Phew!

It does, doesn't it!

(I also have a military answer, but the conditions in the quoted post were for non-military.)

I've had a conversation with someone in the middle of Waterloo Bridge, late at night, looking over the Thames at the lights of London.

🤞

Loads more books to adapt, and a massive gap in this TV adaptation between where the two Emma's stories end.

I wasn't sure whether part of Emma's objection to Paula's relationship was because they had the same grandpa. It wasn't clear whose grandchildren they were. I probably just missed something.

This is why I categorise SF as subset of Fantasy. It's handwavium all the way down.

Me, watching A Woman of Substance:

E1: Burn it to the ground, Emma Harte!
E2: Burn it to the ground, Emma Harte!
E3-7: BURN IT, EMMA HARTE! BURN IT ALL TO THE GROUND, EMMA HARTE!
E8: YOU SHOULD HAVE BURNT THAT HOUSE TO THE GROUND, EMMA HARTE! LIKE THE DOCTOR, EMMA HARTE!

You have a mellow day, and hope the side effects ease soon.

I need to rearrange mine as it's going to clash with another appointment.

This looks like a list of bus routes affected when there's been a major incident in the city centre. Including the bit with the claws.

I think we've had one piece of election literature from the Greens; the rest are bombarding us daily now, it seems. We've also had our ward/constituency boundaries changed, so I don't know how that's going to work out.

Much sympathy re jerry-building, and I hope WNP and his glamorous assistant can sort the plumbing part of it properly.

Haunted by these words since first reading them.

Some words just stay with you.

She wants to be flowers, but you make her owls. You must not complain, then, if she goes hunting.

We are stuck togethir on a tinye beautiful driftinge rocke wyth nobodye outsyde and nobodye cominge to save us. We are the onlye ones heere yn a wild expanse of night and silence. We sholde be lovinge each othir all the tyme. We sholde be greetinge each othir "hey, miracle!" We sholde be daunsinge.

That's a lot of weather.

I’m cis and I don’t like how I look with really short hair but this sort of thing makes me want to get a buzz cut out of a combination of solidarity and cussedness.

I really hope not.

S also did not.

Got some lying, fascist, racist, propagandizing bumf through the letterbox today, telling me to vote for them on the 7th. They can go fuck themselves into oblivion.

Both can be delicious and can belong on your plate, possibly at the same time if it's been that kind of a day, but a puddle of potato* can never be considered to be mashed potato.

*If you've done obscene things with gravy to make your mashed potato a puddle, that's on you, and a separate topic.

If, after you've had at your potatoes with a masher and/or ricer and/or pushed them through a sieve and then added whatever you add, you can pour said potatoes onto a plate, they are not mashed, they are potato purée, not mashed potatoes. Mashed potatoes have self-supporting structure.

I have sometimes wondered if my revulsion for gratuitous and egregious displays of flags is connected with reading Stalky & Co at a formative age.

😳

Got to meet up with my oldest friend, her husband and their two daughters (A levels and about to graduate respectively) for the first time in seven years, which was utterly fab.

Quote of the day from the A level student:

"Who's Anne Widdecombe?"

#AshesUnderUricon

🫂

My dad would have been very sad to see this day.

Share a preacher, nun or priest!

Aaggh!