Tuesday 2 December 2008

Hack hack

I'm feeling grumbly and whiney this afternoon. The LLPG manager has been spending the past few days hacking up a lung. Really sounds like he's going to start spewing blood across the room, or fall on the floor or something. Apparently, he's been doing this for ages, being a smoker. I have to say, I find smokers really selfish. I really don't give a crap what people get up to on their own, but it irritates the hell out of me when they start imposing it on others. Why should I have to listen to him slowly dying behind me because of some stupid habit? Argh! Maybe I'm just heartless and cruel. Still though, I don't think I particularly inflict any of my bad habits on others. Maybe I do, and I'm just a horrid old hypocrite. Anyway, rant over.

In cycling news, I had a bit of an epiphany... There is a pretty serious lack of Jesus-fish bumper sticker drivers in England, given the general dearth of car ornamentation (save for the occasional anti-Bush sticker). You would think this might make the roads safer, what with the lack of Gods as copilots and such silliness. But no, I finally got it this morning, while dodging yet another minicab driven by some non-English speaking pinhead that, in fact, the hackney-cab licence in the window is the British equivalent of the fish. God, or perhaps Allah, help this poor moron through the intersection without causing a major pileup!

Actually, one of the nice things about cycling every day (assuming one manages to avoid the Jesus-fish drivers, or local equivalent) is the time to ponder the small details of the road--those things one might miss while barrelling along in the car, or, more likely, sitting in endless traffic. Important thoughts like, 'My God there are a lot of brick buildings. How do they make all those buildings and not turn the entire countryside into a quarry?', or 'Why do all British roads have the white lines in the middle?' It makes it terribly difficult sometimes to tell the difference between 1 and 2 way streets. Yeah, I seem to have lots of these terribly important thoughts while cycling--very similar to thoughts I have at the gym or while shower. My only assumption is that perhaps the bumps on the road knock them loose, or perhaps I'm inhaling too much car exhaust. I shall never know--though I might spend a lot of time thinking about it.

David's dad is in the hospital. He had a fall and doesn't seem to be able to walk properly. The guy is morbidly obese and has been a smoker and a drinker for years and years. I never know quite what to feel in such situations, to be honest. I feel terrible for David, though he's not really talked to his dad for years. This must be a huge stress on him, and I want to be there for him in any way possible, and hope for the best. But there is the part of me that thinks--I guess, in a similar vein to how I think about smoker guy behind me, that his dad has taken terrible care of himself for many years, and what did he expect would happen? It makes me feel like an uncharitable shit to think this, but honestly, I can't see any other likely outcome for how he has been living his life (keeping in mind that I've done plenty of completely retarded things of my own). Sigh.

Ooh, complete thought change (surprise!). I just had a phone call from this complete ditz in planning to ask me about doing a map for her. She's very nice, but a bit like talking to, well, I suppose talking to the landlady from Spaced (or Dorey the fish, in Finding Nemo). One idea leads to another, to another, to another, oh, I like blue! I hung up the phone and then thought, 'Hmm, what was it that I'm actually supposed to do for her? I'm not so sure'. Usually, in such instances, I encourage them to email a request, out of the usually vain hope that they organise their thoughts slightly.

Ah, local government. What a splendid, and generally clueless hydra you are!

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