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did sport thereafter with Mrs. Fitzsimmons
Thursday, 23 December 2010 05:42 pmI arose betimes this morning, owing to the ungodly necessity for a dentist's appointment at 7.30am. I'd be more bitter about this hideous intrusion into my righteous vacation oversleeping, except that (a) it was the only time available because my dentist is very popular, which is because he's very good, which is curiously reassuring quite apart from his lovely chairside manner; (b) when I'm still fuddled with sleep is not a bad time to have to endure sharp pokey things in my mouth, I'm honestly not noticing much; and (c) as a reward for virtue, he pronounced my teeth absolutely fine and cleared for Christmas. Take that, cosmic wossnames!
I then bounced around like a completely mad thing and achieved enormous amounts, including the last of my Christmas shopping, a visit to the police station, and the proofing and delivery to the graphic design company of the final vacation-infesting work project I needed to hunt down and kill. This last was disgustingly filled with layout errors - I'm red ink to the elbows and feeling vindictively satisfied. I am by no means a layout professional, but I've done quite enough of it in an amateur capacity to become extremely testy on the subject of ham-handed hacks who ignore the logic of header levels and don't bother to re-format tables after they've stripped the coding from the Word doc. In revenge, they're going to have to deal with the efforts of my minion who formats indents with a long line of spaces. Hah. Also, people still do that? Good lord.
The police station was for an affidavit, which was annoying in the extreme, and makes me rather regret my own Lawful Good tendencies. I'm really very Lawful Good. I pay my television licence annually, on time, despite the fact that I honestly think the last time I watched anything on TV was about three years ago, just before that big winter storm wrapped the TV antenna in knots and stuffed the reception. When my dad moved into frail care I goodly acquired him a separate licence. Now that he no longer needs it I haven't renewed it, which means I'm receiving increasingly querulous and threatening text messages from SABC, invoking legal action. It transpires they won't call off the lawyers until they have a copy of the death certificate, plus a signed affidavit from me testifying to the fact that the TV wasn't mine and has been given back. I am effectively being punished by acres of red tape for the fact that I'm obeying the rules - if I'd followed the general principles of about ninety percent of my South African brethren and hadn't bothered to license the wretched thing, I wouldn't have to go through this. But Lawful Good prevails. Bugger it.
It does, however, explain why I'm getting such an unholy kick out of Smallville - I'm onto Season 2, which is giving me giggling fits at intervals for no adequately defined reason. Superman, as superheroes go, is really the definition of Lawful Good. Smallville is a cute puppy, really short on brain but adorable and affectionate and inclined to chew your shoelaces. It deserves a post of its own, which I shall perpetrate in the none too distant future. Because I can. Besides, Superman. Or at least Clark Kent.
I then bounced around like a completely mad thing and achieved enormous amounts, including the last of my Christmas shopping, a visit to the police station, and the proofing and delivery to the graphic design company of the final vacation-infesting work project I needed to hunt down and kill. This last was disgustingly filled with layout errors - I'm red ink to the elbows and feeling vindictively satisfied. I am by no means a layout professional, but I've done quite enough of it in an amateur capacity to become extremely testy on the subject of ham-handed hacks who ignore the logic of header levels and don't bother to re-format tables after they've stripped the coding from the Word doc. In revenge, they're going to have to deal with the efforts of my minion who formats indents with a long line of spaces. Hah. Also, people still do that? Good lord.
The police station was for an affidavit, which was annoying in the extreme, and makes me rather regret my own Lawful Good tendencies. I'm really very Lawful Good. I pay my television licence annually, on time, despite the fact that I honestly think the last time I watched anything on TV was about three years ago, just before that big winter storm wrapped the TV antenna in knots and stuffed the reception. When my dad moved into frail care I goodly acquired him a separate licence. Now that he no longer needs it I haven't renewed it, which means I'm receiving increasingly querulous and threatening text messages from SABC, invoking legal action. It transpires they won't call off the lawyers until they have a copy of the death certificate, plus a signed affidavit from me testifying to the fact that the TV wasn't mine and has been given back. I am effectively being punished by acres of red tape for the fact that I'm obeying the rules - if I'd followed the general principles of about ninety percent of my South African brethren and hadn't bothered to license the wretched thing, I wouldn't have to go through this. But Lawful Good prevails. Bugger it.
It does, however, explain why I'm getting such an unholy kick out of Smallville - I'm onto Season 2, which is giving me giggling fits at intervals for no adequately defined reason. Superman, as superheroes go, is really the definition of Lawful Good. Smallville is a cute puppy, really short on brain but adorable and affectionate and inclined to chew your shoelaces. It deserves a post of its own, which I shall perpetrate in the none too distant future. Because I can. Besides, Superman. Or at least Clark Kent.
