17:21 - May. 20, 2003
my chest is empty
Some people need to go back to manners school.
There should be a manners school. And you should be able to send people there.
Like flatmates friends who come to the flat, drink my whiskey, watch me cook a meal which is then served to them, not offer any thanks, watch me do the dishes whilst offering cups of tea to everyone else in the room and then squeak loudly on the phone all night.
Or bosses who call out from their office every two minutes for the same task six times, because they forgot the other five requests the first time, and who whistle to butt into conversations in meetings. Although he did bollock one of the other office twats quite loudly in his office today. The partition is rubbish so everyone heard and I smirked when I found out who was getting told off.
I went swimming last night. There really should be some information on protocol given out to new visitors I think. Like, how are you supposed to know where the sink is to wash your face before you go in? And it was only by chance I had the necessary 20p piece for a locker. Do you take your towel to the poolside or not? Is it absolutely necessary to post-swim shower in the nude? I've never been comfortable with that; despite the girl next to me having the biggest, bushiest triangle of pubic hair ever, I modestly showered with my swimming costume on. I only managed 12 lengths, but I was in the "Getting Quicker!" lane.
Tonight I have an urge to cut up and stick down pictures and words. To cover books, to create and re-make things.
And to learn exactly how to use my mini-disc player, which long-time readers will know is long overdue.
