hamster on a piano (eating popcorn)

Good grief. I just scored a completely random University Avenue parking disk. That is, I am now legally permitted to grab the closest possible parking to my office, behind the booms, requiring card access, and generally reserved for deanly gods, HoDs and those admin bods who cling with limpet-like tenacity to the highest possible rung on the ladder. I fall into none of these categories, and have for fifteen years grimly climbed six flights of stairs to reach my car. The Cosmic Wossnames are clearly setting out to compensate me for a job which I do well but reluctantly and which is currently turning me into a lizard.

The Dynamic Duo, viz. jo&stv, came round to visit at an advanced hour of last night, rescuing me from swearing at the TV (Roswell is being more than usually silly with more than usually ridiculous marital plots¹), to say happy birthday to the EL. He was, of course, out, being fed birthday dinners by his dear old silver-haired German mother (a very sweet and slightly scary lady). Disturbed by his absence, jo&stv proceeded to fill the temporary void by raiding his bedroom and constructing an unreasonable Evil Landlord fascimile, ( thusly. )

Oh, yes. That. The subject line is courtesy of Charles Stross, who is an Odd Man, TM.

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¹ Marital plots are always more or less ridiculous, especially when teenagers are involved. Honestly.