, playing the part of someone that's drinking, take a drink.
8) If you're in a play, playing the part of someone that's downing their drink, don't take a drink (to add a little mystique to your portrayal).
9) If you're a fish, take a drink.

It's pretty fun. Especially if you've got dropsy.

Eating: Salad bar salad. And a small orange.

I refuse to adhere to the tyranny of satsuma/clementine/mandarin ambiguity. They are all the same fruits.

There are too many different names for food. I just divide them into strips (bacon, cheese, sun dried tomatoes etc), chunks (bread, chunks of cheese, pick-up trucks etc), little oranges (satsumas, clementines, mandarins etc), and spheres (oranges, apples, planets, atoms etc).

Drinking: I had a strawberry and vanilla smoothie from M&S. I sometimes get one on a Monday morning as a treat. It is the only way I can convince myself to keep walking. Luckily, it's one of my five-a-day, so I can convince myself that I'm being healthy, even though it probably contains a horseload of sugar.

I feel unsure about calling Marks and Spencer 'M&S'. I mean, it's an abbreviation. A useful one too. It's much easier to say 'M&S' than to garble out that cumbersome thornbush that is 'Marks and Spencer'.

But I feel a bit like I've been brainwashed by the M&S marketing machine into using their terminology. Like using the phrase 'Pimm's o'clock'. Or doing an impression of that Churchill Insurance dog.

I want to be immune from advertising, but I can't help but be sucked in. And now there's that terrible M&S advert with Peter Kay in it, so every time I drink a strawberry and vanilla smoothie I feel like I'm suckling on Kay's corpulent Seventies teats.



So I should always call it 'Marks and Spencer' in full. That will show them that I'm an individual; that I'm not swayed by slogans and think tanks and focus group inanity.

I like to think that every time you say 'Marks and Spencer', a Peter Kay dies.

And sure, a lot of innocent people called Peter Kay are going to die. And they've already had it tough, what with people shouting "garlic bread" at them in the street for ten years. But I think it's a reasonable price to pay.

Because one day, we'll wipe that smile of that son of a bitch's face. Preferably whilst he's singing the theme tune to Bod.

Also, Twiggy might get Legionnaires' Disease as a lucky bonus.

Update

Mood: Brusque.

Old Faithful

Mood: Foggy-headed, sleepy and slightly giddy.

Listening to: Spirit - America The Beautiful/The Times They Are A'Changing



I really like this version for a few reasons.

1) America the Beautiful is the song traditionally performed at Wrestlemania - which clearly makes it very cool. People singing it in the past include Aretha Franklin, Willie Nelson, one of the non-famous ones from Destiny's Child and Boyz II Men. Justin Bieber has been rumoured for next year. Clearly very cool.

2) I think it should be used for the Captain America film, as both parts fit. Of course the Watchmen film's montage intro got there first. But I like to pretend that never happened.

3) I like to compare this to the Bob Dylan version. This one is sung by a placid angel drifting over the American countryside, buffeted by the wind, swooping over Yellowstone National Park.

The Dylan version is screeched by a hoarse tramp from the back of a police car.

Which is why Bob Dylan is much better.

I don't really know the 'Manunaloa' section at the end of this. It's not as good.

Reading: The #IAmSpartacus thread on Twitter. Here's the story behind it. It's a fun and important protest against idiocy.

Watching: Ancient Worlds on BBC2. An overly earnest archaeologist strides around the desert, barking statistics and teaching us all about irrigation. Except better than that. Genuinely interesting and well-made television.

Playing: A hilarious made-up song about Terry Pratchett. You had to be there. You could have hit me.

Eating: Tuna, chips and mushy peas. So wholesome and hearty it feels like it should be delivered via the umbilical cord.

I think there should be mushy variants of other foods too. Like lobster. And Quavers.

Drinking: Freshly Squeezed Orange Juice. I wish I knew how freshly squozen it was. In an ideal world, I'd have oranges - mushy oranges at that - squeezed directly into my windpipe.

Then I'd choke like citric geyser, screaming "More! More!" through every spluttered gasp, all the while injecting mushy peas into my leg veins with a syringe.

In an ideal world.

***

I don't have many skills.

Blog writing, obviously. Mushy food eating, songwriting, Wrestlemania singer knowledge, muscular calves (and hens), delicate fingers, astonishingly beautiful eyelashes. That's about it.

But one skill that I do have is the ability to walk down the stairs of a bus when it's moving. I'm a moving-bus surfer. I never trip, I never slip, I never fall.

I especially like it if the bus is swerving or suddenly stops. I like it when the floor is all muddy and wet. It just gives me further excuse to tame gravity.

I dance down the steps like a funky gazelle - never stopping, never nervous; invincible.

You might think this is tempting fate, that I'm bound to be karmically punished for my bus bravado.

And maybe I will.

But not today.

(I'll be walking)

I fear no Bus God.

Except PhoBus.

I like having a picture in my post to liven up my Facebook feed. So one will follow. It will have a hidden connection to something I've referenced today*.

See you on the morrow.

* Not really

Thursday

Mood: Neutral.

(I don't know if I should keep the mood element of this. My mood doesn't really fluctuate enough to make it worthwhile. If I'm ecstatic or enraged, I hope I'll be able to convey it through the tone of my SHITTING BRILLIANT WRITING.)

I think I am in a particularly neutral mood right now, though. Which means any event could tip me into a partisan explosion.

If I drop my pencil, I might punch a colleague (I have one in mind). If I find a pencil, I might marry a colleague (I have two in mind). If I receive news that my application to be the new James Bond has been rejected, I might vow bloody vengeance on anyone with hair like a dandelion, just for the hell of it all.

My mood should really be: precarious.

I'm not very pleased with that dandelion thing I just wrote, and so have just tumbled into a black depression.

Listening to: The Collings and Herrin Podcast. I've been listening to it for so long I'm not even sure if it's good or bad. But I keep listening.

And Björk.



Reading: Your mind.

That's an unkind thing to think.

I'm just trying my best.

Watching: The dull Manchester derby. And some other stuff probably.

Oh I know - The Trip with Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon. I'm really enjoying it. It's understated, just like my own work.

[INSERT HILARIOUS EXAMPLE OF MY NON-UNDERSTATED WORK HERE. WHAT'S THAT - STATED? OVERSTATED? NOT SURE...]

Playing: with Windows 7 which has just been installed on my computer at work. I'm exploring its many facets. Well, about two facets (one of which I'll never use). I hope there are lots of exciting things I've yet to discover. Such as:

Microsoft Sexcel
Atomic Calculator
An option to flag emails as 'Regrets'
Ice-cream
Patience (the quality, not the card game)
A big rusty hook

(I lost my enthusiasm for that list with the first entry)

Eating: Nothing. I should probably get something to eat. But all the good stuff will be gone. And I'll be stuck with falafel and houmous like a chump.

Blogger has a problem with 'houmous'. That word is too flexible.

"Hummus"? You're having a laugh. Why don't I just start writing "fetus" and give up on spelling standards altogether?

I think fetus hummus would be disgusting.

Foetus houmous on the other hand sounds like a delicious treat.

Sorry, that was unpleasant. I regret having brought it up.

In fact you might say I falafel about it...

...

...

You're not better than me.

Drinking: Delicious water. Mmm! Creamy, thick, full of tasty pieces... maybe this isn't water. It was in a puddle on the way to work. Puddles are usually water, right?

***

That's me. That sums me up entirely.

I've got lots of other things to say, but I'd better stop writing in case I die of happiness.

Resistance

Day 3, and Paul is in the diary room.

It's a big room in the shape of a diary, made of diaries and filled with diaries. There's a plaque on the wall proclaiming that Samuel Pepys opened the diary room some time ago (no-one remembered to note down the date).

Also, there's a dairy in there. The milk is all inky and the diaries are all milky. It's a bloomin' disaster.

Mood: Happy (it's my day off).

Listening to: My friend Sarah's Five Senses playlist, which is much better than mine.

Reading: Reading? Me? Funny you should ask! I've just been reading a bit of Keats. Yeah, that's right: the poet. Pretty sophisticated, huh? It's not all comics.

After dark vapours have oppress'd our plains
For a long dreary season, comes a day
Born of the gentle south, and clears away
From the sick heavens all unseemly stains.
The anxious mouth, relieved from its pains,
Takes as a long-lost right the feel of May,
The eyelids with the passing coolness play,
Like rose-leaves with the drip of summer rains.
And calmest thoughts come round us -- as, of leaves
Budding, -- fruit ripening in stillness,-- autumn suns
Smiling at eve upon the quiet sheaves, --
Sweet Sappho's cheek, -- a sleeping infant's breath, --
The gradual sand that through an hour-glass runs,
A woodland rivulet, -- a Poet's death.

I'm an intellectual.

Watching: I've just been watching the student demonstrations on BBC News. Pretty interesting. I wish the protesters would stop acting like such dicks. You see some of them, and begin to turn Conservative just looking at their haircuts.

I'm not sure if 24 hour news can ever accurately represent what's going on. I'd have liked to have seen more footage of the peaceful parts of the demonstrations, but I suppose fire and broken glass and shouting are more appealing to the viewer.

It's great that people are being active and passionate though, even if I'm just watching it on the TV.

More important than any injuries/political consequences is that one of my tweets was re-tweeted by Times Higher Education.

@diamondbadger Placards proclaiming F**K FEES. Not sure I'm in favour of fork fees or any cutlery-based subsidies. #demo2010

I'm an intellectual.

Playing: I'm still playing the perpetual game of FnZ.

Eating: Lentil soup and leftover pizza. All of the major food groups.

Drinking: Lentil soup. The liquid parts of it anyway. And pineapple juice.

It's getting dark because of the stupid winter. I suppose I should put on some lights.

That reminds me, I need to put new bulbs in the kitchen lights.

(Bear with me, this might get interesting)

How many Pauls does it take to change a lightbulb?

Just one. Should be fine.

Unless it's Paul Revere. As he's dead. It would take him, a resurrectionist, and probably Ben Franklin to mediate. So three people.

But I think I can handle the bulbs.

If I get electrocuted, this will be my last ever blog post.

Unless I tun into some sort of electro-man. Like Electro.




In which case, this blog will get a lot more interesting.

Drown'd

Back again with an exciting update on my current predicament!

I'm not trapped down a burning well or anything. But I do still exist. And as long as I exist, my status needs to be shouted from the rooftops.

My ladder-stealing skills are so good, they need to be shouted from the rooftops.

Hmm. That was almost a good joke. It was like I saw a joke in my peripheral vision, but when I looked at it, it turned out to be a cat eating a harmonica.

Mood: Bored, but reasonably satisfied.

Listening to: I've had this song stuck in my head all day:



(Actually, I have the acoustic version in my head. It's important you know exactly which version I have in my head.)

It is annoying. Like a flatmate who has outstayed their welcome. I enjoyed spending time with you, but that was weeks ago. And now we've got no clean mugs or plates and your dickhead indie friends are getting on my wick.

I've also been listening to my playlist about the five senses. It's not one of my best, but can be heard here:

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/playlist/Sick+Sense/38779203

Unlike Spotify, you don't need to download anything, so feel free to see which songs I chose to represent smell. You'll be somewhere between unimpressed and impressed.

Nimpressed.

Reading: Still nothing. I should read something quickly so I don't sound so ill-educated.

Maybe I should quickly read something now.

Hmm. It's a post-it from a colleague with the Samaritans' phone number on it.

I don't quite know how to take that.

Watching: I watched two episodes of the 1981 Spider-Man cartoon yesterday. Yes, the 1981 one. No, not Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends, which also started in 1981. The solo series. No not the one with the famous theme song. That was 1967.

No, I haven't had many girlfriends. You're right.

Playing: I'm playing a game where the first person to topple into a canal wins a towel.

Eating: I just had roast beef and trimmings from the work canteen. It was a special deal for £3. It had horseradish sauce. I love horseradish sauce. But I went a bit overboard, ladling gallon after gallon onto my plate. Now I feel FANTASTIC.

(Is that really how you spell ladling?)

I've got a horseradish high. They should sell horseradish in clubs. They should use it to wean heroin addicts. "Get off the horse, and get on its radish," some people might say one day, as I press a gun into the small of their back.

Drinking: Horseradish.

***

We got the bus in today. We did yesterday too.

It was raining, and walking seemed like a mug's game. Though a mug would collect the rain water, getting heavier and heavier, jeopardising its own progress.

We walk to and from work pretty much every day. It's just a bit too long. Just a bit.

It's not so bad on the way in, but on the way home it becomes a struggle. Around fifteen minutes from home, the boredom and fatigue kick in.

According to Google maps, it's 2.4 miles each way.

So we do about 5 miles a day.

Which is a bit too long.

4.4 miles would be fine. We'd be skipping. We'd be picking flowers and frolicking.

But 5 miles is too much.

Which is why the bus can be tempting, especially if its cold and the street is paved with mugs full of rain.

Luckily my dislike of people outweighs my dislike of moving. So I'd rather walk than be in a confined space with the kinds of loser that regularly travel by bus.

I'm more likely to take the bus in the morning. Lucy is more likely to take it in the afternoon.

That's why we get on so well. We compliment each other perfectly.

At this point, you might be thinking: "That's interesting, Paul. No. It's not. I'm just being polite. And as I'm only thinking this, there's no need to differentiate between different levels of discourse, you TWAT."

You might also be thinking: "You've just written things. You don't seem to be going anywhere, or making any kind of point. I imagine there won't be a satisfactory conclusion to this story."

Well if you are thinking that, get ready!

We got the bus this morning, and it was quite empty and quiet. It was nice.

HOW ABOUT THAT!?!

IT WAS NICE!

THAT'S A KILLER RESOLUTION!!

"Are you now going to do a hilarious bit about serial killers' new year's resolutions, you predictable failure?"

No. I'm not.

I'm not sure I like the conflict of this pseudo-dialogue. Let's be friends.

"OK. I'm sorry."

That's fine. We're all friends here.

But now I don't know how to end this post.

"Why don't you bring up the rain-filled mug again?"

Yeah, I guess...

"Ooh, ooh, how about the canal thing?"

Yeah! Good idea! But how do I...

*SPLASH*

*TOWEL*

One Tip to Change Your Life

Let's get this show on the road.

It's a re-enactment of the Battle of the Boyne using traffic cones and misleading lights.

I'm going to up my blog frequency with a simple trick. I will try, every day, to fill in the below information. Then at least I'll have something to say.

Lucy's DeviantArt journal has little categories at the bottom (for what she's watching/reading etc), which she doesn't even bother to update. This angers me. She angers me.

I'll steal the choices from there. Keep in mind that these will usually refer to the previous day or so. If I'm writing my blog, I'm watching myself write the blog, reading the blog, and listening to the keystrokes. But I can't just put that every day.

Unless it would be funny to put that every day.

No. No it probably wouldn't.

***

Mood: Not particularly downbeat, not particularly upbeat. Just beat.

Listening to: Ennio Morricone: Deborah's Theme



Reading: Um... nothing? I should be reading Machiavelli's The Prince as part of my Idiot Flaps Odyssey, but I got all sidetracked with life and autumn and comics. Maybe that counts. Ed Brubaker's Captain America is good.

Watching: The beginning of various different Inspector Morse episodes. And that awesome new David Attenborough series on BBC 2. You should watch it. My favourite quote:

"But for the sponge, this is of no consequence."

Playing: I suppose this is for video games. I have actually been playing the not-very-good FIFA 11 on the Wii. I've also been playing football with Lucy in the fields near our house. We're amazing.

Eating: I've just had some salad bar salad from the salad bar. Curried sweet potato salad for the win. I think I got too many creamy things though, and now I feel a bit ill.

Drinking: Too-expensive freshly-squeezed orange juice. They used to have blood orange juice, but they stopped selling it to spite me. I imagine.

***

Wasn't that fun? I'll try to do that more often. By about the third one, the tedium of my life will become apparent. If it wasn't already.

I've got a tip for you. A social tip. Normally, I'm the last person you'd want to take that kind of advice from, but this is a real winner.

If you're sitting in a cafe or restaurant, sometimes a person might be in need of an extra chair. We've all been in that situation. Well, except for Sue and well all know what she's like.

They need an extra chair, and see what appears to be an unused chair on your table. And it is unused.

Everything should work out fine, right?

Wrong.

You see, you know they want the chair. You're anticipating the request. You're anticipating the smug satisfaction of helping a chairless chump in need.

The trouble is, you don't know how they're going to ask the question.

You might be ready with an affirmative "yes" when a "no" is required. Let me explain:

Scene: You and a single friend (perhaps from the Navy) are sitting together on a four-seat table. You are two people. You are using one seat each. A total of two seats are in use.

Maths tells us that a total of two seats are left unneeded. There are two spare seats. You're not even resting your shopping bags/depth charges on them. They are spare.

On the next table (also a four-seater), five people have arrived to quaff and imbibe various items. But there are five of them. And only four seats. That's one seat too few.

(Are you following so far? If not, return to the beginning of the italicized section and start again).

One member of this five-strong party spots what seem to be spare seats on your table. They are spare seats.

You spot them spotting them. You'll be happy to share them. You're anticipating the warmth of smugnocity. You see them coming over. You have the "yes" on your lips.

And then the following exchange happens:

Other Person: Excuse me, is this seat taken?
You: Yes.

Disaster!

You meant to say "yes" to them asking for the seat! But by asking if the seat was taken, they inverted the whole thing!

They go away with no seat! You have no smug feeling! And there's nothing you can do about it (short of correcting yourself, but you and the Admiral are too proud for that)!

Of course, you might be anticipating that question. But you can never be sure. The opposite is equally likely.

Other Person: Excuse me, can I have this seat?
You: No.

Foiled again!

This kind of catastrophe must happen two or three times per decade, causing suffering to all.

But there's a new response designed to remove any ambiguity from the exchange, and to ensure the unchaired are chaired, and the smugneed is smugsatisfied.

Two simple words:

Go ahead.

Do you see? The simplicity? The genius?

Let's re-run those scenarios, but this time we will employ the new weapon in our arsenal.

Other Person: Excuse me, is this seat taken?
You: Go ahead.

Success! Though it doesn't strictly make sense, the intention is clear: "please do take this chair for your buttocks, Madam."

What about the other one?

Other Person: Excuse me, can I have this seat?
You: Go ahead.

Perfect! The game is won!

Can you see how Paul's Patented All-Purpose Chair-Request Response has saved the day? Can you?

The only danger is if a stranger comes and asks you a different question:

Other Person: Excuse me. I was thinking of committing a terrible shooting in a school for blind orphans and then turning the gun on myself. You two look like you're well informed on these matters (especially you, Admiral). Do you think I should proceed with my heinous plan?

You: Go ahead.

But that is an extremely uncommon question. It will probably not happen, so don't worry about it.

***

So that's my social tip. Use it wisely. I feel like I'm going to save a lot of people a lot of asking-for-a-seat based anxiety.

Which means I'm exponentially smug.

You can probably sense it from where you are now - pulsing and shimmering, swelling and sweeping like the Northern Lights.