Hail the Great Beast, Devourer of Worlds
Sunday, 26 April 2009 09:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
freckles_and_doubtYup, that was Odegra, that was. In addition to the frankly torrid traffic patterns over the last few days, the sigil-writing bugger has also ensured that tracing the dread sigil over Cape Town's roads has caused my car to run suddenly and catastrophically out of oil. I put in a pint a week ago; driving out to have dinner in Muizenberg with The Nicest Ex-Supervisor In The World last night, I experienced a sudden rude buzzing noise and an oil light, and poking the engine with sticks revealed about 2mm of a sort of sludge at the bottom of the sump. Presumably the full load of oil has been distributed in a long, dribbling slick to reinforce the sigil, which the Sigil-Writing Bugger probably set fire to in the small hours of the morning, cackling horribly. Next effect: Table Mountain slides inexorably into the sea. News at 11.
Fortunately putting four pints of oil into the car did, in fact, fill her up enough to allow me to limp home, grumbling, whereupon my Evil Landlord, nice man, lent me his car and I ended up in Muizenberg only an hour late, driving much too fast as I do in his car, which has a far bigger engine and music on tap. The Nicest Ex-Supervisor In The World has the highly civilised opinion that a good dinner date with an ex-student entails champagne, home-made jambalaya and a watching of The Devil Wears Prada, with a minimal amount of actual film or cultural analysis and a maximal quotient of Meryl Streep fangirling. (Thoroughly enjoyed the film, although I found myself watching the clothes/make-up application scenes, and the truly horrible high-heeled shoes, with a sort of detached anthropological fascination. Counting on my fingers, I don't think I've worn make-up for in excess of about seven years now, and I feel fine. Meryl Streep, on the other hand, is fabulous and can wear make-up any time she likes.)
This weekend I absolutely have to sort out my reader for the internet eroticism lectures I'm giving the week after next. They're only about a month overdue, after all. I go to embrace the eight-book-thick pile of tomes on blogging which awaits me, doom-like, next to the sofa. Before that, however, because it's funny: Alien Vs. Predator.
Fortunately putting four pints of oil into the car did, in fact, fill her up enough to allow me to limp home, grumbling, whereupon my Evil Landlord, nice man, lent me his car and I ended up in Muizenberg only an hour late, driving much too fast as I do in his car, which has a far bigger engine and music on tap. The Nicest Ex-Supervisor In The World has the highly civilised opinion that a good dinner date with an ex-student entails champagne, home-made jambalaya and a watching of The Devil Wears Prada, with a minimal amount of actual film or cultural analysis and a maximal quotient of Meryl Streep fangirling. (Thoroughly enjoyed the film, although I found myself watching the clothes/make-up application scenes, and the truly horrible high-heeled shoes, with a sort of detached anthropological fascination. Counting on my fingers, I don't think I've worn make-up for in excess of about seven years now, and I feel fine. Meryl Streep, on the other hand, is fabulous and can wear make-up any time she likes.)
This weekend I absolutely have to sort out my reader for the internet eroticism lectures I'm giving the week after next. They're only about a month overdue, after all. I go to embrace the eight-book-thick pile of tomes on blogging which awaits me, doom-like, next to the sofa. Before that, however, because it's funny: Alien Vs. Predator.
